WATER, WATER EVERYWHERE….

The high building in the far background is the Regatta Hotel, Toowong circa 28th January 1974

On the verandah of the Regatta Hotel during the 1974  January flood

The Regatta Hotel on the corner of Sylvan Rd. & Coronation Drive, Toowong

Getting one's priorities in order!

This block was next door to the block of units in which I lived in Cadell Street; both were similar in structure

 

A similar house to the one at the rear of the property I lived in at Cadell Street, Toowong

The memories of certain events during our lives never leave us. Those of us who were around when JFK was assassinated will always remember where we were and what we were doing when the shocking news came through. Who amongst us, if around on the 20^th July, 1969, could forget what we were doing or where we were the day man first set foot on the moon?  Similar indelible memories apply to the day music died when word came through that Elvis had finally, for the last time, left the building. 

I was staying briefly with a friend in Collinsville when the sad news broke about Princess Diana’s untimely demise.   

I will never forget the night I watched in disbelief the grotesque images flashing across my television screen.  Hour after hour I sat glued to my TV and to my computer – while at the same time actively participating in a Chat Room throughout the night with my on line friends in the States.  I believe it’s safe to say we were all in shock. The shock remained; sorry and anger joined it. There was no way I could go to bed that night. (It was Monday night here, Australian time). The tragic events of 11^th September, 2001 will forever remain with me…undiminished horror.

 This past Australia Day weekend….Australia Day falls on 26^th January…was the 40 year anniversary of the 1974 devastating flood that struck Brisbane, catching many with their pants down and up; and washing on their clothes’ lines!

There was an excited buzz going through my workplace.  The 1974 Australia Day long weekend was looming.  Australia Day falls on 26th January; and in 1974 that was a Saturday.  Monday, 28th was the public holiday.

It seemed everyone had their plans set in concrete.  Even though we were having a wet summer and rain had been falling fairly steadily for the previous three weeks leading up to the long weekend dumping 1.5 metres or 60 inches of rain upon us or our umbrellas during those weeks, the power of positive thinking was in motion; it was not to be denied.

Holding onto the hope the weather would clear, family barbecues were on the agenda for some; days spent under the sun at the beach for others.  I’d made no specific plans for the long weekend, other than to relax and enjoy it to the best of my spontaneous ability; whatever came, would come; and I’d go with the flow; perhaps an unfortunate, prophetic plan on my part. 

The weather bureau was paying keen attention to a tropical low out in the Coral Sea.  It was cyclone season, after all, so there was nothing unusual about its formation. Tropical North Queensland expects cyclones to hover off its coast between the months of November and April each year.  They’re almost second nature to those who live in the northern regions. And, of course, humans being humans, we can become a little too blasé about them, I guess. 

I lived for 13 years in North Queensland, but in 1974, my home base was in Brisbane, south-east Queensland; and those of us living in the southern areas of Queensland probably are more nonchalant about cyclones than our laid-back northern counterparts. There are times cyclones are brazen enough to cross the coast and pay unwelcome, destructive visits to areas.   

When the low in late January, 1974 formed into a cyclone the Queensland Weather Bureau christened it “Wanda”.  Little did we know early and mid-week that “Wanda” would wantonly and recklessly wander further south. "Wanda" may have been whirling like a frenzied Dervish, but she wasn’t a very angry Dervish. She was whirling at about only 90kms an hour, which was pretty mediocre as far as cyclones are concerned; not an excessive speed.   

Prince Charles had not long paid a visit to Brisbane. If he wasn’t concerned why should we be?  Our Lord Mayor was over in Christchurch, on New Zealand’s south island enjoying the Commonwealth Games.  Nobody, no matter what their station in life, knew the heavy, dark clouds looming on the horizon and those already above us intended to treat us so harshly. 

It was Friday 25th. 

Onwards and upwards, our daily work chores had to be attended to and completed before the week’s final curtain fell.  We had a business to run, and a long weekend to look forward to, so wondering about the wandering of Wanda at that point in time wasn’t a major concern to us Brisbane dwellers.

Spring of 1973 had been an exceptionally wet one in Queensland; similar conditions continued into summer.  Our rivers and creeks were running at their peaks; and the ground was fairly sodden.  And when the monsoonal trough appeared it did the job it’s meant to do here in summer…bring the rains over the northern and north-western regions.  When Cyclone Wanda approached, she pushed the monsoonal rains further south. There was nothing unusual or uncommon about that; similar occurs every summer.

By Thursday 24^th January, Wanda was 380kms north-east of Gladstone, teasing and annoying the central coast areas of Queensland.  As cyclones are prone to do, at times with little forewarning,Wanda kicked up her heels and gathered speed when she decided she was sick of central Queensland, She wanted to see Fraser Island and areas south of the Sandy Straits.  At 9pm on the 24^th Wanda wandered across the coast just south of Fraser Island, at Double Island Point, a little north of Noosa Heads.  She had good taste, really…Double Island Point and Noosa Heads, in my book, are far nicer areas than Fraser Island…but that’s just in my own opinion.  I’ve mentioned before that I’ve never been fond of Fraser Island; but many thousands of others would dispute my personal opinion about Fraser…as is their right to do so.

Wanda wasn’t a powerful cyclone, but she was a very wet one!

Actually, from all the reports coming through, the heavy rain was to ease, we were told. Some clouds and showers would remain, but on a whole Brisbane was going to be in for a mostly fine weekend.   

“Yippee!” The would-be celebrators of Australia Day yelled in unison. 

Friday, January 25^th arrived; the rain hadn’t ceased.   

Concerned my boss, John and I kept our ears on the radio listening to the regularly updated weather reports.  Flooding, flash and otherwise was occurring throughout Brisbane.  Putting our heads together John and I discussed the situation at hand.  Without further ado, we [promptly came to the decision it was time to send our staff home before the flooding got worse.  Some of them looked at us as if we’d gone crazy and were over-reacting, but if it meant they had another half day added to their long weekend, they weren’t going to argue the point.  We shut down our office, showrooms and warehouse; and everyone was sent home shortly before noon.

John lived with his family at Kenmore, a western suburb of Brisbane; and I lived at Toowong; an inner city western suburb that is on the way to Kenmore.  I didn’t own a car at that point in time.  John offered to drop me off on his way home.   

Already one of the main thoroughfares between Fortitude Valley where our offices, showrooms etc., were situated, the CBD and the western suburbs is Milton Road.  

 By noon that Friday Milton Road was impassable.  We had to take a different route up through Paddington into Rainworth and back down through to Toowong to reach my unit block in Cadell Street, Toowong; a street that runs parallel to Milton Road at the furthermost end from the CBD. 

After depositing me at my driveway, John continued on his way safely and dryly to Kenmore.  I settled myself in with my two cats, Sasha and Smocka; a good book; a pot of coffee; stereo cranked up; quite contented to enjoy a rainy afternoon doing rainy day things.

The rain continued relentlessly – taking no prisoners. Enoggera Creek and Kedron Brook had broken their shallow banks during the afternoon.  Streets in the suburbs of Wilston, Windsor, Enoggera, Ashgrove, Herston and the outer western suburb of Moggill began to flood. Evacuations had already started.  It was fortuitous we’d closed our business premises and sent our staff home when we did as it turned out! There were some who wouldn’t have made it to their homes, otherwise. 

During Friday night all the taps/faucets in the sky were turned on at the same time; and someone forgot to turn them off!  Showing no mercy, the rain pelted down relentlessly. Record flooding was already occurring in certain areas. Some Brisbane suburbs had become islands overnight. Worse was still to come; although we didn’t know it at the time.

Oddly, upon waking Saturday morning the sky above remained cloudy and grey, but the rain had ceased.  A collective sigh of relief echoed across Brisbane.  We believed we’d seen the last of Wanda’s remnants. We’d had enough of her left-overs.  However, water was flowing like a raging, unforgiving torrent from the upper reaches of the Bremer and the Brisbane Rivers; the flooding hadn’t abated; and it wasn't going to go away without putting up a fight.

The Elite Picture Theatre, one of Brisbane’s original suburban movie houses was showing “The Wizard of Oz” on Saturday, 26^th January, 1974…Australia Day.  The Elite, with some of its seating still the old canvas-covered, deck chair-styled seats was situated at the Toowong end of Milton Road; just around the corner from where I lived.  

I rang John and his wife, Shirley to ask if they’d like me to take their two little boys to see “The Wizard”.  At the time, their eldest son was eight years old and his younger brother was five, turning six in the following April.  They’d never seen the movie.  I spent a lot of time with the family and the two boys and I got on extremely well.  They brought out the child in me; that “kid” is never far below my surface. We used to have lots of fun together when they were little kids. Pillow fights were our speciality!

John dropped them off at my unit. His plan was to pick them up again a couple of hours later after the boys and I had tripped along the Yellow Brick Road with Dorothy and her friends.   

Good to his word, not long after the boys and I sung “Over the Rainbow” in perfect harmony and pitch-perfect as we strolled home from the picture theatre to my townhouse, John arrived to collect his sons.  No further rain had fallen through the Saturday afternoon; and I’d not even seen a rainbow.

The weather had something else up its sleeve, though.  It wasn’t finished with us just yet.  We’d been lulled into a sense of false security.  Saturday night arrived; and so did the rain.  The heavens opened up once again and dumped their load, showing no pity upon the city of Brisbane or its inhabitants. About 12 inches, 314mm of rain poured from the sky overnight.

Come early Sunday morning, I moved what I could from the ground level section of my townhouse to the upper level.  What couldn’t be moved, I had to leave in situ. All I could do was keep my fingers crossed and hope for the best!  I could do no more.  Mother Nature was on her own course, and there was nothing I could do to stop her.

At the time I also managed the block of units in which I lived.  My townhouse, the only one in the block was at the rear of building.  All the other units were single level.  The tenants who had remained present at their units that weekend, or had been trapped, all congregated at my townhouse mid-Sunday morning to discuss the situation at hand; and what our options were.  The rain had ceased again; still teasing everyone. We knew not how long the status quo would remain so the first, most important option we decided was to take a walk to the Regatta Hotel to see what was going on down that end of Sylvan Road. The Regatta Hotel, a grand old structure is on the corner of Sylvan Road and Coronation Drive.   

None of us cared if we got wet. It was the middle of summer, after all.  No umbrellas or raincoats were considered. Somebody had heard that the river was lapping the verandah of the beautiful old pub.  So off we went to see what we could see.  I think already by that stage, our brains were water-logged.  We started singing “The Happy Wanderer” as we walked along Sylvan Road.  Between “The Happy Wanderer” and “Over the Rainbow” it was turning into a musical weekend, as well as a very wet one!

When we reached the hotel, water was, indeed, lapping its verandahs. People in the house next door to the hotel were already being evacuated by a small motor boat.  Opposite the Regatta Hotel in those days, on the banks of the Brisbane River, were the ABC Radio and Television Studios.  The building was under water.  Caring not, we stood amongst the patrons in the main public bar surrounded by the aromas of rum and beer.  It was the rum that tempted us most of all.  However, between us we didn’t have a brass razoo.  

Going to the pub to have a drink hadn’t been our intention; we’d only wanted to see the height of the water to give us some idea of what could be in store. Not one of us had thought to take our wallets or purses along; but we were soon overcome by the mood of the merry revelers at the bar, and the scents of good old Bundy filling the air.   

One of the fellows in our group explained our dire situation to the bar person, saying he, the barman, must recognise at least one of us as being a “regular local”; and if that turned out to be the case; and describing with great sincerity the height of our characters, our fellow happy wanderer offered his watch to the barman to be held in lieu of cash; to be kept as a guarantee for when the flood waters receded.  We solemnly declared we would make good our promise of payment when the world returned to some normality.   

Our intrepid fellow offered his watch in exchange for a round of rum and Coco Colas; just the one round; one drink each, and then we’d be off on our merry way back to our respective apartments.  

The fellow who so gallantly offered to pawn his watch for drinks wasn’t one of my tenants in the units, but he was a friend of one of them. Because his lodgings were already inundated with muddy flood waters his friend offered him a safe, dry place to stay.

The barman was an amiable bloke. He took the watch offered him, and poured each of us a Bundaberg rum and Coke!  I doubt I’ve ever tasted a rum and Coke quite as good before or since that Sunday morning at Toowong’s Regatta Hotel. Soon after we'd downed our bartered-for drinks, we were on our way back home again quite chuffed at our bargaining prowess!  

As an aside, less than a year later when my now ex-husband Randall arrived back to Australia from almost a decade living in New York City he for a brief while became bar manager of the Regatta Hotel.  One busy Friday night during his tenure a couple of his staff failed to turn up for their shift, so he rang me around 6.45 pm asking if I’d come to the hotel and help tend bar…the main public bar!  I’d not long arrived home from my own job; and at that stage, I’d never worked in a bar in my life, let alone one in a very busy, popular hotel…on a Friday night of all nights!  But…a challenge is a challenge…and I came to the aid of the party, not knowing what I'd let myself in for.  

However, that's another story for another day…(the rate I’m going, I’ll need many “another days”…I seem to have a lot of stories still to be told)!

By Sunday afternoon, the 27^th January, 1974, the house on the block of land behind the property in which I lived had water lapping its floorboards; and it was a highest old-style Queensland, similar to the one pictured above, except my rear neighbour's house was a little higher off the ground to the one shown.   

The land the units were built on and that upon which the house was built was level, flat land. To the naked eye one could not see any difference in the levels, yet there the house already had water starting to flood through it.  The flood water had reached its floor!  The inhabitants were forced to evacuate. 

They had to pass my unit many times as they went by armed with what they could salvage. Until that day, we'd hardly exchange a word, if any.  I asked them to tell me when they’d made their last trip, so I’d know if anyone else passed by I would know immediately they shouldn’t be there – that they had no right to be anywhere near the property.   

If anyone else wandered down past my townhouse they’d most likely be scum of the earth looters, and if they were, they’d have to get past me first!  And I promised the home-owners there was no chance they’d get past me!  There are many things in this world that make me very anger…looters are on my list!

There was the house behind me facing Bayliss Street, the street that runs at rear of and parallel to Cadell Street with water flowing through it; and then the house next door to my units, which was built further forward on their block of land with its frontage quite close to Cadell Street had water about 18 inches deep throughout their back yard, lapping at their back door and laundry.   

Yet, all throughout those dreadful days, the water came within one inch of my back stairs, only; no further. Two concrete stairs led from the ground up into my laundry. My laundry room was level with and led into my kitchen, dining and lounge area.  The water sat just below the second stair. It didn't even enter my laundry. It was an education, really, to see how water finds its own level.

Between 24^th January and 29^th January, 1974, central Brisbane received 650mm (almost 26 inches) of rain.
Looters were out in force…they are lowest of lowest of creatures.  Preying on the loss, heartache and hardship of others is something I will never comprehend.

Lives were lost. Almost 7,000 homes were flooded. Around 13,000 buildings were affected in some way. The CBD was hit badly.

The “Robert Miller” a 67,320 tonne oil tanker broke free from its mooring in the Brisbane River at Kangaroo Point.  The large tanker became adrift in the river. A major disaster was fortunately averted with the help of two powerful little tugboats which were needed to control the 15m high, 239m long oil tanker.  The “Robert Miller”, at the time, was the largest ship ever built in Australia. It could have come to a very sticky end, indeed, and not before causing major problems.  Luckily, through the skill of the tugboat skippers that didn’t occur.

Thousands of property owners who never believed they’d have water views from their kitchen windows suddenly were surrounded by water views; all unwanted!

Land subsidence and slippage caused much damage to many houses, also. Chaos ruled.

Not only Brisbane suffered during the 1974 floods; but the flooding in the city surely did surprise us all.  We weren’t prepared for what occurred in any way.

The block of units I lived in weren’t affected; we were lucky; and we knew it.

After taking the boys to see “The Wizard of Oz” on the Saturday; and then the brief visit to the Regatta Hotel on the Sunday morning, the rest of the time I remained at home, listening to music, reading, watching television, keeping up to date with what was going on around me. Sasha and Smocka, my two cats kept me company.  They weren’t keen to go outside and get their paws wet. 

We didn’t re-open our work premises again until Wednesday, 30^th January.  John and I had contacted our staff and we’d asked them to bring to work old rags and towels, detergent, disinfectant, buckets and other cleaning items.  We collected and put together as much cleaning equipment and products as we could. One of our young staff needed help.

During the Wednesday morning John and I drove out to Graceville, a western suburb to hand over the rags, disinfectant etc., to the home where Carol, a junior staff member lived.  She was a boarder in a private home at Graceville.  The house had been inundated with water, mud and all other kind of stinking debris. 

 John and I waded through thigh-high water to reach where Carol and the owners of the home waited for us.  It was heartbreaking to see the suffering people were going through.  We had enough gear with us for the home owners to share with some of their neighbours.  It was the least we could do; and it wasn't a lot.

There was a feeling of helplessness, and perhaps, even some guilt amongst those of us who hadn’t been directly affected by the devastating flood.   Where to start....

The following Saturday, I gathered together similar equipment and went to the home of friends in St. Lucia.  Their home, too, had not escaped the unforgiving waters of the Brisbane River during the 1974 Australia Day weekend.

It took years and years for those affected by the 1974 floods to get over them, both physically and mentally; some never did; or never will.  And, to me, that's understandable.

DON’T PUSH ME! DON’T TRY ME! I’M CRANKY!

I’m always cranky; it’s just the depth that varies; it’s akin to the saying with which you’re no doubt familiar. 

I've not made it public knowledge, but the television show "Grumpy Old Women" was actually based on me.  I gave them permission, of course; but I've not yet received any financial reward for doing so.  That makes me cranky, as you can well imagine!

I'm cranky because it's too damned hot here at present. Just attempting to do the simplest of things and I end up as a pool of water on the floor!  I hate it!  (I suppose, on the up side, the floor is getting washed)! 

Two minutes out from under a lukewarm shower...and it's time to get back under it again.  The humidity is so high it makes me cranky!  Wring me out like a rag! 

And, again, I guess there is an up side...there's no point using the bath towel to dry myself, because within seconds, I'm dripping wet again...so I'm saving on doing the laundry!

I’m cranky I’ve no more Christmas cake left.  I’m cranky because I have only myself to blame. No one else is responsible for its demise; I ate it all; not in one sitting - don't be silly!. I'd be even crankier if someone else had eaten it all!   

Of course, I could make myself another one, but the only times I think of making fruit cakes are Christmas and Easter.   And, as I've already said...it's too damn hot...too damn hot to be baking, that's for sure!  I'm baking and I'm not even in the oven!

Along with needing a retake on the cake, I’m cranky because there’s not a skerrick left of my ham, either. 

No! I didn’t eat the bone; but there was no point making pea and ham soup.  However, I wasn’t cranky about being unable to make the soup. It’s too darn hot for such a hearty soup.   

Like a battering ram I may have done the lam on the ham a while ago now, but it doesn’t mean I still can’t be cranky there is no more for me to feast upon. 

Hold the horses or swine…I’ve just remembered I cut off a few slices and hid them in my freezer.  Eureka!

The IGA-branded ham I devoured with relish (at times also accompanied by a dab or two of the bottled variety – one may as well go the whole hog) was the best ham I’ve had in a long time. From the first slice to the very last scrap I was hooked. Each time I removed the ham from its bag I became a frenzied harridan.  My shrew colours shone through!

Sadly, the day arrived when I had no other option but to wash, fold and put away my empty ham bag until next Christmas, which will probably be here again before we know it. All right! Calm down! I'm the only one allowed to be cranky around here!  I’ll go and wash my mouth out with soap!  

Being cranky makes me cranky; and just when I get over feeling cranky something else happens, and my cranky gets cranked up again!  

I’m not sure if it’s just me, or if others feel similarly to how I do, but there seems to be more idiots in the world today than ever before.   

Today we’re living in a “What’s Yours Is Mine” society. 

The mantra of those who believe they live in the “What’s Yours Is Mine” society is - “I don’t have to work to earn money to live. If something belongs to someone else, I don’t care! I want it! It’s mine; I'm going to take it!”   

Discipline, respect, thoughtfulness, empathy, politeness and good manners are becoming words of the past.  One day very soon we’ll have to go to a museum to view them; to see that once they did, in fact, exist.  We’ll find them in an exhibit a few metres across from the dinosaur display. 

Those of us who choose to live quiet, peaceful lives while enjoying time with loved ones and friends, when and if desired; those of us who simply do the things that give us pleasure with no intentions of interfering in the lives others are being held to ransom by fools.   

It’s not right; and it’s not right to hold the police or governments responsible for the actions of idiots.  People have to start becoming responsible and accountable for their own actions.  It’s time for them to wake up to themselves. Such people make me very cranky, indeed!

I'm extremely cranky about clowns who break into or try to break into the premises and/or private property of others; like the deadbeats who tried to break into my neighbours' garage during the early hours of the morning a couple of weeks ago!  They got disturbed by the owners before they completed their intent...they were intent on stealing my neighbours' cars.  There are only three house in this lane, and then my cabin...it is, or was, a quiet, peaceful, secure area. 

Everyone who lives on this lane has worked all their lives to earn their keep, without having to lower themselves to criminal activities for survival.  

You can bet you bottom dollar the idiots who broke into my neighbours' property have never done an honest day's work in their lives!  These sorts of people and their actions make me very cranky!  Angry is probably even a better description!

I’m solely responsible for the destruction of my Christmas cake and ham.  I’m accountable; no one else. I am responsible for who I am; I'm accountable for my actions; why the hell aren't others accountable for their actions?  Who do they think they are? What the hell gives them the right?

While I’m cranked up…Derryn Hinch being in prison makes me cranky.  I admire Derryn for standing by his principles. Shame, shame, shame; shame on our hypocritical justice system; it’s a sham!  Our justice system, the judges and magistrates who sit on the benches make me cranky, too!

 http://www.theage.com.au/victoria/derryn-hinch-arrested-reports-20140117-30zob.html

I used to know Derryn personally.  He is a good man.

And I'm sick to death of all the politically-correct garbage and the flag-waving civil libertarian so-called "do-gooders" who always appear, to me, to be on the side of the criminals...never the victims.  I think our weak justice system is made up of such thinkers if the pathetic sentences that are handed out; and those that aren't that should be set are any guideline!

I’m going to scram to reflect fondly on my ham bag; and of the ham it once held. Damn! I’ve no more ham, but I do have a Tim Tam. 

To be honest, as well as being cranky, I’m also a ham at times!

Ham & Egg Cups: Preheat oven 190C.  Heat 1tbs butter and 1tbs x-virgin olive oil in pan; sweat 2 large, finely-chopped shallots, 3mins; add 300g thawed, well-drained spinach; stir in 1/3 to 1/2c cream; season with salt, pepper and grated nutmeg; cook, stir often until cream thickens; about 5mins. Grab 8 ham slices; line non-stick muffin cups with ham; spoon heaped tablespoon spinach mix into cups; crack an egg into each; don’t break yolks; season; bake about 15mins. Cool briefly in cups; then remove to serve.  

Tim Tam Brownies: Preheat oven 190C. Melt 1/2c butter; remove from heat; stir in 1/2c cocoa powder and 1c firmly-packed brown sugar. Beat 2 eggs and 1/2tsp vanilla; blend in 1/2c plain flour and 1/4tsp salt. Spoon a thin layer of batter into lined dish; arrange Tim Tams on top of batter; cover Tim Tams with remaining batter; bake 15mins. Cut into squares when cool.  

No-Bake Tim Tam Tart: Remove label from a 395g can of condensed milk; pierce 2 small holes in top. Put can in a slightly larger pan; fill pan with cold water to about 1cm below top of can; bring to boil; simmer 3hrs (I can simmer for longer than that!) ensuring water level doesn’t drop below 1cm from top of can. When the caramel has cooked, remove can from water; cool a little before opening. Spoon into a bowl; cool. Base: blitz 200g pkt original Tim Tams in processor until fine crumbs. Melt 30g butter; cool slightly, then mix with crumbs; press firmly into base of 20cm loose-bottomed tart tin; push up the sides of tin to make case; chill, 25mins. Topping; melt 200g 70% dark chocolate with 50g butter in bowl over pan of hot water; stir to combine; cool. Pour layer of caramel over base; pour layer of melted choc over caramel; chill

ANDREI’S STORY -

Yakutsk, Sakha Republic

 

Gregory-Cannon Valley Road

 

Cannonvale

Cannonvale just before entering Airlie Beach

Balcony at Whitsunday Resort

 

Whitsunday Sailing Club Airlie Beach

We stayed somewhere up there on the hill in the background

 

Coral Sea Resort where Costello worked

Abell Point, Airlie Beach

 

Whitsunday Resort as it was known in the Nineties

Airlie Beach Main Street

 A few years ago I posted this story about a fine young man I had the good fortune to meet back in August, 1993.  As so often it is in life, the young man, the subject of my story and I lost contact not long after his return to his home in Yakutsk, Eastern Siberia; but I've never forgotten him. Often, throughout the intervening years I thought fondly about the brief time he and I shared.  

Many times I've gone in search through the internet with the hope I'd find him. My myriad searches were in vain; the results negative. Frustrated, but determined never to give up, a couple of weeks ago while re-reading the letters I'd received from him written in early 1994 after my then young friend's return to his home country, I donned my Sherlock Holmes guise once again; placed my deerstalker cap securely on my head; polished my magnifying glass and hunted about for my pipe, but I couldn't find it. However, I wouldn't let a small detail like that stand in my way; nothing was going to deter me.  I wasn't going to allow one minor hiccup to hinder my latest search.

Lo and behold!  This time I hit the jackpot!  I stumbled across a site - "Yakutia Today".  It's a website dedicated to the Sakha Republic (Yakutia), Eastern Siberia...the biggest Russian region. The region where Andrei was raised.

"In for a penny, in for a pound"  - or " In for a kopeck in for a rouble", I thought. 

Hastily, I penned an email giving a concise explanation about my quarry, the subject of my query and sent it off to a gentleman at "Yakutia Today".  

Within a couple of days the wheels of progress had been set in motion.  And then, on Saturday morning, 11th January, 2014 I awoke to an email from Andrei.  I read it with a wide smile across my face and with tears streaming down my face.  I could hardly believe my eyes.  How happy I am to have found him....after all these years...20 years!  He is now married to a beautiful young lady; and they live in Moscow.  I hope from now on we remain in contact.

The wonders of the Internet.....

So below I am re-posting my story about Andrei....grab yourself a mug of coffee....settle in and enjoy.....

I've written quite a few tales about my life on the islands; but I have lived a life of adventures on the mainland, too, just in case you were wondering! (Not so much these days, though…now the quiet life is my umbrella…one of my own choosing).

For something completely different, here is a little story about one of my escapades on the mainland...it's one of many; and one of the best!

I left Newry Island to return to a more “normal” existence in Glenden where I secured a position as chef/cook with Morris Corporation, a national and international catering company.

Morris Catering won the contract for Expo 88. Throughout the years Morris Corporation has worked closely with the UN, securing contracts in Cambodia, Somalia, East Timor, Iraq and elsewhere. Actually, David Morris, who originally established the company, and Tyson, one of his sons both were murdered in Somalia; Tyson in an ambush in 1993; and David in 1995.

 

Morris held the catering rights at the single-mens' canteen/mess in Glenden to service a Newlands coal mine in the coal-rich Bowen Basin in north Queensland.  

Glenden was designed and built by MIM (Mount Isa Mines. Xstrata took over MIM’s Newlands operations in 2003) for its workers. The mine is located 30kms from the town.  Construction of Glenden commenced in 1982; and by the time I arrived in mid-1991, it was barely 11 years old. At that time, the town’s population was around 1800.  It was a modern little town with all the necessities for easy living; a pool; tennis and squash courts and other sporting facilities; town club; supermarket, bank etc.

MIM requested Morris Corp. to build a first-class motel consisting of 20 en suited rooms, also with an on-site top class restaurant; all to accommodate visiting mining clientele...i.e. financiers, bankers, company hierarchy, top union officials (who were no friends of mine), company representatives etc; and Morris did as they were bidden to do.

Lorikeets Restaurant, part of the Glenden Country Motor Inn, was a modern, expensively-fitted out restaurant with a menu befitting its stream-lined appearance. As the restaurant’s chef, I also catered for overseas coal buyers who visited the area from all points on the globe with spending on their minds.

I have a few stories from this time that I will relate at a later date. The story in this present tome is about when I transferred within the company from Glenden to Collinsville, another coal-mining town nearby to become chef/manager of the single-men’s mess and quarters; also under contract to Morris.  Collinsville is the second oldest coal mining town in Queensland; the oldest being Ipswich. Collinsville is 273kms north-west of Mackay; 85kms inland from Bowen on the coast.

I was the first female chef/manager of the Collinsville Single Men’s Quarters and Mess, the first in the whole company, actually. It was a very interesting time for me, to say the least, and probably as interesting for the men for whom I catered! I took no nonsense from them; and they soon learned this fact; word travels fast!

Because of the company's involvement with the UN, after 'Glastnost' - introduced in the late 1980s by the then Russian President, Mikhail Gorbachev - an elite group of young people was selected from across Russia to visit the free Western World to learn about capitalism and the ways of business etc., Australia was one country amongst their designated destinations, and so too, was the Morris Corporation.  Some of the chosen were sent to the US, and others to the UK. From memory, only 100 (it may have been less) were selected out of the thousands and thousands who had been nominated from the wide, varied expanse of Russia.

A young man named Andrei Anisimov, aged 24 or thereabouts, was one these select young people.  Andrei was one of the four young folk who were sent to Australia.  To be a member of that elite group meant he was special; and very special he was.

Andrei lived in Yakutsk, the capital city of the Sakha Republic, Siberia, Russia. He lived with his mother in a small two bedroom apartment. She taught English at the local university; and because of his mother’s occupation, Andrei spoke perfect English.  Being a sub-arctic climate, Yakutsk’s temperatures ranges from 19.5C in July to minus 38.6C in January.  The coldest temperatures ever recorded outside of Antarctica occur in the Yana River, north-east of Yakutsk.  The lowest temperature recorded in Yakutsk was -64.4C; and the highest, +38.4C. 

At the time of this story of my telling, the average wage per month in Yakutsk (and, no doubt, in other areas) was $20.00.  Andrei was hoping to get a position with the Gold Bank of Yakutsk on his return to his home country.  His older brother worked for the bank and his monthly wage was $100.00.  That was considered to be a very good income.  Before Andrei’s brother married he also lived in the two bedroom unit with their mother.  It was only by marrying that Andrei's brother, Vladimir was allowed a unit of his own; that was the law of the land.

I give this detailed information to help the reader understand Andrei and of starkness of his life in Eastern Siberia.

Upon his arrival in Queensland (his first port of call in his introduction to Australia), Andrei was allocated to the head office of Morris Catering then situated at Yatala.  Not knowing what to do with him head office decided to ship him out; off their hands; out of sight; out of mind. He wasn’t their responsibility was their ill-informed belief.  One could read "ignorant" for "ill-informed", if that description is preferred.

Carol, the personal secretary of the managing director, Robert McVicker (who was overseas at the time) in her thoughtlessness put the young man, a stranger to our country; who had only arrived to our shores a couple of days earlier onto the provisions’ truck that was about to depart on its weekly odyssey north - destined to off-load part of its cargo in Glenden for the miners’ canteen, the motel and restaurant; and, thence, after an overnight stay in Glenden, travel further north to me at the Collinsville Mess to deposit my ordered provisions and other requirements.

When Andrei arrived in Glenden Charles and Karen, the motel managers were away on a short break. Colin, the Area Manager for Morris Catering who was based in Glenden was keeping an eye on the motel during their absence.  Colin didn’t live on the premises at the motel while Karen and Charles were away; so he wasn’t there all the time. A young fill-in receptionist handled the necessary duties when present. Taking a break wasn’t something the managers did often, but, unfortunately, the timing of their being away from the motel and Andrei’s visit collided, unfavourably. Karen and Charles were not to blame.  They weren’t informed by head office of Andrei’s pending arrival.  Not one person at head office thought to check ahead to organise the young man’s visit; to make him feel welcome and to ensure he had a pleasant experience...his first in a new country. 

Andrei spent part of the day and the night alone in Glenden; in a motel room. Nobody bothered about him or thought to take him under their wings. Nobody had bothered about him in Yatala; and now he'd been loaded onto the truck like a piece of meat...out of sight; out of mind! His ill-treatment had become a bad habit!  It was a dreadful situation, in my opinion.   

I only found out about the badly-handled situation from Andrei when he arrived on my doorstep in Collinsville. He didn’t complain. He told it as it was.  If he felt slighted he kept his feelings hidden. 

When I heard his story I was very angry and embarrassed that the company’s employees could act so ignorantly and thoughtlessly!  As it was, as an afterthought, head office had only informed me late in the afternoon before the morning of Andrei's pending arrival in Collinsville. Those in head office should have been sent to a seminar on the art of dealing with people; they certainly had a lot to learn!

My brother, Graham had been staying with me for a few days. At the time, he lived and worked in Mackay. When I arrived home from work in the evening I told him about the young Russian; his expected visit and my tentatively made plans to occupy and entertain him during his stay.   

Collinsville’s permanent population lies around 2,600; excluding "fly-in-fly-out" workers; it’s not a bustling metropolis. It's a small town that services the coal mine; and it's surrounded by cattle properties.

Graham planned to return home to Mackay mid-morning the next day after I’d left for work; my work day usually started around 5.30-6 am and finished around 9 pm.  It was unusual for Graham to leave during the daylight hours. His normal practice was to drive at night, preferring night driving. I can’t remember the reason for his change in attitude at that particular time.  He may have been calling into Midge Point on his way back home to Mackay, as one of his sons lived there at the time.

Early Wednesday morning arrived; and so did the truck bearing all my supplies, and my young charge.  The truck pulled into the loading-unloading area at the rear entrance of the mess building. I was there, as usual, to greet the driver and to assist him unload.

From the passenger side of the cabin, Andrei gingerly stepped down. I glimpsed a slight amount the confusion and shyness in his eyes. He'd just come across from Glenden, through the back roads (read “bush track” to Collinsville); having left before dawn. It would have been quite an introduction to the Australian countryside for a young fellow from a distant country; a country so different to the one he found himself in

The unsealed road between the two towns was (and probably still is) just a narrow, winding dirt track. Most of the vast expanse of land is taken up by beef cattle properties; uninterrupted areas of land with few signs of human life upon it. It was obvious to me that everything the young Russian would have experienced so far in his short time in Australia was totally remote, strange and foreign to what he was used to in Yakutsk. 

I’d deduced from the information I’d received by telephone from both Brisbane and Glenden, he’d not been made to feel at home or at ease by anyone, anywhere; so, it was understandable, to me, that he’d be feeling a little ill-at-ease.  Having spent the past few days being mostly ignored; and then jumping down from the truck’s cabin into further un-chartered territory, it would be confusing to the most intrepid traveller!

As Andrei’s feet hit the ground, I smiled and immediately extended my hand in a warm greeting. His face lit up and his black eyes flashed as he grabbed my hand in return.

I beamed at him and said:

"G’day, Andrei! Welcome to Collinsville…I’m Lee! You have two options, Andrei...you can stay in one of the 'dongas'; they’re the demountables…the single men’s accommodation huts. They consist of a single bed; an empty bar fridge; bathroom and little else....or, you can come and stay at my house with me. I have three bedrooms, so you’ll have your own room; a full-sized, stocked fridge and freezer; an excellent stereo system, plus a load of music of all descriptions to choose from; a well-stocked pantry and bar; and, a television and VCR, to top everything off. I have two cats and a cocker spaniel. They’ve never been known to attack Eastern Siberians!  I've a barbecue area out the back; and there’s lots of room for you to stretch your legs. They are your two choices – free run of my home or a boring old donga!  You have a minute to make up your mind!"

His face opened up with a broad smile. He chose the second option in about a second!  He wasn’t silly!

Andrei transferred his suitcase from the truck into the company’s little four-wheel drive Suzuki that was my means of transport during my tenure with Morris Catering; and then he helped Kev, the truck driver and me unload my goods from the truck into the storeroom.   

Margaret, my breakfast cook was busily buzzing around the kitchen preparing breakfast for the miners; filling up the eight-bay bain-marie with delicious hot fare while placing bowls of freshly-prepared fruit salad etc., in the refrigerated salad bar. Some had just finished their midnight to dawn shift; and others were just starting their day. Kev, Andrei and I found a table in the dining room where we hungrily tucked into a hot breakfast; including fresh fruit salad.  Kev and Andrei were particularly famished after their early start to the morning.  I doubt Andrei had had much to eat the previous evening. He’d probably not had a decent meal since setting foot on Australian soil, for that matter.

Once we’d finished our breakfast, we said our goodbyes to Kev, and I then drove Andrei to my home so he could deposit his luggage and check out what was to be his new home for the next few days.  Graham was in the process of loading his car in readiness for his own departure to Mackay. 

The three of us chatted for a while; and then another farewell was extended; to Graham this time.  Andrei and I then headed back to the Mess.  I really didn’t know what to do with him, but I wasn’t going to ignore his presence. He’d been ignored enough already by others. He joined me in my office where we chatted while I attended to some paper work.  Once I finished those chores he followed me to the kitchen. Wanting to be helpful, he asked for a job.  So I handed him a couple of pumpkins to peel and chop; but then I had second thoughts. 

My vivid imagination went into over-drive. I could see him slicing off a finger or more; a shiver went down my spine.  Deciding I didn’t want to send him back home to his mother minus a digit or two, I took the large knife off him and suggested that perhaps washing dishes and pots was a better option.  He didn’t raise an eyebrow, nor an argument.  I doubt he’d seen a pumpkin before that morning; or if he had, he’d never previously handled one as big as the gourds I placed on the bench in front of him.  It felt awkward having Andrei at work with me. He wasn’t familiar with a commercial kitchen; and commercial kitchens can be dangerous environments for the uninitiated; particularly when it gets busy.

Once I felt he was safely involved in the washing up with little chance of harming himself, I returned to the privacy of my office to ring Loretta, my kitchen-hand, to ask her to start her shift a little earlier than usual.  I then rang another of my kitchen staff to come into work to assist Loretta during her shift.  Both were happy to oblige (they’d be paid for their extra time).

My normal daily routine was spent attending to my office duties in the mornings up until around 1 pm; from then on, I moved into the kitchen where I spent the afternoons preparing the evening meals for the miners. I worked through until after dining hours, finishing up around 8.30 to 9 pm each night.   Loretta was my kitchen hand; my off-sider; she was my right hand; not just my kitchen hand.   She and I worked together very well. We had lots of fun working together, too…that’s half the battle.  Loretta knew only one speed…full throttle!

She’d been an employee of Morris Catering long before I arrived on the scene. Loretta helped me get acclimatized right from the word “go”. 

The morning I arrived in Collinsville for the first time, I’d only been in my house for about an hour when there was a tap on the front door.  Upon opening the door I espied a stranger standing on the landing at the top of the stairs. Greeting me was a wiry, short in stature woman with dancing eyes; spread across her tanned face was a wide, bright smile. I was sure her teeth reflected the sparkling sun, not unlike the teeth of Tony Curtis’s character in “The Great Race”!  I’d never before in my life received such a cheery, welcoming greeting as the one Loretta gave me that morning; nor have I received a similar one since.  She was bouncing with energy and excitement.  Her exuberance was contagious.   

On her way to work (I soon learned she was one member of my staff of five), Loretta decided to pop across the street before heading off to work to introduce herself; welcome me to the town; and to extend an invitation to follow her to the mess hall to check out the building and set-up, and, also, to have lunch; or the alternative, she’d bring some lunch to me when on her way to the mine to drop off the miners’ cribs. I agreed to the first option presented to me.  Making sure Pushkin and Rimsky, my two cats, and Missy, the cocker spaniel were settled in safe and secure, I went with Loretta to the mess hall.  I had to pick up the company vehicle, anyway. 

Loretta had no hidden agenda; she wasn’t trying to get in “the good books” of her new boss. It was just the way she was.  What a breath of fresh air she was.

To top it off, as we got to know each other as each day went by, we discovered we had a mutual love of country music.  Loretta’s husband worked away on a fruit and vegetable farm at Gumlu, north of Bowen. “Crowie” returned home infrequently. She lived alone the majority of the time with her two large dogs and her egg-laying chickens as company; chickens that assisted her productive vegetable and herb garden; the trimmings of which, along with scraps from the mess, benefited the chickens; a never-ending cycle.  Loretta had one of the best rose gardens I’ve ever seen. Joining all of the above in her backyard were giant mango trees, along with lemon, grapefruit and orange trees.  I had five mango trees of my own in my yard…magnificent specimens of Bowen Mangoes!  All my Christmases had come at once when I moved into 25 Pelican Street, Collinsville.

With Loretta living across the street from me and the two of us working well together, we soon became firm friends. She was a trustworthy, loyal workmate and friend.  She was/is one of the most genuine people I’ve met. Loretta is one in a million; a true ray of sunshine.

We spent many of our off-hours listening to music at one or the other of our homes while she sipped on her home brew; and me on red wine or scotch; or other times, rum; depending on my mood at any given time, surrounded by our ever-loyal, if not sometimes bemused, menagerie of pets.

Between the two of us we had a massive library of music. Loretta was a tiny little thing; her head barely reached as high as my armpit; but she was as strong as a mallee bull.  With “Crowie”, her husband, absent most of the time, she did everything around the home and yard. Rarely did she sit still, not during daylight hours, anyway!  She serviced their cars; she even jacked up the rear of their old house and laid new floor boards in the back area; and she painted the interior…all by herself!   She was a wonder! She weighed little more than a plucked sparrow when wet, but I'd back her in a fight any day! 

I'm fortunate in that I've met and gotten to know some wonderful people along my life's path.

I do digress…back to Andrei…

Once Loretta arrived, Andrei and I headed home. Settling him in and showing him where everything was that he needed to know about, I grabbed some ice, a bottle of Bundaberg Rum and a bottle of Coca Cola. I handed Andrei my portable cassette player and a box full of tapes to carry.  Rather than have my upstairs stereo system blasting the neighbours out of their homes, the portable player was a suitable substitution for outdoor entertaining.  Joined by Missy and the cats, we went downstairs to my backyard where, upon my moving into the house, I’d erected a shade-cloth over the barbecue area that consisted of outdoor table, chairs and barbecue - making the area a gazebo of types – Collinsville-type! I put together a platter of tasty tidbits to graze upon; and there, around the table we sat for hours and hours; talking, laughing, enjoying the music; and learning a lot about each other’s country and our respective                lives therein. 

It was Andrei who introduced me to the music of the late Gary Moore, the Northern Ireland born blues/rock/progressive rock guitarist - ex-Thin Lizzy band member as part of his resumé.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lbJI1y0i1mk

Andrei loved music. He told me he played the drums in a little band he and a couple of his friends formed back home. I learned much about his life in Yakutsk; about his family and the lifestyle. As I mentioned previously, his mother taught English at the university and he had studied English at school and while at university. His command of the English language, therefore, was excellent. We’d gotten on immediately; from the moment he first stepped off the truck earlier that morning. Andrei had a wonderful sense of humour. We talked well into the night, extending into the wee small hours. 

The last vision I had of him before he went to bed was his chin resting on my kitchen counter, tears of laughter rolling down his face, while he told me he had fallen in love with Bundaberg Rum!  I’d given him his first introduction to good old “Bundy”!  I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not!

When I rose early next morning to go into work, Andrei was still sleeping soundly in his bed. I left a note for him on the kitchen bench to ring me when he was ready to come into the Mess and that I would come back home to pick him up. This he did around 10.30am. I took him for a tour around Collinsville, which took all of about five minutes; maybe six; and then I drove out to the coal mine. I'd organised for one of the foremen at the mine to give us a guided tour. Andrei was interested in all that he saw. 

On the way back from the mine, I stopped off at Collinsville’s small supermarket. Andrei's eyes grew larger and larger. He had never seen so many products on the shelves of a supermarket. And, as I said, Collinsville's supermarket was a very small supermarket compared to those in the larger regional cities and major cities. Collinsville is not a large town. 

Everything was new and wonderful to Andrei. His enthusiasm was contagious. It all began to look new to me, too, as I saw the world around me through his eyes.  The variety of products and the quantity of products on the supermarket shelves amazed and intrigued him. He’d never experienced anything like it before.

I gave him a couple of small, safe jobs to do when we arrived back at the mess, but mainly I just continued talking with him while I worked in the office. 

I looked at him sitting across from my desk and said; "How about I take you to the coast for the weekend. There's nothing for you to do here in Collinsville.  I'd like to show you more of the area...would you like to do that?"

I didn’t tell him, but I had planned to go to Rose Bay, one of the wonderful beaches of Bowen that weekend.  I’d already booked my regular little cabin, “Laguna” that sat right on the beachfront before I learned Andrei was coming to Collinsville.  I didn’t tell him because I didn’t want him thinking he’d upset my plans; and he wasn't.  "Laguna" would always be there, but Andrei wouldn't always be

spending time with me in an area that deserved to be discovered by him.  The choice I had to make was an easy one.

I felt that just spending the weekend at the cabin wouldn't be suitable for him as all I did when I went to the cabin was to laze on the deck savouring the magnificent view of Gloucester Island sitting like a gem on the turquoise-coloured waters of the Coral Sea. I wanted to show Andrei more of the Australian countryside. He may never get a chance to explore Australia, or parts thereof ever again, I believed.  

I telephone a friend of mine in Airlie Beach to see if she could find us accommodation in Airlie for the weekend. Susie worked in the front office of the Coral Sea Resort at the time. I knew if anyone could find accommodation for me, she was the one. Airlie Beach is approximately 160kms south-east of Collinsville; a little over two hours' drive away.

My timing was well off the mark! It was the weekend of the Whitsunday Yacht Race. Everyone, along with his or her dog and boat would be in town. Actually, they were already in town because the coming weekend was the culmination of the week-long event and celebrations. 

“Costello”, as Susie was called by all her friends gasped at my request; but she promised she’d do her best to find accommodation for us; and she’d ring me back as soon as possible.  A couple of hours later, she called, informing me that there was not a room to be found; other than one single room that consisted of a queen bed and one day-bed/sofa.

I turned to the young man sitting across from me, and said, "What do you think about sharing one room with an old, decrepit woman? There is a sofa, so I’ll take it - you can have the bed."

Andrei was receptive to anything I threw at him. Once again, his eyes lit up.  He readily agreed to my proposition.. Without hesitation, I asked Costello to book the room; the one and only room left in the Whitsunday Resort; and in all of Airlie Beach and Cannonvale, for that matter; and probably, Proserpine, as well!

I still had to fit in the long hours for the rest of the day and evening.; work didn’t go away.  Andrei filled his time helping out around the mess, the storeroom etc., but I purposely kept him away from my housekeepers who cleaned the dongas. 

 One, Trish Tudehope was the wife of the union rep out at the mine. Trish’s co-worker and best buddy, Jenny, followed her around like a stray puppy, and she hung on her every word.  Both women were in their mid-forties. I particularly didn’t like Trish or her politics and her union attitudes and affiliations. Her left-wing leanings were opposed to my beliefs.  She knew where she stood with me. I didn’t keep my feelings a secret; but as her boss, I treated her fairly.  Personally, I didn’t like her.  I didn’t want her anywhere near Andrei and corrupting him with her left-wing attitudes.  And don’t misunderstand me, she would venture into territory that she had no right to venture into with the young man.   

When I briefly introduced her to Andrei on his first day, immediately she started waffling on about a trip the union representatives, including her husband, had taken to Moscow a few years earlier. She was out of line in my opinion. I quickly steered the conversation away into another direct; steering Andrei away from her at the same time. 

Later on in the evening when he and I were chatting; and after we had become more relaxed in each others' company while listening to music and sipping on our rums, he brought the subject up – of how he was taken aback by Trish’s comments.  He thought it quite strange and quite rude; I agreed with him, wholeheartedly.  She had shown her true colours; I didn't allow her a second chance!

The evening  was spent quietly watching movies, talking; and no further bottles of Bundaberg rum were depleted.

We laughed our way through Steve Martin and Goldie Hawn’s “Housesitter”. The song, “Tura Lura, Lura” sung by Steve Martin while standing on the staircase of the housewarming party for his new home tickled our fancy.  And it became our “road song” as we travelled to Airlie Beach.  We sang the song as badly and as out of tune as Steve Martin had…unfortunately; but our hearts were in it; and we couldn't have cared less!

Saturday morning we both rose bright and early. We threw our bags into the back of the sprightly little white and blue Suzuki, and then jumped on board. Loretta promised to keep an eye on my pets during my absence. 

I could tell Andrei was feeling excited about the unknown adventure that lay ahead. His excitement radiated from his every pore.  His emotions were contagious; his joy was my joy.  

On the Sunday my plan was to drive Andrei on to Mackay for him to catch a flight back to Brisbane where he would spend a couple of days before heading off to Melbourne where he would spend time prior to returning home to Yakutsk; but in the meantime, Airlie Beach was waiting Andrei’s debut and one of my many encores!

With a selection of music playing in the car’s cassette player, like two wandering troubadours we headed off along the road from Collinsville to Bowen, 85kms away on the coast. Most of the countryside on the Collinsville-Bowen Road is dotted with rural beef cattle properties. Closer to Bowen we drove through the alluvial plain of the Don River, crossing the river’s bridge and onwards into the town of Bowen.

After a cruise along Bowen’s wide main street with its deep, deep gutters, we backtracked a short distance north of the business centre of town to the turn-off leading to Bowen’s magnificent beaches.  Bowen, situated on a peninsula, is surrounded by ocean on three sides; and on those three sides are many beautiful, not over-populated, over-developed bays. I took Andrei on a scenic tour of the beaches. He had never seen anything like the area before, nor had he ever seen before the type of homes we drove past. The size of the homes stunned him; even those you or I would consider small. It mattered not to him whether they were older homes or new.  Everything was new to Andrei; and through him, everything seemed new again to me, too.

He spent most of our drive-around with his mouth and eyes wide open.  Every now and then, I distinguished his soft gasps of wonderment and surprise. Andrei was enthralled; he took everything in with the enthusiasm of a child. It was impossible not to join him in his excitement. His happiness was infectious. 

Returning to Bowen, we then headed south out of town past the salt pans. We ambled along the highway leading us towards Airlie Beach. There was no hurry.  My wish was for Andrei to be able to absorb all that was around him; for him to experience and see everything of the countryside we were driving through.

Turning off the Bruce Highway onto the Gregory-Cannon Valley Road we passed through the lush region world heritage rainforest where the cane farms are hugged protectively by surrounding mountain ranges. 

The entrance into Airlie Beach through the northern access via Cannonvale is postcard-picturesque perfect.

Cannonvale loomed ahead, so too did the lush tree-covered headland that falls directly into the rich aquamarine-coloured sea below. 

As I drove around a bend Andrei spontaneously inhaled and then let out a loud gasp at the sight of the beauty before him. Anchored upon the crystal water were myriad boats of all sizes, styles and colours. The scene surrounding us was like something out of a tourism brochure or a Hollywood movie. It seemed to me the day had been tailor-made just for Andrei. 

Not a cloud blotted the clear blue sky above. The gentle breeze hardly caused a ripple on the surface of the water, nor did it stir the leaves on the trees densely fringing the road.

Entering Airlie Beach, I said to Andrei; “We’ll book into our room immediately to drop off our luggage; and then we’ll head into town, if that’s okay with you. Once I’ve parked the car, that’s where it will stay until it’s time for us to leave tomorrow. There will be no chance of finding a parking spot in town. And we won't be back to our room until much later tonight!”   

He acquiesced enthusiastically.

Whitsunday Resort, at that time back in 1993 was built on the crown of a steep hill. I'm not sure if the resort remains to this day; it may have been refurbished, or even replaced since then. Actually, I think it has been refurbished and added to, and is now known as "Summit Apartments"...as pictured above.

 I found a suitable, safe, off-road parking spot. We booked in and made haste to our room. We wasted no time after attending to the necessities.

 I nodded at Andrei – “You ready?”

“Yep! Let’s go!” He excitedly replied.

We were both in accord; and on a mission.

Bidding farewell to our room, knowing we wouldn’t see it again until we knew not when. We headed out, ready for whatever lay ahead!

Costello (Sue) and I had agreed to meet up with each other at the Whitsunday Sailing Club. She and her boyfriend, Jimmy Hayes, were amongst the organizers of the yacht race. Jimmy Hayes had, at one time, been commodore of the Whitsunday Sailing Club. I knew she would be very busy and I had no intentions of taking up much of her time.

(Jimmy was known to all and sundry as, “Jimmy Hayes” – I have no idea how or when that came about.  I met them both when I was living on Newry Island…and another story; and a good one - for another time)


As we approached Airlie’s main street a parade in celebration of the culmination of the Airlie Beach Race Week was underway. It had just begun shortly before our arrival. Colorfully decorated floats, clowns, jugglers and all forms of entertainment danced and pranced along the street. Crowds of people milled about everywhere. Five or six deep, or more, they lined the footpath. All was vibrant motion.

Even if I’d planned well in advance, I couldn’t have chosen a better weekend to show Andrei a snippet of our Aussie lifestyle than that weekend. It was as if it was meant to be.

The small coastal township was alive with happy folk; all were in a celebratory mood. The air was bursting with adrenaline. Andrei couldn’t wipe the smile from his face; and neither could I from my own.

We strolled leisurely through the street. My guest was in awe of everything around him. He had never seen or participated in anything like it before. We arrived at the Sailing Club and found a vacant table outside on the deck over-looking the water. The Club is situated on the point with the ocean on both side. The view was outstanding with an atmosphere to match.

We’d not been seated long when Costello arrived, bubbling as much as the champagne she’d been enjoying since mid-morning! She invited us to a party at her apartment, but after conferring with Andrei, I declined on behalf of us both. I figured it would be far more interesting for him to partake in the afternoon and evening’s events at the Sailing Club, than being cooped up in an apartment amongst strangers. Fair enough that he was going to be amongst strangers at the Club, but a band was due to commence playing.  My belief was he would enjoy the euphoric pandemonium of the club much better.  I knew I would!

The afternoon aimlessly drifted by in sweet delight. Night fell. We ordered dinner and settled in for an evening of entertainment and fun.

The band was excellent. Andrei’s feet and hands tapped rhythmically with the music.  He tossed me a quizzical look; I understood his unspoken question.  Soon he and I were up on the floor rocking the night away. In between music breaks some of the band members joined our table, much to Andrei’s pleasure. He discovered he had a lot in common with the guys because of his own small band back home in Yakutsk; and because of his love of drumming. The conversation and laughter across our table flowed easily and freely.

The time came for the last bracket. The band continued playing rocking good music; and we continued kicking up our heels.

With my mind occupied with the music and the ambience of the night, to my shocked surprise, I realised my partner had disappeared from view. I looked down; Andrei had fallen to the floor! There he was...at my feet!

His surprise descent, I discovered, was purposely performed!  I burst out laughing. He had perfectly and effortlessly, without warning, performed the splits...down and up again as quick as a flash! The crowd cheered and clapped, even the band members applauded his effort.  It was a fitting finale to our time spent at the Whitsunday Sailing Club.

We said our farewells to the band members, thanking them before we headed off to join the merry group of revellers out in the streets.

Walking past the Airlie Beach Hotel, we popped in for one last drink, just for fun. Why not...it had been that kind of day and night. The air was filled with happiness and excitement. The hotel was closing and the call was out for last drinks.

Turning into Airlie’s main street after our brief pub visit, we came upon a park wherein a large crowd was gathering. Forever curious, we stopped to see what all the fuss was about.

A band was setting up to play on the long, covered, flat tray of a huge truck.  One side of the tray was opened up to the attending public.  Not ready to call the evening quits, we settled ourselves down on the grass in front of the makeshift stage.

By that time it was shortly after midnight. Airlie Beach celebrations were still in full swing. I can’t remember the name of the band.  They were from Mackay I overheard someone in the audience say. They played brilliantly; and to our surprised joy, they covered Pink Floyd’s music; which is not an easy feat to achieve; and achieve it they did, expertly. 

In no time at all, the crowd numbers increased even more. The band performed for an hour or so; they were memorable.

After our sojourn in the park Andrei and I strolled back up the hill to our accommodation.

Both of us were still processing the day and night’s events. Sleep was the last thing from our minds.  We sat out on the balcony, looking at the stars and picking out images in the cloud formations above. Over steaming cups of coffee, we rehashed everything we’d done, seen and enjoyed.

It was difficult to bring the day to an end, but I knew we had to rise early in the morning to continue our trip on to Mackay and the airport. 

Sadly, Andrei’s visit was drawing to an end. 

A friendly argument ensured as to who was going to have the bed and who was going to sleep on the sofa. I won the battle! I insisted Andrei have the bed. He’d never in his life before slept in a queen-size bed, let alone in a resort, I believed; however, I didn’t divulge my belief to him.  I wanted him to enjoy everything; for him to have the best memories possible of his time spent with me...at Collinsville and Airlie Beach...and all areas in between.  I was enjoying myself. I was having one of the best times in my life.

I reminded Andrei what I had said way back at the beginning in my office when I made the booking; that I would hear no argument from him regarding the sleeping arrangements. 

He was my guest. I wanted him to soak up - to absorb the whole ambience of his stay in North Queensland. I told him I preferred the sofa because I could look at the stars as I fell to sleep.

He perched himself up in bed like the lord of the manor. 

Looking at me, he said:

“Lee…I thank you. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. This has been the most wonderful day of my life. To spend the time with you these past couple of days will be something I will never forget. I don’t want this day to end.”

I understood...I felt similar.

Humbled, I thanked him.  I agreed that we’d had a wonderful time; that I had enjoyed it as much as he had - but we must get some sleep!

Like a mischievous child, he said, “Okay…but I’m going to have one more cigarette…just one more!”

How could I deny him? I laughed.  It had been a special time for me, as well

.
Not many hours later, we were on the road again continuing our adventure as we travelled along the highway south to Mackay, where we arrived a little after 8am. We decided to have breakfast at “Hungry Jacks” before driving to the airport. It was as if we were both trying to halt the inevitable; but time doesn't allow us mere mortals to stop it, unfortunately.

Another debate arose. Andrei insisted on paying for our breakfasts. I tried to put forth a valid argument, but he wouldn’t let me win the debate. He wanted to do it, so I gave in and let him.

Sitting across the table from me, he looked directly into my eyes; and with undeniable sincerity, he said:

 “As long as I live I will always remember the special, unique time I spent with a woman called “Lee”.  I thank you, Lee - so very much!”

Of course, being who I am, tears flooded my eyes. And for once, I was lost for words.

We arrived at Mackay Airport. Few words had been exchanged since leaving "Hungry Jacks". We were both lost in our own thoughts.

While waiting as Andrei checked in his luggage, I turned around and came face to face with Graham, my brother. He had decided to come out to the airport to bid Andrei farewell. Graham had told me on the telephone he might do so, but I said nothing about his tentative plan to Andrei, in case it didn’t come into fruition. 

When Andrei returned to where I was standing, the look of surprised happiness on his face at seeing Graham standing there alongside me is one I will never forget. Andrei was overcome that someone who had only met him for brief minutes in time would do something like that - for him.   

It was another wonderful moment I will never forget.

By the time Andrei was called for his flight the three of us had tears in our eyes. 

Andrei shook Graham’s hand; and then he turned to me. He gave me the biggest bear hug I’ve ever had in my life. 

Eventually, I pushed him away gently, saying:

 “Go! Go! Go before I turn into a blubbering mess!”

 It was a bit too late for that – I was already a blubbering mess!

With tear-filled eyes, Graham and I watched as Andrei walked towards the ‘Exit” door.

At the door, Andrei spun around, blocking the path of all those coming behind him. He swung his arms out wide, and then down the length of his torso; he bent down, sweeping his body into a low bow as a grand salute to me. He then turned and walked across the tarmac to where his plane waited.

And there in front of me was another moment in time frozen in my memory. I shall not forget the vision of Andrei’s farewell gesture.  His gesture said more than a thousand words could say.

Leaving the airport terminal, Graham instructed me to follow his car. I obeyed, not quite understanding what I was obeying, but I was soon to find out.  We pulled alongside a grassy verge at the rear of the Mackay airport runway. There we alighted from our vehicles to watch as Andrei’s plane lifted and turned on its way south to Brisbane.  We waved, hoping he could see us.

It was a beautiful thing my brother did that day. It had meant so much to Andrei. And it meant so much to me.

After saying our ‘Good-Byes’, Graham went home; and I turned my car north towards back Collinsville; and "Normalville".

Andrei rang me from Brisbane a couple of times before he left for Melbourne. He stayed in Melbourne for a few weeks, during which time he, again, telephoned me. Andrei laughingly told me he wasn’t like the rest of the group who had come to Australia. They, he said, saved the money they received during their visit; but not Andrei; Andrei bought himself a spanking-new stereo system! 

He left Melbourne after his time in Australia, to head back to Yakutsk, via Moscow.  It was a long way around…Yakutsk is in the same time zone as we are!

He and I corresponded for a while upon his return home. He had gained employment at the Gold Bank in Yakutsk, earning $300.00 a month, which was classed as extremely good money as the average wage at that time in a similar position (it was equivalent to around $100US a month). His older brother Vladimir also worked in the Gold Bank and, at one stage, was based in Melbourne.

During my next visit to Airlie Beach, I found a t-shirt in one of the menswear stores. It was a “Bundaberg Rum” t-shirt. It had a plastic-sealed pocket on the front filled with Bundaberg Rum!  How could I resist it? I bought the t-shirt and sent it to Andrei in memory of a great time shared.

He rang me from Yakutsk upon its receipt to thank me. I asked him had he drunk the rum and he told me he would wait until winter! It only gets around 40 degrees below there in Yakutsk. I think he would need a shipload of rum to help keep warm!

During our wander down the main street of Airlie Beach that memorable sunny Saturday afternoon, we bought raffle tickets; first prize being a wheelbarrow full of Bundaberg Rum. We didn’t win it, but we did discuss how we could make money from our win.  We’d export Bundaberg Rum into Russia. We never did anything about our grandiose ideas, of course. I wonder if anyone has!

And, sadly, we’ve lost contact these days, even though I’ve tried to find him through computer searches.  Maybe one day a search will be fruitful.

I often think of Andrei, wondering how his life has turned out.  I hope he’s having a happy life.

 Those few days in his company will always remain very special to me.

I feel honoured to have met and gotten to know such a fine young man