The Bitter Harvest

By Armin Boko

The Bitter Harvest combining author's literary output since 2010 in three distinct parts touches on running sores of our society.

Two short Australiana novels form PART ONE: 'The Wombat Flats Cotton Farm', and 'The Fortune Seekers' guide the reader to parts of the Outback tourists are not likely see; home to a breed of rugged colourful individuals ready to defend their turf from enchroaching Big Money and

punishing weather by all means at hand..

PART TWO, the poetry section beginns with 'The American Trilogy'' daring to ask taboo questions. Whereto did the trillions vanish in the GFC smoke? Remaining poems are reflections from the heart and soul of a common pilgrim.

PART THREE in 'Borneo Desert' presents a dark prediction for the near planet's future, as seen through the eyes of a scientist cum adventurer. who had done his homework. In the final analysis we can only expect to reap what we sow-thence the Bitter Harvest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Aug 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456781415

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© 2011 Armin Boko. All rights reserved.

Sunset Cowboy, The Flood . Artist Judi Goodwin, Wollongong , Australia. [e-mail]

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 7/27/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4567-8140-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-8141-5 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Including:

WOMBAT FLATS COTTON FARM

FORTUNE SEEKERS

(Second Edition)

SELECTED POEMS

&

THE BORNEO DESERT

(Second Edition)

CONTENTS

The Wombat Flats Cotton Farm

About Kate

The Cotton Farm

The Flood

The Five Seconds

About Helen

The Bank Showdown

The Fifth Grade Class

More Pain

Rockdale State School

The Finale

Epilogue

The Fortune Seekers and Selected Poems

A New Beginning

In The Wilderness

The Fortune Seekers

Hard On Hard

In Lion’s Den

Getting To Know Your Enemy

Upping The Stakes

Circling Vultures

The Shack And The Old Man

Conmasters Of The Universe

Modern Blues GFC Style

America Weep

The Father Time

To Daria

The Voice

Anchor Song Preamble

Time

The Cruel Beast

The Borneo Desert

Time For A Stocktake

The Orphan Collector

Men From Mars

Change Of The Guard

Financial Armageddon

Anno Domini MMIIL

The Borneo Desert

Gone Feral

The Fightback

Retribution

The World Council

Gia’s Vendetta

Drums And Gongs

Chinese Return

The President

The Monster Of The Deep

The New USA Doctrine

Operation Slingshot

Total Confrontasi

Omega And Blue Lotus

Pacific Federation Epilogue

By the same author:

The Monsoon Drifter,

The Fortune Seekers, and

The Borneo Desert.

All rights protected.

Part 1

THE WOMBAT FLATS COTTON FARM

Resemblance of depicted characters to any living or deceased person is unintended and purely coincidental.

AB

The wall of water that slammed into the farming community of Wombat Flats caught everyone by surprise. Some barely managed to jump out of bed into the dark night. It became a wall of death and destruction that will

take a generation and more to heal.

Lives were lost, sheep and cattle drowned, wild life swept and trapped in wired fences…

At last the muddy polluted sludge was beginning to recede leaving another

Sea behind, a Sea of heart break.

In the midst of the devastation, Andrew Gladstone and wife Helen found

The Bank going for the jugular, and about to repossess the cotton farm. A lot of folks would have thrown in the white towel. Not so the Gladstone.

In a valiant effort the family joined forces together and stood up to the

Bank and adversity. It became a call for all men and women on deck. Even the errant son Matthew summoned from his bohemian existence in London proves he has more fibers than given credit for.

Above all, it is the patriarch figure of Andrew Gladstone, a resourceful ex

Digger, who battles on with all he’s got to save the farm and the family..

***

ABOUT KATE

Once more it was well into the night by the time exhausted Bob Thompson returned home from work. The shop inventory was nothing short of a disaster. New starter motor recoiling machine he purchased months ago was not paying its way.

That was one more hope down the tube. New cars these days didn’t last long enough to require replacement starter motor, and his stock occupying the valuable shelve space was unsettling Bob. It had been a bad year all around, and he was soon to find out how more unpleasant surprises can emerge from anyoldwhere..

A short note next to the decked table told him the dinner was in the oven. Next to it was day’s mail to be opened up. Amongst the number of letters Telstra’s Final Remainder for the overdue phone bill attracted his ire. He’d have to have a word about this with Kate in the morning.

He often thought about their marriage, now into the eighth year, outlasting the average quite easily, and their twin sons young Bob and Stephen. Theirs was a good marriage as these tend to go nowadays. Kate still held a pretty figure that turns men around, she was at most time’s good cheer, and still full of beans in the bed.

If Kate lacked in any aspect it was in the arithmetic. Or that is how she saw it, the cursed sums. No matter how much money Bob brought home, it was never enough. Rather than have a quarrel over it, Bob would try harder and harder to meet Kate’s spendthrift ways.

It was only of late, when falling further and deeper into overdraft Bob finally decided there had to be a showdown. It wasn’t going to be pretty. He knew. Kate was never found wanting for anything. Her wealthy parents made sure of it, mother in law in particular. Nothing was ever good enough for her Kate. And Bob it had to be said wasn’t up their standards either. What swayed the opinion came with advanced pregnancy.

The more Bob reflected on all of the past eight years, he realized he had only himself to blame. He should have put the foot down long before. He was in fact digging his own grave. Now he set at the dinner table and reached for a bottle of whisky for solace. Instead, Chives Regal put him to sleep, still fully dressed on the sofa.

The morning came with Kate’s alarm clock, and Bob’s splitting headache. Sure in the knowledge to be still over the legal limit, he decided to leave for work late. He drank a bottle of tomato juice empty and swallowed two aspirins. Kate called at the table dressed in the nightgown, and curlers in place.

That Telstra bill Kate, I thought you paid it weeks ago. He spoke almost apologetically.

Bills and bills, is there nothing else to talk about? She fired back.

By the way, where were you? I never heard you coming

Once more Bob hesitated, he was struggling to find a way she would understand and not come back at him as a ball of fury. Finally he spat it out.

You are not going to like this Kate, but there is no way getting around it. We are broke.

"Broke?! Broke? Who is broke?

"You and me, us, that’s who Kate. Struth."

So mother was right after all. She warned me about you.

Can we just leave your mum out of this?

Well tell me then how are we going to pay for the new kitchen I ordered only yesterday.

You what? Why wasn’t I told? What is wrong with the old one anyway?

I got sick of looking at the same old tiles and old fashioned curtains for start. Mum just hates it. Jill next door got one. Why can’t I? No interest, no payments till 2012.

At this point Bob got up from the table and focused on his wife. He had a look in his eyes of someone ready to do battle. She’d never seen him like this before. By intuition she finally realized there was trouble aplenty brewing. He took charge. It was now or never, to be or not to be.

"Now bring down all outstanding bills, and all of your credit cards, pen and paper, so we can find out just how bad is the shemozzle. Then ring up the store and tell them we are broke and cannot pay for the new kitchen."

"What? She yelled at Bob. You go and tell them yourbloodyself."

Me? Why me I didn’t order it.

Wait till mom gets to hear this.

I don’t care any longer what your mom says. Didn’t marry her, but you, as far as I can recall, and that was cold stone sober.

When the pile of hire purchase and credit bills arrived, Bob couldn’t believe. It was a lot worse than he thought possible. To top it all, the school fees for the boys had just gone up another couple of notches.

They are mad. This lot thinks money grows on trees. This cannot go on Kate.

What cannot go on?

We’ll have to send the boys to the Public school.

"You don’t mean this, with all those wog boys? No way, over my dead body Bob!"

At this stage Bob finally lost his cool.

Damn it Kate, you are so good at spending the money. You know why? I’ll tell you, because you never had to make any.

Yeah, never have until now. Mom said it’d come to this; me, having to look for a job. I’ll start looking for work, if that is what you want.

Don’t put words into my mouth. I never suggested such a thing. By the way, what sort of a job you hope you’ll be able to find? It is tough out there, employers market.

Oh I’ve got my Certificates. She replied beaming with self-confidence..

"You mean that Shorthand Certificate ten years old. Forget it. The best you can hope for is a part time job at Woollies checkers for 14 bucks an hour before tax.

For the first time she paused, put on the back foot. She had no idea it was this bad, and Bob never told porkers. But why, wasn’t she told about this before.

He knew how right she was, and told her a blue was the last thing needed. Just to let you know Darl we’d better work on it. He left with a customary hug and a cheek kiss. Bob was a family man and he loved Kate. To the best of his knowledge she never strayed once and it wasn’t for the lack of fellers trying with sneaky proposals.

He arrived late to find the drive in occupied with two late model BMWs. As he stepped inside his 3rd year apprentice auto electrician ‘Spike’ waved him in.

"Stuffed if I know Boss, tell me what do these people want?" He was pointing to the regulation dressed execs standing in close enough to hear it. Bob recognized faces. One of them none other than an insurance company assessor he’d dealt before and a real scoundrel. To his surprise, the assessor approached him all smiles, hat off and asked to be let inside out of earshot. There was a problem.

Well, for once the boot was on the other foot. The record floods brought about also a deluge of claims for damages. No matter how many clever Dicks went over it, most claims had to be honored. That meant damage extent reduced to the bare essentials. That’s what insurance companies do and that’s where Bob came in. He was competent enough to assess the damage to the electronics and electrics. Also to cost and carry out required repairs where needed.

Most of the European cars had excellent paint system, some even hot tip gal undercoat, and built to last. Bodies would survive dunking, leather upholstery probably as well. After a detergent pressure hose wash, thorough formaldehyde spray de-tox and heated vacuum clean, a Diesel engines would almost be ready to restart, a petrol driven one a little iffy, and so on. What the insurance companies wanted at all costs was to avoid liability for total write off wherever possible. Bob in an instant caught on.

"Hold on right there Mr. el Ghazi! I have a full book. He fobbed, and el Ghazi knew it, but remained silent. In order to do what you want me to do, I would have to work overtime, 24/7 you get that? Penalty rates and myself away from the family. I say to you Mister this translates at labor cost set at $ 124 an hour. El Ghazi for once had no bargaining power left. Bob had a first class reputation as a tradesman and his new tariff also far from unreasonable. So they shook hands on the deal. From now on for months ahead his shop was to be in work guaranteed. With the Lebanese departing, jubilant Bob called in.

"Spike! Gityouself over here we have to talk." Spike reading it all wrong expected a dressing down.

Sorry Boss, I had no idea who those jokers were. I told one to f%$# off.

"Sorry for what? Now listen here and listen well. You have been diligent and honest enough for me to carry you on when I was doing dough. Now guess what? We have more work than we can possibly handle. As from today you are on a full Award wage, and overtime penalty rates, like a real trady. So what do you say my young mate?"

"Oh beady, ta Boss. And let me tell yu. I had proposals from Mike’s shop. I held them off, saying I’d have to talk to you first. Could not think of much else just then, of course you knew none of this before, and you have been good to me as has your family. I would have left with a heavy heart feeling a scab. No way boss! (Mike held a competition shop in the same ‘burb’).

For once Bob felt he was winning. Then a phone calls from Kate. She’d been over their falling out talk, and wanted to patch up. If she held anything against him it was the fact he took so long. She had a lunch special, if he could make it home. Signed, and lots of Love, xxxxx!

By the way there was also news from Helen, his mother in law. Their cotton farm at Wombat Flats was under water. It was disaster all around; the homestead built on stilts, only just out of the sludge, BMW coupe under insurance, but uninsured for flood damages, swept clean into the Murky Creek downstream somebloodywhere. The cotton harvest promising to deliver record crop yield to pay for the overdraft, and Helen’s largesse, was now a write off.

To make it direr, her full brother Matthew sponging as usual somewhere in Europe let Helen know on reverse charges, he was in need of a few quid once more. To Bob’ father in law Andrew this was the last straw. He picked the line and Matthew got told in unmistakable tone, his days as the eternal student were history. He was going to be put out of misery, his allowances cut, and he was to get his lazy bum on the first plane back to Aussie. They needed every able bodied person they could get.

Matthew wasn’t sure he was hearing right, so asked his father to repeat it, a big mistake.

Matt get the hell on the next plane and report for work at once. Andrew fuming slammed the phone receiver down so hard, it almost hurt Matthew’s hearing. He realized the fun days were definitely over. No two ways about it. It took a lot to get his old man to go ballistic, and a lot more for him to simmer down.

***

THE COTTON FARM

For the first time in his life Matt Gladstone flew economy, unkindly rated as cattle class by the more wealthy frequent fliers. Even this one way ticket London-Brisbane took care of all the cash he had left having pawned off the Rolex and gold jewelry. To be more descriptive, Matt was facing mid-life crisis at the age of twenty-six something.

For all the money spent and the efforts of both parents, apart from a failed Oxford degree Matt had precious little to show for. Add to this misery cocaine and gambling habits, altogether the unhealthiest of life style and the wild colonial boy was unmitigated disaster, a comprehensive failure on all accounts. Matt was busy burning the candle on both ends. He’d never done a day’s work in his life, and the last efforts to join the Diplomatic Core failed. Do not contact us; we’ll contact you, it said. His knowledge of medium level German and Italian didn’t cut it ,nor amount to much, then the criminal record. Schluss damit mein Herr! (Ger.) Meaning no way Jose.

In a way the parents were glad to see him off; having gone through Court after Court drama engaging the best Criminal Law Barristers money could buy. The last effort was a five year probation sentence. There was a year left to expire and, he was to remain under the scrutiny of the Law until then.

Once at the airport departure terminal lounge, Matt realized this was a turning point in life. Some things were never going to be the same again. He made certain there was no cocaine residue left, and inhaled a dose of what was left just before boarding. His Aussie passport had a year to go before expiry date, and it led to some trouble convincing the Customs that passport photo was authentic. The seedy life style had left its marks. His hairline receded half way across the scull and the sallow complex double chin bore little resemblance to that of a young man in his prime. Within hours jammed in a middle of a three seat Flying Roo B747 isle, he had all the time in the world to ponder over the wasted lost years. This and that began flashing through his mind, as the plane settled down six miles up and his first econo-meal was being served.

He’d also seen media reports of widespread Queensland floods, and could barely get himself to believe it. His father always prayed for rain. It takes an awful lot of water to grow cotton. Growing cotton in Australia, the driest continent till now is crazy stuff. Then perhaps it wasn’t so bad after all. And if it was, assuming the worst, he had stuff all to do with it. Why blame him! He decided a one on one with mum may be the way to go. Besides, what could he possibly do about the bloody flood? He had no practical skills to be of any use. Everybody knew that. Apart from cutting his allowance, what else could the oldies benefit from his return? He was to find out within days. And the welcome committee composed of a Customs Beagle sniffer dog at Brisbane Airport was the first hint. That dog just wouldn’t let go of Matt. The Customs took him in for a body search. No drugs were found on him, so they held him for another hour until his hold luggage checked out also returned negative. All this of course called for his record, and not a pretty sight at that. Meanwhile Helen Gladstone was panicking in the Arrivals Hall, wanting to know about Matt. Finally out of the Customs clutches she saw him entering the exit lane. By God, how he’d changed. They embraced and both broke into tears. It took a long time for Helen to regain composure before she spoke again.

I feel terrible about this. It’ was dad’s call. Mind you she had to admit, things were getting so bad, all of the bumper harvest expected was under muddy water, ruined. They walked to the parked old indestructible Ford XC ute which prompted Matt to ask about the Beemer coupe he heard so much about.

Well son, you’ll have to get used to it. We are financially ruined. Dad is going to meet with the Bank of Quandong tomorrow to extend the overdraft repayments. I frankly I don’t like his chances. They are mongrels with mortgage on the farm in their hands already; we are left at their mercy. As it is, we’ve just been through eight years of drought and severe cuts on water allocations, now this. Who’d want to be a farmer?

For the length of the slow trip to the farm they barely spoke. Matt couldn’t but notice road side signs indicating severe traffic jams, and road closure signs. Finally Helen pulled out of the traffic and went for the mobile calling Andrew.

"They were getting close, so could he please start up the outboard and meet them.

"Outboard!?

To Matt this made little sense until he finally saw the inland sea opening up in front of them. The Ford XC ute would be left, parked with friends, and a long walk to the meeting place ensured Matt had to roll his heavy suitcase for the next hour. The heat, humidity and hard toil ensured Matt was about to fall in a heap. Matt’s knees were shaking until they finally made it. And it was the longest spell he’d been off coke in years. That didn’t help. At long last his dad’s alloy dinghy could be seen closing in under oars afloat over a flooded football field. Salvation in sight? Or maybe not.

***

THE FLOOD

As they motored through the flooded fields the first thing that struck Matt was the stench, and piles of household utensils and furniture afloat..

This place stunk to high heavens. Decaying life stock and animal bloated corpses didn’t help. There was a real apprehension of possible disease outbreaks. After winter in far away London he was also over-dressed. The climatic change as well as jet lag, and exhaustion combined with craving for a fix, made Matt feel the worst he could ever remember. He felt almost suicidal, homing in close to a breakdown. Worse in fact, than after that nasty road accident. Not to mention the bothersome flies. His father stayed quiet absorbed in avoiding the shallows and submerged objects, even so the outboard kicked up every now and then. Finally they arrived. Andrew tied up the boat painter to the top floor balcony balustrade, only a foot or so above the flood water level.

Matt disembarked first and went straight for the fridge. He was dying for a tinny or something, only to find the power cut off, and the beer warm. Sure, they had a power generator for emergencies, under five feet of muck. It only got worse. Drinking water was on ration, as was food. One look around and all he could see was yucky water. Any hopes of finding some normality and old life gone, gone. For the first time in his young life he felt an acute sense of a painful loss. Dad was right; his sheltered life style days were over. He looked up to see this ugly, almost black cumulus cloud with streaks of yellow tumble and roll in overhead; pushed along by a gusty nor’easter laden with more moisture and flashes of lightning getting ever closer beginning to threaten life and limb, all accomppanied by a ear splitting cannonade of thunder just over-head. This was a a tropical storm.

The heavens opened up once more. On this occasion they tried to catch the rain water, and every drop of it, into buckets then empty those into the bath tub. Nothing worked here any more, including sewage. This was all about survival.

Radio reports spoke of people killed and missing. Others bravely flew overhead Army Black Hawk helicopters. One positioned above them put a question over the loudhailer, asking if they would evacuate. Helen shaken decided to go. The men stayed back and watched the Army winch up Helen in a harness and fly off through stormy skies into distance towards Glass House Mountain evacuee’s assembly point.

All back on terra firma Andrew Gladstone took his wayward son into the kitchen and ordered him to take a seat. A short dialogue was to bring Matt crushing down to earth.

Sorry to see you put through all this Matt. There is no choice. How you adjust, or fail to adjust to the disaster facing us is up to you. The good life is finished for good.

Dad, I don’t need any more convincing. I’ve seen enough; sure, just what can I do to help? You know I am all arts and theory and possess no practical skills worth a mention.

"You do not have struth, but you will learn trust me and quick. There is no choice, so go into the rain to shower and have a kip. Satellite antenna

should attract any incomming lightning stroke. Stay clear of it. We’ll talk about my plans later. And no flamin’ drugs son! You get that! No drugs here, not even tobacco, end of story!"

***

THE FIVE SECONDS

There were as many different versions of that traffic accident, as there were witnesses, plus one, that of the sitting Magistrate. Here is Matt’s.

Driving the BMW coupe along the Main Street he noticed a cream coloured small car about to enter from the left on the Bourke St. side and this on the collision course. He eased off on the accelerator, and was convinced that allowed enough clearence for the brazen driver usurping priority to drive on, and get out of sight. Suddenly the Daihatsu stopped dead in its tracks. With two lanes of traffic both taken BMW had nowhere to go. Matt told the Court he applied breaks very late, only when it became clear the Daihatsu stalled wasn’t going to move anywhere . Certainly not out of harm’s way.

Mathew also testified under oath, he’d seen the Daihatsu driver holding a mobile phone, not concentrating on the road. From that point on a collision was unavoidable. The BMW’s solid German steel slammed into the small Daihatsu at its weakest point and pushed the driver’s door in. Screams of injured driver got Matt to force the jammed door open with a tire lever, and pull the injured driver into the safety, away from the cars and traffic.

He, Matt did all he could in compliance with the law. He phoned triple zero describing the accident, asking for the Police and an Ambulance, next out of his own First Aid cabinet administered bandages around the bleeding foot of the Daihatsu driver, he instantly recognized as John Whitmore, a local footy forward star and idol.

Bullshit! It was all John Whitmore had to say to this. Upon the loud protest from the Defense council John was made to retract to ‘incorrect’, and delivered the rest of his account.

Well he was doing, he could not remember accurately, under the speed limit in any case, when this black Beemer shot out of nowhere and slammed into his sister’s little Daihatsu at some speed. Hence he couldn’t remember much else, apart from the pain…

It hurt like hell.

Asked about the phone, he returned one more offensive remark to receive the second warning. By then the Prosecutor also had a problem with his behavior and asked to temporary adjourn the session. John was bluntly told to pull his horns in, to talk only when spoken to, choose his lingo ,stick to the questions, belt up at all other times and suck on his left hand thumb in between times for something to do.

Why left hand?, was all John managed in return.

The investigative Police Sergeant produced a written report. He wasn’t very professional in this line of work. Asked why no Breath Analyzer tests were taken he had no answer at all to offer. The official time of the accident as per Police Record was at least 10 minutes out. A lot can happen in seconds never mind 10 minutes.

The Magistrate frustrated with sloppy work classified the Sarge as an unreliable witness. Yet his evidence more than anything weighed heavily against Mathew Gladstone. He’d had Matt up for speeding so many times it cost Matt his Driving License in the end. As it was, he ended up struggling to receive a provisional one. Here the Defense Council Martin Hughes QC got to work putting the Sarge under brutal cross examination.

"Would the Sergeant be good enough to provide the Court with some details pertaining to those traffic law breach charges? A loud murmur went through the Court from the audience. They were all in the picture, everyone knows everybody in a small town.

Sure, he, the Sergeant had the necessary documents with him..

Would the Sergeant be prepared to read to the Court the exact details? The Magistrate just nodded head in agreement. So our Sarge continued.

It read: ‘Caught doing 64 Km per hour in 60 max zone, 44 in 40, another 84 in 80, one for arguably not stopping at a stop sign’. This at 2 am with none around, even street dogs all off to bed by then.

Is that the lot? Magistrate posed the question, mildly surprised. If so, the QC was falling over himself to fire the next question, and soon on the attack..

Is there any truth in the rumors Sergeant, yourself and Matthew Gladstone both courted Sally Atkinson at one time, and did Sally Atkinson tell you off and boast openly she’d jilted you.?

"Protest, Your honor, proootest!" The Prosecutor raged.

Protest dismissed. Defense can continue.

Thank you, Your Honor. Martin Hughes was back on his feet again, to demolish most of what the Sergeant had to say.‘ It was more blind jealousy and sloppy work than real speeding motivating the Sergeant’, he put it to the Magistrate, earning his fee. Most but not all.

The undisputed fact remained; Andrew was repeatedly caught driving over the speed limit, and not just by the Sarge. He was involved in an accident resulting in bodily injury, and all this as a P plate driver on probation.

There had to be punishment, Matthew could not be let off scot-free. The Magistrate adjourned the hearing, consulted a few precedent cases, and upon the post lunch session passed his summation without delay.

There was no point whatsoever sending Andrew to jail. His passionate First Aid alone was an example of a caring man. He stopped right there to a full Courtroom as quiet as an unattended church.

Five years probation, and $5000 fine is the Courts sentence. He pronounced and quickly slammed down the hammer.

Silence in the Court! Order! Continue your discussions outside if you must.

John Whitmore who suffered severed Achilles tendon and broken toes would never play footy again. To him the sentence was most unjust, a rap over the knuckles. Even the fine for the wealthy Gladstones wasn’t severe enough. The Prosecutor was resigned. He blamed the Sarge and his sloppy work for the stuff up.

The true story surfaced much later. John Whitmore out for a joyride in his sister’s little two door Daihatsu could barely fit into the car with his large frame. To make a bad situation worse, he had real problem with size14 shoe to stay clear of the brake pedal. Neither could he get the stereo to work properly, so while under way, he picked the mobile and phoned Mary for a flamin’ clue.

Not focused on watching the traffic he found himself entering the Main Street. Only too late did he register that BMW on his right closing in. With no more than five seconds to go to a collision, his peripheral view picked a black object moving in. Only then did he turn the head around to see it in full and panicked. He went for the gas and being heavy footed, jammed the brake pedal instead. The engine stalled leaving him there a sitting duck.

He failed to mention four beer cans of VB he drank before collision, and the Sarge didn’t want to know any of it.

The collision caused the thin metal steel door sheet to cut and dent inwards, then slice his right foot tendon. That door was distorted and jammed solid. Only Matt’s tire lever and muscles freed John’s foot and dragged him out of the car and traffic to safety of the footpath, way before the Ambulance and Paramedics arrived, followed by Police, the long last.

This traffic accident was to have unforeseen repercussions for years to come.

***

ABOUT HELEN

Madam Helen Gladstone was into hats. She had a passion for one off designs, and scoured far and wide for original ideas. There were hats for every occasion. Simple mono-color dark silk lined ones for funerals and festive occasions. Wild floral and some abstract multi-color designs with bird nests for the horse race meetings and weddings.

Some wide enough to serve as a beach umbrella, others needed pins to anchor so the smallest puff of wind wouldn’t have them airborne. A hat for every occasion. She had shelves full of those and rarely wore the same hat twice. Her appearance at DJ stores was always good for commotion of attendants. She’d spend hours trying on hats alone.

The floods put that priceless hat collection under yucky water. It came in a flush flood about midnight and without warning. The only part of the cotton farm still on dry land was that small hillside vineyard with grapes storage hut and the parked old Ford XC ute carrying spraying equipment. You would have thought that