The Details Matter

 

Note one chrome mirror - one black plastic.

Australian politics and international affairs have recently become something resembling a failing soap opera.

So, gentle reader, I'll post something less disagreeable.

My project to convert a Japanese domestic market Toyota Hiace into a camper is just about complete, so I'll outline the journey, and where I've ended up. 

The vehicle is a 2014 Hiace Commuter which was used as a dry cleaner's vehicle in Japan. Clothes aren't heavy, so I assumed that it hadn't had a hard life. It was showing about 140000 kms when I bought it from a Brisbane importer who furnished all the necessary documentation, including the auction report from its sale prior to import.

As I bought it with dry cleaner's clothes racks.

A mechanical inspection confirmed that the vehicle was in good condition, and had a number of useful features including an aftermarket audio installation with Apple Carplay. More about that later.

It also had a slightly upgraded trim and features list which included push button start, climate control AC which has an extra unit cooling the rear of the cabin. It is also 180mm wider than the local market vehicles. Again, that's a mixed blessing. More about that later.

Fitout side unit installed across the cabin. Note modem and fire alarm.

Tyres have plenty of tread, albeit a little older than ideal, and the van features chrome trim not seen on the local market. There was also a three person bench seat installed which I removed. I reckon the business was family owned, and that seat was used to drop family members/employees off each day before the vehicle went on daily delivery runs.

First step was to install a plywood floor, which was fairly straightforward. Then I used pre-glued vinyl planking to dress it. This also was cheap, as we had sufficient planking left over when we refloored our home a few years ago.

Initially, to construct a bed, I bought a door from Bunnings, attached legs to it, and attached it to the floor using metal brackets. I located an unused single bed mattress on Facebook and installed it on the bed. This provided accommodation for about a year, until I spent $1990 on a slide out bed from Boxed Fitouts. I'd also used a second hand baby change table (found at Vinnies) as a frame for storage until I replaced it with another Side box from Boxed Fitout ($990). 

Can be converted to a double.

To provide off-grid power, I bought a Bluetti AC70P, ($745) and had a inverter/charger installed so that it automatically charged as the vehicle is driven. For connection to mains power I spent $500 on an external plug.

Despite appearances, it's securely anchored.

What I've finished up with is a van that remains fairly light, is easy to drive, and comfortable both for road trips and extended stays off grid. The Bluetti is good for about three days to keep the Kings 75 lit fridge running, but requires only about 50 kms of driving to be fully charged. I've also bought a small folding Rovin solar kit ($250) for extended stays. I haven't had an opportunity to personally trial it off grid yet, although my daughter has at a four day outdoor festival. It works OK to maintain charge for light use (fridge and charging devices).

Senior's handle & camping sink. The sink is not a total success - unwieldy.

As mentioned above, the van came with a CarKit_blink Japanese audio kit, which is fine, except it's designed for use in metropolitan Japan, and is next to useless in the Australian bush, where streaming through Apple Carplay works providing you're within coverage.

The van's extra width is handy in providing living space, but can be a challenge when parking in narrow bays at shopping centres. It is not too wide to be unwieldy, but a great deal of care is needed if you want to avoid inconveniencing fellow parkers. Having said that, it takes up a lot less space than a Dodge Ram, or a Chevrolet Silverado, and people park them in supermarket car parks. The van is 2280mm tall, so that precludes using most underground parks which average between 2100mm and 2200mm.

Slide out storage. Porta-Potti for contingencies. Not used so far.

In summary, the vehicle cost $24000, and I've added about $5000 worth of kit to make it habitable across twelve months of ownership. 

At that outlay, it's a totally competent camper, and the chassis is sound and looks like being reliable and cheap to maintain. It's not exactly fun to drive, especially in comparison with my previously owned Mazda MX5s. It's a bit like driving a block of flats. 

It is, however, quiet and comfortable when cruising, and the elevated seating position means you have a great view of traffic and surroundings.

The Fourth of July

The pool is stained. (Pic courtesy the Guardian)

 

Yesterday was the fourth of July, gentle reader, so we're bombarded via the media with stories about the 250th Anniversary of the adoption of the USA's declaration of Independence.

It can also be called a semiquincentennial, if you're keen to impress with your vocabulary.

To be frank, the celebrations leave me more than a little unimpressed, as they're characterised by vulgar expressions of American exceptionalism.

In fact, down through the years, much of what happens on the other side of the Pacific has left me unimpressed, but unfortunately it can't be ignored. Decisions made in Washington, and the vicissitudes of American culture and history have affected my life and experience.

I remember being shaken awake by my father on 22nd November 1963 to tell me of John Kennedy's assassination. He was succeeded by Lyndon Johnson, whose cynical use of the Gulf of Tonkin incident on 4th August 1964 to gain congressional approval to wage war in Vietnam had a major influence on my future.

Australia's commitment to send troops to Vietnam in April1965 was largely triggered by American policy, and it was only one month later that our defence act was amended to allow conscripts to be deployed overseas.

Then in 1967 my birthdate was drawn in the national service ballot, and after deferment for eighteen months whilst I graduated as a teacher and worked for twelve months to discharge my bond, I was enlisted in January 1969.

Vietnam followed in 1970, and it was then that I had my first encounter with American GIs. They also left me unimpressed. They were very poor soldiers, and our unit gave them a wide berth, as they attracted unwanted attention from the VC.

There were also two occasions when they went very close to causing us real harm. The first was when we encountered a bunker system in April, and USAF F105s dropped napalm closer to our position than the bunkers. The second was a few months later when an American artillery detachment based at the Horsehoe lobbed a couple of salvoes of 155mm rounds on a track junction we were ambushing because they neglected to check for friendlies prior to the fire mission

We discovered that the reason for their carelessness was their practice of using marijuana during fire missions to escape their apparent boredom.

We had a couple of phrases describing the Yanks. The first was "They draw the crabs" and the second "You can tell them anything; sell them anything".

The second aphorism helps to explain the "election" of Donald Trump. I put "election" in quotes, because you look at the turnout figures in the 2024 presidential election, and examine his slim majority, you understand that he was supported by about one third of American voters. Trump's 77.2 million votes  equate to roughly one-third of all eligible American adults. 

When the financial crisis arrived in 2008, like many other Australians I lost a large chunk of my superannuation balance because of regularity failure across the Pacific, and most recently, American foreign policy pushed fuel prices higher and contributed to inflation in Australia.

Today I read a post by an American on social media telling Australians how grateful we should be because they saved us from the Japanese in World War Two. 

This same American is no doubt ignorant of a number of salient facts of history. The first is that the US didn't enter hostilities until two years after the rest of the free world, and only then after their Pacific feet was blown out of the water on December 7th 1941.

The second is that Australian troops were the first to stop the Japanese on land in New Guinea.

And the third was that they supported us out of pure self interest. Australia was, after all, an unsinkable aircraft carrier.

You'll just have to forgive me for remaining unimpressed with the USA after the impacts it has had on my life since 1970. They continue to tell us how wonderful their republican experiment is.

Frankly, it's still very much a work in progress.

A Conference

 

Melbourne always looks black and white.

Last weekend, gentle reader, I attended a conference in Melbourne, looking in hindsight at the war in Vietnam.

It was attended by delegates from all over the country, and the keynote speaker was a Yank. His address was comprehensive and well researched.

The Saturday proceedings are listed below, and full transcripts will be posted soon. 

Walking into the conference resembled having a close encounter with my bookshelf. The authors of a large proportion of my books about the war were present.

The reason for attending was to develop a network of military historians, amateur and professional, who can help me with my doctorate looking at the subject of national servicemen between 1965 and 1972 who served in Australia, Papua New Guinea, and Malaysia.

Obviously, this conference was about Vietnam, but when you consider that during that seven year period, the whole raison d'etre for the size and deployment of the army was Vietnam, it was well worth attending.

The only downside was its location. Melbourne is my least favourite Australian city, and nothing during my sojourn there, has altered that opinion.

Now that I've been accepted as a doctoral candidate, the hard work starts. 

Another Country

 

The phrase "the past is another country" is often quoted, but it is actually a corruption of "the past is a foreign country" from the opening lines of L.P.Hartley's 1953 novel The Go-Between.   

I won't pretend to have read it, gentle reader, but the work deals with loss of innocence, the nature of memory, and the ripple effect of a single event.

Yesterday, with a group of men about my age, I visited what used to be called the Canungra Jungle Training Centre after an absence of fifty seven years.

I went through Canungra in October 1969 as a member of 5 platoon B Coy 7 RAR. We did the battle efficiency course, and I recall 5 platoon actually winning the battalion prize for the best score on that course, which was a surprise, as none of us were individually brilliant. We were, however, a good team, with good leadership.

After being refused a vote at the federal election (held on 25th October), we headed South towards Wiangaree where we completed a post course exercise, characterised by rain and mud, and lots of slippery slopes.

The base has completely changed, although there were relics of the original confidence course still visible. These days, they're museum pieces, as most of us are. Back in 1969, the accommodation was mostly tentage. These days, there are some very fancy buildings, including an officers' mess built in neo-colonial style.

Photography was prohibited on the actual base, but we were allowed to take pictures at the Vietnam memorial just outside the barrier fence.

The photo shows a plaque commemorating those lost in Vietnam, and was written by a veteran. It reflects very well what many of us returning from Vietnam feel about the men who did not return.

Names on the Wall

Wall of remembrance

On a recent trip to Canberra to participate in the 75th Anniversary of National Service, I took the opportunity to attend the daily last post ceremony held at the pool of reflection at the Australian War Memorial.

It was a moving ceremony, attended as it was by a lot of Vietnam veterans. There was a sea of grey hair and the setting sun glinted on Vietnamese campaign medals.

Pool of reflection

The soldier remembered was signalman Alexander Henry Young, a Nasho killed at the Battle of Coral Balmoral on 16th May 1968.

The wall of remembrance reminded me of the Vietnam veterans' memorial in Washington which I visited in 2018. There are 57000 plus names on that wall. There are 521 Australian names on the Canberra wall.

Washington memorial

The first two names from 7RAR on the right hand column are from B Coy, and record the deaths of two diggers who died in April 1970 when we hit a bunker system. I remember it well.

One died of heat exhaustion after our overnight company insertion on foot into the AO, and the other was killed by shrapnel from a rocket propelled grenade when 4 platoon assaulted the bunkers.

The third name down from top right was a soldier who initially transferred out of 7RAR when his father complained to the local federal member that his son's thick glasses would be a major problem in a rifle section in Vietnam. This soldier was put before the Eastern Command Medical Board and declared fit to serve. He was reposted to C Company on 14th May and killed on 6th June in a mine incident, the day after my twenty-third birthday.

May they rest in peace.

Gum Free Capital

 

I had a reason to be in Canberra for a few days, gentle reader, in connection with speaking gig at the 75th Anniversary of National Service Commemoration.

Canberra is different.

It's like another country. There are small things.

For example, I wanted to freshen my mouth after a long flight, so I asked for chewing gum at an airport newsagent. I was told, quite sternly, that there was no gum available. Asking "why", I was informed that it is "unhygienic".

Now I thought that Singapore was the only place where you couldn't buy gum, but not so.

Then there's driving in Canberra. It's also different. Apart from the extensive network of ring roads and roundabouts, there's also a limitation on the word "street" I kid you not. There are few streets in Canberra.

There are Drives, Crescents, Closes, Avenues, Circuits and Places. The streets are there, but generally only residential areas contain them. There obviously was a need for a posher term, when it came to titling the roads in the national capital.

The setup of traffic lanes is also unique. Apparently the connecting roads are designed to allow higher speeds than is typical in most cities. It works if you know your way around. I didn't, and even with the benefit of a navigation system in my hired car, got lost frequently.

The fact that the car I was given was not what I'd selected didn't help. It was European (Volkswagen Tiguan T-Roc) and I was told it was an "upgrade". The indicators were on the wrong side of the steering column, which meant much windscreen wiping when cornering, and the connections for my phone cable incompatible.

Those issues, accompanied with the start-stop fuel saving engine feature, and the dual clutch automatic transmission made it a pig of a machine to drive, and I eventually parked it in my hotel car park and used taxi vouchers.

Finding eating places is also a challenge. The familiar commercial strips were absent, and if there are supermarkets I couldn't find them. Apparently there are five altogether (Coles and Woolworths) but They proved elusive.

Canberra is different....

 

Disappearing Retreats

 

Pic courtesy Veterans' Retreats Australia

In the process of testing my homebuilt RV, I visited a veteran's retreat just outside Miles last week.

For ten years I'd driven past it, up and down the Warrego Highway, but because I was working on EQ's time, I was never able to take the 14km of gravel road to check it out.

It's worth a visit. The location is perfect for anyone wanting peace and solitude for a while. The owner is a veteran, and like most of us is approaching the age where managing such a site is difficult.

He'd like to sell it, but hasn't as yet found a buyer. It occurred to me that an ex-service organisation (the RSL) might consider it a worthwhile project.

There are many of these retreats scattered across the country. They typically offer cheap basic accommodation to veterans, but many are open to the general public. I've stayed at one or two over the years, as they provide an interesting option if you're not in a hurry.

I gave up hurrying on my 70th birthday.

The first retreat I'm aware of was Pandanus Park, set up by Les Hiddins of Bush Tucker Man fame. It's still listed as open, but subject to road conditions.

There is a website (a work in progress) which lists, state by state, retreats across the country.

It would be a great shame if these retreats shut down, but the inevitability is that they will, as we run out of veterans. If we run out of veterans, we have run out of wars, and that has to be a good thing.

Senior Driving

 

What the stats say. Pic courtesy of ABC news.

A recent tragedy in Victoria has highlighted the issue of senior drivers and safety.

This is personally relevant, gentle reader, as at age 75+ I need an annual review of my licence. In my case, my GP demands a optometric assessment. This doesn't bother me, and I reckon he's simply being thorough.

He is, or should be, expert on my general health as it relates to driving. He's been my GP for about thirty years.

I first rock up to my optometrist who provides a through assessment (including skills relevant to driving such as state of visual perception). Armed with that, I head to the GP who checks me out for muscle power, coordination, cognitive function (including attention, comprehension and reaction time). He is in the best position to compare any decline in functionality because he's been observing me for thirty years.

He then issues me with a signed chit which I laminate and carry in my car. Interestingly, my state issued driver's licence, both plastic and digital, carries no reference to this. I guess that's because my age is obvious, and my date of birth is on the licence.

It seems strange to me that Victoria doesn't follow this process. Perhaps that's under review.

To be honest, I'd have no objection to compulsory testing once a driver is 75. The medical assessments don't necessarily translate to the real world behind the wheel.

I've done, over the years, three different training programmes. The first was to make sure I was up to the task of training teachers to drive the various
Toyota Coasters my schools ran, and the other two were sessions in Mount Isa and Toowoomba respectively dealing with driving in the outback.  

Coaster

At age 78 I'm still learning, although much of that is about mastering the various driver assistance technologies installed in modern cars. To be frank, I'm not sure that they help. Touch screens really should be outlawed in favour of buttons.

Once you have learned where the buttons are, you don't have to take your eyes off the road to activate them. Touch screens - not so much....

Australian Coffee Culture

 

Coffee & Chicory (Pic courtesy museums Victoria)

I’ve been around long enough, gentle reader, to have lived through some remarkable changes in the way we drink coffee in Australia.

As far as I can remember when I was growing up, my parents never drank coffee. They were both tea drinkers. The coffee that was around at that time was execrable, which may have had something to do with it. 

I do remember my mother always having a Coffee substitute in her pantry. To this day I'm not sure what it was used for. Perhaps it was part of a cake recipe. It was never used to make coffee.

When I was old enough to leave home, I started drinking instant coffee occasionally. Working as a young teacher in the bush meant that I was exposed to staff room milk. If you're not familiar with staff room milk, suffice to say that it was frequently off on Mondays, after sitting in the staffroom across the weekend. This forced me to drink black tea, a habit I've maintained. I could never stomach black coffee.

Then I was called up conscripted, the tea and coffee often came in ration packs. At this time I reverted to coffee, perhaps because it was a mild stimulant. Mostly in the army I was bored stiff, and the caffeine provided a little bit of excitement.

This continued once in Vietnam, although occasionally there was some excitement. Drinking coffee had by this time become a habit.  

Back in civvy street I remained addicted to coffee and cigarettes, but gave up the latter cold turkey by refusing to buy smokes. The social pressure (smokers retreating when they saw me approaching to bum a durry) did the trick.

A few years back into teaching I had an itinerant job supporting kids with disabilities in bush schools, and saw the inside of plenty of roadhouses. They almost always had a boiling urn and enormous tins of instant (usually Bushells) coffee in the corner.

I returned to this work post retirement (which I failed first time round), but by then (2010) proper barista coffee was becoming available in these same roadhouses. It was usually served by backpackers with interesting accents.

The contrast between what was available in the seventies in the bush, and what is sold now is stark.

Trips to Vietnam post retirement introduced me to Vietnamese coffee (very strong and smooth and served with condensed milk) and a sojourn in the USA and Cuba in 2018 revealed that American coffee is not a patch on ours. I found the Vietnamese brew slightly more robust than what I encountered in Cuba. Both were better on the street than in the USA, but not of the quality that you can find locally.

Whilst I probably haven't travelled enough to make any reasonable comparisons, I reckon that Australian coffee is amongst the best in the world. Italian immigration post world war two probably has much to do with this. An Italian coffee culture developed first in Melbourne and has spread. Having said that, when I was in Italy in the eighties, I don't remember being impressed by their coffee.

Australian coffee culture has been exported to the USA and chains have developed. 

Australians are great innovators, they import excellent beans, and their baristas are the best. The machines used are invariably good quality and this helps. We're now growing coffee on the Atherton Tableland, so the coffee scene can only improve.

Only the best of everything originates in that part of the world, including my bride...

Jetstar

Pic courtesy Jetstar

I thought I had retired, gentle reader, but now I’m working for Jetstar.

I haven’t flown with them for a while, and the last time I did they were full of surprises.

That hasn’t changed.

Last time I was ignorant of their baggage policies, and I received an expensive surprise when I had to shell out for carry on baggage which I’d wrongly assumed was covered in my fare.

This time, the issue was timing. When you book a flight, There’s a golden window within which you have to tag your bags, weigh them, and go through security.

Because of an accident on the Warrego highway, my bus got me to Brisbane domestic five minutes past the closure of this golden window. The first I knew of this was when the infernal robots refused to accept my already printed boarding pass. 

The robot told me to find a Jetstar staff member, which was a task in itself. The orange garbed people I found must be trained in avoiding eye contact.

Eventually I found a polite young man who seemed to know about as much as I did. He sent me off to the Jetstar help desk. My problems were beyond his pay scale.

I had to pay an extra $85 to be booked on a later flight, even though the one I was originally booked on was sitting on the tarmac, and wasn’t going to depart for at least another forty minutes.

I got in line with my newly minted boarding pass issued by a gentleman, who was polite, but with an accent so thick that it defeated my damaged hearing.

I mimed my way through.

And whilst I was waiting for the later flight (three hours I won’t get back again) I realised that I was now working for Jetstar.

I had printed my own boarding pass, tagged and weighed my baggage, and done all of this without training and supervision. It is the perfect industrial model, and beats paying for staff to complete those messy procedures.

Instead of being paid for these tasks, I had been billed the above mentioned $85 administration fee.

I guess I could regard that as union membership.

Sent from Outlook for iOS

Fifty Years On

 

The 523 who were lost.

I've just arrived back, gentle reader, from the commemoration in Canberra of the 50th anniversary of the end of the Australian commitment to Vietnam.

It was a very well-organised event, and the people who put the programme together achieved a fine balance between commemoration of the loss and sacrifice of those who were killed and wounded, and acknowledgement of the tragedy of the war.

The Canberra weather wasn't cooperative. We had about ten minutes of bright sunshine after the ceremony which was mostly conducted under rainy skies, but then the clearing westerlies turned up. I swear you could feel the snow on the shoulders of that wind.

I was able to link up with a few of the 5 platoon bunch, but we're getting a bit thin on the ground. All of us have age-related maladies, but that didn't spoil the fellowship. Sadly, it's probably the last reunion.

I made the mistake of booking into a caravan park outside of town, which meant I had to drive in and out. This put the kibosh on sharing more than one or two beers with the crew, but there you go.

There was a well-compiled video of the proceedings, and I've included it here.

It's well worth watching.

Comments closed.

   

The Power of Listening (2)

 

Apparently that's me. I don't really understand the picture.

I've blogged about this before, gentle reader, but now that the legislation clearing the way for the referendum to be held has been passed, I'll have another look at the issue.

 One of the reactions to that post was interesting, in that it claimed that self-interest has put a barrier between the resources allocated and the outcomes achieved. I wouldn't for a moment disagree with that, but that failed top-down model is the whole point of setting up a voice.

The historical record has shown us that whenever non-indigenous agencies come up with "solutions" to the problem of indigenous disadvantage, the result is failure. There is a succession of these "solutions", ranging from the formation of ATSIC in 1990 and its dissolution in 2005, to Howard's intervention in 2007.  

ATSIC's abolition followed a 2005 report and enquiry by its Select Committee which found that although there had been widespread support for instituting changes to the way that ATSIC was structured and operated, there was also "overwhelming" support for the continued existence of a national Indigenous representative body. Most witnesses to the inquiry had suggested that regional operations could be improved, but they were strongly in favour of having a national, elected Indigenous representative body. Deep concerns were expressed about the disempowerment of Indigenous peoples. One of the recommendations was that the government "give active support and funding to the formation of a national Indigenous elected representative body, and provide it with ongoing funding". That recommendation went begging.

That recommendation could be seen as the origin of the Voice. The dismantling of ATSIC was seen by many commentators as harmful to Aboriginal people in Australia. In 2009, Lowitja O'Donoghue opined that reform of the agency would have been better than abolishing it.

It's instructive to compare the behaviour of Geoff Clarke (disgraced ex ATSIC Commissioner) involving pub brawls, and sexual assaults, with that alleged to have been carried out by Kathryn Campbell (ex Secretary of the Department of Human Services) which occurred in the air-conditioned offices of the DHS, by people "neat and clean and well-advised"*. Clarke's offences didn't kill anyone. It appears that what happened under Campbell's watch did.

The discussion about listening reminded me of my experiences in North-West Queensland referred to in my original post. 

At the time I was a naive, but well-intentioned middle class public servant commissioned to manage and annual budget of $2.8 million to support the NATSIEP (National Aboriginal and Torres strait Education Programme)  initiative in an area twice the size of victoria and Tasmania combined. 

I had to learn on the job. When I left that position, I did so with the good wishes of the Mitakoodi and Kalkadoon elders that I had worked with in the portfolio, and they presented me with some parting gifts. The first one is a dot painting shown at the top of this post.

The second was the poem above. 

What gobsmacked me when I read it again (after nearly 30 years) was the reference to "listening" in the opening line of the second verse. 

I learned a great deal from these wonderful people in the five years I worked with them. Much of the listening took place as I was driving with them along the Flinders Highway to Cloncurry and Hughenden or the Beef Developmental Road (now Route 83) to Dajarra, Boulia, Bedourie and Birdsville. 

Those journey lasted hours, so I learned plenty. All they ever wanted back then was to be listened to and taken seriously. When that was done, and their initiatives and suggestions followed, progress was made. There was never any place for judgement - (see the second line of the second verse). 

They'd had generations of that. 

I doubt much has changed since the nineties.

*From the old Irish Ballad.

Comments closed.

An Interesting Encounter

            Pic Courtesy The Guardian

Sunday was interesting.

It was my sister's 70th, and she was celebrating with extended family in a resort out of town.

So we could catch up with her, my bride and I arranged to meet her and BIL at a country pub for lunch on their way back from the resort.  It also meant we were able to take advantage of some interesting roads out that way. These things demand to be driven.

The pub was empty except for about half a dozen blokes with big lumpy and shiny bikes, tatts, and leather embossed with club insignia.

There was nobody else in the lounge except the four of us and these guys. They were obviously having some kind of semi-official club meeting.

It's ill-mannered to listen in to others' conversations, but on this occasion, we didn't have much choice. The beer flowed - the conversation at the other table (interspersed with lots of profanity and colourful descriptions) rumbled on and we ate our lunch as we listened. It was, to say the least, entertaining.

They were discussing ways of increasing and maintaining club membership, which, by the sound of it, was declining. I remember thinking that they were having much the same problems as were other enthusiasts' groups, as the demographic aged, and machines like bikes and sports cars are no longer seen as engaging by Millenials.

I did harbour some suggestions but decided to keep them to myself. Discretion, after all, is the better part of valour. Besides, my bride wasn't keen on getting involved. This may have had something to do with the fact that besides my sister and her, the only other female on the premises was the middle-aged woman behind the bar. 

What really surprised me was the continual references being made to "inclusion" and "participation". These terms are used more often by social justice warriors than bikies.

We left before they had resolved anything. The biggest issue seemed to be organising working bees to renovate the clubhouse. 

I was thinking that they should employ a stripper or two, and perhaps some jelly wrestling after a day's work on the renovations.

I shared that thought with my bride but she didn't think it was a good idea.

Comments closed.

Inspirational People (3)

Not the lad in the story

Quite a few decades ago, I was responsible for a special school in a provincial city. It had an enrolment of about 70, 30% of whom were children with severe autism.

The remainder of the children attending had severe and profound intellectual and physical impairments. The combination of children with severe autism, who were generally mobile, and children with severe physical impairment, who were not, was challenging in terms of management. We got around the problem of keeping children with no mobility and protective behaviours safe, in a population of children with autism, a few who were physically aggressive, by a combination of careful grouping and staff allocation.

Unfortunately, the staff allocation which operated at the time was insufficient to maintain an adequate number of supervision hours to maintain safety, so we used the school budget to fill the gaps. We were what was called a "self-managed" school which meant we had the discretion and ability to do this. We simply purchased extra teacher aide hours out of the school budget and employed people to provide additional supervision.

One lad with autism needed one-on-one aide support the whole time he was at school. Without it, he was always at risk of running away (which was dangerous, but usually manageable) or harming other children (which was also dangerous, but with a fit and agile teacher aide - usually male - also manageable).

The school budget provided this for the first four years of his attendance. At the beginning of the fifth year, after constructing a budget, it was quite obvious that the funds were simply not there any longer, because of a range of reasons which had nothing to do with managing students with severe autism and were based on state Treasury allocation guidelines.

This lad was in the care of his father, as his mother was no longer on the scene for reasons not relevant to this situation. The dad worked full time in a physically demanding occupation, had a carer employed by a charity to fill in the gaps before and after school, and organised his life around the demands of total care for the lad which involved keeping him safe (locked in) at night, feeding him, bathing him, and providing everything necessary. Respite was never available, and I often wondered how he maintained his sanity and usually cheerful demeanor. School provided his best and only respite, and it looked as if this was no longer going to be possible. To make the budget work, we would have needed to restrict his son's enrolment to four days per week, which meant that the dad would have to leave his employment, which was rigidly five days per week. This was not a tenable prospect, but we were stuck for a solution.

I went to talk to one of the management team in our district office about this issue and in the course of the conversation reminded him that I planned to retire at the end of that year. The bloke I was talking to, a person of long and varied experience and a lateral thinker (unusual for someone in his position) went quiet for a minute and then asked me if I had ever worked as an AVT (Advisory Visiting Teacher). I had, many years ago in the mid-seventies, and I reminded him how much I had enjoyed the work.

He had a different problem he was trying to solve, that of finding someone with the requisite skills and experience to work as an AVT in the western end of the region. The job was itinerant and required many overnight absences from home, which was the major reason he was having problems filling it.

I had enjoyed that work in the past, and absences from home were not going to be a problem for my family, as our children were adults, and all but one had left home. In that sense I was a good match - but who would do my job during my absences, which would amount to one full week per term? My suggestion was that I ask for expressions of interest for acting principal from senior teaching staff during my absences, and when the person was selected, take the whole proposition to the school P & C for their approval. If they were OK with it, the entire (AVT's) salary would be allocated to the school budget and used to purchase teacher aide hours to allow full-time attendance for the lad with autism. You can buy a lot of teacher aide hours with a teacher's salary.

To cut a long story short, the P & C were OK with the proposition, we had a number of teachers interested in acting as principal for the time required. One was appointed and I began to work as an AVT for the specified period. The aide time was applied, and the lad in question was able to stay full time at school, and his dad kept his job. In other words, it was a win all around.

The inspirational person I'm writing about was obviously the dad concerned, but the EQ bureaucrat who came up with the innovative proposition was, in the world of educational administration, also pretty inspirational.

As a footnote to this story, after a break at the beginning of retirement in which I wrote my memoir, I returned to the AVT work and continued it until 2017, until age caught up with me.

I actually failed retirement at the first attempt.

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Basic Motoring

Thinking about it, I begin to realise that I've spent a great deal of unnecessary dollars on motor vehicles.  

I've owned nearly thirty at last count. 

At the moment, I'm looking after two vehicles belonging to offspring, one because she's overseas, and the other because he cycles to work and doesn't need it, but won't sell it because he might be transferred to a situation where he does.

Because my garaging and custodianship includes, as a condition, the right to drive the cars, I had the choice of four cars to use in my recent excursion to Canberra and back.

Now the MX5 is fun to drive, and would possibly have been first choice, but it's appreciating in value, and I'm trying to keep its distance covered low. Besides, it is not all that enjoyable on a long run down a highway. It's an interesting car, built for interesting roads.

My bride uses our "new" car, a Kia Rondo, and whilst she doesn't mind driving the 323, is happier with the Kia. This left my son's Mazda 323 Protege as the weapon of choice for my Canberra excursion. My daughter's Toyota Echo, whilst a pleasant little car, was never a consideration.

It was a journey for research purposes at the AWM, and no other family members were all that interested, so I was travelling solo. The 323 has a number of features that made it a good choice for a solo journey. First up, it has three music sources - the original cassette player, an aftermarket 6 stacker CD player, and my iPhone connected through a bluetooth plug-in device. There was never going to be any shortage of mobile entertainment.

Aftermarket cruise

Navigation was taken care of using the iPhone, on a magnetic mount which meant it was hands free and legal. I have mastered the art of using the GPS app and the music player simultaneously. A recent IOS upgrade has made this simple.

This meant that all the features expected these days on a modern vehicle (GPS, bluetooth phone connection, and music player) were all available in this twenty year old car, for the price of a magnetic phone mount and a bluetooth connector. All worked a treat, with the possible exception of the GPS, which when connected to Google maps had a bad habit of setting me up for a beeline journey down some dodgy roads if I took it literally.

The Mazda performed beautifully. It delivered 7.3 Lit/100kms at a cruise of 110km on the Newell. The aftermarket cruise control was a boon.

The air conditioning in Mazdas is renowned for its efficiency, and with the combination of well shaped velour lined seats, and a steering column adjustable for rake and distance, ensured a very comfortable driving position. Cars of this vintage generally enjoy better vision, as the styling fashion which creates blind spots for rear vision hadn't arrived in 1999.

       Mountain straight, Mount Panorama

I got to drive it around the Mount Panorama circuit on the way home. At 60kph, that was an unexciting, but interesting experience.

These things are going for about $3500 used at the moment. If you can find a low kilometerage example (like my son's car), they're a bargain.

Loose Ends

Pic courtesy ABC

Back in 1982, our first child, a girl, was stillborn.

We (my bride and I), dealt with the grief much in the same way as the two thousand plus parents who share the experience annually in Australia.

Most people aren't sure how to approach those who are grieving the loss of a child in this way, so many simply avoid discussing the experience, even if they feel deeply for the parents. Although we had lots of support from family and friends, this was true for us.

We named her, held a funeral service, and the baby was buried in Townsville where we lived at the time. 

We got on with our lives, had four healthy children, and moved away from the north. In the intervening thirty eight years, the fact that the grave was unmarked became one of those things that we really had to remedy.

The child remained vivid and real in our memories, but there was nothing physical to mark her existence.

We decided to set this right, and I have just today returned from a 2600 km round trip, organising a simple headstone, and commissioning a monumental mason to make it. The biggest problem turned out to be finding the grave in a vast cemetery.

With the help of the very efficient staff in the cemetery and their excellent records, and a groundsman who knew the site like the back of his hand, after an hour of searching, I found it. The rest was easy. It was interesting to discover that monumental masonry is a separate and distinct trade.

So after nearly forty years, the job has been commissioned. What I wasn't expecting was to arrive at the cemetery to see a notice board revealing that a boy with a disability who was one of the original students in my school had been buried there the day before. I remembered his mother, who was P & C president back then.

Our baby died because she was born with a congenital abnormality which caused a fatal aneurysm during birth. I often wonder whether my exposure to dioxin in Vietnam was a factor. Quite a few of the children with congenital disabilities at my school at the time were fathered by Vietnam veterans.

Townsville was, and remains, a garrison town.

This is one of life's loose ends that has now been tied.

Comments closed.

 

 

Danger Close - A Review

Pic courtesy Sydney Morning Herald

This is my attempt, gentle reader, at a movie review.

Back in the day, we called them “pictures”, but that was a long time ago.

The movie is Danger Close, the recently released account of the Battle of Long Tan on 18th August 1966.

The story resonates with me for a number of reasons.

I went to school at Downlands with Frank Topp, who was killed in the opening few minutes of the battle. He is represented by a few seconds of footage when he is marched into D Company as a reinforcement on the morning of the 18th August. In the movie, he's one of the two diggers given a briefing about the reputation of Harry Smith's crew as he arrives.

I copped a bit of bullying at Downlands in 1961 when I started as a skinny fourteen year-old. I was a schoolies son from North Queensland, not the offspring of a wealthy land holder from the Western Downs, as a fair proportion of my school mates were at the time. Frank, for reasons I’ve never really understood, acted frequently as my protector.

He was well built and burly, so they left me alone. Perhaps the fact that his old man was a small crop farmer from Helidon, rather than a cow cockie from a big holding helped. We were both on the outer.

Frank left Downlands (as I did) at the end of 1962, and joined the army as an apprentice in RAEME. He became fascinated by the warries he began to hear about Vietnam, and transferred to Infantry. He arrived in Vietnam on the 16th July 1966, and was marched into D Coy 6 RAR on the morning of the battle. He didn’t have time to get to know the diggers he died with.

I was first in Long Tan in April 1970, when as a member of B Coy 7 RAR and a Nasho on his second operation in country, we were trucked there and harboured up near that famous rubber plantation until dark. Then we moved on foot through the night into our AO along a dry creek bed called the Suoi Lo O Nho. It was a bugger of a trip.

I also visited the site as a tourist in 2007 with my two sons. That was a much more rewarding experience, But it’s a sombre place.

The movie was well worth watching, irrespective of my experience of the history. It's production is slick, and the cinematography is first class.

The narrative is obviously based on the record, but there were a few incidents written in that, as far as I know, never occurred. There is a short cameo about a VC sniper in a woodcutters hut, as well as another involving two Vietnamese women which I doubt ever happened. It doesn't matter. They don’t detract.

The performances were generally pretty good, especially that of Travis Fimmel who played Harry Smith (OC D Coy) and Daniel Webber who played private Paul Large. There is a back story involving their relationship which may, or may not be accurate. Again, it doesn't matter and provides some diversion from the heavy themes of endurance, courage and loyalty in the face of impossible odds embedded in the narrative. 

The sound and fury of the artillery which was the conclusive element in the outcome is well conveyed, as is the on-the-ground minute by minute ordeal of the diggers.

The production team did a good job of reproducing a rubber plantation (a paulownia plantation at Wooroolin near Kingaroy) and the background landscape captured the Long Tan area pretty well, although I reckon the soil wasn’t quite red enough. Maybe they should have done some shooting on the Atherton Tablelands, where the contrasting red soil and green vegetation mimic Phouc Tuy.

It's very much a Queensland product. Apart from the rubber plantation scenes at Kingaroy, filming was also done in the Gold Coast hinterland near Nerang and at the Village Roadshow studios at Oxenford.

I could carry on about the authenticity and accuracy of representations of kit such as weapons, webbing, packs, but I won't. The weapons were spot on, as far as I could tell, but we never carried F1s. This was set four years before my time, and perhaps they were phased out by then.

The choppers confused me a little. They looked like the UH-1B, shorter than the UH-1H that I was familiar with. Perhaps the B series were replaced by the H series between 1966 and 1970. I'd welcome any guidance from chopper nerds on that. 

Again, it matters not. They made all the right noises. 

Apparently getting the movie going financially was a close-run thing.  It has that in common with the battle, which could have ended in complete disaster.

I'm glad it was made. Kriv Stenders (director) deserves kudos for actually getting it to screen.

It's a story that had to be told.

And that is was made in Australia, by Australians, is gratifying.

Travelling North

An early start was the go.

I've been a bit slack with postings of late, gentle reader.

the major distraction has been enrolling at Uni after a gap of 39 years.

The tertiary institutions that I earned RPL* from have had problems with their archives, caused, I understand by the most recent Brisbane floods.

Anyway, they have resurrected sufficient of my academic record to mollify the campus I'm dealing with, so it's all good.

Roadworks were a pain.

To fill in the time whilst waiting to get started at the beginning of semester 2, I took a long road trip north - to Mackay, to be exact, where my 90-year-old aunt was celebrating her birthday.

There were many cousins, most whom I haven't seen for 30+ years, so it was interesting (and revelatory). I seem to have worn better than most of them.

It's all that clean living.

Travel stained at Bororen.

Anyway, I pointed the nose of the MX5 north, and set out early.

An MX5 SE is not designed for long distance cruising, but this little machine acquitted itself well.

It has an excellent driving position, and cruises at about 3000rpm. An overdrive would be nice, but it doesn’t feel (or sound) stressed at this rev range.

Safely in Mackay.

The only problem I had was in 110km/hr zones, because the turbo kicks in at about 105km/hr in top gear, and holding it below the limit required lots of concentration.

It used 7.5lit/100kms of 98 octane, which is pretty good. Prices were surprisingly consistent except for Mackay city.

Despite wet weather and loads of caravans, the trip north ws enjoyable, and the journey back, in fine weather, was great fun.

Town of 1770.

EV chargers at Marlborough.