Calgary

We are keen to see this new city, so we venture outside into downtown Calgary in search of breakfast. It’s now minus 1 deg C and there is a sprinkling of snow that soon turns to light sleet. And this is summer!

It’s mid-morning on a Saturday and we are in the commercial retail centre. But where is everyone? The streets are deserted and the few shops we can see appear to be shut. Even in the pedestrian mall there are very few people; a couple of other tourists looking bewildered like us and a few odd-looking souls wandering aimlessly. It’s slightly edgy.

At last we come upon the Good Earth Café on a corner of what you’d expect to be a busy junction. But the traffic is as scarce as people on this cold Saturday morning.

At least this place is warm inside, the coffee is good and the toasted piadinas are very welcome.

Now a bit warmer and more determined, we head back through the CBD, cutting through more or less diagonally. Ah hah! We find the legendary Hudson Bay Trading Company’s modern store and go inside.

There are not many people in here either. However, Ian is distracted by a Levi jeans sale on the first floor (or rather the second floor as they call it locally, the one above street level). It will turn out to be a lucky distraction. But for now, Ian buys himself a pair of new Levi’s that actually fit first try without having to alter anything.

Now we look for a way out and notice an opening over on one side. It is an enclosed pedestrian bridge over the street below. It leads to the next building. We go across.

Remember the old finger game with the rhyme, “There’s the church and there’s the steeple; Open the doors and there’s the people”?

That’s what it’s like as we go through into the next building. The whole retail part of town is inside out. The walkway leads into a shopping arcade, which leads into a food court which in turn is connected by enclosed walkways to other indoor arcades and malls.

Instead of facing onto the street, the shops are turned inward and shoppers stroll among them, protected from the cold weather outside. Suddenly it all makes sense. It is a maze of interconnected arcades and enclosed walkways between buildings. You can wander all round town and don’t have to go outside at all.

It’s a bit like being a mole.

Kamloops to Calgary

The taxi picked us up at 6.15 am as promised and whisked us to the station where the Rocky Mountaineer was waiting for us in the pale morning sunlight.

I like the traditional way of climbing up the steps into the railcar from track level instead of just stepping across from platform level. It feels more like a definite transition from ordinary life into a special experience.

During breakfast we zipped through Kamloops’ scattered outer residential and industrial areas, following the line of the North Thompson River.

As we headed further into the mountains, the air began to get noticeably cooler on the open-sided observation deck at the end of the railcar. The scenery became more rugged and the ice and snow was more prominent on the approaching peaks.

The small settlements along the shores of Shuswap Lake were very quiet. Near Salmon Arm all was calm and mysterious in the morning mist.

Kicking Horse Pass

At Stoney Creek Bridge we edged along the trestle over the creek 100 metres below. The snow sheds in Kicking Horse Pass emphasised just how dangerous this place is in winter. Built against the wall of the mountain like sturdy lean-to garages over long sections of track, their purpose is to shed the snow and rock falls that are common in order to protect the traffic and help keep the track clear.

The Spiral Tunnels are a mind-boggling feat of engineering on this altogether remarkable journey.

They were built in 1909 to replace the crazy 4.5% gradient of the previous “temporary” Canadian Pacific line over Mount Stephen. The old route needed four extra locomotives get trains up that slope, and several emergency run-off spurs for those on the way down.

Now the tunnels form a figure-of-eight inside the mountain.

Following the Kicking Horse River after leaving the town of Field, the track goes under the highway, crosses the river and almost immediately enters the Lower Spiral Tunnel. Inside the mountain, the tunnel makes a long, slow, rising turn to the left.

After making a three quarter circle, the engine emerges from the first tunnel and crosses over the track by which it entered, now many feet below. Looking out of the right-hand window, you can see the approach track that you have just been on, plunging into the mountainside below you.

Still climbing, the train now enters the Upper Spiral Tunnel. This time it makes a climbing circle to the right. When it emerges, it crosses the approach track that is now below it on the left. Thus the train has made a figure-of-eight course inside the mountain.

When there is a very long passenger or goods train, people hope to see the engine emerge from one of the tunnels while its back-end is still sticking out of the entrance far below, while the length of the train is threaded back on itself inside the mountain.

As the track unwinds behind us, Janos brings us food which we eat at our seats. It’s presented like up-market airline food. Every now and then he speaks over the unobtrusive PA to explain the sights that are coming up with a bit of the background and history about the places we see. He is a good tour guide.

Part of our passenger kit is a tabloid size newspaper with descriptions of our route and its highlights. On the map of our route, each significant feature is marked with a number representing its distance in miles from each major reference point along the route. These are keyed to more detailed descriptions and stories in the newspaper and match the mileposts alongside the track. That means you always know where you are, what is coming up and what you are looking at when you get to it.

The train slows to a crawl past especially significant locations to give everyone time to have a good look. That is when passengers dart out to the observation deck at the back of the car to take photos and do the cooperative shuffle to allow everyone to get that special shot.

In this way we travel past ever more majestic mountains covered in ice and snow and bearing the dirty scars of occasional avalanches as we cross the Continental Divide.

It doesn’t seem long before we are travelling through the Banff National Park and later pulling into the town of Banff itself.

Many passengers “detrain” here. Seventeen are left in our car to complete the journey into Calgary. On the way, Janos serves our last meal on board, a selection of appetisers or “appys” as both our old and new Canadian friends put it.

It’s still quite light at 9.20 pm as we pull into Calgary and it’s 1 deg. C outside. We nearly freeze simply crossing the road from the station to our hotel opposite. But the hotel is warm and our bags arrive as we are checking in.

After a light supper in the lobby bar we are ready for bed and sleep like logs as the temperature outside drops throughout the night.

Osprey

Ospreys hunt, nest and breed along the Fraser and Thompson Rivers.

Sometimes called the Sea Hawk, these large, majestic birds return to their same nests every year, renovating and enlarging them, to lay their eggs and rear their young.

The nest is a large, untidy heap of sticks, small branches and bits of driftwood, built up high to give the birds a good vantage point and protect the chicks from raiders.

That used to mean Ospreys built their nest high up in the forks of trees or on rocky outcrops and the like. Many still do.

But as human settlements grew up in the Fraser and Thompson Valleys, the birds began to build their nests in new locations: chimneys, utility poles, bridge trestles and the gantries that carry signals over roads and rail tracks.

And that is a fine and serene thing. It’s nice to have these birds with their 6 feet wingspan living in the community.

But sometimes the nests become a problem. Each year they get a bit bigger and lumps of wood fall off, causing problems as they drop onto cars, power lines and people’s heads.

The birds and their nests are protected, so the folks who live in the towns under the nests have come up with an interesting solution.

First they build large, stable platforms as near as possible to the wobbly nests but in a safe location.

The next challenge is to get the Ospreys to move into their new home. That’s not easy, because they return to the same nest every year. Some of the nests have been there for seventy years.

So, in the winter when the birds have migrated to warmer climes, the local people buy some life-size, plastic pink flamingos – the kind you might stick in people’s front lawns on their birthday or anniversary.

They take off the legs and sit the plastic creature in the old Osprey nest.

On their return, the Ospreys see that a large intruder has commandeered their nest so their instinct is to start a new one close to their favourite spot.

That’s when they see the nice new platform and that’s where they build their new nest.

Now, as you travel along in the Rocky Mountaineer, you see plenty of Ospreys drifting along the valleys or sitting on their nests. And occasionally, if you’re lucky, you’ll spot a large, pink plastic flamingo sitting on its nest.

Fellow Travellers

The people in our railcar are becoming more relaxed and chatty as the time we spend together lengthens.

Over breakfast on Day 2, I take a look around at the people nearest to us.

Across the aisle are mom and daughter from Florida. Mom is a retired Avon rep; daughter is a former travel agent, now a cop. Tomorrow is her birthday; she’ll be forty-three. She is fit and tiny, looking and sounding just like Jodie Foster. Mom is happy to tell me their whole life history.

In front of them is a lone Brit. Retired and in his 60s he is fit, wiry and talkative. He flirts with Mom and daughter, especially daughter who flirts back in a tough, ironic way. He’s not getting it.

He has a mixed London accent. He’s from Lewisham where I went to college, but now lives in Kidderminster in the midlands near where I grew up. We still don’t have much to talk about, but he seems to have done a heck of a lot of travelling since retiring. He must have a great pension.

In front of us is a honeymoon couple from Manchester, switching between starry-eyed hand-holding, eager window-gazing and the observation deck relay.

Every one is very polite on the observation deck. There is really only room for two people each side with a bit of a squeeze. But people are great – as the next special bit of scenery slides into view, they take a look, snap a couple of shots, then squeeze out of the way to let someone else have a go before it falls away behind us.

In the carriage on the second day, people are also now relaxed enough shout out “Bear!” and point so that everyone else gets a chance to see it.

In front of the honeymooners is a couple from Calgary. They’ve been down in Vancouver and this is their treat for the return journey. It’s their first time.

And next to them spread over several seats is a German family, mom and dad, grand-dad and three teenagers. They are all polite and laugh a lot. A nice family. They like it that Janos speaks a little German. Janos is from Brazil. His father was German.

Good looking in a dark, brooding way, Janos is doing a bit of modelling in his spare time and trying to break into film. Meanwhile he works five months a year on the Rocky Mountaineer.

Into The Mountains

Janos served breakfast as the Fraser Valley slipped past our window. The river was muddy and swollen with snow melt from the distant mountains. Not much ice and snow yet, but plenty of rugged scenery in places with evocative names like Hell’s Gate, Avalanche Alley and the Jaws of Death Gorge.

At Cisco Crossing, the Canadian Pacific and Canadian National tracks swap sides of the Fraser River. Until now, each track followed its own side of the river. Here, in a series of remarkable trestle bridges, the tracks swap sides and our train swapped tracks.

Late in the afternoon, we followed the Thompson River into Kamloops where it was hot and sunny, around 33 deg C.

The Sandeman Inn motel was a 15 minute shuttle bus ride from the station. We decided to skip the musical show laid on for the tourists and instead walked downtown to the restaurant strip and chose a Greek place for dinner.

It’s an interesting town with a small population that explodes two days a week as both eastbound and westbound trains meet and disgorge their passengers for the night.

All aboard!

When you hear the “All aboard” cry and the old train whistle echoes mournfully around the Rocky Mountaineer departure hall, you can’t help the hairs standing up on the back of your neck.

OK, so it’s a bit corny, but hey, this is the start of one of the great train journeys of the world.

Crisp, early morning sunshine threw long shadows over the concourse as Bob and Pat dropped us off at the Rocky Mountaineer’s Vancouver terminal.

“The service starts here”, Bob said as cheerful young guys whipped our cases away. We knew we wouldn’t see them again until the following night, so had packed overnight, carry-on bags for the two-day journey.

After a cheerful and efficient check-in, there was time for a quick coffee with Bob and Pat in the concourse as we thanked them for their hospitality and for showing us around their fabulous part of our world.

Then that train whistle blew, like a line from an old song, and it was time to climb on board.

Janos was our car steward, looking after the 40 or so people in our 60 seat carriage.

We backed up for nearly a kilometre through an urban industrial landscape in order to switch tracks. The depot-based Rocky staff lined the track waving Canadian flags as we left the marshalling yards. Corny, but everyone was grinning from ear to ear as we picked up speed out through the Vancouver suburbs alongside the Fraser River.

It’s the simple things – more Vancouver highlights

• Lonsdale Quay markets in downtown Vancouver.
• Watching the floats planes take off and land by Canada Place.
• Drinks with friends on the condo deck overlooking the harbour in the gentle evening light.
• The dry smell of pine surrounding the cabin in Whistler. 
• Seabus ride across Vancouver Harbour.
• Bike riding in Stanley Park.
• Granville Island – let’s hope the developers don’t ruin it.
• Walking on the seawall at dusk.
• Being shown around by good friends who love their city.

Vancouver Island

Vancouver Island is very pretty and English. Now I know where all the old style English pubs went. The town of Victoria is lovely.

Butchart Gardens was a highlight, and the remarkable murals in the little town of Chemainus were fascinating. Chemainus was once a thriving logging town, but that industry went downhill and the town was struggling. In a stroke of civic genius, the people of Chemainus began to record the town’s history and characters in a series of large murals throughout the town.

It is now starting to get a new lease of life as visitors and tourist buses stop by the town to let people have a look at this fascinating public art.

Here is a shout-out to Bob and Betty with whom we shared a tasty, old-fashioned pub meal at the Prairie Inn in Saanichton; and another to Gordon and Jean in Chemainus for the fabulous afternoon tea complete with home-baked scones and for showing us around their charming town

The ferry ride back to Horseshoe Bay on the mainland on our second evening provided a marvellous and mystical sunset over the islands in the Straight of Georgia.

Whistler

Saw our first bear! There he was by the side of the road in an upmarket street in Whistler, where many of the houses are luxurious log cabins, munching the vegetation on the verge. He just wandered casually across the road in front of the car then disappeared up someone’s driveway. Aren’t they in for a surprise when they get home?

We continue to have fabulous summer weather. On Whistler Mountain, people were mountain bike riding on the bottom half of the mountain in the heat and dust, and still skiing on the top half – in T-shirts.

The gondola ride to the top station is pretty spectacular. I get the feeling that I’m going to be using that word a few times.

Welcome to Vancouver

What a lovely city, with the feel of Adelaide and the look of Sydney. Our friends Bob and Pat are looking after us royally and proudly showing us the highlights of their part of the world. Don’t believe what they tell you about cold and ice and snow. Vancouver this week is warm and sunny.

On our first night, as we sat down for dinner in our friends’ condo overlooking the harbour in West Vancouver, the fire alarm went off. It wasn’t until later that we realised dust from renovations on the ground floor had set off the smoke alarm.

So that was how we met the neighbours, on the stairs of the emergency fire escape, as the fire engines and ladder unit came screaming to a halt beneath the window. And everyone was so polite. On the landing every one was properly introduced before we started going down the emergency stairs.

The Story of Ian's Wedding Ring

From childhood I heard the story that Grandad’s wedding ring was made out of two rings.

I don’t know how correct that is. I like to think that the metal was from two previous wedding rings and at the time that I wear it, it has been through six weddings

The first wedding was between Josiah Tay and Matilda Beckley in 1883

Josiah Tay was a Birmingham wholesale butcher. Matilda was the sister of Granny Beckley. The Beckleys lived in Tipton in the Black Country.

Granny Beckley had two daughters: Ruth (whom I knew as “Grandma”) and Hannah, whom we called Aunt Nance.

When Ruth Beckley was a young teenager, she had what appears to be some kind of minor nervous breakdown. It seems she saw a man have a convulsive fit. It is not known whether he died, or if he did, whether she saw that.

To help her get over it, she was sent to live for a while with her Aunt Matilda and Josiah Tay in Birmingham. There she became Matilda’s companion housekeeper.

Eventually, Matilda became ill and Ruth nursed her until Matilda died.

After Matilda’s death, Josiah married Ruth Beckley in 1913. At the time he was 50 and she was 18.

I like to think that was the second wedding that the ring went through. Most likely, Josiah’s first ring went to his family and his marriage to Ruth saw a new ring start it’s 96 year journey.

However, in those days there was a question mark over the legality of their marriage. In 1913 the law didn’t allow marriage between an uncle and niece. Josiah and Ruth were not related through blood, only by his first marriage to Matilda, so it was a bit of a grey area in their case.

A few years later the law was changed to remove that ban, so in 1920 Ruth insisted that she and Josiah go through another marriage ceremony to make absolutely sure their marriage was legal. That was the third wedding.

During their married life, they had one child together, a boy, Howard, who died aged 13 months.

Ruth helped Josiah run the business. She was very intelligent and as it turned out a good business women, even though she had little formal education.

Josiah died in July 1933, leaving Ruth Tay a quite well-off widow aged 38.

Meanwhile John Henry Deffley (my Grandad) had married Annie Pratti in about 1917. That was wedding number 4 in this version of the story of Ian’s wedding ring.

John Henry was the eldest of 17 children born to Jack and Annie Deffley. Annie Pratti was the daughter of Harry and Nelly Pratti. Harry was Italian.

John and Annie Deffley had three children: Annie Beatrice (my mom, born 1919), Elsie Lily (Aunt Else, b. 1921) and John (b. 1922?, d. 1924?).

John’s first wife Annie died in 1924 when Annie Beatrice was 5 and Elsie was 3.

Elsie spent most of the next 12 years in hospital. When she was 2, Elsie had an accident that badly injured her hip. The injury became infected and turned tubercular, requiring extensive periods in hospital.

John was a widower for 10 years until he met Ruth Tay, Josiah’s widow, and they married in 1934 when Annie Beatrice was 15 and Elsie was 13. The story goes that Ruth Tay took Josiah’s wedding ring that possibly had been through three weddings, and John Henry’s ring that had been through his first wedding, and had them re-made into a new wedding ring for John, the fifth wedding in the series.

There is a picture of John and Ruth in their wedding clothes in a garden setting. That wasn’t their actual wedding day. I don’t know if any photos exist of their actual wedding, or if any were taken. That picture was taken a few days later when they got dressed up and posed for a “wedding” photo.

John and Ruth did not have any children of their own. In 1945 they adopted a little girl whom they named Ruth. I grew up knowing that Ruth was adopted and that made her my Aunt and it made her my mom’s and Elsie’s sister. All through that time, her actual parentage was unknown.

It wasn’t until after Annie Beatrice’s death in 1991 that it was confirmed that Ruth was Annie’s daughter. So she was in fact my half-sister. How this came about and how it was discovered is a separate tale and is really Ruth’s story.

Grandad’s ring was lost for two or three months in the River Avon at Twyning in about 1936 or 37.

Grandad was a keen fisherman and kept a caravan on “The Sling” at Twyning. At the start of the course fishing season the river was in flood. Grandad was at his pitch, throwing groundbait into the river. Because it was cold and wet, and his hands were slippery with the groundbait, one time when he threw a handful in, his ring slipped off and went in with it.

Try as he could, he couldn’t find it in the brown, murky water and the mud beneath. It seemed that it was lost forever.

The season passed, and Grandad went fishing most weekends, but there was never any sign of the ring.

One day towards the end of the season, Twyning’s village goose “Auntie” escaped from its compound near the Fleet Inn and went waddling off up the river bank. Bert the Ferryman chased it. The ferry in those days was a large punt that ran along a steel cable stretched across the river at the end of the lane that leads down to The Fleet.

Somewhere there is a photo from the 1930s or 40s of Grandma (Ruth) standing in the punt holding Bert’s punt pole. I can just remember Bert who was still the ferryman in about 1950.

So Bert chased after Auntie the goose and caught her half a mile or so up-river from the Fleet. Just as he grabbed her and turned to go back, he noticed something glinting at the edge of the water which by now had receded to its normal level. Sure enough, half buried in the mud was Granddad’s ring. It was glinting and flashing in the sun as the waters lapped over it.

Next time Bert met Grandad just before the season ended, he said goodbye and held out his hand to shake Granddad’s hand. When Granddad took his hand away, his ring was sitting there in his palm. That is the ring that I now wear, that I inherited after Grandad’s death. My marriage to Ann in 1972 was the sixth wedding in the story of that ring.

Shakespeare on Open Source vs Windows

A marketplace. Enter Maximus, a merchant, and Linus, an artisan.

Maximus      I beseech you now, moderate your choler.

This bodes some strange eruption to our state.

Wherefore do you rage? Who is the object of your spleen?

Linus            A dull and muddy-mettled rascal,

Every one fault seeming monstrous

Till his fellow fault came to match it.

And this man is now become a god.

What a falling off was there!

Maximus.     I have heard you speak of this wretch and his secrets

And of the engendered virtue of that wherein you strive withal. Pray tell me anon, what manner of thing is this yawning fount,

That you do protest so much, and that most eloquently.

Linus            An ill-favoured thing sir, but mine own.

                     The public outpouring of combined fancy

                     That is the main motive of our preparations,

The chief head of this post-haste and romage in the land.

Maximus      In Nature’s infinite book of secrecy

A little I can read. This gaping well, unlocked,

Set in a notebook, learned and conned by rote,

It is not, nor it cannot come to good.

Linus            It is a custom more honoured in the breach than the observance.

My friends were poor but honest.

Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens!

Base is the slave that pays.

Max              Peace, good yeoman.

The web of our life is a mingled yarn, good and ill together.

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie.

Tho’ satisfaction in revenge, there is no return on spite.

Linus            Never come such division between our souls.

Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.

Max              A peace is of the nature of a conquest

For then both parties nobly are subdued

And neither party loser.

Linus            So have I heard, and do in part believe it.

Exeunt, severally.

Never Argue with a Mug

One of the useful things my Dad taught me (see my post for 20 Aug 2005) was learnt from Roy Rene, the Australian comic genius born Henry van der Sluys in Adelaide.

During the war, Dad was walking with Roy down Castlereagh Street in Sydney where Roy was appearing in variety at the New Tivoli.

A bloke came up to Roy and made the usual ‘greatest fan’ type comments. Then he said, “I’ll never forget your show at the Alhambra before the war. That ‘F’ joke! Funniest thing I’d ever heard”.

Roy said, “Glad you enjoyed it. Hope you can make it to the new show.”

As the bloke walked off, chuckling to himself, Dad asked Roy, “What is the ‘F’ joke?” Roy said, “Oh, it’s a lame old gag that’s been around for years”.

“How does it go?”

“Well, the original version is about an infants’ class learning the alphabet. The teacher writes the alphabet on the blackboard and gets the kids to name the letters as she points to them. She points to the A and says ‘Johnny, what is this?’ ‘It’s A, Miss.’ She points to the B. ‘What is this?’ ‘B, Miss.’ ‘And this?’ ‘C, Miss’, and so on until they come the letter F.

‘Now, Johnny, what is this letter?’ ‘It’s K, Miss.’

‘That’s not right, Johnny, let’s try again.’ So they go through it from the start: A, B, C, D, E, K. No matter which way the teacher tries, forwards, backwards or at random, when she points to the F, Johnny always says K.

At last in frustration the teacher throws down the pointer and says loudly, ‘It’s all going wrong; every time I get to F, you see K.’

Roy stopped.

“Is that it?” Dad said. Roy nodded. “I don’t get it”.

“Say the last bit slowly out loud,” Roy said.

“….eff, you, see, kay. What? Oh, I get it. It’s a bit weak. isn’t?”

“Yes,” Roy said. “That’s one reason I’ve never used it.”

“But that bloke said it was the funniest thing he ever heard”.

“Maybe,” Roy said, “but it wasn’t me who told it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’ve never played the Alhambra and anyway, I’d never have used that joke in my act.”

“Why not?”

“You wouldn’t have got away with it back then. Spelling out the ‘F’ word in a public theatre? They’d have closed you down and done you for obscenity!”

“But that bloke was absolutely certain it was you.”

“Son”, said Roy, “never argue with a mug.”

MTA-GTS Submission

Just put the finishing touches to an Application by the Motor Trade Association Group Training Scheme (MTA-GTS) for funding to extend their apprentice training Skill Centre at Royal Park and delivered it safely to its destination.

My thanks go to:

• GTS General Manager Paul and his team at Royal Park;
• Executive Director John and his team at Greenhill Road for their support during development of the submission;
• Tracy and her executive support colleagues at Greenhill Road for their help;
• Susan for help with risk management and project scheduling
• Alan at DFEEST for his invaluable advice during the Application development.

Now we wait patiently for the outcome.

Grandstanding

Pulled up at the traffic lights this morning behind a truck taking equipment away from the Clipsal 500 motor race that took place over the weekend. On the car radio someone was complaining about the $700,000 it costs to take down the grandstand and re-erect it in the Parklands each year.

Some people just don’t seem to be able to connect the dots. Here we are in a major global financial mess with jobs at risk and most developed countries providing various economic stimulus packages to try to get money back into their economies and save jobs.

Couldn’t help thinking about all the people that the $700K keeps in work – like the truck driver, the forklift operators, the riggers, electricians, carpenters, laborers and so on. Not a bad use of the money. Most of it will be spent locally and provide income for the second level goods and service providers – the retailers and so on – who are also struggling. I’m fairly comfortable that the tiny portion of my taxes that goes towards this project helps keep other people in work

As a bonus, it also gives us back our Parklands for most of the year.

Strange Gig

Just resurfacing after a fascinating week: redeveloped my website ianshort.com with WordPress; reviewed and edited a submission to the SA Govt in response to their RFP for managing and operating their emergency radio network; completed an Application for the Motor Trade Association Group Training Scheme for funding to construct new training facilities at their Royal Park Skills Training Centre; all nicely finished off with a visit to the dentist and a strange gig at Aberfoyle Park.

The strange gig was at three schools’ combined fair on Sunday. Great campus, but we were in an odd spot – a sort of courtyard halfway between the oval where the main action was and a stage where students were performing for parents.

Most people used it as a thoroughfare between the two places. But the main problem was that nobody had given the running schedule to the teachers organising the kids’ shows. So just as our band was due to start rocking the place, the kids were about to do their thing for an hour.

It just didn’t seem a good idea to drown out the cute junior xylophone group. So we negotiated a delayed start, stopped every now and then to let another school group strut its stuff for ten minutes and cut six songs out of our second set to help keep to the schedule.

Parents and kids loved their shows – and quite right too, after all, that’s what it is all about. But it didn’t make for a well-structured, dynamic set for us, our audience or the next band. Nor was it much fun. In fact, if we hadn’t been there at all it wouldn’t really have made much difference to the success of the day.

Still, our Warriors show finished only an hour later than scheduled and with the help of the last band (White Noise, who did a great job in difficult circumstances) we got everything packed up and into the Warriors’ trailer just before it started to drizzle.

It is interesting how quickly you travel down Flagstaff Hill when you’ve got half a ton of band equipment behind your car helping you along.

Wilpena Pound Dreamtime Story

Yurlu Ngukandanha – the Kingfisher Story

 Yurlu, the Kingfisher, decided to go south for a ceremony. On the way he made a big fire, a sign that he was coming. The remains of that fire is the big heap of coal still at Leigh Creek today.

As Yurlu was travelling, there were also two big Akurras (Dreamtime Serpents) going south. Yurlu continued down the valley still making smoke, leaving coal behind him. The two serpents also went on southwards and entered the Pound through Edeowie Gorge and camped at a large waterhole.

That night some people in the Pound were holding a ceremony. When they looked into the sky at the stars to see if it was time to start, the stars they saw were actually the eyes of the two Akurras.

The male Akurra told his mate to go to the south-west, while he went north-east to surround the people. When Yurlu reached Mount Abrupt he stopped and looked into the Pound. He could hear the sound of the ceremony. He threw a firestick into the air; it turned into the red star, Mars.

While this was going on, the two Akurras came up on each side of the ceremonial ground and ate up all the people except two initiates and Yurlu.

St Mary Peak is the head of the male Akurra and Beatrice Hill is the head of the female serpent, both watching the flight of the initiates. Their bodies form the two sides of the Pound.

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Ian wishes to acknowledge the Adnyamathanha people of the northern Flinders Ranges as the owners and custodians of the Kingfisher Dreaming and the Yurlu Ngukandanha story, and to express his respect for their heritage and culture.

Brickworks Markets Gig

The whole world felt like it was melting on the last weekend of the Adelaide Festival.

That didn't seem to bother South Australia's Warrior musicians and singers at Adelaide's Brickworks Markets on that hot Saturday afternoon.

People say that after the final nuclear Armageddon, when the world dissolves in smoke and flames, the only things left will be cockroaches and Keith Richards.

If their resilience on Saturday is anything to go by, there might also be a few Warriors among the ruins, clutching their smoldering guitars.

Reuben knew that if he skipped the matinee of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, he could catch the Warriors' show and be back in time for the closing night of Lovers and Haters at Norwood Town Hall with nobody the wiser. Especially those nice people who were paying for him to cover the Festival and Womad.

The taxi ride out to the Brickworks Markets in Torrensville was quick. The roads were quiet and shimmered in the heat haze. As the taxi approached ground zero, South Road was almost
deserted. It seemed that all sensible folk were indoors to escape the blistering glare.

Clanking up the checker-plate stairs from the car park, Reuben was thankful when he entered the back door of the beer-garden to find that it was roofed over and more-or-less enclosed.

Industrial pedestal fans circulated the air and at least gave the illusion of a cooling breeze. Meanwhile the bar was doing a brisk trade and it was easy for Reuben to blend in.

Vinyl Kaos was on stage, sweat dripping and fingers flying. It was the first time Reuben has seen these guys, and hey, they were good. Some great bass lines, interesting lead guitar breaks and a solid rhythm section. And when the singer Alison launched into Pleasure and Pain, the whole audience knew what she meant.

SideFX were on next. Reuben saw these guys at Mount Barker just before Christmas. They were tight then and they kept it that way now, despite the furnace-like conditions.

Who in their right minds would get up in front of spotlights on a 100 degree day and jump about? Their terrific version of Chain of Fools took on extra meaning in the circumstances. Thank goodness for crazy people.

Jen on keyboards and Jan were both in good voice and worked well together. Even the light chaser suddenly started to work mid-set.

Next up was Wis'n Up, a classic, all-guy rock and roll band with some rock and R and B thrown in. This is the third time Reuben has seen these guys in six months. Technically they have got better and better and this set started off very promisingly. But in the middle of the set, the wheels started to fall off. Nothing too disastrous, just a few glitches from time to time that threw some of the members momentarily.

Maybe it was the heat - a case of the Summertime Blues perhaps - or the gremlins that strike all bands occasionally. Or maybe the Brickworks Ghost that the taxi driver told Reuben about decided to make his presence felt*.

Whatever it was, these guys know their stuff and were able to pull things back on track quickly, even though a couple of numbers were cut short. By the end of the set they had regrouped and were back to their usual standard, finishing with some rollicking classics.

A new group, Get Rocked, finished the show. Reuben heard this was their inaugural public performance. It sounded like they had been playing together for years. Great selection of songs spanning 40 years of rock.

Reuben particularly enjoyed their version of You Really Got Me, it brought back many memories of a golden age of rock and of youthful exuberance**.

Jackie the singer had the audience of around 60 people in the palm of her hand from the start. There were fists pumping the air, horned fingers aplenty and appreciative yells and screams throughout.
High Voltage said it all - it was high voltage rock and roll right through a high energy set. Keep your eyes on these guys, we're going to be hearing more of them in the future.

As the excited crowd dispersed, Reuben joined the general drift out towards South Road to wait for his taxi. On the journey back, with the sun a bit lower and the shadows a bit longer, a few more souls were out and about. Maybe they were heading out to start their evening of Festival going.

Reuben was heading to the hotel for a quick shower and change of clothes before heading out to Norwood for a bite to eat and then his paid theatre gig. He hoped his feet would stop tapping in time.

Ian's Notes
* The Brickworks Ghost is supposed to be active when the temperature has been very high for several days. More like a poltergeist, he plays mischievous tricks on people who work there, very rarely on visitors. There are two versions of why the ghost exists. One says that it is the ghost of a worker who accidentally got trapped in the kiln during a firing. The other says it was a steeplejack or bricklayer who fell into the chimney during construction. The connection with the kiln is given as the reason for mysterious incidents occurring only during very hot periods.

** You Really Got Me entered the UK charts on 13 August 1964 at no. 34. It went to no. 1 on 10 September and stayed there the following week. That was the week Reuben and I turned 18.

Mt Barker Christmas Pageant 2007

When the Visigoths attacked Rome they caused less consternation than the Warriors' invasion of Mt Barker.

It was the first official day of summer Downunder and yours truly had flown in from a chilly Big Apple to cover the first Adelaide International Guitar Festival.

But the Reverend Reuben decided to play hookey from his day job, skip Chicks with Guitars down at the Festival Centre and see what his Warrior mates had been getting up to since he was last in town.

Reminding himself to stay on the right (that is, the left) side of the road, Rollin' Reuben piloted the hire car up the freeway and out into the boondocks.

Just before the old agrophobia started to kick in, the turn-off to Mt Barker appeared, leading weary and thirsty travellers into that pretty little outpost of civilisation. Reuben is still wondering where the mountain is.

Sneaking the hire car into the last parking space for miles around (behind the pub), Reuben pushed his way through the crowds as the last strains of "Jingle Bells", played in march
time, faded away down Main Street behind Santa.

The good folk of Mt Barker had turned out in droves to watch the jolly old gentleman do his thing and were now in the mood to party.

As the Caledonian pipe and drum band receded into the distance, Warriors from the big, bad city took to the stage.

Reuben uses the term 'stage' in its broadest sense. Today, it was a couple of parking bays up the quiet end of Main Street, under a couple of nifty new marquees and a nice shady tree
(editor's note: he means Gawler Street).

The floor was the bitumen road surface with the stage marked out by safety cones and plastic road works fencing. The road camber was so steep, the back line looked like the Leaning
Tower of Pisa. Sometimes even the drummers looked puzzled.

But the road crew had done a good job of setting up, and it worked (and sounded) better than some million-dollar stage sets Reuben has seen. The crowd seemed to like being able
to get up close in front, at the sides and even round the back. It was a real friendly sort of show.

Alternating throughout the afternoon between his vantage points in the pub and the nearby coffee shop, and pretending to be fascinated by Mt Barker's retail emporiums in between,
old Reuben managed to stay incognito behind his shades while keeping an eye (and an ear) on the shenanigans on and around the Warrior stage.

It was the first time yours truly had seen a group of Warriors in daylight. It took him a little while to recover.

First up was SideFX. Reuben hears these guys are getting quite a bit of their own work nowadays, and it's easy to see why.

Good choice of songs, tight performance and a nice stage presence. The soaring vocals of the two female singers, Jen and Jan (or was it Jan and Jen), carried down the street and, like the Sirens' song, lured people into their magic circle.

And who was that lone dancer? The magic stayed with him throughout the whole afternoon, as he performed his mystical, arrhythmic moves to every song from every band.

Midnight Addiction took over the baton on main stage while Rewind started up further down the street by the pub, right next to one of Reuben's hideouts.

Reuben was torn - like a dog in a forest, not knowing which leg to cock first.

Rewind went through a workman-like set - solid and dependable, covering many of the song-book standards.

Great work guys, especially considering the challenges you faced, from a sound system that sometimes seemed to have a mind of its own to over-enthusiastic and over-friendly pub patrons.

What a great way to pay your dues and learn your chops - putting on a professional performance in less than perfect circumstances. Remember, if it doesn't kill us it makes us stronger.

Meanwhile, up the end of Main Street, Midnight Addiction were doing their thing. Heads in the crowd were bobbing, feet were tapping and the Lone Dancer still grooved to a beat that only he could hear.

Now these guys are getting to be a tight little outfit - very interesting too when they sometimes get a twin lead guitars thing going. Most of these guys can sing too, and that puts vast repertoires at their disposal.

And they certainly picked stuff from all over and acquitted themselves well. Reuben just wonders if the choice of a couple of the slower, moody ballads was a good idea for that particular
show? Brilliantly executed, but perhaps for that crowd, maybe their up-tempo numbers were better suited.

As one Warrior said, when he first arrived at the venue outside an iconic Mt Barker shop and read its name emblazoned in large letters across the front, "Hey, look! We're playing in front of Hillbilly's!"

But the appreciative crowd gave the band a warm round of applause as they finished and left the stage.

All, that is, except for the guy with the white stratocaster who didn't seem to want to go.

The reason soon became clear, he was also the lead guitarist for the next band Wisen Up (editor's note: it's Wis'n Up).

Yours truly last (and first) saw these guys playing at a Rock and Roll show during a previous flying visit to Australia. Now they did a more mixed set of covers.

Reuben heard the drummer say that the lead guitar was a stand-in for their regular guy and only had about five minutes practice with the band.

If that's so, then it was a darn fine effort on everyone's part to get it together that well - a classic, all guy line-up doing the classic covers.

Straight-up and authentic sounding, relaxed and enjoying themselves, entertaining the small but appreciative late afternoon audience, as well as the cool old couple who had been sitting in deck-chairs just in front of the stage all afternoon, and of course the enigmatic shadow dancer of Mt Barker.

A great way to wind up a Saturday afternoon in the Hills.

At least it would have been, if Mr Grumpy, the inspector dude, had been having a better day.

Reuben was amazed to see him go up to the stage in the middle of the third song and start grumping at the band.

He couldn't hear what Mr Grumpy said, but from the look on the guys' faces, they were pretty amazed too.

As he found out later, this guy was telling the band to start wrapping it up 'cos everything had to be closed and cleared by 4 o'clock. That was 45 minutes away. Rules is rules, and them's the rules.

So, like true professionals, the band cut their set by half and rearranged the running order on the fly to finish up their short but tight set in time to save Mr G. from apoplexy.

Within minutes the street was deserted and the shops were shutting.

It seemed the good people of Mt Barker were settling down to a bit of Saturday night tea and telly before an early night to be up in good time for church next day.

From his look-out back in the pub, Reuben watched the Warriors pack up their gear ready for the long haul back down the hill into the big, bad town.

Soon the street was empty again, just another high street in another small town with no sign of the magic that happened there earlier.

Even the enchanted dancer had melted away like mist in sunlight.

And as the twilight began to fall, and a lone cat skulked away into the shadows, the tumbleweed began to drift down empty Main Street.

Rock 'n' Roll Night

Energy. You could feel it crackling round the hall. Enough to power a small city. The Warriors were in town and Rock 'n' Roll was the name of the game.

The crowd started to gather early. There were plenty of Warrior friends and family members but also several groups of folk who had heard about the show on Coast FM and came along to
share in the fun.

Many people had put in a special effort and looked great in their 50s and early 60s gear. Tonia was the force behind the organisation and expectations were high. The crowd was not disappointed.

MC and PA guru Peter got the show under way with a few welcoming words. Then first up was FBI, paying tribute to many of those classic instrumental numbers that were the sound track of
our younger days.

They nailed that instrumental guitar sound and got the audience's feet tapping from the start. FBI came back for two more brackets during the night between the other bands.

Next came a brief demonstration by special guests, the Adelaide Rock and Roll Club dancers. The dancers strutted their stuff to pre-recorded tracks and reminded the crowd what dancing
was all about back in the 50s.

Next on stage was Wis'n Up, rocking the joint with a high-powered bracket of classic Rock 'n' Roll numbers that brought the crowd to its feet. The dance floor was heaving under the pounding of 200 pairs of dancing shoes. The 50s and 60s were with us again and the Boomer generation was alive and well.

The Rock and Roll Club dancers joined in the general dancing throughout the night as the audience rose to the occasion with enthusiasm. It took days to get the scorch marks off the floor.

FBI kept the nostalgia going until Spunk Rats took the stage. Their set of old Rock and Roll favourites was warmly received and packed the dance floor once again. Saturday night at the
local hop was with us again.

After another dance demo and another bracket from the indefatigable FBI, it was the turn of the Backing Band and the free-wheeling Warrior singers.

Seasoned musos from various other Warrior bands make up the Backing Band to give unattached singers the chance to showcase their talents.

With five singers plus band members, the stage was as crowded as Rundle Mall on a Saturday morning. The singers, solo or in an ever-changing kaleidoscope of vocal combinations, rounded
off the night with an eclectic mix of personal favourites that went down well with the crowd.

Great work by the organisers and helpers leading up to the show and on the night itself. The kitchen area looked like a tsunami in a music shop and it was no mean feat to get a
couple of dozen singers and musos and their gear on and off stage smoothly several times during the evening. But the whole thing ran like clockwork and was a nice little earner for
the Deaf Society and Warriors SA.

A memorable evening, when the Boomer generation staked out its claim in the Warriors SA rock pantheon.