Surviving the Stuart

My first real career was that of a teacher.   The year was 1982 and I was finishing my third year as a primary school teacher.  This past year had been particularly tough one and the whole teaching thing was wearing a little thin to be honest.   This was my third school in three years and I had so far taught in two rural settings and this past year at an inner city in Melbourne’s western suburbs.

My first teaching assignment was in a little community on the Victoria – South Australia border in a town called Apsley.  In those days the head teacher was provided with a house in the community in which they taught, but because the principal was a local the house was sitting vacant until I arrived.   A small three-teacher school on the edge of town surrounded by farms, idyllic setting you’d think but the town was almost devoid of anyone near my age...well of the fairer sex that is!   I was 22 years old and stuck in a town 2.5 hours from the nearest sizeable town so it was a rather lonely first year.  J

In those days when you were starting your teaching career it was a little unpredictable in terms of where you’re going to be sent, especially in the first few years.  My second year found me in another even smaller school (Walpeup) in northern western Victoria, how was that possible I thought to myself.  The primary school was a two room, two-teacher affair on the edge of a desert no less.   The second half of the year I surprisingly was thrust into the principal role after a motorbike accident involving the then principal.   How weird is that – two years out of college and principal?

Clunes to Darwin - Australia is the same size as the
continental United States... 

I had expressly asked for an urban teaching assignment after literally two years in the wilderness, however I learned a great lesson…be careful what you wish for!   I was informed that I would be teaching at Tottenham North Primary School.   I had no idea where it was until I located it on my brothers Melways guide.  Then it hit me...holy shit I was going to teaching in the Western suburbs…of all the assignments this was the worst possible scenario.  

I would be teaching one of the grade 5/6 composite classes, but what was more surprising was that I was the only male teacher on staff other than the principal who was nearing retirement.   “Totty North” as the locals endearingly referred it to was situated between Footscray and Sunshine and bordered a very industrial area of South road.   The socio-economic situation in which I entered is something I’d never imagined – predominately single parent families, majority welfare recipients with a large and ever growing Vietnamese and Cambodian population.

One of my students had virtually no English, not that I could ever get him to speak even with his limited skills, it wasn’t just that he was shy, he never so much as smiled.  The story was that Noren had recently arrived in Australia from a refugee center in Thailand after he and his mother and siblings had fled Phnom Penh, the Cambodian capital.  Apparently Noren had had witnessed his father’s execution in the local square…so completely understandable.

I remember leaving school one day soon after the start of the year and my car had been “keyed” – not just scratched once, but repeatedly along both sides…   As you can now imagine my role quickly became a cross between a referee and a cop, rather than a teacher and educator.  Sometimes my day would consist of breaking up the daily schoolyard fights and often confronting intruders on the school premises and oh, occasionally teaching my class!  

Road train near Tennant Creek, 
Northern Territory Australia 1984

The longer the school year went the more depressed I became and the more I looked for a way out, quickly realizing that if I didn’t do something about the situation I would find myself back at Totty North next year as well.   So I began to look farther afield in terms of teaching and decided that I would move to Darwin and teach there.   My brother Laurie was living in Darwin at the time, having settled there in 1973 after he returned from Papua New Guinea where he’d been working for the Commonwealth Government.   Hhhmmm a beach and a tropical climate – so hard to get used to!   J

I began to plan my exit and so in early December I tendered my resignation effective January 1^st (in Australia the school year is aligned to the calendar year).

Next I had to get a vehicle that could handle the long distance drive and that would accommodate all of my worldly possessions...   So trading my severely scratched Toyota Corolla for a Toyota minivan was the first order of business.  Instead of enjoying my last summer at home, I decided that it would be best work another harvest and make some extra cash…just in case it took me a while to find a job in Darwin.  

In mid January with the harvest now complete my excitement grew as I packed the van and subsequent supplies – spare tire, extra water and an additional jerry can of fuel…check, check and check!  

Driving by myself I departed Clunes on Tuesday morning, and if all went as planned I should arrive into Darwin late Saturday afternoon.   The easy part of the drive, which I was quick to find out, was the Clunes to Adelaide leg.  The road was fully paved and had all the regular highway amenities along the way.   The first night I camped just outside North Adelaide pulling into a rest stop and sleeping in my van.

I woke the next morning to an exceedingly bright sun literally blinding me as I sat in the front seat of the van. Day two would take me north along the Gulf of St Vincent through Port Pirie to Port Augusta, before heading inland toward Alice Springs.  Once I turned onto the Stuart Highway just outside Port Augusta it was a single paved road all the way through the heart of Australia to Darwin.  

As I rolled into Port Augusta that afternoon I realized that I would have to spend the night here before striking out for Alice Springs some 1250 km distant.  I’d been warned that it wasn’t safe to drive this road at night because of the livestock and other assorted animals (camels, kangaroos…), which wandered this desert landscape.  

So I rose early the next day and hit the road.   The tricky thing was trying to predict when I should stop and fill the van with petrol.   Being unfamiliar with this part of the world, I was just a little paranoid about running out of petrol or breaking down and in those days with no cell phone or easy way to communicate made it just a bit stressful particularly as I was driving through desert.  

Fortunately this part of the road was mostly paved and reasonably well traveled although not so much by car which presented a whole new set of challenges for which I wasn’t truly prepared for until the first transport truck flew by me creating a dust cloud that was completely impenetrable.   Quickly slowing to a crawl until the dust had somewhat cleared it had frightened the shit out of me as I lost complete visibility to the road and surroundings.

Stuart Highway near Devils Marbles - Central Australia

Each day was another scorcher (well over 39C or 102F) and especially without air conditioning in the van so I drove with the windows down to try and keep cool.   Trying to keep at a steady (110 – 130 kph or translated 65 to 70 mph) I realized that I was too slow for the assorted trucks and road-trains that made me look as though I was standing still.  With each passing truck passed I was quickly enveloped in yet another dust cloud, even with the windows up dust seemed to somehow seep into the van…  

I made it into Alice Springs late in the day with one very sun-burned “truck driver arm”, I was exhausted from having to concentrate for every moment of my journey but happy that I’d made it without incident so far.

I was desperate for a shower and as I looked in the mirror at the motel, I was almost unrecognizable – completely covered in a combination of dust and sweat that made me look as though I had just stepped out of mud puddle.

Friday morning found me calculating my route north, and again I was stuck in a quandary.  Darwin was almost 20 hours drive north, and impossible to make during sunlight hours so I decided that I would spend the morning taking in the sights of Alice Springs before heading to Tennant Creek where I would stay the night.   Then Saturday I would drive the final leg (13+ hours) to Darwin.

Unfortunately I had a flat tire just outside of Alice Springs, which set me back and put me in jeopardy of arriving into Tennant Creek after dark.   This was turning into a bad situation as I’d been warned over and over not to drive after sunset.  

It happened exactly as they said it would…rounding a corner on the crest of a hill just after sunset, with the lights of Tennant Creek shining on the horizon (I was starting to relax as I thought I was going to make it okay).  I realized almost too late that there were two large cattle standing smack in the middle of the road.  In an instant I swerved to miss them but now found myself on the wrong side of the road just in time to see a set of truck lights looming in front of me.  

Quite a few hundred kilometers of the
Stuart Highway were still dirt in early 1984

My mind raced and I tried to correct my swerve and get back onto my side of the road...I held my breath for the impact, but somehow he had missed me - it must have been by a “hairs breath”.   The transport hadn’t stopped…he was too big and going too fast.  I pulled over and got out, squatting down beside the van and shaking violently from my near miss all I could do was take some deep breaths and shake my head at how fast that had happened.  Clearly I needed to keep my wits about me or anything could happen.  

Regaining my composure I drove the last 20 or so kilometers into Tennant Creek rather slowly. 

Saturday dawned with yet another cloudless sky as I headed out on the last leg of my journey from Tennant Creek to Darwin (1000+ km’s).   However, calling this a highway was a complete misnomer, cos’ in those days there were large stretches of the Stuart highway that were still unpaved – just hard baked dirt.   Now couple that with the many cattle grids, the “road-trains” (transports hauling up to three other full size trailers), the choking red dust and the heat made this one of the most inhospitable roads in the world.

The further I ventured north the hotter, stickier and more humid it became, the terrain transforming from arid desert to scrubby low bush.   Late in the afternoon just out of Katherine I was hit by a severe storm.  It had been building all day with ever darkening thunderheads on the horizon – my first wet season storm!  It’s hard to describe or imagine the volume of water that fell from the sky during that storm – it was like someone was pouring buckets of water on the vans windscreen it was so heavy. 

Finally made it to Darwin but my van was
a deep shade of red with its dust coating!

Clearly this was the most challenging day of driving yet.  I drove in what you might consider a trance, primarily from sheer tiredness and exhaustion, but also having to concentrate for such a long period of time on the road and my other cohabitants.   My adventure was quickly losing its appeal!   

I eventually arrived into Darwin around 6:00 pm on Saturday night, some five days, (53 hours of driving), and 3700 km’s on the odometer later.   I’d made it, somewhat unscathed and with a new appreciation for the long distance truck drivers that drove the Stuart “Highway” for a living. 

It took a few weeks to get the dust out of my assorted body cavities, but what a memorable trip!

Two weeks

The year was 1972 and it was another hot, dry and dusty January (Clunes is situated on the dry side of the Great Dividing Range in Victoria), the wind blows pretty constantly over the heat-baked plains as it approaches the hills of the Great Divide so anyway to escape the heat was a plus. 

Fortunately the town had a small but well used swimming pool and during our pre-work years spent almost every summer’s day at the pool, from the moment it opened at 10:00 am until it closed at 6:00 pm.   My younger brother James and I almost lived at the pool each summer, and as you can imagine were as brown as coconuts (no sunscreen in those days!).   

One Saturday instead of going to the pool using my usual route down Ligar Street, fate intervened and for reasons that is completely lost on me now I decided to go to the pool via a rather circuitous route – down the primary school hill.  

The school hill as it looks today, looking toward the pool
- it doesn't look as steep as it did back in 72'!  :-)

In those days the primary school hill was still in use, at the bottom of the hill it joined with the main road to Campbelltown which ran toward the town’s main street.   The pool entrance was less that 50 yards from where the school hill joined the Campbelltown road, with a very sharp right hand turn into the pool entrance.   Hiding the entrance from view was a tall hedge, which ran along the entire length of the house in front of the entrance.

I remember pausing briefly at the top of school hill before I took off down toward the pool gathering all the speed I could muster. Approached the Campbelltown road junction I quickly checked for traffic – both ways were clear so I continued pedaling hard toward the sharp turn into the pool.  Eyewitnesses say I careened across the road, taking the corner on the wrong side of the road so as to make the turn without slowing down.

My next memory is waking in hospital…my mum sitting beside my bed her eyes red and puffy from crying, now looking back I’m not sure if they were tears of joy or anger?.   I didn’t really know what was going on, but soon realized that every part of my body hurt, especially my face and as I felt gingerly ran my tongue around my mouth I noted with some concern that I had broken my front teeth.   The left tooth was broken diagonally from root to tip, the right broken almost at the gum-line.   My nose had been bleeding profusely (noted by the deep red blood stain on the hospital sheets and t-shirt), and frankly I was a mess.   Fortunately no broken bones other than my nose which would heal with a bump, my poor nose was going to be broken a number of subsequent times playing football – but that’s another story ☺   

Here’s what was pieced together after the accident, apparently after barely making the corner; I ploughed head-on into an oncoming Ford ute (pick up truck for those of you in North America) that was exiting the pool grounds, I was unable to see around the corner until it was too late.  My face plant on the front bonnet of the ute was a classic and it left an enormous dint, before rolling straight over the cabin into the back of the ute.   

The quick thinking local, instead of stopping to check to see if I was still breathing backed up, threw my bike in the back with me and drove directly to the town hospital where he kindly deposited me.  The hospital staff notified the local police (we didn’t have a telephone) who then came to the house and told my mum.   

Mum was as mad as hell!   Not one to hold back, she tore into me right then and there in the hospital “what the bloody hell do you think you were doing?”   Clearly I was lucky to survive relatively unscathed but now thoroughly embarrassed by mum's tirade in front of the nurse tending me..ouch! 

Lake Learmonth as it looks today

The very next weekend, my elder brother Gary his wife Lynne and two boys were up visiting us from Melbourne, and it was decided that we would go for a picnic lunch on the Sunday at a local lake (Lake Learmonth) before they headed back to Melbourne.  My sister Glenda, her husband Max and young son Clinton were going to be there, as well as my mum, dad and my younger brother James.   

Shortly after lunch we decided to go for a swim in the lake.  The water was cool, but the lake had a muddy bottom so it was pretty murky, still in this heat it was a godsend!

I was splashing around with the other kids in about thigh deep water when I suddenly felt a sharp pain on my left foot.  I lifted my foot high to take a look and noticed that I had a cut on the top of my foot…hhhmmm that’s strange I thought to myself.  As I placed my foot back into the water a large red blood cloud appeared almost immediately, so I lifted my foot to take another look and to my horror notice that blood was now pouring from the open wound.   I yelled for help and dad quickly waded into the water to retrieve me.   He snatched me up in one quick movement and splashed toward the bank, yelling for all of the kids to get out of the water. 

My mum and sister quickly wrapped my foot in towels to try and stem the bleeding but to little avail, clearly I needed help and I needed it fast.  Without any conversation, dad grabbed me and placed me in the back of the car, my sister who was a trained radiographer sat with me.  The closest main hospital (Ballarat Base) was almost 13 miles away.   

In those days we had a 1959 FC Holden sedan which had a top speed of about 50 miles an hour before it shuddered itself almost off the road.   I remember I kept saying sorry to dad for ruining the picnic, but he didn’t say much.  Clearly worried he drove like a man possessed, my sister holding my hand and reassuring me that everything would be okay, but even I could see that this was not good, especially as there was a large pool of blood dripping from the drenched towels and now pooling on the floor of the car.   I felt the panic starting to rise in my throat and chest as we drove, it felt like an eternity…shock setting in I guess.

Dad drove straight into the emergency roundabout, screeching to a halt before lifting me from the car, the hospital orderly standing nearby ran to help and I was whisked into emergency room and quickly surrounded by doctors and nurses to try and stem my bleeding foot.

1959 FC Holden Sedan - same colors as our old car

That afternoon they put 36 stitches into my foot and I eventually hobbled out of the hospital on crutches many hours later into the hot summer night air.

I was unable to sleep that night because of the excruciating pain in my foot…   My sister who worked at a nearby hospital sensed something was awry and the next morning went into the hospital to review my x-rays.   As soon as she saw the x-ray she realized what was wrong - the doctors had missed a large sliver of glass inside the wound.   I was quickly summoned back to the hospital and they operated to remove the sliver.   I had stepped onto a broken beer bottle - based on the color of the glass they removed.

To this day I live with the legacy of those two weeks in late January 1972.   The four small toes on my left foot, and the inside of my calf from my ankle to my knee are completely without feeling where the nerves were severed in my foot after stepping on the broken bottle.   My teeth have now been fixed permanently and my nose still has a bump…did I hear you say traumatic for a 12 year old?    

I must have looked like I’d been to hell and back in the weeks following – two broken teeth, my face still black and blue from the bike accident and the piece-de-resistance…crutches to support my slowly healing foot.  I endured six long weeks of crutches but the worst of it was not being able to go to the pool for the remainder of the summer…crap!

Green Apples

This week my son Zach and I had a long conversation about school, his feelings and some of his fears.  Surprisingly I was able to use last week’s blog to highlight that he wasn’t alone in his feelings of loneliness and despair at this point in his life, and that there seemed to be a number of parallels to me as a teenager.   Clearly mine were for different reasons, but we were able to draw on many similarities as an anchor for our conversation.  

Although the conversation started innocently enough, it soon turned into a rather emotional and deep discussion with a few tears shed by both of us.  As I held him close I told him it was okay to cry, and in fact an important part of growing up and maturing and that even as adults we need to let our emotions out.   

Zach in a less emotional setting,
about to tackle an opponent in school
rugby - May 2012

I know Zach will read this weeks blog with interest as he was peering over my shoulder earlier tonight, but what I guess I didn’t tell him during our conversation, that there have been times in the past couple of years (some might say “tumultuous” years) where my emotions have been so close to the surface that I literally have felt that I might completely lose my emotional stability with the slightest of nudges.   Sure there were very good reasons, but they felt “skin deep” if you know what I mean and holding my feelings in check was excruciating beyond belief.   At those moments in time I felt that I was at the very edge of my sanity – using everything in my power to just cope with the flood of emotions that swirled around me. 

One of the most vivid memories of that “edge” feeling were the moments immediately after my dad died.  It was Valentines Day 2011, and I had been in his hospital room sitting with him most of the day, watching him struggle to breath on his own.   It seemed just like any other moment in time, except that he took a breath, exhaled and just stopped.   Just like that, I was waiting for him to breath again, but he didn’t…it was his time.   Within seconds the medical team alerted to his monitor bound into his room and I was pushed aside – understandably. 

Clearly an emotion moment, but in a way I was relieved to know that he wasn’t struggling anymore and not in any pain.  My siblings and I had been on a bedside vigil since Friday night after I had arrived back from Canada - a marathon week that saw me leave Australia on Monday, only to get a call from my sister less than 12 hours after landing back in Toronto Tuesday.  She explained that dad had taken a fall in the hospital and was now in a coma, and that I had better come home as quickly as I could.   Dropping the phone I literally drove straight to the airport and boarded the quickest flight back to Australia, this time via Hong Kong.   In less than four days I had been in the air almost sixty hours and across the Pacific Ocean twice…   My brother picked me up form Tullamarine airport in Melbourne around 11:00 pm Friday night and we rushed the hour and half to the small country hospital where dad was waiting for us.  

Dad was in the room set aside for dying…near the front door of the small country hospital.   The night nurse on-duty said that they were glad we had arrived and thought that he would only last a few more minutes – the time was 12:20 am Saturday morning.   All through the night dad’s vitals ebbed and flowed, nearing death then regaining his composure time and again.   We all knew it was only a matter of time…but given dad’s strength of character who knew when that would be!   

Dad during his radiation and
Chemotherapy

By late Saturday afternoon my two brothers and I were getting a little punchy (to say the least) after almost no sleep for the past week; my sister having to attend a wedding and so she had to step away Saturday afternoon.   It was at that time that I asked my brothers what their funniest memories of dad were and for the next two or three hours we regaled each other in some of dad’s crazy stories (trust me there were lots to share!).  At some point during the proceedings the nurse came in and was taking down dad’s vitals, I looked over as James was mid story and dad was frowning and appeared rather tense.  I asked if everything was okay, and the nurse said that it was likely that he could hear us, which only made the rather irreverent story James was telling more hilarious! 

By late Sunday night dad’s condition had somewhat stabilized, he had defied the odds and the parade of doctors and nurses proclamations that attended him over the past few days.  With each new shift they pronounced almost certainly that it would only be a matter of minutes before he passed.   We lost count of the number shifts that started and ended, each successive team leaving the hospital shaking their heads in disbelief.

We all knew the inevitable was lurking, but as Monday dawned my siblings who had been by his side for the better part of the prior week had to go back to work.  Who knew how long dad would linger.  Fortunately for me I was able to stay with him.  All through the day I sat with him in his sun-filled room, watching the dust glint in the air as it slowly swirled in the room, at times talking to him, telling him to hang in there, at other moments nodding off as the extreme tiredness got the better of me before I’d get up and take a quick walk down the hall or step outside for a quick breath of fresh air.

Dad’s breathing was better and more consistent most of the morning, but around 1:30 pm he started to labor again and I called for the doctor.  There was nothing they could do except perhaps increase his medication a little.  I thanked them and sat back down…a million thoughts running through my mind, trying to make sense of the past six months, one eye-watching dad the other distracted and deep in thought.  

At 1:50 pm time stood still…dad had just taken his last breath.

Green apples...

In calmer times I wondered how I coped with the gamut of emotions that had coursed through my body in those moments following the doctors pronouncement, it was a weird sensation partly numb, yet with a heightened set of emotions and feelings.  I felt as though I was on the edge and staring into the abyss, yet so stunned that I couldn’t cry, well at least not until I spoke to my sister then the floodgates just opened up.  The strangest thought came to me in those moments following his death; with both mum and dad now gone I was now an orphan…what a strange thought to have at a time like this?

How do you survive moments like that?   I told Zach that my older sister Glenda and I had devised a little survival mechanism to survive the loss of our parents and other tough emotional moments in our lives.  I said that we give ourselves permission to have a “green apple” a day.  

The green apple was a metaphor for a gift that we would give to ourselves each day that was purely for ourselves to help us replenish our souls.   A little something to tide us over the bad days and help us look forward to the better days ahead.   It could be something as small as taking a long leisurely walk on a sunny day, perhaps reading a book even when there are chores to be done…just cos’ we could.   It was something purely for us on our time.

Unsure if Zach had been able to absorb the concept I had to smile to myself Thursday when he called me at work late in the afternoon to tell me that he had come home from school around 3:30 pm and decided to take a nap, he woke up refreshed and wanted to call me and tell me. 

He said that he had really enjoyed his “green apple” and asked me what mine was going to be today… clearly the torch has been passed!