Christmas - Then and Now

Xmas anno 1950 in East Germany - very frugal

Xmas Landscape near Berlin 1950's

Well, Christmas time is also a time for reflection. One thinks about what we had then and how we 'survive' Christmas now. Sometimes, it can be a bit frightening. We have come a long way with our affluence and don't, generally speaking, even notice it.
In the 'Good Old Days' (remember folks - these bad days now will soon be the good old days) one was lucky to get more than one Christmas present. If one got three or four, that was Christmas on top of Christmas.

White Xmas - it snowed a lot in the early 50's

The traditional German Christmas (as I know and remember it) comprises two parts: Christmas Eve is the big event (for children anyway), because that is the evening Father Christmas (the Weihnachtsman) arrives and brings presents for all the children.
Christmas Day is for the family feast, where everybody gathers around the 'ancestral' dining table and stuffs themselves to bursting point.
Traditionally, in Berlin, Christmas Eve fare is Bockwurst (German sausages) and Kartoffelsalat (potato salad) and mustard. This is 'gulped' down as fast as one can manage around 6 PM, because Father Christmas is waiting around the corner to dispense the presents as soon as the feed frenzy is over.

Bestest Xmas Present ever!

Honestly - who wants to eat when there are presents to be had? BUT - one had to eat to get the present/s.
Due to the very modest circumstances we lived under, Christmas presents generally were confined to two items: one toy and one practical item like a new shirt or pyjamas or thick socks, depending on what was available at the time.
My Bestest ever Christmas present came courtesy of Mum's twin sister, Auntie Maria, who managed to send this metal toy car. It was a wind-up job (clockwork motor), had opening doors, a steering wheel that actually worked and a gear lever featuring two forward gears, neutral and reverse.
Christmas day the traditional fare is goose or duck. In the early 50's geese and ducks were almost impossible to obtain, unless one knew someone who new somebody that had a small farm. The simple reason was that the meat ration stamps would never be enough to amount to even a small duck! Besides, the centrally planned food production system never raised enough birds to go around anyway. Only people high up in the political apparatus would be able to share the few birds officially produced every year.
Us 'peasants' had to make do with pork chops, sausages or liver if one was lucky. Mum, however, somehow managed every year to put on a pretend roast - some chops heavily doused in gravy and plenty of boiled potatoes.
After the Christmas day meal, which is taken at 1 PM sharp, one goes for a stroll through the winter landscape to work off the calories. Then at 3:30 PM, precisely, it is time for afternoon coffee, Christmas cake (Stollen) and a good swig of Brandy (if one is old enough). That is followed by an afternoon nap in order to build up ones strength to tackle Abendbrot (evening bread) - gluggy rye bread topped with cold cuts and cheese. Little boys, of course, don't require an afternoon nap - they play with their Christmas present, or meet friends to hear what everybody else got for Christmas.

Nowadays Christmas is quite different. For starters, living in Australia, Christmas time is usually the start of the hot summer. It was no different this year! Luckily it was not too hot this year, we had about 34 degrees Celsius on Christmas eve.
Australians celebrate Christmas on Christmas day. In the morning everybody gets their presents (note the plural) and bridges the time till Christmas lunch by admiring/showing/playing with their presents. Christmas lunch is, traditionally, turkey and ham OR, Aussie style, a variety of seafoods and salads - all washed down with copious amounts of beer or wine, or whatever your poison might be.
So in 1990, we (the wife and I) introduced and joined together our two very different Christmas's and it's worked ever since. And guess what, the kids love it! This way they get two lots of presents in succession. We are also very 'fortunate' that we have three grand kids having their birthdays on December 22 - partying and gift giving never ends at this time of the year.

The 'stunned mullett' that cooked the roast pork

This year we had the big birthday party on the 22nd for one very excited three year old and two, typically teenage kids, not so excited sixteen year olds. Things went fine, mostly, and everybody had a great time.

Pork Crackling - everybody hankers for it

Come December 24 there was a lot of running around getting last minute things. We were all geared up for our 'traditional' Christmas eve routine: roast pork (with crackling crackling), red cabbage, boiled potatoes and plenty of gravy - followed by rice pudding with chopped almonds in it and  one (or two) whole blanched almonds in it. The trick is, whoever gets the whole almond gets the 'Christmas pig' - which here is either a marzipan bar or a Toblerone (in our family - some family members don't like marzipan).
Well, everybody being sated we 'knuckled' down to the presents - kids couldn't wait! Presents - there were so many the kids eventually got 'presented' out and could take no more.
Next morning they got up and promptly asked: "Can we open presents now?!" We had to tell them that they must wait for their parents to wake before there would be any more presents.

Christmas Day Feast

Once that duty was done we returned to Poppo to prepare for Christmas dinner. Fortunately, that part of our family residing in Queensland was here this year and 'descended' upon us on Christmas day for a family feast. We had  turkey breast, oven roast vegetables and baked potatoes. Went down like a treat, everybody was happy - I think. After dinner we were all sated (filled to the hills) and just slowed down to let the food settle and recuperate.
By and large, another successful Christmas staged, consumed and done with. As always, the best part of Christmas is having little children around for the festivities - to see their eyes light up with joy when they see the Christmas tree and, most importantly, the presents under it. There is nothing better in this world than see their joy and delight every year - no matter how hot it is!

And that's it for this year! Wishing you all a very happy, healthy and prosperous 2013

Merry Xmas - Froehliche Weihnachten

To all my loyal followers a very big Thank You for reading my posts. There will be no lengthy post this week due to the Christmas festivities and associated hectic preparing for it.

BUT - I do wish all of you a very Merry Christmas - Froehliche Weihnachten and hope you'll be inundated with presents, family cheer and good will.

I have asked some of my much adored friends to help me spread the Christmas spirit.

Have a really good one. Until next week, when there will be a Christmas post - WOOF WOOF

Foreign Aid Part II - Perils of the Berlin Wall

Sorry for leaving you hanging, but here we go. This is about the about the perilous train journey from Copenhagen to West Berlin.
Lise did it - the candour of youth and fearlessness! We, mum and I, after mum had surreptitiously warmed to the idea of this girl coming to visit, had arranged for Gisela to meet with Lise at Ostbahnhof.
As described in the last epistle, transit passengers had to disembark the long distance train and board the small feeder on the other side of the platform.
The very curious fact, to say the least, was that East Berliners and East Germans were allowed onto that platform since the train from Warnemuende  had several carriages appended to it specifically for East German travellers from the Rostock area going to Berlin.
We had sent pictures of Lise in the months before and there was no problem the two of them finding each other. Mum maintained it was purely to ensure the girl would get safely onto the feeder to West Berlin.

It was a rather brief meeting, the salient point being that contact had been established and they would recognise each other in the future.
I picked up Lise at Zoo (that's what Berliners called the Station - being rather lazy they would never ever say: "Berlin Zoologischer Garten") and took her home on the underground to meet mum.
Being very much in puppy love and all that I didn't notice anything but the girl. Upon meeting Lisa, mum's attitude was perhaps somewhat cold, but it went right over my head.
All mum had in mind, as I found out later, was to use Lise as a mule to ferry 'contraband' to Gisela.
The poor girl was hardly at our place for a few days when mum dispatched her, laden down with two very large carry bags, to East Berlin to deliver the first load of toilet paper and washing powder.

East Berlin U-Bahn network post 1961

Today's U-Bahn network in Berlin

A slight digress at this point. Once the wall went up, underground train services (what is called the U-Bahn in Berlin) were first disrupted and then re-arranged. All lines running in East Berlin were separated from the ones running in West Berlin. Small problem, though! The U 5, the north - south line, run right through the middle of East Berlin. Also, the underground station called 'Berlin Mitte', which was and is an interchange point between two underground lines, were located in the smack centre of East Berlin.
Not really a problem for the crafty Stasi - they simply shut off all underground stations on the U5 that were located in the East, they became 'Ghost Stations', and trains would rattle through them at full speed.
The only exception being Friedrichstrasse. The train would stop there and allow passengers to disembark to enter East Berlin IF they had the right credentials, i.e. be West Germans or foreign nationals!
Berlin Mitte was the same thing, it was only open in certain parts allowing West Berliners to switch from the north-south line to the east-west line.
The deliveries kept being dispatched, seeing that Lise was on holidays and so was Gisela. Both her first husband and her were teachers, so they had time off over Christmas. Gisela and her husband tried very hard to compensate the poor innocent girl for her troubles. Gisela's then husband would meet her in the late afternoon, at the Friedrichstrasse border crossing, carry her bags and take her to the opera, a concert or a play. East Germany, in those days, was very big on cultural activities and spent millions on putting up plays, operas and operettas. Admission was very inexpensive and the performances were exceptional. West Germans would travel to West Berlin to catch shows in East Berlin.
I am not sure that a 16 year old girl really appreciated being taken to a performance of  Berthold Brecht's 'The Three Penny Opera', but she seemed to 'suffer' it with dignity.

The bottom line of it all was that Gisela got her fancy washing powder, toilet paper and lovely scented soaps, Lise had quite some adventures crossing the border (like being strip searched on one occasion - I think the border guards just fancied getting a rather lovely girl down to nothing) and being asked repetitive questions, they had records and knew how many times she had crossed the 'border', about her intentions and motives.

The brave girl soldiered on and delivered all the necessary supplies for the next six months! After all, she was going to come back for the summer holidays and would stay longer than just a couple of weeks.
That way, Gisela's supplies of 'bum caressing' toilet paper and fragrant washing powder were assured for the time being.

Foreign Aid - Perils of the Berlin Wall

This is a continuation of my previous blog 'A Taste of Danish - Part III'. As the wall was gradually being built there were, for a few weeks, quite a number of  secret paths that could be used to get to East-Berlin to meet with my Tormentor - my beloved sister Gisela. By the end of August this crossing line dried up and we were, as it is, incommunicado. Yes, one could send letters - but they would take weeks to arrive on the other side and were heavily censored. One had to be really careful what to write about - it would either be blacked out or the letter would be destroyed altogether. I think it's called censorship.
The seemingly biggest problem Gisela had then was how to wipe her bottom and wash her cloths! At the ripe old age of thirty five one would have thought she'd worked out how to wipe her bottom and launder her cloths!!
But NO - she had gotten soft! Only fourteen years earlier she was quite accustomed to wipe her bottom with torn up, crumpled newspaper and use whatever soap was on hand to wash her cloths in a bucket of cold water.

A Russian Mini-Tank in disguise

Luxuries make you soft and less resilient! Gisela by now had acquired a motor vehicle - I don't know whether I would call it a car - it was really more of a small tank disguised as a passenger vehicle than anything else. Never mind, she loved it and it made her SOFT.
Funny how little things can impede your enjoyment of daily life. Gisela was hankering for decent toilet paper and good washing powder. The stuff produced in East Germany just didn't cut the mustard for her - it didn't get whites white and didn't make the colours sparkle. Besides, the 'capitalist bourgoise' laundry powder from the West had additives that left the clothes smelling, well tantalisingly perfumed.

East German Laundry Powder - very attractive packaging!

West German Laundry Powder Effort

Here you have it! East vs West in both the packaging and advertising stakes. No wonder the East had to join the West to get some  zing into peoples life.

Meanwhile, my correspondence with Lise got somewhat frantic, her parents had reneged on their promise to let her come to Berlin for Christmas. They positively freaked out from what they saw in their newspapers. Tanks on both sides of the wall, American and Russian propaganda in overdrive and newspapers embellishing it to the hilt to sell more papers. If one believed the hype spruiked in the papers World War III was only a few weeks away. There was no way they would let their little girl venture into a war zone.
By the end of September things had settled down into a normal daily routine of nothingness. The wall was a fact, the tanks had returned to barracks and everybody got on with life as usual. In early October a letter arrived from Lise stating she would be coming, arriving the week before Christmas.  Suddenly, mum was somewhat delighted that the girl would be coming. I didn't click till much later because mum had been very apprehensive about the visit when I first told her upon my return from Denmark.

Gedser Rail-Ferry Terminal

It was quite a journey in 1961, the East Germans made it quite inconvenient for people to travel from Copenhagen to West Berlin. First, one had to catch a train from Copenhagen to Gedser, a ferry point at the southern tip of Langeland (a small island south of Zealand where Copenhagen is located). In the good old days, before the Wall, the train would be shunted onto the ferry, off at the other end and continue to Berlin. But now one boarded the ferry for the three hour sail to Warnemuende near Rostock. And here the real fun started.

Transit passengers disembarked and were greeted by a delightful immigration set-up, similar to the one on the left (the actual picture is of the last railway station in East Berlin - Bahnhof Friedrichstrasse) but they were essentially all the same, prefab and built to just one pattern.
Ironically, there were five or six lanes for incoming travellers (people actually wishing to visit East Germany) and three lanes for transit passengers. Who in their right mind would want to enter East Germany? Naturally, the Stasi officers in the visitors lanes were run off their feet - with boredom. Transit folks were 'invited' to queue in the open at their 'leisure' to wait their turn to go through passport control getting a transit visa and then customs, that would rifle through their luggage.

Knut - the cute! I am soooo shy

Berlin Zoologischer Garten

Nobody could work out why since passengers were 'guided' to the train, which was securely locked once everybody was on board. The train would then proceed at a rapid snails pace towards Berlin, where it terminated at Ostbahnhof, located almost in the middle of East Berlin. There passengers would disembark, cross the platform into a small feeder train (just two carriages) that would eventually bring them to the then main railway station in West Berlin - Berlin Zoologischer Garten. And guess what? The Berlin Zoo of Knut fame is right next to the railway station - what a coincidence.
However, nothing was easy in those days! What should have been a short fifteen minutes trip took over an hour, because the little feeder had to stop at Friedrichstrasse for the immigration and customs exit controls PLUS a thorough search of the train by machine gun toting soldiers looking for any possible escapees. The only bonus was that passengers were allowed to stay on the train whilst officers stamped their passport, crossed them off a list of passengers having boarded at Warnemuende and customs only glanced at the luggage.
Now, you work it out for yourself! Was all that checking and re-checking just due to the infamous German Thoroughness or Communist Paranoia?

And with that my friends - time has beaten me once again! I have to leave you hanging in true Dickens style and continue next week.

Messing about in Boats Finale - Delinquent's Demise

Delinquent the Magnificent

The long weekend journey to Jurien Bay, which turned into a very long week saga, was the last major journey Delinquent made.
Personal circumstances, like a looming divorce, acquiring and settling in with a new partner, put sailing on the back burner for a while.
Delinquent was mainly used for short day sails and as a dockside entertainment venue. We had some very jolly good cockpit parties on balmy summer evenings.
One short aside: sailors are a very superstitious lot. They, for example, believe that women aboard a sailing ship / boat are a bad omen. This belief started during the days of the tall ships. Sometimes I am convinced these old boys were right! I once took my daughter, newly acquired step-daughter and one of her girlfriends to Rottnest for a day trip. Very embarrassing episode that was! If you are interested to read the details click this link: Rottnest Adventure.
As is often the case, establishing an instant new family, buying a 'new' house and getting the newly acquired kids (teenagers) through the final years of schooling soon took its toll on our finances. It is a well known fact that a boat basically is a hole in the water that one pours ones money into!

Scallywag No 1 - The Pom

Scallywag No 2 - The Irish Lad

Things like pen fees and routine maintenance eat constant holes in ones pocket. To economise we even hired two backpackers (actually one was the wife's cousin) to do the antifouling for us. Much cheaper than paying the shipyard and the lads could sleep aboard as well as enjoying the nightlife of Fremantle.These two lads were real scallywags! They had stayed with us for a couple of weeks, picking up casual work like counting the number of toilets in commercial buildings along Scarborough Beach Road. Strangest things one can earn some money from. They then went fruit picking in the South-West before scraping barnacles and applying new anti-fouling to Delinquent. As you can see from the photos they couldn't resist having a laugh whilst doing it.

Then, one late autumn day in 1995 the unanimous decision (the new wife and I were the unanimous deciders - kids don't get a say) was made to put Delinquent up for sale.
We advertised it in the local newspaper 'The West Australian', scheduled to be advertised the following Saturday, and sat back to see if we got any bites.
Lo and behold on the Sunday we got a call from a chap in Sydney that was extremely keen, to say the least. He enquired about the ocean going capabilities of the boat, its general state of repair and maintenance and what was included in the package. I answered his questions as honestly as I could and told him some charts of WA waters would be thrown in with the deal. He never quivered about the price. He just asked whether she was ready to take out to sea. I assured him she was, provided he fuelled her up and provisioned her.
Done deal, he would call me back later to tell me when he would be flying to Perth. Bowl me over with a feather duster he rang in the afternoon advising he would be arriving the next day on a Qantas flight at about 4 PM, could I please pick him up at the airport and take him to the boat.
The family started to get a bit nervous, conjuring up any sort of scenario of what could happen. Never mind, I went to the airport and met the guy. He arrived with a little boy, about five or six years old, in tow. The chap seemed to be pleasant enough, but I wanted assurances that the boy was his son. He produced passport confirming (I hoped) their identity and relationship - same surname, which is really easy if both are called Smith.
Anyway, loaded them and their two overnight bags (a bit light on I thought for a sea voyage) in my trusty old Peugeot and headed for Hillarys. The chap asked to detour to a supermarket to lay in some provisions. Sure, no problem. What he came out with was a bit suspect to me, but then we all have different tastes in food and ideas of nourishment.

The Dinghy in it's usual position

When we got to the boat I showed him the ins and outs and he seemed very happy with the package and said he would buy it. One minor problem was that the dinghy was not on board. It was at home, someone had borrowed it to go crabbing at Mandurah just south of Perth.
We shook hands on the deal, he showed me the cash and I agreed to race home, 30 km away, to get the dinghy and put it on the boat that night. The trusty Peugeot Diesel hummed its way along the highway and the recently acquired step-son helped me load the dinghy on the roof racks. My by then second wife got the unmitigated hibie-jibies about the deal being done very clandestine and in the dark of night. The wife, upon being briefly told what was supposed to happen, got very suspicious about the deal and told me she had a very 'bad' feeling about it all - as always she was going to be proved to be right.
Back I went to the marina, got the chap and we lugged the ruddy dinghy to the boat. At that time there was some 'clown' parked in the car park who had his headlights on illuminating the whole scene.
I showed the chap how to stow and secure it properly, took the plastic bag with the cash and took my leave.
Little did I know that the good lady wife had called her brother to 'shadow' me, the amount of money had her scared witless, was it for real or was it all a set-up and I would get mugged. It was the brother in law who had parked his car dockside and illuminated the scene of the 'crime'.
Leaving the dockside car park I wondered who was following me. Going up the road to the freeway the car kept tailing me, eventually it turned off and I breathed a sigh of relief. It turned out the brother-in-law had been covering me just in case.
Once home I put the bag on the kitchen table and we started counting the notes - three times over! There were a lot of fifty Dollar notes - at least it was for us. We put it under the mattress and had a very restless nights sleep.
Next morning we couldn't wait for the bank to open! We were there at their door anxious for opening time. Then, cool as a cucumber, I went up to the teller and said: "I wish to make a small deposit." She looked at the plastic bag and said: "I'll have to take into the back area and put it through the machine to count it."
When she came back and confirmed the amount another sigh of relief. Then she wanted to know where the money came from! Like I was a drug dealer or something. I just told her I sold my boat. "Some boat, eh?" she said. But, at last it was done and dusted.
Nothing of the sort, though! Got a call from the chap on the Friday asking if I would take the boat back and give him his money back. He'd made it as far a Mindarie Keys, about an hours sail north of Hillarys.
Told him no way, I'd spent the money. He gave me a sob story about how his wife had found out about his plans to take the little boy away from her, the boy got terribly seasick (should have stood him under tree) and he himself didn't like the sailing caper either.
The best I could offer him was to retrieve the boat from Mindarie, sail it back to Hillarys and put it up for sale through a boat broker on his behalf. He seemed to be happy with that arrangement, paid the berthing fees for the next few days and I never saw him again.
The brother in law and I went up on the Sunday to sail poor Delinquent back to Hillarys. The state the boat was in - shocking. Stuff everywhere and water in the bilge up to the floorboards. The chap obviously had no idea how to handle a boat or look after it. We pumped her out, tidied up, made sure everything was ship-shape as much as possible and had a pleasant sail back to Hillarys.
The broker eventually sold the boat, with much to and fro, after about four months.
Next thing was, a few months after that, the wife came home from work very upset, telling me: "Just heard on the radio a yacht has sunk in the Swan River under suspicious circumstances. From the description I'm sure it is Delinquent!"

The Trees - The Cure

We never heard or saw anything of the poor girl after that.
Bought nice acreage and a weatherboard home in the never-nevers for the money to make true on my seasickness cure. The step-son, upon seeing the property for the first time, looking over the rolling hills declared: "Not the end of the earth - but you sure can see it from here" - AND that is where we are living now - Popanyinning.

Messing about in Boats - Part II

Delinquent Adventures continued

Sorry about the delay in posting this conclusion. Due to adverse circumstances, like limited access to the net courtesy of Telstra, I was not able to write last week's blog.
However, here we go with the continuing saga of Delinquent.
After our first misadventures trying to reach Geographe Bay we set out again a few weeks later to make good on our promise to ourselves to visit Busselton.
Well, the gods of the sea had other ideas, once more. Once we reached the channel between Rottnest and Carnac Island to enter the Indian Ocean proper and head south a fierce south-south-westerly came up that pushed us more backwards than forwards.
With little room to tack I decided it would be prudent to turn around and head for Thompson Bay at Rottnest to wait for better weather.
We practically flew into Thompson's and found a nice little spot to drop anchor. Being quite protected from the winds there we spent a lovely afternoon lazing about, swimming and cooking up some good food on our tine little stove in the galley.
The weather didn't abate at all, but we were quite content to stay at Rottnest and enjoy the early summer weather. Little did we know that our daughter hit panic stations after two days of not hearing from us and alerted the authorities! We even scored a write-up in The West Australian newspaper headlined 'Couple lost at Sea'!
Them were the days when nobody had a mobile or cell phone. One had to row ashore to use a public phone box to inform relatives of ones whereabouts. That required effort (swimming ashore, we had no dinghy then) and loose change to operate the phone.
On the third day in the bay a police boat pulled up to our little ship and inquired whether this was Delinquent and so on. Well, they gave me a bollocking and took me off my ship to the main jetty to call our distressed daughter. In the end everything was good and we enjoyed our mini holiday.

Jurien Bay 'Marina'

Not being deterred by these minor mishaps we decided to go north instead just after Christmas. We figured that would be a better alternative to battling the strong south-westerlies. Our aim was to reach Jurien Bay.
We set off late in the morning, preparations always take longer than one anticipates, and head north. By early evening we made Cervantes, then a little fishing village about half-way between Hillarys and Jurien Bay. We pulled in there and anchored for the night. Next day we had no problem making Jurien Bay by early afternoon. Docking alongside the main jetty I went in search of the harbour master to be allocated a berth. No worries he said and described which berth we could use. He was thoughtful enough to caution: "Mind the strong sea breeze, approach in a wide arch and have your engine in reverse. The wind will push you in anyway, just grab the rope from the outboard pylon to stop you and be ready to throw a rope to whoever is on the jetty to stop you from hitting other boats."
Worked like charm, we got into the berth and tied up, wind blowing in the cockpit like crazy but it was still enjoyable.
The plan was to spend two nights there and then sail back to Perth for New Years eve. The weather, however, had different ideas.  Five times we tried to leave only to be pushed back towards Jurien again and again. We tried early morning, middle of the night and anytime in between - all to no avail.
Gave us a great opportunity to get to know most of the crayfishermen on our jetty and have some great yarns with them and share a few beers.
On Jnauary 2 I woke up about 4 AM because there was an eerie stillness and humid smell in the air. I woke the deckhand (the good lady wife) and said: "Stow everything and get ready in ten minutes, we're out of here!" Sleepyhead stumbled about stowing and securing things below deck, in between asking: "What about breakfast?", whilst I got things organised above deck. "Stuff breakfast, we can have that later!"
And off we went, motoring out of the harbour, hoisting sails and heading south. A lovely north-north-westerly had sprung up by then. I put the sails 'wing on wing' and we were just surfing down the coast.
The deckhand prepared some breakfast and we enjoyed the rapid progress.
Didn't even bother to stop at Cervantes since we made such good headway. We reached Hillarys by about 8 PM - no mean feat for a 28 foot yacht covering about 110 nautical miles in that time.
And here comes what you've all been waiting for - the guaranteed cure for seasickness:

  STAND UNDER A TREE !

Messing about in Boats & guaranteed cure for seasickness

Keeping one foot on the PLUG !

This blog spans several decades and two continents. You'll need to read the entire story to get the guaranteed cure for seasickness as there is a price for everything - NO free lunches here!
My first 'boating' experience was on on the river Dahme in Neue Muehle (refer to earlier blogs) in a wooden wash trough stealthily 'borrowed' from Mum.
The problem with that contraption was that it had a plughole and plug - designed to keep the water in the trough! Putting it in the water meant there was pressure from underneath against the plug, which promptly popped out and the contraption was flooded.
The trick was to keep one heel on the darned plug to stay reasonably dry.

Going upmarket in the boating caper

The second occasion was messing around in my uncles paddle boat. Much more civilised and drier, unless we, my mates and I, deliberately capsized it just for fun - the things 11 year old boys will do. An absolutely marvellous example of old-fashioned workmanship. A hand-built clinker version from the early 1930's, all varnished and virtually unsinkable!

After these episodes a few years went by, involving 'escaping' from East Germany to West Berlin. Once settled there, I did eventually scrape together enough money to buy a blow-up kayak to use on the big lake at Tegel.

Between a Rock and a hard place

The lake has two islands in it plus many reed-covered shores where one could paddle into and hide.
The reason for the blow-up version was that it could be deflated and packed into a neat round pouch that had large enough handles to carry it like a rucksack. Since we lived in a small two-room flat on the third floor, storage of the boat was a prime consideration - commercial boat storage was on the far side of my budget.
The money for the blow-up boat came from delivering newspapers very early in the morning before school and later serving an apprenticeship in a hardware store.

Once I debunked West Berlin in early 1962, first to Bad Godesberg near Bonn and then to Copenhagen, the boating caper experienced something of  hiatus.
It was not picked-up again till our arrival in Perth. Time and money were the main deterrents up till then, plus I was rather busy building a weekend cabin in the hills north of Melbourne.

The 48 hours wonder!

Once settled in Perth we ventured forth to purchase a real boat! Well, a third-hand decommissioned cray boat anyway.
The boat was moored in the Canning river on a mooring the dealer from whom we bought it owned. Purchased on Friday, went on it on Saturday to make an endless list of what was needed to make it halfway habitable, had a picnic lunch and left late in the afternoon.
With boats one always makes endless lists of things that need fixing or improving - hence the saying: "A boat is a hole in the water that one pours once money into".
Got a phone call early Sunday morning from the dealer with the cheerful news: "Mate, your boat has sunk!"  Raced down there to have a look - only the bow was sticking out of the water.
Got onto the insurance company Monday morning to get it sorted. Late Monday afternoon I got a call from a policeman from the diving squad: "Mate, you want to sell that sunken boat?" Told him it was in the hands of the insurance company. By Wednesday I got a call from the insurance company that they would pay out the sum insured, they had found a buyer on an as is, where is basis, which suited them just fine.
By the following weekend the boat was afloat, being towed to a shipyard for repairs - makes one wonder who did what to whom?!

The mighty Swordfish

The dealer had another boat moored there that caught our eye. Her name was Swordfish, she was a 32 ft brute of a thing, but very, very comfortable. Large wheelhouse cum saloon, good size forward cabin that slept three. A motor-sailer with a 75 hp Ford diesel engine, the list goes on. BUT she required some maintenance! Spent the best years of my life for a full week down at Fremantle Slipways repainting her. Grinding off all the anti fouling and starting again - a true labour of love.

We had Swordfish for a few years, moored up at Yanchep Marina and mainly being used as a weekend cabin. She was just too big and cumbersome for two 'feeble' people to sail. So we sold her to a guy that sailed her all the way up to Wyndham, in the far north-west of Western Australia.

May-Maid the magnificent

We looked for something more manageable and came across 'Mary Maid' - a 21 ft day sailer. Lovely wooden boat she was, except for one weakness. She reminded me of my first vessel - leaked like a sieve!

We had some good times in her on the Swan River, but one always had to have a spare hand on board to do the bailing. That got somewhat tiresome in the end and we looked for an alternative. Along it came in the guise of a good mate of mine who owned an 18 ft Red jacket that he was not entirely happy with. We did a straight swap - he got a leaking boat and I got a sailboat, albeit somewhat cramped, that performed beautifully. The bonus was that it was on a trailer and we could keep her on our front lawn.
As was our wish, we had her a year or so and started thinking of something else in the boating department. We wanted a boat that was reasonably fast to make the crossing to Rottnest, a rather nice island off the coast of Perth. It had to be trailable yet be big enough to keep on a mooring in the Swan river for early evening put-puts during the week. We'd inherited the mooring from an acquaintance when we had Mary-Maid.

That was when we found the Swiftcraft Sportsman - a 21 ft power boat (or stink boat as I call them) with a cuddy cabin sleeping two, 175 hp Mercury stern drive and all the get-up and go one could desire. The Swiftcraft was quite a big, heavy boat AND we towed it with a Peugeot 504! Should have seen the looks on peoples faces at the boat ramps, especially when retrieving the beast. "You'll never pull that one up with that little four cylinder car, mate!" They had problems with smaller boats using Holdens or Falcons. Must say, never had a problem with old 'Henri' - - Peugeot's have a lot of grunt and know how to get the power to the rear wheels. Back the trailer in the water, winch the boat up onto it and then just pull away smoothly as anything.
Everything good comes to an end. In late 1983 we decided to return to Europe to see if we wanted to live there. Swiftcraft was sold, along with a lot of other possessions, and we made our way to Europe, mostly overland, starting in February 1984. It was great for a while, whilst it was 'new', but the novelty wore off and we returned to Australia in May 1987.

Nautilus the Invincible

Had to have a boat again! That was the first mission! Hunted around and found this pocket motor-sailer - the Nautilus (which is actually a brand name but we never called it anything else but that). She came on a trailer, but pooh! Too cumbersome to lug around. Parked the trailer at my works (we had no room for it where we were living then) and rented a pen (just like the big boys) at the brand new Hillaries Marina, where this picture was taken.
The little fellow turned out to be an exceptionally sturdy sea vessel, making the crossing to Rottnest numerous times in all weathers, including 45 knot winds! Being only 18 ft the accommodation was a little cramped, even though it was billed as a four berth trailer-sailer! Yeah, maybe four midgets? But - it was quite acceptable for two people for a short time. You can guess where this one is going. After about eighteen months messing about in Nautilus, she was by the way the best tuna boat I ever owned - we caught so many when they were running it was unbelievable - she had to make way for a real Yacht!

DELINQUENT - what an apt name

I searched high and low, on and off, till I came across DELINQUENT - a boat I just had to have. A 28 ft fibreglass ocean going boat. She was build in Essex in the UK and sailed out to Australia in the late 70's. Everything on her was build for blue water cruising - she even had a cabin heater to cope with those freezing English winters.
Nothing trailable here, she just slipped into the pen at Hillaries vacated by Nautilus.
She had two comfortable berth in the main cabin plus a pilot berth that was mainly used for stowage. She had a galley (very small) plus a proper chart table with night light and so on.
Some very 'exciting' journeys were had on Delinquent. Once, we set off to sail to Geographe Bay for a very long weekend. Well, clearing the islands off Perth one hell of an easterly storm blew up, leaving me with little choice but to furl all sails and run with the wind. Even under bare pole she was doing a good 9 knots, which is quite a feat for a relatively small boat. We headed west all night and as the wind abated somewhat towards morning I turned north. Getting my bearings I changed course to east-north-east and continued. We plodded along all day and into the next night. Eventually, at about 3 AM I saw the flashes from a lighthouse. Scrambling into the cabin to examine my tables and charts I figured out, from the sequence of the flashes, that it was the Guilderton lighthouse, well north of Perth. The wind having abated quite a bit, I hoisted some sail and changed course to the south-west. Eventually we reached Hillaries by mid-morning, quite chuffed with myself and starving to death. First orders were to tie up the boat and then cook up a storm in the tiny galley - bacon, eggs, tomatoes and toast, could have fed an army with the amount I made - but it was good!

AND - with this - the bane of time has caught up with me again, once more. My humble apologies, but I will have continue this tale in next week's blog. The guaranteed cure for seasickness will be at the top of the list for that blog - PROMISE.

First Taste of Danish - Part 3

Elsinore YH - with its own beach

On with the saga, and hopefully this will be the conclusion of this 'epic' journey.
Upon reaching Helsingoer (Elsinore of Hamlet fame) I checked into the local YH (Youth Hostel), one of the best hostels anywhere. It has it's own beach and faces the sound, splendid location.
Almost like living the life of the rich and famous. After settling in I had to go down to the beach (not many beaches in Berlin) to take in the sights and smells of the ocean. People everywhere, well ten or fifteen anyway, a glorious beach and the water - so clean and inviting. Except, when one stepped into it it was positively FREEZING. And there were some hardy folks taking dips! Them Danes are bred tough and a hardy lot - just think of the Vikings making open boat journeys to Iceland and North America. Got to be tough to survive that.

Second Taste of Danish

But, there were compensations! Found this chick (right) sitting on the beach. Having acquired a certain skill in chatting up birds over the past few weeks, I had to talk to her.
We got on famously and spent the rest of the day and evening together. Went to a park at night for some 'alone time', i.e. smooching and groping - very nice indeed.
Next day we made an excursion to Haelsingborg, on the ferry, the girl, Lise, wanted to show me the sights and attractions of the Swedish counterpart to Elsinore.
In the late afternoon Lise announced that she had to return to Copenhagen the next morning. Never being one to make rush decisions I said: "I'll come with you", not really thinking clearly that it would involve spending some money on a train ticket. But never mind, it was said and had to be done.
The following morning we boarded the train for the short ride to the capital. We chatted, held hands and generally carried on like teenagers do. Coming into the outskirts of the city Lise casually said: "Would you like to come to my place for lunch? I'm sure my parents wont mind".
Never one to pass up a free meal I readily agreed. We caught the tram from the railway station to Frederiksberg and walked the few steps to their abode. Her parents were a charming lot, didn't speak much German if any at all, but we got along famously. Her mother seemed totally unfazed by the appearance of another mouth for lunch. Her dad had to work the afternoon shift, thus it was really dinner rather than lunch. Her mum was very impressed with my appetite and the fact that I liked her cooking. She kept refilling my plate over and over again.
Her dad went off to work at 2:30 and we just 'relaxed in the living room whilst her mum was busy in the kitchen and then went shopping. It was late in the afternoon when her mum returned and said something to Lise. Lise translated, it was about me staying the night. I could sleep on the couch in the living room.
Bonus - not only free food, good and plentiful, but also a bed for the night for free.
Should have seen the face on her dad's face when he returned from work at 11 PM!
Lise and I went into Copenhagen the next morning for her to show me some sights I hadn't seen before - nothing like a local guide. We returned for lunch (dinner really) and it was decided, without my say so or approval, that I would stay another night.
The following morning I took my leave, but not before having invited Lise to come to Berlin for Christmas. Surprisingly her parents agreed at once! Could have bowled me over with a feather duster!!
Lise accompanied me to the outskirts of the city where we had a tearful farewell, lots of hugs and kisses and more tears. Then I took up my position to hitch a lift to Gedser in the south from where to catch a ferry to Travemuende.
I was in luck, got a ride right to the ferry. Overnighted in Travemuende and continued hitchhiking to Moelln to pick up my Quickly. It was not fixable, so I had to put it, and myself, on a train to Lauenburg to see if I could hitch a ride to Berlin. It was actually a piece of cake, within half an hour a petrol tanker driver (it was a huge beast of a semi-trailer) agreed to take me and Quickly to Berlin. We heaved the machine on top of the tanker and secured it to the walk plank running along the tank.
The driver was very apologetic that he had to chuck me off just inside West Berlin because of the traffic laws. I then had to push and pedal the contrite machine all the way home, which took close on two hours.
I arrived home about mid afternoon and lo and behold there was not only mum shedding tears for her 'long lost' son but also my sister Gisela. After all, it was the day of my 18th birthday.
When I told the women of my adventures and topped it off with the invitation I had extended to Lise, the look on their faces was priceless! You could have heard a pin drop at that moment.

The 'Wall' Aug 13 - 14, 1961 before concrete was added

Eventually mum said: "Well, let's see what happens. It's nearly five months to Christmas, anything can happen".
I don't think mum had quite in mind what happened fairly shortly afterwards. She was more inclined to think that time and distance would heal all wounds. But NO - two weeks after my birthday the Berlin Wall went up, causing no end of unnecessary disruption to my budding love life. It did all look very grim the first couple of weeks, mum rushed off to the supermarket to lay in more canned supplies 'in case the Russians are coming - again' and I got frantic letters from Lise that her parents had vetoed a visit to such a dangerous city.
But - that shall be the subject of another blog in the future.

First Taste of Danish - Part 2

H.C.Andersen's childhood home in Odense

Odense didn't hold a lot of attraction for a seventeen year old that had passed the fairytale stage and yet not gotten into admiring architectural wonders.
Not being a total cultural ignoramus I spent some time the next morning taking in the salient attractions of Odense, i.e. H. C. Andersen's childhood home.
Then it was check-out from the YH and on to Copenhagen. Quite a laborious undertaking in them days, one had to hitchhike to the eastern end of Fyn (Funen Island), catch the ferry to Sjaelland and then try to get lift/s to Copenhagen. Arrived at the Bellahoej YH very late afternoon, checked in and settled down - well, settled down involved arranging for and preparing dinner for myself. It was Friday night and I met another hiker from Kraut land who was absolutely charming. We decided to combine our dinner efforts to cook up a substantial meal.
After being sated we sat out in the gardens to have a smoke - don't be horrified, in them days it was the civilised thing to do - having a smoke after dinner.
Just a little aside at this point - then it was customary for people to smoke. I remember my mum preparing  for Sunday afternoon coffee if people were coming to visit. The preparations encompassed having at least two cakes ready, brewing a large pot of coffee and putting a bottle of Cognac and a porcelain oval jar with cigarettes in it, plus a matching lighter (matching the oval cigarette jar), on the coffee table. Mum didn't smoke, but if the company was congenial she'd 'puff' away on a cigarette just to be polite.

Part of Tivoli - the oldest entertainment park in the world

On with the story. Next morning, being a Saturday, my new-found mate and I ventured into Copenhagen to take in the sights. Quaint little city that it is, it was quite interesting - Little Mermaid, Rosenborg Castle, Town Square, Stroeget (believed to be one of the first pedestrian malls in the world), and so on.
Early afternoon we ended up in Tivoli, the unique Danish entertainment park in the middle of the city - just opposite the main railway station.  We lingered about and took in the sights, not having an abundance of money we avoided the rides and temptations. Mid afternoon we spotted two lovely looking Danish girls - scrumptious! My mate was very adept at chatting up the 'birds' - he soon had us hooked up with these two lovelies. Tivoli wasn't really the place where one could 'make out' with the girls, so we persuaded them to take us to a park that was a bit more 'private'! They chose Kongens Have (The Kings Gardens) as the venue.

First Taste of Danish - Mie on the left

Actually, we didn't care! All we wanted was to make out with them. We got the surprise of our lives, these Danish girls were not shy at all and quite forthcoming - up to a point! We spent hours in the park necking and petting, it got quite heavy at times. The end effect was that the girls took their leave about nine'ish and we were left with what is commonly known as 'blue balls'.
The girls had promised to meet us Sunday morning in the park - but that never eventuated. So, we decided to debunk Copenhagen and move on. My new mate was going south (back to Germany) and I was heading for Sweden - hopefully the pickings were a bit richer there.
I caught the early afternoon ferry to Malmoe - no bridges then - and contemplated where to go next.

I decided that Ystad was the ticket! Having been advised that hitchhiking in Sweden was not very popular (I think almost forbidden) I purchased the cheapest rail ticket I could get and went on one of those wonderful clean and fast Swedish electric trains that took me in a jiffy to Ystad. Ystad is lovely little town with even lovelier girls. BUT - one absolutely great disappointment happened there! It wasn't the female company BUT the bread!! Mum had equipped me with a large container of Schmaltz (pigs fat used for covering bread to make it more palatable - either on its own with a sprinkle of salt or a base for putting some cold cuts on it). Well, I'd run out of bread and ventured to the what was then 'supermarket' - really only a general store. I spied a rather lovely looking rye bread, nice, firm and dark! I purchased it, took it back to the YH and proceed to prepare my 'Abendbrot' - rye bread slices covered with Schmaltz and Salami. Shock Horror - it tasted like CRAP! Naturally,  first of I blamed my mum for supplying me with Schmaltz that had reached its use by date centuries ago! But NO - the bread was to blame - it was sweet like cake! Sweet bread and Schmaltz just don't go together - just ask Heston Blumenthal.
Never one to be discouraged by such small inconveniences, I soldiered on and had my Abendbrot - food is food after all.

That's today - then they were a lot skimpier

Went out the next morning to explore the town and more importantly the beaches. Ystad being on the very sheltered side of the Baltic Sea has, in July, a very agreeable climate. The beaches are, or were then, absolutely gorgeous. What was even more gorgeous were the girls frolicking on the beach. Them Swedes sure have the nag for putting out enticing messages - must have had something to with the Mid-Summers Night Dream movie of that era!
Ystad was not very 'profitable' in the 'bird' hunting department. I took in the sights, explored the town and beaches, had some lovely food, apart from the disgusting sweet rye bread, and took my leave. Train travel being ridiculously cheap in Sweden in those days, I purchased a ticket from Ystad to Lund - the famous university town. Yes, I was chasing an education, but not of the academic kind. Lund proved very profitable in that genre - but also very disappointing mainly due to my inability, then, to wake up early.
Arriving in Lund late afternoon I settled into the YH and went out to see what was going. Very soon I found this lovely girl, Kristen, and we got chatting. Chatting went to kissing and petting, we spent a lovely afternoon and evening together.
Turned out she was there with her parents, in a car, on their way to a Europe holiday. After enough petting and getting all steamed up Kristen said: "Why don't you join us on our car trip down south? I'm sure my parents wont mind!" OK, get the instructions and be ready. They were leaving by 6:30 the next morning.
What happened, being super-horny and bothered the night before, I promptly slept in. When I got up at seven the carriage, containing lovely Kristen, had left.
Devastated is not an apt word for what I felt. Harakiri came to mind - but then, we are made of sterner stuff than that and soldier on. Packed my bags, tears rolling down my face, checked out and headed for Helsingborg to catch the ferry to Helsingoer.
That was a somewhat fortuitous, or fatal as some might say, decision. It changed my life, my outlooks and my destination!
Sorry folks, enough rambling for today, look for Part 3 next week - promise??

First Taste of Danish - Part 1

Danish Delight - whichever way you want to see it

We have moved forward to 1961. I was then an apprentice in a hardware store, apprenticing as a hardware shop assistant.
Every year of my apprenticeship I would take a travelling holiday to somewhere.

Faster than greased lightening - The Quickly

First off was a hiking trip through what the Germans call the 'Middle Mountains' - nothing larger than oversized hills. Of course I had to do it in winter, Febraury actually, with lots of snow and walking about 30 kms a day. Most Youth Hostels were closed at that time of the year, but I always found accommodation. Next up was a cycling trip through Western Germany, Holland and Belgium. My 'Steely Steed' gave up the ghost in the Ardennes. I had to nurse it back to Luxembourg and put it, and myself, on a train to Trier, just inside Germany, and send it back by rail to Berlin. I hitchhiked back to Berlin and surprised mum with my arrival no end.

Checkpoint into Darkness

Well, by 1961 I had 'accumulated' enough funds to buy a moped - a 'glamorous' motorised bicycle, a NSU Quickly,  and decided to take a trip to Denmark and Sweden! Not that far away really for an enterprising spirit. Pity the moped didn't have the same spirit. Actually, it had no spirit at all - gave up the ghost half-way between West Berlin and the border crossing into West Germany at Lauenburg!
That presented a somewhat major problem. The rule then was, as imposed by the East Germans, that all 'slow' vehicles like bicycles and mopeds, had to make the crossing between West Berlin and West Germany during daylight hours, quite an ask for slow moving vehicles since it covered 220 km over some rather badly maintained 'highway'. By the way, this Transit route was the only one between Berlin and West Germany that allowed transit by bicycle or moped. The Quickly did have pedals, but pedalling was very hard and excrutiatingly slow. Chance of making the border crossing before sunset were slim, very slim.

The Tow Bug

As was typical in those days, everybody making the crossing helped anybody broken down or whatever. Along came a VW Bug with dad, mum and two gorgeous teenagers of the female variety on board. The car stopped, dad got out to assess the situation. The same as myself earlier he couldn't figure out the problem, let alone devise a fix. So, he declared the only remedy was to tow me to Lauenburg! He produced a tow rope, fastened it to the bumper bar of the Bug and gave me the other end to hold on to. "If anything untowards happens, just let go of the rope", were his words of advice. And off we went! He promised to drive slowly, yet still managed to clip along at 60 - 70 km/h. It would have been the most frightening 100 km I'd ever covered, or would ever cover, in my life. The pretty girls must have seen the terror on my face, they couldn't stop giggling.
Once in Lauenburg I had to recover from that stress and then push Quickly to the local Youth Hostel (YH). A good feed and sleep made the world look much brighter. Next morning a trip to the local moped shop for repairs. The guy recogned it was a coil or condensor that had the gong and replaced it. Off I went northwards towards Denmark.
I got as far as just outside Moelln, about 60 km distance, and the ruddy thing gave up the ghost AGAIN!
Alternating between pedalling and pushing I got the retched thing to a moped shop in Moelln, followed by check-in to the local YH. Next morning a return visit to the moped shop proved fatal. The diagnosis was not good to say the least. I decided to leave it in the hands of the seemingly capable guy for the next two weeks or so and continue my trip by hitchhiking.
Hitchhiking in those days was a relatively safe pursuit. On my first day I got a lift with a middle aged gent from Moelln to Itzehoe, where he lived. Being a very nice gent he promptly invited me to join him and his wife for 'Mittagessen', the quaint German custom of having ones main meal of the day at mid-day - supposedly very good for the digestive system and promoting better sleep at night. Never being one to decline a free meal I gladly accepted.
After Mittagessen I continued on my journey. I walked to the outskirts of Itzehoe and wagged my thumb. After a few minutes a VW stopped with a man in his thirties driving it. He offered me a lift to somewhere close to the Danish border. As we got underway and got chatting, not that I have much to say, it turned out he was a teacher from somewhere in the middle of Germany on his way for his summer vaccation. He had rented a cottage on Sylt, a rather quaint Island off the North-Western coast of Germany. He invited me to spend a few days with him if I was so inclined. Turned out he was gay, but a very nice and companionable person indeed. Before anybody worries, he never made a 'move' on me! He was just a very gracious host that entertained me, showed me the island (he'd be going there for years) and looked after my well being.
After a few days of R&R I crossed to the mainland to continue my hitchhiking. That day I got all the way to Odense (Hans Christian Andersen territory) courtesy of some very lucky lifts with little idle time in between.
OK folks - that's Part 1 - Part 2 will follow next week! Promise.