 
GREATEST STORIES

OMR

(One Minute Reads)

By

Pat Ritter

© Copyright Pat Ritter - 2017

Published by Pat Ritter.

Smashwords

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Each week in 2017 I attended the Pomona Writers Group. The facilitator asked us to write a story about a topic he chose. These stories less than 500 words are OMR (One Minute Read). I hope you enjoy reading each one.

I want to express my gratitude to Melissa Smith. Thank you for doing a great job of the cover. If you want Melissa to create your next cover, I highly recommend you do.

If you have enjoyed reading this book, or if you haven't enjoyed it, still let me know. I would love to receive your feedback. You can contact me on my e-mail: I'd love to receive your feedback.

Pat Ritter - Author/Self Publisher.

Five Ways To Carry A Goat

I'm a member of The United Grand Lodge of Ancient Free and Accepted Masons of Queensland. Commonly named Masons. This personal journey commenced in 1972 beginning at my Mother Lodge Stanthorpe.

Much confusion over the years have been cast on Masonry. Like for instance: _how many goats do they ride at their meetings._ Another common misbelief: _what do the Mason do with droppings from the goats?_ A common reply: _bore a hole through the centre of each pellet, feed onto a string to sell as Rosary Beads._ I've lived through humiliation of others who didn't understand the craft of being a Mason.

My initial introduction into Masonry came when a friend asked if I wanted to join a special brotherhood of men. This event happened in 1972 at Stanthorpe. Within hours of agreeing to this proposal I couldn't believe the number of others who congratulated me on taking my first step in Masonry. People I never would've realised belonged to the brotherhood.

Masonry is a craft which is centuries old beginning before the birth of Christ. These early learnings have progressed through the times to build a brotherhood amongst men. My story commenced at Stanthorpe being my Mother Lodge. Over a period of three years I commenced as an Entered Apprentice to eventually become a Master Mason after three stages of degrees.

Like anything in life are critics. Many critics show their ignorance when their knowledge about a subject is guesswork. Being a Mason I hold proud in myself. Over the years since becoming a Mason I've received untold criticism about the movement of Masonry. For instance: _five ways to carry a goat._ _No mention of goats is mentioned in our scriptures._

Over the period I've been a Mason many changes have happened in my life, especially enjoying brotherhood of trusted individuals. Being a police officer, I affiliated with the Police Lodge named Vigilance Lodge which met monthly at their Masonic Hall, Petrie Terrace, Brisbane. I worked through the various ranks to become Worshipful Master of the Lodge.

One of my greatest achievements whilst in this position to officially open Grand Lodge in Ann Street, Brisbane assisting The Grand Master. To sit in the Masters Chair in Grand Lodge of Queensland became a pinnacle of my masonic career. I'd reached the peak of Mount Everest in masonry.

Not being outdone; my wife and I joined The Order Of The Eastern Star to enjoy a combined partnership into Masonry. My daughter joined Jobs Daughters an affiliate of Masonry. With all this in place we became a family in Masonry.

My daughter reached the heights of Honoured Queen whilst I assisted being the Bethel Guardian. My wife and I stood beside our daughter in helping her through this period of her life. Jobs Daughters being an Order for daughters of Masons to participate in the learning of Job through his struggles in life.

Five ways to carry a goat certainly doesn't relate to Masonry or other affiliates of Masonry.

Word count: 506

Fear Of Nuts

Colloquialism for the word 'Nuts' in Australian language has a number of meanings. One of which is 'you've gone nuts' meaning 'off your head'. Fear of nuts certainly falls into this meaning. When I served as a police officer, particularly on full moon each month 'Fear of nuts' came to the fore. Rays from the moon beamed from certain people's heads to force uncontrollable behaviours.

One particular memory of a detective; we'll name Detective Brown, investigated the murder of a property owner near Roma on Christmas Day. Son of the property owner had been released from a mental institution for Christmas break. Investigating the murder Detective Brown discovered a bullet hole in the back of the property owner's skull. His son admitted shooting his father because God told him.

In this investigation if a person hasn't the ability to understand at the time to know right from wrong; he was presumed innocent. 'Not guilty' of the act of murder. Detective Brown interviewed the son about the shooting of his father. The son answered all Detective Brown's questions with honesty, even showing him where his father sat in the lounge chair, how he pointed the barrel of the gun to his father's skull and pulled the trigger.

When asked by Detective Brown why he killed his father, his answer, 'God told me to.'

Detective Brown asked a further question, 'if a policeman was standing beside you at the time, would you have shot your father?'

Offender replied, 'No.'

Detective Brown asked, 'Why?'

Offender replied, 'Because it is wrong to shoot a person in the presence of a policeman.'

This line of questioning proved beyond any reasonable doubt to Detective Brown the offender totally understood at the time of shooting his father he understood completely what he was doing. Therefore, his defence of insanity wouldn't be available to prove his innocence.

Detective Brown went on to investigate many other similar investigations throughout his career. His reputation expanded throughout the service causing him acclaim for his understanding of the law in respect to insanity.

For too long before Detective Brown used this portion of questioning to elicit wrong from right in the mind of the offender at the time, many 'Nuts' escaped punishment. No need to have 'Fear of Nuts' from the time Detective Brown introduced this line of questioning.

Word count: 394

Europe On 72 Euro A Day

Walking past the travel agency in Gympie a huge poster with the words _Europe On 72 Euro A Day_ flashed out to me. I stopped. Quickly my mind worked through the money converting 72 euro a day telling me around one hundred dollars in our money. I'd never been to Europe. Seen plenty of Europe on television and movies.

My mind adjusted to a trip I recently ventured to the township of 1770. Boarding a LARK, which is not a DUCK, with fellow passengers we drove across sand, beaches through creeks to finally stop at Bustard Heads Lighthouse.

Township of 1770 named after explorer James Cook who in 1770 stopped in search of water and food for his crew while exploring eastern seaboard of Australia. With his off-sider Joseph Banks they ventured inland to discover a huge bird named Bustard which they recognized from their homeland. Banks shot the bird much larger than a bush turkey commonly found in the region. At the same time a bird's laugh stopped both men in their tracks.

Banks stopped to look at this strange bird which made a sound like laughter. 'I'm going to call this bird Bankaburra.' Said Banks.

'No, you're not. I sighted the bird first. We'll call the bird a Cookaburra.' Demanded Cook. That's how our Kookaburra came to be.

Visiting Bustard Heads Lighthouse, we discovered this lighthouse built in England around 1860 delivered to township of 1770 carried pallet by pallet from the township to Bustard Heads where reassembled to its present glory.

History tells us the first Lighthouse Keeper raised his family working at the lighthouse for the next thirty-eight years. Regularly a new Light housekeeper replaced another until the lighthouse keeper weren't required any further.

One of the lighthouse keeper's residence had been turned into a museum displaying history of Bustard Heads Lighthouse, residents, families plus history from the first Lighthouse Keeper to the final one. Nowadays volunteers live at the lighthouse for one month at a time learning the lifestyle of a lighthouse keeper.

Of the many functions of each volunteer; they convey the history to visitors telling stories of the lighthouse. We visited the local cemetery viewing lost people who lived and died at Bustard Heads Lighthouse reaching back to the original family in the 1800's.

By the time I reached the barber shop to have a haircut my mind reflected on _Europe On 72 Euro A Day_ to decide I'm not ready to discover Europe for any amount of money. Too much of Australia to discover on our money.

Word count: 433

Don't Stop Me Now

When Noel gave us this topic, my mind went directly to a song Elvis Presley sang **'Don't Stop Me Now.'** Elvis's voice echoed in my mind listening to the words. Or I might be wrong about the title. May have been **'Don't Leave Me Now.'** Anyway, whatever the song title Elvis Presley sang the song.

Growing up in the 50's Elvis Presley became **'King Of Rock & Roll'.** I remember aged eight-year-old my mother taking me to the movie theatre at Roma for the movie **'Love Me Tender'**. Being his first movie left an impression on an eight-year-old when he sang the title of the movie to his mother. If only I could've possessed a similar voice to Elvis to sing the same song to my mother.

Venturing into my teenage years Elvis Presley created more **'Rock & Roll'** music plus acted in the many movies. Elvis never gave up instead changed his act to include a more mature kind of music. After acting in over thirty-six movies Elvis loved touring especially playing Las Vegas International Hotel.

His marriage to Pricilla Presley became the highlight of Elvis's life until the arrival of his only child Lisa Maree Presley, became the apple of his eye. Life went along smooth for Elvis until his desire to entertain his fans took over his life. His love of music grew wide throughout the world placing him **'King Of Rock & Roll'**.

Unfortunately, his life with Pricilla ended in divorce. His music never stopped with nightly shows at Las Vegas International Hotel for his audience to enjoy. These shows kept Elvis alive until 1977 when he collapsed and passed away at his home in Graceland's.

**'Don't Leave Me Now'** echoed throughout the many radio stations across the world. Fans gathered, most crying to witness the passing of an American Icon. No one believed Elvis was dead. Many have tried to swing their hips, sing songs like Elvis, no one can replace the **'King Of Rock & Roll'.**

This year marks forty years since the death of Elvis Presley. Many sightings have been reported across the world. Elvis Presley is dead. His music never died with him. Even after forty years from his death Elvis's music lives on in the soul of his fans.

How can one individual after forty years since he left this world live on in his music. His music should be **'Don't Stop Me Now'** which Elvis Presley has proven to the world he continues to sit on his throne as **'King Of Rock & Roll'.**

Word count: 435

Do You Really Want To Be A Hundred?

In one answer, YES! With thirty-two years to reach this milestone imagine how many books I'd have written and published by the age I turn one hundred years old. Presently I have twenty books. Writing and publishing two books annually by the time I turn one hundred years old keeping up a similar pace as present, I'd eventually have written and published eighty-four books. This would be quite a milestone to reach.

Annually I write and publish One Minute Reads using the stories we write weekly at Pomona Writers Group into a book. Sitting here amongst you all writing the weekly topic Noel has given us. We'd be a jittery old crew at this stage. Perhaps by then we will be using our tablets or i-pads. Or, better still talk our stories to appear before a screen.

Technology being the way by use with i-phones, computers, tablets every other technical appliance available, writing may become a thing of the past. Let's look back in the past thirty-two years to compare the future of writing.

In 1988; almost thirty-two years ago my first book took three years of hard work. Computers were only being introduced to the public with Commodore. More a word processing package rather than a computer. I remember after completing my shift from work at midnight arriving home to sit at the kitchen table writing on a A5 sheet of paper using a biro. By four o'clock in the morning I retired to bed. This practice went on for almost three years until the manuscript finished before publication.

Transferring the written word onto a computer, I needed to learn how to turn the computer on by using a boot disc, extract the disc, insert a word package disc, type like mad until the disc filled with the writing. Use another disc to fill. This is the manner in which I wrote my first book 'Closing The Gap'.

After three years, a new word package arrived on the market – Word Perfect 4.1. Like driving a Ford Prefect motor vehicle suddenly driving a brand-new Holden Commodore V8. Change in computer software plus computers reached a new era.

To complete the first manuscript, I used an electric typewriter which at the time became the modern word processor. At least the manuscript looked something like a book, still with A5 size paper. After a couple, more years my manuscript was published by an independent publisher. At the time, 'Closing The Gap' safely held in my hand finished. Apart from the birth of my first child, became the highlight to my career as an author. You wouldn't believe the adrenaline pumping through my veins almost gave me a heart attack.

Present day writing is easier for an author to write, publish, market, sell their books through the internet. All the technology one ever needs.

Do you really want to be a hundred? By all means!

Word count: 493

Back Soon With Fish

The year 1975. Married with one child. Our first holiday. Booked into accommodation at Coolangatta. Decided to take our daughter for a walk in the stroller around Greenmount. When we returned to our motel discovered purse lost during walk. Had all our holiday money plus keys to motel. Devastation because in those times banks opened only Monday until Friday. This being Saturday no money until Monday morning after the bank opened.

Anxiety flooded my mind plus body. Retraced pathway where walked couldn't locate missing purse. Reported loss to Police. What should I do? After returning to motel unit I said to my wife. 'Back soon with fish', I muttered leaving my family at the motel. Being a male, I decided to catch a fish for dinner. Later I returned with no fish. Honestly, I didn't have any other ideas.

Hoping for a miracle a knock on the door. _Who would be here at this time of night? We paid for the unit._ Flashed through my mind. Opening the door two rough looking characters stood at the doorway holding in front of them our purse. 'We found this. Thought we'd return your purse.' He handed me the purse.

In shock I muttered, 'thank you.' Took the purse from them. All the money still in the purse. Nothing missing.

One said, 'cool man.' Both left.

Relief flooded my body sharing this good news with my wife. I hadn't rewarded these fellows for their honesty. Running from the unit hoping to find these two good Samaritans, they'd vanished. I couldn't believe the honesty of these two-young people who returned our purse. Human nature at its best.

My wife laughed. 'Why are you laughing?' I asked puzzled.

'Back soon with fish'. She laughed louder. 'What were you going to do hope a fish jumped on your hook. You're hopeless at fishing.' She continued laughing.

'How else was I going to feed you until Monday?' I thought about her question. Started belly laughing with her. I'd never caught a fish in my life.

Although this vacation happened more than forty-two years ago this incident remained in my mind sparking feelings of anxiety when we lost our purse. Trying to catch a fish became a nightmare, because even if I caught a fish, I had no idea of clearing the fish plus we didn't have facilities in the unit to cook. So, when I told my wife 'back soon with fish' my mind totally fixed on caring for my family.

I've never forgotten those two young men who returned our purse, particularly, finding all our money still in the purse. Five hundred dollars a large amount in those times. Unfortunately, I couldn't find them after I left the unit, searched everywhere to give them a reward for their honesty.

My only hope to have them realise how fortunate we were to have them find our purse plus return the purse to us at the unit. Each time I visit Coolangatta since this time my mind flashes to the same motel recreating the visit from two young honest men. Also, my words to my wife, 'back soon with fish'.

Word count: 532

A Lost Cause

Have you ever developed an idea to such a degree to turn white heat almost melting your mind? Napoleon Hill, author of 'Think and Grow Rich' explained: _Every adversity carries with it the seed of an equivalent or greater benefit._ Whilst I've never reached the heights of Napoleon Hill, my mind developed an idea to help parents improve their communication with their teenage child.

This idea filled every pore in my body to find a solution. My wife repeated over and over with her comments, 'a lost cause, flogging a dead horse, who do you think you are to change society.' These comments drove me onward to find a solution to this difficult problem.

Searching through my history bank to identify why this issue become more than an obsession to solve, I dug deep into my past to recognise reasons why I couldn't stop until I developed the proper outcome.

I'll share a secret of my life which only one other person has knowledge this happened. At fourteen years of age, I was no different to any other teenager, or so I thought at the time. At school my buddy wanted me to steal my father's car to use and 'run away from home'. After thinking about his proposal, I agreed. My father parked his car at the front of our home with the keys in the ignition. On a night, we arranged I drive to his house, collect him and away we'd go.

Thinking back to this moment I can't remember why we didn't carry out our plan. Probably because we chickened out at the final moment. Move forward twenty years. My role at the time to protect children under age seventeen years. An issue, almost impossible to solve, 'teenage children running away from home' developed.

Instead of solving this issue, each time I tried to prevent a teenager from running away from home, road blocks appeared. Many times, I thought of giving up. Something forced through my mind to make me search for the answer.

Not only my wife told me this idea was a lost cause, my bosses, workmates, and friends admitted the same. One told me, 'you're painting yourself into a corner.' These words drove me on to find an answer.

After so many failures I almost believed those others who told me my idea to be a lost cause might be right. I never gave up. An answer to my problem just around the corner always drove me onward. My self-belief focused on finding an answer drove me toward my goal. Battling my way through adversity, out-of-the-blue a sign appeared to show me the way to find a solution.

Communication became my mantra. Parents didn't possess the skills to communicate with their teenage child. My role to listen to each parent, spit out their frustrations of their teenage child's behaviour, whilst on the other side of the coin protect the teenage child from intimidation or frightened to speak their mind in presence of their parents. During each session between parents and their teenage child each party placed their issues on the table to discuss a solution.

Ninety-nine percent of the issues were parents failed to possess the skills to communicate with their teenage child. After showing each parent improved skills, like the ability to listen, understand these issues, no greater pleasure than to witness both parties hug, cry and kiss one another. Always bought a lump to my throat with emotion to witness this scene.

I'd discovered the holy grail of 'teenage children running away from home'. This wasn't a lost cause after all.

Word count: 606

A Cliff Too Far

During my absence from the writer's group, my partner and I boarded a paddle boat Murray Princess on a Murray River Cruise. Never having done this before excitement built inside my mind taking me to the movies from America of their paddle steamer experiences.

Murray River is the longest river in Australia reaching two thousand five hundred kilometres from the ocean. Wide enough to share many boats. House boats dot the landscape either birthed, moving up or down the river with other traffic. Small hamlets several kilometres apart resemble villages dotted along the landscape. Bird life in abundance of various species.

Our journey commenced at Mannum in Victoria established in the late 1800's. Buildings from the era still stand. My first impression of Murray Princess took my breath away. Total of one hundred and twenty-five passengers with twenty-five crew in attendance. Each crew member excited to invite passengers onboard to enjoy their journey.

Settling into our cabin our journey began. In our minds we had no idea of the experience we were about to undertake. Leaving our moorings at Mannum, the Captain steered the boat north. Our first call of duty for all passengers to assemble in the Dinner Hall to be addressed by staff about safety whilst on board.

Slowly moving along the river our paddle boat made little noise only the swishing of the paddle wheel at the rear end of the boat. Length of the boat measuring a football field. After all safety measures were explained, we relaxed in lounges to partake of refreshments.

Standing on the deck looking across the river huge cliffs reached for the sky leaving our paddle boat appear small compared to these cliffs. After my mouth closed my mind couldn't believe the height of these cliffs only on one side of the river. A cliff too far exploded in my mind. _How cliffs be so high on one side of the river whilst on the other flat land._ Unbelievable experience.

These cliffs made of limestone, layer upon layer reaching high above the water. Straight upward. Birds nesting burrowed into the limestone. An experience I shall never forget or wonder how this act of nature occurred.

Moving along at a slow pace, similar to _slow boat to china_ , our minds began to relax taking in the sights and landscape. Nightime fell, our paddle boat moored at the nearest village for the night. This being a four-day tour meant our vessel sailed up river for so far, turned around to return to Mannum.

Over the next couple of days, we leisurely cruised the Murray River stopping along the way, going on bush walks, experiencing a bush bar-b-que, enjoying the company of guests. Our crew were beyond special. Each doing their job professionally.

Returning after our four days to Mannum we disembarked farewelling our crew members who stood at the bottom of the gangplank wishing us farewell also thanking us for our company on board their vessel. A highlight to this wonderful trip, a cliff too far. An experience never forgotten.

Word count: 514

How Did We End Up Here?

We may discuss the birds and bees, theory. Or to be more specific how did we end up here at Pomona Writers Group. An interesting story. Pomona Writers Group saved myself as well as my writing career so to speak. I've been a member since 2010.

I'd love to share my story of how did we end up here. In October 2010, I read in the local throwaway Mary Valley Voice an invitation for writers to attend an introduction day of Pomona Writers Group to be held at the Pomona Bowling Club. I attended to meet some of the most wonderful people I've ever met in my life.

Before entering I met Pam who like myself wanted to attend this introduction day. Jim, the facilitator of the group at the time met Pam and I at the front door introducing himself with a warm welcome. We entered the dining area of the club to meet members of the Pomona Writers Group.

This moment almost surreal because before attending this meeting my writing career had almost come to an end. After writing and publishing many books, in all honesty I never had a clue what I was going to write next. Jim certainly changed that idea. His introduction gave me a shining light to the end of the tunnel. His words seeped into my mind. An important subject he mentioned – no judgement on any writing. Write whatever comes into your mind. No one will judge you or your writing.

Now Jim mentioned these rules, my mind sparked electricity. Electric currents escaped from my ears. My mind alive with words and motivation never experienced. I'd been a member of another writers group subjected the writer to criticism. I didn't want to personally experience these critiques again. My mind relaxed. I became a member of Pomona Writers Group instantly.

My writing journey turned a corner now I became a member of Pomona Writers Group. Excitement filled my mind to forge ahead with my dream to become an author. A tough road to travel especially a lonely one not many others to depend on along the way. Members of Pomona Writers Group since my beginning have been the best writers I have ever come across.

Our facilitator, Noel, provides us with a topic to write as our homework for the week. From this topic five hundred words or round about the number to express a story from the topic. Writing these number of words is tough to share your writing with all members of the group for following week.

When listening to the other members stories my mind swallows these stories to keep in a safe place. By each member writing about a similar topic one would think most of the stories would be similar. Not likely. Each story is completely different written by each member. Amazing.

I pride myself in writing these five hundred words. I name One Minute Reads which I publish annually as eBooks. This year will mark seven books of these One Minute Reads I've written at Pomona Writers Group recording each story I've written.

Would you believe for an author writing five hundred words for a story is tougher than writing a novel of over fifty thousand words. We write five hundred words weekly for our homework. You may ask: How Did We End Up Here.

Word count: 574

How The World Ends

I have a dream! This dream is to win lotto. Weekly I play lotto games daily in the hope to win. Okay, let's say for instance I do win lotto. What would be my dream? To have a spare $1M my dream would be to own a racehorse. Not any racehorse, a special racehorse.

Bart Cummings, one of the greatest racehorse trainers this country has ever witnessed passed away handing down his training complex to his grandson James. A racehorse Bart trained to win the Australian Cup named _So You Think_. This stallion won over $8M during his racing career. _So You Think_ stands at Coolmore Stud, New South Wales.

With $1M in my possession this amount of money will pay for a service fee to _So You Think_ hopefully to breed a colt foal. For this foal to be a champion racehorse a suitable mare of strong breeding to be mated for a better than average result.

After searching the broodmares of Coolmore Stud a suitable mare by the name of _Independence Day_ came to light. Mating _Independence Day_ to _So You Think_ to produce a colt foal to name him _Howtheworldends._ Now to release my dream into the universe to make my dream come true. These dreams are fate and destiny mixed with a huge dose of LUCK!

Mating season for thoroughbreds commence anytime after September of each year. After joining _So You Think_ with _Independence Day_ result of the joining is eleven months _Howtheworldends_ born in August 2018. From birth the foal is nursed by its mother for six months when the foal is weaned to join other foals born around the same period.

_Howtheworldends_ reaches the age of a yearling building strength from running and playing with his mates. Turning twenty months old _Howtheworldends_ is sent to a horse breaker to ready his forthcoming racing career. After being broken into race he is transported to James Cummings Stables in Sydney for training.

He is allocated a strapper who takes care of his every need. Daily brushing, walks, exercise to build muscle. James Cummings highly depends on information from _Howtheworldends_ strapper to plan the horse's future for racing.

_Howtheworldends_ becomes a champion like his father _So You Think._ His winnings take him from a maiden two-year-old to become one of the best two-year-old racehorses for the season of 2020. His winnings turn into $5M. His selling price $20M.

Would I part with him for $20M? Not in your life. _Howtheworldends_ will go down in history as being one of the best racehorses ever bred and raced. Pages of history will show how he beat the best two-year-old horses in Australia and New Zealand.

Increasing his prizemoney from year to year extends higher than any other racehorse in history. His final feat to win the Melbourne Cup. His father finished third in the race years before. _Howtheworldends_ goes two places better with James Cummings training him winning this great race.

This is my dream. If this was so simple.

Word count: 514

I'm Not The One

Growing through my teenage years I developed a few close friendships with the opposite sex. After about three months these words, 'I'm not the one' echo in my ears. Trying to come to terms with these regular rejections I sought out my mother's advice. 'You'll know when the right one comes along' she told me. At seventeen years old many of my mates were married. I thought something must be wrong to not be in a similar position.

My mother's advice became true a week before my twenty-third birthday. I met the love of my life. Words 'I'm not the one' cleared my mind to meet this angel sent from heaven. My mother passed only a couple of days before meeting 'the love of my life'. Up until this time I honestly thought to be left on the shelf of bachelorhood.

We were introduced by a friend. My initial thoughts, 'why would anyone so beautiful want to have anything to do with me?' Our relationship lasted more than three months. I kept waiting for those faithful words, 'I'm not the one'. They were never spoken. Within ten months we married to last thirty-one years. Sadly, my wife lost her fight with cancer. I remember my wife telling me before she passed to find someone else. She gave me her blessing. I had no intention of finding anyone else, or so I thought.

Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think another woman would be interesting in me the way my wife did for thirty-one years. I was wrong. Again, I became satisfied to live my life out as a widower. Fate plus destiny have different views. After a couple of years, I met another angel sent from heaven. Obviously, sent by my wife.

She lost her husband shortly after my wife passed. We always told one another our partners met in heaven to guide us together. At the end of this month we will enjoy twelve years together. She's never said the words, I'm not the one.' Nor do I think she ever will. My mother's words, 'you'll know when the right one comes along' still echo in my mind. Never did I think her words would help me twice in my life.

'I'm not the one' became a rejection. Never did I personally believe God would lead me out of my darkened world of grief, despair to meet another angel sent from heaven. God works in mysterious ways. I am blessed to be loved by another human being than not to be loved at all.

My life is whole. I never fail to think of my wife who I lost suddenly who I loved so much. She appears in my dreams at night regularly. Often, I ask myself why these events happened in my life. To answer this query, I think of my grandmother who lost her husband (my grandfather) after thirty years of marriage. After a couple of years, she met and married my step grandfather which marriage lasted another thirty years before his untimely death.

We have no control over our lives nor the words 'I'm not the one'.

Word count: 533

I'm Packed And Ready

Mother's Day 2015 became a day to experience something in my life I never thought possible. My partner visited her son and daughter-in-law to attend a family celebration of the birth of her first great grandchild. Both grandparents attended. I didn't attend. Midday I received a telephone call from my partner's son to rush home to his mother's home. She'd taken ill.

On entering my partner's home, she gazed into space whilst seated on her favourite chair. I rushed beside her, deeply concerned of her state of health having no knowledge of what occurred. Taking her hand in mine she looked into my eyes. 'Who are you?' She questioned.

'Yes. We've been together for ten years. I'm your partner.' Shock seeped into my soul.

'What happened?' I asked her son. His answer didn't make sense. 'Phone the Ambulance.' I instructed. Immediately he phoned the Ambulance.

After shifting my partner from the chair to her bed an Ambulance Officer arrived. 'We need to take her to Hospital.' His instructions demanded. Collecting clothes, I drove to hospital arriving the same time my partner arrived in the Ambulance. On the journey my mind blank as to why this episode occurred to her.

Concern filled my mind to determine answers to my query. When my partner settled into a cubicle after being examined by a doctor who asked to speak with me. My partner's son accompanied me to an office, so the doctor explains what occurred.

He explained my partner suffered Temporary Global Amnesia (TGA) which occurs to female aged sixty years or older. His explanation made sense. This TGA occurs when the person is stressed causing the patient to lose their memory. 'You can tell her anything you want. In twenty-four hours she will not remember anything.'

My partner was transferred to another hospital for admission. A strange event happened on our arrival. After being settled into a bed in a private room her attending nurse told me my partner had been the fourth patient she had in a month who suffered a similar illness.

Eleven o'clock the following morning on discharge my partner's health returned to normal. She couldn't remember anything from the day before. Having an inquisitive mind, I needed to investigate this illness. Words spoken by the doctor at hospital bussed through my mind. Stress. At first, I couldn't put my finger on the answer, suddenly, I experienced a light bulb moment. I remembered stories my partner told me about her relationship with her daughter-in-law.

Forming my own opinion, I decided to change whatever the circumstances my partner experienced never to have another Temporary Global Amnesia (TGA) episode. To complete this task, I came up with a strategy to escape every six weeks. Take away any stress related issues.

Since making this decision we disappear every six weeks to escape to places we never dreamed possible. Next week marks another six-week getaway adventure to the township of 1770. I'm packed and ready.

Word count: 502

Just Remember This

'Just remember this. When I tell you to do something? You do what I say. Understand!' These words shouted by my father, at the time of my tenth birthday. Very much of a disciplinarian. No love for his eldest child shown throughout my life. Never a word of being proud of my achievements. At every opportunity to belittle me in front of whomever present.

Words 'Just Remember This' became my manta. Each time these words come from my father's mouth I'd slide away like a coward to be out of sight – out of mind. His teachings as a parent certainly affected my personality. Many times, I wished to stand up to him, tell him my thoughts instead cowering away keeping out of his way.

Whether these actions were committed by other parents, I didn't understand. No compassion whatsoever, only those horrific words, 'Just Remember This'. Often thoughts passed through my mind never to repeat the actions or criticism my father bestowed upon me toward my own children. Since having a family of my own certainly at times I wanted to repeat my father's words, then I thought of the consequences upon the person I'd say these words to.

Sixteen-year-old I decided to lead my own life. My parents moved away. I became an individual. Throughout these years the words 'Just Remember This' echoed through my mind casting a spell of destruction in my life. Without taking the bait from my father who lived one thousand miles from where I lived I commenced a new life for myself.

Parents are supposed to protect their children even when they become adults. I plugged along down the river of life until the time I joined Queensland Police Force at twenty-one years old. From aged four years I wanted to become a police officer, more particularly a detective. During the next twenty years I did become a detective plus many other positions in the Force.

Being a police officer to serve the community became my role in society. Living a life as a law enforcement officer trained your mind to just about put up with any individual. A thousand stories of my personal experiences. At this stage 'Just Remember This' I loved my role as a police officer.

Aged forty-two years old I retired from the job I loved. My life did a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turnabout to the field of health. From working in policing over twenty years to work as an alcohol and drug counsellor spun my life around. Instead of arresting drunks on the street, I counselled them for a better life.

I'd hate to think what my father thought of my change of direction in life particularly when I thought of his mantra 'Just Remember This'. I haven't spoken to my father for many years. When we're at the same family function I'm always polite and treat him with respect of being my father. I have no idea why he treated me the way he did.

Now aged sixty-nine, my father is in his early nineties, we treat one another as strangers because of his words at my tenth birthday, 'Just Remember This. When I tell you to do something? You do what I say. Understand!' Have these words helped me through my life? No!

Word count: 556

My Funny Valentine.

Fifteen years my wife and I caught the 'Harness Racing Bug'. My wife operated ownership, training, driving whilst I kept accounts under control. Through these years, we worked together experienced several ups and downs. When one of our horses won. Great. If they failed. Wait for the next time. I always had faith in her ability and skills.

Breeding became our downfall. Let me share a story. On 14th February 1996, my wife and I journeyed to a horse stud to check on our broodmare. I asked the stud master if he had any yearlings for sale. Soon as I lay eyes on a filly he showed me I said, 'I'll take her.'

This yearling filly sired by Gatwick dam Sweet Valentine became an omen. Being Valentine Day I gifted the filly to my wife. She exploded, 'another horse.' She didn't realise at the time how important this decision became for our future.

Naming rights for this filly lay with my wife who named all our yearlings. She named her 'My Funny Valentine' which at the time I thought strange she selected this name. Probably poking fun at my gift. After breaking her in to harness, teaching her to pace, trialling her against her own age, My Funny Valentine set for her first race.

In Queensland at the time special races for the best two-year-old fillies in Australia with prizemoney of $50,000.00 to the winner programmed for Albion Park, Brisbane. My Funny Valentine after nomination for this race become accepted to race against the best of her age in Australia. Nervous energy not only appeared by the owners, also by the trainer and driver.

Without a race under her belt My Funny Valentine raced like a champion edging out all of her rivals with pace not witnessed by race goers before. Her speed away from the mobile electric, pace during the race, unbelievable, finish, way ahead of the best in her class.

My Funny Valentine became a pinup horse for punters, plus race goers throughout the country. This filly selected on a whim only because her dam Sweet Valentine plus she didn't sell at the sales. Our dream came true with this filly. Everyone in harness racing wanted to breed a champion racehorse. We didn't breed My Funny Valentine, we owned, trained, my wife drove her in races.

Owning a champion placed my wife and I into a position of never experiencing success at this level. Our name mentioned on many lips, our horse shouted from the rafters. People love a champion. This excitement of owning a champion gave my wife and I self-confidence we only imagined possible.

My Funny Valentine went on to win many races showing ability far beyond others her age. Alas one morning my wife returned from the training track to tell me My Funny Valentine broke down whilst trialling with other older horses. My wife's confidence shattered. Racing finished for My Funny Valentine. Never again would we experience such highs and lows in a cutthroat industry.

Memories linger after more than twenty years since experiencing owning a champion. We were lucky to visit the horse stud on 14th February 1996, luckier to experience owning, training and driving a champion especially My Funny Valentine.

Word count: 546

My Pact With The Devil

I'm a gambler. Been a gambler since ten years old. Both my parents, grandparents, probably their parents also gamblers. My pact with the devil started at ten years of age. Winning a can of ham for Christmas at the local Ambulance Chocolate wheel. How lucky a ten-year-old boy to side with the gamble devil.

I've been told gambling is mixed with the devil. Ever since I remember I've gambled on many things to make a fast quid. Only a couple of times I remember the thrill of winning a huge amount of money. If by chance my strength forced me not to take the chance to win, perhaps my life would've been different. I live with my pact with the devil.

Saturday in my youth attending local race meetings. Most of the time handing over my well-earned cash to bookmakers. Over time I did receive a small amount of my investment from the bookmaker, only occasionally. Even when I turned fifteen years old I remember regularly placing bets with a Starting Price Bookmaker at work. To my memory only winning a couple of times.

Throughout my teenage years Saturdays were my major pact with the devil. Hope upon hope to choose a winner with odds to more than triple my wages. Once when Prunda won The Elizabeth Stakes at Eagle Farm with Lester Piggott in the saddle did I win a huge amount of money. Next Saturday I'd again be broke looking for the next winner.

Growing through adulthood my pact with the devil continued. Eventually marrying my wife, this continued a regular basis eating into our budget. Lust for winning didn't change. Raising a family didn't chance my pact with the devil. Nothing changed. I never wanted to stop.

My goal in later life is to win lotto. Been trying to win for many years. If I banked each lotto entry, I'd had sufficient to have won lotto many times over. My friend and I have placed the same numbers on Saturday lotto since 1982. Most we ever won was a couple of thousand dollars. One number from winning first prize. This is what happens when you have a pact with the devil.

My faith in winning lotto never fades. I WILL WIN LOTTO! When; I'm uncertain. Perhaps this pact with the devil may cause him to allow me to win lotto once. Until this moment arrives I'll continue to keep trying. Someone always wins, why not myself.

I have a plan to break my pact with the devil. Each time lotto is played, I play games. You can't win, if you haven't got a ticket. Each week I play Saturday night lotto; Super 66; Pools; Monday lotto; Tuesday Oz Lotto; Wednesday lotto; Thursday Powerball; Set for life each night. Playing these number of games must give me a larger opportunity to win first prize.

You probably ask yourself _Why!_ One thing I have learned in my life is to _NEVER GIVE UP!_ Each morning checking my numbers from the previous games excitement of winning rushes through my brain. Winning lotto will happen. When I haven't a clue. My pact with the devil will allow me to WIN!

Word count: 541

My Secret Garden

I've never been one for gardening. Hard to tell the difference between weeds and flowers. One garden I have kept secret came about on 13th September 2003 when my wife of thirty-one years lost her fight with cancer. My promise to her before she passed to build a secret garden in front of our bedroom, so she would rest in peace.

Since building this secret garden I believe her spirit remains. Each morning I bid her good morning; each afternoon, bid her goodnight. On her passing she wanted to be cremated placed in a secret garden in front of our new home. I carried out her wishes.

All too often we place our beloved in a cemetery wall with many others. Over forty-six years ago my mother's ashes were placed in a wall at Albany Creek Cemetery. Twice I've visited her final place of rest in this period. I didn't want this to happen to my wife. She will always be nearby for our children and grandchildren.

I remember the moment my wife and I spoke about building this secret garden. 'You promise me you will build a secret garden after I'm gone, place my ashes inside, seal the lid. I want my secret garden built in front of our bedroom, so I can keep an eye on you.' Her words sealed in my mind.

Building my secret garden, I employed a builder who created a monument in front of our bedroom window. Each end opens to plant her special yellow roses. Raised in the middle, sealed with a marble top, a hollowed space to house her personal items plus her ashes.

Initially after I completed this project my family gathered to bless my secret garden. At the time, I couldn't believe the number of relatives and friends who travelled to Brooloo to celebrate the passing of my wife to witness her final resting place.

Each visitor received a tribute, a book entitled 'In Remembrance of Bub' I wrote on her life. Although this became a celebration to witness this event, also surreal to have happened. Whispers through the gathering, 'hope my husband makes a secret garden when I go. And, to write a tribute for his wife. He must've loved her so very much.'

Reflecting on their words, my love for my wife, couldn't be valued more after you've lost them forever. Sadly, I pushed on not knowing in which direction I was heading. No knowledge of my future.

A couple of months after this ceremony I received a telephone call from one of my wife's friends to ask how I was going. I can't use the actual words in this story. She told me I needed to grieve for my wife, sorrow, sadness, plus particularly loss. I didn't understand any of these words.

After searching each word in the dictionary, I returned to my seat on the front veranda with a cup of coffee to digest my thoughts and these words. Grief is difficult to acknowledge; sorrow and sadness went hand in hand. My left hand pointed toward my special garden when a slight tinge on the end of my left index finger, like someone letting go. My mind drifted toward my secret garden to understand my wife was now resting in peace.

Word count: 554

Never Ending Refrain

Growing up in the fifties the child in me always afraid to speak his mind. Not like today when parents allow their child no matter how young to speak their mind. In our day my grandmother's words still resonate, 'children should be seen and not heard.' No wonder our generation submitted to never ending refrain.

Entering adolescents continued to never ending refrain. Day to day activities went by without constructing plans for future life. At fifteen years of age my wage seven pound ten shillings and sixpence per week employed as an apprentice fitter and turner gave way too much higher wages later.

Never ending refrain caused my thinking to go from wanted to purchase a block of land to zero. I remember this time so clear. A Sunday morning. Reading an advertisement in the real estate section - land for sale \- Redcliffe - fifty pounds per block. With my wage being small, in twelve months my savings sufficient to purchase land at Redcliffe.

Speaking to my father about this idea his answer, 'we'll have a look. I wish I purchased a block of land at your age.' Thinking positive plus my father taking an interest my never ending refrain filled my mind. Instead of explaining to my father I wanted to purchase land at Redcliffe for fifty pounds per block, he convinced me to purchase one block near to where we lived.

Bracken Ridge became the place for inspection of land. Although this was move then fifty years ago I remember driving with my family plus extended family to Bracken Ridge to inspect a block of land. A circus, me being the clown. Never ending refrain seeped into my soul being used as a puppet on a string.

A block priced at five hundred and fifty pounds the salesman stated. Way out of my league, I thought. My father instead told me in no uncertain terms not to purchase this block because of wetness. Instead he walked to another block on a corner to convince me to purchase his choice. Never ending refrain stopped me in my tracks when I discovered the price for this block of land seven hundred and fifty pounds. Way above my price. For this money the price of fifteen blocks purchased at Redcliffe.

Having no idea how this arrangement worked my father signed documents in his name. At the time law defined a person under twenty-one years of age became inedible to own a block of land. Therefore, my father signed the documents including the title. Never ending refrain placed me in a position of trusting my father to transfer the land to my name when I reached twenty-one years old.

Payments for the land over a period of seven years amounted of ten pounds per month payable to the agent in Brisbane. With my wage low I worked Saturdays making garden furniture to be paid two pounds ten shillings per day. By the end of each month I posted ten pounds in payment to the agent for the land. This continued for four years.

By my sixteenth birthday my parents left leaving me alone to live with a relative. In my fourth year of my apprenticeship only one payment needed to pay to clear the debt. When making this payment at the office of the agent the receptionist told me the land had been sold. My father sold the land without telling me.

When I asked him why? His reply, 'I needed the money.' Never ending refrain seeped down into my soul once again.

Word count: 600

Nothing Is Not Like It Seems

Being an avid viewer of a great television show, 'The Good Doctor'; for those who came in late the main character is Doctor Shaun Murphy who is a registered surgeon with autism and savant syndrome.

Doctor Shaun Murphy paces his way through life where nothing is not like it seems. His mind superior to anyone else including his chief surgeon. His direct communication with others doesn't endure him to make friends easily. Apart from his good friend Doctor Aaron Glassman who is the President of the hospital, his co-worker Doctor Claire Browne, including his neighbour, Lea he finds making friends difficult.

Nothing is not like it seems springs out of my mind when viewing this programme. Most clever ingenuity to the writers and producers to 'put something out into television land' to endure audiences from across the world. Since 'The Good Doctor' commenced I have viewed each episode. Final episode for season will leave my mind reflect on nothing is not like it seems.

Two Australian television programmes hold my interest. 'Doctor Doctor' plus 'A Secret Daughter'. Both these programmes don't outweigh 'Home and Away' which I am an avid viewer nightly. Apart from sport, nothing else I need to keep my interest. Since 1988 the television programme 'Home and Away' commenced I've seen almost each episode.

My reason for being so obsessed with this programme is because of my children. At the time 'Home and Away' joined us in our loungeroom my children were teenagers. Being an astute father, I wanted to join my teenage children to keep an eye on what they viewed. Nothing is not like it seems. Since this time, I've viewed each episode of 'Home and Away'.

My teenage children have grown to adults; have their own teenage children. We keep abreast of the programme by discussing happenings in the show whilst enjoying one another's company on a Saturday morning at morning tea time. They still can't understand how after so many years we as a family can sit down to discuss the happenings of 'Home and Away'. Nothing is not like it seems.

What did we do before television? Listen to the radio or wireless. I remember my grade 7 school teacher telling us when television entered our loungeroom, 'this will be the failing of our society'. How true her words should reflect on society since those years in grade 7. Nothing is not like it seems.

Perhaps if my teacher in grade 7 should still be alive, what would her words to us students be now in the present. Nothing is not like it seems, she may say. Particularly iPhone, computers, tablets, iPad with other devises. Her head would explode with how these devises have failed our society.

Once we've become accustomed with these latest gadgets of society, yes, I agree with my school teacher in grade 7, society has failed. On the other hand, how, technology has helped society to fail. Almost everyone has a mobile phone of some type. Have a look about when you visit your local coffee shop how many customers have their mobile phone in front of them, pressing buttons, listening to music, reading. Nothing is not like it seems.

Word count: 541

Now For Something Completely Different

My first grandchild born in 1999 with three more born to this present day. My role as a grandparent completely threw my way of parenting. Often other grandparents tell their story of being able to 'hand the child' back to their parents after they did their duty.

Being present shortly after the birth of my first grandchild my sub-conscious mind told me to stand back, leave room for the parents to take control. This sense of control leaving me with reservations of 'not being wanted' which was not the case. This moment I learned an invaluable lesson to 'let go', not to take control. When my other grandchildren arrived by the stork, I'd learnt to stand back, allow the parents to take the spot light.

Now for something completely different. My second grandchild is five years old. Grade one at the local school. My son tells him to 'go to Poppy to do his homework'. Taylor arrives on my doorstep with his homework, 'Dad says you will help me with my homework.' With his words echoing through my mind I nod my head pointing for him to take a seat at the table. After opening his homework book, he points out numbers he needs to write beside after understanding which word each number represents.

Immediately, my mind races back to when I am Taylor's age. My grandmother seated beside me showing how to break words into syllables. Eighteen is the first word he needed to recognize. I take the pencil from his hand, drew a line after eight, explain how the word is broken into two with the letters spelling eight, then teen to make eighteen. He has no idea how to understand what I did.

_That didn't work_ , I reminded myself silently. _Let's try another way_. I say to Taylor at the same time pointing my finger to each letter, 'read each letter as I point to them.' Taylor repeats each letter finishing with the correct number. 'Good boy.' I finished. I placed my finger over the word and number, 'repeat spelling the number with the number.' I requested.

Shaking his head, 'I can't Poppy.'

'Okay. We'll try something else.' I took away my finger to display the letting and number. 'Repeat the letters and number.' I asked him. Looking at the lettering he repeated the letters, instead of identifying the letter 'i' he replaced with 'l'.

'How do you identify the letter 'i'?' I ask.

Drawing with his finger in the air, he said, 'with a stroke and dot on top.'

'How do you draw the letter 'l'?'

He instantly drew with his hand the letter 'l'.

'Why do you confuse the letter 'i' with the letter 'l'?' I asked.

'I can't Poppy.' His answer solemn.

'Taylor, to learn anything you need to focus on what you are doing.' I explained.

Before he left to go home he repeated the spelling of 'eighteen' with the number 18 plus all the other numbers on his homework sheet.

Now for something completely different. Each time I ask Taylor to spell 'eighteen' which he fails to do. He doesn't visit as often now.

Word count: 531

Open Day

Many memorable events happen in our lifetime. One event stood out more than most of the others. Open Day at University. This became a huge time in my life. Thirty-eight years old I became a mature student attending university with fellow students half my age.

After leaving school aged fifteen years, study or college wasn't on my agenda. Although I attended TAFE College for five years through my apprenticeship as a fitter and turner, my desire to study became non-existent.

At twenty-one years of age I joined Queensland Police Service to begin my career as a police officer. Each promotion I studied internally to pass until finally I reached the rank of Sergeant First Class. Further education in the police, particularly attending university became an independent choice for a police officer who intended to rise in the ranks.

Completing an Associate Diploma of Management at TAFE I wanted to learn more about management. I enrolled in University of Southern Queensland at Toowoomba to be an external student. This period became the beginning of external students before on-line courses on the internet.

Before first term commenced I attended Open Day at the university to acquaint myself with what I needed to do. Management studies were the buzz word at the time. I travelled from Redcliffe to Toowoomba with my wife and family to show them what I was getting myself into. What a shock!

Lucky a few other mature aged students enrolled in the course. Being my first personal experience of attending university, this far out-weighed attending TAFE. My family and I walked through the halls of education trying to understand a road map to where I needed to go.

Eventually we arrived at the right place. Strangers in a strange land. I tried to be confident; this didn't work. Gritting my teeth, I powered through the continual paper work reading as much information as possible. This became too much for my brain. My brain became bruised from taking in so much information all at once.

If I couldn't cope with the Open Day, how would I cope with studies and the courses?

By the end of this Open Day I became exhausted, wanting to stop and not study. Standing beside me at the enrolment table I started up a conversation with a fellow student similar age to myself. I listened to his story of hardships he endured by studying the past two years to finish grade 11 and 12. His inspiration encouraged me to think about my future.

This Open Day I will never forget. By the end of six years, constant study I must admit I finally received my Batchelor of Business Management Degree to major in Human Resource Management. From this Open Day to my final day of university showed me anything about myself. I'm proud to admit I have done almost everything within my power to achieve my ambitions.

If this Open Day event hadn't happened, more so, if I didn't meet a fellow student who motivated me toward my goals I sometimes think how I ever survived. I did!

Word count: 519

Post Card From My Father

Surviving On Little

We all should love our parents. I loved my mother with all my heart and soul until she passed away at forty-five years old. Her many memories remain with me. My father lives in a Nursing Home; ninety-one years old. I've never received a post card from my father. Too often I remember his whining of surviving on little.

Thinking back on his life. Born in 1926, four years before the Great Depression, I suppose his mind taught him to survive on little. This survival never stopped him drinking alcohol nor smoking cigarettes. In those times both were common in society as a coping mechanism.

At the time of my father's birth, his twin sister as well. I remember too well both celebrating their seventieth birthday at my sister's home. My father's twin sister travelled from America to help celebrate their birthdays. Standing nearby when my aunt entered the room, my father had no idea his twin sister travelled to Australia to help celebrate their birthdays. A true surprise. This memory will remain with me forever.

Memories of growing up looking upon my father as my saviour in life certainly took many twists and turns. Any wonder he never sent me a postcard. I do remember when I turned sixteen years old my father left Queensland to move to New South Wales. Now and then I received letters from my father ending with the words _Your Loving Father_. Never any postcards.

From the time we're born until six years old, we learn. Learned to be loved, nurtured or neglected. Rest of our life, we experience. Looking back to this period, I held my father high upon a pedestal. My hero. Most important person in my life. From six years old until thirteen years old we experience our parent's behaviours. Studying our parent's behaviour during this time to witness their role played as a parent.

In my case all I needed from my father for him to recognise me as his son; also, those most important words _'I Love You: I'm Proud Of You'._ My father never uttered these words. Without these words my father and I drifted apart particularly as I grew into adulthood. His whining about surviving on little, together with self-pity drove me away from anything to do with him.

Surviving through the course of alcoholism to gain a life for myself I became the luckiest person alive to meet the love of my life. For the first five years I never realised how lucky I became to marry an angel. During these years I copied everything I witnessed from my father's habits, drinking, I didn't smoke; fell into bouts of self-pity to survive on little.

On 13th January 1977 my wife exploded these words, 'if you come home drunk tonight. I won't be here. I'm leaving and taking the children.' She was fair dinkum.

If my mother said these powerful words to my father during my growing up, times may have been different. Instantly, without thought I said to my wife, ' _I PROMISE YOU I WILL NEVER DRINK ALCOHOL AGAIN!'_ I've never touched a drop of alcohol since I made this pledge to my wife forty years ago.

In many ways I'm pleased I didn't receive any postcard from my father who survived on little.

Word count: 561

Santa Claus

Growing up in a country town in Queensland, each Christmas Eve Santa Claus visited to leave a present under the Christmas Tree. On my tenth birthday Santa left me a box brownie camera. I remember this camera. I snapped many photographs, unfortunately in the day and age of box brownie cameras they only took twelve photographs at a time before the film finished. Then the cost of developing these photos became such a cost my interest in the box brownie camera stopped.

After this period for many years Santa Claus left me handkerchiefs. Christmas time in our home became a joyful time for us children to enjoy especially playing with other children. Family gathered at our home over Christmas. I remember my grandmother, mother, aunts all working together to prepare Christmas Dinner, bake puddings with threepences in especially. At the time no, better place to be than around the Christmas Dinner table enjoying turkey, ham, plus all the trimmings.

Years went by to discover my own family, wife and two children enjoyed Christmas with our family. Santa Claus delivered presents to everyone. To my memory no presents were addressed coming from Santa Claus, yet he delivered them each Christmas Eve ready for first break of day on Christmas Day. A most joyful time.

Honestly, I have no idea how many years Santa Claus has been delivering presents to children across the world from the North Pole. We celebrate the birth of Jesus on Christmas Day. Each may have started the same year. I have no idea. I do realise each year children are thrilled to wake on Christmas morning to find under their Christmas tree a present delivered by Santa Claus.

Joy of Christmas celebrations have exploded into a commercial business with advertising on television, radio, newspapers exploiting people to purchase goods. Act of giving has diminished. Santa Claus on the other hand freely delivers presents to all children across the world with his trusted Reindeers. Joy of giving to another rather than taking is the deepest message from Santa Claus each Christmas.

The man wearing a red suit with a long white beard spreads his joy to children and adults during the festive season asking each child whether they've been naughty or nice. Either way the child receives the pleasure of a present from Santa Claus each Christmas morning. I remember one year Santa Claus left me a power tool under the tree. My wife claimed to have purchased the power tool for Santa Claus to leave under the tree. At the time I couldn't believe how my wife would've purchased such a power tool for me to use. A clear message of wanting me to do something. Without Santa Claus in our lives who would leave presents under the Christmas Tree each year to our joy and the joy of our children and grandchildren.

May Santa Claus go on forever.

Word count: 487

Scratch Where It Itches

In the company of two beautiful women we gazed at each painting hoping to pick the winner of The Archibald Prize. With Pam and Jan my companions we decided to visit Queensland State Library to find the painting displayed which Noel gave us at the Pomona Writers Group to write this topic.

Our decision to journey to Brisbane inspect this masterpiece came through frustration. Neither of us understood what we needed to write. To research this topic a journey to Brisbane necessary. Without hesitation both ladies agreed to accompany me.

Walking along searching for the painting displaying two child-size hands facing outward with an invisible mask either of a child, or someone else. We finally stumbled upon this painting. Standing beside each other gazing at the painting I wanted to scratch where it itches. Somewhere I'd seen this painting before. Searching my memory database nothing appeared.

Jan, who happened to be more into art said. 'This is the same painting in the Noosa News I showed Noel last Tuesday.' Both Pam and I looked at Jan. My mind returned to Tuesday searching each moment hoping to discover Jan's discovery.

'You're probably right.' I told Jan.

'I'm right alright. This is the painting from the newspaper. Noel wanted us to write a story.' She impressed upon each of us. All three of us agreed we discovered the holy grail. Scratch where it itches continued to bug my mind. Examining this painting a solution to my problem to tell my brain the two hands were those of a young child. Hidden behind these hands a face. With one eye closed one imagined a child's face, whilst with both eyes open, an adult face.

Three of us stood silent gazing at the painting when a movement, like a mouth, in between the two hands said, 'a beautiful painting. Wouldn't you say?' All three of us turned to one another in astonishment. No other person standing nearby. Sent Goosebumps up my arm.

'Did the mouth move, a voice.' I stuttered to my companions.

'What do you make of this painting?' Answered the voice. Neither of us explained our opinion. 'Do you think this painting will win The Archibald Prize?' The voice eagerly asked.

Still in shock, 'I'd prefer not to have an opinion. Our writing group facilitator gave us a topic to write this week. This is our reason for being here to view the painting. He showed us a photograph of the painting to write a story. This is the painting'. I explained.

'Ask any questions. This is my painting. I've entered 'The Archibald Prize'. The voice echoed. The mouth moved to the words.

'Sorry. We should go. Thank you.' I said beckoned the two ladies to follow me. We rushed to the carpark not saying a word of our discovery. On our journey home we didn't discuss the painting or our experience of the voice.

Together we decided to send in a blank page to allow other members of the group to imagine what we wrote. This remedied my scratch where it itches.

Word count: 518

Secret Life Of A Writer

Writing is a lonely life. Secret life of a writer is to write, write, write and write until finished.

My journey commenced at fourteen years old in sub-junior at Sandgate State High School. Our English teacher, Mr Imoff, wanted us to write a composition. If you remember back to 1963, an introduction, middle and conclusion. I ignored these instructions instead wrote a story.

After Mr Imoff read my composition his profound words became the birth of my writing career spanning more than half a century. _You have a gift for writing. You write the way you speak which is unique._ At the time, I never understood these words only thinking I need not worry about learning English.

Move forward twenty years. I'm studying an Associate Diploma of Management at TAFE College. My lecturer, Bob O'Sullivan wanted us to write a three-thousand-word assignment on 'What We Learned At The Weekend Workshop' in his 'Behaviour Class'. Again, I wrote a story.

When Bob returned each assignment, he wanted to speak with me about mine. Again, these profound words: _You Have A Gift For Writing. You Write The Way You Speak Which Is Unique._ These words were the same as Mr Imoff told me twenty years before. I didn't have a clue what each teacher meant by these words. Both Mr Imoff or Bob O'Sullivan had never met.

By the end of the course Bob became so impressed with my work he asked if we would write a book together. My position in the workforce at the time, Detective Sergeant Second Class, in charge of Juvenile Aid Bureau, Petrie. A serious issue of _Teenage Children Running Away From Home_ concerned me greatly. I wanted an answer to this issue. Studies I learned in Bob's subject created a gateway in solving this issue.

Three years we wrote our first book _'Closing The Gap'_. Eventually, published by _The Australian Lions Drug Awareness Foundation_ disseminated through _Lions, Leos, Lioness Clubs_ throughout Australia. 8000 copies sold. I became a published author.

At the same time this book was published, I had an operation to have the implantation of a pacemaker. My career as a police officer finished. Because of the operation to my major organ in my body I fell into a **BIG BLACK HOLE** of depression. After two years, I crawled my way back into society.

After trying to understand how to live with a pacemaker, I decided to write and self-publish my own story to help other recipients. _How Could This Happen To Me_ became my second book to write and publish.

From working as a police officer for twenty years my career did a one hundred and eighty degree turn around. I became an alcohol and drug counsellor with Queensland Health. Since writing _Closing The Gap_ I wanted to include drugs. _Parents – STOP – Be Aware Of Your Child – Taking Drugs_ became my next book to make parents aware of drugs their children may be taking. An off-shoot to this book _Programme Workbook For Young People_ became my next book to help those young people to set and achieve their goals in life.

With my self-confidence on a high I branched out to write a life story on a celebrity in Queensland Harness Racing. This book awarded me a National Prize. Suddenly, my life as a writer took off with other books I wrote and self-published. Presently I'm writing book number twenty-one.

Times have certainly changed since I began with my first book in 1988. Throughout the years, I have learned each step of writing, publishing, marketing, selling my books through the internet. Blows my mind to think I sit at my office at Brooloo spread-the-word throughout the world to advertise my books. Secret Life Of A Writer is to NEVER GIVE UP!

Word count: 636

Shopping Soothes The Soul

My friend Di loves shopping especially for shoes. Why shoes? Have no idea. Her spare bedroom fully stocked with shoes and handbags. 'Shopping soothes the soul', Di always told me when I inquired why she shopped so much, particularly purchasing shoes and handbags.

Di lives a fast pace through life. Once we travelled with her to Norfolk Island on vacation. Only one shop displayed shoes and handbags. Before leaving each of us needed to place Di's purchases into our travelling bags to carry home. 'Shopping soothes the soul' she mentioned more than once when asked why she purchased so many shoes and handbags. Di's soul must've be really soothed especially after shopping for so many shoes and handbags.

I must possess the soul of the devil when shopping. I hate shopping. Nothing worse to experience. I don't have a shopping gene in my body. I remember when being a teenager my mother purchased a shirt, shorts outfit for me. She selected the items. At the time warmth past through my body. I loved those clothes my mother purchased.

Alas, when the time came for me to purchase my own clothing, something crazy happened in my mind. I couldn't decide what to purchase. Possibly because from the item I choose to the time I paid the cashier. I changed my mind. I only purchased the necessary clothing to wear. Shopping certainly never soothed my soul.

My wife purchased my clothing which I must admit soothed my soul because I didn't need to make the decision. Do you realise I still have clothes hanging in my wardrobe dating back thirty years? These clothes are as good as the day my wife purchased them for me. Now when I want to purchase clothing for myself I walk into Lowes Menswear Store, select what I want; more particularly, what my partner selects for me to wear and purchase the items.

In retirement I don't need to change my clothes often as I do my underwear. Track suits last many years whilst shorts and tee shirts last longer. Why should I go shopping to soothe my soul? I can do many other things in my life to soothe my soul. Like what? You may ask.

I love to travel particularly to places I've never visited before. Mystery tours have soothed my soul. To travel on a mystery tour is mysterious. Only a month ago we went on a mystery tour which took us to Cairns in North Queensland, then to the Gulf where we stayed a couple of days at a resort in the middle of nowhere. This certainly soothed my soul.

Each to their own you may say. I agree. If Di wants to purchase shoes and handbags to fulfil her shopping soothes her soul, then I must admit to shopping for mystery tours to soothe my soul.

Word count: 481

Straight From The Horse's Mouth

'Straight from the horse's mouth, mate. I'm telling you. Have a couple of bob each way.' These words raised in my memory when at fifteen years old walking home after school beside thoroughbred racing stables in Deagon where I lived at the time.

Looking back to this memory over half a century ago if I acted each time to the number of people telling me their information 'straight from the horse's mouth' I'd be a millionaire twenty times over. Little did I realise at the time these young apprentice jockeys giving me information understood what they spoke about.

Some of these apprentice jockeys went on to become 'Kings Of The Turf'. How would a fifteen-year-old youth consider a crystal ball for the future? Throughout my life I followed these young apprentice jockeys throughout their racing career to reach the heights of winning all the major races in Australia. How fortunate am I to have connected with these 'Kings Of The Turf'?

Each afternoon I stopped to speak with these apprentice jockeys. Mick Ditman. His complaint: age and weight had allowed him to ride in races nor trials. Another apprentice jockey, Len Cook had a similar complaint. Each similar age to myself. These two apprentice jockeys went on to become Australian's finest 'Kings Of The Turf.'

Len Hill another apprentice jockey I often spoke with on my journey home from school. Each time these words 'straight from the horse's mouth' echoed in my mind, if at the time this information about the horses they tipped, I'd become a full-time punter. Eventually all three jockeys became Australian finest horsemen winning major races throughout the country and city.

Thoroughbred Racing in Australia is 'Sport of Kings'. Owners, trainers, jockeys are treated like royalty particularly when Melbourne Cup is run first Tuesday in November each year. Wagering on this race alone goes into billions of dollars. Each punter hoping their horse will win to provide a dividend. My imagination goes wild at the number of times a punter repeats these words, 'straight from the horse's mouth' to induce a wager.

After a lifetime of wagering on horses; in my latter years I don't have a wager. In fact, my knowledge of the name of the horses in the Melbourne Cup, I hadn't a clue little wonder having a wager.

In high school I ran a Melbourne Cup sweep. The year Bart Cummings won his first Melbourne Cup. Some years later I had the good fortune to meet the 'King Of Melbourne Cups' when I investigated a complaint received from the man himself. Roy Higgins sat beside him. His motor vehicle had been stolen. My off-sider and I captured the offender, returned the keys to the great man himself. His words, 'straight from the horse's mouth. Have a couple of dollars on my horse tomorrow in the cup.' His horse won the Doomben Cup with Roy Higgins riding.

Word count: 496

That's Not Funny

Advertised on channel seven is a programme 'Little Big Shots' soon to be shown about young children performing unbelievable acts in front of an audience. Jacob Jorgensen compares this show. In one scene, he is speaking with a male child who makes a comment causing the audience to laugh. Without hesitation, the child turns to the audience says, 'that's not funny'. My ribs hurt from laughing.

What caused me to indulge in this fit of laughter? Obviously, the manner how the child delivered the words 'that's not funny' to the audience with such innocence not understanding what he said would cause others to laugh with him. What caused me to laugh so much to cause my ribs to ache from these words? Again, I think the words spoken by the child showed such innocence, straight facial features, clearly not understanding his expression.

Come to think about my actions I do apologise for laughing because I should've shown more restraint to not poke fun at another person, especially a young child who showed his innocence. Why do we do these things. When I think back to the incident; the child's action and words 'that's not funny' still causes a stir in my stomach to make my ribs ache. Human nature I suppose. I don't really have an answer only my ignorance.

These words wouldn't have been written into the script. You wouldn't think for the child to say them after looking at the audience. Natural talent shown by the young child. His reply innocent probable not realising what he said or how he said these words would've had such an impact on the audience as well as myself.

Laughter is great for our soul. If we laugh more than cry our minds fill with joy instead of sadness, our lives would improve. I have a friend who is a laughter instructor. Susan travels the country conducting laughter session with companies for their employees. When she started this programme a decade ago she approached me with the idea to become a laughter instructor. At the time, I thought she needed treatment. She proved me wrong.

On a Sunday afternoon at Coolum Beach Susan perform a laughter session. I didn't participate. Others whom performed this session followed Susan's instructions, laughing, laughing with more laughter. How proud to have these people laugh from the bottom of their stomach to throw back their heads in laughter.

Susan's success with her passion motivated me to work harder at my writing. If Susan's success mirrored my writing, my success would follow. Since first meeting Susan helping her with the business of laughter she has succeeded to be one of the best in the business on laughter. She is in demand for her services.

That's not funny because if Susan can make others laugh plus the actions of this small child on the up and coming television show, I can put aside my inhabitations to laugh with them.

Word count: 496

The Day I Cooked The Books

During the late 1970's in Australia many businesses adopted a system to reduce paying their taxes to the Commonwealth. This system _'Bottom Of The Harbour Scheme'_. I'll share a story of my knowledge to this scheme.

Around this time, I worked part-time for a trucking business at Dalby on the outskirts of the Darling Downs. My role repair field bins. Another of my tasks to answer the telephone, record the messages for the owner to read on his return to the office. This being a part-time job I worked one full day a week.

Many times, I became the only person in the office to answer the telephone, record messages. One occasion a telephone call from another business person down the road wanted to contact the Boss about something important. No mobile telephones in those days. My only chance to hold onto the messages until the Boss returned.

When he returned I immediately told him about his messages including the emergency to contact his business friend. 'I'll phone him later. I want to thank you for taking care of business in my absence. Anytime you want a fulltime job.' My Boss told me.

This being a second job, I couldn't leave my permanent position. I thanked him for his offer declined under the circumstances. Before I left he wanted to speak to me about something important.

'These telephone calls you've been receiving in my absence is from so-and-so down the road.' His machinery business sold more farm machinery than any other business on the Darling Downs.

'Yes.' I explained.

'He's got me tied up in a scheme called _'Bottom Of The Harbour Scheme'_. Great idea he came up with to reduce tax paid to the Commonwealth.' The Boss explained, taking me into his confidence.

'Yes.' Blank look on my face appeared not to understand.

'Thought I'd share with you. Saved me thousands of dollars last year. I purchased another house down the Gold Coast.' My mind exploded with visions of this other house.

'Wow! How does this scheme work?' My interest obviously showed to think I may be interested.

'We place our money into movie deals. Claim the money as a tax deduction.' He explained.

The penny never dropped. 'How do you make money?' I queried.

'We don't. Whatever money we invest, the money is a tax deduction at the end of the year. Hence the name _'Bottom Of The Harbour Scheme''._

'Excuse my ignorance. How do you make money from investing into movie deals when they don't make money?' I queried.

'The day I cooked the books to show how much money we invest. No movie has made any money at this stage. Deduction for loss returns to us at the end of the year through our tax returns.' The Boss explained everything.

'Sorry, I don't understand. All I do understand is you cooked the books. I don't understand what these words mean. Hope you're never caught.' I finished my employment immediately with this Boss.

Word count: 506

The Family Plot

Technology provides us with instant information. I have cousins living in America who I've never met only on Facebook. One of these cousins established 'The Ritter Family' Group on Facebook. Since this happened many of the Ritter family have posted photographs, stories, information to be read only by members of this group.

Fascinating to view photographs of my grandmother's grandmother dating back to early 1800. Other photographs with description of Ritter relatives also posted by different family members. The Family Plot started back in 1800's in Prussia. My family in those times left their home country. Seven brothers, descendants of the Ritter family.

Four brothers migrated to America whilst three took up residents in Australia. My great, great Grandfather, Nicholas Ritter, started at Goulburn in New South Wales. My Grandfather, Peter Ritter, left his family at Goulburn travelled to Cunnamulla around 1880.

Immediate Ritter family originated from this time in Cunnamulla. Grandfather Peter Ritter meet and married Daisy Sharpe, also a resident of Cunnamulla. Together they raised eleven children. My father being a twin and second eldest. Ritter family left Cunnamulla around 1935 settling in Spring Hill, Brisbane.

On my mother's side of the family, my grandmother, born in Cunnamulla in 1903. Her father, Joe Ryan, a shearer, instigated 'The Great Shearers Strike in 1891' in Cunnamulla in the hope of gaining improved working conditions for the shearers. The strike failed. My great Grandmother lost her life whilst giving birth to the youngest in the family. My grandmother ten years old at the time.

With the death of his wife my great Grandfather, Joe Ryan, gave his four daughters away 'like a litter of pups' to the townsfolk in Cunnamulla. My grandmother never found her youngest sister Nellie, taken by relatives. My grandmother taken in by the owner of the drapery store who was harsh and cruel.

At fourteen my grandmother left Cunnamulla to work on a sheep property as a house maid. She returned to Cunnamulla four years later. At this time, World War 1 ended, she met my grandfather. Soon married to have a family of seven daughters. My mother being the second eldest.

Both families were close. Around 1935 both families left Cunnamulla to settle in Brisbane. Ritter family settling in Spring Hill whilst my mother's family lived at Ascot. Shortly after World War 11 my parents married. A year later I was born.

The Family Plot has given me total respect for the hardships each family endured from their early days beginning at Goulburn until the time I remember the many visits to my grandmother's home in Spring Hill. Such great memories. With the introduction of Facebook, I can travel back in time to witness the various photographs, stories especially of my ancestor's history which go deep into the past.

Hope you have enjoyed reading 'The Family Plot' as much I must collect the information and write the story.

Word count: 492

The Ghost Inside My Head

Being an author the ghost inside my head always appear in my imagination. Take for instance the current novel I'm writing **The Year That Never Was.** Indeed, a strange title you may think. This novel is the fourth in **Australian Outback Series** beginning in 1890 with **'The Great Shearers Strike'**.

**The Year That Never Was** begins before Australia is a nation. Britain is fighting in South Africa in 'The Boar War of 1899 to 1902'. Joe Gibson, who is a major character in this series decides to join the fight with his friend Billy Campbell to show their patriotic duty as a Queenslander plus to the British Empire. Both enlist. In October 1899, they board SS Cornwall at Brisbane for their journey to South Africa.

Neither Joe or Billy had ever fought in a war. 22nd December 1899, their ship docks at Port Elizabeth in South Africa. The ghost inside my head formulate a conversation in my imagination on how to make Joe a hero. When Joe, Billy with five hundred other Queensland soldiers arrive on South African shores no Top Brass from the British army meet them. Joe takes control to become their leader directing soldiers to wait until the Top Brass arrive.

After two hours of waiting finally a Top Brass member arrives to find Joe took control. Under instructions they board a train to Pretoria a journey to take two days. Joe's troop board the train for their journey.

The ghost inside my head worked hard to determine what would happen next. Half way to Pretoria the train is attacked by Boar soldiers. Joe instructs his men to open fire on the enemy. All are killed together with ten of his own men. Before continuing with their journey all dead are buried beside the railway track.

Christmas Eve arrived whilst Joe and his band of merry men are on the train. The Conductor, who only speaks Africana explained his discovery of Champagne. Joe orders all bottles to be distributed amongst the troop including the driver and conductor. Merriment to enjoy Christmas Eve is enjoyed by all.

Once the liquor is finished Joe decides to return the empty Champagne bottles to the cartons to be stored where they were taken. If later someone found empty bottles, Joe would deny any knowledge of the contents. The journey continues onto Pretoria. The ghost inside my head worked overtime to figure out what would happen next.

Arriving at Pretoria Joe is instructed to follow a soldier from the train to an awaiting carriage. Joe has no idea what's going to happen or reasons why he has been taken from the train. Arriving at Military headquarters office he is confronted by Lord Roberts who is the Commander in Transvaal Region.

The ghost inside my head tells me Joe is to be honoured by this Commander for fighting the Boars on their journey. Joe thought someone must have told the Commander about the liquor. What will happen to Joe and his soldiers?

This will be questioned created by the ghost inside my head.

Word count: 519

The Last Thing On My Mind

The last thing on my mind before I go to sleep at night is words to write for Pomona Writers Group topic. Ideas float through my mind imagining the story to share with my fellow writers. Like for instance a book I read recently. Messages from the book repeated in my mind. A great story of boy meets girl under harsh conditions; girl falls in love with boy.

Nothing new with this story of romance. Father of girl tries in vain to stop both from becoming a couple until girl is involved in an accident. Boy saves girl. All is forgiven by father. Boy and girl live happily ever after. Typical of romance novel.

Ready to read on my kindle e-reader are fifty books. Daily or whenever I have an opportunity I read as often as possible. Some novels are deleted after the first page. Others, which are few, I read from start to finish; like the story I've told you. I read as many stories from different authors as I can. My reason because when I'm reading a story I place myself into the seat of the author.

The last thing on my mind is to criticise the author, although, I must admit I falter when glaring mistakes, such as spelling, punctuation, grammar. I can't do anything about these errors only ensure I don't make similar errors to my readers. Writing a book is tough work. Takes heaps of guts, patience, and a huge amount of self-discipline to complete the task.

If I have a good book to read nothing better than to seep into the words, devour them the author has written. I love when the story has taken over my mind in such a way I can't put the book down. For instance, each evening I look forward to the daily news on television. If I have a book which over-rides this daily practice, I can't put the book down until the news is finished, this is the type of story I want to read.

To become a competent author, one needs to read as much as they write. Behind this fable lies truth of an author. My journey to become an author has taken many, many years from writing in long-hand on a foolscap ruled paper to now directly type the story onto a computer. Practice, practice and more practice to become an author takes self-confidence to another level.

The last thing on my mind after I complete a novel is to ask myself if I enjoyed writing this story for my enjoyment plus the enjoyment of the reader. If my answer is 'yes'; I'm satisfied. Daily I test the waters to determine if my stories are accepted by my readers by posting a page from a book I've written and published onto a group on Facebook for over nine and half thousand members to read daily. This is my barometer to measure if my readers enjoy the story I've written.

After posting this page onto Facebook I receive from ten to twenty comments plus 'likes' daily from members on this group. Comments amuse me when the member asked, 'what's going to happen next?' I've been posting this page daily onto Facebook over eight years. I am truly amazed by the number of members who comment daily plus the extra numbers who join the group.

The last thing on my mind with my writing to improve each time I write a story, novel or a message.

Word count: 590

The Lead Filled Sock Of Fate

All through my life I wondered how the lead filled sock of fate affected me. In many ways. I've been blessed to have lived the life I have. Whenever something unusual happens the lead filled sock of fate always pulled me through the disaster at the time.

To prove my point: when aged ten years old I lived in Roma. Walking home on a hot Saturday afternoon after attending a Boy Club Meeting a police vehicle pulled up beside me. The police officer asked if I wanted a lift home. With a nod I opened the door climbed inside. The police officer introduced himself Rollie Cole.

The lead filled sock of fate stepped into my life again at twenty-three years old while stationed in Queensland Police Force at Cunnamulla. One afternoon whilst on duty in walked Rollie Cole, the police officer who when I was ten gave me a lift home. At the time I couldn't believe me meeting this hero. The lead filled sock of fate worked.

Shortly after this time I met my wife. The lead filled sock of fate certainly clouted me on the head. My dream came true. We married moved to Stanthorpe. The lead filled sock of fate followed me. One evening on duty with a young police officer we attended a disturbance at a local hotel. In the laneway beside the hotel this young person relieved himself in front of a crowd. I went to arrest him, looked for my partner who returned to the police vehicle locked the doors.

Instead of making an arrest I allowed the person to leave. When I returned to the police vehicle my partner apologised. His behaviour not acceptable. We returned to the police station to have him please explain his actions.

The lead filled sock of fate stepped in again when I read in the local newspaper the death of the young person who I didn't arrest on the night. At his workplace he fell from a roof to his death. Not long afterwards the junior police officer who locked himself in the police vehicle committed an offence to be imprisoned. At this point in my life I never realised the lead filled sock of fate again helped me.

Many years later an incident happened when a deranged man placed a M1 Carbine Rifle to my forehead ready to shoot. The lead filled sock of fate quickly stepped in because after his command for me to leave. I left. Later when he finally surrendered, his Armory consisted of one hundred rounds of M1 Carbine bullets plus two hundred rounds of twenty-two calibre ammunition. I was pleased the lead filled sock of fate stopped this mad man from ending my life at thirty years old.

Twelve years on the lead filled sock of fate saved me again. This time my heart rate slowed to seventeen beats per minute instead of seventy beats. If I hadn't visited my doctor that night I would've gone to sleep forever. The lead filled sock of fate certainly took control of my life again.

Hopefully the lead filled sock of fate continues to take control of my life for I have too much living to do before I pass from this life.

Word count: 552

The Legacy

How does any human being leave a legacy? This question raised an important issue when my daughter said, 'Dad, Crimestoppers is The Legacy you leave behind.' I didn't understand why she said these words of wisdom.

Let me take you on a trip down memory lane. One Friday afternoon my boss stood beside me at the place where I worked in 1989. 'You were a detective, weren't you?' His question puzzled me beside he had knowledge I worked as a detective for most of my service as a police officer in Queensland Police Service.

Acknowledging him I was a detective he requested I visit the Inspector Neighbourhood Watch at Police Headquarters. The latest police initiative Crimestoppers to be introduced to the public. He recommended me for the position. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

At Neighbourhood Watch office, the Inspector handed me a video, 'go home, watch this, return here Monday morning. This is your baby.' His only words.

Upon watching this video of the establishment of Crimestoppers in America, I couldn't believe myself to be chosen to implement this programme for Queensland Police Service. After twenty years of working in the police this opportunity only came along once in a lifetime. An opportunity never to miss.

Monday morning arrived. No person was more excited about establishing this programme than me. Another detective, whom I never worked with joined our small team. My first instructions. 'Prepare a proposal by ten o'clock tomorrow morning in how you're going to establish this programme. Present your proposal to The Minister For Police at his office.'

I wrote probably the best proposal I'd ever written, making everything up as I went along. Victorian Police established Crimestoppers for their State in two years, New South Wales Police, eighteen months. I placed a lead time of six months to establish Queensland Police Crimestoppers.

Ten o'clock the following morning I handed my written proposal to The Minister of Police at his office for consideration. His words almost landed me in front of him on the floor. 'I agree with your proposal. I haven't got six months. Because of the upcoming Fitzgerald Inquiry, you have three weeks.' I picked myself up off the floor.

I said, 'If you cut the red tape, give me resources I need, I promise you I'll have Crimestoppers operating in three weeks.' I thought afterwards how I spoke to a Crown Minister this way. He agreed. To be honest The Minister did cut the red tape. That afternoon I presented a 'wish list' to the senior members of the Police Service. Everything I requested approved.

During the following three weeks, I worked my butt off, selecting four other staff, obtained a vehicle, office, equipment, plus computers. After three weeks, everything I wrote in the proposal completed. Crimestoppers Queensland launched by Channel Seven at Queensland Police Headquarters in an array of celebration.

Twenty-five years later I received an invitation to attend Twenty-Fifth Anniversary Dinner of Crimestoppers at Brisbane City Hall. I invited my two children to join me in the celebrations. During the night, I was interviewed by a Channel 7 Newsreader on stage before five hundred guests. This interviewer asked me how I established Crimestoppers Queensland twenty-five years previous. I repeated this story.

On our journey home my daughter said those prolific words, 'Dad, Crimestoppers is The Legacy you leave behind.' I still didn't understand her meaning of The Legacy.

Word count: 576

The Mystery Lecture

Aged twenty-one years old I joined Queensland Police Force as a Probabary Constable at Petrie Terrace, Brisbane on 5th May 1970. Dressed in fatigues, fawn coloured trousers and shirt, starched so the trousers almost stood by themselves.

Thirty-six other Probabary Constables enlisted to become May 1970 Squad. Standing with my fellow Probabaries on the parade ground, a Drill Sergeant roamed between us shouting orders. Standing in front of me this Drill Sergeant bellowed at top voice spluttering spittle over my face. 'Am I hurting you son?'

'No Drill Sergeant.' I shouted at my top voice.

'I should be son because I'm standing on your hair. What's under your hat is yours whilst below is mine. I don't want to have any hair showing beneath your hat. Understand!' He shouted in my ear almost blasting my eardrums.

To make certain I looked smart on my first day I visited the barber to have my hair cut short. Little did I realise this Drill Sergeant had an arrangement for all Probabaries to visit the barber down the road from the Depot to have a regulation haircut to his standard.

Four months of training before being sworn in as a member of Queensland Police Force. Daily we marched around and around the parade ground to the beat of a drum plus echoing sound from Drill Sergeant bellowing in an Irish accent; 'left, right, left, right'. After marching, we attended lectures delivered in a classroom environment daily learning Police Duties plus Law.

Each Friday afternoon one hour before we stopped for the week Officer-In-Charge of Depot made this time 'The Mystery Lecture'. Without a conscious he pointed to one of the Probabaries to answer a question. On the first day he asked me a question. 'If you were standing on the corner of Ipswich Road, Woolloongabba and an old lady came up to you to ask directions to Holland Park. What would you tell her?'

I thought for some time before answering. First, I had no idea of Brisbane, nor Ipswich Road, Woolloongabba. What made this answer more difficult because I had no idea where Holland Park was. Pushing my chest out, I answered, 'I'd direct her to the nearest Tram Sir!'

Laughter rang around the classroom. Face of the Officer-in-Charge flashed red. His look at me wouldn't knocked me down if looks would kill. His answer, 'tell her to board a tram!' He screamed.

My mind filled with dread having no answer to his shouting. I went to be seated when he shouted. 'Don't sit down Son!' I wasn't his son. His demeanour raised to a point whether I was ever going to be sworn in as a Constable. 'I strongly suggest in the next week you find out where Ipswich Road Woolloongabba is; also, while you search; find out where Holland Park is so this poor elderly lady will be able to find her way home instead of taking a tram. Sit down!'

During the week I studied maps to find my way through Brisbane in case the Officer-In-Charge asked me a similar question. You wouldn't believe when we had 'The Mystery Lecture' the following Friday afternoon; I was paraded before the front of the class to be asked the same question as the previous Mystery Lecture. This time I didn't refer to any trams. Instead directed the lady to a taxi stand.

Word count: 566

The Quest For Meaning

A movie 'Fields of Dreams' with actor Kevin Coster shows a farmer played by Coster who after planting a crop of corn a voice in the corn speaks, 'build it and he will come'. Throughout this movie Coster is driven by this message in the quest for meaning.

Instead of growing corn he builds a baseball arena. Ghost players from a past baseball team his father once played appear from the corn fields to play baseball. A message is delivered to Coster to seek out an author in New York to help solve the words, 'build it and he will come.'

His journey takes him to New York where he finds a retired author who he needs to take to the local baseball game. Whilst they're at the game a message displays on the screen only Coster and the author can read. Their journey continues across Amercia to find the person's name left on the screen.

Coster finds this person they need to speak with, a retired doctor. In his youth he wanted to play baseball with the same team. On his return journey home, the author accompanies him when they pick up a young hitch-hiker who wants to play baseball. All three journeys to Coster's farm when a baseball game being played between two ghost teams from a bygone era. The young hitch-hiker joins one of the teams.

Coster concluded his journey. Coster's father passed away years before Coster married not having met Coster's wife or daughter. Near the end of the movie Coster is seen throwing the ball to the catcher who is identified as Coster's father. A warm and wonderful movie. The quest for meaning is truly exhibited in this movie.

How can the quest for meaning be experienced in our lives? Two events happen to all of us. We're born, we die. These are facts. In between times we experience the quest for meaning. To explain an example of my life to show the quest for meaning.

In 2009 I discovered my quest for meaning by writing my memoirs. Before starting this task, I sketched on a A4 size paper in landscape commencing from most recent to as far back as I remembered of my life. I wrote bubbles of ideas joined by arrows. My mind developed a picture of how lucky my life had been.

The quest for meaning showed me various events in my life. Instead of following a certain direction this quest for meaning turned into a different direction. After watching the movie 'Fields of Dreams' I understood why Kevin Coster did what he needed to do to discover his quest for meaning.

Throughout my discover of the quest for meaning exploring highlights, an important event in my life discovered my ambitions to be a writer. This is a great discovery I learned to finally understand the quest for meaning.

Word count: 484

The Resolution That Failed

Throughout my life, I have believed in two standards – honesty plus trust. If one can't be honest and trustworthy not much left in any relationship. I'll share this story of 'The Resolution That Failed'.

In 2004 Brett Lowcock, a local builder in Imbil constructed a carport for me. Most satisfied with his work a decade later I recommended him to build a bathroom and loungeroom in my daughter's home. At the time from previous undertakings with Brett I was satisfied he would complete the task without many issues. I honesty trusted him to complete the task.

During this time, he worked on my daughter's construction I asked him to sand and paint my front veranda plus repair a step. Because I was going away I paid him in advance $150.00 in cash to finish the job in my absence. We shook hands on the deal. I handed over the money. At the time, I totally trusted Brett to carry out the work. He promised me on my return he'd have the job completed to my satisfaction.

Returning from my holiday everything was the way before I left. Asking Brett why he didn't complete the task his reply, 'when I'm ready'. The penny dropped. The resolution that failed raised its ugly head in front of me. I handed my money to him in good faith believing he would complete the task on my return. I failed to identify Brett wasn't honest nor trustworthy.

Now thirteen months later I had the work completed by another person to my satisfaction. On several occasions, I've approached Brett about his dishonesty and trustfulness. His reply not worth repeating in this story. I'd been taken in by a most dishonest person. Caught between a rock and a hard place I approached a police officer to report this crime.

Brett told the police officer he accepted my money in return for completing the task, however, hadn't been able to complete the job. That resolution also failed. I thought about taking legal action, however for such a small sum of money the cost would out-weigh the hope of retrieving my money.

Karma plays a huge part in our lives. Many times, in my life karma has come through when another has betrayed my trust by not being honest. How would karma play a part in the life of Brett Lowcock? In my mind, I honestly believe I'll never receive $150.00 from him. What strange events happen after the act? Each time I mentioned the name Brett Lowcock to anyone in Imbil their reply. 'He's not much good. Dishonest into the bargain.'

The penny should've dropped before I parted with my money. Remembering a couple of years before when he did work on my friend's home she complained how Brett overcharged her. Like I wrote before my two standards in life are: trust and honesty. If you can't trust another to be honest than what else is left.

I've tried a new strategy knowing Brett will never repay my $150.00; however, karma will play a part in our lives for a suitable resolution. Monthly I write a letter to Brett telling him he is a thief plus a dishonest person. I also mention karma will play a part in the resolution that failed.

Word count: 551

The Virgin Father

My mind passes back to a trip my partner and I went on many years ago, 'Stars, Spars, Outback Tour'. Instead of staying in motel accommodation, we camped on outback sheep and cattle stations.

Shortly after turning twenty-one years old I worked on a sheep and cattle property in far south-west Queensland. This latest adventure became different to anything I ever experienced before.

Country people are always friendly greeting us with warm country hospitality. First property we stayed overnight 'Nardoo Station' north of Cunnamulla in south-west Queensland. Not long after arrival our host took us on a tour of the property to familiarise us with this great country.

I'd seen most of this type of country a hundred times over, particularly, mulga scrub, open plains, Mitchell grass, until we came across a nest of Emu eggs in a clearing. Our guide stopped the bus for all to decamp and inspect this wonderland of animal instinct. All my travelling through this country, I never witnessed this sight before. Five large emu eggs in a nest with a giant male Emu standing nearby.

'Let me explain to you about the Emu.' The guide started to inform us all. 'These eggs were laid by the female Emu, she left her nest. The male Emu sits on these eggs for six weeks until the chicks are born.' I needed to close my mouth before flies entered.

'A Virgin Father.' These words I spoke aloud.

'What do you mean, A Virgin Father'? The guide asked me.

'Simple, the female Emu lays the eggs. The male Emu takes over making him 'The Virgin Father'. I said in astonishment. This thought entered my mind when the male Emu stood near the eggs.

'How do you work out he's 'A Virgin Father'? The guide questioned me. Obvious she'd become intrigued with my answer.

'Okay, I realise they conceived the eggs before laying them. 'The Virgin Father' is unique because probably he is the first male I've ever seen to sit on eggs to produce his chicks. I've never witnessed a man pregnant. Have you?' I explained in a manner-of-speaking.

'When you explain how this happened in the way you have done. Yes, I agree, 'The Virgin Father' is a male Emu. I'll need to keep this in mind to tell other guests.' Our guide answered with a frown on her face.

'You're clever to point out this point.' My partner whispered in my ear.

'Don't worry. I only thought of 'The Virgin Father' after the guide told us about the male Emu sitting on the eggs. I'm not clever.' I finished with a smile spread across my face.

'I think you're clever.' My partner replied holding my hand in hers. 'You are my Virgin Father'.

'I'm too old to be sitting on your eggs.' I smiled.

Word count: 474

The Year That Never Was

2017. Will this year be any different to 2016? I can't complain about 2016. Everything I set out to achieve, I achieved. Writing, publishing, marketing books number 19 and 20 to the world. Who would've thought in twenty-nine years I would achieve this milestone.

Back in 1988 at the time I wrote and published book number one 'Closing The Gap' my mind completely focused on doing my best to achieve this goal of writing and publishing one book. Now in 2017 my goal to write a novel plus publish stories we write at Pomona Writer's Group is beyond imagination.

To achieve these goals in 2017 I don't want to think of 'The Year That Never Was'. I look forward to writing my next novel. A fire burns in my belly. My mind fixed on research I need to undertake before I start. Character conversations are recording in my mind to write this next novel. I'm ready.

How do one write and publish a novel annually you may ask? Dedication, resilience, time management, self-belief plus the need to finish the job. My next novel is a continuation from my previous one set in the period between 1899 to 1902 in Australian history. These times were important for Australia because in 1899 declaration of 'Boer War' in South Africa when Australia joined forces with Britain.

1901 became probably most significant period in our nation's history because we became a Federation. Writing of the constitution, selection of Parliament included our first Prime Minister. Not forgetting between 1897 until 1902 Australia experienced the worst drought in living history especially in outback Australia.

I have much to write about. Once research of these periods has been completed, time to write. At this stage I have no idea of the topic or name of the novel. May name this latest book, 'The Year That Never Was'. Sounds original. More I think about this title the more appealing to use this title. I will use this title for my next novel. Should fit the requirements plus the storyline.

First to set a goal of finishing the book by November 2017. Write the goal onto 'To Do List'. Download movie of 'Breaker Morant'. View movie to incorporate storyline into book. Search Google for information about Boer War plus Australia. Place information into a folder for later reference. Search Google for Federation of Australia. Who became our first Prime Minister? When? Place information into folder for later reference.

Most important to start, write, write and continue to write until the final page. Make the story interesting, characters lift from the pages. Bring tears to my eyes when writing the emotions of what I write, each reader will experience a similar emotion. Write daily even though may only be a few words or as many words as my muse will allow.

Enchant the reader by writing explosive storytelling at best. Make the reader want to turn the next page. Use simple words, meaningful, enlightening. Most important of all, have fun writing this story. If the writer enjoys their story so then will the reader. In November 2017 'The Year That Never Was' will be available for all to read.

Word count: 537

They Also Served

My son's words almost made me choke with emotion. 'Dad. I'm pleased you're not a policeman any longer.' Why would he tell me these words? I never understood why he hated me being a serving member of Queensland Police Service.

I asked him to explain. His words cut through me like a hot knife through butter. 'At school the other students called me 'piglet'. They spat on me. I hated you being in the police especially when you sat next to me on the train to school.'

After twenty years continued service in Queensland Police Service I retired on medical grounds at forty-two years old after having a pacemaker implantation. My world changed completely from having a secure career to nothing. Hearing my son say these words I never ever in my career thought me being a police officer affected him so much. They also served.

Thinking back to when I met my wife, I'd been a policeman for nine months. She stood beside me through thick and thin being my sounding board after returning home from a heavy investigation. After my retirement I remember sitting with her on the front veranda of our home, her words clear. 'You should write stories of what you did in the police. Those stories you told me. People would love to read them.' I did write these stories.

Whilst writing my first book 'Closing The Gap' my daughter fell in with the wrong crowd at school. When I confronted her about this discovery her words hurt me more than I ever imagine. 'They are the only ones I can talk with. Others walk away when I try to join them because they think I'll tell you what they said. I'm wrong to mix with this crowd, they cause problems, but they talk with me.' Her words shattered my self-confidence. My daughter also served.

I clearly remember my words to her. 'Are you proud I'm a police officer?' I asked her. She began to cry.

'Yes I am.' She sobbed.

'If you are proud of me being a police officer you should tell these so-called friends you are proud of your father being a police officer.' I explained.

After wrapping my arms around her shoulders, she sobbed until regaining herself. 'What is my punishment?' She asked.

'You decide your own punishment.' I replied.

'A month of not watching 'Home and Away'. She answered. Kaylene's experience became the first chapter of 'Closing The Gap' my first book.

A policeman's life is a hard one serving their community. A common analogy in police circles, 'one day you bow to the Queen of England, the next day you pick a drunk from the gutter.' So much variety of life.

Apart from myself, they also served, my wife, daughter, son through all the ups and downs of everyday life. I remember well the morning I confronted a deranged man holding a rifle to my forehead. I didn't think of my position of a police officer in such danger, I thought of my family.

My daughter's words continue to ring in my ears after we attended the twenty-fifth Anniversary Dinner of Crimestoppers. She said on our journey home, 'Dad, you leave behind a legacy by establishing Crimestoppers for Queensland.' These words from my daughter showed how proud she was of me.

Looking back on my life I'm proud to have served Queensland as a police officer. I never would've done so without the support of my wife, daughter and son. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine how my service affected their own lives. They also served.

Word count: 609

Tomorrow and Tomorrow?

Tomorrow never comes. Today is present, yesterday is past whilst tomorrow never comes. Tomorrow the day after the present day. For instance, Tuesday is always followed Monday. Tomorrow is hope for the future.

Speaking of future. I am gravely concerned about my grandchildren's future. Changes in my life have been many from living with no electricity to becoming overpowered with technology we didn't dream of having at their age. From the first sight of television to computers, technology overrides our lives.

My eldest grandson is seventeen years old, completed grade twelve at a private school. Obtained high grades for entrance into any university. Since finishing school he's now suffering from ATWS (Anxiety To Work Syndrome). After leaving school he worked a couple of days installing Foxtel application which he loved. However, this stopped. In fact, he stopped. Since leaving school his motivation to work is zero.

Promoting my books through social media is tough unless one comes up with a great idea. An idea floated through my mind. I wanted to have a presentation to show others my journey of how I became an author. On impulse, I passed the idea to my grandson. 'That's easy Pop.' His comment. 'You write your story. Leave the rest to me.'

After writing the story I wanted others to read, my grandson placed these words with slides together with music made a video to post on YouTube. After watching this video, I couldn't believe how proud of his achievements he made me. He brushed the comment off as nothing.

Each opportunity I link the video to Facebook, LinkedIn, e-mails. Within one week of publication this site recorded more than two hundred and twenty hits. Extraordinary effort. Time to speak with my grandson to explain how proud of what he accomplished. 'Nothing Pop.'

A deep concern worried me. How to motivate my grandson to learn more of this gift to become successful. I strongly suggested he attend university to learn more of his craft. His answer, ' No!' Attempts to make him understand the importance of his future in designing these models to help other author like myself fell on deaf ears. Frustration built inside of me.

My mind screamed how to help him discover his forte. I tried every concealable trick in the book to make him understand how important for him to study this area. To no avail. I wasn't going to give up.

Because he suffers from ATWS (Anxiety To Work Syndrome) I decided to stop pestering him. Allow him to make his own decision. Almost broke my heart a gift going down the drain of hopelessness.

Before I commenced to write this story, my grandson informed me he has accepted my decision and made application to study at university to further his career in the field of technology. My insides almost burst with delight at this news. I kept a straight face; nodded to accept his decision. My only desire is tomorrow and tomorrow he continues to follow his dream.

Word count: 510

Well I Never

Growing through my childhood in Roma, during the fifties, my greatest thrill to sit with my elders listen to their stories. Words 'well I never' a huge part of their vocabulary. Sixty years later these words resonate in my mind reminding me of these times.

Today our children and grandchildren wouldn't have a clue how to listen to their elders sponging up information as we did, because no longer do we gather to share our lives unless through social media. How times have changed. Technology has taken over our lives in more ways we can ever imagined. I'd love to share my stories with my grandchildren and children. Each time I try all they comment: 'you've told us those stories before'.

Each year takes us closer to the end of our lives. After my grandmother passed away I tried to keep her memory alive by writing her life story to distribute between her relatives as a keepsake. Some thanked me, only two to my memory, others didn't reply. Her words 'well I never' will never be spoken again. Her person seated on her favourite lounge chair, smoking her pony cigarette, satisfied look on her face, without a care in the world.

If I mention the words 'well I never' to my children or grandchildren they'd think, I'd gone bananas. Next, they'd place me into a retirement home for the elderly. Whilst I have my true memory, write and publish my books I want to stay in my own home if possible.

Monthly I speak with my elder aunt, who is eighty-seven years old. Our conversation boarders on realism. She is very good for her age keeping fit and healthy. Our conversations evolve around family. She shares her stories of growing up during World War 11 plus further back to share her memories of those times. After we finish I'm inspired on how when one reaches their twilight years each enjoy what they do to make their lives more liveable.

These words 'well I never' repeated a million times during her youth because in those times relatives visited often staying for weeks at a time. Her younger life most precious because of her six sisters, my mother being one, plus warm loving parents. When she had the opportunity to listen to her elders speaking of their daily experiences she sat silent drinking in the flavours of conversation with the words 'well I never' used constantly.

Those days are gone forever. Whenever my children visit me, which is often, their only request is to ask me to do something for them. Never wanting to share their day nor their personal experiences. These words 'well I never' will die with the people who once spoke these words to share. We will never have these words spoken again in the way they used to be.

Word count: 479

What Do You Really Mean

My work as a detective in Queensland Police Service required giving evidence before a Judge and Jury. One investigation happened at Chinchilla, a town west of Dalby on the Darling Downs.

One night a handicapped male person entered the Chinchilla Hotel to have a quiet drink. Two young fellows in the hotel decided to tell this handicapped male they had a girl out the back. One coaxed the handicapped male to the rear of the hotel in the pretence a girl waited for him.

When the two walked to a dark area at the rear of the hotel the other youth in waiting punched the handicapped male to the ground, searched through his pockets, stole his money a total of $7.50c. They left the handicapped male laying on the ground at the rear of the hotel left the scene. My off-sider and I were given the investigation.

Speaking with the complainant, the handicapped male, his story clears of what happened. After recognizing both the assailants we took him to the local hospital for medical examination. Apart from bruising took him home.

Our blood pressure rose to a degree of exploding how any person would commit such an act on a handicapped individual, nor anyone for that matter. After radioing a Be On The Lookout For, a message came through to our police vehicle both males were apprehended at Goomeri. We arranged to meet the Goomeri Police half-way.

After exchanging both offenders to our police vehicle we returned to Dalby to question them. I shall never forget this investigation. I interviewed the first offender who sang like a bird telling the story of how they had been drinking most of the day at the hotel when the complainant entered the hotel.

His friend suggested they tell him a girl waited outside. When the complainant walked outside the other offender punched him, dropping him to the ground, rummaged through his pockets stole $7.50c. They left the complainant lying on the ground, found their vehicle then drove to Gomera when they were caught by the police.

My off-sider interviewed the other offender who didn't want to say anything only placing total blame onto his friend. He didn't sing like a bird but kept mute. Both were arrested and charged with Assault and Robbery.

Six months later both appeared before Honourable Reginald Carter, Judge and selected jury at the Supreme Court in Brisbane. I gave evidence first. One of the questions asked by the Defence Council I answered, 'not really.'

Honourable Judge Reginald Carter butted in and said in an authoritive 'what do you really mean detective?' If looks we daggers I would've been dead in the witness box. My brain froze. I couldn't think of an appropriate answer.

Honourable Judge Reginal Carter repeated the question, 'what do you really mean. Answer the question?' His abruptness from his chair frightened the daylights out of me. I mumbled something.

Finally, I lifted my chin and said, 'I'm sorry Judge Carter. I can't answer the question.' I kept silent.

Although this investigation happened almost forty years ago I still remember Honourable Justice Reginald Carter speak those words toward me, 'what do you really mean?'

Word count: 538

What Will You Be Doing In The Next War Daddy.

Wars have been fought between countries for as long as history tells us. In Australian history, our major wars Boer War, World War 1, World War 11. In grade 8 I asked the teacher why we have wars. Her reply, 'to control inflation of the economy.' At the time, I didn't understand her meaning.

When I turned seventeen years-old the government of the day joined other countries to fight in Vietnam. Conscription of males born on a certain date were ordered to join this conflict. Lucky my date of birth didn't fall into this category. Many of my friends and workmates ordered to fight.

My thoughts went out to these heroes who were conscripted to battle in a country which had no connection with Australia. Thinking back to the question I ask my teacher in grade 8 certain reflections of her answer puzzled my mind.

Australian population grew annually at a steady rate. Inflation grew accordingly. Why did Australia want to become involved in this conflict? Studying the years between each conflict showed every twenty-five years a world war happened. Many lost their lives, many more wounded, many never recovering from their time on the battlefront.

Suddenly the penny dropped to understand the answer my grade 8 teacher gave. With so many Australians killed in these conflicts, thus reduced the population of our country controlled inflation. These brave heroes gave their life for others to survive.

If a war happened today, countries wouldn't need to worry about inflation because they'd be no one alive. To end World War 11 an Atomic Bomb used to stop the Japanese. Imagine the type of bomb to stop the world in today's scientific age. We'd be acting out those Hollywood movies when the world ended with a big bang.

What will you be doing in the next war Daddy if asked by my children would be to sit tight at Brooloo waiting for the final hours of doom to arrive. In today's world of media, instant messages across the globe within seconds reach my computer at Brooloo, I'd sit and wait for the world to fight their own battles until some country raised their flag in defeat.

According to my twenty-five-year conflict to control inflation, more than seventy years have passed since the ending of World War 11. Yes, inflation has risen. Another World War would surely control inflation for the many who would lose their lives in today's military warfare of bombs never seen before.

Why can't people live in peace, resolve their conflicts without wars? Greed, power, money. Why should any country on earth possess an Armory so strong to threaten their neighbours? Surely these questions should be resolved.

Personally, I'd hate to witness a war currently of my life. Born after World War 11, living through the conflict of Vietnam, other conflicts especially the present overseas worry me. I'd hate to think if my grandchildren were conscripted into battle.

To answer this topic 'What Will You Be Doing In the Next War Daddy?' Hopefully country leaders will resolve their difference to live in peace. I'll still be living in peace at Brooloo.

Word count: 537

Where There Is A Will

Malcolm Fraser, Prime Minister of Australia once used these words, 'Life wasn't meant to be easy'. I remember his words today although he'd spoken them thirty years ago. At the time these words became a turning point in my life. My role guarding him.

We never had the terrorist threats as we have today. I remember driving in an unmarked police vehicle to Oakey Air Force Base to meet his plane. Apart from his personal security personnel, we were assigned to protect the Prime Minister whilst he visited towns in our area.

Mingling amongst the crowd people swarmed around the Prime Minister like bees to honey. I kept my distance like a duck out of water. A tap on my shoulder instantly returned by mind to the present, 'where's the Prime Minister?' Superintendent Byers shouted.

Pointing toward the large gathering I didn't say a word until Superintendent Byers said. 'If someone tries to shoot the Prime Minister I want you to take the bullet.' _Like bloody hell I'll take a bullet for the Prime Minister_ went through my mind. _My life is more important than his_. _I have a wife and family._ Immediately I moved closer to the crowd surrounding the Prime Minister.

Where there is a will. There is a way. My instincts filled my mind. I stood on the outskirts of the crowd surrounding the Prime Minister whilst he made his speech to open the function. After which the crowd dispersed leaving the Prime Minister with his security staff.

On our return to Oakey Air Force Base Superintendent Byers vehicle led the procession at a rapid pace. Driving the second vehicle I had difficulty keeping up with him. Behind my vehicle the Prime Minister's vehicle. A vehicle approached us swerved to avoid collision with Superintendent Byers vehicle. I looked in the rear-a-vision mirror. The Prime Minister's vehicle stopped on the side of the roadway.

The Prime Minister alighted from his vehicle walked to toward the vehicle which by this time stopped on the side of the roadway. The driver shaking and nervous. The Prime Minister personally apologised to the driver, turned to me and said, 'who was the bloody idiot who drove this driver off the road!' He blasted.

By this time Superintendent Byers arrived at the scene. 'Me Mr Prime Minister.' He replied.

'I've apologised to this person. Now I want you to apologise also.' The Prime Minister said in a threatening voice.

Superintendent Byers apologised to the driver who by this time settled his nerves. I thought to myself, _where there is a will. There is a way._

Word count: 439

With More Than Usual Intent

1975 my first real investigation as a Detective Constable. Only a couple of months before, I was transferred to Dalby Criminal Investigation Branch to fulfil my life ambition to become a designated Detective in Queensland Police Force.

Detective Sergeant Lionel Bacchi our Officer-in-charge of Criminal Investigation Branch became my mentor. On a Monday morning he instructed me to take Plain Clothes Constable Peter Martin travel to Chinchilla to investigation two fires. This became my first major investigation.

We travelled to Chinchilla to interview a young male for setting fires, one in his neighbour's garage, another in a shoe store. I interviewed this young male in the presence of his mother. His admissions astonished me with his forthright admission of guilt wanting to burn down his neighbour's garage because of an altercation between neighbours. Cut and dry investigation, you may say.

With the second investigation this young male went to a storeroom at the rear of the local shoe shop. Cardboard boxes were staked along the rear wall. He removed these boxes placed them into a pile in the centre of the room. He was about to strike a match when the owner of the store entered the room stopped the young male from setting the boxes on fire. If the boxes ignited the whole shopping centre of Chinchilla would've been destroyed.

At the time I interview this young male he admitted to stacking the boxes; about to strike a match when the owner came into the storeroom to stop him. I asked a question, 'why did you want to set fire to these boxes?'

His reply, 'I don't know.'

On our return to Dalby Lionel wanted us to call into his home to discuss what we did. I handed him the Record of Interview I recorded from the young male person. We bid him goodnight. Next morning when we arrived at the office, Lionel wanted to speak with me. His demeanour not exciting. His words, 'when you asked him the question why did you want to set fire to these boxes.'

'Yes. He told me he didn't know.'

'You haven't proven intent.' His words fell on deaf ears. I didn't have a clue what he spoke about. Lionel continued, 'when a person plans to commit an offence, you need to understand he thinks through the process of intent, which is a state of mind. In this case you haven't proven 'intent'. His defence could be he wanted to set fire to the boxes to warm his hands which is no offence.' My head bowed. I didn't study enough to understand the law.

'Don't worry about this because I'll prosecute to make certain he doesn't raise the defence.' I thanked Lionel for this valuable information intent to study harder to understand the law. This investigation with more than usual intent became a strong lesson for me to learn early in my career.

Word count: 489

You Just Don't Want To Know

Criminal investigation work at times is thankless. When a crime is committed, serious or minor, investigative skills need to be sharp with the investigator alert to solve the crime. Being an investigator for nine years particularly when others wanted to know what happen. You just don't want to know became the constant reply.

From many investigators with Queensland Police I was luckier than most. My wife became my sounding board after long days investigating some of the most gruesome crimes. She sat patiently listening to my babbling on about how I solved the crime. Never saying a word, just listening. At the time, I never realised how important her silence meant. I didn't need to be told about how the crime was solved, only, someone who loved me to listen. Many years later she told me to write a book of these events I shared with her.

This morning on television, an aged man, in his eighties, being manhandled from his vehicle by a couple of sixteen-year youths who escaped from a juvenile detention centre in Melbourne. This man appeared helpless. Throwing his keys away didn't deter these youths who found the keys and stole this aged man's vehicle. Disgusting. What will happen to these youths when they're eventually captured? You just don't want to know.

Thinking about this occurrence brings back a memory of a youth, twelve years old breaking into an elderly woman's home in search of money. This elderly lady arrived home to find this twelve-year old intruder in her home, came face to face, with him. She held her handbag tight. This youth grabbed the straps of her handbag trying to force the purse loose. To no avail. She held her handbag tighter.

This youth pushed this elderly lady to the floor, forcing her to release her hold breaking the straps of the handbag from the elderly lady's forearm. The youth quickly left the home taking the elderly lady's handbag with him.

Shortly after this reported incident I captured this youth still in possession of the lady's handbag. He admitted everything about breaking into the house together with assaulting and robbing this elderly lady of her handbag.

Being a juvenile, twelve years old, before I officially interviewed him a parent or guardian needed to be present. His father arrived, looked at his son, screamed the words, 'you tell the police everything. You understand.' Naturally, the youth admitted his crime, returned to the house to show me what he did. The elderly lady admitted to hospital with shock and injuries.

At the impending court hearing the defence barrister submitted a nolle prosecute, which meant I needed to give evidence before the court proceeded to show the youth didn't receive a treat, inducement, or promise to admit his guilt.

You just don't want to know what happened. The Trial Judge discharged the youth because of the treat his father gave him when he entered the office, 'you tell the police everything. You understand.' The elderly lady never recovered from her injuries or shock and passed away fifteen months later. Some events in life you just don't want to know.

Word count: 530
