Autobiography Dieter Rolf Fischer Book 11
(Pictures by author, unless indicated) Book 11 / Ch. 20 Written / Published 18.3 - 20.3.2013
Alert readers would have figured that I had indeed made another mistake in the previous chapter. In the introduction I had, however, written this: "If God appears to have made a mistake, ask HIM, where is the magic that turns wrong into good?"
My mistake was the difference between KUGA and KLUGER. It is not ERA or EAR. I failed to see the L. So, whilst in the previous chapter a mistake had turned into my date-of-birth number 135, in this chapter, adding the missing L, it creates the name of a (fictional) KIng - LEAR. (A play written by William Shakespear, .... whose name ends in ... !
Please note: This chapter is about happenings back home in Australia. The European journey continues in the next chapter, God willing.
20. Something about that name
In early March 2013 I felt an urge to take a trip away. It had only been ten weeks since my little green machine, the Suzuki mini-van, took me to Sydney and back. It was a great 6-day trip. I loved every moment of it, as readers read in chapter 13. On March 11th my football team Adelaide United was playing in Melbourne. March is the prefect time of the year to take a trip to Melbourne, even better when taking the GO route, meaning the Great Ocean Road, along the southern Victorian coastline.
In chapter 19 I had experienced a little magic with the letters VIC (Victoria). But neither this, nor the nice weather along the GO Road, persuaded me to make the final decision, should I go or should I stay, or simply wait for another time?
Adelaide was playing against the Melbourne Heart. As time was moving toward making serious arrangements, if I were to travel, I made a deal with God, a whisper of a prayer, on March 5th: "If you want me to go to this match in Melbourne, let there be an outstanding encounter today with a heart. (In a previous chapter, Book 9, Ch.7 I had been to a Melbourne Heart football match and found a tiny heart-shaped object, on the way to the match.)
At the end of that Tuesday, March 5th, I was not conscious of anything 'hearty' which had crossed my path that day. Maybe, God doesn't want me to take this trip at this time, was the obvious conclusion?
But there was a heart message on March 5th - only I had not seen it until the next morning.
As I was going through my Daily Bread Bible reading, as often a day late, I found my heart clue. As a matter of fact there were two - the word heart twice in the very last sentence of that day's bible commentary.
It took until I actually was at the Stadium in Melbourne to see the most obvious code of all. The word H ear T; ear right between H and T. In my code that's - the cross is IT.
The very next morning, after I had uploaded Chapter 19, I heard the word era in the media, at least twice, maybe more. A prominent headline (on TV) read:
NEW ERA FOR VICTORIA - Ted Baillieu resigns as Premier.
(Mel in Melbourne, Sydney 27 deg.C and sunny)
- - - - - - -
It was on the Monday long-weekend, when my Suzuki and I left Adelaide just before 7 AM and drove the familiar route east toward Melbourne. To outsiders it must still be a puzzle, why our Government is granting everybody a holiday because an important, annual horse race was run that day, the Adelaide Cup?
As I passed through Coonalpyn, how could I forget, (Bk. 10, Chapter 11) the calamity of Jan 2012, when right outside the motor garage the Suzuki's engine seized up. It ended this much anticipated trip to Melbourne rather abruptly. This time, however, my little 1 litre mini-van never missed a beat. It took me to Melbourne nicely, just as it had taken me to Sydney in late December.
Along the route, being a holiday weekend, a road safety program called Driver Reviver operated. I stopped at place called Dimboola, which is about the half-way mark between our two cities. With the free coffee, as usual, came a nice chat with the volunteers on duty. I enjoyed it as much as the refreshing drink, since Dimboola holds a few memories from an earlier era of my long journey. (Bk 2, Ch.30).
Driving away from the kiosk, where coffee was served, I noticed the vehicle registration plate of a Ute. It must have been that of the volunteer on duty. What do I make of URG 177? (not in that order). The registration plate phenomena had not abate since it started over a decade ago. I view it perhaps differently, less intense. Yet, to ignore them all would be impossible. I take them as a reminder of where I had come from.
Another free coffee was available from a Driver Reviver stop a Baccus Marsh. There was also a registration plate with a 'message'. At the end of the day, however, I had forgotten it. I wrote in my diary: They [rego numbers] are so common - either I am mad or I'm followed. (Later that day there would be another, a rather significant one, read on).
Allow me a little fun with numbers. I had booked into the YHA in North Melbourne, a place I knew well. Melbourne was hot, very hot, in the grip of a heat wave. That day it had reached 36 degrees. But that wasn't the winning number - yet. It was the room I was allocated at the hostel - 102. Adelaide later that evening played their match at AAMI stadium. They won (pronounce 1) 0:2.
At Docklands (Etihad) is where I experienced one of three huge thrashings Adelaide United received in an away match: 6:0 in a grand final. Another was only recently, late in 2012: 6:1 in Sydney.
But one trip stands out - the 5:0 debacle in a semi-final in Perth in 2005. A bus load of supporter travelled a total of 5386 kilometers to witness the defeat. If there were a category in the Guinness Book of Records - longest distance travelled overland by a fan club, this trip would probably top the chart.
At AAMI Stadium that night I sat with a friendly, young man who had moved from Adelaide to now work in Melbourne. His name was Andrew. His brother was with him also. His name was Adrian. (Later I thought how I had sat with AA* in AAMI stadium). There were two more Andrews to cross my path that evening.
But first the registration plate, which I had alluded to earlier in the chapter. After the match, unlocking my bicycle, putting on my safety west and helmet, out of the corner of my eyes I noticed a vehicle stop right near me. It was registration plate ... 720. Later I thought about it a little more. It was an AUDI - German made! AU / ID.
It was a lovely, mild night in Melbourne, the last day of the annual autumn carnival, called Moomba Festival. It had been celebrated first in 1955, following the inaugural visit of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth a year earlier. One could see, leaving the stadium, Melbourne was abuzz with light, sound, food and fun. Over the Yarra the sky was ablaze with fireworks. Whole families were still out, enjoying the night.
I walked under Princes Bridge along Southbank. Trying to ride would be impossible, too many people. On a seat stood a young man, dressed normally, and talking in a loud voice to passers-by. I soon guessed that he was a Christian, who took the scripture Matthew 22, Verse 9 literally: "Go into the highways and as many as you find invite ..."
After I paused briefly to listen, not many did, the young man stopped preaching. He stepped down from the bench and walked over to me. We had a brief chat. I told him that he was bold to do this in this busy place. He asked if I was a Christian. I said yes, and he prayed for me. It had been a long time since a stranger approached me and prayed for me. It was refreshing. He assured me, he feels God had called him to to do this. I asked his name. It was Andrew.
I continued my walk along Southbank. (I intended to ride home via Lapland* Street, formerly known as King Street.) After my brief encounter with the second Andrew that evening I thought: Will there be a third Andrew before the day is over? It wasn't a minute later, much less, when a little further a guitarist played and sang his song ... whatever? In front of him was an open suitcase with a few coins in it, plus a few CD's, for sale at $ 5.00 each.
The young man's name was Andrew. And how I loved his surname: Healey (one letter from healer).
- - - - - - -
The next day they (miracles, there's no other name for it) happened again. I never look for them, never try to fabricate anything, I just see things as I move about, wherever the Spirit leads me and allows my eyes to see and my ears to hear.
Very soon that morning my eyes opened and my ears went ...bionic! I had to find a car park for my Suzuki on my way to check out, if the Victorian Parliament was sitting that day. It would have been interesting to see the new Premier in action. It was strange, the name of the place where I was lead to for a 1 hour park. It was right near a lane way. Take a look:
Bionic Ear Lane. Kelly & Kelly
It was again a very hot day in Melbourne. The nights had been very uncomfortable for those without air-conditioning. I took the opportunity to take my first ever swim in Port Phillip Bay at Brighton. Lucky I had thongs (flip-flops) with me, otherwise the sand would have been too hot to walk on, bare feet. Late in the afternoon I drove out into the Eastern suburbs of Melbourne to visit a friend, the driving school entrepneur, who had bought my driving-school website two years earlier.
Before driving to The Basin I had time at Boronia to look for a new pair of sunglasses. Browsing the shops, after finding a pair of cheap sunglasses (I break or lose them easily) I noticed in a real estate agent's shop window the bargain of the year: A two-bedroom home unit for $ 5.
For a moment I thought about taking back my $ 4.50 sunglasses and ... just kidding. Still, I went into the office and told a staff member, who was surprised about the mistake. He blamed the secretary. The address was 228 ..., this was another reason I just could not ignore it.
Late in the evening, it was still very hot. The radio host on the ABC 774 speculated, it could still be 30 degrees at midnight. I thought - 30 degrees at 12 midnight - that would be amazing - 30 deg at 12 on 03 12! I don't think it stayed this high. However, as if God really wanted me in Melbourne that particular time, that day a weather record was broken. It was the ninth day straight that the temperature reached above 30 deg. C.
- - - - - - -
The original plan had been to stay a further night in Melbourne. I changed my mind so I could take it slower, driving home the coastal route. This gave me another few hours in Melbourne on the morning of 13.3.13. Looking back, what I saw I know was exactly what I saw. But the interpretation thereof is either totally insane, or part of a conspiracy at a higher level, which I do not yet fully understand.
Let me write it, as it was. After checking out at the North Melbourne YHA the plan was to park somewhere near the freeway entrance, for a swift exit to Geelong, and then take a final look around Melbourne on the GIANT. Finding a park was not so easy, but eventually I found a place, alongside a sports oval.
I unloaded the GIANT and cycled first along Southbank, then continued over Princes Bridge to Federation Square. The place was filled with visitors to the big motor race or otherwise. A small group of people caught my eye. They were walking down Federation Square, positioned themselves and conducted, what looked like a media interview. I recognised one person, the former Premier of Victoria, Jeff Kennett:
What a contrast from the hype in the Square, just across the road, a few minutes of quiet time inside St. Pauls Cathedral. As I reflected I came to realize, just how much history has taken place right here in Melbourne over the past decade. Looking back it all sounds surreal what happened in this city and other places in the years gone by. As I write it's nine days until the tenth 'anniversary' of my sudden departure from Melbourne, under great stress. But one of God's names is healer!
It was only a short ride, back over Princes Bridge, a right turn from St; Kilda Road and there I was, outside the ABC's headquarters on South Bank. The familiar red scooter was parked in its usual spot. I had no reason to hang around. I continued riding toward my Suzuki, not wanting to waste much time before travelling on. Suddenly, an impacting observation, then another, as if somebody had written a script I was to follow.
Still in the vicinity of the ABC building, the traffic lights were red. As I waited, a young lady pedestrian crossed the road toward me. I could clearly see what was on the top she was wearing - a very large cross, formed out of small, shiny metal pieces, perhaps stars. On the far side, a vehicle had also stopped at the red light, waiting to turn right. It was sign-written in large lettering - B O Q. My mind went into overdrive.
A cross on its own is a nice symbol for Christians - what Jesus did for us, the painful way HE died for all. My brain, however, linked the huge letters BOQ to none other than my imprisoned friend in jail. My quick, linking thinking decoded the message: Your work for the BOQ man may place you in the same position of that man on the cross. My thought formed before the lights changed to green.
But there was more, along the same frame of thought: Finding my way back to my (randomly parked) Suzuki, I suddenly saw the name of a street, which takes me right into the Liddy case. The very first alleged victim of Peter to go to police, either lives, or had lived, in that street, just around the corner from where I had parked.
Why not pay a visit? (To the house, not the man. I once phoned HIM years ago after tracing him to his Adelaide home address. He was so upset, he had threatened to call police). My curious mind has wondered, ever since tracing him to Melbourne, why it is that his house number happens to be 228? God knows it all.
- - - - - - -
Call me paranoid, but as I loaded my GIANT back into my Suzuki moments later, from across the road in an older model sedan, a man was watching me. I could see him very clearly. Unlike another gentleman in a parked vehicle. It was at Apollo Bay, later that evening. I had just arrived and stopped outside the Foodworks Supermarket. I needed a few groceries. I opened the car door and saw a 5 cent coin, right beside my vehicle.
Of course, I picked it up. The same nanosecond, the driver of the vehicle, parked one parking space over, started its engine. Somebody must have been inside that vehicle, possibly watching me. Who cares - for a lousy 5 cents?
Taking two nights along the Great Ocean Road made for a much more leisurely trip. There was time to stop at Geelong, Airey's Inlet, Anglesea, Lorne. To really see all places, one should take three or four days.
- - - - - - -
A major town on the western end, near the official starting point of the Great Ocean Road, is Warrnambool. Before driving into the town I needed a rest. My eyes were getting heavy. The last thing an ex-driving instructor needs is a crash, falling asleep at the wheel. I stopped outside the Allansford Cheese Factory.
As I dozed and thought about Warrnambool my mind stirred and tried to recall a previous experience here. Slowly, it came back. I had on a previous trip discovered that the tourist street map had a mistake, a street had not been marked. It was Altmann Street. I had discovered it after riding along the coastal bike path to the edge of the town.
So where did I go to first, after my 15 minutes powernap? I picked up a street map at the Maritime Museum Information Centre. Altmann Street was still missing! Surely, I had reported this omission all those years ago?
I cycled along the same bike path, along the beach, as before. In two or three places sand had blown over. It created a real hazard in a few places. My thin tyres lost traction. I nearly fell off twice, but luckily kept balanced.
It was not hard to find Altmann Street. For fun I cycled through it. There was only one vehicle parked in the street. Taking a closer look, I read the registration plate - ... 318. A trailer parked nearby (814) could have been Code +1. One could also arrive at 496 (for 96), deducting one from the other. This would make more sense, since 96 = 4 times 24.
Readers of my earliest books, of course, would know, why the name Altmann stands out in my brain. It goes right back to the roots of my involvement in the Peter Liddy case. (More in a moment)
Again the next morning, the date was March 15th, please note, I took a look around Port Fairy on my bicycle. Rising to a new day of adventure, on the Great Ocean Road in autumn, is one of the happiest memories I have. I took another ride around the pretty, sheltered harbour and along the beach.
On the way back to town a street light had been left on. This made me take notice of the vehicle parked directly underneath that street light. A little blue hatchback ... 210. The letters before the number made me take even more notice. I saw the message: Nine [and a] cross!
A few seconds later, after turning into the main square, I sat down on an empty bench, next door to the Royal Oak Hotel. A group of important looking, well dressed people stood around. (That's all they did, stood and looked important. At least I sat down and tried to not look important). Looking a little closer, I thought, I recognized a tall, well-dressed gentleman. Wasn't this the outgoing Premier of Victoria (Ted Baillieu)? This gentleman started talking to a young men, who had a notebook and pencil in his hand.
I heard him mention the Formula One Grand Prix. This got me from off my seat. I walked toward the small group. However, the VIP at this point moved toward a black limousine (registration plate ... 153, note) and left. I asked the bald-headed man, obviously a journalist, if I was right that a moment earlier the former Premier of Victoria had just left. "No" he said. I was wrong.
- - - - - - -
Just before crossing the border into South Australia is a place called Nelson. Considering, how the N and L had featured in my chapters, even just recently, what would I expect in Nelson? Before I even had stopped at the Kiosk, I could hear it through the open car window. A man in a business suit was standing outside the Hotel. I knew it was not a drunk, having an argument, it was an auctioneer calling for bids. The Hotel was up for sale by auction.
The first bidding I heard was $ 500 000. In the short few moments I was there it went to $ 555 000. At this point, the auctioneers suggested to have a chat with some people. My 15 minute break was over in less than 20 minutes. I was, thinking ahead, what to do at my next destination, only 1/2 hour north-west on the Princes Highway.
Mount Gambier is the second largest city in South Australia. When thinking about Mount Gambier people first think of the Blue Lake, the No.1 tourist attraction in the district. My mind however, since about a year ago, thinks of Mr. Liddy, who had been transferred to a prison near Mount Gambier from Adelaide's Yatala's G-division.
Approaching the town I thought and prayed, what was it God wanted me to do. Just driving through, or stopping only for a hamburger, would be out of the question. My friend, the distant relative the prisoner, who from time to time makes contact, had given me the name of Peter's new solicitor. My first stop was at the post office, where I looked up this solicitor's address and bought a stamped envelope. I wrote my address on the front, hoping the prisoner will receive it and write to me.
To my surprise I found, the post-office happened to be just around the corner from the solicitor's office. I had known the name of the solicitor, but after finding out the address, I found it rather spooky. His first name Chris, the same as the Holden Hill Lawyer, who had done virtually nothing for Peter. His surname, in my code, points to the USA.
The address, residence No.27, if viewed as Feb. 7th, has fire in it. And the street name, in my decoding mind, read from behind - L [is] it & victories. Only a few doors away I noticed (and photographed) a business name: See HE Die.
Of course, Peters lawyer was not in his office. The receptionist at No.27 informed me that the lawyer was out for the rest of the day. She was happy to take my envelope, and noted that I would like to communicate with Mr. Liddy, perhaps through this office. What more could I do? Throwing tantrums was not my style. You don't throw a tantrum demanding justice. You pray, you do what you can, and leave the rest to God.
One thing, I knew, I could do. So I did it. I looked up the address of the prison where Peter was held and drove there. It was only a few kilometers outside town. On the gate were warning sign - Entry only with authorization. Trespassers will be searched or arrested. What made me think, I could just drive in and ask to have a chat with a prisoner, when the previous December I was not even able to simply leave a birthday wish for Peter?
I parked just outside the prison for a while on that lonely country road. Before leaving I took a 'bad' photo:
Through the fence of Mount Gambier Prison.
As I write, March 20th 2013, Australia is in the middle of a great debate. Should the Government adopt proposed laws, which, as I understand it (no one understands them) is supposed to make the media more accountable? This is just what I have been stirred up about for years. The Liddy case was a classic example of trial by media, a media who only reported one side of the story; and the other was full of inaccuracies!
After my visit to Mount Gambier I felt an urge to renew my effort to find justice for Peter. I wrote the following email to a Member of Parliament, one I had already written to before about the case. (He had indicated, he could not do anything.) I sent copies to two other MPs, who had been in the media recently.
Reading this rather lengthy email will refresh readers' minds, why I believe the media, namely the then court reporter for the Advertiser Newspaper, now the Editor, Mr. Sam Weir, did a bad job in informing the public of all the facts. (I had learned what I know from studying the court transcript).
- - - - - - -
To end the chapter on a lighter note, please take a look at the CD I recently bought, as it crossed my path in the second-hand store. Before the scan, the background story: In church last Sunday, for the first time that I recall, we sang a song: Make Calvary real to me. The next day I had occasion to email NBC's Today Show.
Their reporter had spoken the word 'first' the same nanosecond I had written it into my diary. Her name was Erica Hill. I immediately saw a connection to Calvary - I C A .. ER [He on a] Hill.
Very strange, but now take a look at the CD mentioned:
20 Songs of Calvary - Daywind
Right at the bottom - HINSONs - Hi ...!
My brief email to Today / USA ended with:
Understanding Calvary is the key to REAL life.