38.  Mary, Joe and son  

On May 22nd 05 I experienced one of those magic sequence of events, which just could not have happened without an intelligent mind behind it. I don’t mean my intelligent mind, but the minds of those, who thought it all up, most likely fans of the Da Ninci code. I was the one who walked right into it and through it. 

Glancing over the newspaper I saw an advertisement in the Adelaide Advertiser around the middle of May 05. An open day was to be held at St. Mary’s College on Sunday May 22nd. I had no connection to this Catholic Girls College in any way, but my mind registered a whisper of an alert. It was enough to make me ponder for just a moment. Then I saw a connection, very simple mathematics.      

My special number 228 (my car’s registration number, plus more) was exactly 25 short of the address of St. Mary’s College, No. 253 F. Street. So what? You are asking and rightly so. Well, the date on which the Open Day was to be held, 22/5/05 consisted of only two numbers, 2 and 5. Madness perhaps? But no harm in jotting the event into my diary. There may be some fun to be had.

The eventful Sunday started with a little cookie, if that’s the right word. I was watching the ‘Hour of Power’ from the Crystal Cathedral in Los Angeles. During a brief shot over the congregation, I saw a blue shirt and blond hair. I recognized the person. It was I, who had been there five weeks earlier.

As Isobel and I arrived at church, a man and his wife we knew well, was just walking in ahead of us. A year of so earlier, when my writing didn’t make sense to many, this lady told me plainly: “I don’t want to read stuff like that, it’s too frightening”. That Sunday Morning I noticed her wearing a blue and yellow outfit, while her husband was in a bright red shirt. My wife Isobel at that point was literally colourblind.

I had decided to drop in on the Open Day of St. Mary’s College after church, but first visit another event, less than a kilometre away, on the western fringe of the City of Adelaide. I had loaded my bicycle in the back of the Suzuki. Isobel drove home after church, while I cycled from Enfield to Thebarton.

My diary reports, I stopped on Prospect Road, not far from where I had taken a photo of the Seven Pink balloons on 12/3. My bicycle appeared to just turn when it wants to. (He must have learned this habit from the Suzuki). I asked a Minister, standing at the entrance door of his church, what time his services where held. It all went so fast. He told me and I was on my way out the driveway, as fast as I had entered.

Cycling down towards the railway line on Park Terrace I noticed opposite the well-known Clipsal factory, my favourite sport in progress, soccer. One team in yellow jersey looked familiar. I stopped to watch for a while and asked a spectator, who was playing. It was the team my son had been playing for two years earlier - Modbury Jets.  

Mad-bury, J and Ts - all fitted perfectly into my weird world of data. Likewise, a road called Park Terrace, leading over a railway line, played big part on two separate occasions in earlier Chapters. (Sand, Chapter 13). I only uncovered this link as I’m writing. This Park Terrace, where I was watching juniors play soccer near he railway line, was in the suburb of Bowden. The site of the train crash at Salisbury was at Park Terrace, Salisbury.

After a short ride through Bonython Park I arrived at the Police Barracks at Thebarton. (Please note the suburb). The ‘Police History Museum’ was having an ‘Open Day’. Many parents had come with their children to admire all kinds of memorabilia to do with police. Vehicles on display ranged from the horse drawn ‘1880 Black Maria’ which was used to transport prisoners from the City to Yatala Jail, to the most modern Police Motor Cycles and cars.

 

I glued a cut out of the Black Maria into my diary:

This picture and text on the right are from a leaflet: The Black Maria was pulled by four horses and had a crew of three mounted constables, two in the driver's seat and one in the "Dickie" in the rear. Black Maria I found was an interesting name. I also liked her vital statistics.

 

My next stop was going to be St. Mary’s College, less than a kilometer away. I was eating a one-dollar sausage, between two slices of bread, carefully holding it horizontally as not to drip tomato sauce everywhere, while admiring ‘Black Maria’ and her vital statistics.

 As I did a little boy walked by with his dad and dropped a toy police helmet to the ground and picked it up again immediately.

My mind started ticking over and spitting out two words – blue helmet! It was exactly ten days earlier that I stood in front of a retired Judge, who was opening the Royal Commission into a hit-run accident. I was applying to make submission relating to he crash investigation into the incident, which saw a prominent criminal lawyer plead guilty to 'death by dangerous driving' 18 months earlier. One of the items regularly shown about the case on television and in the newspaper, was the helmet worn by the cyclist – a blue helmet. (More later, God willing).

On my way to St. Mary’s college I had to stop at a red traffic light on West Terrace. On the ground I saw and picked up this voucher for a special offer on Vodka.

Not that I was after Vodka, I just liked the PLUS, the 2 for 1 and the Da Ninci version of Vodka  - Victory, a d OK.   

 

My diary mentions that I did not go to St. Mary’s Open Day to especially please anybody, but to let people know, HE sees, HE knows. It was a lovely autumn day. People in small groups talked and mingled. Nobody seemed to notice as I locked my bicycle to a post near the Franklin Street Entrance, wiped the sweat of my forehead and combed my hair to look respectable.  

I’m glad I had had my sausage, because there was a long queue. I didn’t particularly plan where I ought to go. My mind couldn’t help but think back to October 17, 04 when I also visited a Christian School’s Open Day for no real reason. Neither could I stop my brain from calculating that this event had taken place exactly 7 months and 5 days earlier. At the time I browsed around a class room at King’s Baptist Christian School and uncovered an error in the date of a martyr’s death. (Mind Chapter 53).

Was I going to have a similar experience here, I wondered? Was there a test to be passed, a clue to be discovered? Should I try to receive directions from my remote, supernatural source? “Is this the right way, Lord? Do you want me to go into that building now? Is there a spelling error perhaps on the notice board in the Library?”  No way, God’s children are not robots. Walking in the Spirit can’t be fabricated.

If I was to constantly worry about ‘being exactly in HIS will at any given moment, I would be producing more sweat on my forehead than pushing my bicycle up a hill. I wasn’t trying to work magic, because on my own I knew I couldn’t. God wanted me there; that is all I knew. The rest was up to HIM. Perhaps that day HE wanted a day off, just relaxing for a change?

I was to find out very soon that God didn’t need a day off and I think HE doesn’t have a couch or a television. A remote control, perhaps?

I strolled amongst the ancient, historic buildings, the earliest ones dating back about 130 years. I loved the old stone façades of the Library and Chapel. They reminded me of my youth in Germany when we actually lived in an old stone tower, which dated back to the 13th Century. I know what some are thinking – typical Germans, always have to come up with one better. 

I walked past the Northern end of the school around to the Eastern side and had a look inside the quaint, historic chapel. According to a flyer by the door I had just missed a performance by a choir. On the piano I saw a piece of sheet music by Joseph Hayden. Hey, doesn’t Joseph go well with Mary? And Hayden, like Holden, ends in den. There’s more to come on that score.

(What a surprise the very next morning after writing this chapter, on the regular program Hour of Power, the choir sung a piece by composer Franz Joseph Hayden. But that wasn’t what I meant, when I said there is more on that score).

In the courtyard people were sitting on tables, talking and enjoying the sunshine, while having a sandwich and a drink. On one table I noticed the favourite drink was “Feel Good”, a milk drink in a deep yellow coloured carton. It seemed everyone on that table had the same drink. It must have made them all feel good. Lately I had been picking up a number of these for the recycling depot. (The latest one on the day of writing this. When the film in my camera is developed, I endeavor to show a photo of one of these gems, of course the photo comes with a magic story). 

In the schoolyard, adjacent to the small grassy area senior school students displayed some of their wares from a number of small, school based enterprises. One business manufactured specialized jewelry. They called it ‘Untamed Creations’ (or similar). I called out to the teenage attendants: “I love your name – It’s wild!” I felt like a cool dude to say something wicked like that.

At the far southwestern corner, adjacent to the grassy area, I noticed a fair bit of activity in a classroom. I walked over and entered what was obviously the Home Economics section, which included the kitchen. Students with sleeves rolled up were busy everywhere, baking chocolate cookies and preparing light meals. They were too occupied to even notice visitors walking around, admiring their work.

On separate tables near entrance of the cooking section I casually flicked through some cookbooks and albums etc. with all kinds of recipes and articles on Home Economics. As I turned a page I casually glanced at a business card, which looked out of place. It didn’t sink in at first that this could be something I could be ‘taking home’ (not literally) to play with. But for some reason I was drawn to it.

Then I noticed the address of the business in question (51... Street), and also the name Dorothy. Deep inside my brain a bell started ringing as I read the business name. My Da Ninci code translated it into ‘D & cross – P OK’. Didn’t I know somebody, who works at this factory? There would be a surprise at the end of the day.

Those of you, who are wondering if I could really tell a story without a special car registration plate, I have to disappoint you. As I cycled out onto Flinders Street for the 15-kilometer ride home, I saw an early model SAAB, Registration No. VL …25 right at the gate. To me this couldn’t be co-incidence, since my whole basis for being there, were the two digits 2 and 5. I had been to the right place.

Cycling home I noticed a number of strange incidents. One of which, without boring you with all the details, led me to an Anglican Church. There was dancing inside the hall. I only stopped briefly and left quickly; however, not without spotting the car registration in the driveway next door …025.

 

Five days after 22/5 I noticed this re-call in the Advertiser Newspaper on 27/5. It didn’t make sense, because there was nothing specific as to what brand Copha was being recalled.

The numbers 2 and 5 were still fresh in my mind. I sent a funny letter to the company concerned. I happened to work with the Multi-national company years ago for a short time.

 The numbers 21 in the postcode compliment those of the street address - 20-22 (bottom right hand corner). I had spotted car registration plate HAVOC earlier and must have made a connection somewhere.  

 

In the evening of 22//5/05 I wanted to find out about the company Dorothy (the name on the business card) worked for. I knew I’d be sending her an email. I viewed the company’s homepage online. They were a large firm, manufacturing packaging, with branches all over Australia and South East Asia. After I happened to click the ‘History’ button a face popped onto the screen. I recognized it in an instant. It was a close neighbour. Now I remembered during chat he had told me where he worked.

His name was Joe. 

There once was a family. The mother was called Mary. The father’s name was Josef. They had a son, who lived a very good life. But history tells us at the age of 33 HE died on the bar on a cross…

 

Chapter 39

Index