26.  Some see the grave   

Thoughts of moving away again, to the USA or anywhere else, were gradually diminishing from my mind. If there was a cross to bear, I had virtually asked for it and was prepared to do so, regardless of any consequences. What was at stake was of immeasurable worth – justice, truth and freedom.  

My mind constantly battled with what appeared to be coded messages. I enjoyed challenging my interpretation skills, but many sounded like an enticement to go running again. Running away was not my way, not now.

My faith in God and his mighty hand of protection never wavered. My fear of repercussion for speaking out disappeared completely. I was willing to accept the worst, if it would come to any revenge by sinister, evil people. Almost daily, in some form or another, I would pick up clues of people warning me passively, and tried to make meaning out of it.

For example, at a quiz night the second to last question was: “Name the most visited mountain in Dakota. I knew the answer (Mount Rushmore), but not where I should I be rushing off to? The final question at the same fund raising event: Who said: “There is danger every time you walk out your front door?” I didn’t’ know the answer, like many that night, but I wondered if this was one more of the countless occasions, when I was meant to get a message.

A well-known person on an equally famous TV program told this story: “A little boy was burying his goldfish. The hole he had made was far too big for the dead fish. Mum asked him: “Johnny, why did you make the hole so big, just for the goldfish?”

”Because the goldfish is inside the cat,” came the reply.

I had often noticed cats, dead or otherwise and birds. Recently, a big one lay in the middle of McKenzie (Son can see) Road. My student and I had talked about cats only moments earlier, when a black and white cat had run across the road at the beginning of her lesson.

Another student, I was almost convinced of that, put her black cat purposely outside their front door for me to see, when I picked her up for her lesson. Not long after Easter I noticed a dead bird in the front garden of the house I was visiting. Not far away in the middle of the driveway lay a big, long nail.

Before my mother-in-law had arrived back from her extended visit to Sydney earlier in the year I had to remove the carcass of a big black bird from her front door. Believing that things just happen, because they happen, just co-incidences, can be very comforting. On such occasions this is just what I did – I ignored it.  

Other hints to possible danger consisted of nothing but words or names – cardigan (car–di–gone); or the name Dyer; how about the word ‘division’ and all that is left of it is ‘sion’? (divi - backwards = I victor I die). Far fetched, I know, but how could one not see half a word missing in a headline of an official document.

One of my friends offered to take me for a drive. (The one with whom I visited the York Peninsula a few months earlier). He took me in his white Magna for a spin into the beautiful Adelaide Hills. As we turned into a side road in a small village, the street name put me on alert. It was the same name as someone I had hinted to, concerning possible corruption in Adelaide. The road took us right past the cemetery. Had I gone over the top with my mind-reading?

Reading newsletters often brought out thinking processes, passive warnings just for me. It was as if these people knew my “double life” and addressed the mysterious half. But why go into all the trouble of arranging veiled messages, when one straight out letter, email or phone call would have had more chance of me heeding the warning. I can think of only one reason – none of these secret supporters felt safe to be linked to me openly.  

On one occasion I received a newsletter, issued by a prominent public figure, I knew personally. During a driving lesson in that suburb, I saw a parked truck outside her house. It had a load of tyres on the back and the brand name of a tyre company was written on the side. I was so intrigued by the scene I drove back that evening with my camera and took a photo.   

I read the word tyre re: Why (the) cross?  The brand of tyre was Simex, whose slogan is: “Release the spirit”. My outside the box mind read Simex as: Is, Me, cross. There were multiple possibilities to interpret this. I ignored them all. If they were of a sinister nature I had to trust God, as always.

Their slogan was the message that had triggered my curiosity years earlier: Joel 2 and Verse 28: “It shall come to pass in the last days, I will pour out my spirit…“

Whoever was behind these “little messages” was rather clever in setting them up, apart from the expense and time effort involved. During a driving lesson one afternoon I saw road works had commenced in the North Eastern suburb of Newton. It took me a few weeks of watching progress before I realized there was a message - the locality. It started on Montacute Road (= Man a cross, see you & cross). The side of the road (kerbing) was dug up until Graves Street.

(A TV News item showed a house in Graves Street a few weeks prior. It had been hit by a run-away truck and sustained serious damaged. I did not find a word in the printed media about that story).  

One afternoon I took note of massive dividing blocks placed in the middle of the road. They covered a short distance, only between Graves Street and the next side road – Benjamin Street. Ben and grave, what a peculiar combination! I thought.

Another time during a Saturday morning driving lesson, a garage sale was held in Somerset Grove (= Re: some see (the) cross, Grave). I thought some of Adelaide’s population was seeing things and played the little game along with me. The word garage merely needs a little magic (a/o swap) to be transformed to completely different meaning.

In an interesting encounter with one of my teenage-girl clients in Adelaide’s north, it was not just the name that pointed to ‘grave’, but real holes. The address of my client was in Washington St. just around the corner from California Rd. Both Washington and California played a role in my US story. (Chapter 63, More in number). As we drove along Yorketown Rd, a wide four-laned road with a median strip I saw a number of freshly dug holes just beside the road on the median strip.

 

 

No road workers were present, just the dirt piled up beside these seven holes, approx. 50 meters apart. I purposely asked the student to do a U-Turn to have a second look at it. On the second time round I took note of a small earth moving machine. Seeing it from a distance I said to myself: “I bet this is a John Deere”. A couple of seconds later, as we got closer, I read it on the side: John Deere. It was obvious that this machine had dug the holes.  

As with Simex, messages often included family members. Jon is my son’s name. A few times I have seen a vehicle during my working day, registration number Diray … or similar. Ray is Jon’s middle name.

Driving towards the Liebherr factory, on Kesters Rd. the T-junction to Ceafield Rd. showed road markings, as if road works were about to commence. For a few days, every time I passed the place, I wondered if perhaps a roundabout was being installed. Traffic volume would not justify this. A few weeks later the road works had finished. All that was done was the resurfacing of the mouth of the T-junction, which indeed looked like a giant T. (This happened not long after Isobel and I had travelled along Cross Road, visiting garage sales on either side; we had formed a large cross, see Chapter 14).

Driving along Prospect Road at Kilburn (a few minutes from notorious Goodman Crescent, see Chapter 8) I came to a 25 km/h speed zone due to road works. Something looked out of place, what was it? I thought. “These cones look tightly spaced together? My inquisitive mind observed - 4 of them were stacked inside each other at the beginning. Slowly, as I drove by I counted the rest. I knew it – 31 plus the 4 at the beginning made 35.

I was on the way to conduct a driving lesson. At the beginning of the lesson my ever curious mind made me take notice of three traffic cones. They looked out of place. It was the exact spot, where I had imagined a year before, someone was trying to give me a message with two holes – two graves.

After the lesson I made sure to stop and investigate. The cone’s brand were “COP”, the car rego, which drove by right then was …551. There were papers strewn around. I picked them up and placed them into a bin nearby. I had come and gone in a minute.

The very next day, quite out of the blue, I struck road works again; this time on Nelson Road, Para Vista, not far from home. There were fewer cones; they were spaced apart further. As I slowed I knew there would be seven cones. This time I wound down my window and, as I drove along, pointed with my finger to each one, as if I was counting them, which in fact I was doing. None of the workers looked up, what disappointment. I did it for their benefit. For a moment I thought I recognized a young man’s face from the day before.

At the back of the 25 km/h speed sign, which was facing in the opposite direction, I could read black letters; the name and phone number of the firm doing the road repair. I recalled how six months earlier I had noticed, and taken a photo, of a sign by the same company. This took place only a few hundred metres away. At the time I couldn’t wait to phone the company and … (I can’t remember exactly what I said, but I think I simply asked, if they were in the business of repainting white lines in a car park).

If life was such that I was assured nobody would hassle this company as a result, I would love to give full details. Readers would be astounded at their phone number. Not only 1, 3 and 5, but in part it consists of the numbers of my mother-in-laws Datsun, 3, 6 and 9. Moreover, the name of the firm, three letters only, features prominently on my website.

I look forward to the day when I no longer have to be afraid of repercussions as a result of someone’s phone number or an address I divulged.   

A real subtle message (from a friendly source, I assume) came from a driving instructor. He had given me the address of a new client as Colley Road. There was no listing in the street directory of that name in that suburb. After much phoning around I realized the street I was to go to was Tolley Road. I spotted the clue straight away. It was unlikely this business made such a blunt error:  C – T; the message? See (the) cross.

I sensed people were increasingly believing what I had written online had merit. Some may finally have realized that injustices could have taken place in Adelaide and were as keen as I to find out the truth. No one had as yet spoken to me openly. It was all so secretive and spooky, yet exciting in a way.

I felt as if I was engaged to Queen Adelaide and we were both unsure of each other. Why were we so reluctant to show our true colours? When will we be ready to make an unconditional commitment to each other?

 

Chapter 27

 

Index