37. A mother’s day to remember

Mother’s Day 04 was my first one without my mother alive. So far in my writing I felt reluctant to mention a nagging suspicion - that my mother did not die of a natural cause. At the time of her death in 2003, she was 90 years old. Her last birthday was on 9/11/02. Ben and Jon, two of my sons, had travelled with me to Germany; we were with her, celebrating her last birthday. Why did I think my mother died other than of natural causes?

 

I was told she took ill on Friday 17/7/03, was transferred from the Old People’s Home, where she lived, and died on the third day, Sunday 20/7/04. Every German of my age knows that July 20th 1944 was a sad day in the nation’s history. An attempt was made on the life of Adolf Hitler to stop more senseless bloodshed. But the dictator survived through a twist of fate. The meeting, in which a bomb was to kill him, was transferred to another building at the last moment. It’s thin walls diminished the effect of the blast and only injured the evil man. The hero, Graf von Stauffenberg, was caught and executed together with many more, who were thought to be implicated in the conspiracy.

 

Not until July 27th, a whole week later, did I have a phone call from my brother that my mother had died. It is still unclear in my mind, why he had not been able to contact me earlier. My mother did not have a proper funeral. Weeks later there was a brief ceremony, attended only by my two brothers and a Minister.

 

There was no death notice in the newspaper. My mother had worked for the ‘Esslinger Zeitung’, delivering newspapers for many years. She used to be well known and very popular in the town. I emailed the paper. They did not know anything about her passing away. I phoned the Red Cross, the German Consulate and even the hospital, where she had died, without any details as to the cause and circumstances of her death. At one stage I even thought it may all be a bad joke, just one of those scares. But why would my mother’s passing be staged?

 

The date of my mothers death, 17/07/03, coincided with an upload of a very controversial “Newsupdate”, on the internet. I had uploaded an article, pointing to possible injustices, which involved people I had read about in the press. I had been warned (by a Christian man, who had spent time in prison after whistle blowing) to be very careful in making allegations, which I cannot prove. I had been walking a fine line in bringing sensitive political issues to the fore.

 

Here is one paragraph I had written: 

 

From Newsupdate 17/7/03:

Nothing short of a Royal Commission will unravel the web of mystery to expose possible unlawful activities. Only yesterday the call for a Royal Commission (into child sex abuse) was again made by the State Opposition.

Was my uncharacteristic outburst during a church service on Anzac Day 1999 justified after all?

Anzac Day 99 saw me state publicly in church that there is corruption in high places in Adelaide. Over five years later, on August 13th 04, Adelaide’s Advertiser featured on the front page the word: CHARGED. Another nine child-sex offenders were arrested and charged over crimes committed many year ago. “The total offenders arrested stands at 17”, Police Officer Grant Stevens reports in the article.

 

My mother died on July 17, 03. My Newsupdate of July 17, 03 end with this sentence: God is a God who loves justice. One day we all will see justice and peace on this earth. God will see to that. Will I ever know the truth about my mother’s death?

 

Such were my thoughts on Mother’s Day 04, which otherwise saw the dawn of a glorious morning in Adelaide. I had been blessed by the weekly program ‘Hour of Power’ on TV, followed by an hour of lovely Christian music.

 

Very early in the morning I decided to take a drive in my ‘green machine’, the nickname of my Suzuki Wagon R plus. My destination was Euchunga, a small, rural town in the Adelaide Hills. On the radio the previous day I had heard about a car crash. The location given was the intersection of Goodes Road and Churchill Roads. It made me listen up. When I discovered that the postcode of Echunga is 5153, I knew I had to visit the crash site personally. 

 

As I entered the quaint village of Mylor, I regretted not having my camera with me. Huge, ancient oak trees, bathed in an array of golden, yellow and red autumn colours, would have made a lovely photo. But I was on my way to ‘work’.

 

I had not yet read the days newspaper, so I bought a “Sunday Mail” at the local shop. I asked the store keeper, if he knew anything about the fatal crash that had occurred just up the road. He said no. (In such a small community, population less than a thousand, one would have thought that a road death would be the talk of the town). On Page 11 of the paper was a brief report of the alleged incident. The dead woman I found out later was from neighbouring Meadows. The other victim, a young lad on P-plates (a newly licensed driver) was injured. 

 

I had no trouble finding the crash location, not an intersection, but a T-junction. There were houses nearby; my mind took note of the number. It was quiet, the fresh air and blue sky could have easily lulled me into a holiday feeling. But I came to examine the intersection, looking for clues as to what had happened. Both roads were narrow, joining right on the crest of a hill, which created a hot spot.

 

I noticed skid marks on the road. My diary mentions that there were “three of them, but there were two cars”. Judging by their length (not even 20 meters), the speed of the vehicles could not have been that great. From what I saw, it appeared that one vehicle left the sealed section of the road; the driver over-compensated on the steering and collided with another vehicle coming in the other direction. I explained this possible crash scenario in my book “Low-Risk Driving – a skill for life” on page 44.   

 

After about ten minutes it was time to leave, but not without some “collectable”. On the side of the road, where the cars must come to rest after colliding, I saw something small, black and plastic. I picked it up and read - Sony Remote Control CE No. 50. Nearby I picked up a small, round metal cap with the word Performance written on it – two more items for the “Museum”.  

 

I drove back down the steep hill into Echunga and parked the car, ensuring I was the correct distance for the bus stop. I didn’t think a tiny town like this would have bus stops?! It looked like it was the only one. When I read the number (No. 58), I mused how I had previously stumbled across a major car crash site, and had expressed doubts about it. Bus Stop No. 58 was totally demolished on Main North Road, Elizabeth (Chapter 21).

 

A morning like this was too good to not take a walk. I had passed a church on the way moments earlier. Maybe I could stay around for a church service, I thought? I loved the walk up the steep hill towards the old church. The cemetery behind it was bathed in bright sunshine. With the hills and valley beyond it would have made a wonderful photo.

 

A temporary notice outside the church indicated that a service would be held at Mylor that morning at 9 am. Mylor was only a few minutes away, but I would already have been late. Walking back down into Echunga, breathing in the fresh country air, I couldn’t help seeing car rego GILES … plus a few other interesting numbers drive by.

 

Outside a property I saw a sign: Donkey manure $ 2.00. (Cheap enough, but for the museum?). Then the would-be-scientist inside me asked: Are there plants that prefer Donkey Manure to Horse Manure? One must have a good nose to know the difference. Horse manure, little further on also cost $ 2.00 a bag. What an insult to the horses!

 

The sign, however, took my attention just for a moment. The way it was written triggered my imagination to soar: The first letters of horse manure, the H and the M, were in really large print, while the rest was much smaller. Then it clicked – H.M. Her Majesty! “Well, well … Oh, man!”  M.a.n. - the first three letters of manure…?” 

 

(Please nobody tell my wife about my fun-thinking. She would insist I take tablets, when all I need to do is, refrain from deep breathing near any donkey or horse manure).

 

Before leaving beautiful Echunga SA 5153 I noticed the name of the company that ran the hotel. Above the entrance I read: Plysell Pty. Ltd. To me this was a classic example, where a T, an L and a P (as featured on my biography's index page), all came together, much like LOT – Lover of Truth.

 

There were two choices of returning to Adelaide. The way I had come (with a possible brief appearance at the church service in Mylor) or turn off to the right and take the Freeway via Hahndorf. Since the church service at Mylor would be almost over, I decided to return the quicker way. Before reaching Hahndorf, a popular tourist village with a distinct German name and flavour, I saw a truck parked on the side of the road, directly under the overpass of the freeway.

 

The registration plate V...101 and the location (under the overpass) were clues as to why my vigilant brain sprung into action. In a flash it linked these two bit of info to recent experiences: Firstly, 2 AFL football matches were played the previous weekend. Two had been won by 10 point margins, the other two by 1 point margins. (Chapter 23).

 

Secondly – (this thought is a ‘long shot) - my brain flashed back to the case of the mysterious disappearance of a school boy from a bus stop, under an overpass in Queensland. After viewing a program on the case on the popular TV Show ‘Sixty Minutes’, I had logged on to their online chat-room and asked a curly question or two. I had queried the location of the bus stop - under an overpass, right on an exit ramp of a main road, which I considered dangerous. The special website about the case (danielmorecombe.com.au) revealed further facts, which teased my linking brain - the age of the teenager (15) and the date of the possible crime (15/12/03). 

 

My thinking certainly was a ‘long shot’, but the truck with the registration 101 parked under the overpass in Hahndorf was fact. I made me U-Turn to have a closer look. Only then did I take note of a parked VW beetle. The Victorian registered car was parked on the road outside a residence, about 50 meters from the overpass. The number plate I interpreted as ‘I & cross’, which would tie in with ‘Victor ia’. I dropped a business card in the letterbox near the VW.

 

It came to me on the way a little later – Perhaps this was a ‘follow up’ from my previous ‘Victorian car rego spotting competition’ (Chapter 28) in the car park in Stepney with my client Moses ?

 

If people think that I was purposely searching for clues to spin them into this fantastic tale, I can’t blame them. That I was searching is correct, in a way, but only because I was sure that either God or people (or other people under God’s instruction) purposely arranged these connections. Initially, some years ago, this kind of thing started as out as a bit of fun. Since I had used the same magical connections and ask questions on major crimes, road trauma and other newspaper reports, I knew that there was a serious purpose in all of this. God was not leading me up a garden path, HE knew what HE was doing. HE always does. 

 

A classic example, of what I perceived as an ‘arranged co-incident’, came shortly after leaving Hahndorf. A vehicle, registration number JABEZ, travelled in the opposite direction. I had played ‘Jabez’ in a brief segment on the ‘Prayer of Jabez’ during a church service about a year earlier. (My indestructible, metal key-ring has the Prayer-of-Jabez engraved in it).  

 

Later in the afternoon, still on Mother’s Day 04, our son** took all of us (we also picked up Isobel’s mum) for a drive and short walk around the Mount Lofty Botanic Gardens. We were planning to eat out somewhere in the evening, but had no fixed plans. Without any input on my part, he drove us to Hahndorf, where we enjoyed a lovely meal at the German Arms Hotel.

 

My dairy for Mother’s Day 04 concludes: “I had the feeling we were expected, Table 41 (44), “Belinda will look after you”, was nice to sit, piano player played John Denver’s “…come fill me again” (as if it’s just for me). Lady “fell” at stairs in >>Hi – he els!! Family 3 kids, Jordan, Caleb and Jessie, I spoke briefly to father, give them some chocolate with the stick! Amazing 60 minutes – (TV Show) Lady wrote in about Sophie and Molly, said she does not believe in God, but that night she prayed. Edited – 5 chapters ready for uploading tomorrow, (23-27). 

 

The table number had been changed to look as much 41, as 44. Why was my active brain producing such elaborate links? My family had no idea what my thoughts were. They wouldn’t or couldn’t cope with it. I had not even told them about the co-incidence, that we were dining in Hahndorf and that I already had visited Hahndorf that morning. Had I told them about investigating the crash site or the parked truck and VW near the overpass, they would have definitely agreed that breathing the donkey manure was responsible. 

 

What was it all about - the news reports, my connection with certain data, my urge to look at crash sites, collecting little clues and “musuem pieces” and what not? Was it merely to keep me busy writing it all, to entertain the few that read my website and liked a laugh? I didn’t make a cent from it; quite the opposite, it was costing money, as I was reminded regularly by my family. 

 

I had no intention of playing the hero by disproving the truth of news reports. Even if I was successful in proving lies were told, what would I do with it? Produce one of my museum pieces as evidence? Challenge a newspaper and tell them how wrong they were? With every ‘questionable’ news report I saw the picture became clearer as to what it was all about.

 

Something had definitely occurred (or was staged) at the corner Goodes and Church Hill Roads just before Mother’s Day 2004. But why would anyone do that? Why on the corner of two streets, whose names fit my story so perfectly? Why did the age of the crash victim have to be 55 – the number I could not see other than LV in Roman numerals. Two fives, two hands, LoVe.

 

Years ago I requested prayer for my ‘outside the box’ thinking. On two occasions the conclusion had been – if this was from God, it could not be stopped. If it was man’s own idea, it would die.

 

So far my thoughts and I are both alive and well.

 

 

Chapter 38

 

Index