Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
“I know her because she is renting a room from one of my best friends,” she said seriously.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but that little tramp is busy seeing about three or four
other guys, and one of them happens to be a fisherman on one of the trawlers.”
I recalled how one day she had smiled and waved at a trawler that was motoring past us
from Déjà vu. I asked her that night if she was seeing anyone else, and, at first she denied
it vehemently, then she confessed. She left shortly, and I never saw her again. I was heart-
broken but was not surprised. When things are too good to be true, they usually are.
One day we received a letter from my father's aunt and uncle who lived in Canberra. They
wanted Gavin and I to visit them. They had a work proposition they wanted to put to us.
After locking up the boat and arranging with the American couple to keep a weatherly eye
out on Déjà vu, we found ourselves clickety clacking our way south on an old train. The
trip took several hours, and we both enjoyed the lovely view of the Australian countryside
from the comfort of the old carriage.
We eventually arrived at a station which had an unpronounceable Aboriginal name of In-
doorwhoopily or Windrippily or some such. Uncle Wiggy was waiting for us in the old
Vauxhall Viva and soon we were rambling along through the northern suburbs of Canberra.
He was a bald, little man with a pointed goatee beard. Well-dressed and very formal, his
manners were impeccable. Old school breeding, we could tell immediately.
He drew up to a quaint, old, double storied house, white with black trim. It was charming.
Great Aunt Val was beaming at the front door and welcomed us in with a hug and a kiss.
“My goodness, look at you two! As alike as two peas in a pod, aren't they Wiggy dear?”
she gushed. “Your dad has talked a lot about you and your travels; it's so wonderful to fi-
nally meet you!”
Bless her heart; she had prepared a lovely roast chicken and potatoes, gravy, and ice cream
with hot chocolate sauce. Wiggy was ever present with the bottle of ice cold claret and
topped our fragile wine glasses at every opportunity, as he did his own. We described our
travels since leaving South Africa, and they listened in awe. They had traveled a lot as well
and recalled cruises through Greece and Spain and other parts of Europe.
We then got down to business, and it was quickly decided that we would stay with them for
a week and paint the exterior of their big house. We gave them a ballpark figure of what
we thought was a fair price, and the deal was done. We were shown the caravan where we
would spend the next week; it was almost the same size as the boat, so were quite used to
the small space.
The following day Wiggy drove us down to the local paint store and bought all the paint,
brushes, rollers, and trays along with sheaves of sand paper and spackling. We set to with
