Garth Dutton

Cold Wind From The South (Part 3) – A Short Story

Cold Wind From The South (Part 3)
© Garth Dutton, 2007

    A few months after the dream, their ‘Church of the Feminine Earth Spirit” had its
first doctrinal split. The issue involved was whether the fossil fuels used in the Industrial
Age were meant to be used to stabilize the climate for the whole of Earth’s benefit, or
whether they were laid down specifically to enable humanity to survive a long Ice Age.
In a way, the argument was completely irrelevant, because there was not much left of the
fossil fuels. No-one had any idea how people were going to survive an Ice Age
without fossil fuels for heating, and there was no oil left to raise the CO2 levels to stop
the Ice Age. Many people were starting to put their trust in the ‘Church of the Natural
Balance’, as they alone believed that they could stop the Ice Age. But the concept of the
Feminine Earth Spirit appealed to many people as well. A considerable number joined
both churches.
     But it was an old argument, in new guise, about whether people are an integral
part of the environment, or a class of beings apart from it in consciousness, intellect,
destiny, and so on… In other words, were the fossil fuels created for the whole of Earth’s
benefit, or only for people’s benefit. The split was irreconcilable. About 45% of members
left with the dissenting councillors. Bitter arguments followed in court about the Church’s
now considerable income and assets.
    “Things are going off the rails,” said Smyth, as he and Pauline walked out of the
Adelaide Courthouse.
    “Just consider the distance we’ve come since that day in the seaside bar,” Pauline
reminded him. “After that session in court, I feel like a drive and a cup of tea or coffee
somewhere down beside the sea. Pick a beach suburb you haven’t been to in years and
we’ll go there.”
    “How about Semaphore?” he suggested.
    “Why not,” she replied.
    They reached their hydrogen fuel cell car and drove west towards the beach. They
neared the coast a short distance south of Semaphore. The road, called Military Road,
went between the lake plus housing estates of West Lakes and the built-on remnants of
sandhills.
    “The problem with making too many plans,” said Smyth. “Is that we haven’t
much idea what is going on in the rest of the world. Like what is really happening in
countries like Canada, Scandinavia, Russia and Scotland? They could be under metres of
ice and snow for all we know.”
    ‘The democratic government takes the line that what we don’t know can’t hurt us.
They haven’t lifted censorship on the NET, for example,” said Pauline. “Not much we
can do about that… Could you imagine a landscape under ice like that?”
He found he could envisage such a scene and went on to describe it to her. He had
always refused to say anything about his time in the State Security Police, even to
Pauline. She now saw how they had used his skills. He could describe in detail a real
scenario from a few fragments of information.
    “If you can describe it in that detail, then that it what is actually like. Right
now…” she said in wonder. “Mentally part of you was just there.”
    Smyth frowned. Objections to her point of view filled his mind. “I can’t see how
that’s possible,” he replied.
    “Neither can I, love, but it doesn’t matter,” she said warmly. “But it’s a skill you
shouldn’t be ashamed of.”
    Smyth spilled out deep fears. “The dread that a scenario would be wrong in some
slight, but significant detail, made my life in the Security Police a nightmare,” he said to
her for the first time. There was no need to say more.
    “That’s why that other nightmare still worries you, isn’t it? That’s why! In case
some important detail was wrong,” Pauline said softly. “I told you that everything
anyone does involves risk. One has to be a warrior. A warrior can cope with any
circumstances that arise, so doesn’t live in constant fear of the future. Collective
Consciousness warned you, so it’s on your side. A powerful ally, if ever there was one.”
She smiled to re-assure him, then continued. “In a way, all circumstances in the future are
unseen, because everything we do involves choices. And risks. I’m not sure premonitions
really exist. At best they’d be warnings, not factual events.”
They came to Fort Glanville and turned into the short road that would bring them
to the Esplanade.
“Fort Glanville,” said Pauline. “Now there was a scare. About 200 years ago, in
the 1850’s during the Crimean War, there was a rumour, and a wild panic that the
Russians were coming. So they built this fort, and a few others, and linked them by
Military Road to repel the invasion.”
    “I know the story,” Smyth said as they came to the Esplanade. He stopped the car.
They got out to look at the beach and sea.
    Suddenly Pauline turned pale. “Two hundred years ago,” she murmured.
“Someone had a dream or vision. What if it was a dream or vision ‘out of time’, if that’s
how it’s described? Two hundred years ‘out of time’. Not an event, just a warning.”
    Smyth’s vision of the northern pine forests sticking out of a metre of ice
drifted back into their minds. They looked at each other and then out to sea. And as they
watched, the first grey warships appeared on the horizon.

Tags: adelaide, author, garth dutton, short story

Cold Wind From The South (Part 2) – A Short Story

Part 2 in a three part series…

Cold Wind From The South (Part 2)
© Garth Dutton, 2007

    “Pro And Secret Cop Find New God In Seaside Bar!” screamed the headlines of
the ‘Weekly Tabloid.’ The text went on to describe, then take apart, everything that
Pauline and Smyth had said in the interview with the reporter.
    Smyth was angry. “They’ve made a complete laughing stock of us,” he said. “A
mix of primitive animism, Gaia Hypothesis and complete garbage, that’s what it says.”
    Pauline was unperturbed. “Don’t worry, love,” she said. “This whole process is
going to be self-generating.”
And so it seemed. The ‘Tabloid’ came out mid-week, and about 100
people came down from Adelaide on the next Saturday, to see where the ‘event’ had
happened. It was the same on the Sunday. The hotel did a roaring trade on both days, and
the plantation-wood-fired train from Adelaide had its best number of passengers for some
time.
    Mail started to flow in as well. Smyth was worried. “How can we possibly answer
these letters?” he said, and frowned. “Some are asking all sorts of complex theological
questions.”
    Pauline thought about that. “The original vision in the bar is all that really
counts,” she said. “We tell the truth… We are still sorting out the implications of the
experience.” She shrugged. “Really, we don’t have to sort out a whole doctrine ourselves.
Others are doing it for us.”
    She handed him a letter. He read it, and shook his head in disbelief. The writer
had said that everything people see and think goes into the living Feminine Earth Spirit’s
collective consciousness. She now sees far out into space with our space probes. The
writer also said that the few nuclear weapons kept to re-direct any asteroids that threaten
the planet, means that the Earth Spirit herself, via us, has now created defenses against a
disaster such as befell the dinosaurs, her previous guardians. “Your vision has been a
revelation to me. Thank you so much.” wrote the writer.
    “This is getting out of hand,” said Smyth, in despair. “The whole ‘vision’ or
‘revelation’, or whatever you want to call it, was something I just made up on the spot.”
“Men ‘see’, but have no confidence in their insights,” Pauline said, and hugged
him. “Women know an important insight when they come across one. The Feminine
Earth Spirit seems to have chosen a man to receive the insights, and chosen a woman to
interpret them. Neat I think, don’t you?”
    Smyth felt her warm body pressed against his, and knew the ice within him had
nearly melted. His personal Ice Age was almost over. He could hardly believe the
transformation she had wrought. Instead of being a despised relic left over from a hated
regime, he was now held in awe by many people. It was the same for her. Opportunities
to speak to groups of people came in at a steady rate, and as they kept to a modest fee,
kept coming. They bought a small but very tasteful house in Victor Harbor. Things
were on a roller coaster ride which was bringing both status and wealth. It seemed
nothing could go wrong.
    But one night Smyth had a dream. Somehow, he knew that Pauline had just been
speaking to an audience. Now it was his turn to speak. He went to the microphone and
began to address the people in the hall. He had no memory of the words he spoke, but his
attention became focused on a man about one third of the way back in the hall.
    Suddenly Smyth saw through the man’s eyes instead of his own. It was a strange
feeling watching himself speaking on the stage, almost like seeing a film. Then he saw
other things. Ice…white topped and pale blue below… grottos of it… vast landscapes of
it. Clear, pristine, beautiful; a whole planet of ice; a totally perfect world of ice that had
replaced the sins, pollution and disasters of mankind. As the man in the audience, he felt
himself rise to his feet, take out his pistol, take aim first at Pauline, fire, then shoot the
speaking figure at the microphone. Smyth felt the bullets strike home, and awoke
screaming and bathed in sweat. Pauline was mopping his brow and talking to him, but her
words didn’t register.
    Waking reality sank in. “A dream, only a nightmare…”he stammered. Pauline got
him to spell out every detail before it slipped from his mind, as dreams mostly do. Then
she picked up the bedroom phone and rang the police.
    “We’ve had a tip-off,” she said.”Possible assassination attempt on both of us at
one of the public talks we’ll be giving in the next few weeks. Sorry, I can’t reveal my
sources… Likely someone in the ‘Church of the Natural Balance’ is behind it. This
man has got a vision of a perfect world without people. A total Ice Age. They are
working to get the Earth back to correct operating temperature, this man is working for a
total victory for the Cold. So they’ve got a problem. Sorry that’s all I can tell you…
Thank you…” She put down the phone.
     Smyth got up, went to the kitchen fridge, and poured himself a stiff drink. He
needed it. “Did I have a nightmare, and only that, or was it a vision of the future?” he
asked Pauline, without really expecting an answer. He decided it was only a nightmare.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t have called the police.”
    Pauline poured herself a drink. “It was a nightmare and some of them can be very
real,” she said. “But certainly not a vision from the future.” She clinked her glass against
his, and said. “Collective consciousness at work. Someone was mentally rehearsing what
they intended to do. With luck, they’d now know that you’d know they were in the
audience. Warriors sometime fight battles with dreams.”

Tags: adelaide, author, garth dutton, greenhouse effect

Cold Wind From The South (Part 1) – A Short Story

Here is some speculative fiction based on my home town of Adelaide, South Australia. It’s called “Cold Wind From The South” and I’ve broken it up into three parts.

Hope you like it.

Tags: adelaide, author, garth dutton, greenhouse effect, victor harbor

The Relief Teacher (Part 2) – A Short Story

The Relief Teacher (Part 2)
© Garth Dutton 2008
   
A student in the middle of the class attracted Carol’s attention, so she asked her to speak. The student began… “I’m Ana, and I’m of Portuguese descent. In Portuguese we have a quite different word for the environment. It is called ‘o ambiente’. The word ‘ambient’ also exists in English. We came across it in Physics, when we discussed the ‘ambient temperature of the room.’ So in Portuguese, ‘o ambiente’, is something everyone is in all of the time. You can’t not be in it. ‘Environment’ is related to the French word ‘environs’. Mum and Dad have an “Adelaide and Environs” street directory in their car. The environs of Adelaide are places like Willunga, Gawler, Bridgewater, and so on. So in English the ‘environment’ is something that is ‘out there’. She pointed out of the classroom window to the hills. It’s a quite different conception of reality to ‘ambiente’. Also, in Portuguese, the term is masculine. Many people who speak English think of ‘the environment’ as being feminine.”
   
Carol thanked her. “You’ve certainly given us something to think about,” she said.

    John, who hadn’t said anything yet, put up his hand, and when given acknowledgment to speak, said. “I’m John, and last Christmas I went with Mum and Dad up to see my aunt and uncle in Queensland. On the way we drove through the Pilliga Forest in Northern New South Wales. Dad said that once it used to be all grassland, and isolated trees, but now it’s grown into a huge, tall, dense forest. The reason is that aboriginal people used to burn the land to keep it open kangaroo country, but once they were killed off or put in reserves, the trees took over.” He paused for effect. Then he continued. “So the forest has grown by people not doing something… burning. So is it therefore a ‘natural’ forest, or a man-made one?
“
There was a short silence, then Tan spoke, again in a rather tentative halting English. “I’m still thinking about Waikiki Beach,” she said. “It has to be a natural beach, because people didn’t create the sand. They only moved the sand from one place to another. Nature created the sand.”

Alan took up her point. “Supposing they only dumped the sand at one end of the bay, and let natural processes like waves, tides and wind spread it to make the beach. Would it be natural or man-made?”

Alice caught Carol’s attention, and said. “Miss, I object to the term, ‘man-made.’ Could we use ‘person-made’ instead. In third world countries plenty of women work on construction projects.”

Jenny interjected. “But sometimes some problems are ‘man-made’, like the extermination of whales. Of all the millions of them wiped out in the past 400 years, how many would have been killed by women… probably none…” Carol recalled seeing a Greenpeace sticker on Jenny’s bag when she entered the classroom. She realized the lesson would be running out of time shortly, so brought the class’ attention back to herself.

“I’ve thought of one,” Carol said. “Last year, I went up to the Flinders Ranges, and visited one of the National Parks up there. These types of Parks have been set up to preserve the ‘natural environment’. But suppose one ranger lives in the Park. It then has one human inhabitant, so isn’t it part of the ‘Human Environment’?”

Another thought came to her. “Suppose we agreed that no-one live there, and it remained a wilderness without people. But we became proud of what we had done by setting up such a Park, and it became part of our culture. Isn’t it then still a part of the ‘Human Environment.”

Con took up her point. “Mr. Smith showed us a video earlier in the year about the Amazon Rain Forest, and the Native American peoples living there. They live in villages scattered here and there throughout the forest. They are people, too, so by the definitions on the board it would have to be part of the ‘Human Environment,” he said.

Since raising the problem of the beach, Rob had said nothing, just listened to the discussion with a self-satisfied look on his face. He could see that they were running out of time for the lesson, so said. “The only term that has any meaning in this context is ‘Environment’, or ‘ambiente’ as you call it, Ana. If you use ‘Human and Natural’; or ‘Natural’ and ‘Man-made’; or ‘Natural and ‘Person-changed’; or whatever, it is…” He searched for a term and found it. “Logically unsustainable!” The class and the teacher agreed with him.

Rob continued. “The question is, Miss Jansen, what is going to happen to this information now we have arrived at this conclusion?”

Carol thought about that. She saw she would need to do something with the information. She decided to be quite honest with the class.

“I’ll certainly take it up with other teachers here at the school,” she said. On further consideration, she continued. “And the content of the lesson I can bring to the attention of the Geography Teachers’ Association. You could also write a class letter to Dr David Suzuki in Canada, or Sir David Attenborough in England, or both. I am a member of Friends of the David Suzuki Foundation, so I already have his address. You could write to the ABC, or the British High Commission in Canberra, to get an address for Sir David. Perhaps you could also send a class letter to the State and Federal Ministers for Environment.” The class seemed very satisfied by that.

“In the few minutes left, could you copy down the definitions etc. on the board,” said Carol. There was a murmur from the class. They did not seem too happy with the suggestion.

Jenny gave a sigh, and put up her hand. “Do we really need to copy down those things,” she said. “Now that we have seen it set out like that, it is self-evident… A single category, “Environment”, is the only one that makes any sense at all. Is there anyone in the class who can’t see that?”

There was silence in the room. The bell rang.

“Right,” said Carol. “Write your own summaries for homework. Thanks for a great lesson.” There was a murmur of assent from the class, and they began to pack up their books and bags.

Gina gave the chalk back to Carol. “Oh…also…” Gina said. “The Water Cycle… Evaporation from the sea, clouds, rain, run-off, rivers back to the sea…is self-evident, too, once you have seen the diagram once, and worked your way through it. Yet each year, it is taught as if it is a very difficult concept to grasp.” She smiled, and then said confidentially
“Actually Mr. Smith is quite a good teacher. We are seen as a very ‘mixed-ability’ class. Rob, Alan and Jenny pick up everything first go. The rest of us have to work on it. Some have a poor command of written work, or English. Mr. Smith has a problem, in that, if he keeps on giving extra work to those three, who always finish first, then they will get further and further ahead of the rest of the class. But if he doesn’t, they get bored and start doing stupid things.”

“I know the problem,” said Carol.

Gina continued. “Lately, he’s taken to getting those three to help others who haven’t grasped the concept concerned. At first, they considered others slower than themselves as ‘thick’, and didn’t like doing so. Now they are getting used to helping. I think we will all pass this subject this year.” She said this last sentence with emphasis. Then she went to get her bag and books. “Bye” she said.

“Thanks very much for being my scribe!” called out Carol as Gina left the room.

Rob had been writing something on the board while Carol was involved speaking to Gina. He had written ‘Please Leave” at the top, and underlined it several times. Underneath the details, he had written. “This concept, ‘beach’, makes the dual categories logically unsustainable”

“We might need it next Geography lesson,” he said with a smirk, and was gone.

Clive, the teacher of English, walked into the classroom. He scanned the material on the board, and said. “Fascinating stuff! Mind if I use it as part of my lesson. The problem of accurately defining things in English! A good example!” His students started to arrive.

“Seems like you had a good lesson,” he said.

Carol agreed, as she packed up her books and papers. She had her only free lesson for the day next, and needed a cup of coffee. “I’m a relief teacher, and they didn’t give me a hard time!” she said with a smile.

“Then it has to have been a good lesson, whether they learned anything or not,” said Clive. He looked at the blackboard again, and said, “I think they probably did. Have you got another class now?”

She shook her head. “The class I should have is on a full morning’s science excursion,” she replied.

“Would you like to sit in on the whole, or part of, an English class,” he asked. “You could explain a few more details about this.” He indicated towards the information on the board.

The prospect of a cup of coffee receded. “Fine,” Carol replied. She hadn’t yet taken an English class for relief teaching. It would be good experience to sit in on one.

Clive settled down his class, and said. “We have a visitor today… Miss Jansen… And we have a surprise. We are going to begin today’s English lesson by talking about the beach.”

Tags: author, Environment, garth dutton, geography, Prose, short story, teacher

The Relief Teacher (Part 1) – A Short Story

This is a short story on an environmental theme in two parts. It is called “The Relief Teacher” and it is based on a geography class that went exceptionally well when I was an adult student teacher doing teaching practice as part of my Graduate Diploma of Education in the 1990′s.

Part two will be published tomorrow

The Relief Teacher (Part 1)
© Garth Dutton 2008

Carol approached the classroom where she would be teaching, and it was noisy. Most students were still standing up talking. She walked in, then she said, “Would you all please take your seats, please!”

    “Who are you?” called out one student. “Where’s Mr. Smith?” asked another.

    Carol picked up a piece of chalk, and wrote ‘Miss Jansen’ on the blackboard. She then gestured for the students to be silent. “I am Miss Jansen. I am a relief teacher. You usual teacher, Mr.Smith, is away sick today, so you are having me for your geography lesson today instead. He may be back tomorrow, so I hope you’ll all be well-behaved and co-operative for me. We have a lot to get through in one lesson.”

    A murmur went through the class, and mixed with it, Carol distinctly heard the phrase, “She expects us to work!” She noted the sentiment, but did not visibly respond to it. Instead she said, “Right! Now I believe you have just done a section on the Sahel region of Africa and desertification. Am I correct? A brief description of what you have done, please…”

    Alan, who sat at the right hand side front of the class, at a desk by himself, put up his hand. Carol indicated for him to answer. He said, “I’m Alan,” and he gave a brief, but very good summary, of what had been done. She thanked him.
   
Carol found that she was starting to get the feel of this class. She perceived that Alan might be the type of student who picked up ideas and concepts very quickly, but there were quite a few other students in the class who appeared to not want to be there at all.

Jenny and Alice, who sat a few desks further back from Alan, were busily engaged in whispering to each other.

Carol motioned for them to stop. “If you have anything to say about the topic, please say it to the class. If it is just gossip left over from recess time, leave it until lunch-time!”

Jenny gave a pained smile, and said with a touch of sarcasm. “That topic Alan described gave us all compassion fatigue.”

The students’ attention instantly focused on Carol. How would the relief teacher respond to a remark like that?

Carol replied. “Environmental problems of that scale do cause some people to lose heart. That is why, instead of going straight on with environmental problems in first world countries, we are going to look at our conceptions of the environment generally, in this lesson.” The news did not go down all that well with the class.

One student put up his hand. “Hi, I’m Rob,” he said. “Please Miss Jansen, some of us have done “The Environment” every year since Year 1. This is year 10… And every time it is done, it is done as if we have never heard of the topic before. We’ve had it up to here!” He put his hand under his chin. “Boring!” he remarked, and left it at that.

Carol saw an opening that might make this lesson quite worthwhile. She decided to take a chance with this class. She smiled and said. “Very well, then… How do you think the topic of ‘Environment’ should be taught at Year 10 level?”

There was a momentary silence in the classroom, then a loud murmuring amongst the students.

“Right!” said Carol. “You can have four minutes to discuss it amongst yourselves, but at working level of noise only, please.”

She suddenly thought to herself. “Whoops, I haven’t marked the student roll yet.” The roll book was on her desk, so she opened it.

“Who isn’t here today that is supposed to be?” she asked the class. Most of them ignored the question. Alan, however, scanned the classroom. Then he called out to Alice and Jenny. “Where’s Samantha, and Rita?”

“At the Interschool Basketball Competition, of course,” said Alice to Alan, rather than the teacher. “Don’t you know we are in the quarter-final.”

“Is that all who are away,” said Carol, finding Samantha’s and Rita’s names on the roll, and marking them accordingly.

“Yes!” said Alan, leaning back on his chair. Carol glared at him momentarily. He got the message, and sat properly at his desk.

When the four minutes were up, Carol said. “Right, let’s start the discussion. Who is going to make the first contribution?” There was complete silence in the classroom.

Then Rob spoke, without putting his hand up first. “How can we answer it? We don’t know you well enough to know what kind of answers you expect.”

Carol considered, then wrote at the top of the blackboard,

A murmur went around the class for they really didn’t know how to take what she had written. They lapsed into silence wondering what to do next.

    One student, Tan, who sat at the back of the class, looked like she might have something to say. Carol looked expectantly at her, and said with a smile. “Yes! Did you have something to say to start the discussion?”

    The students’ eyes turned to Tan, who then said hesitatingly. “My name is Tan. People here see all the problems as coming from the Human Environment, not the Natural Environment. But in parts of Asia people have been growing rice for thousands of years. It’s the big timber companies that are clearing the hill and mountain forests, not farmers. It is the loggers’ actions that are causing erosion and damage to farmers’ fields by seasonal droughts and floods in the lowlands.”

    Carol gave her a smile, as well as verbal thanks, and erased the categories OWN ANSWERS – EXPECTED ANSWERS from the board. She replaced those titles with,

Under the first category she wrote ‘forests’ and under the second category she wrote ‘farming land’. Then she said to Tan. “Do you agree with putting them in those categories?” Tan nodded agreement. Carol said. “The particular issue you mentioned will be discussed in considerable detail in term four.”

    Gina, who sat right at the front of the class, near the teacher’s desk, raised her hand a little. Carol indicated for her to speak, and half turned to the board in anticipation of what she was about to say.

The student said, “My name is Gina, and please Miss Jansen, can I be your scribe? So you don’t have to keep turning your back on the class to write on the board.”

    Carol was quite surprised. She was not quite sure what to do. She was relatively new to relief teaching, and had never had that kind of offer of help before.

    “Certainly,” she replied, and handed the chalk to Gina as she came to the blackboard. Then Carol said. “Would you like to tell the class your contribution, Gina, before writing it on the board?”

    “Could I just write it on the board, please, Miss Jansen?”  Carol nodded agreement, and Gina wrote ‘lakes’ under Natural Environment, and ‘dams’ under Human Environment.

    Other students then made their contributions until there was quite a list for each category. All the students now followed Alan’s, Rob’s, Tan’s, and Gina’s lead and introduced themselves by name first, even though they knew that Carol could not hope to learn 24 names in one or two lessons. Carol tried hard to make sure as many students as possible had something to say.

    During this time, Rob had assumed an air of complete detachment from the discussion. Now he leaned back on his chair, put his hands behind his head, and said. “Miss, I’ve got a problem!” The class burst into laughter.

    Carol gestured for them to be quiet, but three or four girls continued whispering and giggling. Carol glared at them, and waited for them to stop. She thought to herself how glad she was that sex education was not one of the topics she taught. She gestured for Rob to continue, but told him to sit properly on his chair.

    Rob said theatrically. “The problem is, of course, with the topic, not my personal life.” He brought his chair down to level again with a bang, gave one loud thump of his fist on the desk, and said loudly. “I give you the problem of… the beach!”

He then assumed an air of complete self-satisfaction, for having thrown a conceptual ‘spanner in the works’.

The class considered in silence. Then Gina spoke. “Surely I’d have to put it in both categories, wouldn’t I, Miss Jansen?”

    Gina looked across at Alan, who took up her point. “Hmmm,” said Alan, with a look that suggested that he was giving the matter deep consideration. Then in a Sherlock Holmes-type voice, he said. “Obviously, a beach is part of the Human Environment during the day when there are people there, and goes back to being part of the Natural Environment at night when everyone has gone home.”

    Con, who had not made any contribution to the discussion so far, said, “In Greece, there are some beaches that are crowded with thousands of tourists in summer, but deserted in winter when it is very cold. So surely, the beach is part of the Human Environment in one season, summer, and goes back to being part of the Natural Environment in winter… oh, and I’m Con, by the way.”

    Jenny was waving her hand in the air, so Carol acknowledged. “I’m called Jenny!” she said. “My brother Rick and I stay with our Dad during school holidays. Last year Dad took us to Disneyland, and on the way back we stopped over for two days in Honolulu. Waikiki Beach there is a man-made beach. It used to be a mangrove swamp, and all the sand was carted there from somewhere else on the island.”
   
“Good point,” said Carol thoughtfully, and then she asked the class. “Could it ever be part of the Natural Environment if it was a man-made feature like that?”

    Alan laughed. “What about a man-made desert then? Try telling a sand dune it can never be a part of the Natural Environment.”

    “I think I’ve got a solution,” Miss Jansen, said Gina. She had written ‘beach’ between the two categories. Carol considered, and borrowed the chalk. Above the word ‘beach’ she wrote the single word ‘Environment’. “Does that solve the problem?” she asked the class.

    “Yes”, said Gina, and others. Carol thanked her.

Tags: author, Environment, garth dutton, geography, Prose, story

Dictator – A Short Story

This short story is called “Dictator” and it is from my 1992 book of environmental short stories called “An Olive Tree, A Dictator, And A Letterbox.” I had 300 copies printed and sold them all in 18 months. The Iraq Hostage Crisis that preceded to first Gulf War is now long forgotten, swept from people’s memories by subsequent events. The first Gulf War began within hours of the release of the last hostage.

I hope you enjoy “Dictator”

Dictator
© Garth Dutton 1992

Eric sipped his cup of coffee, then put it down on one of the staff room tables. The coffee was much too hot. Having reserved his seat by leaving his cup there, he went to the large lunch box that had just arrived from the school canteen. He found the pasty he had ordered and returned to his seat.

Alex, the Social Studies teacher with whom Eric worked for some lessons, came and sat near him at the table, as did Jenny, a contract History and Remedial English teacher.

“Eric, do you know Jenny? asked Alex.

“Not yet,” replied Eric. “Or should I say, I’ve seen you around, but haven’t really been introduced till now.” They shook hands across the table.

“How long are you here for?” asked Jenny.

“Another three weeks,” Eric replied. “ Teaching Practice. I’m an adult Graduate Diploma of Education student at University.”

“Why would you want to get into teaching, with the latest cutbacks, and the big surplus of teachers?” enquired Jenny, quite curious. “It’s difficult enough even for people with a lot of experience in the system.”

“An eight year old son who has been classified as dyslexic,” replied Eric. “So I’ve developed a frantic interest in the whole process of learning, education, and the design of teaching materials. Even if I couldn’t get a full time job on graduation, it mightn’t really matter. I’ve learned a huge amount in the course to date. I’ve become more interested in Remedial Teaching at primary school anyway. I’d be happy with relief teaching at secondary level.”

“I wish you luck! Remedial is hard but rewarding work. So is Relief Teaching.” They would have gone on to discuss Eric’s son’s reading problems, but Alex said, “Oh, before I forget, Eric, you mentioned this morning that you’ve come up with some sort of game for getting students to learn geography-style maps quicker and better.”

“Yes!” replied Eric. “Over the weekend I was reading a long article in the newspaper about Saddam Hussein and the current Hostage Crisis in Iraq. I thought up the sketchy beginnings of a game called  ‘Dictator’. It would go like this…”

He put on an official-sounding voice. “One draws an ‘action’ card to start the game. It reads as follows. ACTION : ‘Dictator seizes control of oil-rich sheikhdom.’ Then you draw a ‘rationale’ card. RATIONALE: ‘ Not known… Dictator refuses to say why this action has been taken…’ Students would then have to locate Kuwait on the map, have a look at where the world’s oil reserves are located, and so on, and try to make sense of Dictator’s action. Then play the game to try to defeat Dictator.”

Alex considered the idea. I’ve just had a thought,” he said. “How about this! You also have to draw a card for which country Dictator is ruling. For instance it would make a big difference if Dictator was ruler of the United States or Monaco; Leichenstein or China, or a country with no oil of its own.”

“True!” said Eric. “Perhaps we should only give the present situation of Iraq occupying Kuwait as an example of how the game works.”

“For example, you could ask if there are any precedents?” suggested Jenny. “To me the Indonesian occupation of East Timor is the obvious one.”

“Yes, and then locate that place on the map, find out what East Timor’s resources are and compare them to Kuwait’s, and so on…” said Eric. “Quite a bit of research involved, as well as development of map skills, and understanding the strategic nature of most of the world’s resources.”

He looked serious. “Another card I thought about was, ACTION: ‘Dictator announces plan to take over all the world’s cities over 10 million people.’ RATIONALE: Dictator simply says “It is necessary.” Students would then have to locate those cities, and so forth…In this game, which could be a board game or a computer game, students could play it individually, (and so try to defeat Dictator single-handedly), or they could play as a team of allies trying to stop him.”

Eric frowned. “Oh Dear! Sexist language. Of course Dictator would have to be able to be female as well as the usual male stereotype. ‘A coalition to stop dictator’ is what I should have said.”

“Makes me think of Margaret Thatcher,” said Alex, stroking his greying moustache. “Orwell warned us of the possibility of Big Brother in his novel ‘Nineteen Eighty-four’, but didn’t consider the possibility of a Big Sister. I bet John Major feels like her little brother at times with her still lurking in the background.

Jenny looked at Eric sadly, and said, “Sorry, but I’m beginning to see all sorts of problems with this concept. For instance, imagine an ACTION card that reads ‘Dictator announces plan to take over all the world’s remaining rain forests as a personal National Park’. RATIONALE: ‘Dictator wants to go down as one of the greatest figures in history. The leader whose personal action saved the rainforests, (and therefore the climate) for posterity.’

Alex interrupted. “I go back to my previous point. A card for the country. Say you draw Brazil. Presumably the Amazon Forest, or what’s left of it is then safe. Dictator now needs to conquer the rest of the tropics. Talk about side benefits… To save the rain forests, Dictator gains a monopoly on tropical products.”

Alex continued visibly for a few moments, then continued. “Alternatively, you draw a card that reads ‘Nauru’, and you are left with the Dictator of a mini-state with no army, a handful of people and an island almost stripped bare by phosphate mining, setting out to save the world’s rain forests.”

“The latter might even cause some other countries to consider where they stand on the question of rain forest timber use,” suggested Jenny. “But what I really had in mind
was the implications of winning or losing in such a situation. For example, forget the country involved for the moment, Dictator has announced his or her plan to take over the rain forests. You, the player, see Dictator’s rationale as pure ego trip and personal aggrandisement, so set out to defeat Dictator. But what happens to the rain forests if you win? What happens to democracy if you lose?” She let those points sink in, then continued. “Suppose you defeat Dictator, but then feel obliged to set up your own plan to save the rain forests. Would not Dictator then have actually won?… Hasn’t Dictator got checkmate?…” She certainly had a point.

Alex again stroked his moustache. “I wonder how long it will be before some real-life dictator jumps on a ‘green’ bandwagon? Perhaps George Bush is making the world safe for democracy by getting rid of as many dictators as possible before that happens. Hard line on Col. Gaddafi, arresting Noreiga, and now responding to Iraq’s occupation of Kuwait in such a way that it’s apparent he’ll get rid of Saddam Hussein if at all possible.”

“It mightn’t come to war. There’s always hope someone will persuade Hussein to withdraw… Russia… The other Arab countries… There has to be hope,” said Jenny. There has to be.”

Alex looked deep in thought. “I wonder what would happen if someone did propose a peace plan, Saddam Hussein accepted, and agreed to withdraw from Kuwait. He certainly would use acceptance of any Russian or Arab peace plan as a propaganda victory against America. Personally saving the world from war and all that…” He took a drink of his coffee, and continued. The question is really, ‘Could the Americans cope with the concept of a dictator who was capable of changing his mind and admitting a mistake?’ I wonder?” He shrugged. “For that matter, could we cope? Only time will tell.” The others could add nothing except, “Only time will tell.”

“Back to the game concept, and the rain forest for the moment,” said Jenny. “Democracy has got to both do, and be seen to be doing, something about environmental problems like the greenhouse effect, the damage to the ozone layer, and the cutting down of the world’s forests, or it is going to lose the loyalty of quite a lot of young people brought up with Environmental Education at school.” She looked straight at Eric.

“As you’ve pointed out, Eric, sooner or later some dictator will try to get a bit of glory, or some personal mileage, out of these issues. That was my point about the rainforest example. What would you do about someone was trying to save the rain forests, but doing so by means of government that are indefensible?” Neither Eric nor Alex had an immediate answer. Dictator can’t lose by taking on such an issue, as I see it,” she added.

Eric too saw a problem. “ What if Saddam Hussein were to offer to release his ‘guests’ in return for an immediate halt to killing of whales. What would we do?” Again, they had no immediate answer.

“Or offered to withdraw from Kuwait as soon as the destruction of rain forests stopped,” added Alex, thoughtfully.”

“Personally, I’d like to see him get the Indonesians withdraw from East Timor in return for withdrawal from Kuwait,” said Jenny bitterly. “ It may be the only hope of ever freeing East Timor.”

“Jenny also feels Australia’s role in events in East Timor in 1975, and after, was appalling,” Alex said to Eric.

Eric looked at Jenny. He could see that East Timor was a very bitter issue for her. He nodded agreement, but considered it unwise to pursue the matter further. There was an awkward silence, broken by Alex, who said, almost to himself. “I can see now why the U.N. is adamant that Iraq’s withdrawal from Kuwait is unconditional. There is no way Bush, Major, or the U.N. will have this issue linked to any other. No way! They have said so in no uncertain terms. To do otherwise would be to give in to blackmail. People’s lives are at stake.”

Eric decided to return the conversation to his game. “As I see the game,” he said. The really good point is that every rationale that Dictator might have would be equally believable, because dictators can range from benevolent to complete crackpots. Plus dictatorship is really in the news at the moment. The whole point of the game is to defeat Dictator, but learn a whole lot about the world and its resources on the way.”

There was a short short silence, then Jenny shook her head. She raised her hand and pushed a wisp of blonde hair back into place. “The more I think about the whole concept,” she said, “the more unworkable it seems. In the example you used ,Eric, about Dictator’s plan to take over all cities of over 10 million people, then simply saying, “It is necessary…” For me that conjures up visions of Stalin, the enforced collectivisations of agriculture in the 1930’s, and the Ukrainian famines he deliberately created to wipe out the whole Kulak class of peasants. A simplistic solution, and totally ruthless means…”

“A choice of different RATIONALE cards could be interesting on this one,” suggested Alex. “Card one we have a Stalin or Hitler who simply says, “It is necessary…”; card two reads, ‘Dictator’s previous occupation was Town & City Planner’; card three reads, ’As a child Dictator always wanted cornflakes for breakfast, but was always given porridge’. Three different scenarios as to why Dictator might want to control mega-cities.”

“In fact, it shows up the worst fault of dictatorship,” said Jenny , passionately. “ If  a dictator goes off the rails mentally along the way, or was in Cloud Cuckoo Land from the beginning, the consequences for the country, and the world, can be appalling.” She calmed down a little, and added. “With any luck, a just and peaceful end to the present Gulf Crisis will put an end to wars over resources in the real world, at least for a while.” She gave Eric a supportive smile, but said, “Sorry Eric, as I see it, this whole concept deserves to be put into the ‘too hard’ basket, perhaps permanently.”

“The basic idea seems feasible,” said Alex, thoughtfully. “It’s the political and social implications of what the game is saying that’s the problem. For example, that any country can fall under dictatorship. Sad in a way, because it could be a really useful tool for the study of maps, and for gaining a wide knowledge and understanding of resources and global issues.”

“The problem is in the images and background it conjures up,” said Jenny.” And there is no way we should ever suggest to students that dictatorship is a way of getting things done. Kids are disillusioned enough with democratic processes as it is. In 10 years in schools, off and on, I’ve never met a student yet who aspires to be a politician as a career.” They lapsed into silence.

“ Thanks anyway!” said Eric, with a resigned smile. “It’s good of you both to talk this out with me. The only way to find out if an idea is feasible is to spell it out and get some feedback. It’s good to be at a school where I can do that.” He hoped he was right. If not, it might show on his teaching practice report.

The bell rang.

“Oh well, back to the classroom for the afternoon, said Jenny.

Eric raised his eyebrows. “You make it sound like going out of the trenches, and over the top, in the Battle of the Somme.”

“Isn’t it?” replied Jenny, in a non-serious tone of voice. “It poured with rain all weekend, so the students had no chance to run off surplus energy. Also, it’s really windy outside today…That throws them. they are quite scatty on windy days.”

They all agreed, and as they rinsed their cups and plates, Jenny said to Eric, “I am now trying my very best to get students to be form supporters of democracy. You know why? Recently I heard a rumour that thousands of children from around the world have written to Saddam Hussein. Their letters all begin the same way apparently.”

“Dear Saddam Hussein,

Please release the hostages…”

Eric too saw a mental picture of children’s letters with scrawly handwriting. “They only have to change one person’s mind,” she said, “ and the hostages will be released. Those kids can see that. That’s why they wrote. I consider children writing to a dictator as the worst threat democracy has faced.”

“Suppose, in reality, no children wrote, and the rumour was entirely Iraqi propaganda.” suggested Eric.

Jenny caught eye contact with him. “What is the propaganda saying then?”

“That Saddam Hussein is prepared to what children have to say,” said Eric. He looked at Jenny. “I see what you mean.”

The second bell rang, and as they headed out of the staff room, Jenny sighed. “Dictator announces plan to abolish windy Monday afternoons,” she said with a smile.

“I don’t think I’ll put too much heart into opposing Dictator, said Alex, and then to Eric. “Put the concept in wraps for a while. You never know, something might come out of it eventually.”

And with that they went to their classrooms.

Tags: author, dictator, garth dutton, iran, iraq, saddam hussein, short story, Writing

No Second Chance – A Short Story

No Second Chance
© Garth Dutton, 2009

The only time they ever saw each other was at a kindergarten playgroup. Each brought their own small child. Attraction grew over a period of time, though it was rarely expressed by more than an acknowledgement of each other by eyes, and the hint of a fleeting smile.

They spoke in soft silences, under the ever watchful eyes of others. Occasionally they had brief conversations before their children recognised the threat to their own individual affection and attention. Then it would be children dragging adults separate ways to swings or painting, any kind of separate activities.

Each week, they left the meaningful silences of the kindergarten for the hostile silences of other relationships. This went on for some time…

He acknowledged that she was having a difficult time of things, and she thought it helpful to say that he had courage to bring his child to the playgroup, for by doing so, he was openly advertising that he was not employed.

The relationship between them thereafter became progressively strained. She was bitter that an expected offer was not forthcoming, and began, step by step, to distance herself from him.

He felt her draw back, and at first he could not understand why. It came to him, painfully and slowly, that his entire approach had been wrong. He thought he had done all the right things, but now he saw that wasn’t so.

To show that he found her attractive had been a step forward on his part. She had acknowledged that she too was attracted. Almost against his will, he had taken a second step forward, for at all times he was with her all his best qualities had been on display. It remained for her to assess him, and decide if she was interested in taking the relationship further. The relationship had stalled, for as he waited for her to take that second step, she waited on him to take another step forward.

For a moment he pretended he was someone else. How then would he have proceeded? His painful enlightenment began. Attraction, then he would have to frame some very positive verbal offer. But he saw that if such an offer was angrily rejected, his whole position bringing his child there would be under threat. In any case, his financial circumstances ruled out most offers he could think of. But he saw it would have to be done.

The next week, when they came to playgroup, she could see he was visibly trying to frame an offer to her. She was surprised. It seemed so out of character, almost false. All of a sudden, the colour drained from her face. For the first time she realised that what had been going on between them was as visible to the adults present as it was to the children, and always had been. She thought of how well he treated her and realised that by doing so he was making an offer anyway. She simply hadn’t recognised it as such.

She made herself a cup of coffee, then took her child out to the sandpit to play. She talked with other mothers, but her mind was elsewhere. It came to her that she would need to respond with some word of gesture or the relationship would be at an end. To just take his hand for a moment, a quick kiss, or a whispered “I love you,” would be enough, and the relationship would progress rapidly to consummation.

She avoided contact with him, while she battled with herself about what to do. Sadly she came to realise hat her background had won. There was no way she could bring herself to take the necessary step, no matter how much she wanted to. In her culture, the man had to take the lead all the way.

As the session finished, they had eye contact. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, but with such finality, that he realised there could be no second chance. She could never go there again, so poured her heart out to the Director of the kindergarten, who arranged for her child to be enrolled in another kindergarten in nearby suburb.

He went home broken-hearted and tried to rationalise that both their circumstances were such that nothing had been possible anyway. That night, he watched the evening T.V. news. There were local items and some for overseas, including one from his homeland. And in his heart he was there, not here.

Tags: author, garth dutton, Prose, short story, story

The Eagle – A Short Story

When I write romance short stories, I specialize in looking at the infinite ways men and women get together in the first place. Library was a short story of this type, The Eagle is another.

The Eagle
© Garth Dutton, 2005

Peter had been to this restaurant before and he really liked the painting of the eagle on the wall. It flew serenely, high above a beautiful tropical landscape that reminded him of the Philippines.

But unseen in the picture were skirmishes of war, landlords growing richer and peasants poorer, and all the time the population growing, growing… A volcano brooded silently in the background. A conflict waiting to explode. The eagle saw all, but was above it all.

The purpose of the occasion was that a very heavily-pregnant Pauline was leaving to have her baby, and this was the office luncheon for her farewell. Most of the staff had arrived and were having drinks. Pauline looked very fit and a picture of health, despite her bulk. Peter talked to her, and Anna joined in the conversation.

Anna disturbed Peter. She was thirty years old and divorced. Her marriage had fallen apart before there were any children. His marriage was falling apart after three children. Rather against his will, he always found her very attractive. She kept herself slim and trim and always dressed very tastefully. But it seemed to him that her experience of marriage had left her rather tense and embittered.

Others came to talk to Pauline and Peter found himself alone in conversation with Anna. This was just as the waitress told everyone to go to their booked table and order lunch. As usual there was a bit of a rush for seats, and Peter found that he and Anna were a bit slow off the mark. He ended up sitting at the end of the table with Anna seated next to him. It looked like their conversation would last the lunchtime. They ordered lunch and more drinks. Somehow their conversation got around to Pauline having a baby at twenty eight years of age.

“I was thirty-five when Michael was born and Alice was twenty-eight,” said Peter. He was immediately aware of the age gap between himself and Anna. Twenty years…for he would fifty in three weeks time.

“Not that I look fifty,” he told himself. Plenty of gym work and jogging kept his figure more or less in trim. It didn’t hide the fact that his hair was beginning to thin, however. But compared to some others in the office, he would be a young and healthy fifty. If stresses at home didn’t wear him down, that was.

“These days, many women have first children when they are well into their thirties,” Anna was saying. “ They are much fitter and healthier  than they used to be. Once someone forty was really old.”

Peter felt pre-historic, but for a moment glimpsed a touch of desperation in Anna. He felt she saw her childbearing days ticking away…

He saw that he was twenty years older than her and felt the happiness of the occasion slip away a little. Had he married young he would be old enough to be her father. As it was he had married late and had three children, now fifteen, twelve and eight. A family young enough for him to be in his late thirties. He wondered for a moment if that was how she regarded him.

“Does age ever worry you?” Anna asked him. “ It does me. Time seems to fly by… Years go…Where to?.. I don’t know… It’s been three years since my divorce. I seem to have been marking time since then.”

Peter was taken back by the question, and nonchalantly answered, “Same problem as you… It’s when I start looking back that I can’t comprehend the passing of time.”

“How did that Carole King song ‘Going Back’ go?” said Anna. “ I think I’m going back to the things I learned so well in my youth.” She paused, then continued. “That seems a long way back. I’m not sure I’d like to be back in youth again. Too painful.”

Peter laughed, “Too true!” he said, and they each related an incident from their youthful years that had left them stranded and awkward.

Lunch duly arrived as did more drinks. The background music was a bit too loud for conversation with others at the table. Anna suddenly asked. “How are things at home?”

Peter flushed, and said, “A bit like politics… Things somehow get by from crisis to crisis.” He immediately wished he hadn’t said that.

“I can tell,” she said sadly. “You need to do something about it.” She meant it. Peter looked up at the painting of the eagle. He wondered how many relationship crises it had looked down on in the course of the year. Then a feeling if desperation set in. “Like what?” he asked.

“Just follow your heart,” she whispered, quite intimately, and grasped his hand for a moment or two. Peter was sure that everyone at the table had noticed, but no-one seemed to admit to having done so.

He looked at her and she looked back at him. The eye contact seemed to last minutes, but was probably only seconds. There was nothing that could be said.

Tags: author, garth dutton, short story

My Red Jumper – A Story

Here’s another short story which was written as homework for the Kensington & Norwood Writers Group. It’s called “My Red Jumper”.

My Red Jumper
© Garth Dutton 2007

I used to own a thick red jumper once, when I was living for two winters in London. It became a sort of ‘trade mark’ for me. I must have looked a real picture with it, plus my grey corduroy trousers and fawn desert boots. I had long blonde hair then, too, as it was the ‘hippy era’.

I used to share a large flat with an American hippy of Danish descent, two South African lads from Johannesburg, and a white lad from Zambia. The place was wall to wall beds. The flat was in Pennywern Road, just around the corner from Earls Court Station. (The area has long since been converted into hotels.)

We all used to drink at ‘Japie Corner’ in the Kings Head Pub , which was on the opposite side of Earls Court Road. On our way home we would often stop for a coffee at the “Café de Wheels” near the station. Or we would buy chestnuts from the man with the brazier there, too. (The “Café de Wheels” was similar to Adelaide’s pie carts, but mostly served coffee, tea and sandwiches.) I can still remember brushing the winter night’s snowflakes off the shoulders of my red jumper whilst waiting for my coffee.

I suppose we all have fond memories of various articles of clothing we have owned in our lives. Donovan even wrote a song called “I Love My Shirt.”

Tags: author, garth dutton, london, short story, writer, Writing

Blue Tongue Lizard – A Story

Here is a short piece I wrote as homework for the Kensington & Norwood Writers Group. It’s called “Blue Tongue Lizard”. Hope you like it.

Blue Tongue Lizard
© Garth Dutton, 2007

My garden is only a metre and a half wide and the length of my flat, yet it actually has wildlife in it.

On the 1st August I went out to my car to put on the new registration sticker and noticed a large and very sluggish blue tongue lizard coming out  of the wormwood bushes. It seemed that the day was warm and sunny enough for it to come out of hibernation for a while.

The lizard slowly crawled to a patch of the path that was darker coloured than the rest, so warmer, and flattened itself out to gain maximum sunshine on its cold body. I left it for an hour and went back outside. The lizard was still there, but had warmed up nicely and was now starting to get active.

It began rummaging through leaf litter left over from autumn, no doubt looking for its first intake of food for some time. Any insects would have done. That is what blue tongue lizards do… They semi- hibernate.

On cold cloudy days they sleep in their hiding places, but if there is some sun and the day is a warm one for winter, they’ll awake and look for a feed of slaters, earwigs or ants in leaf litter to top up their supply of vitamins to supplement their body fat reserves. In that, they are ahead of bears, who awake from the northern winter starved of vitamins.

The blue tongue lizard is right at the forefront of reptilian evolution, for they are now able to give birth to live young. So they have in fact caught up with mammals. And their young are like mallee fowl chicks. They can look after themselves from birth. Semi-hibernation means they can survive droughts and lean periods, whereas mammals often can’t, so they are much better adapted to Australian living conditions.

When I was married, my children had a baby blue tongue lizard as a pet for one winter. It was reasonably active in the warmth of the house, and particularly liked watching television. The words were obviously meaningless to it, but I’m sure it recognised the content as being mostly moving pictures of people. They are easily able to recognise one person from another.

I really like having one in my garden.

Tags: author, blue tongue lizard, garth dutton, short story, Writing