JC in Narnia

Amy lifted the whistling steel kettle from the gas stove, using a blue gel pot holder. Carefully pouring the boiling water over the tea leaves in the glass teapot, she absently reached for her mug. Amy liked to drink her tea from a white china mug. After years of Nursing and grabbing the first available cup, Amy couldn’t now bring herself to drink tea out of any mug unless she could see the bottom of it.

Having strained the tea leaves, she poured her first drink of tea for the day. Sitting back in her recliner chair, Amy cradled the mug in two hands and took a sip. Ooh, that was hot, she thought, as it burned the tip of her tongue. Simultaneously, in her mind, Amy commenced her shopping list for the BBQ planned for that day. There were 28 people, including seven children, aged under ten years old, that she would need to cater for.

James Canning (known affectionately as JC) and Amy bought a five-acre farm out at Twelve Mile Creek in the nineteen-eighties. Located just outside of Whyalla in South Australia, the land came with a gorgeous old nineteenth-century homestead. Circa around eighteen sixty, with deep shady verandahs on all four sides, the home oozed history. Entering the home always gave the feeling of luxury, with lofty pressed tin ceilings painted in pure virginal white. It was a magnificent family home with five huge bedrooms, each with access to the outside decking and its own ensuite bathroom; walk-in robes completed each room. There was plenty of room for a growing family. At present, theirs consisted of a boy, Paul, aged seven and a girl, Wendy, aged five.

James and Amy had just finished repainting the external panels of the homestead, and it looked amazing with dove grey weatherboard and vivid white window frames and eaves. The roof was Colourbond steel in gunmetal grey. It was right out of the glossy pages of Australia’s “Home `Beautiful” magazine. The lap pool would complete the back garden and its rear decking, which was in the process of being installed. This meant high heavy temporary fencing, designed to keep curious little bodies out!

The farm resembled an oversized “Petting Zoo”, according to JC and traditionally stocked Turkeys and chooks, pigs and the odd retired greyhound or two. The youngsters loved searching under bushes for rotten turkey eggs and then would take great delight in hurling them at each other like snowballs. They gave each other points for a direct hit, and at the end of the day, the person with the highest point score was declared the winner. It was all ego-based, and there were no prizes for the achievement. Needless to say, though, that at the end of each day and sometimes in between, it meant a deep and fragrant bubble bath for whoever got smashed with rotten turkey eggs. Their aim was becoming more accurate over time!

The younger cousins and their friends egged each other on until someone took up the dare to water the turkeys with a garden hose or follow them around shouting, “Christmas dinner!” Taking great delight in the Turkeys response of “gobble, gobble gobble.” They may have been in deep trouble for hosing the birds, but we saw the humour in their verbal interactions with the turkeys and the elicited response. Sometimes we laughed until we cried at some of our children’s antics.

An  Olympic sized trampoline was buried in a pit in the lawn in front of the kitchen window, where we could keep a close eye on them. It was a good job that it was set at ground level too. Often up to five kids at a time were bouncing like crazy on the trampoline, and it was a miracle that no one was ever seriously injured. A beautiful thirty-year-old oak tree shaded the trampoline and its users. On another day, there might otherwise be four or five kids sprawled out on the trampoline, engrossed in a comic or novel, depending on the extreme summer heat and their energy levels.

By seven o’clock, the kids were usually fed, bathed and asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. Today was no exception. Let’s hear it for fresh air and sleeping kids!

Getting back to JC. There were some great parties at the Canning farm; the kids were safely amused during the day, and later in the evening, the adults lined up for a great BBQ, washed down with plenty of beer. As the day progressed into evening, JC was getting more inebriated, and it was always apparent that he had taken his fill when he started on the Cognac. 

“Who’s up for a real drink?” Would come JC’s challenge.

Now JC liked his Cognacs and always bought the best quality. When he broke open the seal on the bottle, after a day of partying, most of the family and friends had drifted away home. It was the “stayers “ that shared JC’s quality nightcap.

The problem was, after a couple of glasses of cognac,  JC would disappear. At first, Amy used to get worried about him, no one knew where he was, and at one stage a search party armed with torches fanned out across the block searching for him. Growing increasingly concerned for his welfare, with hours passing since he was last sighted, our imaginations took over. Checking carefully inside the pigpen, we needed to ascertain whether or not he’d fallen in and become their feast for the day. Thankfully, we were able to eliminate that concern.

So where on earth was he? Amy was worried, as were the rest of the gang.

The thought of James having wandered far afield was becoming a distinct possibility, and Amy contemplated calling the police. What if he’d strolled off and fallen into the dense mangroves surrounding the creeks? Twenty-foot long sharks lived in the gulf and were often sighted thrashing around in the mangroves or silently breaking the water with only their sleek black fin visible.

Oh, dear Lord, this couldn’t be happening. By eleven o’clock that night, the inky dark clouds had obscured the moon and twinkling stars. It was pitch dark, and it was doubtful that JC had a torch with him.

So on Amy’s behalf, Pete, JC’s younger brother, dialled 000, and before too long, there were two cruisers with lights flashing making their way up the long driveway to the homestead.

Two police officers from each car alighted, and caught up with Amy on the front porch of the dwelling. After directing a few questions to Amy and Pete, the officers called for backup in the manner of extra officers. “He could be anywhere.” Officer Fraser declared. “It’s very late, extremely dark out here, and we have a huge area to cover. With the mangroves and creek nearby, there’s a real need for an extra experienced search team. We have sniffer dogs coming too, so if you have an unwashed item of clothing belonging to your husband, we’d appreciate your cooperation.”

Amy thought, My cooperation? Surely they don’t think I’ve bumped him off? She wandered back into the homestead to find a piece of unwashed clothing belonging to James.

Amy had done the weekly washing that morning after stripping the beds, and everything was still hanging on the clothesline, with Amy completely forgetting to bring it in. She’d been more focused on finding her husband. The washing on the clothesline could wait. Amy entered the laundry and located a t-shirt that James had worn that afternoon before walking the greyhounds. This item of clothing was passed on to the Investigating Officer.

The hours dragged on and in the early hours of the morning; the thirty-degree day started to turn cold, reminding Amy that she needed to find a jacket and entered the master bedroom to retrieve one from the wardrobe. It was an extensive walk-in affair reaching from floor to ceiling and was also quite deep. When she pulled open the double doors, Amy jumped and gave a little squeal which bought people running. At the bottom of the wardrobe with his favorite bamboo pillow and green, cashmere blanket, fast asleep, was James Canning!

”Thank God!” Shouted Amy, waking JC from his slumber. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, the police are here!”

JC, still half asleep, stumbled from the wardrobe to their king-sized bed. “Well here I am!” He replied, unconcerned, before drifting back to sleep.

Amy was furious that JC had caused them all such worry, but simultaneously relieved that he was safe and everyone could now go home. She went off to inform the police officers that they could call off the search.

From henceforth, a new precedence was set. If there were a party or a BBQ that went on into the evening, after a few beers and a couple of cognacs, it would be a dead cert that you would find JC in -             Narnia!