mzawf.org • View topic - Pat Ritter. Books
Login

  • Advertisement

Pat Ritter. Books


An extraordinary writer
:read ENJOY READING THE PAGE PER DAY

  • Author
    Message

Re: Pat Ritter. Books

Postby patritter » Mon Aug 24, 2015 5:57 am

'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 3:

Train Ride To Remember.

Many years later, as I again stood on the station’s platform with the departing train gathering speed behind me, the memory of that distant day of tears returned.
It was so long ago and to think back now it only seemed like yesterday when my grandmother and I boarded the train from Roma Railway Station to Charleville. It was Sunday evening, the football team Roma Wattles defeated Charleville at the local football grounds.
At 18 years of age Arthur Beetson, who was to go on and become one of the greatest Australian representatives in Rugby League’s history, captained the Roma Wattles side. His toughness and speed with the natural talent of a footballer won him the best and fairness player for the match.
Charleville footballers were made up from all walks of life; shearers, policemen, council workers, and any other young male wanting to represent their town. They were proud to be playing for Charleville.
In those days steam trains were the major form of transport between both country towns. Each railway carriage was separated from one another with every seat occupied. They seated up to one hundred and fifty passengers. In our carriage we sat nearest the aisle almost in the centre. Players celebrated their loss by drinking beer. There never appeared to be an end to it. My grandmother hated anyone who drank beer and I suppose it was her reason for not liking my father.
More the players drank beer, the more they shouted and sang, some happy others saddened by their loss. Their voices out doing one another until the only sound heard were a loud roar from drunken footballers.
A fight broke out between two of them, each punching at one another’s faces. They rolled into the aisle falling onto the floor beside where my grandmother and I sat. We couldn’t do anything but hold onto one another. I held my grandmother tight with both arms wrapped around her shoulders. She began to cry.
I looked into her eyes and saw fear, ‘what are we going to do?’ she whispered. Others began to fall into the aisle and punches thrown at bodies, war cries echoed through the carriage. It was bedlam and out of control.
‘I never wanted to come on this train. I told your father how terrible the footballers played up when drinking. Would he listen – no – he wanted you with me. What should we do?’ Her words forced me closer to her by the threat of bodies forcing their way nearer to us.
If I was superman, no doubt I would have used my powers to stop the fighting instead I hugged my grandmother. What else could a nine year old child do at the time with tears rolling down his face and his body twisted in fear?
Word count: 473.
TO PURCHASE THIS BOOK PLEASE CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/120881.
User avatar
patritter
mzawfer
mzawfer
 
Posts: 3523
Joined: Tue Dec 13, 2011 10:45 pm
Location: Brooloo - Queensland - Australia
Has thanked: 0 time
Have thanks: 1858 times

Advertisement

Re: Pat Ritter. Books

Postby patritter » Mon Aug 24, 2015 10:25 pm

'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 4:

Matilda’s Waltz

The title Matilda’s Waltz reminded me of a book I’d read named Matilda’s Last Waltz written by Tamara McKinley.
Before I read this novel I must admit to not reading many novels. It instantly devoured my mind. I couldn’t put it down until I’d finished it. It was a true Australian story of intrigue and storytelling at its best.
The story began in Outback Australian with the major character named Jenny who inherited Churinga Sheep Station after the sudden death of her husband. Prior to his death she had no knowledge her husband owed the sheep station.
With nowhere else to turn she goes to Churinga Station to find a harsh, unforgiving place but with its own quiet beauty. It also had its secrets.
Jenny’s new neighbours seem reluctant to talk about Matilda Thomas, Churinga’s former owner. But the longer Jenny spent on the property, the more she became aware of her predecessor’s lingering presence.
Jenny discovers Matilda’s diaries and finds herself drawn into a tale more shocking than she could possibly have imagined. And the deeper she delved into the past, the more Jenny wondered whether inheriting Churinga was a blessing or a curse.
With twists and turns mixed in the storyline Jenny finally discovers the truth from the word of a dying priest. Father Ryan tells Jenny, Matilda was her mother and died giving birth to her. Her father placed Jenny into an orphanage and left her to be raised by the nuns. On her 26th birthday she inherited Churinga Sheep Station.
On hearing this news from the dying priest tears filled her eyes. Pain turned to rage, then sorrow. She lost all sense of time and place as she stared through the tears. Then the faint, distant chords of an orchestra drifted back to her and she thought she saw a woman in a green dress, waltzing with her handsome husband. They were smiling at each other, lost in happiness.
They turned towards her and Matilda whispered, ‘This is my last waltz, Darling - just for you.’
Word count: 345
TO PURCHASE THIS BOOK PLEASE CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/120881.
User avatar
patritter
mzawfer
mzawfer
 
Posts: 3523
Joined: Tue Dec 13, 2011 10:45 pm
Location: Brooloo - Queensland - Australia
Has thanked: 0 time
Have thanks: 1858 times

Re: Pat Ritter. Books

Postby patritter » Tue Aug 25, 2015 10:03 pm

'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 5:

The One Reason Why I’m Not Rich.

In one word, gambling, I am a gambler. My parents gambled, their parents gambled and most of my relatives and friends gambled. If there were two flies crawling up a wall, a wager was laid to bet which fly would first leave the wall. I knew of no other way of life. It was exciting and the adrenalin rush was unbelievable. To win was the rush. To lose was disappointing.
I’ve never been a drug user, but I can imagine the comparison between the two. Endorphins in the brain must almost explode into ecstasy when a person is using drugs. My brain certainly went to dizzy heights seeing a horse win a race after I waged a bet. It wasn’t the money invested, but the thrill of winning when the feeling of excitement fluttered through my body. It was better than having sex. I couldn’t stop shaking with excitement and pleasure, and that Toyota feeling of stretching your arms wide and jumping in the air always took over.
I think it may have started when I was a child living in Roma. Around Christmas each year the Ambulance Service, QATB as they were known then, had what they called a chocolate wheel in the main street of Roma. The chocolate wheel stood on a stand – round in circumference displaying numbers on the outside of the board. Each number was divided by a wooden peg. On top of the board, apart from the wheel, a piece of leather strap stopped on the number after being spun by the operator.
People gathered in the hope to win the prize of either a leg of ham or a can of ham for Christmas. They purchased a ticket for a prize and waited for their number to be spun on the wheel.
Tickets sold for a shilling and I purchased one ticket. I remember it as if it happened yesterday. The ticket I purchased was number 56. This time it stopped on number 56. I won. The initial feeling of winning a prize was the best feeling I had ever felt in my ten year old body. It became a drug and I wanted to have that winning feeling again and again.
If it was possible to stop gambling at ten years of age and deposit the amount of money in a bank account I’ve wagered since then, I would no doubt be rich in wealth alone. Unfortunately, I continue to gamble and like the druggie am waiting for that adrenaline rush to have that affect not only on my mind but also on my body and you never know one day it may return.
Word count: 451
TO PURCHASE THIS BOOK PLEASE CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/120881.
User avatar
patritter
mzawfer
mzawfer
 
Posts: 3523
Joined: Tue Dec 13, 2011 10:45 pm
Location: Brooloo - Queensland - Australia
Has thanked: 0 time
Have thanks: 1858 times

Re: Pat Ritter. Books

Postby patritter » Wed Aug 26, 2015 10:31 pm

'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 6:

A Story Centred On A Key.

All through my life I have been gravely concerned about something terrible that happened during my childhood. I’ve often wondered how quickly habits are copied by children from their parent’s behaviours.
For instance, my grandmother, my mother’s mother, was a wonderful person. She’d hug me when I needed comfort and told me wonderful stories to soothe my mind.
One habit she passed down to me was seeing things through rose coloured glasses. Everything was always better than it actually was. It wasn’t telling untruths but close enough to it, more exaggeration than telling the true story. My mother possessed a similar habit and therefore this habit passed onto me.
As I grew older this habit became strongly engrained into my mind, so much, that when I was in trouble for any misdemeanour, a defence mechanism popped up to protect myself from getting into further trouble. This defence mechanism at times was a blessing and at other times a hindrance. I had learned well from my mentors.
In my early twenties I joined the Queensland Police Force. Suddenly my thoughts were mangled to such a degree at times I couldn’t disseminate between what was fact and what was fiction. One important role of a police officer is to bring wrong doers to justice. Thereby arresting them and presenting them before a court of law.
Sometimes the person would plead ‘guilty’ and other times defend their innocence. Unless the police officer had a photographic memory or recorded each second of the arrest and circumstances, many questions were asked by defence counsel about the arrest. In my case I possessed this defence mechanism of protecting myself from ‘getting caught out’ as I’d done all through my life. Many times this habit was embarrassing.
I wanted to do something about it. The key I used to open this door was to learn always to tell the truth. At first, it was hard to break the habit, but as an instructor once told me if I was going to succeed, I needed to work at changing it and it would take three weeks to change any habit.
She told me each time I was about to exaggerate, if I didn’t tell the truth, then I should immediately stop and tell the person the information I told them was untrue and recorrect what I’d said. I worked hard to break this habit.
I am pleased to admit I no longer carry this habit in my mind and found the key to tell the truth at all times opened the door to make me realise it is always better to tell the truth than to exaggerate. I am a great believer in karma. If you do the wrong thing then expect it to come back and bite you on the bum.
Word count: 473
TO PURCHASE THIS BOOK PLEASE CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/120881.
User avatar
patritter
mzawfer
mzawfer
 
Posts: 3523
Joined: Tue Dec 13, 2011 10:45 pm
Location: Brooloo - Queensland - Australia
Has thanked: 0 time
Have thanks: 1858 times

Re: Pat Ritter. Books

Postby patritter » Thu Aug 27, 2015 10:25 pm

'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 7:

The Last Word.

If ever you wanted to know anything in our family than Aunty Mickey was the ‘go to’ person. There wasn’t anything that Aunty Mickey didn’t know from the correct way to tie your shoe laces to the latest gossip.
She was my mother’s sister, bless her soul. She passed away only a couple of years ago and I bet she had the last word even when she met St Peter at the Golden Gate.
Memories instantly flow back at the sound of her name. Visions form in my mind remembering her features, thin face, brown mousey hair, trimmed short, blue eyes bulging from inside her eyelids when her temper rose above the normal level. She had a fiery temper and was a pocket rocket.
In my early teens she became my surrogate mother after my parents decided to abandon me and move interstate. I lived with Aunty Mickey and Uncle Vivian and their children, two girls and a boy, throughout the remainder of my teenage years. Their home was my home and the memories I hold will remain forever.
Many times I heeded her advice. She always told me I was stupid to do the thing I asked her about. Like the time I wanted to purchase a car. She was against the idea and put her two bobs worth in.
In those times I attended college at night and to return home I had to hitch hike a ride with whoever would pick me up from the side of the road. One night I received a ride with this fellow who told me after I was comfortably seated in the front seat of his car, ‘I’ve got a gun under the front seat and if you try anything funny I’ll use it.’ That was the final straw that broke the camel’s back. I wanted my own transport.
Without consulting Aunty Mickey I purchased a car suitable for my means at the time. She didn’t say a word and was pleased to ride in it whenever she wanted to go anywhere or for me to take her.
Three years ago she lost the love of her life, Uncle Vivian who passed away from a heart problem. When I visited the home to pay my last respects, her comments were, ‘he was going to die anyway. He had a bad heart.’ She even had the last word on her husband’s death bed.
It was difficult for her to cope without her long time friend and husband. She moved into a Nursing Home. For a reason I can’t explain I wanted to visit her and I was too late to tell her how I loved her dearly and to thank her for how she’d enriched my life. She’d passed away before I could tell her.
Unfortunately I couldn’t attend the funeral. When the clock chimed the time of her funeral, I developed a huge pain in my stomach and needed to visit the toilet. For four hours I sat on the throne and couldn’t move because of diarrhoea. Aunty Mickey had had the last word.
Word count: 519
TO PURCHASE THIS BOOK PLEASE CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/120881.
User avatar
patritter
mzawfer
mzawfer
 
Posts: 3523
Joined: Tue Dec 13, 2011 10:45 pm
Location: Brooloo - Queensland - Australia
Has thanked: 0 time
Have thanks: 1858 times

Re: Pat Ritter. Books

Postby patritter » Fri Aug 28, 2015 9:50 pm

'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 8:

The Gate.

Unfortunately this gate didn’t swing like any other. It dragged along the ground. With years of torture from cattle crashing into it, a bar missing and others bent in all directions. How it kept any animal from escaping was anyone’s guess. At times it didn’t.
Actually I felt sorry for the gate because if it had a mind of its own no doubt it would have wanted to be repaired. So, being a kind person as I am, I decided to bring it back to life? Unscrewing the hinges from the top of the gate it gave way with a sigh of relief. How it survived this long was anyone’s guess. The top bar was mangled and twisted.
Normally these gates had three steel tubes equally spaced from the top to the bottom running along the length. One was completely missing whilst the other two hung by a thread. I laid the gate on the ground to decide how to repair it. What a task. Perhaps it may have been better to purchase a new one rather than repair this old one. I wanted to repair it and bring it back to life.
Taking a sledge hammer to it as it laid spreadeagled on the ground I continued hammering it with all of my might. A slight dent here and there and after more bashing with the sledge hammer finally the gate again looked like a gate; the exterior of it anyway.
There it lay bare with only two bars running from left to right across. At least now it had straightened a little more than it had when swinging from the post. When repairing other gates I always stood them upright to take an eye view of the straightness and shape. My eye was better than a tape measure to measure the distance from corner to corner. If I saw it was straight than other people who looked at the gate would also see it was straight.
To make it stronger I welded three pipes running along the gate between the top and bottom in equal distance. To finally complete the task I welded upright bars from top to bottom in equal distance.
The gate was now reborn with the strength of Samson. With a coat of silver-frost paint it rose from the ashes of death and now happily swings from the post at the cattle yard where it should last for a few more years.
Word count: 412
TO PURCHASE THIS BOOK PLEASE CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/120881.
User avatar
patritter
mzawfer
mzawfer
 
Posts: 3523
Joined: Tue Dec 13, 2011 10:45 pm
Location: Brooloo - Queensland - Australia
Has thanked: 0 time
Have thanks: 1858 times

Re: Pat Ritter. Books

Postby patritter » Sat Aug 29, 2015 9:13 pm

'Awesome - OMR - Stories' - Page 9:

How To Mend A Broken Heart.

My mother once told me, ‘you’ll know when the right one comes along.’ She always had an intuition of what was about to happen. What is stranger than my mother’s intuition is, only recently, I had been thinking of my first love or whatever it was. And now this story has been given to us to write.
Let me share with you my first love, or perhaps it wasn’t love – it may have been something else. Whatever it was broke my heart. I honestly thought I was going to die. The thought of not being with this person shook the earth below my feet. I felt devastated and hurt. Every bone in my body ached and I kept asking, ‘why me?’
There was little to do in our neighbourhood where I lived and one afternoon I decided to go for a walk. Entering a park a girl around my age walked toward me. Our eyes met - hers brown and sparking. I couldn’t take my eyes from her, she was beautiful.
I stopped and wanted to speak with her and couldn’t. The cat had caught my tongue. Nerves twisted and turned in my body.
‘How are you today?’ Her sweet voice echoed in the air. I was gob smacked. Why would this beautiful and delightful girl want to speak with me? We chatted for a time, exchanging names and where we lived. She asked me to walk her home.
Her Irish parents greeted me with warmth and care and wanted me to stay for afternoon tea. Was I in a dream or was this actually happening, I thought.
From the day we’d met we continued to see one another either at her home or mine. By this time she’d met my family and it was deemed she was part of my life.
Life couldn’t be any better for a fifteen year old teenager who thought he’d found true love. We’d been inseparable for fifteen months. By this time I turned sixteen years of age. Actually I thought I was in love, but at the age of adolescents I really didn’t understand what the term ‘love’ actually meant.
One afternoon I introduced ‘my love’ to my ‘best friend’. Their eyes glued together and within a week I was told me get on my bike and move on. I felt the world had ended. How could my best friend do this to me after I introduced them?
I remembered the words told to me by my mother, ‘you’ll know when the right one comes along.’ Obviously this first encounter with the opposite sex wasn’t the right one.
Anyway eventually I did overcome puppy love and found the right one.
Word count: 456.
TO PURCHASE THIS BOOK PLEASE CLICK ONTO THIS LINK: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/120881.
User avatar
patritter
mzawfer
mzawfer
 
Posts: 3523
Joined: Tue Dec 13, 2011 10:45 pm
Location: Brooloo - Queensland - Australia
Has thanked: 0 time
Have thanks: 1858 times

PreviousNext

Return to The Author, Pat Ritter