Pat Ritter. Books

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'Brilliant - OMR - Stories' - Page 18:

Describe A Story You Like

Since December of last year I now have a kindle reader. It’s one of those e-book reading devices. All I do when I see a book I like to read; is to click onto the website, select the book; and presto the book is electronically downloaded to my kindle reader. I read it like as if it is a printed book but in electronic format.
Daily there are thousands of ebooks downloaded to these devices. When I select an ebook, the cover needs to take my fancy. This particular ebook ‘Sagebrush’ immediately took my attention. It is a western. I read the bio of the author and noticed he was eighty-seven years old and only started writing after he’d had a heart attack and his family bought him a computer.
Wayne ‘Bill’ Dickson is the author. He’s written and published seven books. In his book ‘Sagebrush’ he immediately captured my imagination and attention by the way he wrote his story. Wayne is a very good storyteller.
His main character is Michael, a twelve years old travelling with his parents to make a new life in the wild-west during the eighteen hundreds when Indians attacked them. His parents were killed leaving Michael alone and an orphan. He made a pledge to avenge his parent’s deaths.
Throughout the Indian attack he saw his father being killed by an Indian. His mother killed when an Indian smashed a Tommy-hawk into his mother’s skull. Lucky Michael hid under the overturned wagon and out of sight of the attacking Indians or he would have suffered a similar fate. Each Indian who passed the overturned wagon Michael kept a mental picture of the face and description. They would get their just rewards for killing his parents.
When all was quiet he climbed out from underneath the wagon and buried his parents. Carrying sufficient food and other implements he walked into the bush. After some time he discovered a cave. Here is lived for the next six years growing into a man. His survival based only on his daily hunting for food, listening to bird life and noticing how animals behave.
His strength grew; his skills for hunting increased. It was time to avenge his parent’s deaths. Dressed in a mountain lion skin; he stole through the bush and to the Indian camp. His animal instincts told him what to do and as a hunter, he avenged his parent’s killers by slaughtering those Indians who killed his parents.
Along the way he met an Indian Princess and fell in love. A child was born. Michael pledged to return to take care of his child, but other things happened.
His story concluded happily. He found another love and lived happy for the rest of his life. I was so enthralled by this book I wrote a review and thanked Bill for writing a great and interesting story.
Word count: 487
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'Brilliant - OMR - Stories' - Page 19:

I Knew Something Was A-foot

This story takes me back to the early seventies. At the time I was a police officer stationed at Stanthorpe. It was common to work alone, particularly at night.
New England Highway bypassed the township of Stanthorpe weaving its way through Severnlea toward the New South Wales border town of Wallangarra.
Also in those times the role of contacting police was via the local telephone exchange. Before the officer went on patrol, he contacted the telephone exchange to let them know he would be absent from the police station and to hold all telephone calls.
This particular night, without the knowledge of the telephone exchange or the officer-in-charge, I attended a show society meeting. I didn’t let anyone know where I was. This meeting finished and I returned to the police station to find the officer-in-charge at the station, ‘where the bloody hell have you been, there’s been a fatal road accident at Fletcher with an overnighter.’ He screamed at me when I walked into the station.
He appeared upset. ‘Neil is diverting traffic through Eukey. We’re going to the scene.’ He commanded. I stood as if I was a stunned mullet and didn’t know what to say or do.
We drove to the scene along the New England Highway which took us about three quarters of an hour during which time the officer-in-charge never said a word, only looked directly ahead. I was driving. My mind numb, I had no answer only thinking I should’ve attended the meeting in police time.
Rounding a bend, emergency lights flashed, contents of the overnighter spread across the highway. The front of the overnighter truck embedded against the centre wooden pylon of the overhead railway bridge.
I parked the police vehicle in a suitable spot and activated the blue lights. Instantly I identified emergency officers from the Ambulance and Fire Brigade.
Inside of the crashed vehicle was a male – deceased. Members of the emergency services were trying to get him out of the vehicle. He was on the passenger side. Eventually together they moved the front of the vehicle to release the deceased.
‘His foot is missing – go find his foot.’ The officer-in-charge yelled to me. I began a search looking through the darkness with a torch barely able to shine sufficient light to see. A voice called out, ‘I’ve found it.’ I turned and knew something was a foot.
‘Get the foot and put it in the boot of the police car.’ The officer-in-charge, with a lower voice requested. I placed the foot still encased in a boot in the rear compartment of the police vehicle. Unfortunately a couple of days later I’d forgotten about the foot and couldn’t work out the smell in the police vehicle. I opened the boot to find the foot. It’d been there since the night of the road accident.
Word Count: 481
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'Brilliant - OMR - Stories' - Page 20:

Gossip

As Colleen Smart would say in the television programme ‘Home And Away’ ‘tell Marge Wilkins and the whole Bay will know about it in no time’. She should talk. Colleen is noted for her spreading gossip.
This is similar where I live. We have about one hundred residents in the village and if you want anything spread quickly than tell one of the residents and presto before ten minutes is gone the informal grapevine is alive and well, telephones are ringing, e-mails are buzzing across the airways and the word spreads faster than a bush fire with a hundred mile gale behind it.
What makes people gossip? I suppose to make themselves feel important. Throughout my life I’ve lived in many towns and communities and each one has there town gossiper.
I remember once many years ago a gossip started in a small community where I lived of certain men meeting once a week down by the local river and getting up to mischief. It was a slip of the tongue how this news broke however the damage to the men concerned had a devastating effect on their families and businesses and the town itself.
Actually it all started as a joke, this joke got out of control and when one thing lead to another names were mentioned. These names were connected to some of the senior business people in the town.
Suspicion spread like wild-fire and before anyone knew three of the mentioned people were arrested and charged with offences relating to the gossip. In the end one of the business people accepted guilt whilst the others walked free. They never recovered from the blame and shame of the gossip.
I well remember the morning after Queensland Police Force was shown on the television programme ‘Four Corners’ about being corrupt. Immediately the gossiping began and naturally my thoughts went to some individuals whom I thought could have been corrupt. I’ll tell you how ridiculous I felt. The people who I thought may have been corrupt weren’t; and the ones whom I thought weren’t corrupt, ended up being the corrupt ones.
It didn’t matter who you bumped into along the corridors each was viewed with suspicion until everything came out in the wash through the Fitzgerald Inquiry. I still can’t believe what happened. Every police officer was under suspicion of being corrupt whether they were or not.
Unfortunately gossiping will never be stamped out and we’ve got to learn to live with it. With some people it makes their day when they gossip.
Word count: 427
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'Brilliant - OMR - Stories' - Page 21:

Know It All

‘So you think you know it all.’ My father spoke these words standing over me; they cut through my heart like a hot knife slicing butter, his eyes dark and angry. ‘You think you can do a better job than I can?’
My mother and I had returned from a holiday in Sydney. She was very sick and the holiday was meant to give her peace. We had a wonderful time staying with friends giving her an opportunity to do what she wanted to do with no pressure.
When we arrived home, I don’t know what my father meant when soon after he went into one of his raging sessions. To me it was uncalled for and totally irresponsible. What hurt me most was he didn’t recognise what I’d done for my mother and I don’t think he cared.
‘So you think you can run this house better?’ His words blasted into my face, scrunching into a shape to frighten everyone, including my mother and sisters. I hated violence and moreso confrontation, particularly with my own father. I couldn’t understand his motives. In my mind I thought perhaps he could’ve been jealous or on the other hand alcohol may have affected his mind to such a degree he couldn’t control his emotions.
What was done – was done. He stormed out of the house, slammed the front door in the process, stamped down the steps and the last noise we heard was the car being reversed from the driveway.
Four of us stood in the bedroom and the tension lifted as soon as my father left the house. My mother almost collapsed on the bed, she looked exhausted.
Emotion filled my mind with ‘what do I do now’. I didn’t know it all but I did know when something wasn’t right and it needed to be fixed. How was I going to fix this problem?
Ten minutes later my father returned; and with tongue in cheek I said, ‘you weren’t away long.’
From that moment onward we dare not to speak with one another. He kept to himself and didn’t speak with me to work out what actually happened. I knew in my mind it couldn’t have been me because I was a ‘know it all’ because in actual fact – I didn’t know it all.
At the time I was twenty-one years of age and discovered along the journey there is much to learn before ‘you know it all’ - if ever.
Word count: 417
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'Brilliant - OMR - Stories' - Page 22:

A Knock At The Door

‘Who could that be at this time of the morning?’ I sat up in bed. Another knock at the front door pierced my ear-drums. ‘Who’s there?’ I called out brushing the sleep from my eyes.
‘It’s Betty – I’ve come to collect for the Red Cross.’ A voice I recognized.
‘Betty – what’re you doing waking me at this time of the morning? It’s still dark – isn’t it?’ I called to her.
‘No. It’s past ten o’clock in the morning.’ She replied. ‘I can come back later if you want.’
‘Stay there. I’ll be out in a minute.’ I struggled out of bed, threw on a pair of shorts and tee shirt, walked to the front door and opened it. ‘Good morning Betty.’ I said blinking my eyes to the bright morning sunshine.
‘Isn’t it a lovely morning?’ Her words full of joy.
‘Where’d you come from?’ I couldn’t see a vehicle and I live at the end of the road with no neighbours.
‘I walked from town.’ She replied with glee. Betty was always one of those happy go lucky people who always greeted her fellow townsfolk with a smile and ‘g’day mate’.
‘You walked from town?’ I said shocked.
‘Yeah it doesn’t take much, only about an hour. I love to walk, it’s healthy.’ She replied with a smile.
‘What are you doing - collecting for the Red Cross?’
‘It’s that time of year again. Do you want to donate to a worthy cause?’ She asked in a solemn and sincere voice.
How could I deny her a donation after she walked for an hour to my place in hope I was at home and to collect some money. ‘Okay, do you want to come in; I’m having a cup of tea if you want to join me.’ I asked in a pleasing voice.
‘Okay – a cup of tea would be lovely, its morning smoko in any case, don’t suppose you’d have a biscuit to go with the cup-of-tea, would ya.’ She asked.
‘I’m sure we can muster up a dry old biscuit for you. I’ll put the kettle on.’
Betty entered the house and sat at the kitchen table. I prepared her a cup-of-tea and a couple of chocolate biscuits and placed them on a plate in front of her. ‘How much do you want as a donation?’ I asked. She had her mouth filled with chocolate biscuit before I could finish the question.
‘However much you want to donate. It’s for a good cause.’ She mumbled with a mouth half filled with chocolate biscuit.
Word count: 434
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'Brilliant - OMR - Stories' - Page 23:

The Republic

‘Who wants to be the first President of Australia?’ A shout from the opposition echoed through Parliament. Julia Gillard’s ears opened to the sound of Malcolm Turnbull. She’d been in a slumber during the boat people debate.
‘I will – I will.’ Julia called out to Malcolm suddenly finding she was wide awake and shouting.
‘Sit down Julia. I want to be the first President of Australia.’ Malcolm expressed in a diplomatic voice.
‘Over my dead body,’ Julia replied. ‘I’d make a better President than you. The Australian people love me – I know they do and since I’m the first female to make Prime Minister than I should be the first female President of Australia.’ She proclaimed.
‘We’ll take a vote – shall we,’ rebutted Malcolm Turnbull.
Julia shouted to her fellow members of Parliament, ‘all those who want me as their first President of Australia and a female one say ‘eye’’.
One lonely voice was heard ‘eye’ – it came from Wayne Swan her deputy. He whispered across to her, ‘can I be your vice-president?’
‘I doubt it Wayne.’ She whispered back.
‘Those who say ‘no’’, she called to the members.
A resounding ‘no’ almost lifted the roof of Parliament.
‘If that is the resolution of the honourable members present, we’ll stick with out Westminster system and I’ll remain your Prime Minister. Thank you for your continued support.’ She returned to her seat and went into another slumber.
‘What about me?’ Tony Abbott jumped to his feet stomping and shouting waving his hands in the air.
‘Sit down Tony, who wants to have a President who romps around in bungee smugglers.’ Malcolm Turnbull replied. ‘I’m taking my bat and ball and going home if I can’t be the first President of this fine country. It’s all I ever wanted to be.’ Malcolm stood and left the Parliament without another word.
‘Look at Malcolm leaving Wayne, we might be able to now vote for me to be the first President of Australia.’ Julia commented to Wayne Swan.
‘I don’t think so Julia, if you won’t make me your Vice-President than I too am taking my bat and ball and going home, good-bye.’ Wayne stood and promptly followed Malcolm from the Parliament.
Word count: 373
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'Brilliant - OMR - Stories' - Page 24:

Get Off Your High Horse

An argument was brewing, I could tell. Words cut through me like a hot knife through butter. I detested confrontation of any type. Visions of hatred formed in my mind – those moments when you wished the other person would stop what they were doing or saying and leave you alone.
What caused this catastrophe to make me despise the ground this person was standing? What happened to good old common sense and the ability to talk about ones issues? What caused a grown adult to behave in this way? Was it jealousy, rage, misunderstanding, or something else to cause this family member to go into a fit of anger, shouting uncontrollable words in my face?
It happened when my sister and her husband were the only two from my side of family to be invited to my son’s wedding. My sister, as soon as she laid eyes on me spat out angry words which curled the back of my hair. She wanted to know why her children weren’t invited.
Over the years growing up with her, I put up with abusive behaviour because of the love we had for one another, this latest outburst was the straw which broke the camel’s back. How dare her – I pondered and wanted to give her a piece of my mind.
Instead I allowed my temper to cool, showing a controlled voice I muttered, ‘get off your high horse and enjoy yourself for once in your life.’ With these words she stopped her belligerent behaviour.
We had a wonderful time at the wedding and nothing more was said between us about not inviting her daughters. From that moment on we went back to being brother and sister putting up with the untold factors which bonded us together.
Blood is thicker than water, I thought. Thinking back to other similar events when my sister terrorised me with her outbursts, I should have given her a similar outburst myself by telling her to ‘get off her high horse’.
Growing older, we seldom see one another only at family functions or funerals. It’s not often she takes the bull by the horns and attacks me with her uncontrolled outbursts but when she does – I now have a self defence mechanism to warn her off.
‘Get off your high horse’ has become a weapon I use when she attacks me with these outbursts and it seems to keep her in check until the next time she decides to ‘give it to me’.
Word count: 422
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'Brilliant - OMR - Stories' - Page 25:

It Is Impossible

If you’re not in it – you can’t win it. It was Wednesday when I decided to take a punt on winning one million dollars in lotto.
My thoughts were only winning first prize; the money was already in the bank. I could see it deposited. What were my chances of winning one million dollars in the Wednesday night draw of lotto? To win first prize, the odds are approximately, eight point four million to one for six numbers to fall in-line. These were series odds.
A couple of advantages were on my side; the draw was for Queensland players only. This reduced the odds; also up to four winners were guaranteed a first prize of one million dollars each. Anything over four winners would share first prize. I was excited. Would this be my turn at winning one million dollars?
Another advantage was: Victoria, a member of this group, gave me two good luck charms which I have in my office. After taking the lotto on-line, I printed the winning coupon, you’ve got to be positive, I thought; folded it into three to place beside these lucky charms hoping Victoria’s luck would help the selected numbers fall exactly onto the games played on the coupon.
Pam, another member of the group, helped me decide on what night to play lotto. Her thoughts were it was better to play on a Wednesday night when you were guaranteed a first price of one million dollars. Also her thoughts were the odds much better because it was only played for Queensland players.
I’m writing this story before the draw. My mind is racing in anticipation of winning one million dollars. I’ve even decided how to share the prize with my loved ones. I would be left with sufficient money for my own devises.
Expecting to win this large amount of money by thinking the numbers would fall in the right order, may look to you to be impossible. Someone has to win and that someone should be me. Each week someone wins.
The games are on and tonight when the numbers tumble out my whole faith and self belief is how they fall. Hopefully the numbers I have on the coupon fall from the tumbler on a select game on the winning coupon stuck next to the two lucky charms.
Otherwise it is impossible to win the one million dollars. As the slogan says, ‘wouldn’t it be wonderful’.
Word count: 411
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'Brilliant - OMR - Stories' - Page 26:

Looming Beyond

Have you ever visited Birdsville, a town with a population of only sixty citizens which include a policeman, hotelier, bush nurse and others who love to live in outback Australia?
I’ve been fortunate enough to visit Birdsville twice. My first visit was when I installed the first computer at the police station. My boss and I had travelled to outback police stations to install the latest computer technology which at the time via satellite communication in the late 1980’s.
Earlier in the day we installed a computer at Windorah police station and left to journey toward Birdsville, some distance away and wanted to arrive before dark. Whilst at Windorah the fly population increased. The menacing little creatures appeared to take over the town like a swarm of bees.
After a couple of hours travelling through this harsh outback country, looming beyond us we saw rising hills and open country. This part of Australia is breathtaking because of the expanse bushland which to the human eye goes on forever. We decided to stop and enjoy the beauty and serenity of the outback.
We stood on top of a hill viewing as far as the eye could see. My boss said, ‘what happened to the flies – there’s no flies.’
‘They haven’t caught up with us yet boss – they have only small wings.’ I suggested with a slight grin on my face.
‘What’d mean – they haven’t caught up with us yet.’ He replied.
‘You know how many there were back in Windorah. Well, we’ve been travelling too fast, for them to catch up. They only have small wings’. I reiterated.
‘You’re kidding me – they wouldn’t fly this far west. Would they?’ He replied and looked directly at me, ‘you’re having a go at me again – they don’t fly that far.’
‘They do boss – we’d better get going before they catch up with us. You don’t want to be swishing flies again do you? Doing the Australian wave like you did back in Windorah.’
My boss looked at me with a strange frown on his face deciding whether I was telling him the truth or not. In the looming beyond I saw a whirl of dust stirring up like a tidal wave knowing it was closing in on us.
‘We’d better get going before that whirly-wind hits us otherwise we’ll join the flies back in Windorah.’ I told him.
Word count: 400
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'Brilliant - OMR - Stories' - Page 27:

When You Wake Up In The Morning In A Strange Place

Where am I? The words exploded through my mind. Opening my eyes I looked at the ceiling of a room I didn’t recognize. A beautiful woman lay beside me, her eyes sparking blue; looked directly into mine.
‘Who are you – where am I?’ I muttered shifting the bed clothing to cover my body. I was fully clothed wearing the same clothes I wore the previous night.
‘You don’t remember,’ her voice sweet as a bird singing replied.
‘No.’ I muttered. ‘I can’t remember anything.’ My thoughts tried to piece together the previous twelve hours – they couldn’t.
I remembered leaving work in the afternoon, driving home, showered and dressed for a night out. Normally, on a Friday night after work my place of entertainment was the local pub where I’d catch up with my mates; ah, that’s it – they set me up with this woman. How could I ever thank them?
‘You’re awake.’ A sweet voice echoed in my ear.
‘Trying to – where am I and who are you?’
‘I’m Jill – we met last night at the pub.’ I couldn’t remember.
‘Did I behave myself?’ I asked, not understanding how I was dressed in the same clothes I’d worn the night before.
‘Ah – yes, you behaved. Even if I wanted to get up to any hanky panky – you were too drunk to do anything.’ She blurted out.
‘I’m sorry – I’ve never been able to handle my drink.’ What was I saying to this gorgeous living creature? ‘Remind me – how did we meet and I ended up lying beside you in this bed?’
‘We danced last night at the pub and you were falling over and couldn’t stand up. You were drunk.’
‘How did I get here in this bed?’
‘It’s my bed. I helped you walk to my place. You flopped onto the bed and I covered you over. I needed to sleep somewhere so I crawled in beside you.’
‘Did I try anything not gentlemanly?’
‘No – you were far too drunk for any hanky panky.’
‘Where does it leave you and me then?’
‘You’ve woken up in a strange place – that’s all.’
Word count: 366
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