The Flyer

The Flyer
The Newcastle to Sydney flyer was a grand experience, a regular trip which weekly commuters, travelers and children rode frequently to their destinations. Generally from Sydney it took around two and a half hours to arrive at the end of the line, Newcastle railway station. I rode this train many times and have sizable memories of the summer journeys and travels they took me upon. They began first as mere visits for holidays to my grandmothers house where my sister lived where I would spend two weeks at a time with them. The train was long and measured up against the concrete platform. A yellow painted line ran its whole length as an edge to keep passengers safe behind as hurtling trains pulled in and out of the busy station. I can still smell the seats in the cars of the train and the feel of the timber, smooth and polished along the widow sills and door frames. The diesel you could taste and the smoke filled the air breaking through the tears of arriving and departing loved ones and as business men carried their newspapers and excited children embarking on holidays lined the fast tracks. There were smoking and non-smoking cars, a buffet car which you would courageously leave your seat to fight the jostling movement of the train to reach for a sandwich and coffee. The thrill also of changing cars whilst in motion was like being that of today's Indiana Jones jumping the roof of one car to the next and holding on for dear life, a fierce wind blowing and eyes focused downward toward the hardened steel tracks, silver streaks disappearing beneath you! yet whilst in reality you would only have to open the door at the end of the carriage and pass over the two plates of landing coupled together with chains and linked hand rails on either side which jerked away from each other whilst trying to cross them in motion, then breaking through the noise barrier and the up draught of air into the next car with a thud of the door closing behind you locking out the volume and what seemed to be a gale force wind.
Central station Sydney was a concrete jungle of activity with sounds too many to recall, trains coming and going, departures and baggage trolleys moving up and down the platforms, deep sounding horns from trains departing the station, radio announcements and clocks that would surround the place with times of all the traffic but the most magnificent sight were those endless steel tracks intertwined, streaming forward for miles and miles crossing over one another and branching out into several different directions as your eyes would follow them as far as possible. The sounds of the approaching metal bullets and the rickety sounds of those timer matchbox type trains rolling into the station made the atmosphere complete. What a commotion! a junket of railway fever. Blue uniforms and whistles, loud speakers, tickets and litter blown around the tracks as the heavy locomotives hurtled their way into position alongside the packed commuters. The air pushed hair around faces and flipped hats off, threw newspapers around like mother nature itself, Central Station was alive, 24/7.
The seats were bouncy and almost leathery but not quite, with the N.S.W. Railways emblem punched into the seats at random intervals, the smell was like a new car smell and the floors were smooth and slippery. The windows rattled and could be opened almost enough to get your head out of, but the oncoming train passing inches from your face was enough to put an end to reaching out further than you wanted too. The boom of explosives placed on tracks by signal men notified those working up ahead of the upcoming locomotive. Tickets please! yelled the conductor who would examine every passengers ticket and then punch a hole into it with a bright silver hole punch. The tickets were printed on to thin green card and stamped with your destination and the date of travel.
All aboard! time to leave, the horn would blow and the doors to the cars would close, the air conditioning system would get louder and then the jolt as we all lurched forward would indicate we are finally departing the station. Last goodbyes were said through glass and waves from one aisle to the next to those left standing along side the huge engine with the endless stream of boxcars passing them by. Brass fitting with fixtures for baggage were above our heads and small radiators were at the ends of each car for the winter traveler. Bubbler's filled with icy water were also fixtures in the vestibules of the train and ash trays in the arms of the seats for the smokers. How exciting to be a traveler, I was on my way to my grandmothers house all on my own. I never read or said much while traveling but just took in the scenic views with sun and shadow flickering past through the trees. A seldom word is spoken by me even to this day as I travel, I like to take in the sights and reflect upon silly notions and wonders in my head.
If you have ever had this experience of the Sydney to Newcastle flyer you also would remember that the Railways would give out free ice creams for those holding tickets, served in small round tubs with a wooden paddle to eat it with wrapped in cellophane, Peter's ice cream from memory. What a treat it was and one I had come to look forward to with all my travels backwards and forwards to Newcastle.
As the years passed and I grew a little older and I would think back about these frequent journeys, like the time we all had to alight the train at Gosford station! There seemed to be quite a disturbance going on by all the railway guards and station master with detectives and dogs being brought in. Down on the tracks and under the train they went, luggage was rummaged through all the while we stood at one end of the short platform. A bomb hoax was then explained to us all but nothing ever found. I thought to myself if the bomb had gone off we would have all been killed anyway as the train was right next us and we were not that far from it.
The times have changed now from those diesel engines and the Indian red and brown matchbox cars to the silver and steel, double decker cars now with electric run engines. The last time I caught the Flyer was when I was 13 years of age, this time it was a one way ticket July 9th 1976. I know this date well as it was the final journey I ever took upon the Flyer which reunited me with my mother, a dream dreamt of often, but in reality it was everything short of what I had conjured up in my mind. I left my sister and grandmother at Broad meadows station, Newcastle one Friday afternoon. I had left on bad terms, terms which have never really been resolved or talked about to this day. Money and theft were the issues and my sister and I were the guilty parties although I feel I got the blame for the most of it.
I had arrived in Sydney in the dark winter and it was cold. I carried my luggage across several platforms with a scarce number of people about and then had to make my way to the suburbs by train. It was a lonely ride with no one to meet me, the first of many lonely paths and journeys in my life. I new where to go as I had been to this place before, Petersham in Sydney's inner west quite close to the city itself full of new Australians and a whole different culture of people. I got out of the train at Petersham station that night, after trying to peer through the darkness with my hands cupped around my eyes pushed up against the window of the train as I made my way to the station but could see nothing. I got out and it was very dark and a large staircase stood in front of me. One light reflected down onto the platform and stairs. An overpass slightly lit led me onto the street which then took me upon a 3 kilometer walk to mums place. An old brick two storey house directly under Sydney's flight path to the airport, which had been converted into 4 flats, with an old copper as a laundry tub in the backyard with water and gas pipes running along the outside brick work. I struggled with my bags and fought off the chill in the air, alone and a little frightened I made it to her one bedroom flat where she lived and which would now become mine for a short while. I traipsed up the stairs and in through the unlocked door. It was dark with no lights on. I heard some noise coming from another room and saw the flickering of TV lights so I made my way down the corridor to it and there was my mother! she laid in her warm bed watching TV, a new colour set which she had just bought as these sets had only been released a year or so earlier. Her opening words were "Oh you made it and why did you do it? (referring to the stealing). I didn't know how to answer her or what to make of her just laying there watching TV, never bothering get up or to come meet me at the station but instead allowing me to travel all that way at night on my own.
Well this was the first of many unanswered questions and frequent disappointments throughout my life with her.
Nevertheless the journey's upon the Sydney to Newcastle flyer were events that ushered me into many of life's destinations, some well traveled, some not so well traveled. I wonder where in life did those past journeys take others? To happiness or to devastation, to regret or to nowhere?
Regardless wherever the destination I will never forget the anticipation and the excitement of my travels aboard the Flyer.

Rinaldo

The Beach.....

I am inarguably detained and captive to the thoughts and experiences of my past like a jungle narcotic and to their fixed and unchanged emotions which run rife through me as though it were my true life force instead of the shady red blood. As a child I took it all in, everything, I adapted quickly to life and the environments which surrounded me as if a chameleon. Life was fresh most of the time and I, inquisitive for it and its purest moments would inhabit embrace and devour all of its substance. I fed on the best of what came my way if only for ever so brief a moment or for simply a glimpse of an encounter with this intoxicating breath and mystery, called life!

Ah! The beach, this charismatic deep blue liquid which pools over our planet like a sultry woman from the east draped in pure silk. It surrounded me as I grew up in Sydney's south, and though even as painful as it was to dip in the cool salt water whilst eczema peppered my flesh in every joint and fold of skin, exposed and eaten by its appetite I fell for its hook. As mountainous as the seas could be to a child, tossing and tumbling one so young end to end with tremendous ease and without remorse all the while starved of breath only to be ejected to the surface for deep gasps of oxygen, then dropped again face down deep in wet gritty sand, grazed legs mangled in surf! It was exhilarating to be released and survive its rough play, dumped and spat onto the beach looking like a garnish twisted and served on top of some Thai dish. I was drawn by its beauty, its hypnotic dance, wave upon wave, backward and forward, sheets of foam and glazed ocean racing upon the yellow sands pulling, grabbing and swallowing whatever it could then spewing it back again, I was drawn into its compelling tow.
Thousands just like me shaped and unshaped, different yet all the same species sojourned towards it like a trek to Mecca and would demand an audience with it surrounded by golden sands cusping its edge. We came to watch and peruse, to sample and squander, to be seen and to have the day deplete us, every ounce of pure energy exhausted by this tireless and ageless sea. Exquisite and exotic beauties would parade the hot sand, endless rows of bronzed and chocolate mannequins lay still baked and crusted with thin layers of salt as they lie motionless in the sun on coloured canvases. Radios carried the flirty and sensual sounds of the beach boys, while frivolities on the beach perpetuated as frisbees dashed from one end of the unencumbered Aussie sand to the other, beach balls bounced and flew against the bluest skies whilst a kaleidoscope of beach umbrellas studded and promenaded the beach. Eskies filled with icy coke, bottled ready to be popped which quenched a tide of thirsts, ice creams on sticks ran down the fingers and arms of children, tongues madly racing to capture every last drop of melted vanilla streams. Zinc cream pasted thick over lips and noses to prevent scorching and burning. Bronzed feet flicked up grains of sand as the gentle breeze would carry them back to the collective and wet revealing speedos were worn by shaped Aussie males and children. Bikinis were filled to overflowing as though the rest of the costume was to be purchased at the next lay by payment. Coconut oil lavished the bodies of women and girls roasting them in the gorgeous sun, the scent was heavenly, memorable like that of an Hawaiian Island. The sounds were contagious as laughter resounded throughout the surf as it thundered down onto the sands, it was perfect in every way. I never grew tired of the beach and all its pleasures. The smell of pies and sauce littered our senses, the aroma was hypnotic and the local kiosk had lines banked up to the hot asphalt. Hot chips and sauce, fish and chips splashed with vinegar, with the sound of seagulls squabbling over the random discarded potato chip! The people came in droves to worship, laying at the alter of its power thrashing the seabed floor. Seaweed tangled around ankles and the screams of fear from what had ensnared them beneath the cool depths.
Macho teens paraded the beach with their sun bleached blonde hair. These surfers would nonchalantly carry their waxed boards down to the waters edge and enter the cool sea with prose, diving onto their boards they would paddle out beyond the breakers. The rest of us inadequate, would lay on the polystyrene boards obtained with a meal for a buck from Colonel Sanders and doing the best we could to catch a wave. We'd emerge from the water with rashes on our simple chests from the constant rubbing of flesh from the now cracked board.
Girls had eyes constantly on them like fly's stuck to the backs of heavy sweaty men. They flirted around as if owning everyone's adoration whilst their white butt cheeks began to emerge from those slinky bikini's as though they had deliberately fallen just a little, enough to distinguish where the white's of their skin met with their sultry tans.
But as for me the buckets and castles were in my eye line watching those mounds of soundly formed shapes only then to be demolished as we jumped on top of them. Holes were dug on the shore to be filled by the ocean as the tide turned and filled them to overflowing. These were simpler times, times when a family consisted of a hard working father and a stay at home mother with two or more children picnicking together. Families took walks together over the shell crusted rock pools, children poking at toad fish with sticks. Mobile phones didn't encroach on our times together nor did foul language lavish itself upon our ears. Body language was meek without anger or violence, courtesy and manners were well implemented and rapport was common place amongst us all. Children scoured the beach unattended to find shells and dig for crabs whilst parents went for romantic walks and took short cool dips. Where else could you walk the coastlines under the blue skies of freedom in such a wonderful land such as ours. It was a simple time, we were all younger then! Our youth was spent innocently exploring the soul of our continent.......The Beach.

My Living Testimony - Part 6

Liberated

Heb 4:12
For the word of God is living, and active, and sharper than any two edged sword
and quick to discern the thoughts and intents of the heart.

His words came from him like power and life to my soul and they discerned and distinguished every thought and intention of my heart unbeknownst to me. I sat their in conflict as my life was revealed, bare and naked, exposed for what I was, twisted and angry, and for what I was causing not only to my self but to the rest of society. I found myself accepting an invitation to good to refuse, a second chance at life, a clean slate, a chance to start a fresh, a chance to right all the wrongs in my life. Finally to be rid of that enslaving narcotic and the orchestrated ensemble that went with it; poverty, paranoia, depression, violence and crime and inevitably death, this was an answer to prayer. I could now be liberated and allowed to be the true person I was intended to be before my endless depravity and corruption. The power of God became a reality to me that night, this was not some cheap fiction that you could purchase at the 711 for a few bucks as a feel good resolve. No, the truth was about to incriminate but also liberate my world, all I had to do was respond under the conviction of the truth.
The pastor stepped down to a level playing field from the pulpit so all eyes were fixed at the same horizon, there was total silence and the altar as it was called was made open to anyone that needed Jesus in their lives. For those who would freely submit to His authority and power, to begin a new life with Jesus at the helm and to be washed clean by the sacrifice of His blood then receive the free gift of God, eternal life! A life within a Kingdom of peace, of goodness and of right action, all the while having this supernatural God and His son taking the greatest care of you and blessing you with all of His Kingdoms riches both naturally and spiritually. Now tell me, who could refuse that? To be accepted and loved by someone I didn't know really didn't impress me that much but the sentiment of that kind of love and acceptance was a deal clincher. I wanted to be loved and accepted without conditions and ridicule, don't we all? I needed to change and be rid of the rage and guilt which had all but devoured me.
I was struck by the power of God out of my seat, my hand I noticed was raised already in response to the Pastors request and I made my way down to the front of the church, where the unseen altar was. I knew that you offered up sacrifices upon an altar but I couldn't see one. Later it fell into place that this was where spiritually I laid down my life in surrender. I didn't even give a second thought to all those eyes upon my back! I needed this Salvation desperately. I was about to get a second chance at life and receive a new life of what is now know as Faith and love and of power! Power to overcome the tragedy's and failures of life without God, the power to resurrect the dead in me; decency, love, forgiveness and justice! I have since faced the giants in my life with His wisdom and grace from above, a grace that also extends itself to others and finally having experienced it first hand; mercy. Mercy is a funny thing, compassionate yet full of empathy and love identifying with weaknesses and distress, all the while allowing His love at your disposal to ooze indiscriminately towards others. I passionately hated people and I was good at it, it was easier to blame and hate everyone instead of the handful that actually had hurt me and so consistently let me down throughout my life. Don't they say; once bitten twice shy?

As I stood there while every eye was closed and every head bowed I inched forward to align the toes of my shoes with the two other pair out on the floor that stood beside me that night. I felt an arm come across my shoulder from my right but immediately I shrugged off the intrusion and stood alone. Vulnerable and alone I wasn't going to be anybody's fool as I stood there naked. I was so easy to read, a tough guy and afraid of what was going to happen. The pastor saw right through my gruff demeanor then he gently laid his hand on my shoulder. He spoke so softly to me so as no one else could hear. It was intimate and personal and the tension in my shoulders released their grip, every muscle relaxed and fell down my back like a pack of staged domino's collapsing. He asked the inevitable! Will you make Jesus the Lord and Saviour of your life? Do you want to be free of the burdens of sin and receive His forgiveness, Salvation and Eternal life? There was no quandary or hesitation, I wanted Him and I had waited which seemed a lifetime for this difference, this was my time......I said YES! I prayed a prayer with the pastor of repentance, acknowledging my sin and disobedience to God and His word. The pastor began to pray quietly yet with power and what seemed to be aggression. I felt something strange happening but closed my eyes as I accepted what was taking place.
My body shook and the ground beneath literally quaked! "A battle over my soul was taking place" were the words he used to inform me. I stood there for what appeared to be at least 4 or 5 minutes. He went on to pray for the other two and then returned, he continued to pray fervently over my soul. When he had finished praying I was drained and spent. I had no energy, every single ounce of it was gone, I had no fray left in me.
The auditorium erupted with applause as we went back to our seats and the band played loud and the people sang! Rejoice, Rejoice.....I can't remember the other words. Smiles, hand shakes and congratulations were handed out like cigars from a new father to his family and friends after the birth of his first child. The pastor shook my hand a handsome gesture and slipped me some literature to read later. He also appointed a man to me to answer any questions I might have and to call at any time of day or night.
I had just been "Born Again" A spiritual awakening inside of a corpse doomed and destined for destruction, a spiritual encounter that Humanistic reasoning could not interpret. A new life now existed within me liberated from the flesh. The coexistence of both flesh and spirit in one being. The crowning glory of man to be born again of something pure, holy and supernatural. It was intoxicating!
I left fairly soon after and laid awake for quite some time that night memorizing every moment step by step of the eventful evening. I was proud of the earnest decision I had made, not based upon a whim but upon a well thought out process stemming from a dire call for help one month earlier, to a God I was uncertain existed or cared for me. God responded to the desperation in my heart from the very day I called to Him. Sadly though, it often takes a tragedy to humble mankind before we will call upon the God of Salvation. Many fall to their death through pride.
The next morning elated I jumped out of bed at my new found experience and savored every moment again. Wow! I had slept for the first time I can remember in years like I had been wrapped in pure goose down, thick and soft and slumbered a whole winter. So refreshed, awake and revived. I can breathe freely without that repetitive droning cough and mucus trying to throw itself out from the back of my raw throat and half deflated lungs! but that's not all, what's this! I don't crave a taste (a hit up the arm), I don't want a cigarette or any other drug. I don't feel like a drink! I feel very different, smooth, clean, Alive....I can feel the blood rushing through my veins it almost appears to be cleansed of every impurity that existed just last night, like I've had a transfusion. My tired raspy throat was healed and no longer sore from the excessive consumption of raw alcohol and tobacco.
Physically something had happened to me overnight, my lungs now seemed full of pure oxygen, opening to full capacity, no pollutants inhibiting my intake of a cool deep breath of air. The scales had fallen from my bloodied weary eyes and I could see for the first time so clearly. The day appeared brighter colors sharper and looking at things somehow differently with fresh eyes. This was miraculous! The power of God had rejuvenated my entire body while I slept in comfort and peace. A new creation!
Previously I had escaped the snare of addiction for a short few months. I worked so hard at overcoming the relentless push and desire for the depraved crystal. Six months of pain and hard work to beat and reduce my daily intake to nil. I knew the difficulty in doing so and the powerful drive behind the habit. From the first push of the needle it took a mere three seconds for the drug to circulate through my body and reach my brain, heart and crotch. Oh the potent rush and pungent emotion took my breath away, it was orgasmic a festival for the senses. Towards the final stage of my addiction the drug slowed to a thirty second lapse to reach any part of my senses and I required a lot more drug. My blood was like black mud and would ooze slowly back into the syringe before I would ram it into my torn vein.
After many indiscriminate partners and the fellowship of needles it would have been irresponsible of me not to be blood tested for disease. Hepatitis C, A or B, Aids whatever? I didn't want to put my future bride at risk so I was checked and re checked with nothing to show but pure rich diseased free blood. I had been healed.....
I was more certain than ever of this miracle, this cure, this abrupt end. There was no longer a desire or craving for anything from that moment on.....and in no humanly way was that ever possible. I had been delivered of every drug dependency and now had accepted and experienced first hand the tangibleness of God. It was this power and miracle that I held onto whenever times got tough. For this man, it's not the end of a chapter where I'll ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after, but rather scale new heights at the side of my master, off into the sunrise.......where a new day dawns.

Rinaldo