Monday, September 16

We've had a slow start this morning.  The sun is shining although the air is cold and we have no urge to do anything.  Jamie says he has to go to JB HiFi to buy something for the audio in his car and has offered to take me with him. He had his Murano audio system set up to his satisfaction but, now that he has inherited the Jeep, there's some upgrading to be done.  I can't remember the last time I even turned on the radio in my car but we're all different.

I suspect he thinks I'm becoming too housebound and would benefit from some fresh air.  I'm lazy; however, I'm always happy to surround myself with new technology even though I don't need anything, so I'm waiting for him to arrive. I've just heard some planes flying over; I assume they're the Roulettes heading home after their performance in Hobart yesterday.

This is the alternate version of Faces in the Street:

FACES IN THE STREET

 Sven Eriksen rises early each morning hoping that this day will be different; that this will be the day that his search comes to an end; that at some point in the next twenty-four hours he will see among the faces in the street, the face he has been searching for.  He hopes that she hasn’t changed too much.  It’s been several months since he saw her and who knows what hardships she has faced in that time and what effect it has had on the fresh-faced optimistic image she once presented to the world.

 Wearily, he drinks his first coffee of the day and eats his meagre breakfast.  He’ll have to get a job soon as his savings have almost all gone.  But how can he hold down a job when every waking hour is spent in walking around the town, staring at the faces in the street, looking for the familiar features of his sister.

 Inge was only 17 when he last saw her, at the airport back in Denmark as she waited to board a plane to take her to the other side of the world.  She was full of excitement, talking about the great adventure of back-packing in Tasmania with a handful of companions, earning some money for the trip by working at a farm in a town called Forth, picking tomatoes.  Tomatoes?  Sven thought it was a ludicrous idea but Inge was adamant that thousands of young men and women from Europe were doing exactly the same thing.  Tasmania was a very safe place to visit and she would be with good friends.  Nothing was going to happen to her.

 She promised to keep in touch and to always have her ‘phone switched on.

 For the first few weeks, her messages were enthusiastic and positive.  She had enjoyed the flight, stopping at Dubai, then Melbourne before catching the shorter flight to Devonport.  Her group had been picked up by one of the farm-hands and she was comfortable in the accommodation provided.  As the weeks went on, though, the messages changed.  The farmer and his family were kind but some of the other workers were ‘risikable’, as they would say in Denmark, although Inge used the Australian idiom, ‘a bit dodgy’.

 The day came when one of her messages was very worrying.  She had left the farm and, with another girl, was heading for Launceston where she hoped to find work picking berries.  She still had some money and wasn’t ready to come home yet.  From that point, her messages became further and further apart until they stopped altogether.  Her family became very worried and requests were made through the Danish Embassy for assistance.  The over-stretched police force in Launceston made every effort but had to report that there was no sign of the missing girl.  One berry farm in Hillwood had had a girl of that name working with them but she hadn’t lasted long, not getting on well with their regular workforce of Nepalese and Bhutanese refugees.

 Sven walked tirelessly up and down the streets of Launceston.  Well-wishers suggested to him that she might well be living in one of the nearby towns like Georgetown or Deloraine so he took local buses to these outlying areas, trudging up and down their streets looking at the faces in the crowd.  He enlisted the help of other travellers and had some signs made which he attached to lamp posts in the main street of the various towns.  He wondered whether he needed to offer a reward but the police said it wouldn’t be necessary; Australians are generous people and would help if they could, without needing an incentive.

 Sven thought again about the need to earn some money.  His parents, back in Denmark, could no longer afford to subsidise his search.  He knew there was reasonable money to be had in working on farms and one or two farmers even offered accommodation.  He was losing faith that his search for his sister would ever be successful and decided he would give it two more weeks.  In the meantime, he answered an advertisement for a farm looking for help and hitchhiked to Illawarra Road to meet the farmer. 

“Oh, you’re from Denmark!” said the farmer.  “Well, you’ll be pleased to meet a young Danish girl we’ve got working here.  She was in a bad way when she arrived but she’s coming good now.”