Bowen Oct 12th-13th

We met Peter Madison in Airlie Markets the day before. He had a stall opposite us, and we got acquainted with him during the course of the day, as he stopped by to chat with us. Inviting us to Bowen the next day, we decided it would be good to sit down and have a cuppa with him and so vowed to meet him. We had been put in touch with John McLean in Bowen, through his brother, Lach, who, with James Walthrope, had donated to us a case of wine in Brisbane. James rang round on our behalf to arrange things for us, and we are glad he did, because, as it turns out, John McLean, from Bowen, is every bit as no-nonsense as his namesake from Die Hard. Yeppee-qua-yey!
Phil on Bowen Beach

We were in good spirits after leaving Strathdickie. We owed a lot of gratitude to Cate Morris, who put us up, and allowed the opportunities to be created. We felt like we’d made the most of our time there, especially with the coincidence of meeting the Vanderlugt’s, which made things even more special staying at Cate’s. Little happenstance occurrences like that are strange, and are curious diversions nobody can predict.

We found Peter without much trouble, arriving late in the afternoon, as John was sailing in Townsville until early evening, so we had no rush, and all was breezy. Peter seemed delighted we’d decided to visit, and had some other visitors for us to meet. His friend Gertrude Tissen introduced herself, and Tim, who came with his two lovely girls, and we sat outside, had a few beers, and ate some cheesy, olives and nibbley-bits.

Peter it turns out, went to school with John, knew him well, and spoke to him on the phone to enquire about his whereabouts. Of course we shouldn’t be surprised, that everyone we randomly meet these days is either a friend or neighbour of someone else we’ve just met. That’s the way it’s going, and we’re more than happy to ride this wave.

Eventually John got in touch with us, and we met him at the Bottleo (Off-license to those who don’t speak Aussie) he runs. Sunburnt and wiped out from a day winning a sailing race in Townsville, he was nevertheless all action, providing us with a little beer, some potato chips (crisps, really, as we know they’re called) then took us to his house, his old house, one he’s in the process of selling, to stay in for the duration.

Following him we found ourselves transported to a large three bedroomed detached house, with a large open patio area, next to the pool. He apologised for not entertaining us further but he was a little tired from sailing all day. We assured him it was no problem, that we were being more than generously looked after by him, and that we’d talk properly tomorrow, when he could tell us what he wanted us to do for work. Righto, he said, before ensuring we knew how everything worked, where everything was and that we were going to be ok, and if we needed anything else. In a flurry of jokes and talking he made his exit, leaving us to ponder if he was that lively when bushed, what would he be like when fully energised. They had told us his nickname was Crazy.

We went to Cellarbrations, the Bottleo John runs, and he had us help him open up. Wondering what it was we wanted to do, we told him to set us to whatever needed doing and that we’d get on with it. Righto, he said, and we were sent off to work with handyman Bill Johnstone, to pick up all the felled trees, foliage anr bush he’s been cutting down the past few days, around the car park, at the back of John’s, in front of the large IGA Supermarket he owns, run by his wife, Lynn.
Queensland Fire and Rescue Bowen jump for a good cause
Bill found a spare pair of trainers to give to Phil, so Anne and I, working in thongs (flip-flops to those of you who were wondering) were at the mercy of the nest of biting green ants disturbed and agitated, as the tree branches they make their nests on were upended. These fellas, so called because of their green arse-end (an anthropological term), would regularly attack us, in formation, stinging at the same time on different points of the body producing a leg-kicking arm-flailing move akin to John Travolta Tony from Saturday Night Fever, but with the yelping of a glory-days Michael Jackson. They were with us all day, their arse-end arched as they dug their pincers into our tender flesh.
IGA staff member jumps with Anne as Phil and Lynn to the right
Producing an impressive pile of cut-offs on the nearby patch of land, we worked all day, stopping for lunch courtesy of Lynn, who told us to take some of whatever we wanted from the supermarket. John, meanwhile, was still busy on our behalf. He commandeered Anne, who liaised with him in getting the local paper, The Bowen Independent, to send a reported round and write an article on us.
John and Lynn McClean invite us for delicious dinner, thanks for desert John!
As we finished with the rehousing of the green ants after lunch, we made our way back to John, in time to have our photo taken and to tell the reporter a little about us. Phil and I then went to work in the bottleo, helping deliver some crates and cartons of booze to The Grand View Hotel, the McLean-run family business. Green ants bite with a sting Jumping in the truck with Larry, we drove to the Grand View, then helped unload two pallets, under the watchful eye of John’s brother, Mike. Eager to do a good, quick job for the McLean’s, who had been so good to us all along, and bending, not at the knees, as textbook Health and Safety regulations dictate, to place down two crates of beer, I suffered the ignominy of a board-shorts blow out mid way through.
Steve Darwan from the Bowen Local Paper prints us some flyers
What could I do? What could I do? Undiless and now baring a prominent left buttock cheek, I simply had to carry on, taking the crates and boxes of beer, through the bar, into the cellar, again and again. Thankfully the bar wasn’t full, and the discretion of the patrons in not roundly pointing and laughing wasn’t as much down to their ambivalence of such things happening, or down to my tidy attempts at concealing my ampleness with my t-shirt, than it was down to just plain disbelief and not a little pity.
The Cheeky Gang work with Bill outside the IGA
This is the town, after all, that hosted the cast of the Baz Luhrman film ‘Australia’, with the likes of Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman running around, doing things. So, that a bare-buttocked Welshman was now delivering their booze may not have bothered them after all, having seem movie-types snorting cocaine off the clenched cheeks of the sound engineer as he propped his boom on the pool table.
We all go to work outside the IGA supermarket
Thankfully Anne turned up, having been round to Gertrude Tissen’s, who rang with the offer of some assistance, and managed to find for us some phone credit, food supplies and offered to cook us some breakfast the next day, and as Phil and I were just sat down (with my back to the bar) for a beer Mike bought for us, she turned up, the van parked outside, and I ran, like a wounded soldier, to get changed into more suitable clothing.

John and Lynn invited us to their home on Horseshoe Bay for the evening, for dinner, where they have a unit overlooking the sea on the second floor, and we had a good old traditional barbeque. John, who wasn’t drinking because he was up early, racing on his bike this time, performed the honours, and cooked the meat, Aussie Barbie-style. John and Lynn were great hosts. Amicable and lively, John McLean is a very busy man, successful and exacerbated with sitting still moments after setting down, he’s up and doing something, finding things to do, being active. Gareth is very pleased to receive food from IGA staff members
But once settled down to dinner, he and Lynn were lovely. Lynn is intelligent and grounded, eager to see the world, keen to waste no time working too long while there were places to go and things to do. John is exactly the same. Intent to sort out for us any problems we were having, eager to iron out any rough patches and determined to see us through to the end if he could help it, he seemed to epitomise the indominatible spirit of the Aussies we’ve met so far.

The lovely Peter (second left)Once friendship is settled, and that usually pretty quickly if you’re fair dinkum, the Aussies, seemingly good judges of character, always giving people a fair go, the benefit of the doubt, and are as open and gregarious as can be. Their interest in what other people are up to reflects their interest in life; that they like a bit of a yarn is common knowledge, that they also love to hear of adventures and potential sources of fun is pretty common too. They like people who help themselves, who have a go, and who view failure as nothing more than the opportunity to have another go.

John showed us how it’s done. “She’ll be right, mate, muck in and give it your best. Call me if you’re ever in trouble, but you better make sure you’re in deepshit at the time, because I’ll help ya, but I’ll make it hard for ya first”. This is the attitude Aussies have; rely on yourself, learn to cope with things on your own, take pride in taking responsibility for your life and have a good time at the time. The lovely Gertrude

There’s a devilish adventurising in every Aussie; a curiosity to find out about people feeds this. There’s a big interest in what we’re doing, because it appears new, and outlandish, and it appeals to a nation built from it’s rapscallion convict beginning, explored inch by torturous inch by intrepid explorers, with stories of bushmen, horsemen, jackaroos and the folk stories of Banjo Paterson and Henry Lawson, idolising the cocky, swaggering, roaming lifestyle. Anne is given some groceries and phone card from the community centre
It’s fun to be a little rebellious, to go against the grain. Which makes for a just-for-the-heck-of-it mentality, bending the rules a little when necessary, viewing it more important to help out a mate than to stick to the straight and narrow. The pragmatism of John towards us reflect this ‘let’s get it done’ attitude. A five year old Aussie lad was asked by a concerned tourist in Bowen ‘you have poisonous snakes here? What do you do with a snake?’ He looked at him as though the guy were a simple-minded friend saying. ‘You hit it with a spade, mate!’.

Next day, we kept our appointed breakfast with Gertrude Tissen, meeting Peter Madison again. Gertrude had been very good to us, arranging much on our behalf, and the time spent with her was little in comparison to the effort she spent in aiding us. But John wasn’t finished with us yet, commandeering me to the Bowen Independent, after filling our tank with fuel, while Anne and Phil tidied the house. He knew the manager, Stephen Darwen, he knew we needed some flyers printed and he knew that having our noses in the local news through the remaining towns of Queensland would be to our great advantage.

Stephen Darwen, to his credit, never blinked, and offered us all the help he could. The story would be written and run for the next edition, then forwarded to all local papers up the north coast to Cairns, and across west to Mount Isa, and the flyers we needed, all 500 would be printed and ready for us by lunch time. Too easy mate. He then had to run, a meeting calling.

Lynn had arranged for us to have a shop donated to us at the IGA Supermarket. A trolley load to take with us as we went on. This was beginning to overwhelm us a little. Two days in Bowen and we were transformed from a raggle-taggle ramshackle operation to a sleek, well-organised machine. Lynn offered to contact the IGA stores around the country, hoping it would help if we needed it.

As we left Bowen, we were each thinking about the extraordinary things that had happened to us in the past few days. The immediate and unequivocal assistance we had received and the help people gave us, was amazing and as we drove towards Townsville we wondered what was next in store.
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Aadrian and Denise Vanderlugt

As long as Phil and Anne were going to be centre of attention attracting hordes of passersby with their Sub-Aqua Regality, I though I’d have a bit of a wander around to rebuild my crushed ego, my spirits low as German tourists nudged me with their ample backsides to get me out of the way to get closer to King Phil Neptune. Mermaid Anne lured men with a smile and a flick of her luscious sea-locks, and the last thing they then wanted was to talk to a red-faced fella with a ginger-beard. The market was a hub of activity and liveliness so I headed off to see who I could meet.
Feeling hunger pangs is something we’ve all three gotten used to, so my first though was to try to find someone who might be willing to feed us. However, it was a busy day, as I said, and our situation requires a little explaining sometimes, and I figured it wouldn’t be appreciated to hold up a line of hungry, paying patrons while I asked the owner to help us. So, with a sullen sigh I resolved to wait a while, and let things calm down, and to enjoy the market atmosphere; the smells, the aromas, the scents, the colours, the eclectica on offer, an the assortment of different people, and let it all sink in. So, with my head full of images of pie floaters, I walked past a tentl facing the beach, where a caricaturist was drawing a portrait.

Thinking it would be a good idea to get ours done I approached the rather dapper guy once he’d finished his last one and asked him if he would be interested in drawing our caricatures. Of course, he said, he’d be there until the market closed, and to come by whenever we were done. I shook his hand and we had ourselves a plan.

Telling the King Pectoralis and Fishy Annie the news and they just about condescended to grant me permission to talk to them for long enough to tell them the plan. “Now hasten from view”, they said as I slinked off into the shadows once more. So, tiring of the forced grin I was wearing to stave away the forlorn defeat of uselessness, I went to Adriaan’s tent to watch him draw for a while, to see what we were in for. Inside was Denise, Adriaan’s wife, and we got to talking about the book she’d published herself, called ‘Where Rainbows Live’.
A remarkable book, it in that in its original form it is all quilted, that is, the illustrations and the text were hand sown into a patchwork of quilting, with each page done this way, individually and painstakingly. The book is the paper format of the quilted original, and it loses none of its lustre for being so. I was warming to these people. Especially when she told me that as no publishers had been interested in such a niche, specialised, market, she decided to go it alone and publish herself. Adriaan, she was telling me, is, primarily, a sculptor, specialising in marble, stone, wood and metal.
Things got even more interesting when I found out these good people were the Vanderlugt’s, neighbours of Cate’s in Strathdickie, neighbours of ours for the next couple of days, and so we were invited to come and visit them, to see the sculptures up close and to have a look at some of Denise’s quilted work. As Adriaan drew away I sat there and an arrangement was made for the following day. Anne and Phil dried off in the mortal world of man, posing for Adriaan too, Anne’s regal stature coming across in the portrait.
So, at the end of the day, we helped the Vanderlugt’s pack their stuff away into their car, thanking Adriaan again for the portraits and we agreed to meet the following day. Arriving at their place shortly before lunch, having been digging a storm trench for Cate around her house all morning, we got there up a series of winding stone steps, all laid without mortar, that meandered through the scrub, from the dirt road below, curling its way up through the dense bushland emerging up and onto the Vanderlugt’s property. He had suggested we arrive there that way, and we realised why. Adriaan spent a year building this path, and it was the perfect way to arrive at their home, which had even more to impress us.
Welcoming us warmly he then showed us round as Denise prepared tea and coffee for us. He showed us his sculptures, firstly one called Driving a Dry Well, which was made of recycled farm equipment, an old windmill pump with a propeller, made in the form of a vehicle, that Adriaan assured us “you can take a few friends with you, and go any where you like, at any speed you wish”. There was a five foot long hand carved limestone nudibrance, a tiny slug-like gastropod that grazes the bottom of reefs, that lazed impressively, looking like it was paused mid movement. Another large piece called Soldier Crab sat further up the garden, made of aluminium and recycled copper, and part of his ‘Pun Intended’ series of 1996, it sports an imposing rifle, it’s carapace shaped like a soldiers helmet.

Various busts lined the perimeters, mostly animals and creatures, which form a strong theme in his work. One work in progress, a marble carving of three pelicans, was once a six tonne slab of marble, which for the past twenty years he has been working on, and is arriving at the final stage of polishing. Working in wood he has carved humpback whales diving (Breeching Humpback) out of White Beech, as well as Rocking Kangaroos, which he used to make to order, out of Hoop Pine. There is a large xylophone shaped like fish scales, made of metal, tuned to perfection that Phil banged out a rendition of Waltzing Matilda on, that Adriaan also made.
In his workshop were various trunks of wood “waiting for the right project”, hand-carved oars, various projects began, discarded and turned to something else, slabs of marble “too funny looking to work with, but too precious to get rid of”, and remnants of his previous lives and work, where he told us of his childhood in Canada, after being born in Holland, finally emigrating to Australia thirty years ago after travelling briefly.

Statuettes, sculptures, and figurines abound in and around the Vanderlugt’s home. Inspired by the reef, the rainforest, the wetlands and the sky he has explored these interests for over thirty years, and continues to do so. Developing his passion from his early working with soapstone, a medium inspired by the soapstone sculptures of the Inuit of Canada, where he grew up, he has found a home in Australia, and for over thirty years has lived here.

“With simple tools, I began to carve soapstone, some marble, and even bone. Carving became a passion, but my career in graphic design was demanding much of my energy and my dream of full time sculpting had gone adrift. Memories of travel in Queensland were magnetic and in 1977, I returned to Australia with my Australian wife Denise, and anchored that dream in the magic of the Whitsunday region. Here, in an environment of animals, birds, rainforest and reef, I have a constant source of inspiration”
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