Please note: This chapter is rather lengthy. (Longer than Psalm 119). I wanted to  conclude our New South Wales holiday in January 07, which was filled with many extra-ordinary discoveries.

The next chapter will be the final one in this book - The whole realm of nature.


28.   Vater - The real McCoy

If there are still doubters, unbelievers, who laugh at the whole concept, that God could and would look down on this planet and display his power, they are laughing* at their own risk.

The way Chapter 27 ended, including the Port Adelaide photo, which then became the title for the chapter at the last minute, caused a stir in my spirit as seldom before. There is no other person, who really knew what exactly took place. The conclusion for every thinking human must be: a divine power is at work.


*How else can we explain this? Around 11 am on 5/2/07, the exact time I wrote the above introduction, a song came over Sydney's 2 CH, titled: "Don't laugh at me".

(Remembered, it happened also in Chapter 26)

The only other rational explanation: My writing in monitored, and within minutes (or faster in this case) a fitting song is chosen and aired on the radio I am listening to. Were I to claim this, I'd  be accused of paranoia and grandstanding - that all revolves around me.

The third option, co-incidence, is such a convenient cop-out.


The lead up to the remarkable Number 7 in the sky was almost as sensational as the actual picture. In chapter 26 I had uploaded a photograph of a business C 7, the place who does it all. I had called the chapter C2, C7. The next chapter was No. 27, published on 2/2/2007. And how amazed was I when God led me to 2. Samuel 22, 7? (Let God's perfect timing once again amaze you in this chapter).

There was another, rather uncanny, parallel to an earlier part in my writing. It concerns the photograph at Port Adelaide's Black Diamond Corner ("L-Back, a man D die") corner. (Yes, this unreal, sorry REA L) twist struck me the day after typing, without seeing the brilliant connection.

 I had taken the photo on Sunday 24/12/06, exactly 1 day and 5 months (note 15) prior to July 23. On that day a supernatural series of events, some paper did not ALL burn, but three letters remained among the ashes, the letters REA.(The full story is in chapter 12, which is titled All clear - all ear).

But look at the two remaining letters - CL.... Without zeros, they represent 1 and 5. Whoever designed this remarkable set of circumstances, must have seen that 5 months and 1 Day* ...

* Friends this spooked me. The very second I typed 1 Day, the voice of Sharon Stone sang them in the Seeker's: "Some day, one day..." (2 CH Sydney 11.40 am 5/2/07. Fancy writing about magic and experiencing IT at the same time!).

... later a sign in the sky, the letter L (or 7) was to be in the ski (sic).  Does anyone recall that it was Mr. Landis, who had won the Tour-de-France that day in Paris? Le Tour was sponsored by CLC.

- - - - - - -


Divine Ski Yohurt

The very next morning, after uploading the 7 in the Sky story, I had to smile, as I opened the refrigerator. A brand new tub of yoghurt was looking at me.

Without the wild (Strawberry) flavoured yoghurt and the sensational Acidophilus and Bifidus cultures, oats just don't taste the same.

Any narrow minded critic, who insists that ski is not sky, is absolutely correct. However, let me remind you of the very first time I photographed a sign in the sky. It was in a church carpark in Tustin, California. It was a Y in the sky! (Wind, Chapter 9).

- - - - - - -


(Continuing holidays 15/01/07 - Sydney)

It was surprising to find that you can still park for 2 hours for free within walking distance of the Sydney Central Business District. Jon managed it, after dropping me in Bligh Street. Next he was looking for the Australian Geographic Shop. In Pitt Street Mall we asked an official looking, uniformed gentleman. He didn't know, but directed us to the information centre. We first wanted to check out, how much it would cost to take a ride to the viewing platform of the Sydney Tower. The Australian Geographic Shop was right there.

The two hours went fast with just walking around the jungle of this huge city, doing nothing in particular, apart from a little shopping. Walking through the Domain, on the northern side of the Art Gallery Building, I noted a few items on the grass, unattended. Among the neatly placed items glittered the silver band of an expensive looking watch. On a circular piece of training equipment I noticed the brand name PILATES. Something looked odd.

Two athletic looking men, a long distance from their equipment, were having a workout, boxing, jogging etc. To me they were foolish, leaving valuables unattended. Jon thought nothing was wrong it. I found it odd enough to scribble the incident into my diary - Take away PTL from PILATES, it leaves - ia it. (More IA and PTL to come in this chapter).

Jon drove us through the posh Eastern harbour-side suburbs, where some of Australia's richest live. To make suburbs like Vaucluse, Darling Point, Rose Bay or Piper's Point* your address, requires not only cash, but extra-mega-big-bucks cash.


*Before everybody in Sydney emails me that Pipers Point does not exist, I know. I heard a State Premier only days ago called it that. He was having a shot at the newly elected **Minister for Water Recourses, who lives there or near there. (Postcode 2027; street names - Wolseley Road, Wunulla (U won all). There is also a Wentworth St, not to be confused with Wentworth Rd. Vaucluse.

**This gentleman, by the way, had been visiting Bendigo on the same day Isobel and I had. His initials MT - not a good omen for one who is responsible for keeping water storages full.  


Jon was driving a little fast through the winding eastern suburbs. Finally he decided to park the Suzuki on Wentworth Rd, outside No. 77, near the corner of Olola (Oh la la) Ave. We took a relaxing walk around the beautiful grounds of Vaucluse House, an imposing mansion from a bygone era.

Walking some more, we headed along leafy Coolong Road. Just looking down the driveways showed, this was millionaire's row, where those with too much cash live. There is a special reason I am saying this. In one driveway, close to the road, the mail for the resident was strewn over the footpath. My curiosity took over, all I need was to take two steps and I could read on a large envelope,. who the lucky man, (or woman - sorry) was. The initials were not MT, but GH.


Silly, how I remembered the gentleman's name and googled with it after I had arrived back in Adelaide. I hope this wasn't breaking any law? His name indeed came up on a NSW Government website. There was a long list of names, some with addresses, who had unclaimed money just sitting in a Government account. This gentleman could be $ 25 richer.  But he may be the type, who charges $ 50 to shake his hand. Filling in a form to claim 25 would just not be worth it. (I had just finished uploading chapter 25, how many handshakes would that be worth?)

I found another sum, from memory the person listed lived in Tasmania. He can't be bothered claiming over 7000 Dollars of Superannuation. Unless he doesn't know? Does it not make you feel like writing to him: "If you don't want it, I have IT."

Googling from the top of this list, I was now even more curious, I googled on. Right near the top, was a Mr. Black. He was listed as sitting on $ 505. The suburb was Medindie, South Australia. I instantly recognized it, because it came up in my story rather dramatically (Chapter 13). There was no address given, but it didn't take an Einstein or a Beerstein* to find him in the Adelaide phonebook.


On Saturday 3rd February I happened to be in the area and remembered the address No. 3 ... I didn't carry my street directory, but after a quiet reflection (if YOU want me there, I will be) found the address. It was the last street I was going to search out. No. 3 was on Adelaide's Millionaire row, an L-shaped street.

Nobody was around No. 3 and I didn't fancy ringing the doorbell, saying: "Hey, I found out the NSW Government owes you $ 505. If you don't want it, I have it." Just as I was going to drive away, I noticed his neighbour standing outside his driveway at No. 5. He was watching me, so I simply reversed, to park the car again, and approached him.

I just frankly told him about how I googled and found out his neighbour could be claiming $ 505. You may want to tell him. The mature aged, tall gentleman  was a very friendly, rich man. There are many. Just to be rich is no crime. It's when crime made you rich or you became rich by being greedy and ruthless, then there is a problem. You would not come across as  friendly.

The gentleman even showed interest in my Suzuki. I noted his silver Mercedes in the long driveway. It had a special 4-digit registration plate 1771 (not in that order). It reminded me of the frequency for 1170 Radio 2CH Sydney. Didn't the trail, which brought me here, originate in Sydney?

Hey, on editing I noticed another peculiarity (not 505 Collins Street), but the total amount the two gentlemen can claim: 530 Dollars.


(Back to Sydney, Mon 15/1/07)

In the afternoon Jon took a swim at Dee Why Beach, while I looked on. I noticed the surf life saver, watching a father and son in the water, and warning him about something. The pair in question were displaying the colours red/yellow/blue. (They are our State Colours and play a major role in my saga).  

Years earlier, for an inexplicable reason, I had a real craze about the two colours, red and yellow. Much later, I discovered that these are the colours of Australia's Surf Life Saving Association, the organization, closely associated with the story of Peter Liddy. (More of yellows and reds at the end).


Another T-shirt, a hand me down from one of my sons - National Surf League.


The colours yellow/red are those of the Surf Life Saving League. Without any idea what was to come, right from the start of my weird story I had fixation for these colours (2/3 of traffic lights).

Note the sponsor, Gillette. In St. Kilda,Melbourne a story revolved around a Gillette Razor.

 *How peculiar - During a short break in writing this, I just found out, the quiz show on Channel Nine TV (Bert's Family Feud -5/2/07) has two Surf Life Saving Teams competing, Victoria against New South Wales. They are wearing above colours.

New South Wales won. The prize: 15 000 Dollars for their Club.   

- - - - - - -


Jon and I headed North, leaving Sydney around 9 am. Traffic on the Pacific Highway was not as heavy as I had remembered and expected. At one stage a large bus seemed to accompany us - from the Eagle Tours Co. He was going fast too, flying like an eagle, 123 ...!

Once we left the metropolitan area, to break the monotony of the freeway, Jon and I talked about things. In such a short time we had seen this baby become a mature young man, complete with (part-time) job, motor-car, girlfriend. When it's your youngest, it hits you harder. Our conversation somehow went in the direction I felt real passionate about, justice for a man in jail. At times I wondered, if 17 years is too young for this kind of subject? At 18 he will be voting.

Having had a history of mental illness, I usually end the conversation, when as a cure-all I am advised to go back onto tablets. I plead with any debating partner, of which there is very few, to consider all the evidence I had uncovered and published. If my family were not labelling me mentally ill, there would be little need to discuss the case. Between Sydney and Newcastle was the only time we attempted talking about this subject during this trip.

Lunch was planned for Newcastle. On the way through the Newcastle suburbs we passed the Seventh Day Adventist Church, Wallsend and the Energy Stadium at New Lambton.  These landmarks will forever remain in my memory. They took considerable space in my writing (Wind, Chapter 26). 

We were lucky, a vehicle was just exiting for us to grab the 1/2 hour free parking. Jon had picked Wolfe Street, which was just the one we needed to climb the hill to the Obelisk. About 10 minutes later, as we walked the last few steps to the lookout, I had the strong feeling the piece of paper I saw was planted; for me to see to pick. Under some protest from Jon, I insisted, I take it. 

It was a letter from the Government, advising a gentleman named Cameron P. of his Centrelink payments. The letters P & T in his surname, the street Government Street, the number, very Da Ninci, all made me think, I was on the right track. The township on the address, N&L son Bay, holds the postcode 2315.

On the way down, I briefly picked up the sachet of tablets, which was placed near where the letter had been. I took note of the writing on the drug - PL ...2. It all went so quick, since I was not on my own. The letter I kept, but not the the tablets. How could I explain to be in possession of a sachet of PL ...2 tablets and not know what they are? Telling a policeman about my unusual hobby would not go down well, if they were some prohibited drug.

Jon had never been to Newcastle. Seeing a new place was good for him, enlarging his mental map of the normal, pleasant side of Australia. Having only 1/2 hour parking, we returned the quickest way, the way we came. Half-way down Wolfe Street I saw something, which grabbed me:


From my dairy: An unusual collection. Black seems to be the colour of the month.



Left: I had to remove broken glass, to be able to stick it into my diary. This is how I found the label. Note: Part of the right side is missing.

Do I read it as L - Cruiser Back or Cruise Back L? Genuine 7% Vo ... ALC/VO...

On the way home, 11 days later, in Toolebuc, during a brief toilet stop I found another one. Same product, again I had to remove glass. It was the other side this time, which was intact. This side showed: SER CK nuine 7 % Vodka ... ml 7% ALC/VOL ...RISTOV. (I saw ES, I C K to complete KRISTOV. (Minus R). 


On right: The address from the letter I had picked up: Cameron ...Government Road, Nelson Bay ... a sachet of tablets lay nearby. Message: Government  ... drugs (UR486) ...???

The first name, Cameron, is the same name as that of a Federal Government MP who, I believed, had been framed, disgraced and either blackmailed or simply gagged, as to hide the real truth. He subsequently lost his seat in Canberra.

The name Cameron itself is interesting:  Minus r - Came on, which goes well with the recipient's name of this letter - P&T man!

- - - - - - -


Newcastle: View from King Edward Reserve

Looking for a place to cook lunch, we ended up finding King Edward Reserve. The tables had been freshly painted (dark green) a few day earlier.

Note the T-shirt I am wearing. I could not recall buying this T-shirt, here or in the US. I never took notice of what is written on it until this holiday: LINCOLN Citrus Association, Riverside Co. Cal.

Ironically, at the same time it was reported that a cold snap in California produced snow, which closed parts of Interstate 5 in LA for the first time ever. The cold* snap also badly affected the citrus industry.

* As I typed the word cold, the same second, on radio ABC 891 8.09 PM, the MP for the Electorate of Fisher spoke the word on radio. Such is life. I think I won't report any more of these timing incidences. They happen so frequently. Surely, they happen to others!

- - - - - - -


When I had first met my wife Isobel in Sydney in the early 70's, I lived with her family for a short time. The family owned a holiday house, better described as shack, which Isobel's father had built after the war. Two of his sons regularly use and take responsibility for maintaining and upgrading it. There were many trips, longer holidays and short breaks, when we packed up and travelled up the same Pacific Highway, the one Jon and I were cruising on toward the same destination.

In a place called Taree we refuelled the Suzuki. I was used by now that registration plates were following me virtually all day. As I pumped the tank full of gas, I noticed a vehicle enter the station. The letters LM I read as L won.

Likewise, after we had done a little shopping, a vehicle had parked beside us, rego No. 50L plus 3S's. (On final editing, both plates have a link to L,, one with 1000, the other with 50, which is L in Roman numerals.

A few kilometres north, near Telegraph Point, out of the corner of my eyes a sign of a Petrel Station (sic) flashed. I knew that sign writers don't go to Oxford. To spell Petrol, you don't have to. (Only much later did someone point out, that petrel is a bird). On the return journey I took the photo:


Petrel Station - John's River, NSW



Within minutes I had deciphered the meaning of IT, or ES in German. (It was the way the two letters E S drew attention).

Aha, now I get IT. As I research the exact location (from my diary) I see another point. My diary mentions a sign: To John's Point. (It's near Telegraph Point).

PETREL (minus R, E, E = PTL Praise The Lord).

Any Baptist would tell you: To PTL was John's point.

 - - - - - - -

Flashback to a refuelling stop in Neutral Bay, Sydney (14/1): After filling my tank I had walked inside to pay the cashier. A lady sat in a gopher (electric wheelchair). She was eating an ice cream. She just sat there, blocking the passage somewhat. It was so obvious.

After paying, on the way out the door, on the ground I saw 2 coins: 5c and 10c. I was slightly puzzled and just handed it to the young man at the cashiers. (I wonder if anyone claimed it yet?)

- - - - - - -


In many places we visited on this trip, I observed certain things, making me realize, how far my story had spread. Considering that nearly half of Australia's population is now connected to the net, why should it be surprising that a very unusual, but important story would be passed on, creating a kind of subculture. This was evident also in Isobel's birthplace, Smithtown, a small town on the Macleay River.

Before driving out to Hat Head I briefly showed Jon around Smithtown. The Nestle factory, where her father had worked before moving to Sydney and the Primary School Isobel had attended, were all still operating. The house she grew up in, unfortunately had been moved.


Downtown Smithtown, New South Wales

Mango's at the local shop - 2 for $ 1.00. On the return trip there were at least 3 mobile stalls beside the Freeway, selling cartons of Mango. One or two charged $ 12 per carton.

On the left, a person driving a gopher. At the end of the street, the large roof, is the town hall.

Nearby, I read a sign - Squash 50 Metres, with an arrow pointing right: For a moment I had really thought Smithtown had built some kind of sports facility, for sports lover, who play Squash (It's similar to tennis, played against a wall, not over a net.)

Until I came to a small card table, with a few (I think I counted 16) heads of vegetable and a sign Squash 50c each. I laughed at myself.

- - - - - - -


Hat Head is a picturesque, isolated township, about 20 kilometres from Smithtown. It's perfectly situated, inside Hat Head National Park, at the mouth of a wide creek, Korongo Creek. Above the creek rises a bonnet shaped mountain. Someone must have thought it looked like a hat, and named the town after it. To reach the town you drive through approx. seven kilometres of scrub, hence the seclusion. However, the road is sealed.

A superb eleven-miles-long beach stretches from the mouth of the Creek, right up to Smokey Cape in the distant north. Over the next few days Jon and I had much fun on he beach, in the Creek and hiking up the hill. The weather was prefect, the water temperature very pleasant, great for surfing. Jon tried fishing, but without any luck. I was not much help. Despite our surname, I had never learned the skills and lacked the patience. I preferred more vigorous action, which involves movement. How I missed the bikes.

Not even at the holiday shack did the codes left me to enjoy a little rest. Actually, it was my own fault. I had carried my transistor radio. It was Wednesday 17/1/07. (Can you sm-ell where this is leading to?). I  was just listening, only for a few minutes around breakfast, to hear what was in the news.

A radio host played a quiz with listeners. The question: "Who in the Bible was told to be strong and courageous?" It surprised me that the main commercial station, broadcasting to the region was using a bible verse as quiz question. Equally surprising was that some listeners on air gave the wrong answer.

When the host finally gave the (allegedly) correct answer - David, my detective antenna went up. At first I wasn't going to bother, after all I was on a holiday. But the numbers once again added up. The scripture that immediately came to mind, as answer to the quiz question, was Joshua. In the first chapter, between verses 6-9 in the Book of Joshua, God encouraged Joshua at least three times to be strong and of good courage. (Moses had retired and there was a job vacancy to fill).

Then the numbers kicked in: 1 Joshua 6-9. Aha, these digits made half of the (Sydney-based) radio station's phone number. The other half - 123! Taking it another step, if I were to deduct the digits 1963 from their phone number, it would leave 21. (Any maths lover is welcome to carry on with juggling the figures).

Since it was a toll-free number, and a public phone just across the road, I phoned the station; reluctantly I must add. It was about 5 minutes before the 9 am News. I explained what I'd heard, and suggested that Joshua was probably the right answer. The male voice at the other end simply said, he was given David as the answer. I didn't carry on with the argument, rather made the point that I found it refreshing that they were asking a biblical question.

 - - - - - - -


Australia's beautiful Coastline, Northern New South Wales, approx. half-way between Sydney and Brisbane.

Top: Looking South from South West Rocks.

Centre: Hat Head from H.H.Hill. The stick in my hand was to avoid being caught in spider webs, of which there were many.

The views from the top would be more spectacular, if the lush vegetation was not blocking it.

Bottom: View near the historic lighthouse, Smokey Cape. The short drive from South West Rocks was well worth it;  magnificent views in all directions.


A journal entry for Thursday 18/1/07 mentions a house for sale in Hat Head. The agent' name is rather unique - Winsome. The house for sale was in Ward Street. The agent was part of the First National Group, the same one, whose name produced real magic in the previous chapter.

On the same day I happened to read the January 07 Readers Digest. On page 118 I recognized a name, an identical first and surname of a person in Chicago, to one I knew of in Australia. Because the date was 1/18 I was mildly amazed.

The next day, another weird discovery, again with the date to match. Jon thought it was crazy to even think about it. As we were having breakfast, watching television, I looked and counted the window panes of the large window above the TV. There were 9. The main entrance door right beside it, consisted of 11 individual window panes. The date happened to be 1/19*, if you allow me to write it US style. (TV can't have been too interesting, when I found more fun in counting window panes).


*This is remarkable timing, the very latest - happened 15 minutes before writing:

After this last paragraph I took my dinner break and Becky for her regular walk. In Yulinda Tce I saw an expired motor vehicle registration label, which I had seen days earlier, but ignored.

Today my curiosity made me just take it. It was folded and stuck together. I ripped it open. This is what I was left with, already in my diary:

The expiry date was Jan 19th 07, the exact date I had been writing about before my dinner break.

The label had belonged to a Ford. Forgive me for disguising the registration number. I did it for ME, who lives around the corner at No. 24.


Now, if Jon were to listen to this co-incident, would he still think, counting window panes is crazy? My family does not even want listen to these stories, so how can they judge?

My son Jon hold's the driver's licence No. BGI3I6. He does not know how special this number is, it's BIG! 

My big disappointment is not their rejection of what I do, or how I view the world. It's the fact they judge me, without having made any serious attempt to first understand me.

This is the most frustrating aspect of this dilemma. Unbelievers do this constantly, judge the bible, judge God and those who believe what they call fairy-tales, without ever seriously attempting to understand the amazing story of God and his BIG son Jesus.

- - - - - - -


On that same morning, Friday January 19th, I went to buy a few supplies from Kempsey. JOn (sic) was happy staying back. I was happy having fun, the kind he would not find amusing.

Firstly, I decided to have another look around Smithtown, which was on the way. I parked in a shady spot near the Town Hall and took a brisk walk up Rawson Street. An elderly couple sitting on their first floor balcony waved, as I walked by. There was hardly anybody else around. Without looking particularly, I saw a piece of wood, shaped like a J, on the roadway (there was no footpath). I registered it, but ignored it also.

In a nanosecond, a few metres further on, lay a piece of black rubber, a kind of plug, except it had a hole in the centre. One side of the rubber was re-enforced, with + / x pattern around the small hole in the centre. Since there are no souvenir shops in Smithtown, I thought the the letters JO would be OK to take home. (If I were to spot a N in Kempsey, I'd kick myself for a missed opportunity to make Jon happy (or unhappy?).

(For photo see next Chapter - 29)

I returned via Belmont Street, another Smithtown main street. I especially looked out for a place on the left, which used to be the church Isobel's father preached at. Without being 100 % certain, I recognized the Child Care Centre, at No. 51, as the probable place, which once could have been this place of worship.

The main shops etc were in Kempsey, another 20 kilometres or so, south via the Pacific Highway. I found a vacant car park right near a real-estate agent, where I first returned a For Sale sign to. I had found it a day earlier. I liked their address - 50 Smith Street.  

Walking the short distance to the supermarket, I had a two-minute browse at the Abbey Markets, which were on that morning. I admired a little boy, Noah, being looked after by his aunty. I must be at the age, where I lack grand-children. They would love my finds, laugh at my jokes and admire my detective skills. I love seeing children have fun. There was nothing I really needed at these markets. New Age regalia, like candles, door-chimes or nose-rings, were not my forte.

Taking my grocery shopping back to the car, I phoned Isobel. While doing so, another round item teased me, both by the shape and the colour - Lavender.  It was a hair elastic,  the kind women wear, to hold back their hair. (Maybe, even male tennis players and soccer players, like No. 4 Angelo, wear them?).

The location, where I'd picked it up, made me think, Y man? In large letters it read: MANY RIVERS COUNSELLING CENTRE. Just as I pondered what to write next, my diary gave me their full name, Counselling and - Legal (Leg LA) Centre. I saw a very distant possibility. So distant in fact, it would suit only a few chosen ones. Those who can walk on water.

- - - - - - -


Wonka candy - Won OK.

During my last early morning walk in Hat Head, I felt compelled, the usual story, to pick up these two things.

Left: B.PAY-Biller code: 150961. Three days earlier I had corrected a Sydney Radio station: The answer to your quiz should be Joshua 1, 6-9.

Right: Judge for yourself, madness or not? The candy wrapper: Wonka - won OK. Best Before 26/4/08. Do I see the hidden code, numbers 486?

The number underneath contains the 1170, which I could also link to a radio station.

I am reporting all this to demonstrate either, my madness or God's magic, if indeed some ardent followers (online and on foot) had anything to do with this.

The evidence is there, the choice is yours.


- - - - - - -       



Before returning to Hat Head I took a short drive out to West Kempsey. I had never been that way. Out of the corner of my eyes I spotted registration plate ...191. A vehicle, with a trailer (?) had parked on a reserve. Some people were nearby, as if waiting for something or someone.

I was already well aware, 191 was that day's date, so why not play the game? (Plus the basketball score 111:99 was only 9 days old). I turned my vehicle around, parked the car, walked to the nearby toilets, which were locked. Walking back, in passing I said to the spectators, a man and a woman: "Is there anything more useless than a locked toilet?"

Returning to Kempsey I drove a different way, via Eden Street, where I spotted a toilet in another reserve on the banks of the Macleay River. The reserve beside the river had the unique name, Riverside Park. I spent a few minutes looking around and reading the tourist information.

Returning to the car, I could not bring myself to ignore and walk past the rubbish, someone had left behind on the lawn. One item was a drink container; the large letters OAK may have made me pick it up and dump it into a bin.

Getting back to my Suzuki I read the bumper sticker of the vehicle beside me. "Nothing is impossible with God". Well put, I thought. Had it read, nothing is impossible for God, it would mean that God does it all, which is not quite right; a cop-out for lazy Christians. We must do what we can. God will do what we can't. Thanks to the driver for reminding us with a bumper sticker: With God nothing is impossible.

My plan was to return home on the other side of the Macleay River, which I crossed in the car. (I may walk it another time). Soon after, as if an auto-pilot inside me switched on, I spotted Innes Street, which was already in East Kempsey. The name Innes rang a bell, which made me turn right. A small street Herbourne St. was leading off to my right. Because it was closed at the end, I drove around, just to check, where it ended. This lead me to Lord Street. I paused for a few moments, wondering why, before driving on home.

It was refreshing to see green, lush meadows, beside a river with lots of water. Adelaide had not seen good, soaking rain for a long time. (Later I found out, Adelaide and many country regions had their best rainfalls around that same time).

Back at the shack Jon had prepared a two-course lunch: Boiled rice and salad. Nice to see his cooking skills in action. In the afternoon, for the second time, we took our camping beds, and had fun floating down Korongo Creek. We had learned our lesson from the day before, when it was too shallow in places, even for an airbed. This time we judged the tide better. Floating slowly along with the outgoing tide on an airbed, with nothing but birds and the blue sky to watch, made me wish time stood still.

In the evening we took a drive north to visit the popular tourist town South West Rocks. We drove along a quite country road, along the banks of the Macleay River. Had I been on my own I would have explored the quaint village of Jerseyville, which has a tiny port. I have fond memories of many cycling excursions all over this district: Quiet flat roads, green meadows with contented cows grazing beside the many rivers, perfect.

The most outstanding pleasures during earlier holidays in Hat Head was riding the bicycle all the way from Hat Head to Smokey Cape at low tide. How I missed the bike on this trip!

After exploring around the historic lighthouse, taking a few photos, Jon and I bought some chips at South West Rocks. We ate them on the foreshore, watching a few brave surfers still in the water. The place was filled with tourists and holidaymakers. We spent an hour or so, just walking around, looking and licking an ice cream, for something to so. What surprise me, was the total absence of seagulls. Where had all the seagulls gone?

When on holidays in a seaside town like this, one always gets the feeling, I could live here. So did I. The windows of real estate agents became the outlet of the dream, which ended before the ice cream did. Then you wished you had bought some waterfront real estate 30 years ago, when the telephone number of the estate-agent was longer than the advertised price tag of the property for sale.

Earlier on arriving I had seen a Sunkist Soft drink can on the side of the road near the cinema. As we walked past, for a moment only, I contemplated picking it up - More than one Sunkist can held memories in my story. But I refrained. Not only would Jon disapprove, but locals may question, why a visitor from South Australia was so desperate for a 5c returnable can?

Then again, who cares what others think. Does anyone care about anyone else at all?

- - - - - - -


Port Macquarie NSW, popular tourist centre on the Hastings River.

Jon snapped this picture of his Vater (father), during a brief stop and stroll around Port Macquarie.

 Just ponder - How easy it is to produce water! Start with Vater ...


- - - - - - - 


The next morning, Saturday 20/1, after only three full days in Hat Head, it was time to pack and head back south and toward home. We stopped at Port Macquarie, Taree and Forster-Tuncurry, where we also visited a cousin of Isobel, whose family originated from Smithtown. We cruised mainly on the slower, scenic roads, which again hold memories.

I had travelled down this coastline by bicycle, from Hat Head to Sydney, in the 1990's. A few times I told Jon of some of the experiences I had, like running out of water, on the road to Bulahdelah and having to flag down a motorist in desperation. (So many stories, so little time).

Our destination that evening was The Entrance, 80 kilometres or so, north of Sydney. We had never considered making a booking to put our tent up. It took a few minutes driving around, trying to find something reasonably priced. After having missed the turnoff to a Caravan Park, I did a U-turn to follow the sign. Had I not done so, I may have missed a blue sign: To New Life Chapel. In my mind I knew, I'd be checking this chapel out the next morning, a Sunday.

It was well after 8 PM when we finally put up our tent in a caravan park right opposite a lake. The place was aptly called Lakeview Caravan Park. Of course, we could have covered much more ground in one day, well beyond Sydney, but there was a reason we stayed on the Central Coast for two nights; a football match, read on. 

A young couple in a van opposite us, two or three camp sites away, had music playing rather loudly. At first I put up with it, hoping someone would realize, the volume needed reducing. When nothing changed, after I had put up the tent and was looking for a little relaxation, I said to Jon: "Does the music annoy you?"

I can't recall his answer, but isn't the first reaction to say nothing and hope it would stop soon? Often we rather suffer in silence, than face the fear, why we won't take action. A camper playing their music really loudly, so a whole section of the caravan park has to listen, if they liked it or not, I regard as bullying. It puzzled me, why they did not see (or hear) it themselves, how rude this was).

In the end I walked over and quietly asked them politely, if they would turn down the volume, which they did. I was meant to have a chat with them sometime later, but they left early the next morning.

As I am writing a thought came. Was the music a way of alienating themselves on purpose? Did they intent to, even in a subconscious way, avoid getting too friendly with anyone around them? If so, this is just what happened.


The Entrance, on New South Wale's Central Coast, official Pelican Capital of the World.


Top: Every afternoon at The Entrance's foreshore there is the Feeding of the Pelicans. It started after a shopkeeper used to throw scraps of food to pelicans. When they were late, the pelicans would cross the road and "demand" to be fed.

Daily at 3.30 PM, rain, hail or should the pelicans lose their appetite, which has never happened yet, the Feeding of the Pelicans draws crowds of tourists (The above is not it, we missed it).

Bottom: Lakeview Tourist Park, Minto St. Long Jetty. The blank space, between the blue towel and the tree, is Tuggerah Lake. The haze was caused by bushfires, which were burning, and had done so for some weeks in parts of New South Wales.

The fires caused a late start at the football that evening, plus another little surprise ...

- - - - - - - 


It was a great morning to be alive, to be on holiday in a place you had never been before, with a huge lake and a walking track at your doorstep. I took a long walk with the idea of finding out the starting time of New Life Chapel. I had a rough idea, where it was located, having seen the sign the evening before.

The suburb was called Long Jetty, which was not quite true. There was a long jetty and a short one. The short one came first, so I walked out the short jetty, just enjoying the fresh morning, when I saw some rubbish on the shore. I was not in a clean up mood (the Clean story came the next day), but I decided to do the good deed anyway, after I spotted two green garbage bins for ready disposal.

Just before I reached the bins a big garbage truck drove up. A workman emptied the bins. He and the truck disappeared again, before I had reached them. I would have like to ask them, why on Sunday morning? (Later back home, I emailed the Wyong Council, read on. (Aha, I just thought of something. If Y was R ... it could be wrong).

There were many more thoughts, finds, connections I saw that morning, too many to explain. Allow me to detail two, which stand out.

The first item was a baby sock. I saw it on the ground, only moments after dumping the rubbish. (I had reported about a baby sock find in the US). This time I did not keep it. I just left it on a wooden post beside the road. As if it was all a game being played, on the return walk, a fair distance away (50, 100 metres, I can't recall), by sheer fluke I picked up the matching baby sock. Puzzled for a moment, I walked to where I had placed the first one. What now?

Looking around, not far away outside a house on Tuggerah Parade, on the grassed nature strip, I saw a baby bouncer (a bit of equipment, into which you strap in a baby, so it can have fun bouncing). It had been left there, on its own. Because it looked so out of place, it drew attention. It was the closest match to a pair of baby socks, so I just placed them there and went my way. 

(Some time ago I had decided to not keep certain items, like drugs and baby clothes).

The next bit, which I could not resist picking up, was a piece of coloured paper, with the large letters mango. That word registered in an instant. I could not ignore it. It was a leaflet by a Book Club (Doubleday), advertising Red Hot reads - 3 for only $ 1. (I just saw the word Red, how fitting - football that same evening).


Stop Press: In another, rather timely twist, on the morning of writing a result of an international football match is in the news. Denmark and Australia had played a friendly match in London. Denmark won 3:1. Australia scored their only goal in the final 5 minutes.

Read more about football below - a red hot Adelaide United player was on fire. 

- - - - - - -


Offer - 3 RED HOT READS for $1.

More magic. I picked this off the grass, simply because I read mango. I had no idea that the numbers 3/1 were to come alive again that evening. Adelaide United was to win their match at Gosford 3:1.

Left: My entry ticket to Bluetongue Stadium. This venue is in a very picturesque setting. It is U-shaped. The eastern end is open. Spectator can looks out over Palm trees to the blue waters of the Pacific beyond. (How much they do depends on the standard of the soccer being played). 

- - - - - - -


Walking on, and I do it fast, I found New Life Chapel. From memory it was in Stella Street. A large sign outside advised that the church had relocated to 22 Adelaide Street. Now I remembered, seeing the street sign (Adelaide Street) the day before, as we drove in. A lady, who lived at the back of the church, told me where it was. Church was to start at 10 AM.

Jon dropped me right on starting time. I didn't know where to sit, so I just walked in and looked around. As I walked in I spotted a man in front of a  laptop computer. His name tab read Lonsdale. I recalled, how a year earlier I had also been on holiday with Jon, at Point Lonsdale.


But there is more: On 7/2/07, the day of writing this chapter, during a break I caught a 30 second segment of a popular TV program, the first episode for the year. What spooked me were two names on the screen.

One, an actor got out from a vehicle - sign written on the door was Killarney. Killarney Vale was the suburb I had walked to on Monday morning, the day after above church service (Read it below).

Next I noticed the actors cap he was wearing. The writing on it: Lonsdale.


Toward the front of the hall, which looked nothing like a church (it was an ex community centre) I spotted a seat and sat down. A lady soon invited me to sit with them. I was introduced to Jim, David and a young man Victor, from Sweden. Later a man named Bruce, a medical practitioner, sat next to me.

This church was different to any I have ever been to. The congregation sat on round tables. Coffee or tea was served during a break. The singing was well balanced, both in terms of choice of song and volume. The church was affiliated to the "Vineyard" movement. Parts of their worship may put some people off. The sermon, however, was very uplifting and intelligently presented.

I left immediately after the sermon. Jon was picking me up at 11.45 am, which worked out perfect timing.  As I walked out quietly, while everybody was praying, I recognized the lady, who had given me directions earlier that morning. She had not mentioned the name of the suburb. It's a double word name Tumbi Umbi, Postcode 2261.

So I was not the first one to use names, inserting a T, just for the fun of it. Mr. Google told me - Tumbi Umbi means - "place of big Trees". The church, abbreviated, is called TLCF.

We took our time, finding a shaded spot in the heat, cooking lunch in the caravan park, under a big tree. (To be truthful, it was fairly average). Later we had a bodysurf at Blue Beach. The water was icy cold. Someone told us later a certain cold stream had come from the south, causing the water temperature to be only around 14 -16 degrees. Ten minutes in the water was enough.

Afterwards, we noticed the sign: No flags (no surf life savers on duty)  no swimming. There were plenty of people swimming. They should have had a sign, advising to read the sign before swimming.    

The big event that evening was the last regular match of Australia's A-League. Central Coast Mariners hosted Adelaide United. We had arrived early. Getting a car park and tickets was not problem. Before finding a seat I noticed, inside the grounds, Bluetongue Stadium, a Citroen 2 CV, which obviously belonged to a staff member. It was a warm night. The attendance was 8128, a good result, considering the home team had not qualified for the finals, and the venue was not in a capital city.

At first Jon and I thought we'd be the only supporters there. Eventually we found a few red tops to sit with. They were also holidaying and combined it with this event. A little later, some flag-waving supporters from The Red Army, a United-supporters group, arrived with a few cheers and whistles from the opposition. I did not see one supporter from The Gate, the main Reds-Fan-Club. 

Obviously no bus had been arranged to bring them from Adelaide. About 15 of us, or so, was it. Somebody once told me, approx. 190 million viewers were watching the A-League via Foxtel. I was sure this match would not create such enormous interest. Still, I was careful not to be picking my nose that evening.

That we were watched and recognized was evident after a phone call from my friend Geoff back in Adelaide to us in the stadium: "Why is Jon not wearing a red shirt?" I could hear little else above the noise.


Mariner supporters (yellow) among the Reds.

 Young Nathan Burns opened Adelaide's scoreline in the 10th minute, adding another two, in the 50 and 66th minute.

Tom Pondeljak's spectacular shot high into the Adelaide goal in the 77th minute was, according to their website, their best goal for the season.

The final score line:  Adelaide   3 : 1   C C Mariners.

 After Mariner supporters realized their last match for the season was a loss, some Yellows came over to visit the Reds to drum up some fun (not trouble?)



All during the match the eastern sky was filled with thick smoke. The bushfire was causing havoc on the F3. Kick-off was delayed by half an hour, not because of the smoke, it did not blow in that direction, but because the referee was delayed. He had been stuck in traffic on the F3. I had a chuckle to myself - the game was held up by fire, and a player named Burns scored a hat-trick.

Driving back to The Entrance we encountered a few drops of rain, not even enough to operate the windscreen wipers. Back at the caravan park Jon mentioned that my snoring keeps him awake. To solve the problem I slept in the Suzuki, which I had done on a number of occasions.

On Monday morning, despite having to pack up, I didn't miss my walk. I decided to walk along the foreshore in the opposite direction to the day before. Later I learned the suburb is called Killarney Vale.

Just over the footbridge, in big letters on an empty carton of Bourbon Whiskey, my first find: The Real McCoy. (At the time the word REAL had not yet appeared. The word real, by the way, has the same spelling and meaning in German - genuine).

Another paper I found was that of a ladies payslip. I could read all her private details, how much money she had earned ($ 6114) and how much tax she had paid ($ 844). Her net earning came to exactly $ 5300. Her surname ends in SOS, her first name in COLA. I even read her name and address, born 1965 (reasonably young), but ... not much income.

A little further on, I was puzzled, really puzzled as to why it was. It was the Clean incident, one of the reasons I contacted the Wyong Shire Council. A street just over the small bridge is called McLean Street. Of course I didn't ask the Council, if they meant Son of Lean Street. I emailed and asked them about another peculiar street, only 4 street further on. It did not escape my eagle-eye and back-to-front brain.

I also wanted to express displeasure, that they had chosen to allow public garbage bins to be emptied early on Sunday morning. Here is what I wrote in an email to the Wyong Council:

(Date 23/01/07):

Hi all,
We just returned to Adelaide from a most enjoyable, short stay at Long Jetty. On Sunday morning *(22/1/07) I happened to be up early for a walk on the foreshore, when to my amazement a garbage truck was emptying the rubbish bins. Is there a message here - Sunday is just like any other day? If so, it is sad. The Lord's Day is something special. What are we making out of it?
Kind regards
Dieter Fischer

Ephe 511/M1SV888
PS Another thing puzzled me - Why name a street off Lucinda Ave - *three streets from McLean Street - Naelcm Street. Somebody is living life in reverse.


*(The date is a mistake, it was Sunday 21/7 and it's 4 streets away).

The number M1SV888 is a code I think I deciphered that morning. It's meant to represent 158. It started with the number 1000 (M) written on the footpath. SV I saw painted on a pole. The Number 8 I read later on a large bolt*, which is actually 14 mm wide. Unless the 8 originated from a real-estate agent's For Sale sign. The last 4 digits were 8.

(* Photo next chapter - 29)

Just double checking their name in Google, I think the real estate agent, is the clue. His name, jumbled up, make the phrase: A man do (only an R left over). Maybe the mango paper was part of it. The plot thickens.

A little further googling, what co-incidence, brought me to the house I may have seen that morning, a property right opposite the lake. The first six-digits of the 9 digit property number are: 103 282 ... 

Do you understand, why I inserted the name Joel (as a middle name) into the email I just sent to the agent? Nothing is too hard with God.


The Council replied to my email, but wasn't able to answer my question regarding the street name. Neither did they ask me what my codes in the PS meant. Now they know.

The final comment in above email - somebody is living life in reverse - is phrased like this for a reason. The booklet I use for my daily bible reading (The InTouch Magazine) has on their January 07 Editon front cover the main headline: are you living life in reverse (all in lower case).

- - - - - - -



Why CO son? Real means genuine, both in English and German.

What the world needs is reality, the real McCoy, no matter how unreal it all sounds.

- - - - - - -


Progress on the morning of departure was slow. The F3 was still closed. Everybody used the old Pacific Highway. Driving through Berowra, Cowan, we sensed that we were real close to the fires. We saw fire engines trying to get through the traffic and spectators looking over the valley, where the smoke originated from.

At one point Elvis, the fire fighting aircraft, must have been right above us. A few drops of water appeared on our windscreen. Listening to the radio, we found out later that all traffic to the Central Coast was again halted. Both the F3 and the Pacific Highway were closed. We must have just gotten through.

On the western outskirts of Sydney, another calamity. A gas leak (kael sag, backwards) caused the closure of a major road, Cumberland Road. We did our best to find our way around it. Jon commented, how the news was following us, or we were chasing it.

In Binalong Street (just like been-a-long) my quick brain, in a nano-second, caught five traffic cones, plus the rego-plates 04 and 67. I saw a sequence, which only needed 123 to complete 1-7.

I made Jon do a U-Turn, promising it would only set us back 20 seconds. Opposite to the five cones, which a tradesman working inside a property, had put around his small truck, I made Jon do another U-Turn. As promised my little game hardly took 20 seconds. The tradesmen will know now, whose been along.

An hour or so later, cruising south on the M5, a news item came over the radio: The all- clear was given. No gas had exploded near Cumberland Road, Wentworthville. (Aha, Cumberland - sounds a bit like ... Cootamundra, sort of).

(Nearly home, only 1550 kilometres to go).

The Suzuki really did a fantastic job.  We refuelled in Liverpool, just before the M 5 Motorway. Petrol had dropped to $ 1.069 per litre, since crude was at it's lowest for many months (US$ 52/barrel). Our destination for the day was Hay. We were hoping to make Hay, while the sun shone.

Before turning from the Hume Highway onto the Sturt Highway, many motorists stop at a place called the Dog on the Tuckerbox. It's famous, because at that spot, a dog once sat on a tuckerbox (foodbox), I think. It became a landmark, because there were no pelicans to attract visitors, so a dog did the trick.

Driving along I had the distinct feeling, we ought to not stop there, but take the exit and visit Gundagai for a toilet stop and stroll. We did, so I took a short, brisk walk up the main road, crossed over to other side and walked back with a slight detour at the end.

This did it. How it happened I don't know, but I happened to see a white piece of paper on the ground, near the path to the Library. I really struggled, because ... ? Did I get tired of playing this game? Had I exhausted my curiosity, my capacity for more?

Whatever, I picked it up. It was receipt from a cash register of the Bag-a-bargain Store. It was not from Gundagai, but Tumut, which I looked up, was 33 kilometres away.

Mut, the German word for courage, had only just been mentioned in one of my chapters. Reading Mut backwards, I had used the phrase TUM as Totally Unplanned Magic. Was what I felt led to real TUM from Tumut? (They call it palindrome, when a word spells the same backwards - another one in a moment).

I will spare you all the other codes I saw on the docket. Only the one, which I just discovered, as I looked at it again. The product number 24/82. The product purchase was a wig, costing $ 6.99. It surprised me that in such a small town this shop had opened on Sunday 21/1/07, the date on the docket. As I walked on to where Jon was waiting I noted a few registration numbers. One stood out  - 12C.

Considering the detours and traffic jam, plus a brief stop in Wagga Wagga, we felt pleased, with ourselves and the Suzuki, that we made Hay just as the sun was setting, (around 8.15 PM).

The next morning I bargained with Jon. Since it was too far to walk to Hay and back from the Caravan Park, I just wanted to take a quick walk around Hay. My 17-year-old, excited to be going home, agreed to give me ten minutes. After breakfast and packing up, he drove us over the bridge, and waited for me near the tennis courts.

I purposely walked around the back streets first, otherwise I'd see too many codes in the shop windows. But the back streets were no different. Opposite house No. 153 was a rego number 50 NY. Da Ninci enough to make it into my diary.

Back in the main street, I had not forgotten, I took a photo of the TINT King place, which unfortunately didn't come out. Just by the tennis courts a street name (Randall) made me turn left. Still walking briskly, hoping to be able to circle around the tennis court, I came to the river. I had not realized that Hay has a river running behind the town as well.

In Pollard Street, on a gate I saw a notice, which announced  - No Kayaks until 27/01/07 - Very early, on the morning of writing, the code came: Kayak is also a palindrome. Starting in the centre I visualized Y ak as why OK. The small word no here could mean number. Did somebody give the OK to my numbers?

Right opposite was a caravan parked; just one, a long one by itself. It displayed a sticker, where it had been bought - at Forbes Caravans. For b it is how I read Forbes. The registration plate was a combination of  4, 8, and 6s, with a few 0s in between.

Jon was pleased I kept my promise of 10 minutes. He drove most of the way home, carefully as always. Before Ouyen, around 11 am, my brain must have been thinking about the caravan. It saw the 486 - won (or C) code, when Jon slowed down as we approached road works. The first sign read 80, the second 60 and you guessed it - 40 km/h. After it was all done (nothing looked like was being done) the speed went back to 100 km/h.

The slightest hint, how I saw 486, would cause an adverse reaction in Jon. I kept my mouth shut, my fingers would later tell everyone. Feeding my thoughts into the P/C kept me sane over the years, I am convinced of that.

We refuelled in the small township of Ouyen and had an early lunch. Again I took a walk, 15 minutes this time. The first parked vehicle I saw, walking past the impressive looking hotel and turning left, was a Ute. It was parked underneath a huge advertising billboard: SAMURAI (SAM UR A1).

But it was the Ute's rego plate, which fitted in with the road works earlier. It again points to the absolute power, God displayed so timely, giving us all a message regarding RU 486.  If I were to deduct RU 486 from the Ute's registration number, only one letter is left - G.

Our 12-day holiday was coming to a close. I could have reported much, much more, but tried to concentrate on what stood out in my diary and in my mind.

The main beneficiaries of these stories are the few, who with an open mind, had embarked on an intelligent way of testing, if indeed the weird blogger, who claims to be guided by God, really would see and do. If this isso, and they are genuine, the will find God in all of this, seemingly confusing, writing.

If this is not so, all I can say: I did what I thought I had to do. But nobody expects us to be jumping over our shadow.

If what I reported sounded like my holidays consisted of mainly deciphering codes and picking up things, it did not. There were many, many hours of normal activities, fun with or without Jon. To report these is not the aim this story. It would bore me as much as you the reader.

This holiday was about showing folks in other parts of Australia that IT is REAL, that HE is real and that HE is powerful beyond our wildest imagination. Try HIM and see how good the Lord is - all good.

As we made our way north along Bridge Road, about a kilometre from home, the time was just after 4 PM. At the traffic lights on Kesters Road a bus turned south onto Bridge Road. I clearly read the registration number ...741. Our tripmeter for the entire journey showed 4417 kilometres.

For a brief moment I detected a degree of amazement in Jon's face.

Chapter 29