Revisiting Tao of the Tiger, originally published circa 2016
Our first decade on the Gold Coast was relatively uneventful.
Three sisters Maureen, Babe and Jen as well a mum were now living here so this became the base for clan activities. Sam was overseas on postings - Indonesia and Thailand; John still in America, Greg in Tumut, Sue in Townsville.
Carmel got a steady job with the Salvation Army - Drug and Alcohol Rehabilitation Unit. For me it proved pointless to get a salaried position. So I tried a succession of self employment interventions.
In a sense I was buying a job.
Caption: Carm & Emma outside in Front garden - 30 Sweetgum Street, Benowa
Caption; Emma & Friend in School uniform
In 1991, we purchased a house at 30 Sweetgum Street Ashmore.
It was a larger than usual house as we had the intention of offering Home Stays to international students.
We jumped in and committed to three girls.
Gabrielle from Surabaya, Indonesia
Christine from Singapore, and
Salma also from Singapore
Christine stayed four years, Gabrielle three years and Salma - almost three years.
In this period, Sweetgum Street was "Open House". The girls, their friends, boyfriends etc would convene Chez Sweetgum. Emma was invited to soirees, parties, picnics and celebrations. It was multinational: Indonesian; Singaporean Chinese; Singaporean Malays; Japanese; Thais.
Gabrielle took Emma to Surabaya for Xmas holidays. Emma was 16. I believe she was treated very well by Gabrielle's family which I had met (see Surabaya below).
Gabrielle's, sisters (two), mother, father and matriarch grandmother visited the Gold Coast to attend her graduation at Griffith University. We took photos lots of photos.
Caption: Gabrielle's, sisters (two), mother, father and matriarch grandmother visited the Gold Coast to attend her graduation at Griffith University. We took photos lots of photos.
Photo 1990: Carmel and Emma were guests at Christine's wedding to Mohan (travelled to Singapore). Both were catholic, Chistine was Chinese and Mohan Indian.
In later years we downsized to one student per year a girl (Miranda Lee) from Singapore and a girl (????) from Indonesia. The latter was pregnant. Her husband Budywan (Budi) arrived from Indonesia latter. He was enrolled in an aviation course.
Both were devout Muslims but worldly smart and a credit to Indonesia.
As for Salma (also a Muslim) our solution was to have a dedicated cooking pan and a few utensils set aside if and when we were cooking pork.
We met many of their friends whom you could see were enjoying their in-country experience and would be returning as Ambassadors for Australia.
Their infant died at childbirth. They buried him in Southport cemetery. As much as we were proxy there would have been no substitute for close family at this time.
"Hey Honey, Take a Walk on the Wild Side"
Like the singer/writer, Lou Reed, I must have been smoking dope when I took up the following cudgel:
In 1995, French president Jacques Chirac’s government decided to run a nuclear test series at Mururoa in the Pacific Ocean.
There was worldwide protest particularly from Australia and NZ.
I recall a slogan "Do it in your own back yard"
I took it personally. In part because it was, indeed, Australia's back yard; because I understood the fragile ecosystem of a coral atoll environment after living in the Cocos Islands but the real reason was there was no need.
All nuclear powers had agreed to a comprehensive test ban to be in force in 12 months - hence the testing was pointless.
I also recalled Emma (aged about 8) having breathing problems whereupon our GP recommended a visit to a child psychologist. It turned out that she was terrified as to the doomsday nature of nuclear weapons.
So, I decided to do something about it.
...
I sent personal three faxes to Mr Chirac c/- the French Embassy in Canberra along the following lines:
Dear Mr Chirac
I am a very proud Francophone having lived in your wonderful country for several years .
My uncle was a soldier in the Great War and he died there along with 50,000 fellow Australians.
I notice how grateful the French are, even today, for this sacrifice and the importance France gives to public acts of appreciation.
But I hear on the news that your government ...
This is not the act of a neighbour ... the damage to the environment ... frankly there is no need.
So I will close now hoping that you will reconsider.
Yours sincerely
The French Goverment's "reply": Boom!
...
Dear Mr Chirac
Maybe I did not make myself clear ...
Same response - but a bigger Booooom!
Hey Dickhead ...
You are pissing me off as well as a lot of Ozzies and Kiwis ...
Same ... a bigger bigger Boooooooooom!
Carmel said I was “bonkers,” and the Frog Embassy probably thought so too. Yes, I know it was unrealistic and pointless — but I suppose I have a Quixote-like penchant for tilting at windmills. .
...
The Right Hon Mr Paul Keating
Prime Minister of Australia
I observe in the media that your government is as angry as I am about the incalcitrance of Mr Chirac in not stopping nuclear testing in our back yard.
Let’s do something to stick it to the French.
My Uncle died in the Great War in 1918.
He was awarded a Military Medal for bravery at Ypres in neighboring Belgium.
He is buried in a war grave in France not far from the border.
As a symbolic protest, I want you to dig him up and plant him in Belgium.
in doing so, I believe the French would be mortified and it seems to me that such a strong symbolic action is now warranted.
...Several months later (after the Comprehensive Nuclear Test Ban Treaty was in place) a letter arrived from the Department of the Prime Minister and Cabinet:
Dear Mr Malone
The Prime Minister, Mr Paul Keating, has asked that I respond to your letter of ....requesting that you dig up Private John James Stuart ...
Under section ?? clause ?? sub paragraph ??? of the Commonwealth War Graves Act it is an offence to desecrate a grave site ... so we cannot accede to your request.
You should know that despite this setback our bilateral relations .... exported ???? tonnes of apples ... pears and bananas.
Signed
.......
First Assistant Secretary
"Hmmm! Yeh! I used to draft such letters"
Everybody remembers where they were at this momentous time.
I was our home at Villas Monte Carlo in Surfers Paradise. We owned and managed a small Management Rights business.
It was just past midnight. I was still up - watching TV.
There was an historical documentary about the Rumble in the Jungle where Muhammad Ali was boxing against George Foreman in the Republic of Congo (Africa). I was a big M. Ali fan.
There was footage showing Ali fooling around (as he usually did) in the interior of an aircraft that was flying to the Congo. Sub titles began to flow across the bottom of the screen. ... Planes crashes into World Trade Centre Tower in New York... I took little notice thinking it was part of the script and Ali would do or say something outrageous to put the sub titles in context.
For the next 10 minutes or so this message appeared again and again until the ABC patched into the American network.
Then we got pictures followed shortly by sound. One building was smouldering. The commentator was winging it. The second aircraft had not appeared.
I watched and watched - mesmerised.
I do not know what time I awoke Carmel. Part of me suggested I spare her anguish. Part of me said otherwise.
The next day I broke down when I saw replays of firemen rushing in while others were rushing out of the building.
We were now in the internet age.
Unlike "a walk on the wild side - my fatuous missives to comrades Chirac and Keeting", I was serious when I emailed the US Ambassador in Canberra.
I expressed my personal sympathy about the attack.
I went on to state that desperate times need desperate methods.
I pointed out my experience in SE Asia and personal concerns of underground cells of ratbags operating in regional affiliated cells. I suggested that over the years, I have developed a network of some really true Muslims (the likes of Budi - see above) who have studied in Australia and are appalled at the actions of these nationals who killed in the name of Allah.
I suggested CIA's operates overseas should do their "recuitment" in third country universities such as Australia. These cadres could be recruited and when they return to Indonesia, clandestinely identify and ferret out such cells.
No response!
Ten months latter, we had the start of the Jemaah Islamiyah (JI) terrorist attacks - hundreds of lives targetted against foreigners beginning with the Bombings 2002-2005 (notably Bali and the Australian Embassy).
It was now almost four decades since I had been a member of Australia's intelligence community - Human and Signals. I had no idea as to whether our "operatives" in Jakarta had "their fingers on the pulse" pre 2002.
Probably not.
But nowadays the machinery of government is keenly aware. Where is it recruiting?.
Southbank Campus Apartments 2002-2005 and 2006
Carmel and I were engaged as a couple to run Southbank Campus Apartments — a purpose-built student accommodation complex close to the CBD and universities. It was a 200-bed establishment catering mainly to international students from all corners of the globe. We were in our element, slipping back into the role of proxy “mum and dad” with ease.
From time to time, students’ parents would visit — sometimes bearing gifts, like the mother who presented us with a bottle of duty-free Chivas Regal, but more often offering nothing more than heartfelt smiles, warm handshakes, and quiet words of thanks. On those days, Carmel and I would exchange a glance that said it all: And they actually pay us for this?
Caption: Carmel 2003 - Stunningly beautiful
Living in the inner City had its good and bad points. We could not open the windows due to the amount of soot from the traffic. There was noise 24/7. On the other hand we were close to the State Museum; Public Art Galleries and State Library as well as the magnificent Southbank Parklands which had been laid out for Expo 88.
The American student cadre was something we had no prior experience. Rich kids who were part of a semester Exchange program. They had passed the moment they had paid their course fee to the university. From then on they treated the complex like Club Med.
One true story.
The briefing for the intake went to plan and off each person went to their allocated apartment - 3 or 4 beds to a unit. About 15 minutes later a young man came back. He had one of those Alabama accents.
"Aah'm sorry to inconvenience yah but aah cant seem to get the TV to work. Aah can only get five or six stations"
The building was before its time in terms of providing a broadband internet service to client students. For me it was the beginning of understanding IT network systems involving switches, servers TCP/IP etc. I co-opted a cadre of Mauritian IT students to both (a) teach me and (b) attend to "after hours" outage and systems glitches by offering free internet access. (after hours was the critical time when students needed internet - not during the day).
I liked Mauritians. In a past career (Foreign Affairs) I had visited Mauritius three times on official trips. I was amazed as to its polygot history. The majority of its population grows up speaking Hindi, French, English and Creole switching languages as and when circumstances prevail. So with this cadre, I chose to speak French when socialising - say at our regular Friday evening "dine outs" at our local Nando Chicken franchise - then in English with the technical stuff.
Now in my eighties when I experience an IT glitch, it is simply a matter a "grateful friend" remotely logging into my desk top from anywhere in the world and fixing the problem - no charge!
We speak the "patois of yesteryear". Either party fondly starts with Pourqui toujours j'attends ... often the first words of my status enquiries "Why am I still waiting ... ?
They knew I was always joking ..wanting the impossible ... yesterday.
The body corporate had one golden rule: no pets. Clear enough… until a young lass from the Kingdom of Brunei, Nisa A., decided rules were more like polite suggestions. She smuggled in a cat and kept it hidden in her fifth-floor room.
We were blissfully unaware — until Nisa went away for a few days. Before leaving, she gave her friend Asman the apartment key, asking him to pop in and feed the cat. He did not live in the complex.
"Easy job" says Asman to himself "Come in ONLY ONCE. Put the plug in the basin; fill it up enough for a few days for drinking water; leave out some dry cat food; leave the balcony door open to air the place - dont need to come back". "Going to get a lot of Browny Points here" he must have mused.
At four o’clock one morning — that magic hour when nothing good happens — there’s frantic knocking at our door. A student blurts: “The foyer’s flooded! The lights are flickering! Water’s running down the lift shafts!”
We followed the soggy trail floor by floor until the source was obvious. I unlocked Nisa’s door with the master key, and out to the balcony bolts one very guilty-looking cat. Behind it, the vanity tap was gushing full bore.
Turned out the little blighter had been drinking from the basin, then used its body to nudge the lever fully open — unleashing a waterfall that had been cascading down five floors for hours.
Time for the “A-Team” (see IT boys above). I banged their apartment door shouting: “Hands off cock, on with sock! Here’s a broom! Here’s a mop! Move, move, move!”
While they attacked the corridors, I sloshed my way to the electrical and comms switchboard, which was also swimming. My final muttered vow before sunrise was: “And now I am off to throw that cat off the balcony.”
(Fast-forward to 2025. Out of the blue, there’s a knock on the front door of our Gold Coast home. Surprise: it’s Nisa — now Mrs Asman — and they’ve brought along three lovely teenage children. They had migrated to live in Western Australia - nearest Brunei
I could hardly contain my grin. Over coffee, I told the kids the whole saga — the secret cat, the 4 a.m. innundation, and how their father was oblivious to the consequences of his bright idea. They laughed until they cried.)
Early to Mid 2005 we retired and returned from Brisbane to our two bedroom apartment in Mermaid Beach on the Gold Coast. This location was a block away from Paul Emma ande Dylan. Our pastime was finishing renovations and contemplating international travel.
On the bright side, another grandson, Daniel Paul Navarro (Dan) was born on Friday 16 September 2005 around 6am at the Gold Coast hospital.
At the time, we were in Brisbane doing a Management Rights locum for Jennie & Peter Kennedy.
Paul Navarro (Emma's husband) took a chance that Dan would be a full term baby and undertook a short haul trip that due to delay had him stuck in Melbourne.
Around 9pm on the Thursday, Emma rang us to advise that her “water had broken” and she had organised for Greg Grieve to get her to the hospital and take care of Dylan.
This set Carmel off. We drove down straight away and got there before midnight. Her first words were:
“Where’s the doctor”
“He’s sleeping - don’t worry” said the only nurse on the ward.
So every time thereafter when the nurse returned to check on Emma’s progress she was greeted with the same question.
In the meantime, a gritty Emma was crossing her legs in the vain attempt at delaying tactics so that Paul Navarro could catch the first plane in the morning.
In the very early hours of that morning, I went to find a coffee.
I came back to the ward to be greeted by the nurse at the office-station. She had a curiously benign smile on her face as if to declare she had seen it all before.
“Don't be alarmed” she said “Your daughter is doing fine - but your wife has fainted”
So … the next few hours saw me pivoting from one bed giving support to a women in labour and the next room to a nonsensical woman muttering “doctor … doctor”.
Around 5am, Daniel was coming despite Emma’s procrastination. She sat sideways on the bed; I assumed a position behind her supporting her back with my arms/hands under her armpits and then back over her shoulders ready to maximise Emma’s pushing whenever the nurse commanded her to do so.
Carmel had “recovered” and was sitting in a visitors chair. No time now to ask the whereabouts of the doctor.
Out popped Dan;
Snip went granddad on the umbilical cord;
In ran a breathless Paul Navarro - the new father;
“Relief” sighed Carmel
Our superannuation portfolio had steadily accumulated and we thought we had invested wisely.
We did not. We lost over half our "nest egg" in various ventures that, put simply, were Ponzi Schemes for which there was no safety net provisions.
I chose not to think about it as I knew depression would set in. Yet we had to navigate out of this financial abyss.
We had to go back to work. I was aged 60 over-qualified and probably deemed unemployable (Carmel was aged 55).
The next five years involved six monthly contract work as Management Rights locums throughout Queensland - Brisbane, Gold Coast or Cairns. The enterprises:
Altitude on Taringa
Southbank Campus (again)
Uni Res
Metropolis
Woolstore Godown 4
Majestic Palms