It’s good luck…

Well, hello there to all the over-sixties demograph reading today. Reading is the best food for the brain. Here is a nostalgic vignette to read, to lighten all our days. As we have matured, we have all ripened like vintage wine. We hope we spread the magic of love and happiness along our path.

In the old mists of once being carefree honeymooners, we drove all the way across this great continent to Perth in the middle of summer. No air-conditioning in the wheels, naturally. The noble Valiant leaked oil all the way there and back, somehow we arrived in Fremantle one hot day, full of sunshine.

We planned to see the mighty,then state-of-the art, metallic grey battleship when the American fleet was in port. This noble pride of the Yankees was nuclear-powered, a prototype of its kind. Free guided tours were offered. My husband was then a civil servant in the Department of Defence, where we met.

Our American escorts were a classic pair, as they proudly showed us their ship. They were two young males, God-fearing lads from Idaho and Nebraska. They had enlisted to see the world and serve democracy and freedom. A rapport was soon established, especially when we shared that we had only recently been married.

“Ah!” they grinned, “It’s good luck to have a beer with newlyweds!” They marched us off to consult someone superior, who gave them a day off to see the sights of Australia in the seventies. We agreed to take them to some long-forgotten hotel in Freo there, to see how good Aussie beers could be. Exploring West Australian ales with the newlyweds was going to bring them incredible good fortune.

Never being a drinker, I had one beer, as we toasted the carefree honeymoon of such bonhomie I drank pub lemon squash, as my husband and the Yankee mariners drank many a beer, many a beer. The kindness and alcohol kept on flowing, as they soon acquired a distinct taste for us Aussies and our lovely welcome to our land.

After a while, a counter meal was thoroughly enjoyed, the freshest of seafood, as Fremantle is a seaside town. Best of hotel chips, cooked perfectly, plus salad. That preceded a long afternoon, as the lads kept on drinking many a beer. My husband soon had a taste for West Australian beers. The conversation flowed, comparing and sharing about some of the similar social customs from America to Australia.

These intrepid mariners arrived in Oz with some preconceived stereotypes. One of them was that they were visiting Australia to see our great kangaroos hopping up and down the main streets of every town in the land. My old man scoffed at such a notion.

However, I can say that I have once seen a mob of kangaroos hopping in front of a car I was driving in a rustic jaunt some time later. I had to hit the brake, not the kangaroos. That would have been a fender bender. These days I reside in a civilised suburb, with an arterial six lane highway flowing busily quite nearby. On our local noticeboard online, there are almost daily cautions that there is one, maybe more, large grey kangaroos, bounding along our main, busy street. Spot the stereotype right here! It is good luck for motorists and the local Skippy that no one has flattened the kangaroo. Maybe he or she has good road sense.

To summarise, as dusk approached on that evening for the carefree honeymooners and the now ancient mariners, these brave lads expressed their plan to meet some ladies of the night. Full of beers, my husband found them good luck by driving them to meet the local lassies, ready to welcome the Yankees when the fleet was in port. I suppose those two lads had good luck there too.

I must say that all those beers and other grog did not bring our marriage much good fortune. It was not easy being married to an alcoholic with anger management issues. Many a beer, many a beer. But we did enjoy love and happiness along our way. So, if you meet newlyweds, have a beer with them, and bask in their glow. Hope it brings you all good luck.