Barbed Wire and Bougainvillea

Bob Stevens

Description

In 2001, Bob was sent by Australian Volunteers International to Papua New Guinea to teach at a Catholic mission school, 800km up the Fly River. Book contents include cannibalism, murder, witchcraft, tragedy, hardship, safety concerns and humour. 20 months after returning from his posting, Bob flew his Cessna aircraft up past Papua New Guinea to Wuvulu Island near the equator and when homeward bound, called into Kiunga for a few days to catch up with his ex-students, fellow teachers and mission personnel. Along the way, Bob refers to events in some of the 79 countries he has visited during his world travels.

Sujets

• Lettres et linguistique

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 05 juin 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781783334117
• Langue: English

Extrait

Title Page
BARBED WIRE AND BOUGAINVILLEA
By
Bob Stevens



Publisher Information
Published in 2013 by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
Copyright © Bob Stevens 2013
The right of Bob Stevens to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.



Chapter 1
Bereaved
I heard the unmistakable droning sound of the incoming Air Niugini Dash 8 aircraft and turned to say goodbye. Both lay and missionary personnel had gathered at the Kiunga Papua New Guinea airstrip on that brilliant sunny morning in December 2001.
They were there to farewell a dignitary from Rome who had been in Papua New Guinea visiting the Roman Catholic Diocese of Daru-Kiunga. I had a smattering of well-wishers around me too - wonderful friends were there to see me leave this provincial town.
Surrounded by the fellow teachers, pupils and locals, whose friendship I had come to value after teaching four terms at Kiunga Boystown, I reflected on an extraordinary year. A year in which I had taught mechanical practice and theory and engineering mathematics to grade nine and ten boys and girls at this remote mission school. The experience had been personally rewarding and I felt a tinge of sadness as I boarded the flight to Port Moresby. I would stay there overnight before catching a Qantas flight back to Australia early next morning.
The flight would mark the end of my posting with AVI (Australian Volunteers International).
I had been prompted to become a missionary, (albeit non-religious) with a Class “A” Exemption from Canadian Bishop Gilles Côté, s.m.m. following a turning point in my life some four and a half years earlier. My wife Ann and I were returning home from Russia, after an eleven- country open ticket tour, viewing wonderful scenery from the Canary Islands to the Philippines.
After a week doing the usual tourist rounds in London, we boarded a flight for the short hop from Heathrow across the English Channel to Schipol Airport in Amsterdam.
From there we flew KLM’s daytime polar flight direct to Vancouver in Canada, marvelling at the stark topography below as we flew over Iceland, Greenland and the northern coast of Canada.
Ice flows and huge icebergs presented a kaleidoscope of colour from the sun’s rays during the northern extremities of the flight.
Alas tragedy struck shortly after arriving on Vancouver Island where we were visiting Ann’s sister Wendy and her husband Ron at Qualicum Beach. Ann became ill; her health deteriorating so rapidly that Wendy suggested we visit Parksville Medical Centre a few kilometres away.
Ann was not in favour of this idea, saying “I probably ate something on the aircraft that upset my stomach - you are all over reacting.”
“No, no, my meal was identical to yours and I feel okay - the food has not caused you to be ill,” I said to my often stubborn wife.
Ann was sure she would eventually cease throwing up and dry retching and become well again but nevertheless after pressure reluctantly agreed to see a doctor.
When we arrived at the medical centre, the female doctor, noting that Ann was very ill, immediately focused all her attention on her, and within minutes I was asked to agree to an ambulance transfer for admission to Nanaimo Hospital. We were sitting in the waiting room waiting for the ambulance, when Ann whispered what proved to be the five most understated words I have heard in my life “I am going to faint.”
I caught Ann as her head fell back, and her eyes rolled up with no pupils visible and to my utter disbelief, she died in my arms. For thirty minutes the medical staff tried to revive her but to no avail - my lovely wife and best friend of thirty-six years was dead.
Two days later, the coroner informed me, “Your wife suffered a heart attack due to calcification of the walls of the heart” and attempting to provide comfort, added, “Let us hope when the time comes you and I can die as easily.”
That moment in the Canadian medical centre changed my life forever.
Ann and I had intended flying up to Fairbanks Alaska and then west to Tanana in a smaller commuter aircraft to visit the Mayor, Peter Platten for a few days. My skydiving mate Bernard Shaw and I had stayed with Peter a few years earlier when, amongst other memorable things, we went for a dog sled ride during winter. The grand finale of Ann’s and my trip home was to then have been a seven-day stopover in Honolulu, Hawaii.
Instead, plans were thrown aside, and in the nine days following Ann’s death, the trauma continued, with Australian Embassy officials in Ottawa insisting day after day, “You must cremate your wife’s body if you wish to bring her remains home.”
From the onset I had insisted: “I refuse to do this and am prepared to stay in Canada for the long haul if necessary.”
Although she had been a resident of Australia for twenty-seven years, worked and paid taxes for several years, due to the fact she had been born in New Zealand and never became naturalised Ann was classed as “Persona Non Grata”.
Ann and I had discussed plans regarding the remaining partner complying with the wishes of the other, and, had I died at this time, Ann would have acquiesced to the wishes of the Australian Embassy staff.
But Ann had always said she preferred burial.
I felt depressed but did my best to hide my mood. “Why are they doing this to me?” was my constant thought. Surely those in authority could understand that the area taken by a gravesite would be akin to a grain of sand on the longest beach in this the largest island in the world.
All airfares and travel insurance had been paid prior to the trip, and I was not seeking financial help. Also, I was willing to pay for the burial plot with no financial burden whatsoever to the Australian taxpayer. Over the years my wife and I had taken pride in paying our way in Australia, never asking for hand-outs such as unemployment benefits.
I had relinquished my New Zealand citizenship several years before to become an Australian citizen, and now wondered if I had made the right decision. If only I had been able to convince my wife to become naturalised when I did, this problem would have been avoided. My son Tim had become an Australian upon becoming eligible, but Ann and our daughter Tina preferred to remain as New Zealanders.
With a plethora of problems to contend with, on the eighth evening after Ann’s death I experienced mental overload, and my mind shut down. This burnout out came as a shock, as I always considered myself tough psychologically. Right now though, I was possibly at my lowest ebb in life.
The pressure of daily phone calls for a firm funeral date from the families in New Zealand wishing to attend the funeral in Australia had been immense. There also were daily calls from family and friends in Australia, the Canadian undertaker, the Australian based travel insurance company and Canadian Airline.
Burnout rendered me unable to answer many questions put to me. No previous negative experience could match my feelings of utter helplessness.
On the morning of the ninth day, I was relieved to be able to think straight again, and after much haggling, at noon that same day Australian Embassy officials relented and gave me clearance to bring my wife back for burial in Lakes Entrance. This was a large weight off my shoulders --I could now progress towards bringing Ann home.
Air Canada was very supportive. Staff members were in contact every day throughout my ordeal, and they promised to get Ann’s casket and myself on that evening’s flight out of Vancouver. Their compassion touched me deeply.
Ron and Wendy were concerned for my welfare, and though I insisted I was okay, Wendy accompanied me back to Australia. Air Canada found seating for her at short notice by offering a night’s accommodation in a Vancouver hotel for a passenger willing to delay their departure by a day.
On Vancouver Island, a few days prior, Wendy and I had selected a beautiful rose emblazoned white casket which was placed in a sealed metal container, then enclosed again in a wooden crate before being loaded into the cargo hold of our aircraft.
We flew with three airlines on that trip - Air Canada to Honolulu, Air New Zealand to Auckland and Qantas to Melbourne. Throughout our journey, representatives of each airline, including cabin staff, offered condolences and exceptional service.
The kindness bestowed on us was humbling. We were provided with Business Class seating at no extra cost, and escorted to the VIP lounge at both Honolulu and Auckland.
As a naturalised Australian citizen I believe Australian Government officials treated me shabbily. Whether my wife was a New Zealander, Eskimo (Inuit) or Zulu it should not have come into the equation. I am certain that some staff at the Australian Embassy in Canada would have been embarrassed by the non-compassionate directive they were compelled to enforce.
But with bulldog tenacity, I had fulfilled Ann’s wishes, and also avoided the heartache of presenting family and friends with an urn of ashes upon our return.
As tragic as this episode had been, it could have been worse. Had Ann died in Russia, where I had previously experienced a distinct lack of cooperation, I may not have fared so well. Our relatives in Canada gave me moral support and helped solve a myriad of problems.



Chapter 2