Noeline
Interview with a Robot
Reporter: Good evening, Mr - er - Robot.Robot: It is to be presumed that it is a pleasant evening; evenings cannot be 'good' or 'bad'. And my correct title is AN562/12-093.
Reporter: I beg your pardon, Mr AN656 - er -
Robot: AN5 will suffice, thank you.
Reporter: Thank you, AN5. Now, first of all, how do you find our city?
Robot: I simply boarded an aeroplane which was scheduled to land here. I really did not have to search for the city.
Reporter (voice trembling a little: I really meant - er - do you like our city?
Robot: I have not had sufficient time to make a complete and honest assessment of your city. When I have had time, I will let you know.
Reporter (running fingers through hair): Er, well, let's leave that for now. How long do you intend to stay?
Robot: Do you mean, is my height about to increase or decrease? I am made of metal; my size cannot alter. Or do you perhaps mean - of what duration will my visit be?
Reporter (undoing collar with shaking hands): Er, yes, that last bit.
Robot: 'Be' - that is a verb denoting existence, to have presence in the realm of perceived reality. Also used as a linking verb between -
Reporter (biting his pen in half): Yes, OK, all right! Have you met our heads of state?
Robot: I have actually met the complete personages. Their heads would be of little use without their bodies.
Reporter (throwing his notepad on the ground and jumping on it): All right, you - you pedantic freak. I defy anyone to get an interview out of you!
Robot: 'Pedantic' and 'freak'. Those words do not complement one another. They should not -
Reporter, livid of face, hurls a chair at the Robot, who fends it off deftly, then pats the Reporter gently on the head. 'Gently' for a Robot, that is. The reporter sinks to the ground unconscious.
Robot (alarmed): Oh, dear, I have broken the First Law. (Self destructs.)
Tiger, Tiger
'Shore Can' was Molly's toy tiger. And before you say, 'SHORE CAN!!', let me explain. The older sister used to read stories to the infant Molly, and her favourite was 'the Jungle Book'. Molly, as young children do, put her own interpretation on the unusual names that she heard, and so 'Shore Can'.Anyway, I digress. 'Shore Can' was about one quarter life-size, but very realistic, and beautifully marked. Molly loved him with all her heart, and kept him beside her bed always.
Even when she was eighteen, and living in a little flat of her own, 'Shore Can' was there with her, comfortably ensconced on a little settee in the bedroom. Before she went to sleep, Molly would reach out and stroke his soft head. Sometimes she thought that his eyes shone a little more, and his tail twitched - but it was only imagination, wasn't it?
The block of flats was in a rather questionable neighbourhood (being cheap and within Molly's budget) but so far the building had escaped attention.
One night Molly was wakened by the sound of breaking glass.
Trembling, she found her torch and started to leave the bedroom.
Suddenly a hooded figure appeared before her. Molly screamed and tried to shut the bedroom door, but the intruder lashed out and struck her across the mouth. As she fell, Molly struck her head on the door-frame and blacked out.
A little later that night an occupant of an upstairs flat, noticing the half open flat door with a broken glass panel, called out Molly's name. On getting no response, he investigated and was shocked at what he found. Molly was still unconscious, and the burglar was dead - very dead! As the neighbour told his friends later, 'He looked as though he'd been mauled by a wild beast.'
Police investigation found that the burglar was a vicious criminal who had escaped from prison, where he was serving a life sentence for murder. Molly was obviously incapable of inflicting such wounds and no weapon was ever found, so the case remained unsolved.
And Molly certainly wasn't going to tell anyone that when she picked up 'Shore Can' from the floor where he'd fallen, his white chin ruff was stained with rusty brown marks.
The Royal Visit
There was an air of anticipation throughout the town. People gathered in groups in the street, in shops, at the hotel. Wives gossiped over their back fences, but their conversation was limited to one thing. Children in their schoolrooms paid scant attention to their teachers, and even patients in their hospital bed kept asking the nurses, 'Is it time yet?'The Lord Mayor had put on his best suit and dusted off his chain.
The Police Sergeant had recalled all his off-duty officers and run them through their paces. The S.E.S had rehearsed every possible emergency, and the local taxi-drivers had filled up their petrol tanks in expectation of frantic calls from outer suburbs.
The only person apparently unaffected was old Mrs Peterson, who lived in a very small house tucked away between the bakery and the dry-cleaners at the far end of the High Street. Once or twice she came to her front door, peeped out into the street and retired again. No one even noticed her.
As the day wore on and nothing happened, people became restless. Murmurs of annoyance began to rise from the crowds in the street. Fights broke out at the hotel. Back fences became deserted as wives stood now at their front doors, peering down the street. Children in the school-yard began to misbehave, and more than one hospital patient suffered a relapse.
"Are you sure that it's the right day?" the lord Mayor asked his secretary, his brow creased in a worried frown.
"Yes, definitely, sir. Look, here's the notice, in great big letters on the front page.
'PLEASE HAVE AN APPROPRIATE RECEPTION PLANNED FOR HER MAJESTY'S ARRIVAL, WEDNESDAY, 23RD JANUARY.'
"Definitely, sir."
"Perhaps there's been a hold-up - a breakdown - an accident!"
The Mayor turned pale and trembled at this possibility.
Suddenly there was a stir, a murmur from the people at the top end of the High Street. "Something's coming!"
The something came. A very old, very battered motorcar made its solitary way down the traffic-free, gaily decorated street.
As everyone watched in disbelief, it stopped in from of Mrs Peterson's house and an old man and a fluffy white poodle got out. The old man looked around at the streamers, the bands and the crowds of people. 'Well, we didn't' expect this," he whispered to the dog. "Come on, Your Majesty."
The front door opened and Mrs Peterson, beaming all over her face, held out her arms to the two.
You rascal!" she cried happily. "You always teased me about my poor eyesight, but you didn't have to make that notice so big. And thank you for bringing my dear Majesty back to me now that she's quite recovered." The door closed behind them.
And if we've ever wondered why the occupants of that particular town treat every newspaper report with the utmost scepticism - now we know why!
My Memories of the 1950s
My three most important memories of the early 1950s were marriage, the birth of my first child, and the death of my beloved brother at Kapyon in Korea. I do remember sending him a photograph of myself and baby daughter, and a fortnight after his death receiving a letter from his acknowledging the receipt of the photo with much pleasure.Still, life goes on.
Mothers in those days didn't have a lot of time to do much more than look after their children and do housework - lots of nappies! But there were lighter moments. I had two little girls two years apart, and used to take them into Perth once a week from Central Avenue, Inglewood. Hoisting the cane pram (no light weight) on to the back of the bus, with a two-and-a-half year old hanging onto the baby, was quite an accomplishment! Sometimes one had a sympathetic driver who would do this for one, sometimes a chivalrous male passenger, but most times it was up to you.
Shopping was for clothes, or Christmas or birthday presents; groceries were bought locally, and what's more, delivered! I remember my delivery man unblocking a sink for me; do you get that kind of service nowadays?
Back to our weekly in Perth. Lunch at Boans' cafeteria was a real treat - eating things you hadn't had to cook yourself, and striking up conversations with perfect strangers - that was living!
Then there was the local tennis club - mostly young mothers who would bring their toddlers along. The children were remarkably well-behaved, and we had lots of fun. Hardly Wimbledon, but fun.
A brief period of housekeeping in the wheatbelt town of Dangin with the two girls. Here you were included in everything that went on, and how those folk could eat! I'd never done so much cooking. At first the wide acres of wheat stretching to the horizon and the huge expanse of blue sky above were fascinating, but after a while I pined for water. In Perth there was the river, and the beaches were readily accessible by bus. Here a dam was the largest body of water in view. Also, the eldest girl's health suffered as a result of the heat; so, back to Perth.
We moved a number of times in the 50s, and as my eldest was now school age, she had the trauma of changing schools. She was also a December baby, which meant she was almost a year younger than most of the children in her class. I can remember, in her first year, her falling asleep over her evening meal because she was so tired. In those days, if a child turned six before the 24th of December, they would start school in February of that year. Anne made it by two days.
One of our favourite outings was a trip to King's Park. By now there were three, as a son had been added to the family. Yes, he was a bit spoiled, but not much!
As the children grew older and made friends, we added them to our King's Park trips, and had many an enjoyable and hilarious day. I have very fond memories of King's Park.
I do remember the Queen coming to Perth in 1954. We stood for ages waiting for her to pass, and I could just see her between people's heads. She looked pretty and regal, and her skin was beautiful.
Perth was a nicer place in those days. You could walk the streets at night without a thought of being mugged. Children in the suburbs played in the parks, in vacant blocks, walked to school by themselves. I guess bad things did happen to people, but we didn't hear about it. Television wasn't with us yet. We went to the pictures (not the movies) or if you were upper crust, the cinema.
We had moved again, and Scarborough Beach figured prominently in our lives. 'Swim between the flags.' Was dinned into us, and we were always badly sunburnt. Nobody knew about skin cancer then. Holidays were taken in Albany, with grandparents. There was only one car per family in those days, so buses and trains were used much more frequently, and the services were better.
The Narrows Bridge was finished at the close of the 1950s. The-Powers-that-Be had ideas of a grander name - the Golden West Bridge was one - but it was always going to be The Narrows Bridge; public opinion won.
By that year, I was on my own, and all my children were attending school. Part time work was the order of the day. You forgot that you'd trained for better things, and you worked behind a counter of cleaned houses or minded someone else's children - anything that would have you home as close to 3.30 p.m. as possible. There seemed to be plenty of work, as long as you were willing, and mothers were more concerned with giving their children a home life than putting them out to care. I know I didn't want someone else bringing up my children; their values might not have been the same as mine.
A Day to Remember
My alarm went off as usual. No! Not as usual! Instead of the b-r-r-ing, b-r-r-ing of other days, it played a very lively tune - rather like an Irish jig. I rubbed my sleepy eyes and shook my head to clear it."Must have dreamt it!"
I jumped out of bed - or tried to; there was a wall in the way. My bed was on the wrong side of my bedroom. I swung my feet over to the other side, and on a bright red carpet. Where was my pretty floral floor covering? And those things on the dressing table; they weren't mine!
Afraid of what I might find, I opened my bedroom door and was knocked flat by a very large and exuberant dog. Dog?! I don't have a dog! I don't like dogs!
I finally managed to subdue the creature and looked around. My living room was now two-tone - two purple walls and two green walls, instead of the gentle ivory colour of yesterday. And my prized collection of china in its glass cabinet was now a collection of savage-looking African artefacts.
"I need a cup of tea!" I sobbed and entered my little kitchen: now all black and chrome instead of cream and green. "Tea - tea ... ?" I mumbled, but no tea-bags. I opened the shiny, unfamiliar refrigerator. "There has to be milk!"
No! Cans - lots and lots of them. Coke, gin and tonic, 5X beer. 5X!! This was too much. I rushed from the room and opened the front door, forgetting I was still wearing - nothing!
Muttering, I seized a throw-rug from the orange leather (yuck!) lounge, wrapped it round myself and looked out into the street. It looked the same - if you ignored the fact that every house was now a different colour. It was rather like looking into a kaleidoscope.
I decided that it was time to see if I still had a job. An hour later, after a shower in a totally way-out bathroom, dressed in clothes that I had never purchased, I had managed to lure that obnoxious dog out into my tiny backyard by means of the contents of a tin of 'Delicious Doggy Dinners'. Again, yuck!
My car was now a sporty yellow Cheetah (never mind!), but at least my office was still in the same place. However, from then on ...
I won't go into details about my day. About the rest of the office staff, unfamiliar faces in unfamiliar clothes, using strange business terms, apparently unaware of my growing bewilderment.
Enough to say that I left early. On my way hope I passed a news-stand and picked up a paper, hoping to find an explanation of my strange world. I sat down on that orange lounge and looked at the front page. Then the date caught my eye.
'Thursday, February 30th.'
Now I am lying in my bed, unable to sleep, anxiously waiting for midnight and hoping that with the coming of March 1st, all will be normal.
PLEASE!!!
Opposites Attract
Jean was neat - neat to the point of obsession. Her house was spotless, her garden trimmed within an inch of its life. No weed dared to show its head, no leaf spent more than two minutes on her pathway.Her mats were never crooked, her magazines never untidy, her sink and worktop, even after a heavy cooking session, was free of dirty dishes, crumbs and spilt liquids.
Her dried and neatly folded laundry was ironed and put away within the hour, her shopping whisked from car to fridge and cupboard in a twinkling.
Her meals were always on time, she was never late for an appointment and she never, never forgot a birthday or anniversary.
One day her washing machine groaned gently and stopped working. To the yellow pages Jean went and found a local electrician.
Yes, he could be there in half an hour.
The half-hour stretched to an hour. Finally a knock on the door.
He was big and untidy, with an engaging grin and a button missing off his shirt. Jean particularly noticed the missing button.
"Sorry, love … " (Jean winced) "I had a puncture."
"You could have phoned." Jean wasn't impressed.
"Left my mobile at home. Think my battery's flat, anyway."
However, he knew his washing machines. A quick check, an adjustment here and there, and the washer was in business again.
"There you go, love. Shouldn't have any more trouble."
He picked up his tool-bag, knocking the soap powder off the bench as he did so, but caught it quite deftly before it hit the ground. "Didn't spill much, did I?" he grinned and made for the door.
"How much do I owe you?" Jean asked rather sharply.
"Oh, I'll send a bill shortly, love." And he was gone. Jean was very annoyed. She liked to budget each week; how could she now? Frowning, she wiped a couple of dirty finger-prints off her spotless washer and swept up the few grains of washing powder.
"Hopeless!" she muttered.
It was definitely a bad karma month for Jean. Her cook-top was the next to go. Another trip to the yellow pages, a slight hesitation. 'Oh, well, he is a good electrician."
"There in half an hour!"
"I just bet!" thought Jean.
Only three quarters of an hour this time. "Sorry, had to fix a sprinkler - ran over it last night."
There were two buttons missing this time, and he'd obviously walked through water recently. Jean groaned silently at the wet footprints on her pristine mat.
But he knew his job. A new hot plate was soon fitted and this time he managed to knock over the cooking oil. Luckily, most of it went in the sink. "Hot water and vinegar, love," was his advice.
Restraining herself, Jean said, "I now owe you for two jobs; please give me a bill."
"OK, love." He whipped out a pad, wrote two amounts on it, handed it to Jean. It seemed absurdly low. "Oh, take three dollars off for the oil," he said. Jean paid up, feeling a little guilty, and off he went, giving her a little wink as he did so.
Jean looked at the signature on the bill. Phil Prefect. 'Certainly not 'perfect',' she thought, but couldn't help smiling.
That wasn't the end of it. Two more electrical mishaps, and by this time Jean simply rang that number and waited. Every time there was another button missing and something left to clean up, but her appliances worked perfectly
On his fourth visit he said casually, eyeing Jean's immaculate garden. 'Your husband must be a keen gardener."
"I haven't got a husband. And why doesn't your wife sew on your buttons?"
"I haven't got a wife."
"Oh!" They looked at each other for a long moment.
"Well," said Jean. "I - could sew on your buttons."
"And - I'm not bad in the garden," was the response.
Now Jean's house is not quite so tidy, and there's the odd leaf or two on her path. But she doesn't mind.
And Phil is not nearly so clumsy, and his shirts have all their buttons. And he doesn't mind.
Misunderstood
It's not easy being an Estate Agent, no matter what people think! You do your best to please everyone and you end up pleasing no-one - and being slandered into the bargain.
Take last week. There were these three brothers - real pigs, they were. All wanting accommodation RIGHT NOW. I told them I'd do what I could, but they'd have to wait their turn, but, oh, no!
The youngest one, he went off on his own, found this - this hovel, built of straw, and insisted that I inspect it with him.
Well, you know what happened; we had this big argument and, well - he was tasty, though.
Then the middle brother. Blow me down if he didn't do the same thing! Said a friend had recommended a place and he was going to look at it - I could come or not. I reminded him that I was their agent and I could sue him if he went through someone else, but he was adamant; so I went along. Awful jerry-built place, made of sticks. Tried to persuade the idiot not to take it, but he got really abusive, and we had an awful row, and - he wasn't quite so tasty, but not bad.
By now Big Brother was back on the scene. Sly sort of bloke, I thought. Eyed me off, kept his own counsel, and when I asked him if he still wanted me to be his agent, laughed and said, "Oh, yes, but I've found my own house - come and see." And he had. A great solid brick mansion, safety mesh on the windows, security screen doors, a burglar alarm, would you believe?
I know about that, because when I tried to sneak in after dark it went off and next minute there was a police van there - and now guess where I am? In prison, eating bread and water, instead of pork.
It's not easy.
Hey!
"Hey, neighbour! Over here!"No - over here! By the car-port!
"What's wrong? Don't you like hearing voices coming out of the air? Well, you'd better get used to it, because I'm enjoying this. Oh, I am enjoying this!
"All the wrongs I can right, all the secrets I can reveal. People will have to behave themselves, because they'll never know when I'll be watching and listening.
"Take this morning - old Mr Simmons, who's a real skinflint. Sneaked out and pinched his neighbours' newspaper from their lawn, because he's too tight to buy his own. He didn't know I was right behind him when he went back inside. He didn't see me pick up the paper, take it outside and throw it back where it belonged. I bet he's still scratching his head!
"And then there was little Jimmy Smith, waiting for the school bus. That obnoxious bully, Tich Bradfield, came along, pushed him over, scattered his school books all over the ground and took his lunch. I had to leave him crying, I'm afraid, because I was busy tripping Tich up, rubbing his nose in the dirt and giving him a belt across the backside for good measure. He was so scared by this totally unexplainable attach that he took off home, screaming blue murder, and leaving Jimmy's lunch behind. So I was able to drop it casually right at the bus stop. Jimmy couldn't explain that, either, but he was happy again.
" 'How come I can't see you? How did all this come about?' you're asking.
"Well, I'll tell you. Yesterday I was cleaning out an old chest belonging to my uncle, and I came across a little brass vase. Pretty dirty, covered in green stuff. I thought I'd clean it up; might be worth something. I started to rub it with a cloth, and - you've guessed it - out popped a Genie.
"The usual routine. He called me 'Master', and gave me three wishes. Thought about it for a bit. I decided to be generous to myself with the first one, wished that I'd win the next big Lotto draw - twenty million!!
" 'It will be granted, Master.'
"Then I thought it might be fun to make myself invisible whenever I wanted.
" 'Granted, Master.'
"I'm keeping the last wish in reserve for a bit, although the Genie advised me against it. Said I might regret it, but - hey! He called me Master, didn't he?
"I must admit, this situation has tempting possibilities. Just think - I could help myself to anything I wanted, and nobody would know who took it. I could be a Master Criminal, and no-one would ever associate me with the crime. I could -
"Hey - there's a reporter and a photographer at my door. Told you I was going to win the twenty million.
"What's what you say? I'll get tired of this novelty and go back to being normal again. Never! I wish I could stay like this for ever!
"No, no, no! I didn't mean that! Oh, no! Hey, you, you reporter, you photographer, I'm here! Right here! No, don't run away …
Help!
If you can hear me, please answer!
I don't know where I am. It's dark, and warm, and there are funny little noises all round me - and decidedly unpleasant smells!
I don't know how I got here - wherever 'here' is. I only remember waking up and feeling thirsty and drinking from the cup of water beside my bed. Then suddenly I had what could only be described as a shrinking feeling - a sort of condensation.
And now I'm somewhere unpleasant, and I need help.
If I move my hands - funny, they don't feel like hands - I can feel something soft and warm. It is warm, but I am cold with fear.
If only it were light, then I could see where I was.
It doesn't make sense, but it feels like fur all around me - and it's moving. Help, help!
Suddenly there's an ear-splitting noise, like a great siren, and my world seems to leap upwards, and then steady, as thought it - we - have landed somewhere.
Now there's a new noise, a throbbing, like a giant motor running.
Where am I? If I ever get back to normal, I'll kill my nephew, and definitely take his chemistry set away from him.
But wait. Now things have settled, it's actually quite comfortable. I just feel - hungry! And if I take a bite of the - er - ground under my - er - feet, it's very tasty. Maybe it's not so bad here after all.Up on top of the brick wall, the tabby cat stopped purring, gave another peevish 'Mee - ow!' then began to scratch at that annoying flea.
My Relationship with my Mirror
Quite amicable, really. Well - most of the time! There has been the odd occasion when I've fronted up to my -oh-too-critical mirror, dressed to kill and feeling full of confidence, and my mirror has been, to put it mildly, discouraging.
"Well, how do I look? I feel great!"
"Are you really going to wear that jacket with that dress?"
"Why? What's wrong with it?"
"A frilly jacket with a tailored dress!! I thought you knew better than that."
"The colours complement each other," I would mutter, already drooping.
"That's no reason to mix your styles. Go and change that jacket!"
I would slink off, thoroughly beaten, and do just that - even though I loved that frilly jacket.
Most times, though, our relationship is good.
"I look my age."
"No, you don't. You're tired, you've had a bad night. Just ease up on the sherry. You'll be fine."
"I've had an invitation to this big party. I don't have a thing to wear."
"Try that little black number with a bright scarf - or some chunky jewellery - you've got lots of options."
Of course I had.
Or -
"How does this look? It's a bit different to my usual style."
"Very nice! You should wear that colour more often. It does good things to your eyes."
Then the day I found that I needed glasses.
"I hate glasses! No way will I wear them. They make me look like - like a nerd!"
"Don't be so silly! Glasses can make you look very sophisticated - a real woman of the world. Just go and get them and come back here to me. You'll see."
And of course I did, in more ways than one.
But I'm beginning to wonder. I don't remember ordering the outfit that was delivered to my door yesterday, C.O.D.
And those new earrings - I don't remember buying them.
And the blue hair rinse - where did that come from?
And - when I last looked in my mirror, I looked different.
It didn't seem to be me at all.