Chapter
Ten
AFTER
QANTAS
At the time of leaving Qantas and,
in anticipation of my payout, I returned to live with my wife and three
children. After only a short time of living back at home, I was devastated one
morning at breakfast when my wife announced that our marriage was finished and
asked for a divorce. That was the last thing I wanted and I said no, but she
went ahead and consulted a very ruthless solicitor.
I
had heard that this solicitor left husbands penniless, so I tried where I could
to spend my money wisely. He had told her that we must live separately and
apart for one year, so I was relegated to one end of the house, and we would
share week about cooking for our three children. I now realise that the
situation was of no benefit to anyone - but why should I have been the one to
leave? At that time the law only seemed to consider the wife and the children;
the luckless husband was meant to live on his own in squalor and support his
family for very little personal satisfaction. The decision was that my wife
would have the house, and I would have Tic
Tac, so I unwisely channelled my money into this floating hole and ended up
cashless.
A
few months after discontinuing the medication my symptoms were coming back and,
although I was no longer flying and had no 'start levers' to contend with, my
relationship with people tumbled and rationality in my business went out the
window. On eye-to-eye contact with anyone I would want to burst into tears, and
I would rudely and abruptly have to end any conversation.
The
crew that sailed with me on Tic Tac passed comment that I was 'mad'
after some of the tantrums I threw while sailing, while several times a cruise
was cut short if I was offended or suddenly displeased with someone. My
business failed, as I mistrusted everyone who worked for me, and my life
gradually slid downhill.
I
went begging to the psychiatrist for more medication. He told me that I didn't need it, but I could try his new 'light
treatment'. I am yet to see some positive professional reports on this bizarre
treatment. The patient - and you had to be patient - had to lie down and
continuously stare at a special bright light for three hours. Initially, I was
not sure if I was going blind, as a kaleidoscope of coloured flecks seemed to float
over my eye, similar to the view a fish must get looking up at all the boat
hulls in a regatta. After a period of time, enhanced from the warmth of the
globe, I would sink into a micro-sleep, only to wake up with a jolt and wonder
if I had ruined the treatment. After what seemed like days of war-induced
torture, all I could see were the very fine wiggly filaments glowing red, a
sight that we generally shun away from. I didn't consider obtaining a second
opinion on my illness, and I endured this fantasy treatment several more times.
The treatment had only a placebo effect on me, and I tolerated the symptoms of
depression, compulsions and aggression for several years.
While
sailing with friends on Tic Tac, the
subject of Santa Claus came up and two ladies were talking about a very old
book called The Life Story of Santa Claus.
One of the ladies, a schoolteacher, said that she owned a copy of the book and
read it to her students each year. She
offered it to the other lady to read and when, a week later, it was given to me
to deliver, the strangest feeling came over me. I wasn't usually a reader and I
don't know why I read this book - but I couldn't put it down. Until the last
page I really thought that the story was fact.
The book had so much of an impact upon me that I tried to find the
publisher to question whether it was going to be reprinted, but with no
success. I hired a leading firm of Sydney solicitors to conduct a search for
me, and as no records could be found I was advised that I could republish the
book, provided that I put some royalties aside should an author at some time
make a claim. I borrowed money for the project, using Tic Tac as security.
At
that time my business of importing and selling rubber carnival face masks was
only just surviving, and the sites that I had been allowed at the Sydney and
Melbourne shows were now allocated to the back areas. I had noticed over the
years disabled people with their carers, those in wheel chairs, and blind
people on foot being guided around the shows. A brainwave took hold; I would
build a portable maze so that these people could all take their time and find their way through the maze.
The Melbourne Show authorities thought my idea was good and agreed to allocate
space for the maze, indicating that as long as I provided free entry for the
first year, I would be able to charge in following years. Off to the
moneylender again I went, and the limit on my commercial bill facility was
increased. Why not? The interest was
25%!
While
construction was under way on the maze I was offered a larger site at the
Melbourne Show, so I decided to make the maze larger also. This time I went to
a different branch of the finance company and a new commercial bill facility was set up,
allowing me access to money to invest in the maze. The bills were due every
three months and I would pay the interest and borrow the money again. The maze
was a great success. Over 100,000
people moved through it, and I was very pleased that I had provided some
worthwhile entertainment for those in prams and wheel chairs, as well as
others, young and old. I was very proud to later receive a second prize for
children's amusements.
Time
marched on - and so did disasters. The book had too many problems with
distribution, my space at the Melbourne Show was cancelled, my space for the
maze at the Sydney show was cancelled, and the mask stand was relegated to a
seemingly non-people area. Here I was, with books, masks, a maze, and a large
yacht, but no money.
The
final straw was when the finance company was taken over and my bills were
called up. As far as I was concerned the second facility still had a year to
run, so I could have found the cash required for the first but, unbeknown to
me, when I had last renewed the bills they had been grouped together, with the
joint expiry date being the date of the first bill. Unfortunately, I hadn't
read the fine print as the words all resembled a Shakespearian play, and I was
now going to have to surrender my pound of flesh.
There
was, however, a chance of survival.
Some
visiting sailors from Western Australia told me of the 'gold rush' that was anticipated in Fremantle when the America's Cup
yacht challenge took place. Every yacht would make a fortune I was told and,
with true compulsion, that was all I could see! I spent all the cash I had left
having Tic Tac surveyed and prepared
for the wining and dining I was going to lavish on the rich visitors on the
high seas.
In
preparation for my ocean voyage to Perth, I managed to get a crew position in a
race from Sydney to the island of Vanuatu on the maxi-yacht, Anaconda.
Although the crew had been chosen, I explained to the owner why I wanted the
ocean sailing experience and he agreed to take me in hand. It was the day
before the race that I was given the approval to crew on the yacht, and it was
a mad rush to buy all the necessary sailing attire and personal items.
My
purchases consisted of a little gadget to wear on the wrist to stop
seasickness, Mars bars, and cans of coke. The seasickness preventer didn't
work, and I traded the Mars bars with other crew members to evade my cooking shift in that nausea-creating galley. Just the thought of
food put me on the edge of vomiting, and my staple diet on that very wet trip
was packet soup. I lost six kilograms of excessive fat, which, in one sense,
was a good thing.
Those
were only minor issues compared to the compulsion that hit me as I watched the
skyline of Sydney disappear over the horizon. Although I had personally fitted
an emergency life raft to Tic Tac,
and felt completely at ease with it, while looking back over the aft deck on Anaconda my eye caught a glimpse of its life raft. That heart-stopping feeling
raced through my body as I got the compulsion to set it adrift. I told myself
that this idea would soon go away, but no. At every crew change when I came on
deck I could not help but see it and I would commence my watch in fear, sitting
in my seat with the constant thought 'don't look back'. I couldn't tell anyone
as I was sure that they would tell the owner and I didn't want to be the cause
of disappointment to all on board if he decided to take me back to Sydney.
When
it was time for the watch I was on to go back on deck, our watch captain would have to try and
outdo the retiring captain's average speed. Before we could get settled in the
cockpit he would order a sail change, and you could bet your bottom dollar that
the sail he requested was the very bottom one in the cramped locker. The steel
cable on the winch was frayed and, many times when we returned to the cockpit,
blood, seawater and freezing rain would decorate our yellow wet-weather
clothes. This trip reminded me of the English rolling countryside, except the
green grass now looked like windblown froth. Up and down we went over these
monotonous hills for days and days, but with no quaint pub suddenly appearing
around a corner.
In
this ailing old yacht there was always something going wrong, especially the
tearing of sails. The owner was forever jammed into a corner of the galley with
an enormous bundle of uncontrollable canvas. His aim was to guide the torn
section to the needle of his sewing machine, which he did with the utmost of
determination. Trying to steady himself with his legs while both arms fought
with the sail was a task performed with the skill of a circus act.
He did have a reprieve from the
torture for a few hours one evening when some bad luck took away any chance of
winning the race. A cable had become jammed near the top of the mast, and all
control of one of the headsails was lost. A leading crew member who had sailed
thousands of miles on the yacht was winched up the mast and, so that he would
only be rocking a few metres on either side, the course was set in the opposite
direction to have the wind
following and to endeavour to keep the yacht as steady as possible. This brave
young man persevered for several hours to eliminate the problem, and on his
return to what must have felt a very stable deck, for us, it was back to the
winches.
During
my ventures to the forward sail locker and, being a yacht owner myself, I was
always looking for any possible damage. On one occasion I noticed that some of
the wire strands on the rigging had broken, and I promptly informed the owner
of what I thought could be a possible problem developing. He wasn't that
worried - or at least he didn't appear to be - but for me it was another
compulsion to check this cable excessively.
Fortunately, the damage didn't worsen. Perhaps it was like that when the
race started, but as far as I was concerned it had started to fail and could
possibly continue. I lived with these fears for eleven days, and on our arrival
in Vanuatu all I could think of was getting off that rocking and heaving
torture chamber. No such luck, as the owner had previous experience of crew
members deserting ship as soon as it reached port and before all the equipment
had been cleaned, dried and stored. On boarding the yacht in Sydney he had
taken everybody's passport, and wasn't going to return these to their owners until
his yacht was 'shipshape'.
After
being discharged from my sailing duties I chose a resort hotel to unwind in. My
first task was to have a bath, and with a 'Bloody Mary' perched within grasp I laid back to
wallow in this luxury of scented bubbles. I suddenly became aware that the
hotel was moving, and was puzzled that the bath water was motionless. My body
hadn't lost its sea legs and thought we were still on the ocean. Oh, the
stories I had to tell after my one and only experience of life on the high seas.
Never again - unless it was on a very large cruise liner!
While
Tic Tac was berthed at the Cruising
Yacht Club in Sydney I was invited to join the committee organising the yearly
event 'Sail for Cancer'. The cause was very worthwhile and the attendance of
supporters was excellent. When planning the event I kept my own ideas for Tic Tac a secret until the event had
started. While the flotilla of vessels was heading up Sydney Harbour to the
rendezvous area, my crew sprang into action in a secluded bay. I had hired
elaborate pirate costumes for all of the crew and Tic Tac was dressed up as a pirate ship, complete with cannons
pointing out of every porthole. Although my week-long effort to have the
cannons fire water-filled balloons flopped, the cannons still had the desired
effect. Tic Tac had a very large aft
deck and I hired an equally large cannon from the props department of the Sydney Opera Company. Being
towed behind us in a beautifully restored long boat was our boarding party,
complete with a pirate chest for collecting the enforced donations. While I
manoeuvred Tic Tac through the
hundreds of boats, my gallant sixteen-year-old son would dive overboard and swim to any boat whose crew
thought they
were safe from
pirates. At the club-based finale, we
handed over the booty that the unscrupulous pirate crew had collected. This
amounted to nearly $1,800. Surprisingly, a large amount was collected from
stunned bathers on a nudist beach. The threat to them must have been 'your
money or your clothes'!
The
great effort put in that day by my young son partly exonerated him from an
earlier prank of his. When he was thirteen he went to play with a friend, and
late in the day my wife rang the boy's mother to make arrangements to collect
our son.
'The
boys are not here,' their mother said, 'they're off sailing with Mr. Griffin.'
At
this announcement my wife replied in disbelief, 'Mr. Griffin is at the
Melbourne Agricultural Show.'
Rarely going out on Tic
Tac, and not knowing where exactly on the marina it was berthed, my wife
sought the help of the head barman. There was worried anticipation as to what
they would find or, in this case, not find, as they walked down the jetty. Tic Tac was not berthed at the marina,
but was cruising around the harbour with several children on board! This son
always watched with interest everything I did on the boat, and even though it
was a rigmarole to start the large diesel engine, he must have managed it okay.
The boys obviously thought they were pirates! For their ammunition they used
the fire extinguishers until they had emptied, and then they turned to the
ship's stores, where flour was chosen for the next attack weapon.
Back
on dry land, the club's barman called the water police and a search began for
the several thirteen-year-olds loose on a fifty-two foot yacht. Eventually they
were found, and the 'pirate' ship, being taken over by an armed officer of the
law, was turned to the direction of the marina. The marina berth was a
difficult one to get into for such a large yacht, and I had several rope aids
to assist me to manoeuvre it in. The water police officer thought better of the
challenge and let my son do the piloting, as he had watched me and helped me do
it several times. When they were all safe and sound at home I was relayed the
day's events by telephone, and I spent the next few days wishing I could get my
hands on my son. On my return from Melbourne, being disgusted with the
foolhardy devastation, I arranged for all the culprits to spend a few days
helping to clean up their mess.
All
my thoughts of going to Perth had been self-induced pipe dreams and, in
hindsight, the best way to see the races was watching the television reports,
on dry land and with a cold beer in one's hand.
The
Perth manager of the finance company said that the company didn't want boats
from eastern Australia taking away the work from the West Australian boats, and
he made the decision that Tic Tac was
to be put up for auction. My loan was for $60,000, and as the insurance value was $220,000 my solicitor reassured me that
there should be enough left over for me to buy a small unit to live in. The
auctioneers advertised the yacht very well, but a few days beforehand they
cancelled the auction, as they wanted proof that I had paid the customs duty
when my yacht had arrived from Mauritius. The new auction date was displayed
insignificantly in the paper, and with the very poor turnout the reserve price
wasn't reached. After some haggling, a price of $80,000 was agreed on. The auctioneer took $10,000, the receiver $10,000, and the finance company $60,000. As a result of following my
compulsions I had been completely wiped out in one day.
They
were teary days that followed, and in a state of depression I convinced myself
that I should renew my pilots licence and go to England, where I would try to
find a flying job, preferably in something other than a 747 or a 707. At that
time in my life it seemed as though there was nothing to live for in Australia,
apart from my daughter. I was now divorced and my sons wanted nothing to do
with my authority, or me. They continued their lives as they saw fit, with the
resulting consequences.