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It began one day, seemingly centuries ago, that this little voice started asking the question: “Is this all that Life is about?”

Slowly this question set my mind at work and i became aware of the repressions prevalent in this society. The repressions concerning fear, love, anger, pain, elation, strength, hate, loneliness, sexuality and a host of other emotions not usually expressed openly or constructively.

The Scene: sometime early 1942 in Copenhagen, Denmark around midday, beautiful clear early summer afternoon. It was about time that King Frederick and a small entourage made his daily tour through the City, with a casual greeting here or there, to let his people know he was still around and intended to be around for much longer than the Germans who had smashed into his small, peaceful Country. Usually it was a rather non attention-seeking exercise, just a statement.

A particular form of meditation has been devised to distract the over active brain from its random, erratic behaviour .

It is recommended for those people whose brains keep on being busy even when they are not doing anything in particular, or want to focus on a particular subject, but just keep on being distracted by numerous random thoughts. These random thoughts can sometimes be so powerful and distracting that they can virtually stop achieving whatever one set out to do.

THEY were just stepping out, arm in arm.

HE was dressed just perfect - polished shoes, clean white knee-length socks, creased shorts, ironed open shirt, clean shaven and well groomed.

You couldn’t get a better picture of a well to do, retired banker. Particularly looking at his gird, displaying a long standing and richly successful investment in good food and cabernet sauvignon.

SHE was wearing a delightful, flirtatious little sun hat on a full head of curly, shiny chocolate coloured hair. And underneath that little hat, not a stitch of attire. Totally nothing.

St. Louis was a Jesuit boarding school in Weert, a small city somewhere in rural Limburg in the Netherlands. EarthGoogle it. Although, if you do, you won’t find St.Louis anymore. Early ‘74 it was converted into many flats, trust the Church to be business like at all times. But Weert is still thriving.

Having lived in the colonies i had a fine tan. It really set me apart from all the other boys with their milky white skins and rosy cheeks, that real “healthy Dutch look”. Much later they’ll be spending thousands in Majorca or thereabouts to get what i had as a matter of fact.

At the station, on the next platform were about 40 to 60 people with their suitcases and overcoats. They were looking around quite apprehensively. Six German soldiers of the military gendarmerie kept them herded up.

Except for this little boy standing all alone and separate from the rest. Big dark eyes in a totally expressionless face. Left arm hanging down and a small satchel clamped in the crook of his right arm.

Kind of staring at him, not thinking about anything, just observing.

It was many years ago the ‘Confest’ came to our Shire in 1981. It was held at what is now the Pony Club at Glenlyon. It caused a bit of a stir, seeing we were kind of settled in our ways in those days. Rumours went that thousands of wild ‘hippies’ would be running around, doing all sorts of things you wouldn’t want to talk to Gran about.

You know how it is, most times you need some kind of a trigger to make you part of a particular situation. Like giving up your job after god knows how many years and that seductive promise of super dangling in front of you.

My environment at the time was the Dutch shipping company called Royal Interocean Lines. Not too bad as jobs go, to be honest. Sufficient diversity and challenges and O.K. fellow workers.