OneGuyFromBarlick

He's writing `Stanley woz `ere' in the river. Or trying to figure out which way the river is running. Or maybe it's just his way of catching trout - grab `em as they go by (if your middle name's Challenger then you like a challenge).

Well, th'owd fella isn't giving us any more clues, and we're all being a bit frivolous about the piccy, and I know what it's about (thanks to Mrs Tiz being an avid reader of SG's books), so I'll add my own clue...the river is located where his father came from.

Ashes ?, nowt to do wi cricket

Tizer wrote:...the river is located where his father came from.

He's looking for the penny his dad dropped thirty years before.

Is he emptying his father's ashes in the river?
AND, I still think that boiler photo looks lethal.

Stop going off piste Glo! It's not this topic! It may look 'lethal' but it wasn't too bad. Better than scrambling through the troughs between the boilers and protected the asbestos insulation which would otherwise have got damaged and allowed free asbestos dust into the air.
Time to come clean and Mrs Tiz was the trigger I think. She's not only read the books but remembered. The back story is that my father was born at Eumalga, a large farm and winery near Dubbo and in his will he wanted his ashes to go back there into the Macquarrie River....

"We arrived at Eumalga and the Knaggs’ family made us most welcome and showed me round the house. It was all very interesting but I had a nagging feeling that something was wrong. By the time we had all sat down for a drink of tea on the veranda I dropped my bombshell. “I’m sorry, but there’s something wrong, this isn’t the house my father told me about.” Everyone looked at me and Peter said I must be mistaken, this was definitely Eumalga and there wasn’t another house! Old Bert however asked me why I thought it was wrong. I said that the house father had described was within sight of the road and had a vineyard in front of it. Bert asked me when this would be and I said in the 1890’s. Bert looked at his son and said “He’s right. It’s the old house he’s talking about!”
We went out and piled into the cars and went about a mile over the property to a place where there was an old wind pump and a lone chimney stack, all that was left of the house. In the distance I could see the road and it all immediately felt right, “This is it.” I said, “And there’s a wine cellar out there not so far away.” I pointed up the paddock. Bill Hornadge got quite excited at this, “We’ve always known there was a cellar here but we’ve never been able to find it.” I pointed to a depression in the ground, “That’s where it was I should say, you can see the depression where the roof must have fallen in.” I walked across to the spot and tripped over a pile of rusty barrel hoops in the long grass. There were a lot of broken wine bottles laid about as well.
It was very special being there at last. I could see the place as it was when father lived there and started to tell them stories about the place. In the end they had to shut me up and get me back to Eumalga where another local farmer, Paddy Driver was waiting for us as he had the perfect place to put father’s ashes in the river on his property. I should mention at this point that I had great difficulty getting everyone to keep this occasion low key. The Returned Servicemen’s League wanted to get in on the act and have a band and a ceremony! I couldn’t think of anything that Father would have wanted less! As it was, the reporter from the local paper, the Dubbo Liberal, was there and quite a crowd of onlookers.
We got down to the river and I have to say it was just the right place. It was beautiful, there were Eucalyptus trees on both banks and it was a perfect place to go for a swim, there was a shallow that I could walk out into to put the ashes in. I didn’t muck about, I got my plastic bag and went out across the stones to pour the ashes into the water. A funny thought struck me while I was doing it and when I came on to the bank the reporter was curious as to why I was smiling. I told her that first of all, it was a happy day for both me and my father, or what was left of him, because his wishes had been fulfilled, being a romantic he wanted his remains to drift down to the reed beds of the Overflow, shades of Clancy and The Man from Snowy River! Second, I asked her if she’d ever poured human ashes into running water? She said she hadn’t. I said “Well, that was why I was laughing, I reckon the Old Man might have slipped up. There are three types of material in ashes, there’s a black oily part that floats off on the surface immediately, another part dissolves when it hits the water and what’s left of the bones sinks to the bottom. I reckon father’s going to have a hell of a job getting himself together by the time it all gets to the Overflow!” I think they were a bit shocked at my levity but father would have understood. I had a great feeling of satisfaction, it had taken me thirteen years but I had fulfilled father’s last wishes to the letter. There’s no doubt in my mind that his shade was hovering somewhere and regarding me with approval."

Now I shall put my thinking cap on again.....

I'll admit, this one is hard so I'll give a clue. It is pinned up where I can see it as a reminder.

Is it a reminder for you to get his book?

Was it the bar code for entrance to an exhibition or auction of his paintings?

Tiz is getting sort of close. Think about the name....

He was an artist and sculpture so was it on a painting you bought and sold on but kept the barcode as a souvenir. Eileen

I told you it was hard. Max Beckmann may have been an artist, I don't know about that. What I do know is that he was killed on the Somme in WW1. When I visited the 'Flanders Fields' exhibition at the Cloth Hall in Ypres in 2000 I was asked if I wanted a name of one of the dead to carry round and act as a reminder. I said yes and it so happened that I got a German soldier. It was a very good idea and made the exhibits more immediate if you had a single name in mind. I had Max and of course my maternal grandfather who accompanied me round the exhibits....

How interesting Stanley, and what a thought provoking way of doing it. Don't know how you thought we could fathom that one out though.

We did a similar thing when we were visiting the penal colony in Hobart ( Tasmania) a few years ago. We were each given ( didn't choose) a persons name...a name of a prisoner. We followed them through their confinement, and discovered what had happened to them.
Our characters ended up working together. It's a bit hazy now, but I think one was a cobbler or similar, and somehow they worked near each other. ( kept our noses clean, as it happened)
I do feel it made the day come alive for us. Made it more interesting ( though I was more taken with the beautiful architecture than anything else. I find that old stones tend to talk to me...)

Well Gloria, Catty did take me to task about my pics not being mysteries.....
I'm racking my brains......

Speaking of mysteries, what has happened to our resident artist, haven't seen his name for ages, possibly because of the Christmas season ??

If you mean Conor, he posted only a few days ago. If not, who do you mean?

It looks as though we have another resident artist in Mick! Bloody sickening! Everything he does is such a high standard! I've been thinking about the next mystery.... try this one. (I have an idea it may be a repeat but it could be new to some of you)

Yes sorry I did mean Conor, must have missed him.

No need to be sorry Maz, easy to miss a response if you don't trawl all the topics.

Getting your Cazzas and your Mazzas mixed up again, Stanley.
( I find I often get named for things I didn't do).

It's me age and the cataracts..... Sorry Cath!

Any offers for the last image? Do I need to give a clue? Think textile industry......

Here's the other side of it.