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ABOUT
THE AUTHOR Born
in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), Ivan Rudolph hitch-hiked in Southern and Central
Africa as a teenager. Later on he was caught up in the war against terrorism. He
married his university sweetheart, became an active Christian and taught science
and mathematics in Zimbabwe, London and Malawi before moving to Australia in
1985, where he is still teaching at Toowoomba Grammar school. Ivan and Brenda
are proud parents of four children - and a border collie. Ivan
has had eight books published, one of which was made into a film in the 1980s,
and there are moves afoot to make a film based on his trilogy about the great
Australian, John Flynn. He also hopes for a movie based on his trilogy about
international terrorism - of which "The Gifting" is the first volume.
Watch out for the sequel, "The Hunting". Ivan’s
trilogy about the great John Flynn, of Flying Doctor fame, is still winning
critical acclaim. Thousands have
read and enjoyed these volumes, which took twelve years to research and compose. Acknowledgements Chapter
1 – The Plot Collapses (part sample only)
“Boys are – Bigheads, Bugs and Beetles,” Tasha declared, a suitable level of scorn tingeing her voice. Tamlyn chortled, as she usually did. Even if the situation did not warrant a chuckle, she would. “Oh yeah?” retorted Jason in his most challenging voice. He usually did, when unsure how better to respond. “Girls are – Gibbering, Goshawful Gorillas,” Terry declared triumphantly. He was so proud of his effort he decided to seek commendation from higher authority. “Don’t you agree, Dad?” “Dad is - Doggedly Driving, so I wasn’t listening too closely, but I thought you were much too generous in your description.” “Dads are – Dodos,” Tasha added quickly. “No. Dads are – Delectable Dishes. They’re also Dangerous, so watch what you say.” “No, Dad!” Tamlyn objected. “Dads are – Dizzy….” She had run out of inspiration and giggled instead of finishing. She believed a giggle could solve all sorts of difficult situations, even an unfinished sentence. “How
long are we intending to spend clearing scrub at the plot?” Terry wanted to
know and rushed on in the same breath, “Mum wants us back before lunch so that
the girls can go to their choir practice and I’d like to practice squash in
the early afternoon and Jason wants to go to Junior Cricket after lunch.” He
hoped to win an early return by linking the sentences and ideas as closely as he
could. The “plot” he referred to was a block of 45 acres of bush that his
parents had purchased twelve kilometres outside of Toowoomba in Queensland,
Australia. “I don’t know how long we’ll be, but there’ll be plenty of time for you kids to play while we’re there.” “Are we going to build ourselves a house on the plot, Dad?” Tamlyn asked. “Possibly, but I don’t think so. However, if we clear some promising house sites someone else might want to build one and buy it for a good price. Then we could afford a bigger home in town.” This was the ultimate purpose of the wild block of land, to provide a stepping-stone to something better. Being recent immigrants from Zimbabwe in Africa, they were prepared to work hard to establish themselves because the house they lived in was too small for an active family of six. “Dad, do you think we might see a lion in the bush today?” “No, Jason, this is Australia, not Africa. You don’t see lions here.” “Wanna bet? What about at the zoo?” Jason laughed loudly at his own joke in an attempt to camouflage his inane question, but Natasha did not let him get away with it this time any more than on previous occasions. As the second eldest daughter and just a couple of years younger than Terry, who was fourteen, she felt it her duty to instruct the younger two: Tamlyn, being nine, and Jason, the “baby” of the family, just eight. “Jason,” she lectured him sternly, “you’re being very stupid, as usual.” But then she stopped short, realising she did not know the reason herself. “Dad, why aren’t there lions here?” she asked sweetly, in a different tone.
“Australia has pouched mammals,
called marsupials, instead. There was a TasmanianTiger, but it was
smaller than a real tiger. And I believe there was a marsupial lion, but it died
out except for the few that are hiding on our plot, waiting to pounce on lazy
children,” he joked. The older three children grinned while Jason did not catch the joke, but he knew he wasn’t lazy and so had nothing to fear from any prowling lion. On arrival, their dad took them to the area he wanted cleared that morning, pointing out the lantana bushes he wanted “grubbed out” using pickaxes. They then trooped back to the van to grab equipment and put their watches inside to prevent them becoming coated with dust and dirt. The
children worked strenuously alongside their father for two hours before he took
pity on them and sent them off to play while he continued digging. “I know, let’s go and hunt for that lion Dad said was hiding on the plot,” Jason proposed enthusiastically. “Oh yes, let’s!” Tamlyn agreed in delight, clapping her hands together. “No. We haven’t been to our secret hideout for weeks and weeks. Let’s go and make it bigger,” Tasha suggested instead. “We can do both,” Tamlyn decided. “First we can add another room to our cubby, then we can send Jason off to hunt lions.” Her compromise was accepted. As the children cleared scrub to make more room for the cubby, they discovered that a long white rock lay below the thin covering of grass. Terry had gone away to keep watch, so they turned to Jason for advice. Since babyhood Jason had shown lots of engineering ability and was able to build all sorts of interesting things. “This rock is a little rough on its surface for our cubby and I wish we could move it out of our way,” Natasha said to Jason. “It looks a bit thin, like a sheet of stone that has peeled off a much bigger rock. You’re very good at this sort of thing, Jay. Do you think we could put Dad’s crowbar under the one edge and lever it sideways?” “I’ll try using this old fence pole instead,” said Jason. The children had gathered various items with which to build their cubby, including old fencing spikes left lying around by unknown previous owners. These were about two metres in length and tough. Jason busily rolled another rock over and placed a metal spike on top of it with one end firmly under the slab. As he pushed up on the opposite end of the spike, the large stone lifted a good 10 centimetres and he quickly slid the spike deeper underneath it as it fell back. This gave him better leverage and he repeated the process twice more. “Hey, look. It’s caught by tree roots near the middle that are twisting it back as you lift.” “Can we cut the roots away to set it free?” “We don’t have a knife with us. Let’s try something else first,” Jason decided. “You two come and push up on the bar as well. We might be able to break the roots.” The three pushed with all their might and the rock lifted slowly, the roots twisting it back against them. Then all of a sudden it shot up, catching the straining children quite by surprise and they staggered forwards and into a black void that appeared from below where the rock had lain. Even as he tumbled into the hole, still clutching the fencing spike, Jason instantly realised the roots would twist the rock back into its original position, trapping them below. Terry, meanwhile, had been sitting on an old tree stump listening to the others scrabbling in the thicket where they had their hidden cubby. He was taking his turn as guard because their father was not allowed to know where the hideout was. It was a “kids’ secret”. He
was idly tossing stones at a patch of grey lichen on a tree stump when he heard
a shrill little scream that ceased abruptly. |
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