"Wir verlangen, das Leben müsse einen Sinn haben - aber es hat nur ganz genau so viel Sinn, als wir selber ihm zu geben imstande sind."

 

 

Weihnachtsabend

Hermann Hesse

 

Am dunklen Fenstern stand ich lang Und schaute auf die weiße Stadt Und horchte auf den Glockenklang, Bis nun auch er versungen hat. Nun blickt die stille reine Nacht Traumhaft im kühlen Winterschein, Vom bleichen Silbermond bewacht, In meine Einsamkeit herein. Weihnacht! - Ein tiefes Heimweh schreit Aus meiner Brust und denkt mit Gram An jene ferne, stille Zeit, Da auch für mich die Weihnacht kam. Seither voll dunkler Leidenschaft Lief ich auf Erden kreuz und quer In ruheloser Wanderschaft nach Weisheit, Gold und Glück umher. Nun rast' ich müde und besiegt An meines letzten Weges Saum, Und in der blauen Ferne liegt Heimat und Jugend wie ein Traum.

 

 

Bean there, done that!

 

At 12:19

 

At last count, I received the grand total of FOUR Christmas cards this year - yes, Reg & Kini, that includes yours! People who used to send me Christmas cards are either dead or think that I am. To make up for the shortfall, I did a Mr Bean and sent myself a handful of cards - for the full video, click here.

Christmas cards are said to have been around since 1843 but not with me. I only became a recipient and reluctant sender after I had settled in deepest suburbia in 1985 following a Christmas-less and Christmas card-less lifetime spent in some of the most remote corners of the world.

Back in Canberra, my suburban neighbours used to engage in an annual 'look-I-received-more-cards-than-you' contest by stringing up their Christmas cards across their lounge room windows. With my competitive spirit aroused, I began to keep the few cards I received each year until, a few years later, I was able to string an impressive-looking collection across my own window. 'Look, I received more cards than you!' On closer inspection by one particular neighbour, I had a bit of explaining to do why, in the year 1990, a friend was wishing me "all the best for 1986!"

Thanks to my last-minute impression of doing a Mr Bean, I can now start my countdown to Christmas after having rolled out the razor wire across the gate - another old German custom! - to keep visitors away because I want more than just one silent night; I want a totally silent Christmas!

Thank you for not bothering me!

 

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P.S. As I sat on the sundrenched verandah and watched the gyrations of the stockmarket on this last trading day before Christmas, I noticed someone reaching across the razor wire at the gate to put something into the mailbox. Turned out to be Christmas card number FIVE! Grrrh!

 

Of Christmases past

 

Camp 6 at Loloho on the Bougainville Copper Project at Christmas 1970
from left to right: Neil "Jacko" Jackson, yours truly, Bob Green.
"Jacko" was later knighted for his services to the brewing industry
and became Sir Osis of the Liver and presumbaly succumbed to it.

 

We didn't use the word 'Christmas' then. Christmas came with too much emotional baggage. It reminded us of families and homes which we were far away from or didn't even have.

Of course, I'm talking of those many years - decades, in fact - spent in boarding houses, construction camps, hotels, and company housing. Come Christmastime, those who had families and homes had gone; those who didn't hadn't.

 

Barely nineteen years old, I was the sole occupant left in charge of a large construction camp closed down for the long German winter. In the background is my "bedroom", a double-tiered bunk. On the right is a kerosene stove which heated the room as well as enough water for my rudimentary personal hygiene. I also cooked my spartan meals on it.

 

My last Christmas in Germany in 1964 was spent in a mobile construction office which was both my office and my "bedroom", and yet preferable to the folding bed in the lounge room I usually occupied at home. It was a lonely Christmas as the construction site had closed down for the long winter. The company thought themselves lucky to have me copying technical drawings for the coming spring's reopening while also acting as unpaid "night watchman". It prepared me well for what was to come!

 

Looking out of my window to the town of Lüderitz and the Atlantic Ocean

 

There was Lüderitz in what was then South-West Africa and is now Namibia, a former German colony where I spent a lonely Christmas after my flatmate, another young German, had decided to travel up to the Etoscha National Park. I would have loved to have gone too but was determined to save money to get out of the place as soon as possible.

 

 

The natives called it "the land God made in anger", and this depressing view from the back of my flat tells you why. Three months later I was on my way to Cape Town where I boarded the next ship back to Australia.

 

 

Then there was Barton House in Canberra, throbbing with life from its 300-odd - and some very odd - inmates, which turned into a morgue by Christmastime. The dining room was roped off except for one table next to the kitchen. That one table was large enough for those left behind.

It's hard not to be reminded of something when you're surrounded by half a dozen gloomy faces. So for my last Christmas in Canberra in 1969, just before I flew to my next job in New Guinea, I hitched and hiked to Angle Crossing where I spent a solitary weekend writing letters, the only device known to man that combines solitude with good company.

 

Canberra's then Youth Hostel at Angle Crossing, over the hill from the Murrumbidgee River

 

Years later, and just one day before Christmas, I booked myself into hospital on Bougainville Island with acute appendicitis . "You'd better get on the next plane out and into a hospital at home", the doctor told me. He was already deep into his medicinal alcohol and had trouble remembering which side my appendix was on. "This is my home", I said. He made one long incision just to make sure he wouldn't miss it.

What I had missed was that my best friend Noel Butler was coming over from Wewak to spend - ahem! - Christmas with me. He must have got there while I was still under the anaesthetic, because there he was standing at the foot of my bed. He'd gone to my donga and waited and finally asked the hous boi where I was. "Masta bagarap long haus sik".

 

Yours truly and Noel hunched over a chess board in New Guinea

 

We tried again the following year by which time I had moved to Lae on the north coast of the New Guinea mainland. By the time Christmas and Noel had come, there was just enough time left for a drink at the club and a game of chess before I flew out to my next job in Burma.

And so it went on, year after year, either coming or going or laid up with something, deftly avoiding Christmas. It's no longer so easy anymore!

 

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I feel lucky

 

 

And so I bought a handful of Larvotto Resources - well, quite a handful; in fact, a truckload full - after I had sold out of Liontown Limited. I guess I ought to have held onto Liontown because it went up by another 4 cents while Larvotto dropped by 2 cents after I had bought it at $1.13. So stick with me, but buy when I sell, and sell when I buy!

As for the rest of my portfoilo - which is BHP and BHP and BHP and BHP! - I do feel lucky because BHP has been building up a head of steam and is well above $45. That's still well below its $50-plus price in December 2023 when I should heve sold but instead piled into some more. As I wrote before, stick with me, but buy when I sell, and sell when I buy!

And before you ask, no, I'm not into critical minerals because the only critical mineral worth having is copper. Without copper, all the other critical minerals are worseless. So, for once, stick with me on that one!

 

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In case you're wondering ...

 

 

While Padma, scared by the shops being shut for one day over Christmas, bought enough groceries to last us until Easter, I did my own Christmas shopping. She has always wanted an expensive silk dress in a sort of turquoise colour. Well, I was lucky to find her an ironing board cover in exactly the selfsame colour!

In case you're wondering if Santa received your letter, yes, he has - and, no, he hasn't repurposed it! - and he's sending you a dictionary in reply.

 

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