Diarikom

Saluting Giraffes

2026-09-15T13:26:39.434+02:00

Saluting Giraffes

A few summers ago, whilst taking an evening tour of Vienna's zoo in Schönbrunn, I got to know something of interest. A story of three very old African ladies. 3 stunning giraffes. And, this is the story I heard.

Down at the zoo in Vienna, the old giraffe house was falling to pieces. A new one was urgently needed. Something much bigger and better. Comfort and luxury for the tallest animals on earth. But, what about the giraffes that were there?

The solution was easy. It was over the fence in the barracks next door. And all very close.

The army, having lots of spare space on their ground, very nicely offered to put up a new temporary home for the soon to be homeless giraffes. New quarters for three very tall ladies with very long legs. And there, the giraffes were very, very happy.

And, down in the zoo the building began. A new home for giraffes. But, the building took longer than planned. In fact, very much longer than expected. Good things take very much time, and especially so in Vienna.

And, then, one day it was finished. The new giraffe house. Shining and bright and luxury pure. A comfortable home for giraffes.

But, there was one little problem. The giraffes had grown old in the barracks. They were now three very old ladies and too frail to go back to the zoo. What was to be done? No problem. This is a story with a very happy ending.

Four young giraffes came up on the train from Trieste. And, these four young giraffes from Trieste soon settled wonderfully in in their new home in the zoo in Vienna.

And, not far away, just over the hill, our three dear old ladies still sleep very well in their permanent temporary military quarters. And, belonging to the army, these three very old giraffes have military ranks. The highest of all. All three are generals. So, salutes at sun-up and salutes at sundown. And, of course, long leather boots and a little red beret to wear on parade.

Life is full of surprises. And, saluting giraffes are very unusual.

Saluting Giraffes – A true summer story written and read by Nigel A. JAMES

2026-08-29T08:53:50.721+02:00

Prester John - A King from the East

Prester John was a Christian king from the east. And, his army was very, very powerful, in fact the most powerful of all. Prester John had never lost a battle. No one could stand in his way.

It was the time of the first crusades. And, the retaking of Jerusalem was not going to plan. The infidels were proving hard to defeat. The Crusaders were not so good as believed. In fact, they were bad. An ally was urgently needed. And so, a messenger was sent to Prester John in the east with a letter from the Pope.

Prester John, Pope Alexander the Third believed, would be a friend he could count on. Two Christians together and one common cause.

But, there was only one very small problem. No one knew where Prester John was. No one knew where to find him. He had never been seen. Prester John was a mystery. And, to make matters worse, the messenger never returned. And, the Crusaders had to do the job on their own. But, where was Prester John?

The answer was easy. If it wasn't the far-east, then India was next on the list. But, he wasn't there either and the search was taken to Africa. But, Prester John and his army were nowhere to be seen. And, to this day, they still haven't been found.

Prester John was one of the greatest myths of all times. Many people believed it. The truth is that Prester John was thought up by Bishop Otto of Freising in the 12^th century. The story the bishop invented was that Prester John was a descendant of one of the three wise kings mentioned in the Nativity story in the Bible. The rest of the story, the army, power, and so-on, grew on its own.

People like stories, and the stronger and bigger the better. Prester John was – and still is - one of the best ever tales of all times!

Prester John – A King From the East

Edward Cave

2026-08-23T08:58:18.212+02:00

Edward Cave

There are many different kinds of magazines. Something for everyone. Everything from atoms to zoos. But, why are magazines called magazines?

In 1730, the French Canadian printer Edward Cave decided to produce a monthly printed sheet for men. A general interest sheet to contain short and interesting articles. His idea was good. But, what should he call it?

Edward Cave's first idea was 'A Store of General Information.' An idea based on the many general stores of his time that sold everything needed. This was a perfect description of his concept, but sounded far too clumsy. Something better was needed.

Fortunately, Edward Cave spoke French. All he had to do was substitute the English word store for the French word magazine. Both meant the same. But, the French sounded better, and, it worked. 'A Store of General Information' became 'A Magazine of General Information.' And, the word magazine stuck and became international.

Edward Cave's magazine became very popular. And, within just a short space of time, many others had followed. And now, 300 years on, magazines are just as important as ever. Magazines - not stores - are part of our lives.

Edward Cave had an idea. A store of brilliant ideas that became a magazine for men. Not only a clever idea with a very clever name, but also a clever new word that became known all over the world. The word magazine. A cross between English and French.

Edward Cave and his magazine for men. Without French it would never have happened.

Edward Cave. A Canadian printer with a very good idea.

Christian Rinder

2026-06-14T11:55:46.019+02:00

Christian Rinder

Coming-homes are possibly the shortest and sweetest moments of all. Coming homes are things to look forward to, moments to dream of, and things to hope and pray for as well.

And, coming-homes are seldom forgotten. But, there are special coming-homes that happen only once. And, Christian Rinder never forgot his last coming home from war.

It was a very hot summer day as Christian Rinder came up the road. A very long road and a very long walk.

And, being back where he was was something he'd never imagined. For him, and millions of others as well, still being alive had been a question of chance. And, Christian Rinder had had a very hard war.

He had survived Holland, Belgium, and Stalingrad, too. And now, all that mattered was home. And, when he got home, the door was wide open. And there was his mother. Down on her knees and washing the floor.

And, Christian Rinder just looked down at his mother. Speechless. No words. Then his mother looked up. She froze. This was a moment she'd never expected.

But, before she could reach him, she fainted. And, Christian caught her. She fainted again. And, when she came round she was in her son's arms. A moment she'd never dared dream of.

A dream had come true without being a dream.

Coming-homes are beautiful moments. And, when Christian's girlfriend Lucy arrived it made the moment complete. Coming home is all about those who are waiting. Coming homes are the nicest of all!

Coming-homes are beautiful moments. But, the coming homes from war are the nicest and sweetest of all.

The Sweetest Moments of All – Christian Rinder

Horace de Vera Cole and the Dreadnought

2026-06-02T14:25:25.707+02:00

Horace de Vera Cole and the Dreadnought

A very good hoax is something the British enjoy. And, in 1910, Horace de Vera Cole and a small group of friends carried out an incredible hoax. They made fun of the great Royal Navy.

As it so happened, an Abyssinian prince was paying a visit to England. This was an excellent chance for the prank loving Horace. And, very soon, he and his fun group of friends, which included Virginia Woolf and 2 other members of the Bloomsbury group, were perfecting a plan.

With the help of a university drama club, the group produced some unimaginably very good costumes; and, the makeup was brilliant too. The group then went on their way.

After having cleverly tricked British Railways into providing a VIP luxury coach for the journey, the group travelled down to Weymouth which lay on the coast. And, there, moored in great splendor was HMS Dreadnought. A fine British battle ship.

The captain and crew had been informed in advance of the Abyssinian visit. A very realistic Foreign Office telegram had been sent. The Dreadnought was ready and waiting. The Abyssinian prince and his delegation were whistled on board and saluted. A tour of the ship and a very fine lunch then went without saying. And, before disembarking, the Abyssinian prince bestowed an Abyssinian medal of honor on the captain. A traditional Abyssinian thank you.

The party that night was a party that London never forgot. The Dreadnought Hoax, as it had become known, was the talk of the town. Everyone thought it was funny. And, the fun carried on until morning. But, then, came a knock on the door!

It was the navy. The group was arrested and taken back down to Weymouth. This time third class not VIP. There was the Dreadnought. It was waiting for them. The group was marched back on board. This time to a different kind of whistling. The captain was not very happy.

Each member of the group, except Virginia Woolf, was made to bend over and given three symbolic whips on the buttocks. And all to the very hearty cheers of the crew. But, of course, this wasn't the end of the story.

The captain and officers of the Dreadnought invited Horace de Vera Cole and his friends for a wonderful lunch. The Dreadnought had been cleverly tricked. The Royal Navy, too, enjoy very good pranks, and, of course, are very good losers. All very good fun and all very British.

Horace de Vera Cole and the Dreadnought

Audry Bowels and Apple Crumble

2026-05-28T19:36:28.696+02:00

Apple crumble is one of the few British dishes that really tastes great. Everyone likes it. It can be eaten with custard and cream or taken just as it is. And, this Great British dish is a thing that happened by chance. And, its story began just after the war.

Audrey Bowls was was just seventeen at the time. And, because there were no other jobs to be had, she was cooking school dinners for a living. And, in those days, school dinners were things that everyone hated. Nobody liked them. They simply didn't taste nice.

And then, one day, things suddenly changed. School dinners took a turn for the better. And, all because Audrey Bowls forgot something important!

The apple pie had been in the oven for more than an hour when Audrey Bowls went white in the face. She even had to sit down. The milk, the eggs, and the water were still on the table. She had forgotten to add them. Dry pastry! Oh no! What could she do? 300 hungry young children and no apple pie. A disaster was looming.

Quickly, Audrey Bowls took the apple pie out of the oven. But, there was no smell of burning and no burned apple pie. The dry apple pie had crumbled, instead. And, it was really quite nice. Just a little too dry. And, this was no problem. Hot runny custard was all that was needed. And, Audrey's apple pie which was now apple crumble was an immediate success. The kids simply loved it. And, this was the first time in the history of British school dinners that the kids wanted seconds. A great day for Britain.

And, word quickly spread. Soon, apple crumble was being served on all the big ships that crossed the Atlantic, and, of course, on all major airlines as well. Everyone everywhere loved it.

Sometimes it's the small people in life who contribute the most. They make people happy. And, Audrey's mistake in the kitchen was the best thing that ever happened in Britain. The day the pie crumbled was the day that all children smiled! Great British cooking was up at the top! And, all thanks to young Audrey Bowls. If she hadn't forgotten the eggs, milk, and water there would be no apple crumble – just apple pie!

Audrey Bowls and her great apple crumble.

2026-05-10T13:03:00.000+02:00

Please click here to listen to Willi Noelle with full text on YouTube

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Shooting Star! - Willi Noelle

Willi Noelle used to be a cameraman for Austrian TV. A job full of surprises. And, the surprises he got one night in Beirut were not only thrilling but dangerous as well. It was 1972 - just before Christmas.

Willi Noelle and his team had gone to Beirut to meet Yassir Arafat. Three days were all that they had. Beirut was simply too dangerous. Leaving the hotel was out of the question. Waiting was all they could do. Waiting for a call that might never come!

The first two days brought nothing at all. And, day number three, their very last day, was the same. Nothing! Nothing at all. And so, at eleven that night, Willi Noelle and his team went down to the bar for one or two rounds before bed. They'd soon be on their way home. Going home with no story. Not very nice.

Then came the call! Outside in the dark was a car. It was waiting for them.

It was pitch black as Willi Noelle and his team were driven at speed through the night time streets of Beirut. Streets full of shadows and danger. And, only Willi Noelle who was sitting in the front was able to see the signals the driver was flashing. The shadows were guarding their route.

Soon they arrived at a small dimly lit courtyard. There was menace in the air. Uniformed soldiers were smoking and hanging around. Willi Noelle and his team were afraid. Very afraid. And, there in the courtyard they waited.

Then - through the still of the night came a sound. The sharp clack clack clack of a stick. A small lame man with a hunchback came out of the shadows. An officer. And, his oversized uniform made him ridiculous. Only signs were exchanged. And then, Willi Noelle and his team followed the officer's clack clack clack back into the shadows.

They came to a dimly lit door in a wall. And there, deep underground was a bunker. A bunker smelling of waiting and stale Turkish smoke.

The furniture was simple. An English red leather three piece suite, a table, and on one of the walls a mountainous landscape. But, there were small comforts, too. The offer of a strong Lebanese coffee and an even stronger Turkish cigarette was gladly accepted. But, this bunker was nothing more than a hole in the ground. A place only for hiding.

Then, as his camera was being admired by an Hungarian, Willi Noelle thought he saw the wall move! He wasn't dreaming. The wall wasn't a wall, it was a screen. And, there in the shadows of the shadows and waiting for them was the unshaven and smiling Yassir Arafat. And, Yassir Arafat, the great PLO leader was impressive. His charisma was powerful. He was bigger than himself. They started to talk. This was what they had come for. They were not disappointed. This was one of the most interesting and powerful discussions Willi Noelle had ever experienced. Yassir Arafat did have a message. And, he told it.

A few hours later, Willi Noelle and his team took off from Beirut. They were happy and tired. They had got what they'd come for. A brilliant interview with Yassir Arafat. Then, high up in the sky, all became clear.

No passwords had been used to enter the bunker. The key had been the clack clack clack of the officer's stick. Had Willi Noelle and his team been captured or taken they would have had nothing to say.

And the Hungarian? He was an arms and explosives expert. He was checking the camera. It could easily have been a bomb or a gun.

Then Willi Noelle thought about their three day wait in the hotel. And, this too became clear. Checking and watching. Was Willi Noelle really Willi Noelle? Was Willi Noelle's team really Willi Noelle's team? There's no such thing as trust in a war.

Of course, Willi Noelle completed many more missions. But, his days in Beirut were the days that stood out. Chancing with death in a city of war, and bringing home an interview with one of history's greatest. Yassir Arafat. The most feared, most admired and most wanted man in the world.

Willi Noelle was a camera man for Austrian television. And, more often than not, there was more of a story behind the getting of the story than the story itself!

Willi Noelle, a great shooting star.

Budapest Blues

2026-04-23T10:57:00.003+02:00

Click here to listen to Budapest Blues - with full text - on YouTube

I never liked football. But, there I was at a match. England versus Hungary. I liked Budapest very much. Vienna, where I lived was not far away.

The match was boringly slow. But, I cheered with the rest when England actually scored. Otherwise, the whole thing was a waste of good time.

The game finally finished. England had won. Now, it was time for a very long night in the Budapest that I knew. But, there was one little problem. A Union Jack. And, this Union Jack almost cost us our lives. It happened going back to the coach.

Our coach was parked in the middle of a big open space. And, this big open space was full of Hungarians. They were hanging around and not very friendly. And, two of our group, two very proud Brits, were waving their Union Jack.

The Hungarians were showing their feelings. Angry and looking for trouble. Very, very menacing. Then came the loud black ugly whistling. The Hungarians wanted the flag. Things had turned very rough. Grabs were made for the flag. But, we managed to get back to the coach with the flag. We were quickly on board. Then came the missiles.

Bottles, cans, and stones, and so-on. I felt sure the windows wouldn't survive. The shouting and hissing were deafening and threatening. We were in danger. It was frightening. Then, things began to get worse! We felt the coach starting to rock. The crowd was doing their best to rock our coach over. We were too heavy. The jeering and shouting and the black ugly whistling continued. We were stuck fast in the middle of aggression. The crowd was determined.

Then, not a moment too soon, an army of long black leather coats came out of the shadows. Then, as if following an unspoken command, the crowd started quietly dispersing. We were free to go on our way. Now, a strong whisky was all that was needed. The embassy bar was a blessing.

My first Scotch was a triple, the next two as well. I got talking. Had they been to the match? Certainly not! Meanwhile, at the other end of the bar, The two with the flag were being toasted as heroes. Saving the flag and all that. Stupidity?

Next day, on the way home, the two with the Union Jack took their seats at the back of the coach. The Union Jack at full mast across the back window. The victorious English on their way home. The Union Jack. A very bold statement. A Union Jack that hadn't been captured.

And, I had a touch of the Budapest blues. Too much danger, too much fun, too many whiskies, and a night that had turned into morning. All in all, a very close call.

Budapest, a long time ago.

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2026-04-16T08:59:00.001+02:00

The Great Escape - A true end of war story as remembered by Mrs Kastn

It was ten years ago that Mrs. Kastner told me the following story. It was an incredible tale and told of her brother Paul Wenzel and his remarkable escape. And, it happened just after the 2^nd World War.

Paul Wenzel was being held in Germany in an American internment camp and life was boring and dull. There was nothing to do and the only thing he wanted was home. But, his home was in Austria and a long way-a-way, and being stuck fast where he was, there was nothing he could do. But, dreams can come true, and one day something more than incredible happened.

Paul Wenzel was in the exercise yard. He was on his own in a corner and standing right next to a door. He had seen it many times before, but, this was the first time he had noticed it. And then, just out of pure curiosity he tried the handle. The door was unlocked. And, without even thinking or checking to see that all was all right, Paul Wenzel opened the door and all of a sudden was free!

And, the miracle continued. Just ten metres away and leaning against a wall was a bike. Again, no time to think. And so, in the heat of a hot summer moment, Paul Wenzel was up and away and on his way home! And, his luck held. There were no serious incidents during his three day trip, and the people he met were only too willing to help with food and drink and somewhere to sleep. But, that wasn't the end of the story.

Paul Wenzel had been home for two weeks when the twist to his story took place. It was a Wednesday morning. Paul Wenzel had gone into town on his bike. And then, after doing what had to be done, it was time to go home. But, where was the bike? It was nowhere to be found. And, Paul Wenzel smiled.

The bike had helped when he had needed it most, and now it was doing the same for somebody else. There are some things in life that cannot be explained. One just has to believe. And, Christine Wenzel, the now Mrs. Kastner, was unable to believe that her brother was home! And, all thanks to a door that was open and bike that was waiting. A remarkable story that was just meant to be!

But, of course, the questions remain. Was this fate or simply good luck? Or, something much higher? But, whatever it was, it was true, and it changed Paul Wenzel for ever! The day he stepped out into freedom!

Albert Gunter

2026-04-09T19:38:00.002+02:00

Click here to listen to Albert Gunter on YouTube with full text

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Way-homes on London red buses are for taking it easy. These stop and start trips allow time for reading the paper, and, if sitting upstairs, the view of a London evening on its way into darkness is the best in the world! But, passengers to Dulwich in South London got more than they paid for a long time ago. While riding home for their suppers one late afternoon, they not only flew, but made headlines as well!

It was the 30^thof December, the last working day of 1952. Albert Gunter had just steered his number 78 double decker bus onto London's world famous Tower Bridge. All of a sudden, he felt his bus going-up! The arm of the bridge on which he was driving was rising! And, it looked as though his bus was about to make history. The first ever London bus to fly off a bridge and sink in the Thames! But, Albert Gunter knew what to do. He went into action.

Automatically, Albert Gunter dropped down in gear and put his foot on the gas. His bus needed speed. He only had seconds. The gap between the two arms of the bridge was getting bigger and bigger as each second passed. His bus had to fly over the gap or crash into the river. Faster and faster he drove. He had no other choice. There was no going back! And, Albert Gunter succeeded. His bus took off and flew for just a few seconds. And, that was enough.

Down came the bus with a bang! It was loud. The passengers and seats were thrown about as the bus came to a stop on the other arm of the bridge. And, thankfully, only one or two minor injuries. But, that wasn't the end of the story.

Albert Gunter was decorated for bravery by the Queen. He had saved the lives of his passenger's. And, by-the-way, that was the first ever medal that Queen Elizabeth the Second awarded. A medal, not only for bravery, but also for flying a bus. And, all London joined in with its praise and its thanks. And, Albert Gunter was made London's 1952 man of the year. And, that was good so. Albert Gunter had not only saved the lives of 63 people, he had given them a story to take home as well. The day they flew home in a bus!

Albert Gunter and a very hard landing. An incredible story. London 1952.

Edward Cave

2026-03-30T10:29:00.000+02:00

There are many different kinds of magazines. Something for everyone. Everything from atoms to zoos. But, why are magazines called magazines?

Edward Cave and his magazine for men. Without French it would never have happened.

Edward Cave. A Canadian printer with a very good idea.

Peter Rosegger and Old Thresel Kramer

2026-03-21T15:47:00.006+01:00

Peter Rosegger and Old Thresel Kramer - A Mountain Childhood Story

People enjoy looking forward to things that are special. And, these moments of joy always involve other people.

And, in his book, *As I was still a Forest Farmer's Son, Peter Rosegger, the Austrian author, thinks kindly back to old Thresel Kramer. She was a very kind lady and her visits to the Rosseger's farm in the mountains of Austria were moments that were never forgotten.

Old Thresel Kramer came selling her wares twice a year. Once in the winter and once in the spring. And, on her back she carried a of chest of drawers in the form of a ruck-sack. And, this chest of drawers on her back was a pack of surprises. And, arriving at the Rosseger's farm house, Old Thresel Kramer would unpack her wares on the old kitchen table. The children's eyes opened wide with delight. It was the same every time. This was a magical moment that didn't come often.

There were sweets to enjoy, mouth-organs to play, brightly painted wooden spoons, tobacco to smoke, pocket knives for carving, small wooden horses on wheels, toy soldiers in colourful uniforms, and, many other things as well. Something for everyone. And, because each boy and girl had kept their promises to be good, the rewards were not long in coming. Each child was given a gift of their very own choice. And, the children were happy and joyful.

And, everyone else was happy as well. Then, after a fine simple meal of sausage and bread, Thresel Kramer went on her way. Into the freshness of green in the spring, and, into the snow and the ice in the winter. And, as Old Thresel Kramer waved happily goodbye, the waiting began once again.

Peter Rosegger was born in 1843 and died in 1918. In his book, “As I was still a Forest Farmer's Son”, Peter Rosegger describes his childhood in the mountains of Austria, His book is packed full of interesting stories and is a must for everyone interested in Austrian history.

Moments of magic always involve other people. People who are special. And, in those days, Thresel Kramer was a very special person in the mountains of Austria. A lady who called twice a year with her bag of surprises.

Peter Rosegger and Old Thresel Kramer. Two special people with a very special story from long ago days in the mountains of Austria.

Vocabulary

mouth-organs – Mundharmonika -

tobacco pipes – Tabakpfeife -

pocket knives , Taschenmesser -

buttons – Kopfe -

brightly painted wooden spoons - bunt bemalte Holzlöffel -

small wooden horses on wheels - kleine Holzpferde auf Rädern -

toy soldiers in colourful uniforms - Spielzeugsoldaten in bunten Uniformen

Click Here to listen to text on YouTube - with full text

The Palace of Glass

2026-03-13T20:14:00.001+01:00

The Palace of Glass

The Hungarian village of Alsoors lies on the shore of LakeBalaton. And, there, down by the lake is a palace of glass. And, this magical palace of glass was great for countless young people. A place of good fun, dancing and action, and mega enjoyment. But, sadly no more.

This once popular disco is now shuttered and barred, and the youngsters have all disappeared. But, this huge building of glass was not always a disco, it was something else, too. And. Aranka Acs, who grew up nearby, told me the following story.

When she was a child, Lake Balaton and Alsoors played a big part in her life. During the long summer holidays, her parents would take her down to the Lake for

summer time family fun.

And, in those days, the palace of glass was the communal canteen that everyone went to for lunch.

And, it was this canteen that later became the disco. But, looking back to the canteen, Aranka Acs has no feelings of nostalgia. In fact, quite the opposite.

Being built of glass, this building was unbearably hot, and people ate and left as quickly as possible.

This palace of glass was not a nice place to linger. And, the food, was always the same. Tasteless, boring, and dull.

But, then came the end of the socialist era and this daytime disaster became a night-time wonder of good fun, action, and music. And, it stayed that way for 25 years.

So, what is the future for this now empty palace of glass? The choices are many. But, I secretly hope this magnificent lake-side palace of glass will once again become a palace of life. A place for the young to go and have fun.

There's now a black hole where fun used to be. The youngsters don't come anymore. And, a place without youth is a place that's not living.

The building's still there. Why not open it up and let it live once again?

St. Valentine's Day

2026-01-11T10:31:00.004+01:00

St. Valentine's Day – Love, Champagne, kisses, Flowers and Cards!

February the 14^th is Valentine's Day. People send flowers, go out for candle-light meals, drink Champaign by the bucket, and are generally nice. A wonderful day. But, the best part of all is the British tradition of Valentine's cards. Great excitement and fun.

Valentine's cards are anonymous. No one knows who they're from. They simply flutter in with the post. And, the fun's in the guessing who sent them. Love should then follow. But, usually it doesn't. Mostly a story of dreams.

And, St. Valentine's cards are romantically arty. Most have pictures of red hearts and roses. And, all of them beg, “Be my Valentine.” Romantically silly. But, the two Valentine's cards I received said exactly the opposite.

On the front of the first card was a horrible picture. Rats, slugs, cockroaches, and snakes. All very revolting. And, when I opened the card, the message was simple and straight to the point. “Just thinking of you,” were the words that were written.

The second card wasn't much different. On the front of the card were the heart lifting sensational words, “If I had 100 pounds for every time I thought of you . . .” I opened the card and read on. Instead of, “I would be the richest woman on earth,” were the shattering words, “I would think of you more often.” “If I had a hundred pounds for every time I thought of you, I would think of you more often.”

This was a long time ago. The only two Valentine's cards I ever received. I sent many, but my love was never returned. So, who was St. Valentine? I did some research. St. Valentine was stoned to death for what he invented. St. Valentine invented marriage! In those days, a very good reason for stoning someone to death. But, why did they make him a saint? An unanswered question.

February the 14^th is Valentine's Day. People send flowers. They go out for candle-light dinners. And, that's it for another 12 months.

The story of love is no easy road. It had a hard stony end for poor Valentine.

St. Valentine's Day. Champagne. Flowers and Cards. Secrets. High hopes and deep disappointments.

See you next year. Please, please, be my Valentine!

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From Nicholas Nickelby - A Dickensian Tale

2025-12-30T10:34:00.002+01:00

I discovered the following anecdote amongst the pages of Nicholas Nickelby, a novel by Charles Dickens. I found it amusing and I'd like to share it with you.

Nicholas Nickleby was on his way from London to Yorkshire when he was involved in an accident. The coach upon which he was travelling overturned and Nicholas Nickleby, being an outside passenger, was thrown into a snow drift. But, it wasn't so bad. Everyone survived to tell the tale and had to wait in an inn for a new coach to be sent. And, it was there one of the passengers told the following story.

Once upon-a-time, there was a German Baron, Baron Koeldwethout. And he was a very happy man who spent most of his time hunting, getting drunk, and generally having lots of good fun. But, one day, the baron started getting fed up with it all. Life had become boring and dull. And so, to cut a long story short, the baron got married.

But, 12 years later with a permanently miserable and never happy domineering wife and 13 noisy uncontrollable little barons and baronesses to keep and to feed, the baron discovered he was sorely missing the life of revelry and drunkenness he had sacrificed upon the altar of domestic happiness.

Things were bad, and, to add to it all, his money was spent. The only way out, the Baron believed, was a premature end to his life! And so, there he was, all alone with a bottle of wine, his knife to kill himself, and a final pipe. But, the baron was not as alone as he thought. For there, in the corner, was the ghost of suicide. He had arrived to bring home the Baron!

And, it turned out, the ghost of suicide was a somewhat miserable apparition in a hurry. There were, after-all, many others waiting for him, and next on his list was a young man with too much money! Upon hearing this, the Baron burst into laughter. How could someone kill himself because of too much money? How absurd! Then the baron started thinking!

Was where he was planning to go better than where he was now? If the ghost of suicide was so miserable, what was everyone else like? The Baron changed his mind, and, after getting his life back in order and becoming happy again, died many years later.

And, what about Nicholas Nickleby? He resumed his journey and became an assistant in the school which belonged to the notorious alcoholic and child hater, Mr Newman Noggs.

And, if you want to know what happened, you will have to read the book! Nicholas Nickelby by Charles Dickens. I read it and thought it was great!

From Nicholas Nickelby - A Dickensian Tale

All Boxed In

2025-12-20T20:27:00.002+01:00

Travelling is full of surprises! Big surüprises and small surprises. And, the box which Evelyn Dawid discovered at the castle of Taso in South Tirol was very, very interesting. It was big and down in the cellar!

And, it was there for the servants. It was their bed for the night and it must have been awful.

At the end of each day, with all 30 servants inside, the box was closed and wasn't opened till morning. But, how did the servants sleep? What was it like in the box? What about the air that they breathed and the smells and the unpleasant sounds? And, the getting up the night? Unanswerable questions! But, one thing is clear, upstairs it was life as was normal!

The duke and his family enjoyed nothing but the best of the best of normal aristocratic everyday luxury life. Beds and no boxes for them!

But, why the box for the servants? Was it to stop them from escaping? Or, could it have been that the duke was afraid of being murdered in his sleep? Or, was he simply a very nice generous man. After all, what better than a cosy warm box on a cold winter's night in an unheated cellar?

Of course, we will never find out! But, one thing is clear. The more we see, the more we discover! And, I wonder what Evelyn Dawid will be bringing back from her next journey. Something of interest, I'm sure!

P.S. South Tirol has a history! It used to be part of Austria, but is now part of Italy. Castel Taso is the Italian name for Burg Reifenstein.

Vocabulary

aristocratic – adliger

awful – furchtbar

cosy – behaglich

generous – großzügig

unheated – nicht geheizt

Edith Neni

2025-12-02T17:13:00.004+01:00

Edith Neni

Edith Neni grew up in the depths of an Hungarian forest. And, she knew the secret of getting through freezing cold winters without catching colds. And, this secret was nothing more than bowls of hot water.

Every evening, Edith Neni's mother would prepare the bowls of hot water. One for each family member. And, into each bowl of piping hot water went a touch of bicarb' of soda and a sprinkling of salt.

And, there the family would sit in a circle, each with their feet in a bowl and all having fun. Stories and jokes, and, for those old enough, a cup of hot spicy wine. Wonderful ends of very hard days.

And, these bowls of hat salty water were very important. Edith Nene grew up in a very poor family. Everyone, even the children, had to work very hard. Foot baths in piping hot water kept people in very good health. And, very good health meant money as well.

Edith Neni, who has now sadly left us, grew up in the depths of an Hungarian forest. And, she never had a cold in her life. Bowls of piping hot water with bicarb' of soda and a small pinch of salt.

This could be something for you. You will not only have very clean feet, but good health as well. It's not only cheap, it's easy as well.

Edith Neni and bowls of hot water

My name is Nigel A. JAMES.

Clemelee Club is my YouTube channel.

German and English.

Articles of general interest,

short stories, interviews, English learning aids,

and much more as well.

>Click hier for Clemelee Club<

Mein Name ist Nigel A. JAMES.
Clemelee Club ist mein YouTube Channel.
Deutsch und Englisch.
Artikel von allgemeinem Interesse,
Kurzgeschichten, Interviews,
Englisch-Lernhilfen und vieles mehr.

A True Advent Story

2025-11-09T16:46:00.003+01:00

Advent is a wonderful time and the Viennese love it. The city is dotted with small Advent markets, and all, more-or-less, exactly the same. A beautifully decorated tree, hot spicy wine, Christmassy things one can buy, a wonderful Advent feeling, and, of course, Advently seasonal music. And, about ten years ago, I was at just such a market, and this is what happened.

I was having a wonderful time. Everything was great and everything Advently perfect. But, it was the choir that provided the spirit of the evening. And, singing mainly in English, they were very, very good. But, the evening went quicker than expected and soon came the very last song.

The conductor turned to the people, thanked them, and wished them a very merry Christmas and a happy new year. And then, after turning back to the choir, closed his eyes, and started conducting the very last number. And, the choir started singing, and the crowd started humming and singing along. It was all very magic.

And, then came the the very last line of this very last song. And, just like a half dying swan in great pain, the conductor, with still tightly closed eyes, raised his arms in an arch, paused for a second, then flutteringly and dramatically brought them back down again for the expected well practiced majestic conclusion. But, the choir didn't stop. They simply carried on singing! The last line had not been the last line at all. The singers had been singing from their song sheets and not even looking at the conductor. And, the conductor, because of his tightly closed eyes, had not even noticed he was being ignored.

But, all's well that ends well. With a very red face, the conductor conducted hard to catch up, and, of course, brought the concert to a triumphant conclusion. And, the applause was fantastic. The audience had had a wonderful evening.

And, that's how it was. An evening of magic with more than one or two glasses of hot spicy wine, and, of course, some Christmassy songs sung by a very fine choir.

Advent. A wonderful time that the Viennese love – and, I love it as well.

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Ein Adventlied

Die Adventszeit ist wunderbar, und die Wiener freuen sich sehr auf diese magische Zeit. Die Stadt Wien hat viele kleine Adventsmärkte - Alle wunderschön.

Und vor etwa zehn Jahren habe ich auf einem solchen Adventsmarkt etwas ziemlich lustiges erlebt.

Der Abend war schön. Alles war perfekt. Und der Chor sang hauptsächlich auf Englisch. Und dieser Chor war sehr, sehr gut. Und viel zu schnell kam das allerletzte Lied.

Der Dirigent wandte sich an die Menschen, dankte ihnen und wünschte ihnen frohe Weihnachten und ein gutes neues Jahr. Dann wandte er sich wieder dem Chor zu, schloss die Augen und begann, das allerletzte Lied zu dirigieren. Der Chor begann zu singen, und die Menge summte und sang mit. Alles sehr magisch.

Und dann kam die allerletzte Zeile dieses allerletzten Liedes. Und wie ein halbtoter Schwan, der große Schmerzen leidet, hob der Dirigent mit immer noch fest geschlossenen Augen seine Arme zu einem Bogen, hielt einen Moment inne und senkte sie dann flatternd und dramatisch um den erwarteten, gut einstudierten, majestätischen Schluss zu erreichen.

Aber der Chor hörte nicht auf zu singen. Er sang einfach weiter! Die letzte Zeile war nicht die letzte Zeile gewesen. Die Sänger hatten aus ihren Notenblättern gesungen und den Dirigenten nicht einmal angesehen. Und der Dirigent hatte aufgrund seiner fest geschlossenen Augen nicht einmal bemerkt, dass er ignoriert wurde.

Aber Ende gut, alles gut. Mit hochrotem Gesicht dirigierte der Dirigent mit aller Kraft, um den Anschluss wiederzufinden-und brachte das Konzert zu einem triumphalen Abschluss. Der Applaus war fantastisch. Das Publikum hatte einen wunderbaren Abend verbracht.

Und so war es auch. Ein magischer Abend mit mehr ein oder zwei Gläsern Glühwein und natürlich einigen Weihnachtsliedern, gesungen, natürlich, von einem sehr guten Chor.

Ein Adventslied - Geschrieben und gelesen von Nigel A. JAMES

A Shimmering Caller

2025-11-02T11:26:00.004+01:00

My Ghost From A Long Time Ago

There was always someone behind me. Following me from morning till night. But, whenever I turned round to look, he was gone. He was always quicker than me. Our home was his home. And, he and I got on very well.

My mother, too, felt his presence. He was always watching her cooking. Standing behind her. Maybe, he was laughing at her. My mother's cooking was never any good.

And, then, one night it happened. I have never forgotten it. I was at home all alone and in bed. It was about 2 in the morning. The middle of the small hours. Suddenly, I woke up. There was something very strong in my room. Standing at the bottom of my bed was a soft shimmering form. I sat up. I looked. This shimmering form had the guise of a monk. It was sparkling and looking at me. A very deep very black void was where his face should have been. I felt amazingly good. At last, I had seen him. Our ghost. For a couple of seconds, I said nothing. I then said hello. I waited. Enchanted. The ghost lingered a while. Then, very slowly he faded away. He was gone. I stayed awake for a very long time. Thinking. Wondering if the ghost would ever come again. I hoped so. I liked him.

But, I never saw the ghost again. He never came back. But, he was always present in our thinking. Then, one day, my aunty came calling. A nice occasion. And, over dinner, she told us her story. About 3 years before on a previous visit, My aunty was standing in our front garden. All of a sudden, a very strong feeling made her look up. There was the ghost. In my bedroom window. A shimmering form. A monk. My aunty had seen him as well. She, too, had been enchanted.

Ghosts are real. My aunty saw him, I saw him, and my mother definately felt him. Seeing my ghost did make a difference. I now know that ghosts do exist. I have seen. I can believe. That which was following me, as it turned out, was very much more than a feeling. My ghost from a long time before.

https://www.youtube.com/@clemeleeMag

@clemeleeMag

2025-10-19T13:44:00.005+02:00

Cork Cathedral (Ireland)

Storm Clouds Gathering
Hilde Blaschek Remebers - A true long ago story.

It was August 1962. Hilde Blaschek and her best friend Monika were on a hiking holiday in Ireland and heading for the small town of Cork. And, being the last but one day of their holiday their feelings were mixed. Looking forward to home and sad to be saying goodbye to such a wondereful country. They'd had a wonderful time.

The weather had been friendly, the Irish too. Friends had been made. The two girls were happy as they went on their way. Not a care in the world. But, then came the cloud!

First as a dot far away, then bigger and bigger, then menacingly black with thunder and lightning. And, of course very heavy rain. This was a storm that had come with great force.The two girls were scared. And the hostel was still far away. The two girls found shelter under a bridge. It helped, but not much. And, there in an Irish storm they stayed for a very long time.

And then, the storm suddenly stopped, and, out came the sun. Hilde and Monika went on their way.

And, when Hilde and Monika arrived at the hostel they were happy and relieved. They had survived a terrible storm. And, what better than two evening meals and two comfortable beds. But, then came the second shock of the day. The hostel was full! Everyone, it seemed had wanted a bed. What was going to happen to Hilde and Monika?

They were not only cold, but very wet as well. They were soaked through to the skin. But, not to worry. The warden was not only a man with a heart, he was an Angel as well. His hostel was full, but, if Hide and Monika were prepared to sleep on the table there'd be no problem at all. The two girls happily agreed. Then after a wonderful meal of delicious roast lamb, the table was cleared and made ready for the night. It was to be no normal night.

It was the most uncomfortable night Hilde had ever experienced. When she woke up in the morning she was freezing. The blankets were all in a heap on the floor. But, things could only get better. It was the breakfast that saved them. A breakfast fit for an Irish king.

Irish bacon and eggs, black pudding, toast and strong tea. Peter Dunn - (Hilde still remembers his name) - did everything possible to make sure his two Austrian guests had a perfect finish to their holiday. And, he succeeded! And, on their way home to Austria they thought of their many new friends; and were happy. And, even now, all these years later, when they think back to their holiday in Ireland, it is still Peter Dunn they think of the most!

Every dark cloud has its own silver lining. And, Peter Dunn was much brighter than even the brightest silver there was. He not only gave them a table to sleep on, but a wonderful breakfast as well! And, this the two girls have never forgotten. Their last day in August in the deep south of Ireland!

Hilde Blaschak Remebers -

Written and read by Nigel A. JAMES

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Sturmwolken ziehen auf

Hilde Blaschak erinnert sich – Eine wahre Geschichte aus längst vergangenen Zeiten.

Es war August 1962. Hilde Blaschak und ihre beste Freundin Monika waren auf Wanderurlaub in Irland und machten sich auf den Weg in die kleine Stadt Cork. Da es der vorletzte Tag ihres Urlaubs war, hatten sie gemischte Gefühle. Sie freuten sich auf zu Hause, waren aber auch traurig, sich von diesem wunderschönen Land verabschieden zu müssen. Sie hatten eine wundervolle Zeit verbracht.

Das Wetter war freundlich gewesen, die Iren auch. Sie hatten Freunde gefunden. Die beiden Mädchen waren glücklich, als sie sich auf den Weg machten. Sie hatten keine Sorgen. Aber dann kam die Wolke!

Zuerst, wie ein kleiner Punkt in der Ferne dann immer größer, dann bedrohlich schwarz mit Donner und Blitz. Und natürlich sehr starkem Regen. Es war ein Sturm, der mit großer Wucht kam. Die beiden Mädchen hatten Angst. Und die Herberge war noch weit entfernt. Die beiden Mädchen fanden Unterschlupf unter einer Brücke. Das half, aber nicht viel. Und dort, in einem irischen Sturm, blieben sie sehr lange.

Dann hörte der Sturm plötzlich auf und die Sonne kam heraus. Hilde und Monika gingen weiter.

Als Hilde und Monika in der Herberge ankamen, waren sie glücklich und erleichtert. Sie hatten einen schrecklichen Sturm überstanden. Und was gab es Besseres als Abendessen und zwei Betten? Doch dann kam der Schock. Die Herberge war voll! Anscheinend wollten alle ein Bett. Was würde nun mit Hilde und Monika geschehen?

Ihnen war nicht nur sehr kalt, aber sie waren auch nass. Sie waren bis auf die Haut durchnässt. Aber keine Sorge. Der Wirt war nicht nur ein Mann mit Herz, er war auch ein Engel. Seine Herberge war zwar voll, aber wenn Hilde und Monika bereit waren, auf dem Tisch zu schlafen, wäre das überhaupt kein Problem. Die beiden Mädchen willigten freudig ein. Nach einem wunderbaren Essen mit köstlichem Lammbraten wurde der Tisch abgeräumt und für die Nacht vorbereitet.

Es sollte keine normale Nacht werden.

Es war die unangenehmste Nacht, die Hilde je erlebt hatte. Es war sehr kalt als sie am Morgen aufwachte. Die Decken lagen alle auf einem Haufen auf dem Boden. Aber es konnte nur besser werden. Es war das Frühstück.

Irischer Speck und Eier, Blutwurst, Toast und starker Tee. Peter Dunn – (Hilde erinnert sich noch immer an seinen Namen) – tat alles, um seinen beiden österreichischen Gästen einen perfekten Abschluss ihres Urlaubs zu bereiten. Und das gelang ihm auch! Auf ihrer Heimreise nach Österreich dachten sie an ihre vielen neuen Freunde und waren glücklich. Und selbst heute, wenn sie an ihren Urlaub in Irland zurückdenken, ist es immer noch Peter Dunn, an den sie am meisten denken!

Jede dunkle Wolke hat ihren Silberstreifen. Und Peter Dunn glänzte sehr hell. Er gab ihnen nicht nur ein Bett, sondern auch ein wunderbares Frühstück! Und das haben die beiden Mädchen nie vergessen.

Ihr letzter Tag im August im tiefen Süden Irlands!

Sturmwolken ziehen auf

Hilde Blaschak erinnert sich – geschrieben und gelesen

von Nigel A. JAMES

THe Very Same Song

2025-10-05T10:13:00.009+02:00

The Very Same Song – A true carnival story

This story happened a long time ago. It was carnival time in Vienna. My son was at primary school. And, his school was holding its annual very popular carnival party. There was singing, dancing and games, and, of course, a singing competition. And, this singing competition was something everyone liked.

All in all, 64 children had entered this singing competition, and, fifteen had made it through to the final. The school hall was packed with excitement. It was electric! Who was going to win? Who would take home first prize? And, then, onto the stage came the children. There was applause.

First off was Susie. Her song was as good as could be expected, and she sang in a very well practiced little school girly way. Then little Martin from 2b, then Sarah from 3e, then Marlene of 4a, and so-on and so-on. And, the kids were very, very good. But, this talent competition was different. It was unlike anything that anyone had ever seen before.

The kids had all chosen the very same song!

The mood of the audience started to sink. The very same song again and again. The whole thing had become very boring.

But then, all of a sudden, everything changed. Little Christine stepped forward to sing. She had chosen something different to sing. There was a sigh of relief. The audience woke up, and, when Christine had finished her song, the applause was tremendous. The feeling of fun had returned. Everyone was happy again.

But, not for too long. Little Florian was next. And, he, too, had chosen the very same very boring song the other kids had chosen as well. And, so the show went boringly on to its end. Christine was the only one who'd been different.

But, all good things must come to an end. Christine was awarded first prize, and every other little child went home with a very small gift. The singing, after all, had been very very good.

And, the audience was happy as well. They had a story to tell. A story for Christmas. This carnival competition had become one of those moments in life that would never be forgotten.

The day the kids sang the very same song. A true carnival story.

Written and read by Nigel A. JAMES

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Das gleiche Lied – Eine wahre Faschingsgeschichte

Es war sehr lange her das mein Sohn besuchte die Volksschule in Wien. Und jedes Jahr veranstaltete seine Schule eine Faschingsfeier. Ein Ereignis das alle Kinder liebten. Und der beliebteste Teil dieser Fest war der Gesasangswettbewerb. Und eines Jahres nahm mein Sohn davon teil.

Insgesamt hatten sich 64 Kinder für diesen Gesangswettbewerb angemeldet, und fünfzehn hatten es ins Finale geschafft. Wer wird der Gewinner sein? Es herrschte Aufregung. Der Saal war voll mit aufgeregten Eltern, Großeltern, Tanten und Onkeln sowie Geschwistern. Dann kamen die Kinder auf die Bühne. Es gab großen Applaus.

Die kleine Susi war die Erste. Ihr Lied war so gut, wie man es erwarten konnte, und sie sang es auf eine sehr gut einstudierte, kleine-Schulmädchen-Art. Dann kam der kleine Martin aus der Klasse 2b, dann Sarah aus der Klasse 3e, dann Marlene aus der Klasse 4a und so weiter und so fort. Und alle Kinder waren sehr, sehr gut. Aber dieser Gesangswettbewerb war anders als alle Gesangswettbewerbe, die man jemals gesehen hatte.

Die Kinder hatten alle dasselbe Lied ausgewählt!

Die Stimmung im Publikum begann zu schwinden. Immer wieder dasselbe Lied. Das Ganze war ein bisschen langweilig geworden.

Doch dann änderte sich plötzlich alles. Die kleine Christine trat vor, um zu singen. Sie hatte etwas anderes zum Singen ausgewählt. Es gab einen Seufzer der Erleichterung. Das Publikum erwachte, und als Christine ihr Lied beendet hatte, war der Applaus ohrenbetäubend. Die gute Laune war zurückgekehrt. Alle waren wieder glücklich.

Aber nicht sehr lange. Der kleine Florian war der Nächste. Und auch er hatte dasselbe sehr langweilige Lied ausgewählt, das auch alle anderen Kinder ausgewählt hatten. Und so ging die Show langweilig bis zum Ende weiter. Christine war die Einzige, die etwas anderes gesungen hatte.

Aber alle guten Dinge und auch alle schlechten Dinge müssen einmal zu Ende gehen. Christine erhielt den ersten Preis, und alle anderen Kinder bekamen einen Büchergutschein. Schließlich hatten sie sehr hart gearbeitet. Der Gesang war sehr gut gewesen.

Und das Publikum applaudierte. Sie hatten eine Geschichte, die sie mit nach Hause nehmen konnten. Dieser Faschingswettbewerb war zu einem dieser Momente im Leben geworden, die man nie vergessen würde.

Der Tag, an dem die Kinder dasselbe Lied sangen. Eine wahre Faschingsgeschichte.

Geschrieben und gelesen von Nigel A. JAMES

Bruno Hope

2025-09-13T12:45:00.016+02:00

Bruno Hope

I knew Bruno Hope well. He died recently at the age of 93. And, the following story is a tale of great strength.

It was 1945. Bruno Hope was thankfully walking home across Italy. His war was behind him. Life was fantastic. He was happy and young. He had survived the war and his home in Vienna was getting nearer and nearer. Things couldn’t be better. Soon he would be drinking his favourite beer, and the schnitzels he loved would be waiting for him. Everything seemed amazingly sweet.

But, then the partisans struck. There was no warning! The firing was dreadful and final. There was no where to run and no where to hide and Bruno fell to the ground. He had been hit. He was seriously injured! And then, with one of his shoulders completely destroyed he passed out. And there, beneath a Roman moon he lay - waiting to die in a deepening pool of young crimson blood!

And, the doctors fought hard and did a wonderful job. But, his left shoulder and arm had been too badly hit to repair. There was nothing the medics could do. They told Bruno Hope he would never recover. But Bruno Hope knew better. And, he went to work on himself.

He began by lifting the lightest of weights, and then within eighteen months of hard work and exercise his arm returned once again to full strength. He had fought and succeeded!

And that’s how Bruno’s life was. He always got up from his downs, and always took risks. Italy had been a lesson for him, and that's why he always succeeded in all that he did. Luck doesn't come on its own – it's something you make for yourself!

Bruno Hope and his secret of life!

Bruno Hope – Unter einem römischen Mond

Es war 1945. Bruno Hope war dankbar, als er zu Fuß durch Italien nach Hause ging. Sein Krieg war vorbei. Das Leben war süß. Er war glücklich und jung, und sein Zuhause in Wien rückte immer näher. Es hätte nicht besser sein können. Bald würde er sein Lieblingsbier trinken und die Schnitzel, die er so liebte, würden auf ihn warten. Alles schien unglaublich schön.

Doch dann schlugen die Partisanen zu. Die Kugeln begannen zu fliegen. Es gab kein Entkommen und kein Versteck, und Bruno Hope Kollabiert.

Und dann, mit einer völlig zerstörten Schulter verlor er das Bewusstsein. Und dort unter einem römischen Mond blieb er liegen.

Die Ärzte kämpften hart und leisteten hervorragende Arbeit. Aber Bruno Hopes linke Schulter und linker Arm waren zu schwer verletzt, und die Ärzte konnten nichts tun. Sie sagten Bruno Hope, sein Arm würde sich nie wieder erholen.

Aber Bruno Hope wusste es besser. Und er machte sich an die Arbeit.

Er begann damit, die leichtesten Gewichte zu heben, und nach achtzehn Monaten harter Arbeit und Training hatte sein Arm wieder seine volle Kraft zurückgewonnen. Er hatte gekämpft und gewonnen!

So war Brunos Leben. Er stand immer wieder auf, wenn er hinfiel, und ging immer Risiken ein. Italien war eine Lektion. Und Bruno Hope war immer erfolgreich in allem, was er tat. Glück kommt selten allein. Aber, Glück kommt immer mit sehr harter Arbeit

Bruno Hope – Unter einem römischen Mond

> Podcast Channel Here <

Hans Kratky

2025-09-07T19:41:00.001+02:00

Hans Kratky

It was the first of January a long time ago. Hans Kratky was trying out the video camera his wife had given him for Christmas when he had an idea. Why not make a film of his house from above? A bird's eye view.

And, all that was needed was a kite. All very simple. Hans Kratky could easily build one himself. And, two days later, Hans Kratky had finished the job. His kite was ready and waiting with camera fixed firmly on board.

The take off was perfect! And, as Hans Kratky pulled the strings he was happy. His film, he was sure, would be a success.

But, then came the gust. A wind so strong and so sudden that it took the strings right out of Hans Kratky's hands! There was nothing Hans Kratky could do except watch as his kite and his camera went away on the wind and into the cold winter sky.

Hans Kratky couldn't believe it. He'd never see his brand new camera again. His dream would never come true. All his hard work and planning for nothing. He was shocked and upset.

But, all's well that ends well, and soon the kite found itself stuck up in a tree with the camera still shooting as if nothing had happened. The film had been saved. And, that evening, Hans Kratky and his wife and their friends sat down to enjoy Hans Kratky's film. It was a sensational sensation.

The start of the film was perfect. The kite rose gracefully higher and higher. And the views were impressive. And,Hans Kratky's house from high up in the sky looked amazingly small, just like a dolls' house.

And, then came the gust. And, the force of the wind could clearly be seen on the screen. The audience held its breath. Would the kite survive this terrible storm?

But, of course, we know that it did. And, being stuck up in a tree, Hans Kratky had to climb up the tree to rescue his kite. And, this was the best scene of all. A finale fit for an Oscar.

Instead of coming up from the ground to rescue his camera and kite, Hans Kratky came down head first from above! The camera, still filming, was hanging upside-down in the tree. And, everything was back-to-front and upside-down.

And, this ending was brilliant. And, everyone was convinced of Hans Kratky's natural talent for making wonderful films.

And, Hans Kratky's wife was glad she had given her husband the camera for Christmas.

And, Hans Kratky was glad, too. His dream had come true. He had made a film of his house from above and it was all his own work. Or, was it? Not quite. The wind and the tree had played important roles, too. Without them there would have been no surprises and no video either! Everything would have gone with the wind.

Hans Kratky had had lots of good Christmas luck, and had made a wonderful film.

Hans Kratky. A man and his kite, and a wonderful film.

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Hans Kratky

Es war vor sehr langer Zeit an einem kalten Wintertag. Hans Kratky probierte die Videokamera aus, die ihm seine Frau Geschenkt hatte. Plötzlich hatte er eine Idee. Ein Film von seinem Haus aus der Vogelperspektive.

Und dazu brauchte er nur einen Drache, den er selbst bauen konnte. Und zwei Tage später hatte Hans Kratky die Arbeit beendet. Sein Drache war fertig mit fest montierter Kamera an Bord.

Der Start verlief tadellos. Und als Hans Kratky an den Schnüren zog, war er glücklich. Nichts konnte schief gehen.

Doch dann kam die Windböe. Ein so starker und plötzlicher Windstoß, dass er Hans Kratky die Schnüre aus den Händen riss! Hans Kratky konnte nichts tun, außer zuzusehen, wie sein Drache und seine Kamera vom Wind davongetragen wurden und in den kalten Winterhimmel verschwanden.

Aber Ende gut, alles gut: Bald fand sich der Drache gefangen in einem Baum, und die Kamera filmte weiter, als wäre nichts geschehen. Der Film war gerettet. Und an diesem Abend setzten sich Hans Kratky, seine Frau und ihre Freunde zusammen, um Hans Kratkys Film zu genießen. Es war sensationell.

Der Anfang des Films war perfekt. Der Drache stieg anmutig höher und höher. Und die Aussicht war beeindruckend schön. Und Hans Kratkys Haus sah erstaunlich klein aus von hoch oben am Himmel.

Und dann im Film kam die Windböe. Und die Kraft des Windes war deutlich auf dem Bildschirm zu sehen. Alles sehr spannend. Würde der Drache diesen schrecklichen Sturm überstehen?

Aber natürlich wissen wir, dass der Drache es geschafft hat. Und weil er in einem Baum steckte, musste Hans Kratky auf den Baum klettern, um seinen Drache zu retten.

Aber, anstatt aus der Tiefe zu kommen, um seine Kamera und seinen Drache zu retten, kam Hans Kratky kopfüber von oben herunter! Die Kamera, die immer noch filmte, hing kopfüber im Baum. Es war alles verkehrt.

Und Hans Kratkys Frau und alle seine Freunde waren glücklich, und Hans Kratky auch. Er hatte einen Film von seinem Haus aus der Vogelperspektive gedreht. Aber, nicht ganz allein.

Der Wind und der Baum hatten auch wichtige Rollen gespielt. Ohne den Wind hätte es keine Überraschungen gegeben, und ohne den Baum wäre der Film vom Winde verweht.

Hans Kratky. Ein Mann, sein Drache und ein wunderbarer Film. Geschrieben und gelesen von Nigel A. JAMES

Doris Kalus

2025-08-30T17:21:00.003+02:00

The winter was in and the cold had gone through to the core. It was almost dark. And, whilst waiting for friends to go jogging, I noticed a woman at the edge of the forest. And, what she was doing made me curious, and so I went over to see.

Her name was Doris Kalus, and she was filling lots of small bowls with food. And then, after just a few seconds, the cats came out of the woods. Not just a few, but many!

And, Doris Kalus explained. Each year, hundreds of cats run away from their homes in Vienna, and for many, the Vienna Woods become the perfect new home. And there they are happy. But, not for long. For then comes the winter, and it is then that hunger sets in.

And, that's why Doris Kalus goes to the woods every day in the winter. It's her way of helping the runaway cats. But, as the winters continue, the number of cats arriving for supper becomes fewer and fewer. The cold and the dangers are often too much, and many run-away cats sadly perish.

And, Doris continued. She used to have a cat, and he ran away, too. But, that was a long time ago. And, feeding the run-away cats is her way of remembering him. And, by helping the run-away cats to survive, one or two may even find their way home in the spring. And, Doris used to dream of her little cat coming home. But sadly, he stayed out in the cold. And, in those days there was no one to help. And, that's why Doris is special.

The winter was in and the cold had gone through to the core. The cats were enjoying their meals. Doris was there whatever the weather, A very big help for the cats.

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Doris Kalus - Eine Wienerwald Winter Geschichte

Der Winter war da und die Kälte drang bis ins Mark. Es war fast dunkel. Und während ich auf Freunde wartete um joggen zu gehen, sah ich eine Frau am Rande des Waldes. Und, was sie dort macht, machte mich neugierig, und so ging ich rüber, um mit ihr zu plaudern.

Ihr Name war Doris Kalus, und sie füllte viele kleine Schüsseln mit Futter. Und dann, nach nur wenigen Sekunden, kamen viele Katzen raus aus dem Wald. Und die Katzen waren hungrig. Sogar sehr hungrig. Und sie fraß.

Und Doris Kalus erklärte. Jedes Jahr laufen viele Katzen weg von zu Hause, und für viele wird der Wienerwald das perfekte neue Zuhause. Und, Dort sind die Katzen sehr glücklich. Aber nicht lang. denn, dann kommt der Winter und mit ihm die Kälte und Hunger.

Und deshalb geht Doris Kalus jeden Tag in den Wald um die Katzen zu helfen. Aber im Laufe des Winters kommen immer weniger Katzen. Die Gefahren sind einfach zu groß. Viele Katzen überleben leider nicht.

Und Doris erzählte weiter. Sie hatte einmal eine Katze, die auch weggelaufen war. Aber das ist schon sehr lange her. Und das Füttern der Katzen ist ihre Art sich an ihre eigene Katze zu erinnern.

Und früher träumte Doris davon, dass ihre kleine Katze nach Hause kommen würde. Aber leider kam sie nicht. Sie blieb in der Kälte. Und damals gab es niemanden der den Katzen geholfen hat.

Der Winter war da und die Kälte drang bis ins Mark. Die Katzen genossen ihr Fressen. Doris Kalus war bei jedem Wetter dabei. Eine sehr große Hilfe für die sehr armen Katzen.

Doris Kalus. Sie hat ein Herz für hungrige Katzen.

Doris Kalus, Eine Wienerwald Winter Geschichte, geschrieben und gelesen von Nigel A. James.

Palace of Glass

2025-08-27T12:47:00.016+02:00

The Palace of Glass

When she was a child, Lake Balaton and Alsoors played a big part in her life. During the long summer holidays, her parents would take her down to the Lake for

summer time fun.

And, in those days, the palace of glass was the communal canteen that everyone went to for lunch.

And, it was this canteen that later became the disco. But, looking back to the canteen, Aranka Acs has no feelings of nostalgia. In fact, quite the opposite.

Being built of glass, this building was unbearably hot, and people ate and left as quickly as possible.

This palace of glass was not a nice place to linger. And, the food, was always the same. Tasteless, boring, and dull.

But, then came the end of the socialist era and this daytime disaster became a night-time wonder of good fun, action, and music. And, it stayed that way for 25 years.

There's now a black hole where fun used to be. The youngsters don't come anymore. And, a place without youth is a place that's not living.

The building's still there. Why not open it up and let it live once again?

Palace of Glass in German Unten am See - Ein Palast aus Glas

Alsöörs ist ein Dorf am Balaton in Ungarn. Und unten am See in Alsöörs steht ein Palast aus Glas. Und früher, in diesem Palast aus Glas tanzten und feierten viele junge lebenslustige Leute

Aber leider nicht mehr. Diese einst beliebte Disco ist nun geschlossen und verbarrikadiert, und die junge Leute sind alle verschwunden.

Aber dieses riesige Gebäude aus Glas war nicht immer eine Disco, es war auch etwas anderes. Und Aranka Ács erzählte mir die folgende Geschichte.

Als Kind verbrachte Aranka Ács viele Sommertage mit ihren Eltern am See. Der Balaton war perfekt für lange Sommerferien. Und in diesem Palast aus Glass – damals die Gemeinschaftskantine – gingen Familie Ács und die meisten anderen Leute auch zum Mittagessen hin. Und genau diese Kantine wurde später zur Disco. Aber wenn Aranka Ács an die Kantine zurückdenkt, verspürt sie überhaupt keine Nostalgie.

Da das Gebäude aus Glas gebaut war, war es unerträglich heiß, und die Leute aßen und gingen so schnell wie es ging. Dieser Palast aus Glass war kein schöner Ort. Und auch das Essen war auch nicht besonders. Die begrenzte Auswahl war immer dieselbe.

Doch dann kam das Ende der sozialistischen Ära, und diese Tageskatastrophe wurde zu einem nächtlichen Wunder voller Spaß und Musik. Und das blieb Jahre lang so.

Und dann kam plötzlich das Ende. Vor nicht allzu langer Zeit schloss dieser Palast der Musik und des Tanzes zum letzten Mal seine Türen. Und niemand wusste warum. Die Menschen waren traurig.

Und wie sieht die Zukunft dieses nun leeren und stillen Glaspalasts aus? Es gibt viele Möglichkeiten. Aber insgeheim hoffe ich, dass dieser prächtige Palast aus Glass wieder zu einem Palast des Lebens werden wird. Ein spannender Ort zum Tanzen und Feiern

Dort, wo früher viel Spaß war, ist jetzt ein schwarzes Loch ohne Jugend. Und ein Ort ohne Jugend ist ein Ort, der nicht lebt. Das Gebäude steht noch. Lasst es uns wieder zum Leben erwecken.

Unten am See - Ein Palast aus Glas

Geschrieben und gelesen von Nigel A. JAMES

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