Here was my dream overlooking the southern ocean  

 

What began as a hopeful dream swiftly devolved into a relentless thirty-year nightmare, intricately woven with the threads of a broken marriage, all stemming from one critical misstep. In my naivety, I neglected to scrutinize the reliability of the phone service that coursed through a dilapidated unmanned hut—a relic of a bygone era. This ageing switching station, tethered to a crumbling telephone exchange situated a daunting 20 kilometres from the roadside hut, cast a shadow over my plans and aspirations.

In a moment that would mark a pivotal change in my life, I made the bold decision to part with our cherished home in Melbourne—a place rich with countless memories and heartfelt moments. Unbeknownst to me, this choice would intersect with the unsettling events surrounding the roadside unmanned telephone hut at Cape Bridgewater, ultimately leading to the conclusion of our twenty-year marriage within just eighteen months. With the significant proceeds from the sale, I confidently accessed my early retirement benefits and geared up for an exhilarating new venture that awaited me. My extensive background in the dynamic hospitality industry fueled my enthusiasm, making me confident that this new chapter would be both rewarding and transformative.

At the tender age of 15, I embarked on a remarkable journey, stepping aboard English passenger cargo ships as a steward. The salty air, the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the hull, and the camaraderie of shipmates all contributed to formative years of rich experiences that would profoundly shape my character. These early adventures at sea planted the seeds for a successful career in hospitality that would unfold over the years.

In 1963, driven by an insatiable yearning for new opportunities, I courageously made the decision to jump ship in the vibrant city of Melbourne. It was here that my culinary journey truly began. I started as an assistant chef in a series of prestigious hotels, where I was immersed in the world of fine dining. The hustle and bustle of the kitchen, filled with the aromas of gourmet dishes and the sounds of pans clanging, allowed me to refine my culinary skills. Each position I held was a masterclass in the intricate dance required to run a kitchen in such esteemed establishments, teaching me to juggle multiple tasks while maintaining poise and precision.

Between 1970 and 1987, I continued my seafaring adventures, yet during shore leave, I sought work through the VIP Catering Centre in central Melbourne. Instead of the typical escapades of wine, women, and song—and the accompanying heavy hangovers—I immersed myself in the world of silver service. I forged a close friendship with Bert O'Shea, the owner of the renowned VIP catering service, and found myself donning the role of a private butler in some of the most elegant homes of Brighton, Kew, and Toorak.

My journey in the catering industry took me to the esteemed Japanese Consultant's residence on Lansell Avenue, where I spent several formative years. The experience was a tapestry of vibrant evenings, meticulously serving drinks at elegant gatherings, where each glass reflected thoughtful preparation. During the day, I navigated more intense moments, dealing with the pressures of a demanding environment that occasionally felt like dodging bullets. There were also stretches of quiet, contemplative weeks that allowed me to reflect and grow. Each episode, whether bustling with activity or serene in stillness, deepened my understanding and appreciation of the intricate world of catering. I also had the opportunity to work with the founders of Spotless Catering Group at their private residence in St Georges Road Toorak. I took on the challenge of rejuvenating a licensed motel hotel in receivership while managing Rob's Carousel Restaurant at Albert Park Lake, now recognized as part of the venue for the Melbourne Grand Prix. These experiences deepened my understanding of catering and the culinary arts, painting a vivid picture of the world I was navigating.

The prospect of owning and running a children's holiday camp seemed, at first glance, to be an uncomplicated venture. However, during that time, I wrestled with a haunting vision that occasionally disrupted my peace—of myself wandering the wharves of Red China, flanked by two stoic Chinese Red Guards, waiting for a bullet that never left the barrel. Many nights, I was jolted awake by the unsettling sense of a gun pointed at various parts of my body, a stark reminder of the darker corners of my past. That part of my journey is recounted in greater detail across one of the twelve chapters submitted here. In light of those tumultuous experiences, the idea of managing a holiday camp felt like a leisurely stroll through a park, an opportunity to embrace joy and innocence amidst the shadows of my history.

Two years later, my culinary journey took me back to the ocean as I joined the Australian Merchant Navy. During this time, I had the privilege of working as a chef onboard various Australian and international cargo ships, further honing my skills and expanding my culinary repertoire. By 1975, after years of steadfast dedication and hard work, I returned to shore equipped with a rich tapestry of experiences.

1969, I celebrated a pivotal moment in my life when I married Faye in Melbourne. As we navigated the early years of our marriage, I juggled multiple freelance catering jobs while taking on various roles on tugboats. Simultaneously, I dedicated myself to my studies, pursuing a hotel and motel management diploma. My relentless determination and accumulated experience culminated in a significant achievement when I successfully managed a hotel/motel that had fallen into distress. I guided the establishment out of receivership through strategic planning and revitalisation efforts, breathing new life into its operations.

By 1987 age 44, I felt an invigorating sense of readiness. Armed with a wealth of knowledge and honed skills, I set my sights on transforming a modest school camp into a vibrant, multifaceted enterprise that would provide memorable experiences and create a warm and welcoming community for all who stepped through its doors.

To effectively promote the camp and increase awareness of our facilities, I took the proactive step of visiting nearly 150 schools and local communities within our target area. During these visits, I energetically communicated the various benefits our camp could provide for both children and educators, emphasizing the enriching experiences, educational opportunities, and recreational activities we offered.

Recognizing the need for strong visual marketing materials, I invested significantly in printing 2,000 vibrant, full-color brochures in February 1988. These brochures were carefully designed to capture the attention of potential clients and were widely distributed to ensure they reached a broad audience. Despite our extensive outreach and marketing efforts, the response rate was disappointing. We eagerly waited for phone inquiries to start, but the reality was a disheartening inquiry rate of less than 1% from all our promotional activities.

As we approached April, our frustration grew, and we began to suspect that our telephone service might have contributed to the lack of response. We received feedback from potential clients expressing confusion and frustration regarding our apparent lack of availability. Many callers questioned why we never seemed to answer the phone and recommended installing an answering machine to capture messages when we were not in the office. Although we had already invested in an answering machine, even replacing it with a new model, complaints about our phone service continued to roll in, and many callers voiced concerns about frequently encountering an engaged signal when trying to reach us.

To broaden our outreach, we organized a promotional tour across South Australia, focusing mainly on highlighting the advantages of our camp in the Wimmera area. Unfortunately, the responses to this initiative were similarly underwhelming. Doubts lingered in our minds: Was the problem related to our telephone system? How could we be sure of this? This lack of clarity only added to our stress and anxiety regarding the camp's future.

Most people familiar with telecommunications have encountered a recorded voice announcement known in the industry as an RVA (Recorded Voice Announcement). When callers attempted to reach us, we often received the message: “The number you have called is not connected or has been changed. Please check the number before calling again. You have not been charged for this call.” Unfortunately, this message was frequently presented to callers trying to contact our camp, leading to a significant lack of acknowledgement and our growing frustrations.

In 1994, I began a comprehensive investigation into the complex web of paperwork related to the persistent phone service issues we had been experiencing. Armed with the Freedom of Information (FOI) Act, I was able to access a substantial collection of documents that provided a clearer understanding of the numerous challenges facing our business. One internal memo from Telstra stood out among these documents and caught my attention. It bluntly stated, "This message tends to give the caller the impression that the business they are calling has ceased trading, and they should try another trader." This stark admission revealed a significant and ongoing problem: potential customers were discouraged from even contacting us, which was detrimental to our business.

Additionally, another document revealed Telstra's acknowledgement of the necessity for a thorough review of our Recorded Voice Announcement (RVA) messages and how they were implemented. As I scrutinized the details of our RVA issues, I discovered numerous inappropriate and misleading messages that undoubtedly contributed to our ongoing struggles with customer communication. As I pieced together our situation, I learned that the business's former owner had grappled with similar frustrations. He had lodged numerous complaints about the subpar service provided by Telstra, yet all of his earnest efforts had resulted in no resolutions or improvements.

My relentless pursuit of justice against Telstra, which began in 1988, was heavily supported by the FOI process, assisting me in acquiring vital documents that detailed our ongoing phone service troubles. One especially crucial document, labelled "Telstra Confidential: Difficult Network Faults — PCM Multiplex Report," was alarming in its content. It bore the dire subheading "5.5 Portland — Cape Bridgewater Holiday Camp," indicating that Telstra had been aware of these network faults as early as 1987. This revelation reinforced our belief that the relentless issues with the phone system were severely obstructing our ability to connect with potential clients and manage the operations of our camp on time.

Our next-door neighbour, Harry, often expressed his sympathy for our plight. His daughter frequently called him from Colac and repeatedly complained about the challenges she faced when contacting her parents. This personal connection made the issue feel even more substantial, as it wasn't just our business at stake; it was affecting families in our community. Additionally, Fred, a longtime local who had previously owned the Tom the Cheap grocery chain, shared his own tales of frustration regarding Telstra's service. With a hint of resignation, he remarked, "But what can you expect from Telstra when we’re in the bush?" His words struck a chord with me, primarily because I envisioned a different reality for our camp, particularly in light of Telstra's promised improvements.

To rally community support, we encouraged our neighbours and fellow business owners to write to Telstra, sharing their personal experiences with the service. However, we quickly found that the deeply ingrained habit of relying on phone calls for immediate responses posed a significant challenge. As the months rolled on and our bookings for the camp dwindled rather than increased, I found myself at a critical crossroads. The idea of moving to Cape Bridgewater weighed heavily on my mind, leaving me to consider the pros and cons of such a significant life change.

Doubt began to seep into my thoughts as I questioned the decision I had made in the past. I even discussed the possibility of selling our family home to pursue my dreams of owning a successful business with Faye. This journey, which I had hoped would be a joyful and fulfilling experience, had instead devolved into a near-constant state of frustration. I felt as if I were channelling a hilariously disgruntled Basil Fawlty, unable to find tranquillity amidst the chaos that had engulfed my life and dreams.