Chapter 43: Ominous Changes

Illness and Death

November 1990

“Will, before we get started, I need to tell you something, I’ve been diagnosed with an illness ... It’s not looking all that promising for my future, I’m sorry,” Chrissy said.

“An illness – does this relate to what that old Romani woman said, when she read your fortune, years ago?” I asked. “Didn’t she indicate a problem with your breasts – maybe breast cancer – and something else?”

“Well, it ties in to that, but it’s not breast cancer, it’s the other thing, a nerve problem. Have you heard of a neurological disorder called Multiple Sclerosis?”

“Is that what they call ‘MS’?”

“Yes, basically, it’s a disease that affects the nerve cells; if you can imagine that in a bundle of nerve cells, almost like a bunch of electrical wires, each nerve fibre has some insulation around it, keeping the signals within each nerve fibre.”

“That makes sense, one problem with having communication cables all in a bundle is what they call ‘crosstalk’, where signals on one wire interfere with another wire.”

“That’s much like what happens in MS, something – they don’t quite know, but maybe a virus, or some genetic factors – the nerve sheathing is damaged, and the ability of those nerves to transmit signals to the brain gets impacted. Mine showed up when I woke up one morning with bad double vision – optic neuritis – and to diagnose the cause, they took a lumbar puncture; sticking a big needle into my spine through some vertebrae and taking some spinal fluid. That was an experience in itself, I won’t gross you out by describing it.”

“So, what’s the prognosis? Can they cure it?”

“No, there’s no known cure, and it’s one of those diseases, that will progressively get worse. The double vision has gone, but over the coming years other symptoms will crop up, maybe difficulty walking, muscle weakness, coordination problems. Things might come up, and then go away, and return after a while. All I can do is learn to live with the effects of the disease; eventually it might kill me, but probably not for quite a few years.”

“Damn, Chrissy, I’m so sorry, so sad that you’ve got to go through that,” I said.

“It could be worse, I will be able to cope pretty well, whenever I get an outbreak, it will be inconvenient, but not debilitating,” she said. “I should be able to keep performing for quite a while, as you saw earlier tonight, it didn’t have any real effect on my abilities.”

“Who have you told about it?”

“Just the others in the band, my parents, and now you. I don’t want it widely known, I don’t want people to pity me because of it. Right now, I want you to make love to me, and then we can sleep together. Do you think I could get a ride across to the University with you in the morning; I have an appointment with a neurologist in the Medical School there at 10 tomorrow. We can talk more about things in the car, too. I know you have to get up early in the morning for work, so...”

I had no idea how Chrissy expected me to change my focus from the news of her illness to making love with her in a matter of seconds, but she took care of that for me. She pushed me onto my back, then moved on top of me, so we were in a sixty-nine position. Holding my shaft, she slowly licked and sucked around my knob, while her pussy was directly above my face. With my hands on her hips, I pulled her lower, closer, so that I could lick and suck her pussy. She was already starting to get wet; I pushed the tip of my tongue between her plump labia, lapping up and down and pressing my tongue against her clit.

Once I was erect, she swung around and slid down onto me, leaning forward with her breasts right above my face, inviting me to suck on them as she moved up and down. Whatever other effects the MS had on her nervous system, it certainly hadn’t affected her ability to make love; she still had fantastic control over the muscles around her vagina, she was squeezing and massaging my prick as she fucked me. Neither did it appear to affect her enjoyment of the act herself, she came twice while riding me, moaning loudly each time.

“Fuck me doggy style, and spurt inside me, Will,” she panted after her second orgasm, rolling off me and kneeling on the bed.

I knelt behind her, holding her hips as I thrust in and out. Once I got into a good rhythm, I reached underneath to hold and caress her breasts, stopping them from swinging back and forward as I thrust in and out. It didn’t take long before I was in the brink of coming, I gripped Chrissy’s hips to hold her tight against me, and she squeezed and relaxed her muscles, milking me as I spurted inside her.

“Oh, yes, keep filling me,” Chrissy moaned as I kept spurting inside her.

Exhausted, I pulled out from her, and lay on my back; Chrissy lay down, resting her head on my chest. She lazily rubbed her fingers around my nipple, squeezing it gently. She rolled her head around, and licked and sucked on one of my nipples.

“Mmmm, that was so lovely,” she said. “I’ve missed our love-making sessions.”

I got up and turned out the bedroom light, she snuggled up against my side, and we drifted off to sleep.

It took a while for me to get going in the morning, not only was I rather tired from the previous evening’s gig, but also the love-making with Chrissy. A long, hot shower with her had me feeling a bit rejuvenated, and after breakfast and a coffee, we hit the road for Kensington. She had donned a long red wig, dark glasses, and was dressed much like the typical undergraduate student; she wanted to disguise her appearance so no one would recognize her. As we were driving, she filled me in with some more details about the implications of her having MS, and how it might progress over the coming years. It seemed like she would have a particularly hard road ahead of her; of course for some people the progress of the disease was quite severe, leaving them seriously disabled and debilitated, while for others the impacts were relatively minor, more of an inconvenience than anything else. It all depends on which set of nerves were affected, and how severely. This was the purpose of her doctor’s visit today, they were going to conduct a series of neurological tests to establish a baseline, and on a regular basis revisit the tests and see what abilities had been impacted, and how.

When we arrived at the Uni, she walked with me to my office, and would wait there until she had to head up to her appointment. I had time for a nice kiss and hug before going to my thesis review meeting, and another one when I got back to my office, before I went off to give my first lecture of the day. She said she would be back sometime around noon, and I offered to take her to lunch.

“Not that there are any fancy places to eat here on campus,” I said.

When lunchtime came, we walked the short distance to the cafeteria underneath the Commerce building. We both chose the grilled chicken Caesar salads, and sat at a table to eat. Chrissy went through all the tests that she had to do; there was no actual diagnosis that would come from today’s tests, the purpose was to establish a baseline neurological level for her – hearing, eyesight, speech, balance, coordination – that would be checked every twelve months to see if there was any degradation over time. I was impressed by her positive outlook, she was taking things in her stride, but she had always been fairly strong and self-willed. Another reason why she didn’t want news of her MS to become public knowledge, she didn’t want to be the subject of widespread pity, she wanted people to treat her the same as they always had.

I asked her if she would be interested in coming out on the boat with a few of us this Saturday, we would probably just sail across to Maitland Bay or something like that. The weather was going to be warm, and I suggested we could go swimming.

“Is that the beach where we can lie on the sand and swim naked?” she asked. “If so, count me in!”

“It will probably be you, me, Lisa and Fiona; tonight I’ll see who else might be interested,” I said.

We finished our lunch, and headed back to my office; Christy waited there until I had finished my lectures for the day. That evening over dinner I asked who would be interested in coming out sailing on Saturday, and Stewie, Traci, Mary Beth and Chris all wanted to come along, so we would have eight of us on the boat.

Saturday was a lovely, late spring day; the sun was out, temperature around 30 degrees, and a light nor-east breeze. The eight of us drove up to the clubhouse mid-morning, we had cold drinks and food for our lunch. It was an easy sail across the mouth of Broken Bay to the beach, once there we dropped the sails, and I motored in with the stern close to the shore, we dropped the anchor, and made our way onto the sand. Even before I had a change to take my tee short off, Traci told me to go across to where she was so she could make sure I had the proper amount of sunscreen on my body.

“I’m not going to let you get a melanoma, Will,” she said, as she rubbed the cream into my shoulders and down my back. “There, that’s done for the moment, you can lie down in the sun now. I’ll put more on in an hour or two.”

We spent a very relaxing and enjoyable day at the beach; lying on the sand, swimming in the water, chatting and laughing. Chrissy enjoyed herself, even to the point of telling the others (Lisa and I already knew) about her MS, and everyone was sympathetic and supportive. It was after 4:00 when we decided to return to the clubhouse, a fairly quick sail across the entrance to Broken Bay and down Pittwater, then a drive back to Lane Cove for a light dinner.

“Thank you so much for the last couple of days,” Chrissy said to Lisa and me. “You are great friends, I’ve missed being with you both. I appreciate all the support and love ... I’m a lucky woman to have such great friends.”

Back at the university, the end of year exams had started, for me, there wasn’t much to do until it was time to start grading the exam papers. It was all hands on deck to make sure papers were graded and reviewed, the marks from assignments throughout the semester collated, and everything entered into the student records system, so that final results would be sent out in time. By now, I was accustomed to the process, several of us would be sitting around a conference table, each person would grade one or two questions, pass a paper onto the next person, repeat the process. I was amazed at just how many different ways the students could get a simple question wrong, but those who answered incorrectly were very much in the minority.

The overall results were much in line with our expectations, the good students passed, the very good students ended up with a distinction or high distinction, and the few students that were not coping or were out of their depth failed. I was pleased with the results of the students in my postgraduate Computer Networks and Applications class, everyone got at least a credit. There were some promising students among them, I was looking forward to next year’s thesis projects, too; I would have two PhD students to supervise.

We had fun in the Family Race on the Sunday, and we were relaxing in the family room back home when the phone rang.

“Will, it’s Fifa,” the caller said. She sounded strained, her voice wasn’t her normal bubbly self.

“Hi Fifa, what can I do for you?”

“Um ... I’ve got some bad news, some really bad news.”

She paused, it sounded like she was crying.

“It’s ... it’s Ted ... he ... he died earlier today. Heart attack...”

“Oh my God! He’s rather young for that, what is he, early fifties? That’s terrible, how’s Popsy? How are you holding up?”

“Fifty-three, and his health had been pretty good,” Fifa said. “Popsy is still in shock, we all are. His brother Tony will be stepping in as interim managing director, but later this week we will be having a corporate meeting, working out how to keep all of the projects running. It’s all a big mess at the moment, we will try to get things sorted out.”

“Is there anything I can do?” I asked. “I owe Ted so much, damn, Fifa, he was a mentor, but more importantly, a really good friend. I’m lost for words ... do you want me to let the others in the group know?”

“If you could, I’ve been calling people all afternoon,” she said. “I don’t know when the funeral will be, most likely this coming Saturday, as soon as I have details I’ll let you know. I’m sure you would want to be there.”

“Of course, and pass on my deepest sympathies to Popsy, and the girls. Damn, I’m so sad, devastated. Ted was a fantastic bloke ... I’m going to miss him, miss him a lot.”

“Thanks, Will, and he always had a soft spot for you, and he knew you would be the music star that you’ve become. There’s another project that he’s been working on, that will involve you. When I get time, I’ll have to talk with you about it. Thanks for everything, and I’ll talk soon.”

After she hung up, I told the others at home, and then called Paul, Phil, Andrew and Bruce. Everyone was shocked and sad, we all loved Ted, he was a great guy, an inspiration to all of us. That evening, the news of his death was on the TV news, and there were articles about him in the morning paper the next day.

A few days later Fifa contacted me with the details of Ted’s funeral, St Michael’s Anglican Church in Vaucluse, at 11:00 am on Saturday, and afterwards there would be a wake at the family home, ‘Coolong’. Lisa and I, along with Mary Beth and Chris would be attending, I made sure I had my dark suit cleaned and a shirt ironed ready for the day.

On Saturday morning, we drove across to the church, found a place to park then walked the short distance to the front entrance of St Michaels’s. Harry, George, Angus and Malcolm were standing in a group and we went across to talk to them.

“G’day Will, Lisa; great to see you here, even though it’s a very sad day,” George said, shaking my hand.

“Yeah, Ted was a top bloke, they don’t come much better than him,” I said.

We exchanged a few words with the others, then headed into the church. I saw quite a few others from the music industry, John Paul Young, Billy Thorpe, Stevie Wright, Angry Anderson, and others who I recognized by sight, but whose names I didn’t know. Fifa was sitting up the front with Popsy, Ted’s daughters and the rest of the Albert family. The church wasn’t particularly large, and it was filled to capacity. I noticed a few political figures, the local Federal member, John Hewson, the opposition leader; Peter Collins, the state Minister for the Arts, and Ray Aston, the local state member. The service was the traditional Anglican funeral service; the format and style of the service seemed more in keeping with Roman Catholic services than my recollection of Anglican services had been. Probably reflecting the move towards a more ‘high church’ Anglicanism that had been taking place over the last decade, or as I heard it called, more ‘bells and smells’.

After the service – the eulogy was delivered by his brother, Tony, who told some funny stories about the trouble the three Albert boys got into as children – there was a procession to the cemetery at Waverley, then it was back to the family home in Vaucluse.

Lisa and I found our way over to where George, Harry and Fifa were standing, and I mentioned to them that while I knew he had been a sailor, I never knew he had been so successful in yacht racing. He had been state champion in the Dragon class, winning a number of trophies with the Royal Sydney Yacht Squadron.

“He was always interested to learn how your sailing was going, too,” Fifa said. “First thing on Monday mornings during sailing seasons, he would check the results for Avalon Sailing Club, and when you won that club championship earlier this year, he was so proud of you. He was looking forward to seeing how you went in this upcoming ocean race, too.”

“He was proud of all of your achievements, Mate,” George said. “Your results at University, getting that professor position, sailing, and all of the things you did – not just musically, but he said you were going to make something of yourself.”

“I owe a lot of it to him, and you guys, too – including you, Fifa,” I said. “Ted, and all of you, had faith in me, encouraged and mentored me, guided me along the way. I wouldn’t have got where I am without him, or any of you.”

“Bullshit, Will,” George said. “The cream always rises to the top, you had it in you from the start, the first time I saw you play, I knew you would be a success, and I told Ted, he had seen you play and sing at that place in Newport. But Ted knew how to pick the right acts, he knew instinctively who would be good, and who to let go.”

“Well, he picked a good pair with you and Harry,” I said. “You guys were the start for Alberts Music.”

“I think so many of us owe Ted big time for giving us a start in the business,” Harry said. “I can’t imagine what the Australian music scene would be like without his work and achievements.”

“Well, I should go and pay my respects to Popsy,” I said.

As we walked over to where Popsy was standing, Lisa said to me that she never knew her name was ‘Antoinette’; she had always been referred to as ‘Popsy’.

“I have no idea how you get ‘Popsy’ from “Antoinette’,” I said.

We went up to where Popsy was standing, with her brothers in law and other members of the extended Albert family.

“Will, Lisa, thank you so much for being here,” she said, kissing us on our cheeks. “Ted really admired you, Will, he admired your skills, not just as a musician, but how you approached life, your sailing, everything you did.”

“He was a great person, Popsy,” I said. “He’s one of those few individuals that you know your life has been enriched, you have become a far better person just by knowing him, by having him as a friend. I’ll miss his counselling, his support, his encouragement. I’m so fortunate to have known him.”

“There’s a couple of things I will have for you,” she said. “A while ago, I think when you won that club championship sailing, he said that the photos of some of his Dragons, ‘Rawhiti’ and ‘Rawhiti II’, they were to go to you. In addition, there is a project he and I have been working on, that I want you to get involved with. I’ll call you later about it.”

“Thanks, I would have thought those photos would have remained in the family.”

“No, he wanted then to go to someone who would really appreciate them, someone who was a sailor themselves. I’ll get them delivered to you in the next week or two, they are the ones in his office in Boomerang House.”

“Thanks for that, I’ll make room for them in the downstairs study at home,” I said. “That way when I’m working there, I can look up at them, and be reminded of him.”

“Thanks for coming, both of you, Ted thought the world of you, Will, he always told me that if we had a son, he would want him to be like you. And you too, Lisa, thank you for coming today.”

“There’s no way we wouldn’t have not come, shown our respects, and our support for you,” I said.

We spent more time talking with some of the other guests, and eventually made our way home; it had been a pretty sombre day.

Racing to Coffs Harbour

December 1990 - January 1991

At least the next day’s race was the Blue Water Shield, again, we lead from start to finish, getting the gun ahead of Forerunner, Young Generation, Rocket and Ed Ake. The next morning I was up early, meeting Jack Earle at the sailing club; we were sailing ‘Young Lovers’ down to Mick Lee’s loft near Kirribilli. He would be checking over the sails, and having the guys at Noakes Rigging inspect the boat, install the safety harness lines along each side, put in the HF radio transceiver and its antenna on the backstay, and put in the mounting points for the life raft that we would have to carry.

Jack wanted to see for himself just how the boat handled, how the running rigging and controls were installed, and if there was anything else we needed to do before having the pre-race safety inspection. I let him take the helm; the wind was just under 10 knots from the north-east, so we went with the big number one genoa, and the main. It was a nice run down the coast, as we sailed down, I pointed out where the various controls on the deck were.

“Did you make any modifications to the rigging or the deck controls?” he asked.

“No, it’s pretty much bog standard,” I said. “With the exception of the adjuster on the jib sheet lead turning blocks, it’s much as it came out of the factory.”

“And the keel and rudder are standard, same as the sails. We will get the class standard IMS rating for our handicap. I suspect if the weather conditions aren’t completely terrible, we should do well in our class, on handicap.”

By mid-morning, we were tied up alongside Lee Sails loft, Jack and I went through everything that we wanted done, and Mick promised to have things finished by Friday, so we could sail back on Saturday morning. Jack was impressed with the boat, how it handled and how it was set up.

“The Youngs were always a good, strong boat, fast but comfortable,” he said. “I’m looking forward to the race, it should be good fun, and we will be competitive, at least on handicap. We’ll give those older IOR boats, particularly the one ton and two ton raters a good run for their money.”

The next Saturday, Jack, Lisa and I sailed the boat back to Pittwater, all of the work had been done, the rigging checked, engine overhauled, and the additional safety equipment installed. It was a little cramped in the cockpit with the life raft strapped in place, but it provided a flat surface to spread out charts, or place meal plates. The life raft was designed to fit up to ten people, and was in a sealed fibreglass capsule that when deployed would automatically open. It was attached to the boat by a safety line, so if in the case where we needed to use it, we would unfasten the straps that held it in the cockpit, push it over the transom, letting it open out, and once we had got on board the life raft, cut the securing line. At the same time, we would activate our EPIRB, and with luck, the main sea safety centre in Canberra would be alerted to our distress. At least that was the theory, I hope we would never have to put that to the test.

Monday morning, Jack and I took the boat down to RPAYC for their race safety directors to go through the checklist. I had all of the documentation they would need, the Australian Yachting Federation membership and registration forms, copies of the insurance policies, Department of Communications radio licenses, certificates for the life raft, and our EPIRP registration details. In addition, the entry forms and photos of each other crew members. Jack had laid out all of our safety equipment – the life jackets, flares, first aid kit, and all of the equipment specified in the AYF regulations and the race entry documents.

Rather than the standard ‘life jackets’ (or, to use the correct term ‘personal flotation devices’) we had what were called ‘sospenders’ – a safety harness that went over the shoulders and buckled around the waist, with a heavy duty nylon webbing safety line that clipped from the harness to the safety lines that had been installed along the deck. These also had self-inflating floatation chambers that would automatically inflate if you hit the water. There was a small CO2 gas canister – like those used in soda syphons – that would inflate the chambers. Each harness also had a water-activated strobe light, plus a small plastic whistle. Again, I hope we would never need those features, but as Jack said, they were mandatory for all serious off shore races for a very good reason.

“When we have our first training day, I’ll stress to EVERYONE that you will never be up on deck without being clipped onto a safety line,” he said. “That’s a fundamental rule, and if I see anyone breaking it, do I have your permission to tell them off?”

“Of course you do, you are the crew boss, you make sure everyone is doing their job,” I said. “And personal safety is everyone’s job.”

We arrived at Alfred’s, tied up to one of the docks, and waited for the safety guys to come to check the boat. We didn’t have to wait all that long, they arrived, and started checking things, working through their list. They tested the radios, putting in calls to the coastal patrol base station, making sure we could be received and understood, and the signal from them was readable. When they had finished, they said everything was fine, and when I told them I had things checked and installed by Noakes Rigging, one of them said I should have mentioned that at the start, it would have saved a lot of time.

“Well, I assumed you would want to check things for yourselves, and not take anyone’s word that things had been done, and we had the correct equipment,” I said, and they agreed with me.

“We will submit all the paperwork to the race office, you’ll get your official race entry sticker in a few days, along with all the sailing instructions, race details, everything you will need to know,” one of them said. “Of course, you’ll need to be at the club on December 23rd, there’s a skippers’ briefing at 1930 hours, and attendance is mandatory.”

“Not a problem, we’ll be there,” Jack said. “Is it all the crew, or just the skipper?”

“Anyone is welcome, but skippers must be there. I assume you as sailing master will also be attending, Jack?”

The formal paperwork for the race was completed and submitted, we had all of our safety equipment in place and approved, now all that was required was some training in off-shore racing. That would start next month, Jack had worked out a couple of short, overnight sails, up to Port Stephens and back, just so we got the hang of being out at sea on the boat, particularly at night. That would also test our ability to heat and serve meals for everyone, and work out how to organize shifts and see how easy it would be to sleep below decks while still racing.

Over the next week, I wrapped up the year at Uni, I would be off until the end of January, when it would be time to start preparing for the next year. The first week of December I would be doing some session work at Alberts, there was some post-production work on Kate Cebrano’s latest album, plus some studio work recording radio and TV advertising jingles. Nothing all that earth-shattering, but it was interesting work, varied, and kept my skills honed. During on lunch break, Fifa – who was now CEO of Albert Productions – a well-deserved promotion, in my mind – asked me to come up to the executive conference room.

In the room, as well as Fifa were Popsy Albert, and two men that I didn’t know. I was introduced to Baz Luhrmann and Tristram Liall. Poppy told me to take a seat, and she would explain a project that she and Ted had started working on.

“Will, did you see the play ‘Strictly Ballroom’?” she asked, and I answered in the negative. “No problems, it’s a romantic comedy based around a ballroom dancing competition; the original play was written by Baz, he and two others have turned it into a screenplay, and he will direct the film. Tristram is the other producer, along with me. While we’ve got you here, Will, the main theme will be a reproduction of John Paul Young’s 1977 hit, ‘Love is in the Air’, but we want you to sing it. And in some of the dance competition scenes, we were thinking of having your group ‘play’, to make it look like there’s live music. We’re still in the early stages, we have to get funding secured, and line up a cast, but think about it, talk to the others, it won’t be onerous, and should be a lot of fun.”

“Um, well, I guess so, I’ll need to know when you will need us ready to record, and film, so it’s hard to give a definite yes or no,” I said. “I’ll tell the others, but it does sound interesting. From memory, that JPY song was a bit of a disco hit, is that what you are wanting it to be like?”

“No, we will tone the disco side of it down, make it more like a Latin feel so that it fits in with the ballroom dancing theme,” Baz said.

“Imagine you would be playing it at that Crystal Ballroom,” Popsy said. “George and Harry can work on the arrangement with your band, and we’ll get a small string section behind too. And there will be a full blown music video to go with it, too.”

“Well, it sounds like it would be fun,” I said. “Even if the others can’t do it, I’m saying ‘yes’ for my involvement. If Ted felt that it was a worthwhile project, that’s good enough for me.”

“Great, Will, we ... I was hoping you would agree,” Popsy said. “As soon as we have more details, I will let you know. Thanks, it means a lot to me that you want to be involved.”

Fifa followed me out, and told me to come with her into her office – what used to be Ted’s. I congratulated her on her promotion, saying it was the obvious choice.

“Well, there aren’t many women at this level in the music industry,” she said. “Not just here in Australia, but in the world. I’ve become a bit of a trail blazer, I think.”

“I can’t think of anyone better to run this company,” I said. “And it’s always been great working with you, Fifa, and I’m sure that will continue into the future.”