Great Scott!

Denise Scott’s dad saves the day, with help from the elephant in the room.

This month I want to propose a toast to my dad. He died 38 years ago. Heart attack. Russ was a fun-loving, beer-loving, footy-loving, family and friends-loving sort of bloke who adored his job – delivering smallgoods.

One dark and stormy night, when I was just seven, Dad took Mum, my sister and I to the circus. Given we didn’t own a car, we went in his work vehicle – a combi van covered in animated frankfurters that wore boater hats and tap shoes and had cartoon bubbles saying: “Eat us up we’re yummy, yummy for your tummy.”

We parked in a paddock near the Big Top. During the show it poured with rain. Afterwards we squashed back into the front seat of the van, ready to head home. Dad turned on the ignition. Minutes later, as wheels spun, dirt flew and the van sank further and further into the mud, Dad declared: “I reckon we’re bogged. Crikey! What’s a man to do? I’ve got black puddings to deliver in the morning.”

Like a superhero, Dad told his women to stay put while he headed back to the circus for a shovel. He soon returned. But he didn’t have a shovel. He had an elephant.

Dad got back into the driver’s seat. A circus hand instructed the elephant to wrap its trunk around the front bumper bar. Given my nose was all but touching the windscreen, I was now literally eyeball to eyeball with the elephant. Slowly it heaved us upwards, sucking the van out of the mud until we were high in the air. And then, walking backwards, it dragged us across the paddock and gently deposited us onto dry land.

So, here’s to my dad, a beautiful man who taught me that for every problem life throws at you, there’s always a solution. Especially if there’s a friendly elephant nearby.