Life on the Edge
Life on the Edge: A Mother’s World in a Foreign Military Base
By Terri-Marie Cook
For military families stationed abroad, life unfolds within the orderly walls of the base: routine marches to school, neatly trimmed lawns, and streets where everyone knows the strictures of the service. Yet, for those who were not part of the military, especially women thrust into this foreign world, the experience was often quietly harrowing.
In Wegberg, Germany, RAF Hospital Wegberg stood as a beacon of care, a place where children were born, emergencies tended, and families sustained. For my young mother, the hospital represented more than medical care, it was a place of anxiety and wonder, where the rules of an unfamiliar military world intersected with the raw vulnerability of childbirth.
Imagine arriving in a small house on base, your belongings unpacked, and the air heavy with unfamiliar sounds: German voices in the marketplace, military orders echoing down the corridors, and the hum of a community in motion. For a shy woman like my mother, fragile in health and temperament, these sounds could be overwhelming. Social connections were thin threads: a neighbor’s smile, a coffee morning with other wives, a fleeting conversation at the post office. Making friends required courage she may not have known she possessed.
Daily life demanded both resilience and creativity. Feeding, cleaning, and caring for an infant became exercises in independence. A trip to a local store was more than grocery shopping, it was a navigation of language, currency, and culture. Every small task carried the weight of adaptation. The routines of military life, precise, regimented, and unyielding, contrasted sharply with the intimate, unpredictable needs of a newborn.
Birth itself was an ordeal in controlled chaos. The hospital staff, efficient and professional, operated in a world of ranks and protocols. For a non-military mother, even small gestures could feel intimidating, the procedures and schedules unfamiliar and precise. Yet within this framework of order, life pressed forward, her child’s first cries a triumphant assertion of humanity amid the rigidity of military life.
Raising a child in this environment for the first two years was an act of quiet endurance. Milestones, first steps, first words, first laughter, occurred against a backdrop of isolation. There were no grandparents nearby, no lifelong friends to share the triumphs, no familiar rhythms of home to ease the days. Every accomplishment, every successful night of sleep, was hard-won.
Yet, life in this foreign enclave was not solely hardship. Small victories mattered profoundly. A shared smile with a fellow mother, the simple joy of a sunny morning in the yard, or the comforting routine of the child’s play all became anchors in an otherwise alien world. These moments of quiet triumph defined courage not as grand heroism, but as endurance, patience, and steadfast love.
The histories of military life often spotlight the strategy, the deployments, the officers. Hidden in plain sight are the lives of the spouses, the non-military women who raised families, kept homes, and navigated a world they had not chosen. In their experience, bravery was measured not by medals or commendations, but in the quiet determination to face each day, to nurture life, and to carve out a home in a place that was foreign, demanding, and unforgiving.
In the end, it is these stories that reveal the texture of life behind the headlines, the courage that thrives not in the spotlight, but in the quiet, enduring acts of love and survival.
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Prom Night Terror - A Ghostly Encounter
Prom Night Terror
It was prom night, 1958. The gymnasium at Maple Hill High shimmered under flickering disco balls and rows of paper lanterns that swayed as if breathing with the music. Laughter and swing tunes filled the smoky air, tangled with the scent of hairspray and aftershave.
Marilyn Rae Delaney stood near the punch bowl, radiant in her emerald green satin dress, the fabric catching the light like starlight on lake water. Her date, Dean Lancer — the school’s star quarterback with a pompadour as sculpted as his jaw line, had just pulled her close when the music took a jarring twist.
The band crackled. The lights dimmed, flickered. Then… the fire alarms screamed. Chaos ignited. Screams echoed as flames leapt from the gym’s far corner, licking across banners reading “Forever Tonight, Class of '58!” Dancers scattered like marionettes cut loose. But Marilyn… she couldn’t move.
Dean hadn’t let go. His hands were ice-cold. She looked up into his face, and what she saw stole the scream from her throat. His features blurred, softening like melting wax. His skin faded to pale mist. His once-sparkling eyes glowed hollow blue. Through his cheek, she could see the burning gym wall behind him.
"Dean?" she whispered,
voice trembling.
“Don’t leave me, Marilyn,” he
rasped, his voice echoing as though trapped in an empty hallway. “We never
finished our dance…”
She staggered backward, eyes wide with terror, her perfectly curled hair bouncing as she recoiled. Her heels scraped the floor, catching on her hem as she tripped against an overturned chair. The lanterns above flickered, casting long, twisted shadows.
In the background, couples rushed for the exits, but some never made it. A glowing fog spread across the gym floor, swallowing students into silence. The fire didn’t burn them. They simply vanished. Marilyn crawled backwards as Dean hovered closer, his smile sad, mournful… pleading.
“This night was ours, remember? You
said it’d last forever.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks, mascara running like smudged ink. “You died in the car crash last year,” she whispered. “I only dreamed you’d be here…” Dean’s smile faltered. A single tear, silvery and slow, slid down his spectral cheek, fading before it fell.
Then, as if the gym itself exhaled, the flames vanished. The band stopped. Silence. She was alone. Clutching her chest, dress torn and soot-stained, Marilyn stood beneath the last swinging lantern, the echo of ghostly music lingering in the smoke. Some say she never really left that gym.
On prom nights ever since… if the
lights flicker and the air turns cold, you might just spot a girl in green…
waiting for her lost love.
Nothing To Do With The Name
I wrote this poem when someone once asked me if I was prejudiced? I had to stop and think about this. Not because I thought I was, or wasn't... I was shocked that someone needed to ask. After all I had worked in Darwin as a Taxi Driver for 3 years, where there was a high indigenous population, and had all nationalities in the cab of the Taxi, during the confines of my working 12 hour day. What I will say is there is a huge difference between someone being prejudice, and someone having situational awareness with a cautious attitude.
This Poem is what resulted from that question?
When The Night Screams
When The Night Screams By Terri-Marie Cook
In a cluster of suburban units, lived a young lady, in her late teens. She had been living alone for much of her teenage years, as her family was very much disjointed. Having lived a troubled life within the family structure, she chose to live alone, rather than be subjected to the taunts, the unjust behavior of others. Adelaide was not an ideal place to live in the 1970’s. There was a lot of mystery, intrigue, and murder in the shadows of this somewhat quaint city. The Beaumont Children Mystery for example remains unsolved even to this day. Then there was the murder of Dr. George Duncan, and the Bartholomew Family Massacre, and this was before the Family Murder’s, the Truro Murders, or the disappearance of Joanne Ratcliffe and Kirste Gordon. Yes in spite of Adelaide’s dark, sinister side, there was a city that was quite different to other parts of Australia. Adelaide boasted a Mediterranean Climate, and with the exception of the extreme weather days, meant most citizens took advantage of these weather conditions. Days spent in the parklands. Picnics at the Botanical Gardens, and the various National Parks located around the beautiful city outskirts and countryside. Beach goers along the vast foreshores that spanned the whole west side of the city, and beyond. Public transport, such as buses, trains, and trams, was used daily by commuters, whether for passage to and from work, for shopping, or just a day out. The Tram was a wonderful adventure from Victoria Square through to Glenelg's Moseley Square. It squeaked and rocked along the tracks at a steady pace, only stopping for excited beach goers, or shoppers who were eager to spend the day at Gleneg’s beach and shopping precinct.
Not far from the tram tracks, on a cool calm night, screams could be heard from Anzac Highway. Screams from a young lass, who minutes before had retired to her bedroom. Who lay with her kitten just peacefully adjusting her eyes after the light was turned off. Then she felt movement, and looked at her kitten, who was quite settled beside her, but was now looking towards the door in an alert, wide open stare. Tess was intrigued and she too looked towards the doorway. In that same instance, the light was turned on by a stranger standing in the doorway, with a menacing grin on his face. She had no clue who the man was, nor how he got into the unit, but she instinctively grabbed the blanket and brought them up under her chin, and held them there with knuckles so white. Tess had no idea who this man was, nor did she have time to ask, because he leapt onto the bed, on top of all the covers, and tried to pull them out of her grasp. All the while Tess was screaming, and kicking at the evil being in the room. Her tiny framed body was no match for his, but it did have one advantage, and without any thought, she shimmied her feet to the floor, while the rest of her torso was on the bed being wrestled. Her grasp on the blankets under her chin, the only thing keeping the monster focused on his planned agenda. He was so eager to pry the bedding away from Tess’s grasp that he failed to see what was happening right beside him. He didn’t seem bothered by her screams his focus was on one thing. Then with a sudden release, Tess let go of the grasp and slid out of the bed. She ran to her kitchen, grabbing a six inch steak knife in her travels, and hid under one of the counter tops, tucked up tight beside her fridge. There were no lights on in the lounge, nor kitchen, but there was faint light coming from the bedroom area. In the shadows she could see the man, he was looking for the light switch, but before he could locate it, Tess lashed out towards him with the knife, and stabbed him in the arm. With that he retreated, ran across the lounge room, and left through the window he had gained entry through. He slid down a pole, jumped into a motorbike he had hidden behind some trees below, and rode off into the night. Tess was traumatized by the ordeal, and shaking in the wake of such an awful encounter. However her night would not end anytime soon.
Downstairs, unbeknown to her, lived an elderly couple, and in their wisdom, they rang the Police. Not only did they ring the police they had full view of the motorbike from their bedroom window, and they took the tag number and this was given to the police dispatcher. Within a short time Police were at the door, and looking for the motorcycle rider. After an intense interview, Tess was informed that no charges would be laid against her for defending herself, although still shaking and no longer wanting to be in the unit, she did feel somewhat relieved to hear this. It was some hours later that the police informed her that the man had been found. That he was at one of the city hospitals getting treatment, and that he was going to be arrested and charged for stalking, break and entering, attempted rape, and a few other charges unrelated to the night’s events.
In the end this monster received a two and a half year jail term, and was left with a scar to remind him of all those lost days in jail. It turned out that this man was an ex neighbor, from another property Tess had previously lived at. When she vacated that unit, he had followed her, and found out where Tess was planning to live. Tess had never noticed him before he broke into her unit, so was unaware of any of this until the court proceedings commenced. His girlfriend was seven months pregnant when this event happened, so this bloke really was a low life individual. In a city where there were many corpses buried because of crime related deaths, Tess was thankful to be alive She was grateful that she still lived in a society that reacted to unwelcomed screams for help. Life was never the same after this, but with a grateful heart, life did more on.
Years later, the memory of that night still haunts Tess. She has trouble sleeping and often sleeps in short bursts, rather than an entire straight eight hours. Any noise during the night hours, and she is instantly awake. If others within the household turn on a light near her bedroom, this too can wake her quite easily, although not in a frightening way. Tess has kept a knife close to her bed ever since, and has warned her son’s if they need to wake her, make sure they call her mum, and shake her feet, because she would hate to grab the knife in a panic, and harm them. Tess always made sure they knew she had a knife hidden in her room, in what she considers her safety shield, and would be her natural response if someone tried to attack her in the night. In Tess’s later years she became somewhat of a recluse. Seldom leaving the house unless for medical, or local errands. When she does have to venture further away from home she prefers to have someone go with her. She not only mindful of what lurks in the shadows; she has lost of the confidence and trust once associated with the youthful freedoms she once felt.
Tess’s legacy through this… She taught her son’s to respect women. She taught them it was okay to walk/run away from a bad situation, and if they couldn’t, then it was okay to defend themselves. She taught them not to go out looking for trouble, and to always walk in shoes that they would be proud of. Tess made it her mantra to always help the underdog, and even to this day dislikes abuse of any kind, men, women, children, and animals. They all have a right to feel safe, protected, and most of all respected. No matter how big or small a person is, there is an inner strength that comes to light when people need it most. When adversity knocks the wind out of your sails, and you don’t find the inner strength, or wisdom to find a way out, then you will find yourself in real danger. People please be aware of your surroundings, always have a backup plan, and never take anything for granted. Even family and neighbors’ can be a threat, and there is no gender that is safe, harm can come to anyone, at any age.
