The jobs were menial, but at least I got paid (most of the time) while my general education continued in its own way, although I didn't realise now much I was learning about life at the time.

I learnt that taipans only bite you if you annoy them, followed by information on how not to annoy them - don't stand on them for starters.

As an 18 year old, while trying to talk a pregnant teenager down from a cliff where she was going to jump to a certain death, I learnt that we do not always have a choice between right and wrong.  Sometimes there is no right choice available, and we have to choose the least worse option.

Then, along with a girlfriend, I got a job with a squatter family on the Darling Downs.  This taught me to be wary of 'nice' people.  There were two positions available, one as a cook and one as a housekeeper.  As neither of us could be described as capable in a kitchen, and our housekeeping efforts at home had also been close to non-existent, despite how we might have described our qualifications on application, we arranged to share the jobs.

We were informed that the last servant had left as she had stolen two shillings and sixpence from Miss Elizabeth's piggy bank.  "It's not the money.  It's the fact that she was a thief".  We were also informed that we would eat our meals in the kitchen, after the family had been served.

We worked for nearly two months, seven days a week, including over the Queen's Birthday long weekend, never leaving the property which was isolated out in the Darling Downs.  We were not allowed to be familiar with the children, themselves teenagers, so the only rational and/or fun conversations we had were with the family dog.

It was clearly time to return to civilisation.  We resigned, expecting to get a nice payout.  Wrong!  Our wages for the duration, were kept to pay for our keep, apart from enough to purchase a train ticket into Brisbane.  The oldest boy, Master Alex, would drive us to the station to catch the train into Toowoomba, where we could transfer to the train into Brisbane.

What station? Alex drove us to the railway line.  He gave us instructions to flag down the steam train from Jondaryan, which would arrive within the next two hours, then disappeared over the horizon.  Only the odd bird looked down as two teenagers, with a suitcase each, sat in the Queensland sun with barely a tree, or the occasional cow, to break the monopoly. Then the train came.  Climbing on this monster was not easy for two vertically challenged girls.  The driver helped us get on board.

I made one farewell gesture.  The train was like something our of a Wild West film, with a small observation deck at the back.  It was the time of the full starched petticoats.  Miss Elizabeth had one.  I had stolen it and now pulled it out of the suitcase.  I twirled it around over my head and launched it into the air.  That was one for all the previous servants who had been labelled thieves.

At Toowoomba, we caught the midnight special train from St Georges, and continued into Brisbane.  It was full of miners.  We partied all night, as they handed around the beer.  We joined them loudly singing country and western songs.

We had arrived safely into Brisbane but without any money to get a room for the night.  I rang the union to report receiving no wages for working long days over many weeks.  "We don't cover domestics" a male voice told me.  My dad was an old union man.  He had told me about Jondaryan and how the shearers strike was precipitated from the woodshed there.  Frustrated, I yelled this information into the phone before slamming it down.

We then fronted up to the Salvation Army.  Yes, they would provide us with a roof over our head, but it came with a long lecture about how irresponsible we were for roaming the country without any funds.

Strangely, the behaviour of the two groups who should have helped us, hurt more than that of the squatters, who were clearly in the wrong.  The helpers had reinforced our lack of worth; they were pure - we were not.  It was in itself, a strong lesson.  Helpers good - receivers not.

Not long out of my teens, my itinerant life ended.  I stopped in St Kilda to help look after a young brother who was starting an apprenticeship.  We were staying in a rooming house and this rolling stone then gathered some moss.  I got pregnant and the father went on his own itinerant track.  I was in despair for a while, then moved to action.  I checked in at the hospital and, as an unmarried mother, had a compulsory visit with the social worker.

My track experience, reinforced by warnings from others in the rooming house that the help I may receive could lead to the baby being taken from me, had prepared me.  I told her that I didn't need any help as the baby's father was providing everything.  Then I got a job at six months pregnant; because I was small, it didn't show as I wore the ubiquitous shirt that grew.  I worked until the week before she was born.

Baby Wendy, whom I had not been allowed to touch at birth or breast feed, was placed in intensive care.  I was discharged at one week and could come in every day to look at her through the window.  I was finally allowed to take her home when she was two weeks old; that was the first time I touched her.  They put me in a taxi and gave me a bottle of formula with details on how to make more.

The women at the boarding house supported me in many ways; when another girl got pregnant we share child care between us.  In a different hospital they told her if she loved her baby, she would not take her home as the baby was 'entitled' to two parents.  She was distraught.  We helped her and the new baby back to the boarding house where she and baby thrived.  The help we gave each other was reciprocal and not based on a helper and helped model.  Later I rented a house in Acland St - it became an open house in which everyone helped everyone else.

Then I met Rosemary West and became a founding member of Council for the Single Mother and Child (CSMC).  At last! Somewhere that provided help with dignity.  Previously, women who were divorced or separated could get pensions, but there was no pension available for moths of ex-nuptial children, as it was believed this might encourage them to have more, with "Illegitimate" stamped on the babies birth certificates.  Wonderfully, we eventually got this changed, and it also covered males who were bringing up a child on their own.  It was amazing, reinforcing the lessons learnt on the track.

Later, as Vice President of VCOSS, I was lucky enough to head the Committee of Self Help Groups.  The self-help model works both ways.  It not only helps those who, for whatever reason are in need, but, having someone who has experienced that situation, now being a helper, they can provide invaluable information to the organisation.

So a big thank you to all those who shared experiences on the track and for those continuing to do so in Port Phillip.  Those who've laughed with me and those who've cried.  You've taught me so much.

By Brenda Richards

In the 2021 Queen's Birthday honours, long time U3APP Member Brenda Richards was awarded a Medal of the Order of Australia for service to the community through social welfare organisations.

Brenda has kindly written this story for us, detailing her journey from leaving school at a young age and taking up varied casual work along the east coast of Australia, through to settling in St Kilda where her daughters were born, then into a life of service helping those in need.  One thing she omits in her story is that after this adventurous start to "adulthood", she completed high school and gained a degree at Monash university, before taking up a post as a Psychiatric Social Worker in the Children's Court Clinic.  

Some of Brenda's extensive service history includes:

• Founding Member (since 1969) and inaugural treasurer of the Council of Single Mothers and their Children
• Member (1976-1980s), former board member and Vice-President (1981) of the Victorian Council of Social Services
• Board Member, Australian Council of Social Services, 1981.
• Supporter, Victorian Adoption Network Information and Self Help Group (VANISH), 1990s.
• Chair and Member, Project steering Committee (1977) Collective of Self Help Groups (VIC).
• City of Port Phillip: former Member, Multicultural Committee/Forum & former Member, Seniors Festival Sub-Committee.
• Senior Psychiatric Social Worker, 1977-2003, established, Step Family Program (for parents whose children were before the courts), 1985-1986 - Children's Court Clinic

Brenda also includes in her busy life being an advocate for adoptee rights, a member and advocate of Veg Out Community Garden, Number One Ticket Holder, St Kilda City Football and Netball Club and Ambassador for Women, Labor Party of Australia.

Jessie was a pupil at Nott St State school till the age of 14.  

She found work at Johnson and Johnson Talc Powder Manufactures, working five and a half days a week, becoming an expert at Box Powders with beautiful ribbon silk bows.  

Jessie and her Sister Hilda loved dancing, live theatre, train trips to Belgrave, and best of all outings along the Bay on the ship Hygea to Portsea at weekends; and of course their local Port Theatre was a favourite Saturday night outing.  

Jessie's Mother Sophia died in her fifties leaving Jessie and her Father Sidney to care for their family.  Kathy, the youngest, was born disabled so Jessie became a surrogate Mother for many years.  

Jessie met Albert Daley in 1930 and they married in 1935 after they put a deposit on a new Garden City Bank Home of English design facing a beautiful reserve and with a large backyard to grow veggies and fruit trees; such a large block compared with most homes in the Borough.  

Jessie made pickles, jams, chutneys and bottled fruit, and cared for her well tended garden.  She upholstered furniture, painted, mended shoes, cut our hair, made all our clothes; there was nothing she didn't have a go at - she often said she loved her life in Garden City.  

Her memory and presence is with me every day as this where I have made my home.  My life growing  up here moulded me to whom I am today and as her Daughter I am truly blessed.  

Darling Mum I miss you.  

Jessie died peacefully in her sleep in her home in July 1991 Age 87 years.  

Written by her Daughter Lois Hilda Daley of Port Melbourne.

(Pictures shown are for effect only and are not connected to Lois or her mother)

Our family’s cake story started nearly nine years ago, when my about-to-turn-eight years’ old oldest nephew pleaded with his parents for a red-fanged snake cake for his birthday party. He’d been a bit obsessed with snakes for a while… but this was an unexpected and rather daunting request.

At that time, I had no experience of cake decorating . . . but well, I put up my hand. I was able to borrow a couple of ring cake pans from friends. They seemed to be the style most likely to lend themselves to snaky body curls. Those red fangs? A red Freddo frog and a very sharp scalpel. And how to keep the snake’s mouth open so that we could all admire those red fangs? … a clear plastic decorative plate stand. Yes, it all worked and we had one super happy birthday boy.

A birthday boy with two younger brothers… my nephews’ birthday cake tradition had just got underway.

Fortunately, I was able to find a wonderful bakery offering cake decorating lessons. Thanks to Mandie at Three Sweeties, I’m so grateful for the skills and techniques that I’ve learned.

Every birthday offers a new challenge. My philosophy has been… whatever they want! These past years’ birthday cake challenges have included: roller skates, bats & spiders, a koala, Nerf Gun, Thomas the Tank Engine, Pikachu, Lego, Minecraft, Star Wars BB-8, Shrek Swamp House, Septiceye Sam, Sonic the Hedgehog and many more.

My oldest nephew is about to turn 17. Yet I have no doubt that he’s already thinking about this year’s birthday cake theme. I doubt they’re going to outgrow this given their Dad asked for a cake featuring the Star Trek Enterprise attacking a Borg Cube for his 60^th.  I’m looking forward to many more years of crazy and very enjoyable family and friends’ cake challenges.

“If you phone this number at 8.30am you should catch Dave”, said the local estate agent when I told him I needed assistance with restoring a substantial house I had just bought. He added, “I probably should warn you that some people find him a bit strange”. I quite like quirky people so was happy to try.

Dave, the odd jobs man, turned the time I spent in a beautiful country town in the western district of Victoria into an adventure.

No doubt intrigued to know more about the stranger from the city who phoned him out of the blue, Dave arrived to begin work on my first day in town. In turn, I was curious to put a face to the voice at the end of the phone. He was about 45, deeply tanned, with longish curly unkempt hair, fit looking, and wearing (only?) a dirty blue boiler suit. His eyes had a strange distant stare that suggested he had once used hard drugs.

Being an old hand at renovating city houses, I was wise to potential trades’ traps. So, watching the clock, I became tense as Dave talked and talked and talked as he fitted fly wire in the back door that he insisted on rebuilding. He talked about various townsfolk and the jobs he’d done, mostly for people who could not afford to pay much. His stories made him sound kind and I should have felt ashamed at thinking he was a con man. His first bill was modest, not the exorbitant bill I had feared.

Once I realised Dave was not going to fleece me, I relaxed and called him whenever I was in town and needed a small job done. He was originally a boilermaker and his workmanship was superb. He could fix split doors, mend broken locks, and rebuild chimneys. No job was too big or small. I grew to love hearing about the locals and the town’s history and could easily encourage him to chat by asking, “What’s new?” He, in turn, was keen to hear about my city life, a life that probably sounded both exotic and chaotic. Remarkably, he had never been to the city. His orbit was 60 kilometres around the town.

Dave was amazed by the amount of time I spent reading and working at my computer on drafts of articles and chapters. He called me ‘the writer’ and, becoming tuned into my interests, would bring around cuttings from the daily national newspaper about issues in the visual arts he believed would be of interest to me. He was always spot-on.

I learned in this tiny town that many of the people had the time to talk, but the accuracy of a story was not of paramount concern. If they didn’t know what is really going on, they merely surmised, perhaps from observation. Dave revealed one day that some locals had told him that a senior politician, whose family property was about 50 kilometres away, had set me up in the old mansion as his mistress. I found that suggestion flattering, being semi-retired and pushing 60. I did not want to ruin a good story by denying it.

 “Hey, you’ve got the same smelly as me” Dave said one day. As I wondered whether I should be offended, he shocked me with the news that at Christmas time the local teachers often tossed out perfumes, talcs and other gifts the children had given them.  Being in charge of the school bins he saw what was thrown out, scooped it up, and gave retrieved items as gifts to his friends. He did not know or care that the YSL perfume he used as an air freshener for his truck and sprayed on his overalls when they were a bit “on the nose” was expensive.

Suspicious of his intentions in the early days of our friendship, I was nervous about going anywhere with Dave. He wanted to take me to a good fishing spot on a friends’ land, to a plantation behind town to see an eagles‘ nest, to a track where there was excellent firewood, or to a house where there was a nice old table on a veranda that I could get for a bargain price. I always found an excuse for not going. One day he suggested I should see some work he had done at a mate’s old shed. I had run out of reasons for saying no and so I said I would go, but insisted on taking my car. His battered old truck had to be parked facing downhill to ensure that it would start, so getting anywhere and returning without a mishap was a risky proposition. He suggested we take the short cut along a rough gravel road - the one with a very steep hill - to test my 4WD. I thought to myself, “You idiot, he just wants to get you somewhere secluded”, so I said I wasn’t a confident driver and would prefer to stick to the bitumen road. Without incident, we inspected the repairs to his friend’s ancient shed. Talk about having tickets on myself! As if …

A re-cycler extraordinaire, Dave used bits and pieces he had picked up at the local tip or saved from his past jobs whenever possible. Each time we went to the tip to drop off building junk he would pick up handy bits and pieces. It was fun. You can’t explore tips in the city any more. I watched him put the ‘new’ junk into his back yard, already full of bits and pieces that would come in handy one day and enough firewood to last a lifetime. Dave’s back yard junk pile was on a small scale compared with other blocks on the outskirts of the town. Nothing seemed to be thrown out (for long) in the country.

We travelled to other nearby towns and tips looking for doors, flooring and windows for my house. I loved passing the crops on the beautiful rolling hills we passed through as they changed colour with the seasons. Once, as we threw things off the trailer at a small tip, people emerged from the bush and swooped on them. Some tried to sell us junk they had rescued from the tip. Seeing poverty so close at hand was a sobering experience for me.

When I was making lunch one day Dave asked if I could spare some breadcrumbs for some mousetraps he had bought. “Mouse plague?” I inquired. “Nope” he said, “there is a bush right outside my bedroom window that the sparrows call home. They wake me up at dawn every morning. I want to catch them so I can sleep in.” By now, nothing Dave said surprised me. I uessed he was serious. Next time I saw him I asked whether he had caught any sparrows in the mousetraps. “Nah, but I got a blackbird. It flew off before I could get its beak out.” He tried to tell me more about the gruesome fate of the bird, but I quickly changed the subject.

Although quite short, Dave was as strong as an ox and would use his skills and guile to get anything done. He usually worked alone and courting danger seemed to be an incentive. One day when no-one was around he climbed into an empty well beneath my house - no doubt checking for old treasures. On hearing about this later, I thought about a possible drowning or snakebite and shuddered to think of what could have happened if the ladder had broken or the lid slammed shut. He didn’t have a mobile phone to use to call for help.

I arrived from the city one winter’s day to find him on the roof. He had replaced the wood heater with a ‘new’ recycled version. He had inserted the heater and erected the flue on his own because his mate hadn’t turned up to help. He knew I would need a fire as the inland nights were bitterly cold, so he had done it alone rather than let me down. Health and safety precautions were not on his radar.

Muriel was one of the people he helped out for next-to-nothing. She owned some beautiful gates from a demolished church. Dave thought they would be perfect for my place and talked her into selling them to me. She lived in a wreck of a house behind a heritage-listed shop-front. She spent a lot of time sitting outside the house trying to keep cool during summer’s scorchers. A transvestite, she did not keep a low profile. In heels, Muriel was nearly two metres’ tall and wore a fur coat almost all year round. Dave told me that she once asked him if he could push a caravan in through the back wall of her place because it would be cheaper and easier than building a kitchen. He had measured the caravan but it wouldn’t fit. The towns’ powerbrokers used the derelict state of the house as a way of getting rid of Muriel. The house was condemned and quickly bulldozed. The main street now looks like it has a missing tooth – so much for the heritage listing! Dave thought the treatment of Muriel was dreadful. She moved to the caravan park.

We found that some bees had built a hive in a wall of my outside dunny. Dave offered to get rid of them, insisting on doing it because he wanted the honey. He bashed a small hole in the wall near the hive and sprayed insect repellent through it each time he visited the house. When I went to inspect, a pile of empty cans of fly spray told a tale. Although Dave believed the fly spray would have a cumulative effect, the bees did not vacate the hive. He decided to hasten their exit by pulling off a sheet of fibro. His protection against stings was shade cloth draped over his head. He did not realise that I was in the garden just around the corner. The agitated bees headed straight for my head and several stung me. I screamed “Daaaave!” as other bees were becoming caught in my hair. I was terrified. When he appeared around the corner of the house I called him everything under the sun. He assured me they would calm down if I did, and suggested I stay away from the dunny for a while. Next time I saw Dave one side of his face was swollen and purple, particularly around the eye. I didn’t need to ask what had happened. He told me he managed to get some honey but that the bees were still around. A pest controller was called.

While I was renovating the house I would fall into bed exhausted at night not caring that there was no entertainment or anyone to talk to unless I phoned home. There was nothing to do in the town if you didn’t drink at the pub. I found the absolute quiet of the main street at night eerie, and it seemed to emphasise my loneliness. One night as I walked the dog around the silent town I asked myself “What on earth am I doing here?”

As much fun as this journey was for me, the 4-hour journey from Melbourne proved to be too far for my city friends to come to visit me. They didn’t notice the beautiful countryside they passed through to get there. “What mountains?” asked my sister when I commented that the spectacular range of mountains near the highway never looked the same twice. I was incredulous that she had not seen them. My partner, ‘highly suspicious of this Dave’ visited and played on the nearby golf course a couple of times, but showed no enthusiasm.

In three years no-one knocked on my door (although the house was in the main street) to say hello or invite me over. My only human contact was with the shopkeepers and tradespeople and then only as their customer. Where is the country hospitality they talk about? I decided it was a myth and that the city was a much friendlier place. Perhaps the 20 year rule for acceptance is true – 3 years was not nearly enough for me to be accepted.

Dave had been there to entertain me and keep me company while there was work to do. But when the job was finished, when I had changed a neglected partial wreck of a house into a loved and repaired home for posterity, we realised that my time there was over.

So, no doubt as many locals’ predicted, the ‘mistress’ left town. However, I have my photos to remind me of the fun and beauty.

For the past eight months these Classes have continued Online with Members learning and practicing in the comfort and privacy of their own homes, using materials and music provided by email and through the Choir Websites.

A number of Members met each other in person for the very first time, and all present were able to sing collectively, including songs which they had only previously practiced alone.  The Choir sang music by The Tokens, Miriam Makeba, Israel Kamakawiwo'ole and Cole Porter - rounded off by a hearty rendition of "U3A Will Survive", while French in Songs sang music by Jean Sablon, Charles Trenet, Joe Dassin, Yves Montand, Michel Sardou and Bob Azzam.  The rendition of Sympathique by Pink Martini would have raised the roof if sung indoors.  Both groups provided a finale with a few seasonal numbers to celebrate, with other clientele at the café, and indeed many people passing by, pausing to listen as the two groups sang.  Everyone is now looking forward to being able to polish these songs in normal Shoulder-2-Shoulder practice sessions when we are finally able to hold classes together.

Zoom and recorder playing don't go together.  Not only is there the timing problem that prohibits most musical work, the program hates the sound of the recorder and tries to block it out as background noise, no matter how much you work on the sound settings.

So here we are back together live at Gasworks Park on the 12th of November, in a sheltered space with walls giving us some sound feedback.  

Playing recorders outside can be problematical, as wind can steal the sound away.  But we did pretty well, and given that we had not played together since February, we sounded pretty good.

Not ready for concerts yet, but that will come.

Geoff Parr-Smith
Recorder Consort Leader

The virus moved fast and within 3 days, the CoM had decided to suspend all face-to-face courses and to close our office.  On Monday the 16^thof March, the Ides of March, CoM met, for the last time face-to-face as it eventuated, and agreed to set up a Working Group to manage our Coronavirus Plan.  Pam Caven, Jim Pribble and Diane Boyle were appointed to the Working Group.  At the meeting a trial of remote classes using Zoom and the purchase of one Zoom account was also approved.

And now -

Over half a year later and the Working Group has been working continuously managing the strategy and the day to day decisions needed to allow our U3A to continue its operations.  And we have not just one Zoom account for our remote (or online as we now call them) classes but six!

And it is the same 3 people on the Working Group, who not only have overseen all the tremendous work put in by all aspects of the organisation, but have also come to enjoy each other’s company and become friends.

How do they manage? 

Respect for each other’s skills, a “can-do” attitude and a sense of humour all contribute.  Meeting at least weekly, by Zoom of course, there is a good sense of camaraderie and focus on new initiatives, issue resolution and communications.  In between meetings, they keep in touch with updates on their agreed actions.

Who are they?  Here's some more info about each of them:

Pam Caven, Deputy President and Events and Functions team

U3APP has been a good fit for me. My career has always been in education as a teacher, lecturer, curriculum writer and author of textbooks.

The power of good teachers. My history teacher in Matric urged me to study History Honours at University. The academic environment was a revelation to me. I loved it.

Reality hit when I was posted to Mildura High School, a cultural shock for someone who had grown up three miles from the Melbourne GPO, although over the course of a year I did come to appreciate the town and its surrounding countryside. From Mildura to Carlton where I lectured in British History at the Secondary Teachers College.

Europe beckoned. I was well prepared for teaching the Industrial Revolution in a London comprehensive secondary school. The undoubted highlight of my time in Europe was the six months I spent in Italy. Three months learning the language at the Universita per Stranieri in Perugia. Bellissimo! My time there left me with a lifelong love of all things Italian.

On returning to Australia via South America I entered the world of TAFE and there I stayed until I retired experiencing wonderful and varied times as a teacher, writer, and an executive in state and federal governments.

I have been on several not for profit boards, including being President of the School Council, when our son was at Melbourne High School,

Following my retirement, I joined U3A Port Phillip and I became an active participant in a variety of U3A courses, too numerous to list and joined the Committee of Management.

I have loved the U3APP experience.

Jim Pribble, member of Committee of Management & Course Coordination team - Tutor Support

I am an American (Yankee)-Australian, born, reared and educated in smallish towns in Southwestern Oregon. I excelled academically and was soon off to University immediately after graduation in 1961.

I graduated from Oregon State University with a BSc and MSc, having spent some years prior to that getting married and serving in the US Army. I entered the workforce in 1974 as a Research Biologist for the Oregon Department of Fisheries, (Research Division) and spent my professional career either as a research biologist or a manager of biological research teams - in the USA and in Victoria.

I first became involved in U3APP in 2009, enrolling for the first time in Shirley Armstrong’s Art Class on Friday mornings. That was my only involvement with U3A until 2017 when I retired from a second, non-scientifically based career, to take a course lead by Geoffrey Levy. I so enjoyed the course that I decided that I would give facilitating a go. Since 2018, I have facilitated/tutored courses, presenting 1 or 2 courses each term.  I really enjoy the experience, especially now that we are delivering the courses on-line.

The COVID-19 Working Group has provided formidable challenges to the intellect and stamina of the participants. The complexity of issues is sometimes daunting, with no apparent solution to the issue at hand.  Owing to the organizational skills and experiences of the group members we have managed to conceptualise, compartmentalise and solve the challenges impinging on U3APP since lockdown in a timely manner.  I believe that the Working Group has served the Committee and membership well. I wouldn’t have missed working with Pam and Diane for quids!!

Diane Boyle, member of Committee of Management and IT Team

I am a Canadian-Australian who has lived in Melbourne more than half my life.  I grew up not far from Toronto, in London, Ontario (a very cold and snow-covered place in winter), and obtained one of the inaugural Computer Science degrees from the University of Waterloo.  My working life was spent in IT, in software development. After taking up scuba diving just prior to retirement, I worked after retirement on a casual basis for a dive safety organisation, Divers Alert Network.

I joined U3APP in 2012 as I was interested in Colin Jones’ Tales of the Sea course.  And when the IT team was formed in 2014, I joined the team as a way to contribute to the organisation.

On 17 July 2014 Malaysian Airlines 17 was shot down over eastern Ukraine. Together with Sir Angus Houston, we led Australia’s response to the disaster.

All 298 passengers were killed in the downing of the aircraft. The plane originated in the Netherlands, and most of the passengers were Dutch nationals. Those killed included 28 Australians and nine permanent residents. The international media quickly speculated that the plane had been shot down by a missile. At the time, Russian-backed rebels were conducting a war against the Ukrainian government in the region of the disaster.

I arrived in Kyiv around 11pm on the evening of the shooting down of MH17. I had just flown back into Warsaw from Australia earlier that afternoon and immediately caught the next flight to Kyiv.

On behalf of the Australian government, my objectives were: to support the families of the Australian passengers; to do whatever it took to collect the human remains from the crash site with dignity; to repatriate the remains to the Hague for identification; and to assist in finding out how the crash had happened, with a view to the international community eventually holding those responsible to account.

For five weeks I worked in Kyiv on the disaster, with a large crisis management team from a range of Australian federal agencies. For the duration of this time, the team leadership had no more than four hours sleep a night and usually less.

In the immediate aftermath of the shooting down, the primary focus of the team was to gain access to the crash site to recover the remains.

Our problem was that the territory of the crash site was under the control of the Russian-backed rebels. It was a dangerous location in which to operate.

With the assistance of the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), which was coincidentally in Ukraine at the time to try to resolve the war in the east of the country, we gained access to the crash site for the Australian Federal Police (AFP). Some of the remains had been collected by local emergency authorities under the command of the rebels and were held in train wagons at a nearby station.

We eventually secured permission for the AFP to enter the crash site, but it was risky work as they often had to withdraw because of gunfire.

We also gained access to the train wagons holding some of the remains. I met the train on arrival at a location near the city of Kharkiv in the northeast of Ukraine, and farewelled the plane carrying the remains from Kharkiv to the Hague.

The Dutch accident investigation found that the cause of the crash was a BUK missile. A subsequent Joint Investigation Team including Australian, Dutch and Malaysian investigators found that the BUK missile belonged to a Russian anti-aircraft missile brigade. Australia and the Netherlands asserted Russia’s responsibility under international law for the downing of MH17. Russia has rejected any responsibility.

The Dutch Public Prosecution Service prosecuted four suspects with murder: three Russians and one Ukrainian. The Dutch have commenced a trial of the four in absentia.

I completed my assignment in Poland and Ukraine in early 2016. The crisis remains etched on my mind, and not least the tragic loss of lives. This was a terrible tragedy with a geostrategic overlay which made the management of the crisis especially difficult.

Ukraine is a vast and beautiful country, with grand cities like its capital, Kyiv, and Lviv in the west. If you have a chance to visit Ukraine, you will marvel at the magnificent churches of Kyiv.

St Andrew's Church, Kyiv

After divorce I discovered study and got myself into University as a forty something mature age student. It was one of the best times of my life. I found out how much I didn’t know.  My BA focussed on Asian Studies (with the language component learning Chinese Mandarin).  For one of my first year essays on Chinese Politics, the tutor, a young PhD candidate, was very critical and barely passed my effort. Fortunately we had a chance to talk about that at the Uni coffee shop.

The conversation went something like this:

Me: I feel you marked me quite harshly.

Tamara: Well, you left out the ruling class and Marxism and...

Me: Yes, I am finding out there are huge gaps in my education.

Tamara: Why? What did you study before this?

Me: I haven’t studied anything since I left high school. And I didn’t finish high school by the way.

Tamara: Well, when did you leave high school?

Me doing a quick calculation: Oh, about 1966. (The look on her face was priceless!)

Tamara: I wasn’t even born then!

Fortunately we both found that very funny and she became one of my biggest allies as I continued my adventure in education.

My original plan of a three year degree became a four year plan as I found I could spend a year in China, learning Chinese at the Hangzhou University. What a life changing experience. Long story short, I became a teacher, eventually specialising in teaching English as another language. A few years ago I tried retirement but it didn’t suit me, so I still teach part time.

The other day in a class my China adventure came up as a discussion topic. I told my students that I had made a good friend in Hangzhou and he taught me Ballroom dancing. Dance, especially Ballroom, was something I had longed to learn as I hadn’t had the opportunity to learn dance in regional WA.

I explained that our friendship had started as a pure exchange. He would teach me to dance as stylishly as he did from his childhood study of ballet, and I would help him to improve his English. They asked for photographic proof!

I thought you might also enjoy seeing how much, serious, fun we had.  

Bev Fryer had been a member of U3A for only a short time when Renate Mattiske wrangled her into becoming an Office Coordinator early in 2016.  Very happily, her first job-sharing partner in this was Margo Anderson, and for almost two years they worked together.  When Margo stepped back, Meredith Mancini came on board for nearly a year.  Early in 2019 Pauline Amos was joint coordinator until she was enticed back to part-time work with an employer who had come to realise how much they were missing her.  But there are depths of talent at U3APP, and Lois Best very fortuitously agreed to share the job with Bev.  They have continued to collaborate through the COVID-19 lockdown.

The position description for Office Coordinator is pretty elastic.  Broadly it requires someone to keep a close eye on activities which are auspiced by U3APP at the Mary Kehoe Centre and other locations, with the aim of ensuring that tutors, members and volunteers all have a positive experience.  An understanding of policies and systems is also needed.  One day is never quite the same as the one that went before!  Is equipment and furniture ready in all class rooms?  Apologies recorded?  Photocopier on?  Fresh milk in the fridge?  Members’ queries answered?  Parking permits all accounted for?  Phone messages answered promptly?  Ceiling fans switched off?  Emails getting through?  Enough trained office volunteers for the roster?

The Coordinators delegate a lot, and rely a great deal on people with specific expertise, such as the IT wizards.  Happily, the team of 25 or so Office Volunteers – the people you meet at the reception desk - are resourceful, adaptable and generous, very much imbued with a ‘can do’ approach.  After the closure of Mary Kehoe Centre in mid-March, phone calls and emails to the office have been efficiently monitored by a roster of OVs from home.  In second term they made outreach phone calls to over 150 members who had not been participating in courses after Mary Kehoe Centre was closed.  Now here we are on the brink of Term 4, and whatever shape our program takes in weeks and months ahead, you can be sure that the OVs will be ready to help make it happen.  And when we put out a call for new people on the team, perhaps you will be ready to volunteer!

Bev’s working career was firstly as a secondary school teacher in English and languages, in Australia and UK.  With small children underfoot she freelanced as an editor with a number of publishers, then  - thanks to Gough Whitlam’s retraining initiative – studied for a post-graduate diploma in office management.  Administrative roles followed at Prahran College, the Victorian Institute of Colleges, Council of Adult Education, Caulfield Institute and Monash University involving student/faculty administration, fundraising & development, alumni liaison.  Along the way, more study in personnel administration.  In short, plenty of people contact in interesting settings.  She and her husband Colin are keen independent travellers who have visited 44 countries, and share a love of music, theatre, cryptic crosswords and the South Melbourne Market.

Lois started her working life in WA as a telephonist (remember when that was a thing?) receptionist, then left work to bring up children. She came to her second career, teaching, in her 40s and still teaches English as Another Language, Literacy, and teaches an ‘Intro to EAL Tutoring’ short course in the Learn Local sector.

Study took her to live in China to learn the language and later teaching took her to live in Japan to hone her teaching skills. The lure of expected grandchildren (both of whom are teenagers now) brought her back to Australia, eventually to Albert Park where she discovered U3APP. Our wonderful Member Liaison Officer, Jill Hearman, made sure she felt welcomed enough to become involved both in classes and volunteering. She will step down from the Committee of Management this year after serving for 3 years.

An ‘emerging writer’ she attends the Creative Writing Group at U3APP. She is addicted to entering writing competitions and has twice been awarded in the Port Phillip Seniors Writing Awards “Port Phillip Writes”.

By Bev Fryer

What you don’t yet know is how much more exciting it is when a whole new system goes live, and all the parts function together as planned. Even better and more important is when the users of the system tell you how great it is. By the way, if that’s not happening, you need to try harder. The first priority for a system is that it is fit for purpose, does the job, but the second is that it is easy to learn and use. If it isn’t, it will suffer from misuse or disuse. When you’re designing or building systems, step into the users’ shoes, understand how they work now and why. If you can see that IT can make their job easier and more effective if the existing processes change, be prepared to sell your ideas for improvement, because everyone is resistant to change, some more than others. Design flexibly: anticipate the way that needs may change in the future.

Helen (on right) at Alcoa on International Women’s Day mid 1970s

I know you’ve thought about other professions from time to time. One of the great things about IT is that it is a service industry. It has now invaded every other industry and profession, from health to hospitality, from finance to film production, from manufacturing to the law. This means you can combine an interest in IT with any other industry or profession, or you can work in a lot of other industries and occupations, constantly learning about the way they operate. For me that has ranged from making aluminium products through to managing mobile phone billing, from selling wine and beer to controlling water and sewage, from selling shoes to superannuation.

Whatever route you take, you’ll be learning constantly anyway. The world of IT is like the world Alice found behind the looking-glass: you have to run very fast every now and then just to stay in the same place. The things I’m doing daily as an ageing IT person you would find almost unimaginable. In 50 plus years I’ve used dozens of computers, learnt dozens of languages, systems, methodologies… Just as the building industry has changed from hand-crafting doors and windows to assembling pre-built modules, so my time these days is spent linking apps, plugins, extensions together to build the systems I need, providing immense functionality quickly and cheaply. And it all happens in this amazing thing called “the cloud”, which means I can work on my projects from anywhere in the world, including on a yacht in Tasmania.

Hey look, now we have PCs - in the 1980s

As IT invades our world, the social impact is increasing, opening up new areas to work in, and giving you the opportunity to really make a difference. IT can give greater access to information, or to misinformation. Big data can be used to make life better or worse. The industry needs people who are passionate about using IT to make life better, while protecting human rights.

IT is breaking down barriers of distance, of access to services. But if IT is going to support communities in need, there is work to be done in building digital literacy. I know you have a hankering to teach, and you’ll find plenty of opportunity in explaining, training, mentoring. Helping older people to come to grips with technology is an on-going source of satisfaction for me.

Here are the lessons I’ve learned:

• Be agile – keep learning
• Small is beautiful - the bigger the project, the bigger the team, the greater the chance of failure
• Build and implement systems incrementally if you can so that change is gradual
• Women make really good team leaders and project managers
• “Imagination is greater than Knowledge” (Albert Einstein)

Good luck!
Your older self

Postscript: This piece was written for Ada Lovelace Day in 2020, to inspire young women to go into IT.

No matter what their individual stories, your ITEM team bonded around the necessity and challenge of managing enrolments in every course. As time has passed, you may have noticed that we more commonly refer to ourselves as the Enrolment team, with the IT team focusing on, you guessed it, the IT side of the operation.

So who are we, what do we do and why did we join? 

The Enrolment team is made up of five members: Karen English (our leader), Lyn Place, Branko Colavizza, Errol Malta and Julie Smith. The membership of U3APP has grown enormously and thus the number of courses grows and the amount of work required to make sure everything runs as smoothly as possible.  Karen and Lyn first joined the Enrolment team when everything was done manually with pen and paper, a process that would be impossible now. Karen recognised that to successfully manage the enrolment team, she needed to understand the computer system which at that stage only held the member details, so she joined the IT team as well. This has ensured a strong bridge between the two teams and, of course, as time has gone on the IT team has automated the membership fees, course enrolments and finally the class rolls.

Karen English

In her own words, Karen explains why she fits this team:

‘To be on the team you need to be rather a nerd: read and action your emails every day, love paying attention to detail and like interacting with people. This description seems to fit me.’  

Julie Smith

Interesting that Julie describes her motivation thus:

‘I got dragged into this by another team member who had worked with me before and realises I am a bit OCD. I am a mathematician, who ended up in marketing and am now amongst other things teaching yoga (4 classes a week at U3A).’ 

Branko Colavizza

Is there a pattern? Branko:

‘I had time on my hands and was interested in attending a course a few years back. That encouraged me to offer some of my time as an office volunteer which then grew into being part of the ITEM team.’ 

Errol Malta

Errol: ‘I work part time as a consultant in clinical research for new drugs…  and as needed volunteering at Port Philip Special School.’  (This could lead to some significant conversations around the development of a covid vaccine.)

Lyn Place

Lyn: ‘I originally joined U3A to enrol in some courses and realised I wanted to give back in some way, so joined the Enrolment team. Contrary to Karen’s assertion, I am not in any way a nerd, in fact I’d be the slowest kid in the class, but persevere.’ 

It appears that there is no pattern to our choices to be on this team, but the constant is enthusiasm to keep on giving, as you find with all volunteers. And there is also the opportunity to get to know members and to form new friendships.  Speaking personally, in these times of isolation, of solitary walks with faces masked, the familiar eyes of U3A members and the short conversations, at the appropriate social distance, lift my spirits enormously.

 So what do we do? The Enrolment team manages all movements in and out of classes. We monitor every automated and manual email that lets us know that someone has joined or left a class and then we update the class lists and e-roll. If the cancellation creates a vacancy in a class with a waitlist then we take the next person from the waitlist and add them to the class. We liaise directly with members if they need help enrolling or removing themselves from a class. We monitor the rolls for attendance and follow up non-attendance in an attempt to keep all classes full and give as many members as possible the chance to enjoy a particular class. To this end, we each have responsibility for one day of the week.

Using the expertise and passions of Branko and Hugh Sarjeant (who has since left the team but still helps Branko) we birthed a program that we lovingly call the ‘Monster’ which is run once a week and alerts us to any rolls that have not been marked, any long absences by members, whether members are doing more of the restricted classes than is allowed and any inconsistencies in the data on the rolls, the website and the waitlist. Any errors that are picked up are addressed by the team. Friday evenings are no longer the same since Monster entered our lives as the report lands in our inboxes just as I, for one, am settling down to dinner and a glass of wine and usually some serious binge-watching. On the up-side, however, gone are the hours of trawling through each eroll and manually checking the data.  At the time of Monster’s introduction, each team member processed between 1000-2000 emails annually and handled countless telephone calls. Monster is much smarter and most communications are now generated through the program! 

While all this IT enrolment activity may sound as if team members don’t have a life, of course, it’s not accurate.  Family, travel and hobbies feature in all our lives.

Karen and her husband Kevin love to travel. Kevin suffered a stroke ten years ago and when he recovered enough they decided to travel while they could and have had a great holiday every year and on a couple of occasions two holidays in a year. ‘I love learning the history/geography of all the places that we have visited as being a Maths/Science student, I did not learn much world history/geography. Springing from this interest, is my interest in editing and cataloguing (nerd nature again) my photos using Photoshop. This keeps me very busy in between trips. If I get time, I will also make a photobook of the trip.

‘I have been tracing my family tree for sometime and have collected the family tree information from many of my elderly relatives and recorded it all on Ancestory.com. I recently did the Ancestry DNA test and through that several unknown relatives in England have contacted me and I have been able to further enhance my tree.

‘Then of course I love spending time with my 3 children and 6 grandchildren all of whom live in Melbourne, so I am very lucky.’

For Julie, coronavirus has necessitated her camping in Brisbane, actually caring for her 95 year old mother who lives at home. ‘She is very happy, 24/7 care, three healthy meals a day, and I live on zoom. My yoga by zoom has developed, some of my classes now include people’s pets, and full attendance record goes to Mickey the cat; he is attending three classes a week (1X U3A and 2 I hold privately), and he is getting very good, however I worry about his downward dog pose.’

Julie, too, loves travel: ‘Apart from yoga I love to trek, get into the country with friends, book an air bnb with them and chill out over a good dinner and a glass of red. I have a particular passion for France and usually head to Europe each year. Maybe 2021?’

Errol is still working part time as a consultant in clinical research for new drugs. After working as a Senior Lecturer in universities and then for a large biotechnology company in USA and here in Australia with many small companies, he is enjoying what may be a quieter life in Port Melbourne. Perhaps like most of us, the attractions of the beach walk make exercise much easier, as he’s been managing to get out most days. Especially now since lockdowns commenced he’s been enjoying  getting outdoors, either walking or cycling.

Travel features highly again including to the Galapagos Islands three times, Marquesia Islands, Chile (Atacama Desert) , Ashmore Reef, Ningaloo and the Kimberleys coast. Other interests are astronomy and cosmology, music (rock and classical), nonfiction reading, history, meditation, and as needed volunteering at Port Philip Special School. Errol is also a proud grandfather for the 8th time.

Always the quiet member of the team, when he’s not in covid isolation or volunteering at U3A Branko spends much of his time doing home maintenance at his daughter’s residence to save them some money. This ability came from using logic on how and why things work, and he’s also trying to pass this onto his five year old grandson.  This is a role that Branko plays in the Enrolment team, searching for solutions and then gently coaching and encouraging the rest of us to develop our skills.

Lyn began her working life as a secondary English teacher and quickly moved into consultancy and management roles, always in education.  Travel came reasonably late (too busy working) and immediately became a passion (Italy, France especially) and like so many of us, she is wondering when/if/where post covid.  Keeping fit and active is important to Lyn, either zooming with U3A’s courses, or pounding the footpaths and the beach walk (hello, Errol). Quiet times are spent reading, listening to music (jazz, blues, rock, classical), watching way too much tv and streaming services. ‘I’m also running two book groups for U3A and love the connection, interaction and the way in which everyone has embraced zoom sessions, despite some glitches. It demonstrates the resilience and the capacity of our members.’

So this motley group of people are responsible for all your enrolment queries, requests, and the occasional plea to be included in a full course.  We wrangle the waitlists to make sure that courses are full and that as quickly as someone leaves, the next person who’s been patiently waiting is moved as a replacement. Occasionally, we might be overheard (if there was anyone in ear-shot in covid isolation times) muttering and questioning how and why we find ourselves in this role, most often around enrolment times, but we are extremely proud to be a part of such a successful organisation. It sure feels good to know that we have been playing our part to help keep you actively involved and connected especially in these challenging times.

On our return each day I would Google the garden for its history and associated art works, find an apt quotation or historic picture, print my photos, sketch or paint, maybe of masked walkers or astonishing tree roots, and write about what had impressed us – perhaps the garden design, the vegetation and birdlife, or the people and dogs we saw or spoke to. Sixty walks produced 60 double-page spreads in our “Covid-19 Travel Diary”.

The variety of parks and gardens we visited was remarkable, everything from botanic gardens to foreshore trails, from lake reserves to native grasslands. A park like Fawkner featured avenues of trees; a garden like Maranoa was ablaze with Australian plants;  and a garden like Alexandra in Kew represented the “Gardenesque” aesthetic in a “pocket” setting.

Which were my favourites?

For lush garden beds flowering in winter, the National Trust properties, Como and Rippon Lea were the leaders.

Small gardens in the heart of busy suburbs, like the Hedgeley Dene Gardens in Malvern or the Victoria Gardens in Prahran, gave a wonderful feeling of enclosure from their surroundings.

The parks and gardens in the West of Melbourne – Footscray Gardens, or Cherry Lake in Altona - were special partly because the other walkers were so friendly.

For features like fountains and sculptures, Queen Victoria Gardens and Carlton Gardens would have to be on the short list.

The extensive lakes, particularly in the northern suburbs, were distinct both for their birdlife and for the reflection of light and beauty that still water provides.

Unspoilt was Gresswell Forest Nature Reserve in McLeod -  70 hectares of bush and birds, previously enjoyed by patients at Mont Park Mental Hospital, including “shell-shocked” soldiers after World War I.

The Iramoo Wildflower Grasslands in Cairnlea, an example of several grasslands in the Western suburbs, was a real surprize.

And the St Kilda/Elwood foreshore hit the jackpot for beautiful trails.

The origins of this range of parks and gardens were of great interest. The large public parks and gardens that encircle Melbourne were reserved by Governor La Trobe in the early 1850s to establish a ring of green around the city, and we are ever grateful for that.

The suburban Botanic Gardens in St Kilda and Williamstown, with their intricate walking paths that invited a stroll, were established in the mid 19^th century and had generous help from Baron von Mueller, who supplied most of the trees that are now magnificently huge.

Many of the smaller gardens in the suburbs started their lives, following Aboriginal use, in private European hands, often for farming, and were either donated by owners or purchased by municipal authorities, who have developed and maintained them. One example is Landcox Park in Brighton East, bought as a farming estate in 1841 by Henry Dendy, later Premier of Victoria, and J.B. Were, a portion of which was sold to Brighton Council in 1905.

Others replaced industrial uses. Gasworks Arts Park in Albert Park followed the decommissioning of a gas plant, Karkarook Park in Heatherton had been mined for sand, and Alma Park in St Kilda East was used as a loam deposit and a depot for road metal.

More recent parks and gardens were often reclaimed from rubbish dumps. Westgate Park at Fisherman’s Bend was said in 1970 to be “scrofulous scenery indeed – dead water, swamp, sick factories, dead wood, wretched refineries, wheezing chimneys, institutional putrefaction,” (Age). Then there is Cruikshank Park, in Yarraville, which had been surrounded by noxious industries – meat processing works, glue industries and tanneries. The skyline of Cherry Lake in Altona still displays dozens of industrial chimney stacks.

Many feature lakes and wetlands. The beautiful grotesque pond, grotto and fountain in the Malvern Gardens was a natural spring. Some lakes, such as Coburg Lake Reserve, Newport Lakes and Darebin Parklands, had been quarries that were exhausted and allowed to fill with water. Some, such as the wetlands at Royal Park, use aquatic plants and weeds to absorb and clean stormwater runoff. Others, like Albert Park and Cherry Lake in Altona, were used for flood retention.

A number of parks and gardens rely on “Friends” groups for voluntary labour. Sadly their activities were cancelled during the Covid19 restrictions, leaving their charges a little neglected. As we walked in these, we averted our eyes from the weeds that had begun running away.

I feel particular gratitude to the 19^th Century garden designers, like Carlo Catani, William Sangster and Thomas Pockett, and for later ones like Edna Walling, for creating the foundations on which so many of our gardens rest today, and to the curators and gardeners who add to and maintain them.

Being autumn and winter, I focussed particularly on the trees  - their trunks, their leaves and their fruit. I blessed those who had carefully labelled them. This was to be expected in botanical gardens, but much appreciated in the small but lovely Kamesburgh Gardens in Brighton and the suburban Hopetoun Gardens in Elsternwick. The labelling allowed me to learn about the tree’s habits and origins (some from exotic locations). The Morton Bay Figs, with their massive convoluted trunks, stole my heart.

And every day our legs got stronger.

Jan Harper

Jill Hearman

We believe U3APP is unique amongst U3As in creating this position and we have received so many positive comments over the years.

We think we have the best job at U3A!

As our numbers grew, Meredith Mancini came on board from 2016 until 2018, and we were also joined by Robyn Foy in 2018 until 2019, followed by Diana Stock who is now part of our two Member Team.

Diana Stock

During 2019, it became increasingly difficult to phone new Members as hoax calls were making people wary of answering unknown callers, so we started using email contact which has been most successful.  Many new Members reply asking for information, e.g. parking, public transport, size of classes, etc. and thanking us for welcoming them.

We rely on Members to keep us informed if they know if a Member is unwell or has lost a partner or close relative.  Don't hesitate to email us at memberliaison@u3app.org.au.

Written by Jill Hearman 

Photography with thanks to Barry McIntosh

She was one of four-children-born-within-six-years that on Saturday afternoons ate sardines on toast. Then they watched the B-grade movie while Mum, close by, tackled the ironing. Fifty years later, in lockdown with her husband, and sardine-toast crumbs spilling off onto the Saturday newspaper, Julie text-messaged a snapshot of her almost-empty plate to her brother Richard. She watched, and waited, for his response.

Ever the tease, two days later, his reply pinged in. “Looxury!”   

My father was a stern man-of-his-time but caring and diligent as a parent, growing vegetables and fruit trees in the large back yard of our modest home in North Brighton. He extended the house, made my sister, Moya and I, a walk-in play house, and used his skills to make inlaid cigar boxes which he sold to one of the big tobacconists in the city to extend the family income. This became even more necessary as the great depression hit after the Wall Street crash of 1929. Government policy was to cut workers’ wages and living was very hard, even if you were lucky enough to retain your job, as was my Dad, albeit with reduction of income.

The "Willys" car in Greville St, Prahran,
outside the barber shop where Aunt Jean & Uncle Bert lived in the upstairs flat

The firm which Dad worked for were importers of high class English woollen worsted material, and my father the salesman to the many bespoke tailors in and around Melbourne. Hence the provision of a car, which I remember as an odd and draughty little car with cellophane/mica windows and a ‘dicky’ seat, which Dad adapted for use as a passenger seat, so that my Mum’s younger sister and son Glynne, one year and a half my senior, could ride with us. Moya and I regarded Glynne more as our brother because we spent so much time together. This car was replaced later by what I knew as the ‘Willy’s’ which was an exceptional improvement in comfort, especially in our occasional trips to bushland which was quite close to the outskirts of Melbourne. We would boil a billy and come home with arms full of wattle, bluegum and pink and white heather or, depending on the season, field mushrooms or blackberries. My mother then seemed happy and playful, coaxing my father to join her in a song - she had a very sweet voice, and tending us lovingly in our childhood illnesses and accidents. Tragically, just a few short years later she died of cancer at the age of thirty five. I was seven. The shock and grief of her death hit hard for all of us. For me it had long term effects of loss of self-esteem and anxiety and was to take many years of struggle to overcome.

The outbreak of war in Europe meant that the firm which employed my father, which relied on importing, had to fold up, and the ‘Manpower’ as it was called, decreed that Dad was to be Government Inspector of woollen mills in Daylesford and Ballarat, which were in wartime production. Thus we were to be in the care of my Aunty May, one of Dad’s sisters, a war widow with two sons, one of whom was in the Airforce heading for England. Dad built a bungalow in the backyard for her teenage son so that we could have a room apart from the shared bedroom, and space for him when he could get down to Melbourne. This happened sooner than was expected when some of my adventures turned into near disasters. Forbidden to own a bicycle, I would borrow one or failing that I would be ‘dinked’ on the bar of one of the boys who were the mates of my best friend’s brother. This was totally forbidden. Unfortunately, we had a pile up turning the corner into Acland Street and I ended up in the Alfred Hospital with concussion. Another time by coming off a horse at full gallop (hired at Caulfield stables) and breaking my arm. There were other incidents which I am sure were a trial for my aunt and required my father’s intervention. However, we remained there until the end of the war when we moved to a house in McKinnon with my father at last.

In the intervening war years much had changed. The USSR was “our brave ally”. Sheepskins for Russia was a popular cause and sometimes at the pictures when the Anthem and the Stars and Stripes was played there would be a chorus of “what about Joe?” meaning of course Joseph Stalin. In Ripponlea, the Eureka Youth League opened a shopfront youth club which I visited a couple of times and enjoyed.

Capitol Theatre Ushers 1950s

By then I had a little more freedom and was able to visit my Aunt Freda, my mother’s older sister who “took me in hand”. This was the beginning of the healing of my fragile ego. Aunty had divorced her philandering husband and supported herself and young son by working, also helped by my grandma. She was a pianist and used to play the accompanying music for the silent movies. She was later one of what were known as the Capitol Girls, chosen pretty girls who were the ushers in the new Capitol theatre in Swanston Street, and sometimes took part in performances on stage. She smoked cigarettes in a holder, liked a drink and would talk casually of topics not spoken about at my Aunty May’s. I loved her, but my Aunty May thought she was not a ‘proper’ person which of course did not deter me in the least. Aunty Freda and Uncle Don (she married again) often discussed social justice issues and wartime topics such as opening the second front. I was introduced to many contemporary authors and some classics. She encouraged me to have my own view on life. These views were leading me to Marxism.

A most sad event was the death of my adored cousin Glynne. In 1946, at just twenty he contracted the most virulent form of Poliomyelitis and died within a very few days; the last to die in Victoria of Polio, as the Salk vaccine was released only months later. Paradoxically, as I was leaving his home in shock after hearing the terrible news, I literally bumped into Donald, a close pal of my cousin who had just come down on leave from Japan where he had been stationed, and had to break the awful news to him. He was greatly affected, and I invited him to come home to my family. We struck up a friendship, finding to our mutual glee, that we both wanted to change the world. We were married in December 1949.  

During the first  year of our marriage we were apart, as Donald was in the Navy stationed in NSW. At the time he joined he was young and at a crossroads in life, having already lost his father and with his mother remarried. He took this step before we met. He was now desperate to be released from what would have been twenty years’ service. He was opposed to the Korean war, and on that basis he sought a discharge, which he won but which possibly put him on ASIO's files for life!

Our first child, Roderick, was born November 1950 while Donald was still away, but on his return we were very lucky to have the Sunshine house, half of which he inherited from his mother who died not long after our marriage. Donald had studied art at RMIT and was a talented artist, he had also been a trained Radar operator in the Navy but finding a suitable job locally was not easy so he took a factory job nearby. Nevertheless, as an active communist his skill in producing silk screen posters was an asset, and we were hellbent on campaigning for political change. Many nights were spent sailing forth with a tub of homemade paste, a brush and an armful of posters to advertise our messages on suitable lamp posts and spaces.

We continued our interest and study of political economy, Marxism, etc, in study classes and discussions for local groups, central lectures when possible but also in cultural and entertainment groups such as New Theatre which brought to life Australian folk music and produced classic and significant plays and satires. But we were also, over time, subjected to inroads into our privacy by phone interceptions, 'spooking' in cars outside private homes, photographing at public demonstrations even though the CPA was a legal organisation and none of this was justified.

Drawing by Mary Leunig for 'Taking Time' - removal of Koorie children 

The Union of Australian Women, UAW, was an organisation allied to the Women's International Democratic Federation, WIDF, set up in Europe at the end of the war. I was invited to a meeting to set up a local group. Alison Dickie, the President of the Victorian Branch, spoke of this group of radical women who wanted to be heard and valued as equals. I was so impressed by her quiet will to make the world a better and safer place, I joined immediately and agreed to be secretary. We set out to right a long overdue removal of a surcharge in gas prices which applied to a wide area of land between West Footscray and Sunshine, which previously had been open land and now was fully built up with public housing, for which the Gas company still charged the higher rate,  After much lobbying we succeeded in having this rectified. This spurred us on to campaign for many needed improvements, from bus shelters to public meetings on contraception and other health and child related issues, to factory gate meetings about equality and equal pay. We asked Koorie women, active in the land rights struggle to speak at our meetings.

In 1957 Donald's health deteriorated and he was hospitalised and diagnosed as 'Anxiety state', which was bad enough but seemingly reassuring in terms of serious physical illness. But early the next year he died suddenly. We were later to be informed it was haemorrhage from a brain tumour. Needless to say this was the most catastrophic personal loss. I had taken a secretarial job at the Hospital just a few months earlier to shore up the family income. Our children, Rod and Jeff were seven and three respectively. My family, friends and comrades all supported me and the children but there seemed nothing for it but to continue on working. The pay was not great however, and when I was offered a job at the railways union (ARU) which paid equal pay (naturally) I took up the offer. Donald's death was finally accepted as war caused (he had been stationed at an airfield close to Hiroshima) and I was paid the war widows pension. The back pay enabled me to buy a small car. I was then able to enrol Jeffrey at the Footscray Creche, and get to work and home on time.

1961 Equal Pay Demonstration - Yvonne centre front of picture

It was another five years before I went into full time work again. In that period there was a lot of activity collecting signatures to an ACTU petition (61,000 sigs) presented to the Commonwealth Government asking for Equal Pay, helping organise and take part in the marches. With the UAW, lobbying for the first Australian currency (other than the Queen) to feature a woman - Caroline Chisholm; "Boycott War Toys" committee resulting in at least one large toy distributor declaring they would not stock them.  I married a long time dear friend and fellow communist Bill Smith.

 In 1966 I went to work for the A.M.I.E.U. - Meat Industry Union - better known as 'the butchers'. This position gave me the opportunity to also work in an area giving special attention to the needs of women workers. I was later appointed by the Management Committee as Claims Officer in workers compensation and award disputes, as well as editor of the Victorian Union Journal's Women’s section, where I achieved a small degree of fame by heading my article about Vasectomy "A Cut Above the Pill!" There was a gradually growing awareness within the union movement of the importance and value of working women. Some teachers got equal pay at this time.  Restrictions on married women in the public service were lifted. The  Union had been urging the ACTU to step up action for Equal Pay. The 1969 test case was for the women meatworkers, many of whom came to the buffet teas held by the union to keep them informed.  These were bright and carefree events where the women themselves expressed in no uncertain terms, belief in their right for equal pay.  At one of the meat works in Melbourne the shop committee decided that everyone was to heat or prepare their own lunch food instead of wives waiting on husbands! A small step for Equal Opportunity! But the '69 case was a big disappointment, applying to only about 10% of women covered by the Federal Award. We had to wait another three years.

Action for Adequate Child Minding was sponsored by Unions and community organisations at Richmond Town Hall and was just one of the many meetings at which I and many other women were finding their voices. We crowded the Trams cheerfully refusing to pay full fare, to publicise women's unequal pay rates. I made my debut on the 'Stump' at Yarra Bank. Women invaded the men only 'Bars' of pubs. The 1972  Equal Pay case was won thanks to the newly elected A.L.P. All prior Commonwealth Governments had opposed the claim.

Bourke St, Melbourne - Vietnam Moratorium 1970

1969 our family moved to Middle Park. The Vietnam war was still raging and coming closer to the age group of my boys, both of whom looked very unfavourably on this conflict. Both Bill and I were active in opposing the war and conscription. One of my first memories of this time was, with others, trying to stop the intake of conscripts at the barracks; lying on the damp ground to impede entry and being carried away by the police; the Moratorium marches, and we also had a draft resister hiding away in our house for a period. We did what we could and were overjoyed when the war eventually ended.

I had also been involved in the Victorian (U.N. Organisation) Status of Women's Committee and was asked to take part on the national committee. We convened a large meeting of women's groups and individuals to alert women and plan towards the coming U.N. Conference and 'Tribuna' in Mexico City the U.N. Year of Women, 1975. I remember the conference well, mainly because after all the work, I was unable to attend. This was because I was playing my Viola (not solo!) at a South Melbourne Orchestra Sunday concert. I had, at forty three years of age, started to learn the violin, as it was something I had wanted to do much earlier but events got in the way. Difficult as it was, I have no regrets and much pleasure in having been able to join in with musicians over the many years, and still with 'Allsorts' at U3A. However I was able to get to the 'Tribuna' together with 60 other women from Australia. It was a very exciting experience  and several unions back home published my report in their journals. Bill came with me as I had some time for a holiday and we were able to see some of the remarkable Inca constructions and relics.

The UN World Conference of International Women’s Year opened on 19 June 1975 in Mexico City with 110 delegations present at the opening session.

Often in the UAW office there were requests from students and others for information about the events which shaped the progress of women in society, and I felt the need for a concise book which would set this out. Thus "Taking  Time" A Women's Historical Data Kit was born and in 1986, with grants from the Women's Trust, the Reichstein Foundation, The Bicentennial Authority and the support of several unions, it was published.

After retirement Bill and I travelled in our combi van throughout much of Europe which is another story. When we came back, Save Albert Park was upon us and, yes we did join in, and our house was one of many homes which sported large signs on our rooftops opposing the Grand Prix. That battle is yet to be won. But we met wonderful people who enriched our lives immeasurably. I call myself a 'cyber' protester now, in my nineties with ongoing involvement in struggles for asylum seekers, conservation and anti climate change campaigns, and giving support to the brave and resilient young people and oldies too, who speak out about injustice and are working still to change the world.

Thanks to the COVID19 lock down I decided to tidy my garage and put the Johnson memorabilia into plastic boxes to preserve it. This was no ordinary memorabilia. My father-in-law, Ian, had been an Australian Test Cricketer and his father (William James 1888- 1941) before him, a Test Selector. The bottom of a ‘downstairs’ cupboard at the Johnson house which had been in the family for two generations was the source, and it seemed as though the contents had been untouched for 70 years.

A diary

Amongst the trophies and souvenirs was a diary, a large, Australian Commercial Diary for 1911 published in Melbourne by Sands and McDougall Ltd. It had two days on a page. The first 24 pages had miscellaneous information like postal money and telegraphic information, customs tariffs, and directions for making a will. However, no commercial use had been made of it.  Following the early pages there were hundreds of newspaper clippings, photos (some people are named in pencil), menus, and postcards. But who had done this?

Due to dates and content of photos and newspaper clippings I gathered it was Ian Johnson’s mother, Edith (nee Geddes 1882-1949) who had later used this diary as an album. I didn’t know her name until I saw a birth notice of Wilma in January 1917 to William and Edith Johnson. This then made sense of a photo of a Geddes wedding (undated) in Moonee Ponds pasted inside the front cover with first bridesmaid Edith Geddes. Just below the birth notice was the death notice of little 9 month old Wilma in 1916. I had never heard of this daughter who preceded Ian (1917) and his younger brother Colin who both lived in Page Street until they died.

As would many a proud wife and mother, Edith kept numerous newspaper articles, postcards, menus and photos about William’s 1930 tour of England (and Europe) as Selector with the Test team.  Then there was a gap before the same had been done for Ian’s 1948 Test tour of England as Captain.

I imagine Mrs W. J. Johnson used the diary because it was largely empty and the few diary entries were of no interest to her. I surmise the un-used diary could have belonged to Mr Johnson, as he was described in a death notice as a prominent businessman.

Someone else had used the diary

As I turned over the pages, I could see, under a newspaper photo of “King George V and Queen Mary with Johnson, Woodfull, Kelly and Richardson”, what looked like a young person’s diary entry. Just a few words were visible – e.g. “helped” “afternoon” and “sight”. The news clipping was stuck down over the Sunday 15 January, 1911 entry.

The next handwritten entry showed it to be the dairy of a young girl making entries that were all similar and described events typical of a young person’s life. (I only discovered her name and age – she was 14 - later in the diary). Below is a typical entry. (I have not changed any of the entries - I quote it by adding punctuation or fixing spelling.)

Saturday 6 May 1911. Got up at about 8 o’clock had breakfast had my practice went into shop had dinner and cleared away the table washed up and wiped went out and skipped then went to the Milkman’s with Alice also to Flemington bridge station for a parcel came back again and put it in then went out skipping came in to my tea set a a few things on table and had my tea after I done my lessons read for a while and went to bed.

Entries for Monday May 8, Tuesday May 9 and Wednesday May 10 1911 all begin with “Got up, had practice”. I assumed this was piano practice, but May 10 revealed that was not so when she wrote:

“Mr Don came for tea after tea set phonograph going … then sung for Mr Don. He thought I was Soprano, done my lesson read and went to bed.”

So she was not practicing piano but was practicing her singing.

The May 11 was her birthday and, unlike what she may have received as a young girl in 2020, she “got two postcards, 3 books serviette ring bottle of scent”.

I assume she was somehow connected with the Johnsons because her entries contained references to Kensington and North Melbourne. A newspaper clipping noting William Johnson’s death referred to his being a prominent businessman in North Melbourne and Kensington. She mentioned “the shop” on May 6 and the Johnson’s business was a grocer’s shop. The fact that most entries included setting the table, washing and wiping up, point to her having light household duties. But I can find no other evidence of a connection.

There are no more entries until June 18, 1911 when, in very untidy writing (looks like she is struggling to use nib pen and ink) the young girl talks about meeting friends (Hilda, Alvie, Annie, Marion, Alex, Colin) a baby and auntie. On July 15 she writes about going to town and then on tram to Prahran with Mrs Stubbs where they walked around Big store (was the Maples?) and then had lunch.

A big surprise!!

Then suddenly, an entry for 24 October, in a mature hand: “Sang for Melba. Turn to back page”. This entry shocked me but it reminded me of an entry of May 5 in the same hand that originally had made no sense “Miss Cullen thought I was soprano” and then on 16 November, “Sang for Fritz Hart at Conservatorium”. What was going on? The back page held the answer. (See below ***).

17 November  1911. Young hand talks about a Mrs Ross and Miss Stubbs. Whilst on a station she described an interesting historical event: “watched a lady on a stretcher getting carried in[to] Guard Van. Train steamed out of station”.

November 24, 2011. (Young hand.) I wonder who Auntie and Uncle are?

“Mrs Cook, Auntie and Uncle and I went to hear Melb. (Melba) Grand Opera Romeo and Julliet. In first act she had a lovely dress of spangles. She acted and sung beautifully in second balcony scene. Had ice cream and lemon juice in interval. She was beautiful in 2 last acts when on tomb in a trance she lay very still. After each act she came out and bowed. She had a white dress on ? last act which looked very pretty. She was done up beautifully on the stage, rather stout for Julliet but still nothing to be noticed. A lovely opera all together. Romeo was lovely also.” 

(This is accurate re Melba at Her Majesty’s Theatre Melbourne on this date. Source NLA.gov.au)

Saturday 23 December, 1911 (young hand). Talks about making preparation for going to Colac and leaving by train for Colac (quarter to 6 train). Arrived in Colac at 10.

“Had a ride home in a cab with a whole lot of luggage.” “Had supper at about 12, sat around talking and went to bed at about 1 o’clock.”

In the next entries - Saturday 22 and Sunday 24 December 1911 - something strange has happened in the diary. It seems that 19 year old Eileen (Identified by the writing on the back page which is a mature version of the young hand) has written in her old diary after 6 years.

Sunday 24, December 1911 (young hand). Stayed home and helped Mrs Johnson. (This is the first time a relationship with a Mrs Johnson is mentioned.)

As well, Sunday 24 December is crossed out and replaced by the mature hand to December 23 1917.

“Went to Evelyn Scotney’s to sing. Met Mr White and Mrs Scotney. They said I had  … [see] back page.”

On the opposite page to these December entries is something I missed first time through. Eileen Kerwin is written clearly with Eileen scribbled a couple of other times.

Christmas Day December 25, 1911.

Young hand describes walking to Tulloh meeting Jack and Rene and catching a train that took 2 hours to “get down there”. Talks about shelling peas, having dinner, and “Ella Morgan on the table giving us a bit of amusement”. At 12 o’clock they sang Auld Lang Syne.

December 26, 1911 (young hand) talks of helping with girls. After a tiring walk the girls went back to “Elliminite” [sic].

29 December, 1911. Went to Colac for Regatta. After that she had tea on the lawn at Sittlingtons

“very nice and then went to concert @ night enjoyed ourselves we got home at 10 o’clock”.

There is a lot of scribble on the opposite page to this last entry with ”Parkinson” and “fearfully” and other illegible words written variously.

All (nearly) is revealed!

*** At the top of the last page of the diary is written “Eileen Kerwin 1917 Age 19 yrs”.

Here the following is written:

“Sang for Melba very nervous said I had sort of contralto voice. It was the farewell and we were introduced afterwards by the pupils of the Conservatorium Mr Hughes (PM?) and Italian Consul were both present including other noted people. Melba was presented with a black satin cushion as a parting gift.

Sang for Fritz Hart he was very nice and told me I had a noble voice and it was a voice in a thousand.

Annie was with me. He wished me every success and was pleased to have heard me.

I have verified the facts about Melba and Fritz Hart being at the Conservatorium at this time through a website that listed a dateline of all Melba’s activities.

Later on same page Eileen writes:

“Sang for Evelyn Scotney and Howard White both exceedingly nice and told me I possessed the voice people were wanting – liquid tone (twig that). She had heard so many sing that she thought all Australians must sing or compose ??? she liked best because I did not screech. They both wished me best of success and wanted to hear me on their return (May 1919).

Have also sang for Pauline and Mr Prudelt /Pruidley(?) at different times.

Evelyn Scotney was a Melbourne soprano and Howard White was an operatic basso and cellist. They had returned from Boston in 1916.  (Ballarat Courier, 22 July 1916)

Once I discovered the writer was Eileen Kerwin a contralto I found reference to her singing. For example on the ABC (3AR).

                  1.14pm Eileen Kerwin (contralto)

                  Songs: My Dear Soul (Sanderson) and The Lonely Caravan (Woodford-Finden).

(p.22 The Wireless Weekly: the hundred percent Australian Radio Journal. Vol. 10. No 21 (16 Sept 1927).

-------------------

Dr Sue Wilks

Cricket Tours 1938 to 1948 - Colleen Abbott

This is a personal response to my reading of the newspaper articles in the “1911” diary Sue Wilks lent me in July 2020. While the story of the diary could be a novel in itself, my interest was mainly in the newspaper articles about cricket.

Most of the names of cricketers in the articles are very familiar to me. I grew up in country New South Wales, about 800 kilometres north-west of Sydney, south of the Queensland town of Goondiwindi, where my extended family was part of a cricket team that played on a cricket ground on my grandparent’s property in local competitions from the 1920s to the late 1950s. Everyone played cricket apart from the stockmen and jockeys, everyone listened to it on the radio and read about it in the papers when we got them.

In the period covered by the articles it was clear that cricket was much more than a game. The only thing resembling cricket’s position of importance in the national psyche today would be Aussie Rules in Victoria. Knowledge of and interest in cricket linked men and women together across the social gaps created by age, wealth, occupation and education. I noticed this type of cross pollination of social interaction when we came to Melbourne in the 1980s, in overheard discussions about Aussie Rules, the warmth of tone as an ancient Greek grandmother and the local bigwig shared their love and opinions about their favourite team in the local fruit shop. Women went to watch cricket as they did Aussie Rules in a way that usually did not happen in other sporting codes.

Australian cricketers were household names, but for reasons which may be different to the way sports people’s names are well known to day. Then again, when I was a kid, grownups did not gossip in front of you. They would discuss a sportsman’s ability or lack of it, but few personal details. I suspect they did not know the very personal details we do today.

The cricket world was totally dominated by New South Wales and Victoria. State rivalries were maybe even stronger than they are today. Cricket management was done by the professional class.

Having a good character, and being a ‘character’ was almost as important as skill. Good sportsmanship was essential.  You shouldn’t be representing the country if you were a bad sport. You could be uneducated, a bit rough around the edges but not ill-mannered!

The booklet ‘The Listener In Test Cricket Book’ that was tucked into the diary encapsulates the above. It was compiled and edited by Rohan Rivett, a very well-known ABC broadcaster, journalist, newspaper editor and survivor of the Burma Railway. People who wrote about cricket were also expected to be of good character and properly literate. Even the ad for ‘Richmond Pilsner’ on the inside of the front cover is written in full complex sentences, sentences containing more than one clause!

Rohan Rivett

On the matter of the writing, much of what I browsed was telling the story of the game with little criticism of the players, just statements of how the skilled opposition had got the better of them. The articles are from several different papers: The Record, The Globe, The Sun, The Sun News Pictorial (A A P.) The Melbourne Herald and The Times. Some articles have no identification and some are written in a literary style with the odd classical reference.

For many people newspaper articles would be read some time after the game so the radio was the main source of information. People were used to waiting for news and detailed explanations. Newspaper reading was done in leisure time, in many homes not till after work.

Things worth remembering. These games were just before the war and shortly afterwards. There was international tension and then devastation of places and people. It is surprising that countries, especially England, could field a team in 1946. In light of Covid we might reflect on the importance of sport in helping us get through tough times. People need heroes.

One thing that struck me about the articles was how many games a touring side played against the English Counties. I counted at least eight plus a couple of other games. I assume these were three day games. No wonder the touring teams were away for so long.

I noticed the use of the word “barracked” as we would use heckled. Lindsay Hassett was “barracked” by the English crowd because a ball hit a batsman and he fell.  But not as badly “barracked as in Australia”!

Lindsay Hassett

Ian Johnson was offered a thousand pounds to play for Lancashire for a year but he did not accept the offer. I wondered about the financial situation of the touring men. How many came back to secure jobs?

Character was as important as skill. You didn’t have to be educated but you had to be a decent person. The public (as I knew it!) had high expectations of decency and good sportsmanship. They also formed quite strong opinions about the players. The following opinions have stayed with me since childhood. They may not be reliable.

• Bradman was a wonderful player, a good man but a bit mean, lacked warmth and didn’t like to drink!
• Hassett was a gentleman. Arthur Morris a tough nut. Harvey a young spark.
• Miller was a hero because of the war and then because of his social antics. “Turning up to play a game still in his tux after a night out with Princess Margaret”. Also because he refused Bradman’s order to bowl fast at some county tail-enders because he had flown with them in the war.
• O’Reilly was outspoken and didn’t get on with Bradman who didn’t like Catholics!

And so on.  People did not know anything much about wives, or families, let alone what sort of car someone drove or where they dined.

Rick McCosker / Bob Willis

I have a second cousin, Rick McCosker, (on my mother’s side) who opened the batting for Australia. We thought he was ok, a bit boring as a player.  In the Centenary Test his jaw was broken but he went back out to bat and he became a hero and we all claimed him.

For all the differences in the times we can still see some threads hold strong.

Dave & his Dog

A Busker with his dog

Rosie lay beside the open guitar case, pretending not to notice the people passing by, but the flicker in her eyes notifies that she never misses a trick.  Dave, with his mop of unruly dark hair under a battered bushman’s hat, sings his songs with meaning, his soft blue eyes also watching.  Just another busker?  His voice and guitar skills hint of more.

Dave was born in Maffra, near the Dargo High Plains.  One of five boys, he taught himself to play the guitar when he was young.  At 15, Dave was working in the saw mills.  No easy job for a youngster, but he is a survivor and it was not long before an adventurous spirit saw him on the move.

He arrived in the city, working in factories in Fishermans Bend.  From there he graduated to working as a Flyman/Mechanist, which is a highly skilled job carried out in the wings behind the scenes in theatre productions.  It’s not by accident that complicated scene changes occur precisely and silently.

In the theatre world, Dave met a wider slice of humanity than had rubbed shoulders with him in the mountains.  He worked on such varied workds as the “Holiday on Ice” show and a selection of operas, as well as some complicated ancient Japanese productions, involving the Noh and Kabuki traditional works.  Some of the masks used here are up to 800 years old.  Handle with care.

A smattering of French comes out now and again in his conversation, hinting at adventures further afield.  I get a strong suspicion that there is a learned man underneath the rough exterior.  And not surprisingly,  find there is a lost love somewhere in the mix.

When the “Holiday on Ice” show moved on, Dave followed his dreams with a one way ticket to Paris, via Tokyo, where one of the top ice skaters in a show had danced into his life, and into his heart.  His eyes light up with memories as he recalls the unique Scottish border accent of his skating ballerina.  The boy was now a man.

But there was no happy ending.  The show moved on.  Dave discovered that dreams can be elusive.  Sometimes they dance out of our lives when we need them the most.  But the memory of the dream is never erased.  Nor should it be.

Alfred Lord Tennyson said it in 1850, referring to the death of his beloved friend, Arthur Henry Hallam:

‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’

When I first met Dave, he was singing “Me and Bobbie McGee”, as I trudged up the ramp from the Safeway car park.  I stopped for a chat.  We exchanged itinerant stories.  After his dream died, some of his jobs were picking fruit in France.  I told him of my fruit picking days and other itinerant work further afield.  As my friend Barbara and I hitch hiked around the country moving from job to job, we were known by our nicknames, ‘Bobbie’ and ‘Billie’.  And in between we danced.  Yes there were hard times, but we survived, and the good times provided a balance.

Acland St, St Kilda

Eventually we grew up and settled down, but we carried the spirit of ‘Bobbie’ and ‘Billie’ with us into adult land.  We both started families, which saw us living in different states.

Then one day, Bobbie didn’t survive.  She disappeared, believed murdered.  How and where has never been solved.  Where she lies is believed unknown.  But somebody must know.  There is no closure in these cases, but the wonderful memories remain, mixed with grief.

Somehow, “Me and Bobbie McGee” is ointment on the wound.  As I told Dave my story, his expressive eyes filled with tears.  He told me his story and we cried together.  Whenever he sees me coming, he sings our song – and he calls be ‘Billie’.  Through our tears, the world becomes a brighter place.

People walk past buskers, sometimes noticing an unkempt appearance and clothes that have seen better days.  Most have no understanding of the paths that these entertainers may have trod, the despair they may have known, or how easily someone can fall off the rails.  But that is their loss.  Hiding under the ragged clothes you might find a gem like Dave if you stop to look.

Rosie understands.  She has also known sadness.  Rosie is a rescue dog.  Just like a child that has been abused, Rosie is wary of strangers who rush towards her, not sure of their intentions.  Dave finds a sunny spot for her to sit.  Wherever he is, she is home.

As Dave sings, Rosie’s terrors fade, and the world is a better place.  For all of us.

Busking in Acland St, St Kilda

Written by Brenda for 'Port Phillip Writes' 2015

Recently, a friend in one of those classes said to me: “You were an engineer.  How do you come to have such a love of words?”  I refrained from expressing my dismay at her implied view of engineers, but it did get me thinking.  Why?  Not only why do I enjoy playing with words but why do I see them as so important?  It made me think back over my life, both personal and professional, from just that point of view.

The story starts with my mother – a highly intelligent woman whose family situation prevented her from having a tertiary education.  She read a great deal (and did a cryptic crossword every day in the later years of her life).  In my early boyhood in Adelaide, she encouraged me to read and took me to the local library every week.  I have fond memories of hunting for the latest adventures of Biggles, Gimlet or Worrals.  (As I often say in my cryptic classes – if you don’t know about these people, look them up).  I’ve enjoyed reading ever since that time.  I must note also that later, when I enrolled in engineering, Mum took great delight in learning with me how to do calculations on a slide rule. 

At secondary school, I had several science teachers who were men of broad intellect and insisted on precise expression in every report.  And my Latin teacher made a great impact on me – his love of the written word was infectious.  At university, again I was lucky to have lecturers with wide interests who gave credit for clear accurate written work as well as accurate calculations. 

And so to my major influence.  At university, I met Bev Hill, an Arts student who took several languages and majored in Old and Middle English.  She’s been my companion in words ever since.  Together we have always delighted in exploring the origins of words and expressions, laughed at quirky use of words, weird spellings and odd punctuations that one sees every day, and supported each other in making the best use of words in whatever we write.  And somewhere along the way, we started doing cryptic crosswords.  Neither of us can remember just when, but for many years we have each had a book of puzzles at our bedside and, when we are away from home, in our travel bags.

David Astle's super hard Cryptics are no match for word-wise Colin & Bev

Immediately after we married, Bev and I spent nearly three years in the north-east of England.  My first professional work there was in chemical plant design, with great emphasis on calculations and little on words.  But soon I moved to an operations role, where getting the words exactly right in daily instructions was of paramount importance, not least for safety reasons.  That emphasis continued when we returned to Australia, where I worked for a year in Sydney on the start-up of a new petrochemical plant.

Our next move was to Melbourne, when I took a lecturing position at Monash.  In parallel with teaching, I completed a doctorate thesis.  There were many many words in that, and I knew that they had to impress the examiners.  In classes at Monash, I tried to pass on to students my respect for the written word, urging them to present clear reports with precise grammar and correct spelling.  I remember well one design class that brought struggles and laughs as I dealt with students’ attempts to spell “phthalic anhydride”!

With three school-age children in tow, Bev and I enjoyed six months in Connecticut and six weeks in Texas.  I was lecturing at universities there and assisting a colleague to complete a text book.  Once again, words had to be well-chosen and well-presented.

My mid-life crisis took the form of recognition that I was in danger of becoming a life-long academic, so I left Monash to do some real engineering with a major design and construction company.  Clearly written procedures for our staff and well-argued proposals to clients were critical for business success.  During my last six working years, I was responsible for teams in up to seventeen locations around Australia and New Zealand.  Memories of those years are of travel, travel, travel - almost every week.  Books and crossword puzzles were my constant companions, providing great respite from business pressures, especially on the flights home.

Colin enjoying the sunshine with his wordsmith companion Bev - in Ronda, Spain

At retirement, some eighteen years ago, I decided that forty years of engineering was enough – there are too many other interesting areas to pursue.  Bev and I have been lucky to travel overseas quite often, sharing the challenge and enjoyment of foreign languages.   I’ve spent a lot of time on boards and committees of several mental health charities and our local residents’ association.  The filing cabinets and cupboards at home are testament to the volume of words that have been produced over that time.

This ex-engineer has had a life full of words.  Just as well I love them!

Each Member of Team IT has their own special skills, but their main aim is a joint one, namely the smooth operation of U3APP Courses; maintaining and constantly updating our great Website, keeping our Members up to date with regular e-Bulletins, responding to queries from Members, while constantly researching new ways to improve services for our Members, and all the time devising daring ways to keep the deviously devilish villains at bay.  

This has been more than usually apparent during the recent onslaught of that dastardly evil villain, Covid-19, when Team IT swung into action to make sure defeat was never an option, enlisting the help of Zoom, a little known super heroine who quickly took the world by storm with her ability to keep people connected, positive and above all - healthy.

Captain Marvel - secret identity Helen Vorrath

Special Powers:  Super Brain with all synapses firing simultaneously - brain cells never sleeping.  No evil virus, technological or pathogenic can sneak past her guard.  With vast experience and stupendous stores of IT information, Helen uses her Super Brain to constantly think up new ways to improve U3APP for the benefit of all; doesn't let devious enemies like Covid-19 stop her from delivering Courses to our Members.  

Duties:  When not out with the Marvel Team saving the Universe for the umpteenth time, she heads Team IT at U3APP, tutors Courses on Shakespeare, plays clarinet - currently in isolation but with the U3APP Allsorts and jazz group Jam Tomorrow in better days - maintains and updates everything IT, including the U3APP Website and IT Manual.  Along with all this, Helen easily completes her Team Tasks like creating new Courses and assisting Members to manage the hurdles of logging on to the Website and Zooming their Classes.

Likes:  Cats (specifically her cat), yachts (specifically her yacht), Shakespeare, music, good coffee. 

Dislikes: Getting up early, people who think getting up early makes them virtuous, bad coffee.

Fun Secret Fact: Winner Fairsky Fancy Dress Competition, Feb 1969, in mini-dress made out of postcards of the Fairsky (as "The face that launched 48 ships")

Childhood Nickname: Daisy (or Dazie, as she was usually in one)

Wonder-Woman - secret identity Diane Boyle

Special Powers:  Wonder by name, Wonder by nature; her calm exterior a plethora of patience and perfect problem-solving ability.  This gentle and tranquil facade hides a Woman with decades of IT  experience and an extensive knowledge of all things technical and procedural, which she uses to lasso, corral and tame even the slightest problematic villain who tries to muddy the sparkling clear waters of U3APP.

Duties:  Member of Committee of Management, integral part of the Covid-19 Working Group, helps to maintain and update the U3APP Website and IT Manual, creates new Courses on our systems, including the recent Holiday Program, facilitates Zoom Webinars, responds to queries and concerns from Members and Tutors. Project manager who keeps the rest of the team organised.

Likes:  Scuba diving, travel, quilting

Dislikes:  colour yellow

Fun Secret Fact: can be found doing wasgij

Childhood Nickname: Alice (in Wonderland)

Super-Woman - secret identity Karen English

Special Powers: Super Tech Wizard supreme on all things IT related, including the U3APP Office Equipment.  Multi-Tasker Extraordinaire, able to effortlessly leap from one task to another, or one problem to another in a series of elegant and efficient bounds.  A lifetime exposed to IT technology allows her to slay any evil before it has chance to take even a tenuous hold.

Duties: When not racing around Albert Park Lake faster than a speeding bullet and generally stopping bad people dead in their tracks, or flying into the Office to help with multiple issues, Karen also manages the U3APP Enrolment Team which looks after Class Attendance and Waiting Lists.  With her Team IT mates, she ensures all Courses are created on our Website and helps Tutors and Members alike with the sometimes daunting task of accessing Courses on our Website as well as Zoom. Queen of designing, defining and documenting processes.

Likes:  Travelling seeing new places and learning about their history, socialising with friends and family

Dislikes: Also hates getting up early especially on winter mornings

Fun Secret Fact: Loves the colour yellow!

Childhood Nickname: Kassie or Kaz

Buffy the Vampire Slayer - secret identity Jude Hatton

Special Powers:  No Vampire or Ghoul is a match for this Slayer who takes her role surpassingly seriously.  Superior IT Skills and an innumerable level of 'know-how' allows her to tackle any testy task with supreme confidence and ability.  A keen knowledge of everything 'Computer' makes it easy for her to stay busy Slaying with one hand while keeping U3APP up to date with the other. 

Duties:  When there are no Vampires lurking and waiting to be Spiked, Jude tutors classes in everything to do with Computers, Tablets and Phones, as well as all her IT duties of creating new Courses for our Members and responding to calls for help at all hours of the day and night.  Sadly a rather vicious vampire attack put Jude out of action for a while, but nothing can keep the Slayer under wraps for long and she's ready once again to get stuck in to the pointy end of her job.

Likes: Her beautiful dogs (and all Mini Schnauzers), passionate about horses, and Quilting.

Dislikes: Being called 'Judy', cats and the colour GREEN

Fun Secret Fact:  Buffy always thought she was destined to be a country girl but didn't get to prove the point until she was nearly 60, divorced and children all grown up - she bought a beautiful 20 acre property on the top of a hill in country NSW and lived there for an idyllic 10 years surrounded by her beloved puppies, horses (Cruiser and Mystery) to ride, wallabies, koalas, snakes and incredible views and star-filled skies at night.  Yes - she was a country girl after all!!!

Childhood Nickname:  Hey Jude!

Bat-Woman - secret identity Kate Richards

Special Powers:  When the Bat Signal shines out, she answers the call to protect and serve.  With super fast typing speeds, a way with words and a turn of phrase that beguiles all her foes, she's able to leap from one email to the next in a single key-stroke, dispatching any evil creature that crosses her screen and ensuring that all at U3APP are kept well-informed and guarded against any villainous acts.

Duties:  When not out fighting grime (whoops - crime) and hassling Batman (who's a real pussy cat btw), during these Covid-19 times Bat-Woman churns out, and keeps the "bullet" in the weekly U3APP e-Bulletin, has Members chuckling with regular posts to our Facebook Page, and along with the rest of Team IT, helps to create new Courses, responds to Members cries for help and generally tries to ensure things run smoothly at U3APP.

Likes:  Chocolate, long walks on the beach with Diesel Dog, Chocolate, Alliteration, did we mention Chocolate?

Dislikes:  when there's no Chocolate! 

Fun Secret Facts:  has (had) a Brown Belt in Karate

Childhood Nickname: Calamity Kate, Katie-Did

Arriving just a day before Narita Airport imposed a stricter quarantine, I decided to live in a self-imposed quarantine for two weeks; during this time my son shopped and cooked for us. After two weeks, it was my turn to shop and cook, and I loved it. The ready-made Sashimi and seafood are all so cheap, because restaurants are not buying them. I also get out for the daily morning radio exercises with local residents at a nearby park, wearing a mask and being careful to be 2 metres away from the nearest participant.

Rumi's selfie at Asakusa Thunder Gate wearing the notorious Abenomask and a face shield

Japanese law doesn’t allow a ‘penalty’ for disobeying the lock down. Rather, it seems to operate on the ‘name and shame’ basis. Some Pachinko pinball parlours were ‘named and shamed’ for being open, and others complained that the naming ‘advertised’ and attracted more customers.

I could have got back to Melbourne if I tried, but I am happily ‘stuck’ here using the Corona virus as a once in a lifetime excuse. I’ll probably stay here till Melbourne’s spring time. I’d miss U3A meetings, but I don’t want to add an extra burden to the medical team in Melbourne. Thanks to Corona crisis, the air normally polluted here in Tokyo is fresh and lovely, especially after the rain. Restaurants and shops are opening gradually back to normal. We are supposed to be in the rainy season, but there’s enough sunshine and blue sky to dry clothes. And when we feel safe enough, I want to see my friends who I used to go to school with.

Keep well, everyone, and thank you again, IT team and tutors.

(Photo) The block of small apartments disallow playing musical instruments, so I cheated and locked myself in this Japanese bath cubicle to ‘Zoom’ with the Ukulele and Choir classes. Thankfully, no one has complained to date.

Cheers - Rumi

I’m from the UK originally. I was born in London and lived most of my adult life in the North of England, close to Sheffield – until I went on holiday to Albania in June 2018.

Albania is not the most popular tourist destination, but it is different. It has a reputation for lawlessness, maybe because it was a closed country for many decades. But it’s also renowned for its hospitality, history and beautiful mountain scenery.

So why Albania? Well, that’s where Mr Trump comes in.

I was happily semi retired, teaching yoga on a part time basis and adjusting to having lots more time on my hands after leaving a busy full time job in 2016. I was living next to open countryside, woods, fields and hills, with a handsome but demanding rescue cat, Rosie, for company. I had a close group of friends, was secretary of the local Choral Society and enjoyed walks, theatre trips and meals out – pretty much like life in Melbourne!

I had decided to go on a holiday on my own for the first time, and had paid a deposit on a trip to Jerusalem and the Holy Land. This was April 2018, when the Donald suddenly decided to bomb Syria, and then move the US Embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem.

Suddenly the world seemed a little more dangerous, and the situation in my intended holiday destination more volatile. Who knew what Donald would do next? (Nothing as it happened, and the tension did fizzle out, but it wasn’t a very appealing holiday location any more).

So a week before my full holiday payment was due, and four weeks before I was due to leave, I decided to cancel the trip and look for somewhere else….and a trip to Albania popped up on my radar. It was a country I’d always been interested in, having taken many trips to the neighbouring countries of Croatia and Greece. It seemed to be a mysterious, scenic but little known place and therefore off the beaten track. All appealing reasons to go on an escorted tour! I rang the holiday company, Pegasus, and got the last place on the 16 person trip, bought the only available guide book (Bradt) and off I went.

Being new to the world of escorted tours, I’d assumed that all the group members would be from the UK. In fact, I met most of them at the airport but there were a few gaps in the numbers, who turned out to be people who’d travelled from elsewhere.

We assembled in the lobby of the hotel at teatime and sallied forth for a guided walk round the small but colourful capital city, Tirana. The guide asked us at the first stop if there were any questions. As I opened my mouth to speak, one of the group who I hadn’t met en route asked him “Why is this street named after George Bush?” My first reaction was: that’s the question I was going to ask. My second reaction was: he’s Australian!

Fast forward two years and I’m now happily living in Port Melbourne with that selfsame Aussie, Brian.

Ironically, he had also changed his holiday plans at the last moment, having been booked to go to Georgia, Armenia and Azerbaijan – a trip we then booked together for this year but have had to cancel. So maybe fate was working in our favour….

After several subsequent joint trips to and from the UK and Canada, where my son George lives, I sold my house and my car in the UK last June. I packed the remains of my worldly goods onto two pallets for shipping and said my au revoirs to friends and family. A friend took Rosie the cat (in case anyone was worried about her fate!). And I then flew off to my new life in Australia with Brian  - quite a big step at the grand age of 65.

We’ve bought a house together and there’s now just  the minor matter of waiting for a temporary, then a permanent visa. There’s currently about 90,000 people waiting around 2 years for a partner visa. After 15 months in the queue, I reckon I may be at about number 35,000, but I try not to think about it! Ever the optimist, I’ve invested in a ten year Australian Drivers’ Licence as a sign of my faith in a happy future.

It’s a bit worrying that I can’t leave the country to visit my family until who knows when, as I wouldn’t be allowed back in because I’m not a permanent resident – yet. But hopefully life will return to normal in due course, whatever that looks like. Or maybe I’ll get my full visa sooner than that.

Meanwhile, I’m immersing myself in Victorian life, singing, walking, volunteering with the State Library (when they’re open again) and of course Zooming. Discovering U3A and all its amazing courses and tutors has been a real plus – I was vaguely aware of it in the UK but never investigated its potential. And, very importantly, there may be a successor to Rosie in due course – I’m working on it!

So thank you to two former US Presidents for bringing Brian and me together….it may well be the best thing that either of you will ever have done:-)

Now, I had never before had the slightest inclination to scuba dive, but I have always been interested in the sea and, most importantly, I was going on a holiday to Lord Howe Island in a few months.  Thinking it might be fun to dive on the reef at LHI, I went into the shop to make some inquiries.  Laden with brochures, an appointment for a dive medical and a booking on the next Learn to Dive course, I had started my new journey.

Learning to dive in Melbourne is an adventure in itself.  Over a few weeks, there were textbooks to read, online tests to pass, theory lessons to attend, equipment to master and – finally into the water carrying about 20 kilograms of gear on my back. Firstly, at the local swimming pool, swimming along the bottom of the deep end, trying to remain neutrally buoyant in the water, stopping for group exercises such as removing and replacing your mask underwater.  It was way beyond my comfort zone.  Not one to give up, I went back to the next dives which were in Port Phillip Bay, off the shore at Black Rock – and, the big test, onto a dive boat at Portsea, out to Pope’s Eye and two dives down to 12 metres.  I got my certificate, I was qualified!

In the Water!

Thank goodness I had persisted as the journey in the underwater world has been amazing.  Together with my son, Mark, who learned to dive shortly after me and became my dive buddy, we have done numerous dives in Port Phillip Bay, outside the heads in Bass Strait, Westernport Bay and Phillip Island.  We have dived the coasts of Tasmania and New South Wales and Queensland and Western Australia, the fresh water lakes of South Australia, Kangaroo Island, Rottnest Island and New Zealand – and the Melbourne Aquarium with the sharks.  And dived in warm waters - the Great Barrier Reef on a liveaboard dive boat, Heron Island, Ningaloo Reef, Vanuatu and Thailand.  And dived in very cold waters - in Canada, in the Great Lakes.  Every holiday became a dive holiday.

On a dive boat after another dive

We took advanced dive courses, such as deep diving and navigation and rescue, becoming dive masters.  Mark went on to further technical diving and cave diving, but I am content with a maximum of 39 metres in depth.

Diving amongst the beautiful reefs or under piers, amongst amazing fish and marine animals and coral and sponges, the sights are always enthralling.  Did you know that Port Phillip Bay has more marine life than tropical waters?  Being able to float along in 3 dimensions is always magical – even the rituals of preparing for the dive and cleaning up afterwards are reassuring.  Meeting many other divers with many a good tale to tell is always good fun – and so is catching your own food, scallops and crayfish and abalone. 

Diving with Sharks and Turtles

And then I became enthralled with shipwrecks - there are over 200 known wrecks in Port Phillip Bay alone, including wooden boats wrecked in the 1800’s and decommissioned naval boats.  This has led me into maritime archaeology, with study at Flinders University and Southampton University, attending maritime archeology conferences, archaeological research on shipwrecks in Port Phillip Bay, the acquisition of a whole new library of books, special trips to maritime museums around the world, training with the Nautical Archaeological Society and now maritime archaeology webinars – there is more than a lifetime of learning ahead of me.

On a whim, a spur of the moment decision, I had embarked on a whole new adventure.

wooden boat shipwrecked over 150 years ago in Lake Huron, Canada

The family was of modest means, being engaged in farming and the timber industry.  There was always food on the table and clothing on our back, but there wasn’t much left after expenses.  Luckily, southwest Oregon is blessed with an abundance of harvestable resources like venison, duck, salmon and other edibles; clams, crabs, oysters, mushrooms, berries etc., available at specific times of year.  Not all harvesting was done legally, but . . .

Intermixed with the edible items were animals not quite as savoury: bobcats, pumas, black bears, skunks, civet cats, timber rattlesnakes, scorpions and river otters, although these critters were rarely seen.  The most common were the Disney group – deer, squirrels, chipmunks, blue jays, robins and other cuddly creatures.

My early childhood was spent in a small township in the Siskiyou Mountains in the southwest corner of Oregon, on the banks of the Coquille River - named Powers after a local potentate from years gone by.  The town, a fly spot on the map of Oregon, boasted a postbellum population of about 1,500 people, the male component of which was engaged in timber harvest. At its peak, prior to World War II, the town would have had a population of about 3,000 people.  It was, and still is, a rough little community that refuses to die, with about six streets running North-South and about the same number running perpendicular to those streets.  Beer halls (taverns) outnumbered churches, of which there were eight of various denominations.  The town contained a “drug” store, hardware store, variety store (“Five and Dime”), barbershop, jail, post office, several gas (petrol) stations two grocery stores, a 1950’s ‘soda’ fountain and a movie theatre (25 cents/ two bits).  

In the early days (late 40s and early 50s) the town had two schools, a high school (grades 8-12) and a grade school (grades 1-6).  There was no schooling prior to grade school; grade one pupils (usually six years old) were expected to read simple stories, add and subtract and have some semblance of penmanship.  Because of my birthdate, I was nearly seven when I started primary school and the late start proved to be a distinct advantage.  The total student body consisted of around 15-20 students per grade, so the total student population was about 200 young souls in the 12 grades. There was a room in the basketball hall that served as a repository for a pile of donated books, and was dignified by the name ‘library’.  I spent much time there.  Medical help, when required, could be found 21 miles downriver in a slightly larger community.

My brothers and I (as the stereotypical middle child), when not in school, spent our time roaming the hills and valleys surrounding Powers like savages on the loose.  The world was ours to use as we saw fit, and use it we did.  Magic!!!  

Our household had two rules: Stay out of trouble and be home before dark - easy rules to remember, especially if they were transgressed.  Punishment was sharp and not soon forgotten.  We didn’t worry much about the first rule – the trick was to not get caught.   It worked most of the time, but in a small community, everyone knows what everyone is doing, or not doing, so it was tricky business.  Also there was some latitude provided because ‘boys will be boys’ and allowance was made for that truism because, beyond our comprehension, Dad tried to convince us he had once been a boy.

We moved from Powers in 1957 - to Coquille, a slightly larger community about 40 miles downriver, population around 4,500. Our home was about twelve miles outside the ‘city’ limits.  My older brother and I, now in high school (secondary), rode a school bus to Coquille to continue our education.  The education gained in the back seats of the school bus was as interesting, or more so, than the one received in the classrooms. 

In the four years at Coquille High, I participated in all the activities expected of a red-blooded American youth.  My coursework centred on sciences, maths and other “hard” subjects because I had long before determined that University was a primary destination.  The only non-science subject, and one which has proved to be of major utility, was typing.  I wish now I had also taken shorthand, but . . . 

During those four years, I was quarterback on the football team (gridiron), ran sprints in track and field, was inducted into the National Honour Society (scholastic achievement), was Student Body President in Senior year and continued my investigations first started in the back of the school bus.

In 1961, with a shiny high school diploma, I attacked the realm of higher education at Oregon State University, Corvallis, Oregon, about 180 miles North of Coquille, and 90 miles south of Portland. I did really well first year, had a really good time second year, then dropped out of full time study (with prompting from the University), worked in a grocery store, got married and, in Autumn of 1965, my wife Linda and I loaded ALL of our possessions into a VW microbus and drove over the Rocky Mountains to Chicago, where she was to undergo postgraduate training in physiotherapy. 

Soon after settling in central Chicago, I received a ‘valentine’ from the local Draft Board saying that I had been inducted into the US Army and to report immediately, so I became a soldier stationed in Louisiana, then Texas, then back in the Chicago area. Thankfully I missed the rigours of Vietnam. 

We were released from duty in January 1969 and started the journey back to Corvallis.  Our route was still named Route 66 and it lived up to its image. We saw the Painted Desert covered in snow (not very colourful), the Petrified Forest, The Grand Canyon - inaccessible owing to about 20 feet of snow, stood on the corner in Winslow, Arizona, scurried through Vegas, across Death Valley and into southern California.  Then we headed North up US 1 and US 101 along the coastline through Monterrey, San Francisco and the redwood forests of Northern California and farther North, back to Coquille. In all, a magnificent trip – I would recommend that trip to anyone.

When we got back to Corvallis, it was straight into the studies and I collected my Bachelor’s degree in 1970 (Radiation Biology and Zoology) and a Master’s (Biochemistry and Zoology) in 1972.  Jobs were few in the US in 1972, so apart from being a job seeker and a house husband (we had two sons by that time), I worked part time on research projects at Oregon State University.  I finally landed a job (pun intended) with the Research Division of Oregon Fish and Wildlife Department, working on, firstly, defining the habitat requirements of salmonid fishes, and later, an assessment of the construction and operation of a dam built on one of the last rivers in Oregon, protected as a wild and scenic river.  The whole episode was an oxymoron from the beginning.

One day in the office, while several people were talking about advancement and job opportunities, it was mentioned that there was ‘this job’ in Australia.  My ears perked up.  Being a biologist I had read about the curious animals in Australia, so I investigated it.  Seems the guy mentioning the job was a best friend of the Director of Fisheries in Victoria.  Through him, I applied for the job and, lo and behold, got a phone interview, then a job offer for a two-year contract to set up a project to eradicate European Carp from Victorian waterways.  That all sounded interesting, but it was curious that no one in Australia wanted the job. So in 1979 we packed up our household, sold our house and headed off for a new adventure half way around the world.

It turned out that the thrust of the position was political – the government needed to demonstrate that it was ‘doing something’ about the carp problem.  I knew before I arrived in Australia that eradication of the species was an impossible task because of the very biology of the beast.  The director acknowledged all this after I arrived, so the project took a different tack - study native fish with the intent of developing artificial propagation techniques to increase the numbers of native fish in the rivers and streams, rebuild the state-owned fish hatchery near Eildon and define the habitat requirements of native fish species. 

Life was, and is, good in Australia.  I was offered a job that I couldn’t refuse in 1981 (retiring in 1998), and I am still here and happy to be so.  It is a fascinating country with a considerate and intelligent population, even though I am occasionally referred to as septic tank and challenged to explain Trump.

In this part of life the mind is paramount - it is a daily companion that affirms or disagrees with thoughts.  It is pleasing to note that confidence in the mind and its processes still rank high.  I still trust the mind and revel in exchanges with others.

In my life I have an escape in the form of two music groups of which I am a member.  One is called AllSorts (probably best described as a world music group), while the other - a fledgling jazz group - still remains to be named.  I play a keyboard and, for a few hours every week, I become an invincible being that transcends this life of an ageing person with mobility issues.   Jazz is my forte - since I discovered syncopation at the age where I should have been embarking on a classical career.  How fortunate that in the Third Age I found a group of musos who've been together now for 14+ years. 

26 Sep 2019

This morning I opened up my blog to the outside world.

It's quite scary to go public, as blogging isn't necessarily all froth and bubble.  Some posts lay bare my real feelings on specific issues.  I console myself with the fact that most people know I have strong opinions with a political bent!  I'm bracing myself for their comments.  It's a glorious day today.  One of those days when you look out at your immediate environment and a smile grows on your face.  Even Sophy Wu, my old, demented dog is running up and down the back garden with an idiotic look of joy on her face.

I'm reading The Lost Man by Jane Harper.  It evokes memories of a wonderful time way back when I was governess on Mt Willoughby cattle station in middle Oz.  It was 3000 sq miles and ran 6,000 head of cattle.  Nearest neighbours 45 miles east, 60 miles north, and nothing west until you hit WA.  Nearest town (?) was Oodnadatta, used for trucking cattle down south.  Oodna (as it was called) had a pub, store, an AIM health outpost with 2 nurses, and a one-teacher school.  Most of the stations in the area had a house (previously RAAF buildings from WW2) in Oodna.  We'd go in when the stockmen were trucking and there would be a film and a dance put on in the Hall.   All stations had their own flying strip to facilitate the Royal Flying Doctor Service, and communication was conducted by radio.  I was there for three years (1954, '55, & '56) until the youngest child was old enough to go to boarding school in Adelaide.  That period of my life still ranks highly in my memory.

27 Sep 2019

Yesterday I was wandering down memory lane and it has led me on to other periods in my life.

I recall very clearly when Gough Whitlam not only made tertiary education more or less free, but encouraged mature-aged people to apply.  A friend and I decided to embark on this together.  Our previous matriculation qualifications were considered out-of-date, but we could upgrade by doing three subjects at Year 12 level. 

We approached the Principal of one of the local High Schools and he was somewhat thrown by our request to join Year 12 classes.  However, he soon came on-side when he realised it would bring good publicity and kudos to the school by being the first to accept mature-age students under the Whitlam education program.

In consultation, we chose English Lit., History, and Biology as our three subjects and we were duly enrolled.  The Principal said he wouldn't ask us to wear uniform - this had never entered our minds and we thought he may be joking, but one look at his face told us he was not only serious, but also granting us a huge concession.  To this day, I often ask myself if I would have gone on had it been mandatory to wear uniform at 39!

We survived the year and passed with flying colours despite having full-time work and family commitments.  In the beginning of the new year we were invited to sit an entrance exam to university.  This hurdle too was jumped and we enrolled at Flinders University in SA - my friend in an English/Drama degree, while I enrolled in Sociology and Politics.

We had the good fortune to be studying in the 70s with Don Dunstan as Premier of SA and Gough Whitlam in Canberra.  Campuses were alive with luminaries on teaching staff and active students who went on to become luminaries in their own right later.  It was heady, exciting and the best atmosphere in which to soak up knowledge. In the refectory was an enormous mural of Don Dunstan as Superman, and Daddy Cool entertained us in the quad.  Halcyon days!

1 Oct 2019

Today my eldest grandson flies out to Iran and that has triggered memories of when I went to Iran way back in 1991.

To begin this story I must return to another significant part of my fortunate life.  In 1985 I joined the Overseas Service Bureau (OSB) as a Field Officer.  OSB, or the Bureau as it was more commonly known, ran a program, Australian Volunteers Abroad, where Australians with specific skills were matched to developing countries that needed those skills. 

As a Field Officer, I was initially responsible for the program in Malaysia, Sri Lanka, Maldives, Pakistan, Botswana and Zimbabwe.  The job entailed receiving and researching requests from both the government and non-government sectors while in 'my' countries.  Upon return to Australia I, along with the other FOs, would participate in interviewing applicants in every state and, when final numbers had been selected, begin to match their skills to the requests.  It was a huge and demanding job, but it never ceased to delight and/or dismay (depending on the success of placements).  It was a job that gave the highest work satisfaction, and the one where I stayed the longest (seven years). 

In Pakistan, a large percentage of my work centred on the Afghan refugees in the camps of the North West Frontier and Quetta during the Russian occupation of Afghanistan.  On one occasion, I had time off while in-country and I popped over to Iran for a week in Isfahan.  After the harrowing and hectic times in Pakistan and Afghanistan, Isfahan was a haven of peace, culture and beauty!

At the time I was at the Bureau (1985-92) there was a stunning group of people on staff.  We undertook and managed a mammoth program in countries of the Pacific, South-East Asia, South Asia, Southern Africa and Central and South America.  These days we meet rarely but when it happens it's like the intervening years never existed and we all agree that it was a period of great impact in our lives. 

There are funny stories too and I'll share some of those later . . .

5 Oct 2019

It's Saturday already and a promising spring day is ahead.  Sunshine is such a tonic - I drop 20 years as I bask in its glory!

Reading Bob Woodward's 'FEAR' - on Trump in the White House.  When a significant period of your life has been spent in many other countries and you can recall the wonderful people and their cultures whom you have had the good fortune to get to know and to live amongst, then you treasure this time to reflect and realise how you have received the ultimate gift and how it has enriched your life.  This is what I'd rather think about - not the consequences of erratic actions and decisions emanating from madmen around the globe. 

10 Oct 2019

Seniors Festival has begun and there are two weeks of events in the City of Port Phillip.  Last Monday was the opening Spectacular and AllSorts opened the program.  It was a mixture of dancing and musical items, accompanied by an abundant afternoon tea. Both AllSorts and Jazz Tomorrow have further gigs during the Festival.

I recall participating in a festival of a far different nature in the wilds of Sabah when I was a field officer for OSB. 

I was visiting John Kelly, a forester, whom I'd placed in a reafforestation project in Sabah.  To get there, I went by car to a river in the west of Sabah, then by motorised dinghy to the other side, where a local Iban took me on the back of a motor bike to the camp where John lived and worked.  It was a very isolated location but John had familiarised himself with his surroundings and, during the week I was there, I not only saw the project and its workings, but John also took me to his friends in a Long House some miles away from the camp.   A Long House is traditional community living accommodating many families, usually along the banks of a river.  As couples marry, another room is built on and they share the communal cooking and washing facilities. 

We attended a wedding and welcome ceremony, a very formal but festive occasion.   The local brew was very potent and the music mesmerising.  The Headman made us very welcome and it was obvious John was a special visitor.  

On Saturday night John said "Righto FO (me) put on your glad rags we're going out".  I thought he was joking, but we went for miles on the motorbike until we reached a building, literally in the middle of nowhere!  It was a grocery and haberdashery shop run by a Chinese couple, and although there were no obvious settlements around, it was well stocked.  We were ushered into a back room where meals and alcohol were served.  We were the only customers and again John was well-known and welcomed. 

My admiration for the Australians we placed in developing countries knew no bounds.  John would stay and work in the project camp for months on end before going into KK for some R&R.  Yet he had created a social life and become a welcome visitor to the scattered communities that he met. 

16 Oct 2019

I'm looking forward to Saturday.  Mr Thanh who was on the community health team of my staff in Vietnam is in Australia with his wife, settling their daughter (who gained a scholarship) into a school in Sydney. They are travelling to Melbourne as we speak and we will have the day together.  I last saw them in 2017 when I was in Vietnam for our 20-year reunion.  The project was centred on ethnic minorities in the mountains of Binh Thuan Province and was based in Phan Thiet where I lived on the South China Sea.  I, plus a Frenchman, were the only foreigners in the whole province.  I was there for 14 months and it stays forever in my heart, mainly due to the wonderful & dedicated Vietnamese with whom I worked.

22 Oct 2019

One of my old staff in Vietnam - Vo Thi Hong - phoned today and said Thanh and his wife (who visited me last Saturday) had told her that I lived alone and she felt very sad.  It is interesting how people see life so differently.  Hong lives with her husband and son in the same compound as her parents and siblings with their families.  Besides being an accountant in a travel agency, Hong has a small shop in her locality in Saigon that is run by her mother and one sister.  The whole family support each other in all their endeavours and raise each other’s families as needed.  Despite Vietnam modernising at a prodigious rate, the clan system still reigns supreme, and long may it do so.

I, on the other hand, enjoy the lifestyle chosen for my old age.  I have an apartment where I am alone when I choose and in company when I want.   A garden to potter and enjoy breakfast in, and the beach a block away.  The location in the City of Port Phillip is the envy of a lot of my friends while the accessibility to all services, cinema, and shopping is very close.

Two very different lifestyles but both Hong & I are content.

26 Oct 2019

Ah Melbourne - hot one day and freezing the next!  Capricious in the extreme - pounding heat yesterday and a storm today with thunder, gale winds, and rain.  Melbourne will tantalise us with its fickle weather and hay fever - yet it ranks highly among 'the most liveable cities'. When it's stormy, memories are evoked of other cataclysmic events. 

I was in the Maldives, travelling to one of the northern islands where I would visit an Australian medical science technologist.  She was based there to establish a laboratory for blood testing under the OSB program.  On board the dhow (local sea craft) was the son of the chief whose island we were heading towards.  Accompanying him was his wife who was heavily pregnant with their first child, and one other local man.  The captain (who steered the craft by standing with his back to the tiller and controlling it with his toes) had one crewman, whose main duty was to bale.  The day was sunny (naturally) and appeared to be balmy.

Out of nowhere, a monsoonal storm struck.  The friendly sea became the most terrifying monster whipping up huge walls of seawater that we climbed up and dropped down the other side, only to be confronted by yet another seawall!  The wind literally shrieked all around our craft, the most frightening noise encircling us.  The crewman indicated a pole I should hold; I clung to it and prayed to every deity that is and was. 

Then above the noise of the storm, I heard the young woman screaming.  I wondered if she had gone into precipitate labour - and then I realised I was the only other woman on the boat and I would be expected to help if she was in labour!!   She was in the covered area while I was out on deck.  I thought "if they expect me to assist her then they'll have to unclench my hands from MY pole and drag me across the deck"!

In the midst of all the monsoon could throw at us, the captain remained completely unruffled.  The only concession he made was to use the tiller with his hands as he rode the seawalls one after the other.  When he looked my way, he would give a reassuring smile and then returned to looking straight ahead.  It was obvious that he had done this many times before.

After some thirty minutes of seeing nothing but water and hearing only the cacophony of wind, the captain looked at me and pointed ahead.  I could see nothing but he knew the island was looming.  With a last vicious swipe, the sea picked up the dhow and spewed us on to the island where we sat like Noah's Ark on the sand.  People appeared and helped us, our luggage and the supplies out of the boat.  The young couple moved off.  She was not screaming and fortunately for me (and her!) she had not been in labour but very scared. 

The next morning the Chief visited me where I was staying.  He came to thank me for my assistance to his son and his wife!   I felt such a fraud because I knew that I had had no sympathy for, and no skills to offer the young woman.  But I thanked him in return for his courtesy as we engaged in diplomatic small talk.  All's well that ends well - that Lab technologist was one of my outstanding successes.  She learned the language and took to the life like the proverbial duck.  The laboratory was well set-up and well used by a cluster of islands in the north of the atoll.

Not all turned out that way, but that's for another time.

2 Nov 2019 

When I first joined the Bureau in 1985, I said I wasn't good on water - "that's okay we won't give you any of the Pacific countries". 

Initially, I was made responsible for developing the program in Malaysia, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, and the Republic of the Maldives.  The first three were entities, but the Maldives??  To top it all, my first field trip was to Pulau Bidong, an island off the coast of Kuala Trengganu, where Malaysia had a detention camp for Vietnamese refugees.  The sea was subject to swells and the wharf on Pulau Bidong was ridiculously high above the water.  Old hands waited for the appropriate swell and jumped, until I was the last one left on the ship (I had no idea how to jump upwards) - they all called encouragingly and promised to catch me (with the best will in the world I couldn't imagine how the lightly-built Malays and Vietnamese could do that!)  After a nightmare wait, a good swell came that almost allowed me to walk onto the wharf.  Such relief!

Pulau Bidong was a hellhole where rats outnumbered the camp inmates by many hundreds.  The Malaysian military paid the Vietnamese so much per rat killed and provided them with a pole in which a long, thick, sharp-pointed nail was embedded as a weapon.  The island was not large and had beautiful beaches but the Vietnamese were not allowed on the beaches in case they took the risk of swimming away.  

The accommodation for the refugees was open-sided large sheds with three layers of wooden bunks.  Staff was housed in long buildings of small rooms that were very hot.  While I was there, I slept with the light on and sweated off a couple of kilos while watching for rats.  I observed the education and medical programs where we had teaching and health workers.  It was obvious the Australians with their friendly professional manner were popular with the refugees.  At night we'd walk to a spot where the Vietnamese had ingeniously set up a very basic ice cream making venture and had the most delicious durian ice cream.

The Australians came back with me to Kuala Trengganu for an in-country meeting.  I was sharing a room with one of the teachers and, looking out the window at the stunning view, I brought her attention to the beautiful scene.  She was revelling in the luxury of soft, laundered sheets and towels and enjoying the room service.  She looked out and commented 'Just another tropical island . . .' Priceless!

13 Nov 2019

Today is Remembrance Day - and I honour all service personnel who have participated in theatres of war over the history of colonisation in Australia.  While I deplore war as the most primitive form of failed diplomacy, I respect the women and men who are in the defence forces.  Part of that is due to my early history as an anti-war activist in the Vietnam years and then being confronted with the dreadful attitude that was meted out to the returning Viet Vets.  A shameful part of our history.

On a couple of occasions, I've had cause to be at close quarters with the ADF.  In the early 90s I was working with Mozambican refugees in five camps along the border of Mozambique and Zimbabwe.  I was quite friendly with our Deputy High Commissioner and I accompanied her on an official visit to Rwanda following the dreadful internal strife and massacres.  We were billeted with the ADF and it was very apparent that the ADF members were very respectful and supportive to the local population.

The second occasion was in 1999-2000 when I was in East Timor following the departure of the Indonesians.  The ADF under the command of Peter Cosgrove were the peacekeeping force while the UN prepared to reinstate the governance of the East Timor.  The whole country had been devastated by the retreating Indonesian army, so there were no utilities, no food, very bad roads and no infrastructure.  We found a building that wasn't too badly damaged and the ADF threw cables across from their camp so we could get power.  East Timor looked like a moonscape it was so damaged, but the ADF just quietly helped in bringing back some semblance of civil life while maintaining peace.  

All of the above leaves me quite conflicted in my opinion of war and the military and I guess it always will.

Sometimes memories are triggered by casual comments.  Last Monday, a group of us had gathered in the foyer of St Kilda Town Hall waiting to be escorted to the meeting room on the 1st floor for the OPCC (Older Persons Consultative Committee to the City of Port Phillip) monthly meeting.  One of our number is not long back from a trip in Europe and UK and commented how she was really impressed by the apparently comfortable integration of the population in Portugal.  Ouch! Back flew my mind to the three years I spent in Zimbabwe working in five refugee camps along the border of Zimbabwe and Mozambique.  I remembered how the Portuguese had been quite vindictive when it became clear they had to leave their colonial lifestyle in Mozambique.  They poisoned water sources and destroyed infrastructure as they left and covertly fostered the internal strife that erupted into Civil War that led to many thousands of people being displaced.  Hence the refugee camps.

Then I recalled the most rewarding and successful program that our organisation undertook during those three years.  UNHCR approached IPA (International People's Aid) where I was the head honcho and asked if we could devise and run a program of landmine awareness in all five camps before repatriation as Mozambique was riddled with landmines.  Five Engineers from the Zimbabwean Army would be seconded to IPA and training for them, and me, would be provided by the Norwegian Refugee Council.  I made only one stipulation, the engineers must be in civilian dress as the Mozambican refugees had been terrorised by military uniforms before their escape.

The biggest obstacle was illiteracy as the majority of the refugees had never been to a school, so we had to plan a program that didn't rely on the printed word.  Those Engineers were brilliant!  They built mock minefields in each camp and ran programs with groups of refugees, while refugee artists designed posters depicting risks, what to look for, and taking that information to the mine clearing agencies.  We had fantastic gatherings where leading refugees would role-play finding landmines on the smallholdings of villagers.  To reinforce the messages, we had competitions for the best posters and best storytelling.     

The visiting UNHCR senior manager was taken through one of the mock minefields and commented that she was sweating during the exercise due to its realism.  On returning to Geneva our program of Landmine Awareness Training was cited as the flagship in all UNHCR supported programs.  Princess Diana also visited the camps and did a walk through a 'minefield'.  

I was still there when repatriation took place, and as far as I know, there were no fatalities among the returning Mozambicans.  I visited many rural villages and was very proud to see that many of the posters had been replicated and placed in prominent points of the village. 

A lovely PS:  when I was finally leaving Zimbabwe, those five Army Engineers came to me and said if I ever had to run a Landmine Awareness Training program in any other country they would leave the army and come with me.

To be continued . . .

I was a HoM (operations) for an agency that represented all the Caritas, CAFOD and NCR.  The program had its main site of operations in Nyala, Darfur.  The major refugee camps were quite nearby, but we were getting news of groups of people moving in from other centres.  It was decided that we would investigate to see if we could find these people and bring them in to relative safety.  The CPO (Child Protection Officer), Senior Logistician, and myself set out with an interpreter and driver.

About three hours into the journey, we came upon a guarded outpost that was manned by members of the SLA (Sudanese Liberation Army).  We needed their agreement to go further, and also any information they may have on the moving groups of refugees.  With the interpreter's help, I began to negotiate.  The SLA had seen and spoken to some groups of people who had been chased out of their villages by Janjaweed (government militia).   International NGOs had good standing with the SLA and they were quite happy to share this information plus directions to where we would find the displaced people, but they needed permission from their superiors.

While we waited, we were offered tea.  The senior SLA rebel took my hand and we walked (hand-in-hand as was the custom) to their shelter.  In such situations, I tend to blend and accept what to outsiders might appear to be unbelievable.  And so I sipped tea while holding hands with a heavily armed SLA rebel soldier and thought nothing of it!  We found the walking groups and sent trucks to collect them the following day. 

2 Dec 2019

A week of mixed emotions - my dear old girl, Sophy, went to doggy heaven on Monday 25 Nov.  It was peaceful for her and hard for me.  Hope there are a million smells for her to sniff and nice corners to have a doze.

Our two music groups - AllSorts and Jam Tomorrow played at two CASPA sites, and Jam Tomorrow participated in the Bay St Festival.  These occasions lifted my spirits considerably - there is a feeling that is hard to describe when you are playing music and so enjoying it.

Africa is a huge continent, full of music with distinctive sounds and beats.  There were many occasions in different African countries where the music impacted my life. 

Botswana 1986 - I was in Gaborone (the capital and of ‘First Lady Detective Agency’ fame).  I was told Hugh Masekela would be playing at the stadium - I'm a big fan - so I went along with all the population of Gaborone!  Concert began at 8.30 with local artists and groups who were really talented and got the crowd going.  As the hours went by I wondered if I was at wrong venue, but it was the only place in town to accommodate the crowd.  Everyone reassured me Hugh Masekela would 'be on next'. By 2.00am, I was beginning to question my sanity when the great man arrived along with his fabulous group. He'd had a gig in South Africa and just drove up to Botswana after!!  He blew that trumpet and sang with a group for three hours and the crowd woke up and went wild (including me).  That was my introduction to African time, and love of music, and I was in seventh heaven!  

Zimbabwe 1995 - We were repatriating the refugees back to Mozambique.  They had been in five camps along the border for many years.  It was the occasion of our first group to be repatriated; buses were lined up and people milled with their few possessions.  Those who were waiting for future convoys began singing in farewell as the buses filled and slowly departed.  Then a few scratchy guitars, drums and steel instruments with a sound like xylophone joined in.  The music became more animated, people formed circles around the musicians and swayed to the sounds.  If you wanted to dance, you pointed your foot to the bandleader and when he nodded you went into the centre of the circle and danced.  Several people urged me on but it was another hour before I pointed my foot and went to the centre.  It is hard to describe how freeing such an action is - I danced for the allotted minutes and it felt like flying.  After, one of the women said 'You are the right structure but the wrong colour'!! 

16 Jan 2020

I remember crossing the border between Zimbabwe and Mozambique, and having to change to the local currency at the border station.  Having come through a war of self-determination with Portugal followed by a prolonged civil war, Mozambique's currency had lost a lot of value.  On the advice of my driver, Arnold, I took a capacious bag to hold the money.  When I paid for our first meal inside Mozambique, I couldn't believe the pile of notes needed to pay for our modest fare!  In fact, after paying for our first evening's accommodation, I was concerned that the pile was not enough to get us to the capital, Maputo, two days drive away.  Mozambique was so devastated that Maputo was the only place with banking services at the time (1993-4).  We barely managed and while in Maputo, I made certain that I exchanged enough dollars to get us home again.  Poor, long-suffering Arnold was so happy when we crossed the border back into Zimbabwe because he would get sadza with his meals again.  All the chasing after fuel and having to negotiate the roads in a foreign and damaged city were nothing compared to the lack of sadza.  I had really enjoyed the potatoes in Mozambique but to Arnold a meal wasn't a meal unless it had a liberal helping of sadza!

(Ed. note - Sadza is a thickened porridge made out of any number of pulverised grains. The most common form is made with white maize)

27 Jan2020

Eleven days since my last post - the self-nagging begins in earnest when I've passed the seven day mark - I question the benefit of 'must' and 'have to'.  It would be too easy to give up with some self-concocted 'feel good' excuse but when the muse kicks in it's energising and fun!

In Pakistan, the more north you travel the more conservative it becomes.  The northern reaches are the most beautiful, with stunning and dramatic scenery, but narrower in attitude.  I was in the habit of always wearing the shalwar kameez even though in parts of Lahore and Karachi, modest western style was accepted.  I learned to cover up more as we (Wakheel my driver and I) pushed through North Western Frontier Province.  It was hard going as the roads became more difficult but Wakheel could coax another mile from any vehicle. 

It was a seesaw time - on the one hand as a westerner, I could be invited to events where women are not usually found - e.g., a game of bushkhazi - on the other hand I would be expected to be with the women in seclusion.  This last was actually very invigorating.  Those women in their own walled areas knew how to enjoy themselves!  There would be singing and dancing and many naughty stories being related.  To me, it was the best of both worlds because, of course, no male could be invited not even their family members.  They were the occasions that provided me with welcome relaxation from the rigours of staying firm but modest in my negotiations in the male-dominated public sphere.  Those occasions preserved my sanity and sense of fun.   I often remember those women and wonder how they fare.

21 Feb 2020

Sri Lanka in the 80s and 90s was in the throes of an undeclared civil war where death and disappearances were commonplace.  In some ways, it hardened, or perhaps built barriers, in people, so that the atrocities became part of the norm.  Driving along the canals and seeing floating bodies; watching the large ships moored at sea and knowing they were the holding pens of interrogation and torture; travelling in the north between the opposing sides with a white flag tied to the jeep; trying to find relatives of people in the south to take messages of hope and support; noticing what seemed to be the extreme youth of armed groups and hoping nothing would startle them while passing; and curfews dominating life.  

This race of gentle, courteous people whom you have grown to love - how can they be responsible for what you see?

Nowadays, there is peace of a sort, but the underlying tensions have not altered much.  Tourists can enjoy the beautiful island without being touched by, or aware of, its cruel and recent history.  A new era of colonialism has emerged in the form of villas for expatriates being built along the stunning coastline, and the growing economy is, as usual, in favour of the 'haves', while politics is dominated by the same names. 

Nevertheless, Sri Lanka is a jewel in the ocean and its breathtaking scenery keeps on giving.  You never forget its beauty, the spices, the tea, and above all, its gentle, warm people.

6 Mar2020

Rain and lots of it!  Garden looks lush and there is a smell of cleansed earth.  Good for the soul.  We are in my favourite season - autumn.  Sunny days and cool nights. It's the time to savour the outside before the cold winter descends. 

I'll only mention Covid-19 because it's here, along with many other countries worldwide.  On the flip side, the world of comedy is having a field day with the panic buying and storing - particularly with the resulting rationing of loo-paper!

In the early days of my work in Zimbabwe, (mid-'80s), there were shortages due to the sanctions that had been imposed.  My first visit was like re-entering the '50s with the fashions (lots of crimplene), the old models of cars (Peugeots were, and are, big in African countries), NO plastic bags, and the roughest loo-paper!    

When in Harare, I made certain to visit the leading hotel (frequented by expatriates and white Rhodies).  After coffee, I'd head to the rest room and luxuriate in the feel of the toilet tissue.  In time, I became quite adept at 'appropriating' 2/3 rolls to take home.

In that period, it was not unusual for people to ask you to bring plastic bags on your next field trip.  But despite the sanctions, food was readily available.  In those days, before the big drought, Zimbabwe was the bread-basket for Southern Africa.  Everything on the table was produced locally and tasted delicious.  If people dropped by, the custom was to serve tea and jam sandwiches.  All locally grown and/or manufactured - tea, coffee, bread, butter, jam, milk and sugar.  Beef was the main meat eaten, and vegies were often cooked in a delicious peanut sauce.  Freshwater fish from the lakes and rivers, and a variety of crops on the farms.  There was even an emerging wine industry.

I didn't return to Zimbabwe until the early '90s.  By that time, the drought was at its height and it wasn't uncommon to see empty shelves in the shops.  The five refugee camps along the border with Mozambique were at capacity and basic rations were being trucked in from other countries.  To me, it was astonishing as my memories were of ample, nutritious foodstuffs.  Zimbabweans had come out of a long war of independence and only wanted peace, but the new struggle was to scavenge for enough food to put on the table.  AND plastic bags had found their way there.

24 Mar 2020

It would be good, at this stage, to list the positives in my life as it has evolved since retirement:

• As I sit here typing, I can see out the large full glass sliding door into the lush garden I have created since moving into this small retirement complex in 2005
• I can look around the compact one-bedroom unit and see the memories of a rich, full working life mainly in the developing countries of Asia and Africa and latterly, in remote indigenous communities
• My email and phone contact lists contain the contacts of many of the people I have worked, lived, and loved with, and learned so much from, in far-flung countries
• I enjoy good health with small limitations
• I play (keyboard) in two combos - world music and jazz - a real buzz
• I am part of a very large extended (very loud and noisy) family. Joy!
• I have loving memories of life with my partner of 47 years and treasure the memories of our grandson who was taken from us, and hold close to the friendship with our daughter and her son
• And last, but definitely not least, I have enjoyed the unstinting love and company of four rescue dogs in their 'senior' years!
• There that's perked me up no end and despite the current situation and its restrictions I'm once again feeling very satisfied with, and looking forward to the next chapters of 'my fortunate life'.

28 Mar 2020

The last time I had involuntarily allowed my hair to grow was in Sudan in 2003-4.  I was based in Nyala, Darfur where services for women were non-existent.

At first, I was so busy establishing shelter with a multi-faceted accompanying program (food, health, education, landmine awareness training) for the many refugees thronging into the nearby areas, that I didn't have time to look at my hair.  A chance comment from an American community health nurse, who was confined to base waiting for the establishment of a camp, made me aware: in a distinct Southern drawl she said; 'well yoall I won't get bored, I'll simply watch your hair grow!'   

Now 16 years later, I'm the one watching my hair grow.  I can blame it on the restrictions of the virus (even though hairdressers have the blessing from ScoMo).  It will be an experiment that will go on for the life of COVID-19, and provide some sort of a yardstick e.g., lockdown lasted for --- and in (?) weeks my hair grew (?) inches! 

I remember going into Khartoum for R&R after three months stint in the camps of Darfur.  One of the staff in the central office had enquired from family and discovered a discreet 'Beauty Parlour for Ladies' in a secluded section of town.  Off I trotted - how can I ever forget the looks on those statuesque, tall, beautiful Sudanese women as I arrived with the appearance of a wild woman from Borneo!  I was whisked away and for the next three hours I was scrubbed, pummeled, oiled, de-haired completely, painted and coiffured, and emerged transformed!  When I returned to Darfur my Sudanese staff thoroughly approved, while the few expatriate staff looked as though I'd lost my mind.  There's no such thing as 'keeping up appearances' in emergency relief work!  

8 Apr 2020

I was speaking with a musical friend earlier today and made reference to a particular piece of music saying it's been over 60 years since I'd last played it.  In retrospect, I realise it's over 70 years!  That's a substantial period of time - I can't believe I've experienced life for so long - and even more.  I recall my 30th birthday and my joy at being able to say (with credibility) ‘twenty years ago' - such a goal to attain!  

The enforced conditions of physical distancing during the pandemic are so strange.  I'm blessed with friends who take my scrap of a dog for a long walk (he's about 3kgs, 10 inches high) and goes for close to 2 kilometres.  Now, instead of sitting and having a chat post walk, we space ourselves in the foyer of the building where I live and have a rather loud but much shorter conversation.  

It brings to mind when I managed an emergency relief program in Timor l'Este post occupation in 2000.  The program was supported by all the Oxfam agencies globally and staff hailed from a variety of countries.  One of the engineers, a Brit, was a real wag and delighted in sending up our group and often heated meetings.  It was a wonderful feeling to be able to laugh while jostling with the never-ending obstructional problems that impeded our program.  If I missed a comment from a logistician and said 'Pardon?' (probably not the only time during our animated discussions)  he'd put on a loud and avuncular voice saying "now dearie don't you worry, we are here to help in any way we can" while patting me on the arm in a calming down manner.  He was so good at conjuring up characters, many of which we'd probably all encountered at some stage.    

He was also a very resourceful fellow and he managed to get me a permit pass to the docks much to the horror of the Harbourmaster who'd assumed from my name I was male.   From then on, I could access the cargo lists and have a better understanding and control over our supplies, the suppliers and transportation.  The country had been completely devastated and literally everything had to be shipped in.  In time, the Harbourmaster came to accept my weekly visit.  My biggest triumph was being invited to drink coffee with him!  

17 Apr 2020

Indoor confinement is still the norm and it's paid dividends in the larger picture.  Australia is managing well in comparison to other countries and I feel optimistic about the future.

Today I shall do some market shopping - a treat I look forward to each week.  No domestic activity is a chore any more, but rather a very welcome distraction. 

The only task I haven't tackled is sorting through musical scores for the two music groups I play with.  It simply terrifies me when I see the piles in the cupboard.  Every time I open the cupboard door I swear the piles have grown to double their normal size!  I find myself avoiding the doors but to no avail - it is a very large storage cupboard and I'm bound to need an item or two each day.  Oh for a magic wand, a fairy Godmother, or seven little people!

During my working life, one of my goals would be to obtain 'the full cupboard of life'.  In other words, chasing the funding and support to maintain the aid and emergency relief programs I was responsible for in countries of Africa, S-E Asia, and Southern Asia.  One of the donor agencies operating in countries such as Pakistan and Afghanistan was the Aga Khan Foundation.  It was a standout agency, in that it had staff who would travel with you to the remote areas where the programs were operating.  They would work alongside you for a period of time and also share your living space.  In this manner, they gained the best knowledge to support your application.  I was never refused by the AKF because of this process of becoming intimately informed about the projects.

I recall being accompanied to a very remote village in the Hindu Kush area near the border between Pakistan and Afghanistan where a program training women in small business and micro-credit was established.  The women had built a co-operative program of raising chickens and selling eggs.  Bear in mind, these women were totally illiterate and lived in a very remote area.  The program trained the women in all aspects of chicken raising, keeping them disease-free, understanding and developing the life and productive cycles of their livestock, how to market their produce, and how to keep the books and remain solvent.  After two years, the collective had become a smooth and well-run business.  The women had also branched out to providing training and expertise to other remote villages in the region.  Their request of AKF was to build a road so they could access market outlets more easily.  Until then, the women had climbed and trekked many miles with their produce to larger towns where markets operated regularly.   They had become leaders in their community and further afield.  One of their main objectives was to build similar collectives in other communities.

Needless to say, these magnificent women got their road and remained leaders in their field! 

To be continued . . . ?

Only six weeks earlier Princess Elizabeth, on holiday in Africa, had learned of her father’s death and of her accession to the throne. I went to school in Preston, studied both banking and law at the university there, and lived for over 50 years, in 10 different houses, all within a 10 mile radius of Preston city centre. I then moved to and settled in Melbourne in 2009 having visited Australia a few times previously.

Preston sits on the River Ribble, half-way between London and Glasgow on the West Coast main railway line. It has been the administrative heart of the County of Lancashire for well over 1000 years, which until 1974 also included Manchester and Liverpool. It was a major settlement for the Anglo Saxons, the Romans, and two of the knights following William the Conqueror. It was a refuge for Bonny Prince Charlie, and a catholic and royalist stronghold which held out for years against and repelled the onslaughts of Cromwell and the Roundhead armies. Preston was the major seagoing port on the west coast after Bristol until the development of the port of Liverpool in the late 1800s, and has the largest dock in the country.

The Preston Guild is a city-wide celebration lasting for one week which takes place every 20 years. The Guild celebrations first came about in 1179 after King Henry II awarded Preston with its first royal charter along with the right to have a Guild Merchant. I have been personally present at four Preston Guilds, and I hope to see at least one more in due course. This event has given rise to the common expression in the UK, “Once every Preston Guild” which means “rarely”.

It was also the birthplace of Arkwright’s Spinning Jenny, and the T’Total (Temperance) movement. As well as Richard Arkwright, it is also the home of many famous names including Sir Robert Peel (twice Prime Minister), Andrew (Freddie) Flintoff, (England Cricket Captain), and Nick Park, (the creator of Wallace and Gromit and Shaun the Sheep). (co-incidentally Nick’s mother and mine were good friends and used to sit together in church on Sundays).

My formal involvement with music began through school and church choirs when I was seven years old. I later took up the violin in Grammar School but after 2 years conceded that my fingers were too big and switched to the double bass. Throughout school I sang lead roles in the choir and played the double bass in the school orchestra. After leaving school, I became a member of several Musical and Choral Societies. I was a member of the Royal School of Church Music (RSCM). I progressed with the double bass to the Lancashire Youth Orchestra and also played with the Preston Symphony Orchestra for several years.

My musical involvement all but stopped for about 15 years. Four young children will do that! There was also the pressure of a developing career in banking, industrial relations and the law. I did stay in touch with church choirs and at one point sang with all four children in same church choir.

In the early 1990s I was invited to take a role in a local Gilbert and Sullivan production, Pirates of Penzance. This re-launched my involvement with singing. I became an active member of two Gilbert and Sullivan Societies and the Musical Comedy Society. I also decided that, after a number of year’s relative inactivity, I needed to polish up my vocal skills, and so received professional operatic training for several years. This enabled me to take a more prominent part in a range of operettas and stage musicals.

During this period I was an officer of the English Law Society, and I also produced the music for the annual Law Society Pantomime in London. For 10 years I wrote songs for and performed in these shows which highlighted the major ‘goings-on’ and issues of the legal and political year. I enjoyed taking principle baritone solo roles (and dressing up – especially as a pantomime Dame).

Professional links with the media created opportunities to get involved with co-hosting music and discussion programmes on BBC Regional Radio. This extended to presenting regular radio programmes on local independent and community radio stations.

My activity in radio and musical variety shows led to an opportunity to produce and stage a musical fund-raising event. This fund-raising work continued, and over fifteen years, raised many thousands of pounds in support of a number of charities. One such event was as the host for an annual wedding-dress fashion show, where pre-loved dresses were sold to raise funds in support of the St Catherine’s Hospice.

The River (Ribble) Dance

Such activities launched my side-line career as a DJ and entertainer. This began with the spontaneous request at one event to provide music for a 50th birthday party. This resulted immediately in further bookings, and soon I was employed nearly every weekend to sing at weddings and then provide the dance music for the receptions. So much so that, even after moving to Melbourne, I still had to travel back to England to fulfil bookings made several years in advance.

Since my move to Melbourne I have continued to sing, including a number of years with the Gilbert and Sullivan Society and the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra Chorus, where I had the pleasure of singing the soundtrack from The Lord of the Rings, and perform alongside the Cybermen and the Daleks in a concert of music from Dr Who.

I have presented a number of Soul music programmes for PBS Radio, and additionally, I have provided music as a DJ and Singer for a range of different events. I’m currently a member of PPCA, Music Victoria, PBS Radio (as a performer member), Victorian Jazz Club and I provide music services under the registered ABN business name, “Soul DJ”.

In 2019 I started the French in Songs course at U3A. In June the same year, I unexpectedly “inherited” the U3A choir on the retirement of the previous long standing choir leader, Serena Carmel. I also became a member of the U3A Jazz Group. 2020 has brought some challenges but the year began well with the French Songs class and the Choir enjoying growing numbers. The Jazz Band was also in full swing. Since mid-March, none of these groups has been able to meet in the flesh, but members have continued to get together via the internet using video conferencing. Term 2, for these singing classes, kicks off (online) on Wednesday 15th April, and hopefully we’ll all be back in real contact and in full voice before long.

Some links to David's many music passions:-

The Melbourne International Comedy Festival Gala Eddie Perfect, Tripod & The MSO Chorus  https://youtu.be/dR893TUM73A

Melbourne Symphony & Chorus Dr Who Spectacular  https://youtu.be/ZqfF5FZytBw

David Sharples recordings and Radio programs  https://www.mixcloud.com/DKSoulDJ/

DK Soul DJ website  http://www.souldj.com.au

U3A “French in Songs” website  http://www.chansons.proptika.com

U3A Choir website  http://www.u3achoir.souldj.com.au

At that time Goose Bay was a DEW (Distant Early Warning) line base for the American and Canadian air-forces. With fighter and re-fuelling aircraft landing and taking off at all hours of the day and night, accurate weather forecasting was vital. My husband had just finished his degree in Meteorology at the University of Toronto, and the prospect of a cheap, furnished house as well as a bonus for living in ‘isolation’, was a very attractive prospect.

In 1959 there was only one road in Goose Bay and that led to a native settlement, sadly mis-named (then at least) Happy Valley. Access was by air and, as a Canadian Department of Transport employee, the family were entitled to one free flight a year. Flying in was to realise just what an ‘isolation base’ meant. Endless miles of nothing but forbidding forest interspersed with stony outcrops and lakes of all sizes and shapes. Goose Bay itself was centred around the airfield and the facilities for the two air-forces. Civilians, such as my husband, baby son and myself, lived in our own area with houses for married couples and barracks for the single men and women. We had access to most of the air-force amenities - pool, ice hockey rink, officers’ club, cinema etc.

What we did not have access to was the American PBX, where almost anything could be bought very cheaply. We had a very basic Hudson Bay Store which sold some food and other items, and where fresh fruit and vegetables were obtainable twice a week – at a price. When the ice melted a supply ship would arrive in Spring and again in Autumn, before ice once again closed the North West River. Many hours were spent trying to work out what and how much frozen meat, tinned vegetables and other supplies would be needed for the six months or more of winter. The arrival of the Spring shipment was exciting as the order had been placed so many weeks beforehand. The first job was to stow lumps of poorly labelled frozen meat into the freezer. Later, it was always hard to work out what a package contained. It often meant eating the same meat cut for several weeks - especially before the next supply ship was due. One year we were able to buy sides of salmon caught by local fishermen. They were huge and stored in a large community freezer warehouse. Getting it out entailed donning full cold weather gear; braving the freezing temperature inside and feeling very frightened that somehow the door would lock and there you would be until you froze to death!

The two houses we lived in were fully furnished and the second one two storeys with a basement. This latter had the boiler to heat the house and was much prized as a drying room. Being country brought up I believed all washing should be hung outside and, to my surprise, when these frozen stiff, awkward shapes were brought in they only needed a short time airing to be perfectly dry.

The coldest day we experienced was minus 21C which was unusual as winter temperatures were usually about minus 12C with snow from October to April. Surprisingly, I was rarely cold as everything indoors was heated, and going out we donned layers of coats, scarves, gloves and overshoes. Getting one small boy ready to play outside in the winter took ages. Invariably it wasn’t long before he needed to come inside for the toilet or food and the process had to be reversed. Summer was much easier as our area became a giant sand pit, but as temperatures rose so too did the black flies!

Clothes were ordered from the Eaton Department Store catalogue which always contained the possibility of the garment being much nicer than it looked on the page, or the reverse (much like shopping on-line today).  Often clothes sent by kind family from Australia were too thick and warm except for outdoors.  Communication was by letter with delivery time being a week to ten days. Because of the cost we had only one phone call home to Tasmania in our three years in Goose Bay. It was wonderful – if emotional - to speak to our combined families and I was amazed at my father’s Scottish burr; I had never noticed it before.

One cure for homesickness was that most of the civilian personnel were young, and babysitters plentiful from the older children of other families, so we were able to enjoy a very active social life around my husband’s shift work. Dances, parties, films, ice hockey in winter and baseball in summer, bike riding, playing bridge, afternoon teas and suppers, snowshoeing and so forth. The big night out was a visit to the American Officers Club where food and drink were cheap. There we also encountered our first One Armed Bandits – and they did have an ‘arm’ in those days. It was reputed that these machines paid the best odds in the USA - even if not for us. Summer holidays, when others left to see family and we took the opportunity to explore eastern Canada, were looked forward to with much anticipation and were a nice cooling off period for people living and working closely together.

After three years it was time to leave - with another son, money in the bank, many close friends and an experience only a few could share.

I look online today and am amazed. There are two ‘highways’ to Goose Bay; the American air-force has left and there are hotels advertising for tourists in both Goose Bay & Happy Valley!

Mary is a Member of Pat Ryan's Writers Group, and Pat offers this glowing recommendation of Mary's work:

"It is a pleasure to congratulate Mary Chetwin Powell / Juliette Davis on her significant achievement.  Over the past 3 years I have enjoyed being part (a very small part) of her journey as she shared some of her drafts with us - the Writing Group.  The structure of a week in a Real Estate Office provides the reader with a cohesive and believable glimpse into the behaviour of a variety of characters.  It is a warm, humorous, recognisable, contemporary tale of everyday transactions in the Real Estate world.

Patricia Ryan - Writer Group Tutor"

Mary explains a little of went into bringing this novel to fruition:

"Thanks in part to Pat Ryan and the Writers Group at U3APP I have launched my first fiction novel onto the world.  I launched it under my pen name Juliette Davis.

It was great fun writing the book and also fun sharing some of the stories with fellow writers in the U3APP writing group who all gave helpful feedback and often laughed, which heartened and motivated me to continue. 

Mayhem in Melbourne looks at life working at Caruthers Real Estate.  It follows Juliette, a Senior Property Manager in this busy real estate office, through an action packed week of highs and lows, difficult and lovely tenants and landlords. It introduces us to Juliette’s colleagues and her interactions with them and the stories they have to tell. Through personal experience I know you learn a lot about human nature in the Real Estate industry.

We need to find humour and joy to life our spirits in these stressful times. I hope Mayhem in Melbourne  does this by taking you into Juliette’s world with laughs, hijinks and some very human stories.

The book is available through all Amazon sites in both a Kindle/eBook version and paperback.

It is also available at Barns and Noble who have the eBook version for nook readers.  If you have trouble sourcing it, I am happy to organise a copy for you. Please email me: marychetwinpowell@hotmail.com

If you read it I’d love to know your thoughts."

At sixty, the combination of a serious health scare, unexplained depression and a subsequent seven day transformative retreat, allowed Joanna to fully come to terms with her life and led to her following her childhood dream of creating music, in particular writing music and lyrics.  Despite a total lack of theatrical and musical knowledge, the overwhelming urge to write a stage musical took hold.

Joanna set about the difficult task of learning how to write music; she’d always ‘heard’ music in her brain and had songs yearning to escape from inside her head. Now was the time to put this, along with lyrics, down on paper, eventually to be performed.   She was extremely fortunate, and Joanna may say “lucky”, to meet up with two people who could assist her; one a woman she met on a tram who was able to translate her rough handwritten music into a gorgeous piano score, and another, a fabulous barefoot pub singer, after which the musical “The Time Pilgrims” was born.

Over the ensuing twenty years Joanna continued to focus her musical talents, and wrote forty songs, all professionally recorded, many of them included in the two musicals she’s written; one titled “Pink” which has been performed, the other “The Time Pilgrims”, waiting in the wings, perhaps to be turned into an educational, interactive computer game; nothing is out of the question where Joanna is concerned.

In 2000 another touch of fate saw Joanna meeting Sir Tim Rice at the Arts Centre in Melbourne.  After an amusing exchange, he invited her to send him her first three songs, and liked them enough to invite her to his London base, by which time she’d written and recorded four more CD tracks.

Sir Tim Rice provided the encouragement for Joanna to continue with her long suppressed dream, and they remain good friends today.  After he read her short story, “Miracle in Pink”, published by Penguin Books in the anthology “There’s so Much More to Life than Sex and Money”, he suggested this would be a wonderful idea for her second musical.  She subsequently wrote and produced “Pink” which has won various workshops and showcases.  Some of you may remember that a DVD of the two-hour performance was shown at Mary Kehoe Centre in mid 2018.

In February 2009, the devastating Black Saturday bushfires engulfed the town of Marysville, destroying almost everything in its path.  Joanna and her partner have a farm in Taggerty, where the fire was eventually contained.  She joined the team of volunteers at the CFA hub where local cooks had set up a temporary kitchen.  While she was cutting sandwiches for the continuous line of exhausted firefighters, a poignant tune came into her head along with one line of verse. 

When she found a few spare minutes, she quickly put pen to paper, but that’s all she could bear to write at that very emotional time.  In the coming months and years this one line continued to gather dust and was almost forgotten until this year, the tenth anniversary of those dreadful fires.

Early in 2019 Joanna heard about a Regional Arts Victoria Grant, in conjunction with the new Marysville Gallery (MIRA), for artists who had pictures reflecting the ten years since the Bushfires.  After making enquiries as to whether this abandoned and unfinished song might qualify as background music, and despite only having three days before submissions closed, it brought that one line of music out of the dust and into the daylight to be completed. 

Pressed for time as well as the support needed to complete the song in time to enter the competition, Joanna went to great lengths, both metaphorically and literally, to ensure the song was ready, followed by a tortuous submission writing process, and finally tendering “Paradise Lost” just a minute before the deadline.   Some of these lengths included a wild car ride, writing lyrics as her partner drove her from Whitfield, over Tolmie Mountain, through Mansfield and up to Eildon’s Skyline Rd to a house perched precariously on a sheer cliff near the fire lookout.  But the achievement of one page of ‘real’ sheet music, computerized by the local musician she found at the end of this drive, made the escapade more than worthwhile, and it gave her enough to submit as a grant proposal.

Ten days later a delighted Joanna received a congratulatory call to advise that she had won the grant, with sufficient funds to finish this, along with another previously written composition, “The Dance of Life”.  By changing two of its verses, it became a song of reverence for nature, respect for the planet as well as our own duty of care.

But things didn’t end there; the song had to be ready for the official opening of the Marysville Art Gallery in just a few weeks time, which meant another busy flurry of activity for Joanna on this exciting journey. 

“Paradise Lost” had an astounding effect on some visitors when it was finally played during the bushfire-related exhibitions at the Marysville Gallery; some wept openly, grateful for ‘permission to cry’ and ‘not be brave anymore’. “The Dance of Life” was performed at the closing of this event on 4 April, a fitting song of hope and renewal for all those who had lived through those disastrous times and come out the other end with newfound strength and resilience.

-o0o-

One would imagine the adventure might now be over with this success under her belt; but Joanna went on to introduce “Paradise Lost” to the U3A Port Phillip choir and it has now become part of the choir’s repertoire.  To coincide with this, Joanna heard that Jonathon Welch, of ‘Choir of Hard Knocks’ fame, would be visiting Marysville to run a community-building choir workshop and contacted him as she felt this very relevant number would be an ideal one to be included in the workshop.

The reply from Jonathon was more than Joanna could have hoped for; she was invited to sing her song – solo – at the concert on 7 April, after which his choir of eighty would perform.  After ingesting copious amounts of pineapple juice (good for the voice) and trembling in her boots, Joanna sang “Paradise Lost” to a large local audience in Alexandra Town Hall and received thunderous applause, after which Jonathon interviewed her and endorsed her dream that it would be wonderful for the song to now travel to other choirs, perhaps via the U3A network and other community groups. 

The feedback from members of this audience was not lost on Joanna, with many thanking her afterwards for the ‘gift’ she had given them, especially allowing them to open up and cry after ten years of bottling up the tears of grief - men and women alike.  One woman who had managed to save only herself, her cat and her dog, had never shed a tear, until now when Joanna hugged her and allowed those tears to flow freely on her shoulder.  Joanna, understandably, refers to this as the “the most moving moment in my life”.

And where to now for Joanna?  Naturally she is not sitting back resting on her laurels any time soon!  She’s keen to find a way to perform some of her work through mediums such as podcasting, or perhaps her dream of turning the musical “Pink” into a serialised radio musical.

She would love to meet and have a chat with people who are audio-savvy radio enthusiasts, sound recording editors, music buffs, writers, musicians, computer notation programmers, etc.  In short people who’d like to spend a bit of time brainstorming ideas for producing interesting, broadcast quality material. 

If you feel like you have something to share with Joanna, or can offer some advice, she would love to chat with you.  Send an email to U3APP4Kate@gmail.com and we’ll put you in touch.