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Spring – Weeds
One quarter of the weeds among my chamomile
Weeds, weeds, weeds.
Oh, how we gardeners hate them.
But just like snails and other pests
they grow in such abundance,
especially when at last
the sun shines down upon us.
When winter looks like passing on,
when rain and rain and yet more rain
has blessed us;
when I think my fingers might not freeze,
when the joy of spring has come
and I can relish its delights;
I venture out beyond the flowers
just outside my door
to be greeted with a multitude,
an overwhelming mini forest
of clinging, grasping, just won’t bloody budge
display of greenery
that I really do not want.
They’re in the lawn.
What lawn I ask when I see dead roots
and really not much more.
They’re on the bank I planted
with chamomile and clumps of oregano.
Now I have to taste the leaves;
is this thyme or a clever little weed
that looks so very similar?
No smell, that’s strange and no, it didn’t kill me
but after hours of digging and pulling
and quite a lot of swearing
with blunted fingers and muscles sore,
I really don’t know what hurts more,
the sight of these buckets of weeds
that clung to my well composted soil,
or my aged, aching bones.
The Joys of Modern Technology
Amazing isn’t it? Just when you need the computer to work, the printer to communicate with the computer and all that incredibly clever modern technology to just get on with the job, that’s when they have a breakdown.
This coming Sunday is a big day for me and for a group of my writing friends. We will meet at my house at 7.30am, ready to start writing a book for 10 – 14 year olds when we are given the parameters at 8am, via the computer of course. ‘Write a Book in a Day’ raises funds for The Kids Cancer Project; the money goes to research into childhood cancer and the books (written by lots of different groups like us) are given to children in hospitals all around Australia. Each writing group is given a different set of characters, a setting and an issue, plus five random words. By 8pm on Sunday our book, complete with illustrations, must be emailed to the organisers and the hard copy has to be posted on Monday.
I’m telling you this so that you will understand why I panicked last Friday evening when my laptop did a meltdown. I couldn’t actually read the message because the screen went dark blue, then black in seconds, but it was something like ‘There is no link.’
Friends In My Garden: Camellia and Pansy
I recently went to Queensland (see my previous post) to escape the cold weather here in the hills out of Perth in Western Australia. Now that I have returned it is such a delight to open my curtains on these winter mornings and, despite the rain and cold, or maybe because of them, to be greeted by these beauties.
For those of you who enjoy my poetry, I’ve taken the words from my collection, Friends In My Garden, and matched them with these photos.
All of the poems are about real friends or family, depicted as things found in my garden, so, Camellia and Pansy were written for people who have been, (some still are) important in my life. Pansy is now twenty five but this was written when she was two.
Escaping Cold Perth: Palm Cove, Queensland
Our plan was to spend a couple of days in Brisbane catching up with family, then head further north for the warmth. Flying to Cairns from Brisbane, we were picked up in a very comfortable Audi and taken to Imagine Drift apartments in Palm Cove. The accommodation, booked at least six weeks earlier, overlooked a car park instead of the promised pool view. With only one other apartment available, we moved to it – angled view of the pool, but air-conditioning was not working, fans rattled and the door to the balcony wouldn’t lock. I hadn’t checked school holidays for NSW; everywhere was full. Not my best piece of travel planning.
The pool and its surrounds did look very inviting, so we ventured in on day two. Freezing. We thawed out in the spa and enjoyed the greenery.
Amazing scenery abounds in the area, and we were lucky to book a private tour to the Atherton Tableland on the Saturday
My Favourite Teacher
Having a favourite teacher might seem like an oxymoron to those of you who had a difficult time at school. This piece is from my memoir, which begins with the introduction ‘Getting To Know My Dad’ which I posted here several weeks ago. I am grateful for the many responses I received for that piece and hope that you will be inspired to comment on this excerpt from my life story. Teachers can have a huge influence on our lives. I hope you had a few good ones.
A very old photo of ‘Mauldy’ about 1956.
Mother Imelda
Mauldy we called her. Mathematics, history, geography and geology were the subjects that Mother Imelda taught me in high school.
She was a big woman; big in heart as well as body and short tempered. Her fuse was lit by those silly girls in year eight, but also by me when we argued over maths.
‘I’ll never pass both A and B,’ I yelled at her before sitting for my Junior level mathematics exams.
‘All right,’ was her reply, hands on hips, wimple askew, ‘but if you do, then you’ll study maths A for your Leaving.’
I had to relent, sure that I would win; but I didn’t. Somehow I scraped through with both of them and from then on we had regular battles. My teacher, chalk in hand, bashing mathematical symbols on the blackboard, me fighting tears while protesting that I couldn’t make any sense of her calculations.
Highly Commended – two awards for my short stories
I have received Highly Commended awards and publication in a collection of short stories for two of my stories. I’ve included a couple of excerpts from each of them.
One Week To Harvest
From the doorway of his shed Gus watched the motor bike – a Harley Davidson, its shiny black metal splattered with mud. His ears throbbed at each rev of the throttle; the pain was nothing compared with the agony gripping his heart . . .
Harry, his black coat dripping, wandered into the shed. Doggy eyes sought answers from his master. He had followed the bike, bearing Amy, as far as the gate. His tail normally wagged so fast it knocked cups off the coffee table. Now it drooped, leaving a wet trail on the floor . . .
Country Life
Waving the torch around, I noted a brick fireplace, pale brown stains on the ceiling, walls painted yellowish green, jarrah floor boards, no curtains on the window. Plonked in the middle of the living room were the boxes that we had packed several days earlier . . .
It was one in the morning when we fell into bed. Almost immediately, it started; thump, thump in the ceiling. Eyes staring into the dark, heart thumping as loudly as the intruders, I was wide awake and ready to defend my babies . . .
I hope you are dying to find out what happened next.
My stories are published in Timber, which is the latest of the Stringybark Stories, published by Smashwords (an Australian publisher, like Amazon) Use the code WK297 when downloading the collection in eBook format to get a 25% discount, making it about A$2.80 until 24 August 2018. Price can vary depending on $Aus/$USA exchange rate. Hard copies will be available around late July.
I have now read the full collection and was impressed. I hope you too, will enjoy them. If you have a problem, please let me know and I’ll contact the publisher.
I’d also like to thank all of you who responded to my last piece, ‘Getting To Know My Dad.’ I’m certainly encouraged to keep writing my memoir and it seems that more than just family will be interested in the story. I hope that at some point my children and grandchildren might take a look at what I’ve written. Finding that cousins, friends and even even passing acquaintances are sufficiently interested to comment, is very encouraging.
Of course I’m very interested to see what you think of my award winning short stories and if you feel like passing on the information to your friends, that’s even better. I love to hear what readers think of my writing, especially something like these stories.
Getting To Know My Dad
Born at the beginning of the Second World War, I have memories that are unique to an Australian child of that era. Many of us didn’t know our fathers because they went off to England to help the British fend off the Germans, or to places like New Guinea to fight the Japanese. For several years I have been writing my memoir. Not having a father in my life for those first few years meant that when he did come home, I had great difficulty learning to relate to him. In this piece I have tried to portray something of that feeling.
This is the photo, which I think shows my fears on that day when a ‘strange’ man came back into my life.
Because this is a very personal story I’m not sure how it will be judged by others and I don’t know if it is suitable for anyone other than my family to read. I will greatly appreciate feedback from you, my friends and family.
This chapter is an introduction to my memoir which I have called ‘A Child of the War Years.’
Please let me know what you think.
GETTING TO KNOW MY DAD
As a small child I thought ‘Daddy’ was a photo on my mother’s dressing table. When other children had real, live fathers to kiss goodnight, I had only that photo, of a man with bushy eyebrows and ears that stuck out below a dark blue cap. He had kind eyes and a wide smile that showed off his straight white teeth. I wanted to know why he had a picture of a crown on his hat and wings like a bird sewn on the pocket of his jacket. Mummy told me that I should be very proud because he was in the Royal Australian Air Force and he was flying airplanes in a place far away, called England.
The one occasion when I was aware of a man (hopefully my father) visiting our home in Floreat, he arrived at the front door with a broom and flowers for my mother. They hugged and kissed, then raced off into my mother’s bedroom and I continued playing with my doll behind the lounge room chair.
The visit was probably when dad had short leave from Cunderdin or Geraldton, although, even when based in Subiaco he would have had to stay in barracks most of the time. I must have been about two, because in the June he was in Victoria and New South Wales, leaving from there for the UK.
I was three and a half when my father returned home. Mummy, Granny, Grandpa and some of my aunts were at the Perth Railway Station to meet him. My big cousin, John, rescued me from a forest of legs—more legs than I’d ever seen—running past me, making me turn around and around searching for the people I knew.
Sometimes I Think I Live In Paradise
Morning view from my back verandah
Only two weeks ago I was raving about the wonders of autumn. I took this photo from my back verandah, thinking how blessed I was to see this as I stepped outside each morning.
Then in the late afternoon, with the sun accentuating the pale bark, my large gum tree (I didn’t plant it, don’t know the name) stood out like a sentinel, towering over everything.
Parrots love these red blossoms
I’m sure the weeping specimen in front of it is not supposed to be flowering yet, but, before parrots denude it of colour, I rushed again for my camera.
Autumn: A Time To Gather and Prepare
Gone the heat of summer days
and fear of fires raging in the hills.
Autumn is my favourite time of year,
a time to gather firewood, to stack the heaps
against the wall of my verandah.
A time for clearing out the wardrobe –
Sew a button on that coat, polish boots and
hope my last year’s trousers haven’t shrunk.
With warmer clothes come fluffy slippers,
electric blankets, water bottles, an extra doona on the bed.
We check our home heating – electric, gas
or good old-fashioned fire.
We clear the gutters, store away the barbecue
and summer’s other chattels.
Autumn and Liquid Amber
Crepe Myrtle
Autumn is my favourite time of the year in the Perth hills. Morning air is crisp and dew is often present on the well established plants in my garden. In the last two years I’ve added a few trees for the colour of their leaves, when the summer flowers have finished. This Crepe Myrtle is only a year old, but already it brightens the little court yard, giving me a lift when I open the curtains each morning.
Chinese Tallow
My Chinese Tallow will eventually grow tall, but already it glows in the setting sun as the leaves slowly turn from green to this amazing red.
Then there’s my Liquid Amber. I have grown one of these in each of my gardens over the years, but the cooler nights up here have made this specimen the most stunning of all. A few years ago, when compiling my poetry collection, ‘Friends In My Garden,’ I wrote this poem for a friend who was an excellent clothing designer, creating gowns for weddings and balls.
I hope you like it and as always, please share it with your clever designing friends.
I Have Found My Desk
This must sound like an odd title for a blog, but I’m sure most of you know that feeling of wading through papers every time you want to find one thing. I’m talking about the papers that stay on your desk, initially in some sort of order, which probably only you can follow, but they have to stay there until you can get around to dealing with them. Once they’re filed, or put away somewhere that makes the desk appear tidy, you forget about them – at least I do – until a nasty bill appears, or you receive an email from family, a friend, the tradesman who gave you that great quote which you promised to follow up and meant it. I mean the kind of quote that will increase dramatically when you ring again, or the tradesman will be overseas for six months if he hasn’t gone out of business.
Natural History Museum and Goodbye UK
This week marks the end of my Travel Tales for a while. Susanne and I left York after our one night stay in the hotel and caught the direct train back to Banbury, where we had booked three nights in Whately Hall, the local Mercure Hotel. They responded to my request for a quiet room with a suite overlooking lawn and gardens at the rear of the building so we heard very little traffic, even though this hotel is situated on the main road in Banbury. Having these final few days near London meant that we were able to spend time with my son and daughter-in-law, plus a day with the youngest members of my family.
The Natural History Museum has to be one of the most fascinating places in the world, particularly for curious children. We arranged 
to meet in the huge foyer, knowing that the children would go immediately to that enormous skeleton model. All we had to do was keep an eye out for them.
He moves up and down and roars at the excited children.
Like all children, these two were fascinated by the moving, roaring dinosaurs.
I’ve been to London’s Natural History Museum at least four times, mainly with various grandchildren, and have discovered something different each time, but that is what sticks in children’s memories.
Return to York via Bolton Abbey: The Church of St Mary and St Cuthbert
After several weeks of writing things other than Travel Tales (which I hope you enjoyed) I will now tell you about our return to York on the 9th June 2016. We were supposed to make our way to Stratord-on-Avon, see a Shakespearean play, enjoy the town, then return to Banbury by a series of trains with a major change in Birmingham.
However, after the recent terrifying drive through the storm in the Lake District, further possible adventures were removed from our itinerary and we decided to return to York on a road we now knew (sort of), spend a night in a hotel there and get back to Banbury by direct train the next day.
By ten o’clock we were loaded up and on our way out of Ambleside. The car had to be back at the depot in York by 5pm, but we had plenty of time.
A Gypsy Caravan. Sorry if the term offends, I don’t know what else to call them.
Susanne had never seen a gypsy caravan, so we stopped to photograph this colourful example, parked at the side of the road, as we drove into a village at about midday.
My tired sister, waiting for our pub lunch
Adding character to the decor
Getting Lost in Google
I can’t stand it anymore, the frustration of trying to find information on the internet. I guess you, too, have spent hours, wasted away a whole day at a time, or at least an afternoon, with Google, investigating sites that disappear as soon as you try a tangent, or once you’ve started on a path, lead you off to another one that is actually in Russia, or Lapland and has absolutely nothing to do with the information you seek.
Yesterday I had that sort of afternoon. I want to enter a couple of my stories in Australian Writing Competitions. Why don’t the promoters of such competitions give you the closing date, up front, in clear print? By the time I have investigated heaven knows how many sites, almost invariably finding that the closing date was yesterday or last week, my head’s in a mess. The one good chance that I did discover allowed me to read the winning entries from the last ten years. WOW! I can actually see what sort of material they want. Great. Now all I need to do is find the story which I’m sure will gain me the next prize if they would just let me know the closing date for this year’s entries. And if I can just remember what title I used for the last version so that I can find it again. Maybe it got lost when my laptop had a meltdown, but, a few deep breaths, quick prayers to whoever or whatever might be the patron saint, guru, karma of budding writers, and I’m sure I will have that little treasure resurrected and ready to enter.
Favourite Books From The Last 12 Months
This weekend I am at the Writers’ Festival in Perth, so I thought it would be a good time to review some of my favourite reads since the last festival. I had the pleasure of listening to and meeting Louise Allan, a lovely, natural lady, who seems surprised and perhaps a little overwhelmed by the success that has come her way. I hope you will all read this, her first novel, and love it as much as I have.
I think all of my choices are excellent reads, but would love to hear your opinions and comments. I’d also like to know what your favourite books were.
The Sisters’ Song: Louise Allan
I am reading this book for the second time, partly because I recommended it to my book club and we are meeting to discuss it next week. I’m enjoying it even more the second time.
Wordsworth’s Cottage and a Monster Storm
Dove Cottage
We had planned for our last day in Ambleside, to visit Dove Cottage and the Wordsworth Museum, Ruskin’s house at Coniston and generally enjoy driving around the picturesque countryside.
Mary Mary Quite Contrary (our name for the GPS system that came with the hired car) behaved quite well; only one little detour and we were parking beside the cafe attached to William Wordsworth’s former home.
With tickets in hand we soon joined the merry group of Wordsworth admirers for the tour of Dove Cottage where he lived with his sister Dorothy (who seems to have done much of the work around the place while His Nibs swanned about, creating his poems.)
We began in a small room on the ground floor where Wordsworth received his guests. Coleridge was a regular and, from what I’ve read of Dorothy’s diary, he stayed with them often.
Busy Bee and Evocative
I receive heart-warming responses from some of you for my poetry, so here are a couple more. I may have posted ‘Evocative’ before; please forgive me if that’s so. It’s one of my favourite poems and one that I hope you will all enjoy. Please let me know if my images stir your memory.
If you’re not a ‘Busy Bee’ yourself (I’m certainly not one these days) I’m sure you will recognise a friend who is, in this poem. Please pass it on to them with love and appreciation; where would we be without them?
BUSY BEE
She buzzes about
ever so busy
my busy bee
darting from daisies
to dahlias and dianthus
dusting them all
with pernicketiness.
Collecting pollen
and flicking it in flowers,
where would my garden be
without her?
EVOCATIVE
Sweaty armpits, old gym shoes,
potatoes rotting in a cupboard,
dirty nappies, pig manure,
a drunk, lolling in his vomit.
Burning tyres, gutted homes,
flames roaring through the bush.
Fried onions, vanilla beans,
bacon and toast and percolating coffee.
Leather seats in a new car,
rain on parched earth,
a baby, fresh from the bath.
Eucalypt leaves on a wet day in London.
Yardley perfume that granny used,
sweet peas, picked from a garden.
Old spice after-shave,
the coat you always wore.
Holehird Gardens: Lake District UK
When Susanne and I received our tickets for the Chelsea Flower Show we were also given a year’s membership of the Royal Horticultural Society which included information about, and free or reduced entry into, amazing gardens all over the UK.
Discovering that Holehird Gardens was nearby, we had to take a look and as you will see from our photos, it was well worth the visit.
Stone walls surround the first, enclosed section of the garden which is managed by a group of enthusiastic volunteers. The day was warm but with rain forecast, we included umbrellas in our back packs. I love the way they have used the stone as a feature in the plantings.
Colours and textures are combined in a way that makes me want to paint these images, but as I’m not an artist, these photos have to satisfy that desire.
Lake Windermere Cruise: 2016
Lake Windermere
The whole of the Lake District in England is noted for its beauty – blue water lakes, mountains, gardens, elegant architecture and lots of rain to make the countryside green.
Ambleside, our chosen town, is at the northern end of Lake Windermere, a perfect place for boarding one of the ferries that carry tourists around this idyllic waterway.
Leaving Ambleside
After our long drive the previous day, we were in no hurry to venture out, so it was after 1pm when we boarded our boat and headed for Bowness.
We were extremely lucky to have picked a fine day. Everywhere we looked, people were enjoying themselves on yachts, motor boats, 
small rowing boats or just playing around in the water. The bird life was having fun too.
Friends In My Garden: Banished Rhus, A Pair of Doves
Today I intended to write about our cruise around Lake Windermere. Unfortunately I’m using a different computer and the photos won’t show up as I want them to. Instead I will share more of my poems from my book, ‘Friends In My Garden’ and hope that you like them .
I wrote these poems for friends and family, depicting each one as something found in a garden. ‘Banished Rhus’, as the name implies, was one person who I thought was my friend but, while staying at her home for a few days I realised that she was actually not a friend at all. If you have been badly hurt by someone who you believed to be your friend, I’m sure you will relate to this poem. You might even want to pass it on to her or him, although I never did. Banishing her from my garden of friends seemed the best tactic.
The second poem was written for a couple who visited Australia each year from their home in England. Sadly, he has since passed away, but for all of you who are in happy relationships, or who have benefited from a loving marriage or partnership in your life, I hope you enjoy this. You might even want to share it with your loved one.
As always, I’d love to read your comments which you can write in the ‘comment’ box at the bottom of the page.
Banished Rhus
I had a rhus tree
with leaves that were brilliant
enticing
inviting
admired from a distance.
I stepped too close
she attacked
spewing poison from her leaves
and dripping fiery sap.
Instant
was my reaction.
Even now the pain recurs
the rash appears
on tissue scar
when I recall
the venom of her wrath.
She’s gone of course
rooted out
and if ever I see her again
I’ll take care
to keep my distance
from false vindictive rhus.
A Pair Of Doves
Two white doves
return every year.
I love to hear their cooing
a gentle sound that soothes the soul.
While he’s out during the day
she tidies and titivates the nest
chats with other birds
gathers garden goodies for tea
then fluffs out her feathers to look her best
when he returns.
They share a meal
and snuggle down for the night.
Ripples of kindness float across the darkness
encompassing me.
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