I love reading. It’s that simple! I live in Perth’s Darling Ranges where you will find me avoiding winter’s cold snaps such as we are currently experiencing, curled up in one of my reading nooks, devouring new publications by my favourite authors.
A reading nook anytime, day or night.
Why this obsession with reading?
At an early age I cannot recall being surrounded by any reading material at all. Up to the age of seven, my childhood was spent in a cottage, a tiny four-roomed home built from a shed on my grandfather’s farm. If I read anything then it remains a mystery as there was no money to spare: I recall few newspapers, books or magazines in the home.
However, I do recall my deeply religious grandmother would sit at our bedside and sing to us before leaving to go home after a visit: one hymn remains clear in my mind to this day. Her influence was that of reading the Bible – a book that gave instruction on how to live her life and that generated and supported her beliefs. My first ‘how to’ book from the great canon of literature still influences my life to some degree, though I heard it, rather than read it – rather like excerpts from an audio-book! Hearing the written word had a profound, positive influence on my ability to comprehend what I later learned to read.
In our second home, my parents’ circumstances seemed to change. My brothers and I grew up surrounded by books. I was ten when we moved the sixteen miles further inland to my parent’s property and into our new home. During my years there, I acquired so many books and comics I felt like I was Alice in Wonderland! I’d go down the proverbial rabbit hole into worlds created by wonderful writers. Among the many worlds I visited were those of Anne of Green Gables and Pollyanna which were given to me by an aunt as her daughter had outgrown the series and long since left home. I still own those copies. My post as a guest on Louise Allan’s, Writer’s in the Attic highlights more of my background.
A space in which I enjoyed reading on a cold wintry day.
Comics hold a special place in my heart
During my teens, my mother bought June, a comic, for me to enjoy. June was a British weekly girls’ comic anthology published by Fleetway Publications and IPC Magazines from 18 March 1961 to 15 June 1974. (Wikipedia) . Was it each week my mother managed to give me a copy or each month? No matter. It was a treat beyond belief. My brother became familiar with the Phantom. We were fortunate as children to have our parents foster a love of reading a variety of genres.
To that end, I have few qualms about encouraging reading of comic books such as those my grandchildren enjoy. My one reservation is the content, at times, does sit as comfortably as I’d care it to. It raises the question for me, if the content of June or other comic books of the time, upheld the same values as those my parents subscribed to. Certainly, for the comics to have been given to us, they must have ‘passed muster’, so to speak!
Bedtime reading
At night I’d sit up and read till my eyes fell out of my head! My mother’s voice admonished me to turn out the light as she passed by my door to her bedroom. Once I heard silence descend on our home, I’d sneak the light back on and keep reading!
A legacy handed down – the joy of reading
I grew up surrounded by the love of literature, of reading. It was part of my everyday existence. It still is.
Coming home on the school bus, my brother and I had to bring home the loaf of bread and the newspaper. So we grew up with printed matter at the table. Dad, like many fathers, sat at the head of the table, paper open, after a long day’s work. Once the meal started it was laid aside, and afterwards, he might pick it up and read it in the lounge room. That was before the days of television.
When Dad died, Mum gave us the biography he was reading on Sean Connery. He enjoyed learning about other’s lives, as do I. The main point here is, my father was reading literature till the time he left us. Now that’s a testimony to the joy of reading.
Why are these seemingly insignificant events of importance to me?
Life without books is unimaginable to me! I live with books in every room – bookcases lining my walls, books I’ve bought and given away, books I discover in bookstores where the pages smell new; books I find with layers of dust on in second-hand stores, books I find on market stalls. Perhaps I ought to have been a librarian! It might have saved a lot of money!
Another reading nook I enjoy curling up in, whether it is in the cold of winter, rugged up; or during hot summer days, out of the heat. Reading is an escape for me, as well as a place of learning.
What do you enjoy reading?
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To be continued….
This is the first of a series of posts about my love of my reading and of readers in their element.
Some people can name the book that changed their way of thinking, the way they look at their world, without batting an eyelid. The answer springs quickly to mind and rolls off their tongue without hesitation. They sound erudite and sophisticated, having discovered some truth that resonates with them from between the pages of a well-thumbed edition. We’ve all had that experience, right? Haven’t we?
Cheated
I felt a little cheated when I couldn’t think of one. There must be one book that stood out from the rest? Sure, there have been plenty of books that I have fallen in love with and re-read many times, but I couldn’t honestly say that one had changed my outlook. Was there nothing that had given me a new perspective? Then it struck me, and I may well surprise you: the book I thought of was The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle.
The Very Hungry Caterpillar – Special Edition 2019
A family favourite
Published in 1969, I encountered the book when I was teaching and fell in love with its simplicity, it’s deeper meaning (one can read into it an entire spiritual journey) and the beautiful images. I bought the book in every size it was printed in – small to large, and much later, as the 50 year special edition. I enjoyed sharing the story with my two girls as bed time reading. They too, fell in love with the story.
Fall from grace
Not all libraries or educational bodies have treated the little caterpillar favorably. Despite its claim to fame, in 2023 it was actually banned from a school district near Toronto, Canada, (along with any book published before 2008). Along with many other classics, it was removed because it was not “inclusive” and “equitable”. Jacobs quips: ‘apparently no one identifies as caterpillar.’
Caterpillars and libraries go together!
Love affair
It’s been a lifelong love affair with this little caterpillar, bringing joy to three generations of readers: those in my household and those in the homes of my two daughters. I passed my books on. For two grandsons, one now in his mid twenties and the other now 5 years old, it became their snugly bedtime companion.
My youngest grandson loves to predict the text and impatiently reads ahead of me. He brushes me aside in his eagerness to track the caterpillar’s journey through the holes in the pages.
I absolutely love reading him that story as all the magic comes flooding back. That little creature, (the caterpillar I mean), still brings a smile to my face and will always have a special place in my heart.
Children enjoying literature is important to me. They learn to appreciate the written word, to relate to images, and to make sense of the world.
Introducing books early. Another book my granddaughter enjoyed.
Teacher, Teacher what do you read?
Discovering the beauty of his style, I sought out other Eric Carle stories. In my days as a pre-primary school teacher, I wrote programs around the stories and enjoyed sharing books such as Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? This was actually a collaborative publication with Bill Martin Jnr, and was published in 1967, two years before The Very Hungry Caterpillar published in 1967. One other book, Polar Bear, Polar Bear, What Do You Hear? was another favourite of mine. In truth, I considered many of his books were suited to reading and exploring in the classroom. This is confirmed in the awards he won for his service to literature. Read more about Eric Carle here.
Sewing “Caterpillow” Cousins
For a while I took to making Caterpillar pillows. Popular as they were, I chose to keep them to limit their production. The time taken to create the very hungry caterpillar’s cousins, was considerable.
Books that changed you
Quite simply, and in more ways than one, The Very Hungry Caterpillar has helped shaped the way I view some books. Simplicity, beautiful imagery and a happy ending are some of the keys. Most of all, I enjoy indulging in real life fairy tales and this one is a ‘happily ever after.’
Rediscovering “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” with my youngest grandson reminds me of the importance of reading to and with children. There is no substitute for the pleasure it brings in shared moments. I know that literature and overflowing bookcases are an irreplaceable part of my life. Do they play a part in yours?
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Songwoman by Ilka Tampke raises the question of connectedness to Mother Earth. In her extensive exploration of the meaning of an individual’s and a people’s ties to their land, I recall distinctive experiences of my own.
First, however, I would hasten to add, that a sense of ‘belonging to place’ is often and usually espoused in reference to indigenous peoples and less frequently in reference to non-indigenous communities or peoples. It is nevertheless, an experience I own.
Songwoman provoked recollection of three distinct occasions; each highlighted what I’ve always known within self. I believe this sense of knowing, of visceral connection and connectedness flows in and through all living things.
Ilke Tampke reads a passage from Songwoman
It is first remembered
… as the all-consuming, intensely powerful sense of wholeness, of being at one with the earth, the sky, the crops, the trees, the dry stream bed, the expanses of granite rock – the whole of the natural world around me. Tangible energy, call it spirit or source (or whatever one wants) infused and melded all.
Grief gave voice to this experience. At the time of my father’s passing, I walked on the land he’d farmed, the land on which I’d spent most of my childhood. I didn’t ‘look for’ him or this experience. It presented itself to me as I crossed a dry creek bed and walked the dirt track between two halves of a paddock sown with wheat. The blue sky domed over the whole, and I was swallowed in it, like Ailia, I imagine, within her serpent.
My father’s earthly presence had gone, yet his spirit was there, infused in all. Not to diminish what I experienced, I wonder, as I write this, if the land had belonged to generations of the same family, would it, could it, have been any more powerful. Like the Albion tribes, like indigenous communities claim.
My second claim …
to knowing a connectedness with ‘place’ is that which I know wherever I have ‘put down roots’. As our mere acre in Perth’s foothills blooms, as my feet walk on native and cultivated grass, as I spend time with family on the land that my home stand on, I feel a sense of ‘place’. It is shallower than my connection with the land of my childhood, yet it is equally tangible.
And a thirdly, feeling connectedness …
… where I’ve lived in cities surrounded by stone pavements, cement walkways, brick-walled buildings, these do not give rise in me to a sense of place that is mine. It is there, on a different level, like Ailia, perhaps, in Rome. For me, a city is a place of disconnection – noise, lack of touching raw earth with my feet, my hands, my senses. There’s a different smell – like London on a sticky, humid day, fetid with human sweat and endeavour. Perhaps those who’ve grown within such communities know a different way of being connected to place. It eluded me, except for brief moments – touching earth in a potted plant, or finding blades of grass with bare feet walking through a park.
I’ve no doubt that the sense of connectedness to inner self that is trendily promoted in retreats into the bush, forest escapes, and so on, is all to do with this sense of being connected within self from one’s core to that which we are essentially part of. It is about belonging to the unseen world.
Dressing the part
KSP Dinner with author, Ilk Tampke
I enjoyed an evening at the local writing space, Katherine Susannah Prichard Writers’ Centre, in Glen Forrest, Perth. It was a few years ago that we dressed the part, to gain a sense of the period in which the novel is set.
I enjoyed Ailia’s journey as she grew into Songwoman. I enjoyed learning more about early Britain, during the time of the Roman invasions. It is my heritage. I hear the story whisper. My Place. It is in my bones. It is my song, too.
Is that too bold a thing to state? I think not. Tampke has created a persona which, in the absence of oral tradition, gives history a voice, and so perpetuates connectedness, that sense of belonging, in written form. She gives a fresh voice to our song and reminds us of who we are.
Another book I have responded to can be read here.
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Once again, I’ve been busy sorting through ‘stuff’ in order to de-clutter or re-use items.
A few years ago, I assisted my mother de-clutter her home. Of course, being a hoarder, a collector, or any other synonym you wish to use, means you’d understand if I said it was a huge task. We had many laughs and a few tears in the process of ‘letting go’ of her precious collection of every other sort of re-usable –
paper
cardboard
old letters
envelopes
paper bags
plastic bags
packaging wrap
Being a ‘skinflint’
Perhaps my mother was an environmentalist in her own way, as she happily reused bags and wrappers, over and over. This led to an embarrassing situation for me.
In the 1970s, I remember being called a ‘skinflint’ when I washed, hung out and dried, plastic bags. This was in keeping with what I’d witnessed my mother doing as, like her, I saw no purpose in discarding a re-usable item.
I was shamed by my peer’s remark about my row of neatly pegged bags on my verandah line, ready to be reused for work lunches. I began to be less scrupulous and discarded the sandwich bags and other pieces of plastic until, after many years, I realised I had become what I considered, rather wasteful. A growing sense of guilt arose if I did not use that plastic bag or wrapper more than once. Even so, soiled items were discarded, not washed and reused.
It is quite different now with environmental concerns. I avoid plastic as much as possible.Images found on a google search are enough to encourage alternatives to using plastic.
Crafty creations with my granddaughter
Pieces of paper and cardboard boxes
Over the years I’ve followed in my mother’s footsteps and collected scrap paper for all sorts of purposes:
Envelopes, backs of fliers, scraps of paper and thin card of any shape or size are all re-usable for a note, a shopping list, a household memo to self or someone else, or any such purpose.
Stamps are cut or torn from the corners of envelopes – preferably with the full postmark – and given to the CWA (Country Women’s Association) as a fundraiser.
Boxes of all shapes and sizes are kept. I honestly cannot believe the range and sizes stashed for ‘future use’. For sometime, with storage an issue, I seldom kept boxes, except for craft projects. ‘Getting crafty’ is one way to use up the stockpile. More recently boxes of all shapes and sizes have serve as storage for memorabilia.
Stamps in good condition are preferred, not with sticky tape added!
Have you ever ironed paper?
Oh please, we’d inwardly sigh nearly every Christmas and birthday as we obliged our mother by carefully lifting sticky tape and not tearing the paper so it was re-useable!
Perhaps you can imagine my mother’s horror when her grandchildren ripped open gifts, impatient for what was inside. Imagine her laughter too, when she noted joy in the eyes of the recipients of a gift they would have much fun with. The discarded paper was rifled through, cut into smaller pieces and used again. We’d use it to cover school books, or to make scrapbooks.
I remember learning how to iron paper, so the creases were less apparent! However, as the years marched on, tears in cheap wrapping paper gift paper made it challenging to remove tape without damaging it. So of course, we didn’t bother. (Now, tears appear as you bundle the gift into it!)
Quality paper is a delight to use, though, and I adore wrapping paper that is patterned on both sides. However, re-used gift wrap was our norm. Every crumple and crinkle added character to our gifts, especially the ones we couldn’t iron out!
Cards – birthday and Christmas
Cards were used and reused in several ways. After noting who a card was from, and with the Christmas List updated, the fun part of cutting swirly shapes began.
First, we cut around the printed message inside the card, (so long as the writer’s message left sufficient space), and carefully cut a shape around the image on the front of the card. We now had two gift tags from each card, ready for next year’s gifts. Today we have crafty scissors with creative cutting edges that give the tags extra character.
How did we use these?
Apart from covering boxes, we added them to the front of an exercise book which was covered in brown paper. Once covered, the cards added, the student’s name, subject and grade (school year) were written onto the front. We would then cover the whole book with plastic or contact. What a mini craft in itself, long gone now! Somewhere, I still have my very first dressmaking book covered in this fashion.
Recycling Xmas cards
Is it de-cluttering or reusing, recycling, reducing?
In this day and age where the mantra re-use, recycle, reduce is almost falling on deaf ears, I guess I am proud of my mother’s spendthrift ways. She was both ahead of her time and a product of her time. Born in the 1930’s, she grew up through the depression years in Australia and knew what it meant to have to save every last piece of almost anything, to get by. In her time she was right on target.
A Blank Page?
As for paper re-use, today, I have a drawer full for grandchildren to draw on and to practice their cutting out skills, as well for writing our own lists and notes. In my mother’s footsteps I collate my collection from a lesser range than that listed above. However, there’s still the occasional item via snail mail; or packaging that is re-usable.
An empty box?
Gift wrapping paper and cards are perfect for covering cardboard boxes in bright decorative colours. I file my inherited stash of birthday and Christmas cards in shoe boxes covered with the fronts of old cards, giving each box my own unique touch.
Decluttering or recycling?
It is a bit of both. The process of de-cluttering requires using some of those stored bags and boxes. Labels are printed on card and paper. Actually re-using the items is a slower, less immediate way of de-cluttering, yet it is in-keeping with an ethic that has its place today.
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Why I checked out writing tips from a horror story writer
Writing tips spill from Stephen King’s memoir, On Writing! It is one of the best books I’ve ever read on how to go about creative writing. His raw honesty is compelling.
As an aside, years ago my daughter, aged 15 at the time, crawled into my bed between my husband and myself. It was uncomfortable and I got little sleep that night. In the morning her admission was having read a Stephen King novel that scared her!
I’ve not read a single novel of his as stories in that genre play on my mind. Much to my horror, my younger daughter grew up liking mean stories. In her father’s vein, she was quite at home with Dracula stories from mid primary. (By the way, I know that’s not one of King’s characters!) Even so, one of King’s stories proved too scary for her, so my genetic influence holds some sway! She is twenty plus years older now and reads all the horror stories and watches all the horror movies I can’t go near!
Writing tips apply to most genres
Back to King’s memoir. On Writing is nothing like his other books. And, of course, his advice is brilliant! Every review I come across on this book raves. Check out Goodreads.
If I quote all the bits that helped me I’d be over the top. I’ll choose a few standouts that hit the mark for me.
1. Use ‘said’
First of all, attribute dialogue by using ‘said’ rather than adverbs or adverbial phrases.Trust that you convey how the person says something without adding ‘ly’ words that modify verbs, adjectives and other adverbs. Try writing dialogue with an adverb then replace it with ‘said.’ Context will define how the person is speaking. I’ll not deign to give an example. If that’s what you need, please refer to his book!
2. Paragraphs are ‘maps of intent’
King’s extensive explanation of how a paragraph is created and its value in story writing is jam-packed with information. I’ve not come across a detailed analysis of how a paragraph works in creative writing before. With a background in formal writing I find the line,‘… you’ll find a paragraph forming on its own’ most helpful. I now allow creative flow to take over and disobey stringent expectations of topic sentences and supporting detail. It also depends on what I am writing, of course, as that only applies to fiction. As an aside, I’ve noted a huge shift in how copy is presented. Check out some upbeat blogs and note how font sizes vary and sentence structure and paragraphs are fashioned in ways I am only quasi-comfortable with. Added to this array of differences we are now competing with AI. Another rabbit hole I am exploring intermittently.
3. Avoid the passive voice
King claims the passive voice is for someone who is timid about their writing. I look for timidity and slash the words. Learn from good and bad writing out there and develop one’s own style, he says. As I learn the art of writing, I admit to imitating a style I’ve enjoyed to see if it might add to my own in some measure. One of my current works in progress seeks to emulate one of my newest author discoveries. She would be tickled that I’ve taken her style on board. Thing is, it’s not easy, it’s possibly not me, so I’m looking at a huge rewrite! That’s fine by me. Early days in a new manuscript mean lots of daring try-outs.
4. Read, read and read some more
Without reading one cannot learn. It is breath to the page as air is to lungs. Find any and every excuse to read: in bed, queues, travelling with audio books, waiting for kids, doctors’ surgeries – you name it – read! I’ve no issue with this tip, however, the one place I refuse to read is the loo! Comics and cartoon books in the paper rack in that tiny room belong to my partner for the time they were permitted in that space!
5. Forget plot!
What a challenging statement! King claims that stories make themselves in much the same way as our lives happen. While I find this helpful as it frees one to go down rabbit holes of creativity, I sense the need for structure in a created story. King doesn’t deny this, in fact states there’s a sequential narrative in story. In response to this gemstone of advice, it feels quite freeing. Structuring contemporary fiction can be tricky. Story arcs and structure trickle from the pages as characters move forward in their search for resolution to their quest. Although I know I will need to re-order and most likely re-write sections, the essential story moves itself forward. I can only hope it works for the reader.
King’s Toolbox
Of course, there are many more than five wonderful points in King’s The Toolbox and On Writingsections of his memoir. I’ll leave it to you to find out what he says about dialogue, description, theme, research, finding an agent, getting published – this list is not all-inclusive.
I’m about to re-read the ‘how to’ section which is wedged between his fascinating CV and shocking Postscript. It’s that good. Of course, I’ll not become a better writer by osmosis. I simply want his tips at my fingertips.
Finally, two quotes on writing tips to finish with:
‘…when the reader hears strong echoes of his or her own life and beliefs he or she is apt to become more invested in the story.’
and
‘…the job of fiction is to find the truth inside the story’s web of lies…’
(Acknowledgement: All quotes from Stephen King, On Writing, A Memoir of the Craft, Simon & Schuster, NY, 2000.)
For a few quotes that add to and support my own, check out Crafty House’s Review here.
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I grab a glass of wine and head out my back door for one of several outdoor settings. From there I gaze across Perth’s hills and lose myself amidst the trees. Its bliss! I don’t need to go much further than my own back yard to enjoy respite from my day. Yet, just down the road there is an option.
Local back yards
I could jump in my car and drive a few minutes to the stunning Mundaring Weir, pictured above. This water catchment serves Perth and many country towns in regional WA, thanks to CY O’Connor’s vision. I wrote about the Golden Pipeline that kept my mother’s garden alive, here.
A back yard ‘just down the road’
Recently a girlfriend invited me to visit her in Beverley to see her newly purchased home. What a brilliantly tidy town! Filled with tourist opportunities. We enjoyed breakfast across the road from this vintage car. Plus a meal at the local pub, a walk across the bridge that crosses the Avon river. We enjoyed our stay in the local caravan park, within easy walking distance of the main street and our dining venues. With an active theatre arts centre that attracts singers and shows of well known artists, we bound to find our way back there in the near future. Check out my reel of our recent visit here.
A regional back yard or two
Being a tourist in my own backyard is immeasurably pleasurable. I get to see great deal for much less money. No airfares for a start! Especially if I treat regional towns in WA as part of backyard.
Throughout my life, many family-focused road trips have taken me along the Great Southern Highway and other roads through the wheat-belt. I’ve passed through historic York, Quairading, Shackleton and ended my trip in Bruce Rock, my hometown more times than I can count!
There’s many sites worth seeing in each town. An historic walk of mosaic images captures my attention, as it proudly shows Bruce Rock’s history in works of art. In the image below, my mother, the grandddaughter of pioneering families, shows one of the slabs my brother and I managed to create.
As we pass through Quairading I note Jordan Sprigg’s sculpture of the bull. His works of art have gained world wide repute.
Some of the many ‘back yards’ I’ve visited in WA include Geraldton and Greenough. I loved our trip to Greenough. The historic place we stayed at was filled with curios. Nearby was a prospective source of family history, though that proved to be a wrong rabbit hole. But hey, that’s the fun of seeking out links.
City back yards
Weary of car travel? I chose to head across Canada by train rather than car. It is an exciting and relaxing option. But let’s see how that can translate to being in one’s own back yard.
Train travel is a wonderful option. My friend, Maureen Helen wrote about in her trip to Perth airport as a day’s outing.
Returning nearer to my own back yard
There are other options too. My local area holds many treasures. I plan to explore them. Like the Perth’s Hills Open Studios held each year. I wrote about it here.
There’s the local coffee shop, Whites Mill & Grind that serves one of the best coffees in town, along with delicious bagels. Just opposite a park, the staff willingly bring your take-away order to you while you chat under the trees!
Travelling in my own back yard is something I plan to do more of over the coming months. I’ll seek to share some of my discoveries along the way.
As a child, I lived on a farm a couple of miles out of a small country town in Western Australia. In the central wheat-belt it was ‘as hot as hades’ in summer and darn cold in winter. It was in this same environment that my mother’s own childhood taught her to grow ‘tough’ plants.
‘insertiums and lillybulls’
I recall a time believing that the silvery grey, five-thousand-gallon water tank that stood by our back door, was possibly on fire and that’s why firemen used water tanks. You see, it was the colour of the nasturtiums that tricked my thinking into believing some weird story that linked the two! Vivid oranges and yellows clung to and licked the sides of the tank, no doubt held in place by an invisible framework of ‘chicken wire’ that held the long stems.
My mother grew ‘insertiums and lillybulls’ in her own childhood garden – or perhaps her mother did, and that’s simply what her memory recalled. Even so, in a lengthy poem I wrote for my mother’s 70th birthday, to capture something of her life, these unique sub-names are recorded for familial posterity.
At the base of the water tank were lily bulbs, and another oddity that never actually grew at all.
Today I grow Nasturtiums at the foot of a huge Zamia Palm we inherited on the purchase of our foothills home. They emblazon the edge of the garden bed and scatter their seed pods onto the nearby lawn. As I wandered through my mixed garden it struck me how it too is a mix: somewhere between” let’s do all native plants” (West Australian, and in particular the hills) and country cottage. Oh, and one other range of hardy plants. Geraniums and succulents.
Other hardy plants
My mother also grew a large variety of geraniums and pelargoniums. (Check out here for the discussion of whether it’s a geranium or a pelargonium)
Our second childhood home garden
On the farm property named after my parents: “Kenberdale”, there were numerous plants my mother grew with great delight, pride and joy. Amongst them, in my mind’s eye, I see mauve and pink Zincas and other pretty flowers in the garden beds that lined the fence at the front of the homestead.
It was from this farm base that my mother undertook the brave venture of beginning a plant nursery. Initially she sold plants she grew herself. Gradually, even though the farm was 16 miles from the nearest town, 17 from another town and about 30 from a major town, she drew customers district wide. Many years later, after discovering how much in demand plants were, my parents began a garden centre in Merredin, the largest town in the district. Her garden nursery won mention in the local newspaper. If there’d been awareness of entrepreneurial recognition, I’m sure she qualified. She ran the centre for over ten years, and won the loyalty of customers who travelled miles to her centre, for her potted plants and her gardening advice.
(My parents in the garden centre they opened in Merredin. Ack: Newspaper source unknown. Please advise me if you are aware of the source.)
How do succulents fit into my idea of a garden?
In short, they don’t! Or should I say, they didn’t. Not until I realized that my mother’s capacity and wisdom in growing a plants was based on sheer necessity. Necessity to save water while, at the same time, to cater to her passion to garden. She discovered, researched and probably used knowledge from her childhood to grow plants that needed minimal ‘tlc’: tender loving care. Many of them were succulents.
We lived ‘on the edge of the desert’ – or so it seemed to my brother’s partner when she first visited the family farm, sixteen miles east of the nearest town. Dry and dusty in summer, it may well have appeared desert-like. Not quite, geographically, but when the main water supply is that which is piped the 300kms or 180 plus miles, from a weir in the capital city via the Golden Pipeline and its subsidiary lines, it’s probably a justified exclamation. It may be well worth noting, that if it hadn’t been for CY OConnor’s vision to establish the Pipeline, many of the rural towns in WA may well have never been established.
Hence, you may see why my mother grew succulents.
Bright pots complemented the succulents along her garden wall in her final home.
A massive cactus grew beyond the yard that contained her well-watered cottage garden. Well-watered? Yes. From the supply of tank water stored in an overhead tank, and pumped religiously onto the garden and buffalo grass lawn (later ‘lipia’ as it was more ‘water friendly’. And I might add, prettier and less prickly to sit on, oh, except for the bees that liked the flowers!)
How did the farm capture water?
As well as the water stored in the tank, piped water from the main line fed into farm troughs for the livestock.
At some stage, my father had a massive dam, built barley 500 meters from the house. This supplemented farm needs. His pride and joy, the only dam he built on the property, was almost washed away by flooding rains in the following year. Fortunately, the banks withstood the deluge that channeled itself into the dam.
There was also a natural soak and a natural catchment area between two massive swathes of granite rock in another area on the farm. This, however, was intended for the sheep. Not my mother’s garden.
Back to My Mother’s garden
My mother’s first gardens were those of her childhood on Stoneleigh and Greenacres, her two childhood farms. From there she resided briefly in Bruce Rock with her parents, while she worked in the local town. When she married and moved to the ‘cottage’, as we fondly named it, on the farm two miles out of the town, she established a modest garden, mostly of ‘tough plants’.
I recall raised granite stone beds, dry earth and a succulent or two. This was my earliest home. It stood at the base of two massive granite outcrops, and, as I recall, was fed only by rain water from the tanks the nasturtiums grew over. (I don’t recall, but there may have been piped water from the town supply).
That’s one element of ‘a long story’ about my background to succulents.
The next chapter
When my mother passed away, we discovered hefty concrete planters of succulents littered through her garden beds in the home she lived in. I was amazed to discover hardy Jade and many others I’ve no names for! We had her permission to transfer the potted plants into our care. Today they are ‘looking good’ in their new space.
Dry spell
It’s been a long dry spell here, in Perth WA. Since October last year, Perth recorded just 21.8 millimetres of rain in the six months to March 2024, marking the city’s driest six-month spell in 150 years.
So these tough plants have needed to be watered with scheme water. This water comes from the same source as that which serves the wheat-belt. It strikes me how small this vast state is: the same weir supplying a city, and still feeding the rural towns along the pipe lines built in the early 1900’s, servicing towns that manage to grow gardens despite being on the edge of the extremely dry hinterland. It makes me wonder how the pioneers managed. More on that, in a future post.
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ANZAC Day took on a depth of meaning when I learned about my great uncle, Patrick McGuinness who died as a result of critical wounds in Villers-Bretonneux, France. While always aware of those who paid the ultimate price, it was only a few years ago that I learned about my great uncle’s sacrifice. It was a deeply emotional occasion when I sought to honour him by taking part in a parade in my local area.
Peter Terpkos, the author of the article, is a keen family historian focussing on those who served in the World Wars. He wrote the following article on Patrick McGuinness after innumerable hours of research: I’d be surprised if there’s anything he’s not uncovered! The article and map are a precursor to a biography which I look forward to in the near future.
IN HONOUR OF PATRICK McGUINNESS
51st BATTALION AIF
CENTENARY ARTICLE – ANZAC DAY 2018
By Peter Terpkos
Patrick McGuinness was born on the 26th of April 1878 in the town of Euroa in regional Victoria. His parents were Irish immigrants Ellen McGuinness (nee Twomey) and Hugh McGuinness Snr, Hugh being a prominent member of the Euroa community. Patrick was the second youngest of 12 children and lived at ‘Birchell Cottage’, the family home located at 29 Templeton Street, Euroa.
Patrick attended Euroa State School No 1706 and was educated under the instruction of teacher Mr Murray. He left Euroa to attend boarding school at the South Melbourne College (S.M.C.) where he received his Secondary education. The South Melbourne College buildings were located at the time at 225 Banks Street, across the road from the South Melbourne Town Hall. They were demolished in 1905 to make way for the future South Melbourne Police Station built later in 1928, which stands on the site today.
The South Melbourne College was a very well-known private school and regarded as the most notable in Victoria. It enjoyed a ‘stand out’ record for academic achievement like no other and assumed a leading position on matters of equal opportunity. It was reputed to be a place where both girls and boys could compete for studious excellence on equal terms. Mr John Bernard O’Hara was the Headmaster at the time and is described as being an excellent, inspirational teacher and schoolmaster. John O’Hara was also a well-regarded poet and published his most popular work “Songs of the South” in 1891, during the time of Patrick’s attendance. Under such tutelage, Patrick completed his matriculation examinations in November 1894, which was successfully announced in The Argus newspaper (Victoria), on 3rd January 1895.
Amid 1895, Melbourne and greater Victoria were still suffering the effect of the 1893 banking disaster, and the economy remained in a state of deep depression. The Victorian gold rush was a distant memory and a great number of people simply packed their belongings and left Victoria for a better life elsewhere. Indeed, Victoria lost more people through emigration during the period 1891-1906 than it had gained in the preceding 30 years during 1860-1890. With the sharp decline in population also came a contraction in demand for community services and in just five short years, 347 Victorian state schools closed its doors. As a young man who was aspiring to become a school teacher at the time, the prospect of remaining in Victoria was not favourable for Patrick. Then on the 3rd December 1896, Patrick’s father passed away in hometown Euroa, the end of a major chapter in the McGuinness family history.
Western Australia on the other hand, was experiencing an economic boom like never before. Significant gold finds at Kalgoorlie and Coolgardie in the early 1890s attracted the recently unemployed workers from Eastern States in their thousands. The population of Western Australia exploded from 47,000 in 1890, to 179,708 in 1900, to over 300,000 by 1910. Over the same period, Perth went from being a quiet town of 16,700 residents to become a prospering city of 92,138. Besides the mine workers themselves, a sharp influx of middle class families arrived to fill new administrative roles in Perth. With it was created a sudden and significant demand for school teachers. To compound teacher shortages, changes to qualification prerequisites for school teachers were also introduced. Assessments made against the new benchmarks found that out of 409 teachers employed within Western Australian government schools in 1897, 94 were deemed to be unqualified.
In answer to the critical demand for school teachers in Western Australia and the allure of better prospects, Patrick migrated to Perth and arrived in Fremantle in mid-late May 1897. A minor incident concerning his arrival was reported in The West Australian on 26th May 1897, page 2, under Fremantle Police Court Hearings 25th May 1897. The article reads:
“PREFERRED A SLEEPING CAR – Edward Back and Patrick McGuinness, charged with being unlawfully on the premises of the Railway Department, gave as an excuse that they did not care to walk about a mile to their camp from the railway station. They arrived from Perth by the late train, and preferred to spend the night in a sleeping car at the station yard. Their slumbers were, however, disturbed, and their sleeping apartments changed by the agency of a police constable. A fine of £1 was imposed in each case.”
On a light note, one of Patrick’s former colleagues recalls a story about Patrick’s arrival in Fremantle as published in The Southern Districts Advocate (WA) on 10th February 1919, page 3. The article extract reads:
“… Pat and a chum on similar mission bent, duly arrived at Fremantle, and early in their peregrinations about the port they noticed a railway truck, or wagon, forming portion of a rake about to bedespatchedto the Great Southern, and on the side of which was marked in big chalk letters – WAGIN.
“Bedad, Pat!” said the chum, “it’s about time we came over here to teach these duffers something. Look at the way they spell wagon.”
The town of Wagin happens to be a significantly sized agricultural centre, located in central part of South-Western Australia.
On the 5th June 1897, Patrick was appointed Assistant Teacher at Perth Boys School, located at James Street in Northbridge, Perth. The old school building is a significant landmark today and current home of the Perth Cultural Centre. Patrick was extraordinarily active in amongst the school community and it seems that during this time, his opportunities were boundless. He is noted as participating in the first ever game for the Education Department Cricket Club held on 27th November 1897 in Highgate. Over the years, he took part in many interschool sporting events from acting as a field supervisor, to sitting on judging panels to being a competitive participant when this was required of teachers. He was also a member of the Teacher’s Literary Society and presented papers on two of Lord Alfred Tennyson’s poems titled “Oenone” and “Titonus” at the James Street School on the 18th November 1898.
On the 4th April 1899, Patrick attended the first ever Annual Conference of the State School Teachers Association, being one of the 19 delegates present at the meeting. Patrick was in a unique position of bringing youthfulness to the delegation. Over the next few years, he would grow further in the role of representing young teachers. During May 1900, he was again listed as one of the 20 delegates to attend the 2nd Annual Conference of the State School Teachers Association. He was also present at the very first meeting of Assistant Teachers held on 18th February 1901, where it was agreed that the Western Australian Assistant Teachers Union would be formed.
Sometime shortly after in early-mid 1901, Patrick returned to Melbourne, Victoria and played one game for the St Kilda Football Club against Essendon on Saturday 22nd June 1901. The match was held at the East Melbourne Cricket Ground, being Essendon’s home ground at the time. The ground had a very distinctive feature whereby it sloped downhill towards the nearby railway line. The Round 9 game was a loss for St Kilda, with the final score being 19.22 (136) for Essendon and 4.5 (29) for St Kilda. Overall, 1901 was not a good year for the fledgling St Kilda Football Club who finished the season in last place on the ladder. Patrick was known as “Paddy” at the club albeit he promptly returned to Perth Western Australia, after his one and only match with them.
After his brief hiatus, Patrick returned to his post as Assistant Teacher at the Perth Boys School. His work on the committee of the Assistant Teachers Union resumed and Patrick became the Honoured Secretary in the following year of 1902. He was subsequently appointed President of the WA Assistant Teachers Union for the year 1903. His involvement on the committee of the State School Teachers Union also continued where he again sat on the board of delegates for the 4th, 5th and 6th Annual Conferences during 1902, 1903 and 1904 respectively.
Teachers’ Union Committee, November 1903, Patrick McGuinness, (back row, first left)
After serving for 6 years at Perth Boys School, he started a new position as Assistant Teacher at Cottesloe Primary School, located on the corner of Venn and Keane Streets, Cottesloe. He remained at this school for two years before he took on the role of Assistant Teacher at Midland Junction Primary School in early-mid 1905 where he spent the rest of that year. Patrick then worked at Highgate Primary School as an Assistant Teacher in 1906 before returning once more to Perth Boys School in 1907.
In 1908 at age 30, Patrick sought to progress his career by becoming a Head Teacher at one of Western Australia’s “Bush Schools”. By this time, the population expanded into Western Australia such that numerous small settlements existed in regional areas everywhere. The Education Department of WA serviced these areas by setting up small, one-room schools at each location. These were known as the “Bush Schools”. Patrick left Perth in 1908 and assumed the position of Head Teacher at Lucknow School which was located on property at 1112 Bendering Road East, Kondinin WA. He worked there for three years until taking a position as relieving Head Teacher at Port Hedland School for a short period of time, very early in 1911.
By mid-1911, Patrick became Head Teacher at Kurrawang School, located midway between Kalgoorlie and Coolgardie. Kurrawang was a newly gazetted “woodline” town where principally, its inhabitants were tree cutters and railway employees, all working to support mining operations in Kalgoorlie. Whilst some timber produced was used to support mine shafts, the majority was burnt as fuel to power steam-driven equipment for mining and the making of potable water. Daily life at Kurrawang was notoriously difficult and particularly so for women and children living in the town at the time.
With the outbreak of World War One in 1914, Kurrawang saw a decline in population as workers enlisted in the Australian Imperial Force and their families left town. The Kurrawang school population went from a consistent number of over 20+ students in 1912, to less than 10 by 1916. Despite the hardships of the town, Patrick was at the forefront of school social arrangements, acted as town spokesman on certain occasions and was overall, a much loved personality and avid contributor to the spirit of the small community. On 15th July 1915, Patrick presided over “an enthusiastic meeting” to garner support for donations to be made to the West Australian Day Fund, an initiative purposely set up by the Western Australian Government to provide community support for sick and wounded soldiers.
After five and a half years serving as Head Teacher at Kurrawang School, on the 4th January 1917, Patrick enlisted in the Australian Imperial Force and went into Blackboy Hill Training Camp in the foothills of Perth, Western Australia. Patrick was aged 38 years old and nine months at the time. He was sorely missed by his former students, including Ada G. Arnell who mentions Patrick alongside her relatives when she wrote to the Editor of The Western Mail on 17th May 1917, letter published in “Our Letter Bag” on 15th June 1917, Page 37;
“… My two uncles are still in France, and another one going into camp this month. He is married and has a wife and two little children. Our schoolmaster (Mr McGuinness) has gone to the war. …”
On the 12th February 1917, Patrick was given the rank of Private and was assigned to the 16th Battalion 25th Reinforcements. His Service Number was 7508 and he was posted into the No 22 Training Depot on the 12th June 1917. On the 1st August 1917, Patrick was promoted to the rank of Corporal and reassigned to the 11th Battalion 27th Reinforcements on 26th September 1917. The moto of the 11th Battalion was “Deeds Not Words”. At this time also, Patrick’s service number was changed to 7932. Shortly after, the 11th Battalion 27th Reinforcements were relocated to Broadmeadows Training Camp in Victoria, where they underwent final medical examinations there on 9th October 1917.
On the 30th October 1917, Patrick embarked with the 11th Battalion 27th Reinforcements from Port Melbourne aboard the HMAT A60 “Aeneas”. At the time, Patrick’s rank changed to “V.O.” (Voyage Only) Corporal. The “Aeneas” was a former A Class passenger ship built in 1910, weighing 10,049 tonnes and on lease by the Australian Commonwealth from its owners, Ocean Steam Ship Co Ltd (Blue Funnel Line).
On the 27th December 1917, Patrick arrived at Devonport in the United Kingdom and disembarked. At this time his rank reverted back to Private and they marched into Sutton Veny Camp. Sutton Veny was a major training camp and the last preparatory area before being sent the Western Front. At Sutton Veny, he was put into the 2nd Infantry Training Battalion along with the rest of his unit as a temporary allocation while stationed at the camp. From the end of February 1918 through to the end of March 1918, Patrick’s health varied somewhat as he struggled with bronchitis. He received treatment at Sutton Veny Hospital where he stayed on two occasions over that month.
On the 1st April 1918, Patrick departed from Dover and the United Kingdom, arriving later that day in Calais, France. There he was temporarily stationed at the 4th MBBD (Base Depot) Camp. At this time, the A.I.F. Command saw it necessary to reassign Patrick and his unit to become reinforcements to the 51st Battalion in the field, instead of the 11th Battalion as originally intended.
On the 4th April 1918, Patrick left Calais and arrived at the 51st Battalion Head Quarters in the field on Saturday 6th April 1918. Here Patrick was accepted into the battalion (taken on strength) and assigned to one of the four platoons of “A” Company, each platoon consisting of 40 or so men. The motto of the 51st Battalion is Latin, “Ducit Amor Patriae” or otherwise translated to mean, “Love of Country Leads Me”. The 51st Battalion was at the time occupying a support line at Buire-Dernancourt. The Australians in the area were in defensive positions and had shown great resilience in holding out against a major German attack over the previous two days.
By the 7th April, the German attack was called off and the Battalion marched its way to Corbie, reaching it during the night of Wednesday, 10th April 1918. Here, located on the Somme River over the next few days, the 51st Battalion received much needed rest. The men were bathed and re-equipped with new clothes and equipment. Whilst based at Corbie, men of the 51st Battalion were sent out in daily working parties from 14th April 1918 onwards to construct trench defences between Ancre and the Somme, a distance of approximately 6.5km. The Allies were expecting another major assault from the Germans at any time. Meanwhile, the men enjoyed some respite while at Corbie either training, working or enjoying local hospitality in all its forms.
On the 21st April 1918 at 10.15am, the infamous Red Baron (Manfred von Richtofen) flew along the Somme River whilst in a dogfight and crashed just north of Corbie. After flying through a hail of bullets fired by Australian troops on the ground, von Richtofen’s plane landed just 400m away from the post of Lieutenant Wood, who was in command of the 51st Battalion’s No 2 Platoon from “A” Company. Lieutenant Wood immediately sent out men from his platoon to guard the wreckage until it was relieved by troops from Brigade HQ.
On the 22nd April 1918, the 51st Battalion left Corbie and marched out to Querrieu, a small village located North of the Somme River along the Albert-Amiens Road and some 12km behind the front lines. At 11.30pm on 23rd April 1918, an intelligence report was received stating that a large scale enemy attack was imminent and expected to take place in the early hours of the following morning. Then at 3.15am on the 24th April 1918, the Germans laid down a heavy artillery bombardment in vicinity of the 51st Battalion with such increasing intensity that by 4.15am it became a chorus of continuously bursting cannon shells, holding out relentlessly for several hours. At 5.50am, the 51st Battalion was put on notice that all men needed to be ready to move out at a moment’s notice. By 7.45am, it was observed rather curiously, that no enemy assault troops followed behind the bombardment.
The 51st Battalion Commanders found out soon enough though, that the situation was dire indeed. With the assistance of a gas bombardment and tanks, the Germans had instead focussed their attack on Villers-Bretonneux to the South and successfully expelled the British troops garrisoned there. The very first ever tank-versus-tank battle also took place during this attack. The Germans now controlled the higher ground at Villers-Bretonneux and overlooked the downhill terrain to the west, all the way to Amiens, which put the Allies at a strategic disadvantage.
At 11am the 51st Battalion received an order from Brigade Command to dump their new packs and blankets and march out to an area located 1.4km South East of Blagny-Tronville, located almost 13 km away on the West side of Villers-Bretonneux. The men moved out at 12pm, arrived and bivouacked at 4pm. At 7.30pm, the 51st Battalion HQ received orders to prepare to take part in an immanent counter-attack on Villers-Bretonneux later that night.
The counterattack was to be a three pronged affair, with all troops emanating from West of the town site. The first part of the attack was for British troops earlier that evening to clear out and hold the wooded area, just west of town. The second move was for the Australian 15th Brigade to work its way around the fields to the north of town and the third being for the Australian 13th Brigade to come around fields to the South in similar manner. The intention was for the 13th and 15th Brigades to meet up on the east side of town, encircle it and cut it off from the main German force. The 51st Battalion was part of the 13th Brigade, and so being part of the attack on the Southern side of Villers-Bretonneux. Unbeknown to the Australians of the 51st Battalion, British troops failed in their attempt to clear out the woods earlier that evening and the Germans still held it in force.
The sun had set at around 7.50pm and a brief shower of rain fell at 8pm. The near half-moon, was covered over by clouds. Last equipment checks were carried out and at 8.30pm, the men started on their long, silent march toward the jump-off line marked out by tape laid over the ground. By 9.53pm they arrived at the tape where “C” Company arranged itself on the left, closest toward the wooded area with “A” Company on the right. “B” Company came up behind in support and “D” Company was held back in reserve.
The men were very simply instructed to ignore the woods on the left, head straight for Monument Wood on the other side of town and be there by 11pm. The assault was launched at 10.10pm and very soon after, machine gun fire coming from the woods to the left made it obvious that they were not in fact cleared at all. The Germans had no less than five machine gun nests set up in the tree line, one for every 100m for a distance of 500m. The Australians of the 51st Battalion were caught out in the open and not only taking enfilade machine gun fire from the left but also machine gun fire from positions at the front. Flares were continuously set off by the Germans to assist with visibility for the machine gunners, while enemy shells burst sporadically all around them. The line of advance laid out before them was swept continuously by multiple lines of luminous tracer rounds. Progress was impossible.
German machine gunners in the woods had simply waited until the Australians were well and truly in the open and then poured machine gun fire upon them from less than 150m away. On the far left, “C” Company bore the brunt of machine gun fire first, with Lieutenant Sadlier’s platoon of 42 men reduced to just 3 within the first 50m of advance. On the withering of “C” Company so quickly, “A” Company managed to progress only a little further along the line of advance before it too was hit in full force. “A” Company was decimated in an instant and this is when it is likely that Patrick McGuinness received a bullet wound in his left hip.
The 51st Battalion were sitting ducks until in that moment, Lieutenant Sadlier and Sergeant Stokes from “C” Company led a mad rush to the machine gun nests in the woods almost singlehandedly. All five were cleared out and Lieutenant Sadlier received a Victoria Cross for his actions, while Sergeant Stokes received a Distinguished Conduct Medal. A well-known oil painting by Will Longstaff depicts their attack on the machine gun nests in the tree line at Villers-Bretonneux. The effect of these guns were so devastating that the 51st Battalion managed only to reach half-way to its objective before being relieved out of line. Of the 230 ordinary ranks from “A” Company who advanced from the jump off point the night before, only 48 remained present to answer roll call the following morning.
Villers-Bretonneux Map
In the early hours of 25th April 1918, ANZAC Day, Patrick was collected by stretcher bearers who administered initial patching and first aid care before taking him behind the lines to the 25th Field Ambulance Post for an assessment of his condition. The 26th April 1918, Patrick’s 40th birthday, was spent in transit taking him from the 25th Field Ambulance Post to the 55th Casualty Clearing Station (C.C.S.) where he was then immediately put on a train for urgent evacuation to the 47th General Hospital in the coastal town of Le Treport.
Patrick arrived at the 47th General Hospital on 27th April 1918 where hospital records confirm that he was suffering from a serious flesh wound and badly fractured pelvic bones. Despite receiving frequent attention from the Consulting Surgeon on duty, Patrick’s condition did not improve and he passed away from acute septicaemia on the 6th May 1918. Patrick was interred at Mont Huon Military Cemetery located at 2 Rue Albert Edward Dixon, Le Treport, France. His grave reference is Plot 6 Row H Grave 11B.
Patrick McGuinness’s Headstone at Le Treport, France.
“LEST WE FORGET”
Acknowledgements:
This article was prepared by the Author based on private research notes held by the relatives of Patrick McGuinness. The Author can be contacted by email at ptmail@y7mail.com
Featured image: Canberra War Memorial, J Scammell. Map: Peter Terpkos.
It’s March and the local Sculptures by the Sea is drawing the crowds. Today, a typically quiet Monday, crowds are tripping noisily down the concrete steps, children and adults enjoy splashing in the waves while others appear happy, ambling slowly from one sculpture to the next. Variations in the noise match the excited levels of school children on a day’s outing; seniors enjoying a bus trip; ethnic communities begging for photos in front of towering metal structure; ladies in red taking photos for fun, and children getting their feet burnt as they are trundled in prams across the pathways, their tiny legs exposed to the burning rays.
School children play within the sculpture
With pleasant weather at the start of the day, it is a pleasure to explore the sculptures on the beach sand.
Sense and sensibility
As the day wears on, the heat ramps up until it feels like a furnace has opened up (just the rising heat from the sand!) I cannot believe how many bodies lie in the sun, almost fully exposed to the rays of the sun. Childhood warnings of the dangers to one’s skin must have missed those ears! (Check out the deeply bronzed body on the beach in the image below.)
Wide range of sculptures
With the weather becoming warmer by the hour, we enjoy the range of sculptures, albeit somewhat fewer in variety than I’ve seen in previous years.
Nevertheless, there are fascinating structures of wood, metal, bolts, fabric, wool, straw and plastic.
Courtesy
With many school groups, it is fascinating to see the keen interest shown by both students and staff. As a former teacher, the latter earn my admiration for taking large groups out!
Avid photographers snap images. Frequent ‘thank you’s’ are spoken quietly as patient viewers wait their turn, or stand aside for others to capture their shots.
Variety of sculptures
Varieties of shapes always capture interest. Some seem like broken waves.
Image: Stanley Mill, Scotland, an historic mill I visited in 2017. My ancestors lived and worked in cotton mills in Manchester, England. I enjoyed seeing the machines and reading about the life of mill workers, albeit this mill is in Scotland!
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