The Week that Was

Many's the time I have grappled to think of something to write to update my blog.  Occasionally when life is hectic, I have lots of material but little time to "put pen to paper" ( in the old speak) : This last week has been so hectic, and with very quick changing scenarios, that my head is swimming!

Last week flash flooding and terrific wind from Cyclone Oswald caused quite a lot of damage and flooding here and even more so right down the coast of Queensland and into New South Wales.  We have grieved with the city of Bundaberg which experienced its worst ever recorded flood.  Houses swept off their stumps, roads with huge craters carved through them from the violence of the water.  The power of the wind and the waters are extrordinary!  The power of our great God!

Now we wait as the Fitzroy River steadily climbs to its expected peak of 8.7m.  This is 50cm below the 2011 flood but still hundreds of homes and businesses are flooded.  For many of us it is "business as usual", yet for those valiant souls along the river flats it an anxious wait, hoping that it will not go higher than predicted.  The last thing they need is more rain ~ which has been forecast :- (

Rocky airport 1/2/2013
Taken this morning
Closed this evening except for emergencies.

GS 2

First day at Kindy

The big day arrived and my two oldest grandsons started at their kindergartens.  I've mentioned before my mixed feelings about this and I think I was more churned up by it than the little boys, or their mothers.  All went well.  The girls have begun the long years of school drop offs and tuck shop and all the related to-ing and fro-ing.

I knew long ago that my children did not feel the same way as me about schooling, though being home schooled themselves or perhaps because they were home schooled :- (.  I suppose it is just another matter in which I have to say, "Thy will be done." and leave it in God's capable hands. We made our choices with which the children have not always been happy.  Now we see them having to make choices for the next generation.  God give wisdom and knowledge to each of us as we need it.

This ol' house, in which we have lived for 14 1/2 years is back on the market.  It has been bought and sold a couple of times since we've lived here and each time we have been able to continue renting.  This time it is much more weathered than previously and we have not really had a chance to "tidy up" since the family moved out.  Again, I am seeking to trust in the Lord for our needs.  I am so pleased that my daughter was able to move into a good place before the ordeal of having people look through the house started.

With our home, our city and the state in such upheaval this week we made only a brief attempt at school each day.  Oh, it is hard to get back into the harness!!  I think the only thing the boys and I have enjoyed about it is starting the book "Twice Freed".  Reading is not their favourite pastime but listening still is :-)

I trust that all who read here are safe from the ravages of fires and floods which have swept our diverse country in the past few weeks.  For all getting back into the academic year I wish you the best. 

The Lord is on my side, I will not fear.........

These Two Years

If you were serving two years in prison it would be a very long time indeed.  Even if one was travelling or working but away from home, a two year sojourn would seem a long time to be parted from family and friends.

How amazing that our older daughter and her children have lived with us for two whole years and that time has flown! We've had lots of wonderful times together along with all of the hectic days and disturbed nights.  We've built relationships with those little people which would never have been so close and cemented if we had not shared our home with them. 

So after two years my daughter has found a great house for her to raise her family.  She has a very child friendly back yard and we are just thrilled with the way it has all worked out.

The first morning after they moved hubby stood by me in the kitchen and said, "Hear that?" (Silence :-)  Then my younger son came out and asked, "Where is everyone?"   Me: "Everyone doesn't live here anymore."
I admit that I am probably missing them a lot more than they are missing me.  Thankfully, their new place isn't far from either our house or my other daughter's.

Her moving is also just in time for us to start school next week.

I am so thankful to the Lord for his gracious provision and answer to our prayers.  He does all things well and his timing is always perfect.

Rockhampton has received record rainfall overnight.

Some areas have had flash flooding and some are bracing for

the deluge to come on down the river. :- (

If you're an Aussie

HAPPY AUSTRALIA DAY!

mate!

And to anyone else reading, tomorrow (26th) would be a good day

 to do/ read/ watch something Aussie,

being that it is our National Day.

Thanks to Mum-me at Our Aussie Half Dozen who made up

 the above collage for me

 a few years ago.



It's Wednesday!

It's Wednesday and we had pizza for tea.

Not exactly a blogging head line snatcher but big news in our house as we usually only ever have pizza on a Friday.  Friday is Dad does tea night.  Today however was one of those days when 6.00pm rolled around and although I had meat out nothing was even started for tea.  The babies and toddlers were tired and cranky and I might add so was the cook. Just a little.  Frazzled perhaps describes me better, so my daughter's suggestion of pizza went down very well.



The "Utopia" 150 year celebration was a great day out!

About 200 people crowded into the Library for the launch of a book recounting the life and voyages of the "Utopia" and  the passengers and crew of that first migrant ship to arrive directly to Rockhampton.  Though I know the history of my own family it was great to see them there among the interesting stories of others who settled here at that time.
My Dad's cousin at 91 was the oldest descendant present and got to cut the cake, along with one of his distant cousins who had travelled the farthest for the event.  (From Canada)

The lunch was made interesting for me being able to sit with the mother of two of my friends.  Knowing them since the eighties we never realised then that our great, great, grandparents had travelled together to the land down under way back in the 1860s.
 A maritime historian gave a very interesting talk after lunch on shipping and immigration at that time in Australia's history and the actual happenings around the arrival of the boat. Including a stoush between the indigenous people and the new settlers. The Durrumble people were acknowledged on several occasions throughout the day.

Then about 150 descendants took the bus tour around the original part of town.  This was commentated by one of the local history buffs and he not only knew his stuff but painted a vivid picture of old Rocky town, what little there was of it in 1862.  This tour ended with a wander through the old cemetery where both my Bond and Rattenbury great, great grandparents are buried as well as later members of those families.

The Utopia

If the Brits who came here thought this would be Utopia then perhaps, or no doubt, they were sorely disappointed.  Many scattered to other parts of Queensland and the rest of Australia.  Judging by the turn-out at this reunion and the enthusiasm among the attendees I think many have found Rocky to be a great place to be.
The local news paper slogan is "We live here because we love it"!!!!!


Off to Brisbane again this weekend.

This time to celebrate my father-in-law's eightieth birthday! You may recall from past blogs that I am not a real fan of Brisbane.  It is a rat race!  But seeing family is always good and I don't mind these trips when hubby is with me as he can deal with the maps and chaos much better than me.
We have certainly had a lot of family celebrations this year.  Only another oh, six or seven weeks until I hit the big 50!

This will be like a mid term break for the boys and I. When we get back we will be into the final few weeks of school for the year.  We are hoping to be finished end of November but.......

"UTOPIA" Revisited

Well, lovely readers, I have given you a short break after the wonderful Centenary Celebrations of my family, from my dabblings in history.
I love history, though I admit it is a love I have developed as I've become older and in the broader sense have enjoyed learning along with own children.

But Family History has become something of a passion for me:-)

• 
  

Therefore, in this 100th year of my father's parents settling at Jooro, I am excited to also be celebrating the 150th anniversary of the landing of the migrant ship "Utopia" in Keppel Bay.  The passengers of which then came up the river to Rockhampton.  The year was 1862 and this was the first ship to bring immigrants directly to Rockhampton. The 324 passengers swelled the population of Rocky by about 50%!

Descendants and History buffs are invited to attend the celebrations being held next weekend (3/4 November).  The launch of a book by a local Historian at the Public Library, Lunch at the North Rockhampton Bowls club which is along the Fitzroy River not far from the arrival point and a bus tour of historic sites. These include the memorial stone to mark the arrival of the "Utopia", other old establishments along the river and the old cemeteries.

Several of my own family will be enjoying the day with me and many of my more extended relatives.  My father's maternal great  grandparents, (on both sides) were passengers on the "Utopia".  Two young couples, the Bonds and the Rattenburys.  Each with two small children arrived here among the adventurous souls who travelled from England's fair shores to the blistering heat of our Australian summer.

Each family had quite a few more children after coming to Australia and my  great Grandfather, Charles Bond went on to marry Sarah Rattenbury.  As you can imagine in a large country town like Rockhampton there are still many descendants of those first pioneers who lay claim to this wonderful piece of Aussie history. 

If you would like to read a little about the ship, her voyage and arrival and the good folk who travelled on her , follow the link:

The Arrival of the Utopia

The article concludes with a photograph taken at the fifty year celebration of the "Utopia" and my ancestor, Richard Bond is in it.  He is the gentleman with the bushy beard.

(Hahahahahahahahahhahahaha)

Great great grandparents
Richard and Mary Bond

In family folk lore, and also other articles, it is told that the crew of the ship mutinied and that the able and willing men on board performed the crew men's duties to aid the captain to bring her to her destination.  It is mentioned in this article that the men were hand picked according to their skills and trades.  This was a great boon to the newly settled area.

The Bonds became dairy farmers. 
A friend of mine now lives in Bond road close to the place where they once lived and worked.

The Rattenburys were also farmers and Dad was telling me recently that they also dabbled in mining. There were several mines in the area in the early days including 

gold at Mt Morgan.

More on this after the event!

Haha, if you missed the joke I know you didn't look at the link!

Where does the time go?

The deafening silence coming from this blog is an indication of how busy life has been for the last couple of weeks.  So some dot points to keep everyone up to speed ;-)

#  We have moved my dear mum and dad from their unit in the retirement village in the hostel (low care) facility on the same complex.

It is very difficult to see your loved ones lives reduced to one room.  When they moved from the property (where Dad had lived for 74 years and Mum 49 year) to town it was a huge life change and a massive culling of goods and chattels.  Then from the town house, where they had hoped to see out their days,  to the Retirement Village, another scale down.  They have had five very happy years in the village, made friends and coped with the challenges of growing old.  They've been so blessed to be together and have muddled along helping one another.  Dad went blind about eighteen months ago and this has also been difficult for Mum in that she had to become his carer even though she is quite frail herself.  Recently when Mum was ill and had a couple of falls I think we all realised that the move, which they had applied for six months ago, was just in time.
This afternoon when asked how the first day in the new apartment had gone, Dad answered that it felt pretty much like the old place.  We hope they will be happy here and God willing see out their days there with out the need for high care or hospital.  It is in the Lord's hand.

Middle Hall at the Range College.
Once my High School (Boarding )
Now an Aged Care Facility where my parents live!

# Preparations for the Centenary Celebrations of farm and family are coming along swimmingly!

Our little committee is very pleased with the response from family and friends far and wide.  As often happens, the event will probably end up being bigger than Ben Hur!  When you are organising for a large number on a rural property there are all sorts of things to consider.  THE WEATHER!  Marques, tables, chairs, portaloos, occupying the dozens of children, displaying memorabilia.  Also we have put a lot of thought into the  "official" side of it, planting of trees, launching of Uncle's Book.  Then there are farm tours, tours of town, church, cemetery. Phew!  It is going to be grand!

# Beef Australia

Every three years Rockhampton hosts the Beef Australia Exhibition.  The town is decorated with (more than usual number) of bulls and lots of corny captions such as Valu-bull, Irrisista-bull you get the picture.  The streets are teeming with blue jeans and Akubras and the show grounds are humming with cattle , horses and all things pertaining to the land.  Coming from a farming family, it has been great to catch up with many of them this week.  It also meant we had lots of hands for the move on Tuesday.  I didn't venture out to the exhibits feeling rather too weary from all the other goings on.  We did however attend the local production of  "The Man from Snowy River".  I really enjoyed all the humour and the kids dancing, the beautiful horses re-enacting the poem.  Oh, I do love a good recitation of "The Man"!

# One hour on Friday
My friend Petunia and I agreed to meet for one hour or so on a Friday this term.  Just the two of us.  We are both in this very busy season of life tugged between teen agers still being home schooled, married adult children and grand children, our parents growing old and finding time to spend with our husbands!  We used to spend a lot of time together when our children were small.  We used to read and pray together as well as generally socialise and help one another.  Now there doesn't seem to be a moment to catch up so we decided to make the time. This has become a special high light of each week.

Thoughts from the Heart on Anzac Day

For the first time in a lot of years I did not  attend the Anzac Day march this morning.  Too long standing and walking for me at the moment.  Most of the rest of the household turned out.  I stayed here with the twins and sang them Advance Australia Fair and Waltzing Matilda,  and other sustaining songs .

As always I have found the articles and clips moving today.  A couple of new songs I had not heard before. Adam Brand ~ The Anzac and  Ragged Bloody Heroes  posted by Ann at Eight Acres of Eden. ( A Kiwi living in Oz)

I've written before of my  grandfather  here and here  and my great love and admiration for him.. Strangely, although that rose-tinted view is still the way I remember my Grandad, in the last few months I have had much to mull over about his life and character.  We knew him as a sage and often jolly old man, sitting in his cane chair on the veranda, smoking a pipe, telling a yarn, rousing on the nippers.

 In the past few months as some of my cousins have met to organise our upcoming, "100 Years on the Block" celebrations, we have been able to talk about our memories.  Also my Uncle who is putting together a book of Family History, my Dad, who is the oldest living  member of the family, and my three aunts have all contributed and answered questions.  Although they loved their parents dearly, my grandparents,  they grew up in a generation which was much more rigid and austere.  Where children were seen but not heard at the tea table, yes, even in the shanty in the bush.  Where war, drought, flood, and the Great Depression cast a gloomy shadow over youthful exuberance and survival was the main priority in life. 

My grandfather was a devoutly religious man and obviously he would tolerate no rebellion from his children,  Some in the end left the farm either to join the army in WW2 or for other jobs. Some left on not the best of terms.  Some of the nine stayed and loved the land all the days of their lives.  To me, it seems that my Grandfather may have suffered much more emotionally and spiritually than the physical wounds of his battle scars showed.  My heart aches for him, for my grandmother and the loneliness and toilsome heartache of her lonely bush life, trying to soothe the pain which gruesome, senseless warfare had inflicted on her husband.  I ache for my father too,  who it seems was able to speak very little to his father of sensitive things and finds it hard to relay the same to us his children.

Last weekend I attended the 21st birthday celebrations of one of my nephews.  My brother spoke so lovingly and humorously in his speech to his son and finished simply with "I love you, son."  Teary eyed, I told him afterwards how precious his words were and as we hugged he told me he had resolved to say that because, you know....................  He said no more, but I knew.  In our fabulous family, through all that golden childhood which I hold so dear, there were some who never seemed to be able to say those precious words.  I am so thankful that this generation is different.  That we openly speak of our love, of our hurts and disappointments.  That we encourage one another and stand by in support when the chips are down.  Those things were always done but saying those three words can touch a person's heart in a way no other thing can.  In generations past, love was expressed in the hard work and loyalty one showed and it was great love.  Love in fact which was prepared to lay down their lives for us.

Lest we forget......

Let us rejoice!

Clouds, humidity and the threat of more rain did not deter the people from turning out to the Local Heritage Village for the Australia Day celebrations.  I'm proud to be an Aussie, especially on days like this when the seedy side of society is less obvious and families and fresh faced young, bronzed Aussies as well as the elderly join together to celebrate our nation.
We had prams, with babies and toddlers outnumbering big people so we didn't stay long today, but continuing in the spirit of the day here at home.  That is cricket on the TV and maybe a pie or a vegemite sandwich .  Too hot for much else :-(
(No, it is never too hot for a pie!)

So have a great Australia Day whether you are an Aussie or not.  Non - Australians may like to read some past "Australiana" posts to brush up on your Aussie general knowledge.

God bless Australia!

We will not forget....

"They will  grow not old,
as we who are left grow old........"





This Remembrance Day, we remember and honour not only those who gave their lives that we might live, those who age did not weary, nor the world condemn, but I am also mindful of the many who returned and built our nation through hard work, commitment, loyalty to God and country. The ones who did grow old.

Since last year's Remembrance Day the two remaining veterans of our family have passed away. Only at his funeral last week did I learn of one uncle's wounding and gallantry medal.  These were men who did their duty and came home keeping much of the memories they held to themselves.  Though he was military in his running of "the ship" this man was one of the most loving, affectionate and communicative of his gender that I have had the privilege to know.  He was my mother's brother.

My father has also lost a brother this last year.  (Both men were ninety.)  This uncle was the family historian and he has passed really valuable information and photographs to me as one who wishes to take up this mantle.

Though I am proud to have these men as my ancestors along with my beloved grandfather who fought in the Great War, I am also thankful to God that I do not have loved ones who were involved in later conflicts, nor any of the young folk in our family currently serving in conflicts.  I pray for the three who are training with the Navy at this time.  God Bless them and Australia.

Lest we Forget

We Will Remember Them

I can hardly believe that it is Anzac Day already.  My blogging efforts have been minimal this year.  Sometimes as I am busy around the place I do compose a little something in my head (yep, still addicted :-) but either it never gets into draft or by the time I get to the computer it has escaped - my grey matter does not retain so well these days.

What splendid, busy days they are!
All of our family have been "Spring cleaning" here.  Although it is now Autumn it is better late than never.
We seem to have accumulated a LOT of STUFF over twelve years in this house!  Not only have we ditched a heap of hoarded things but gotten rid of old, broken, never likely to be used again items which for some reason in the past have been hard to part with.  Also clothing, stored clothing, maybe one day clothing and I used to fit that clothing!  4 bags at lease to Lifeline.  And books..... not many books have been culled but some, a few.  Many old girlie, horsey books, not much else.\

It is good to have incentive.
It now seems almost certain that my daughter will stay here with us until after her twins arrive and the early months of their lives, Lord willing.  We are very keen for her to do this and she can see the advantages, though she still may go into her own place earlier if the right place comes up.  (She is checking out a house only around the block from us next week.) With only twelve weeks to go, she is getting large and she and her boys are benefiting a lot from the family support.  Anyway, for this reason we have rearranged our sleep out area and she has moved some of her furniture in there in readiness for the arrivals..  I would appreciate prayer for the safe delivery of these twins and for my daughter and family.  She has had a great deal of stress but is coping well and we are very encouraged by her maturity and commitment to her little ones.  Also for my second daughter whose baby is due in October.  Although her situation is much better I still have a heavy heart for her.

Anzac Day 2011

We will attend the Dawn service and the local march.  We will talk about old family wartime stories.  We always  remember and pray for those Australians in areas of conflict at this time.  We will be thankful for the great sacrifice made by those who have given there lives and those who have given their precious loved ones for the sake of peace and safety in our country. We have pledged...

From the going down of the sun and in the morning.....

We will remember them.

LEST WE FORGET

In the absence of any new thoughts I will link to my post from Remembrance Day last year in which I reviewed the book "A Rose for the Anzac Boys" and told a little of my own Grandfather's story from the horrendous years of the Great War.

The Great Flood of 2011

When I was a child, my Grandfather would tell us about a dim memory he had from his early childhood.  He was a four year boy in 1893 when Brisbane experienced devastating flooding.  He lived in the suburb of Rosalie which we are seeing a lot of in the news this week.  Thankfully Great Grandfather and Grandmother lived in a very high house but I believe the Brisbane River rose to about 8 meters which is A LOT higher than this flood.  I actually remember visiting my maiden (great) aunts who still lived there in the 70s and being overawed with how very high that house was!

As this historic week  has unfolded I have been working on one of my Golden Childhood posts that has had the working title of "One Momentous Week in '74".  It is about the week of the Australia Day floods which ravaged Queensland that year, but more about my personal dramas and memories of that week.

So now I am thinking that this too will go down as one of those historic episodes, which generally mark a generation.  As Grandad spoke of the '93 flood and 1918, my parents used to compare to the '54 flood which was huge in the Don River area where they lived and here in Rocky also. My hubby and I speak of '91 when with a toddler and a small baby we were marooned, surrounded by flood waters in our little rural home.

We are country folk.  Our lives revolve around the seasons. I don't feel I need to, nor am I able to write to much about the floods here and the catastrophic events on the Downs and South East Queensland.  I know even readers in the US and other overseas places are hearing about all the drama.  It is on our TV and radio channels 24/7.  We feel a little numb.

We have the refugees back after a week at the Evacuation Centre.  I am glad.  Even though it is crowded and hectic, it is good to have them all here close.  Sickness had broken out over there anyway and some "disturbances" which are bound to happen when large groups of random people are thrown in together. This is a special opportunity to support family and build bridges in our community.  I battle for my turn at the computer anyway, but doubly so with so many in house!  If you don't hear from me.....don't panic!

I have been touched and comforted and greatly uplifted by the people of God at this time.  So many blogs that I read which have posted about the floods have had beautiful, faith filled comments.  How blessed we are to know that the Lord reigns, that he does all things well and that he works all things together for the good of his people.

My thoughts and prayers are with all those in flood affected areas both here in Queensland and further afield.  Thinking of you Jeanne, you have been through it all so recently and now a double whammy. 

The photograph above is taken in Wood St, Rockhampton.  On the left where the trees are is the park where we play often with the grandchildren.  My daughter home is one street to the right but the flood water was 2 metres high at the peak :-(  They hope to get in next week to begin the clean up.

Oh...Rocky We Love You

Take a look at our beautiful city in flood.

SAID HANRAHAN

 by John O'Brien

"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan in accents most forlorn,
Outside the church, ere Mass began one frosty Sunday morn.
The congregation stood about coat-collars to the ears,
And talked of stock, and crops, and drought as it had done for years.
"It's looking crook," said Daniel Croke; "Bedad, it's cruke, me lad,
For never since the banks went broke has seasons been so bad."

"It's dry, all right," said young O'Neil, with which astute remark
He squatted down upon his heel and chewed a piece of bark.
And so around the chorus ran, "It's keepin' dry, no doubt."
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan, "Before the year is out."
"The crops are done; ye'll have your work to save one bag of grain;
From here way out to Back-o'-Bourke they're singin' out for rain.

"They're singin' out for rain," he said, "And all the tanks are dry."
The congregation scratched its head, and gazed around the sky.
"There won't be grass, in any case, enough to feed an ass;
There's not a blade on Casey's place as I came down to Mass."
"If rain don't come this month," said Dan, and cleared his throat to speak -
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan, "If rain don't come this week."

A heavy silence seemed to steal on all at this remark;
And each man squatted on his heel, and chewed a piece of bark.
"We want an inch of rain, we do, "O'Neil observed at last;
But Croke "maintained" we wanted two, to put the danger past.
"If we don't get three inches, man, or four to break this drought,
We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan, "Before the year is out."

In God's good time down came the rain; and all the afternoon
On iron roof and window-pane it drummed a homely tune.
And through the night it pattered still, and lightsome, gladsome elves
On dripping spout and window-sill kept talking to themselves.
It pelted, pelted all day long, a-singing at its work,
Till every heart took up the song way out to Back-o'-Bourke.

And every creek a banker ran, and dams filled overtop;
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan, "If this rain doesn't stop."
And stop it did, in God's good time; and spring came in to fold
A mantle o'er the hills sublime of green and pink and gold.
And days went by on dancing feet, with harvest-hopes immense,
And laughing eyes beheld the wheat nid-nodding o'er the fence.

And, oh, the smiles on every face, as happy lad and lass
Through grass knee-deep on Casey's place went riding down to Mass.
While round the church in clothes genteel discoursed the men of mark,
And each man squatted on his heel, and chewed his piece of bark.
"There'll be bush-fires for sure, me man, there will, without a doubt;
We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan, "Before the year is out."

ooOOoo

John O'Brien was the nom de plume of Patrick Joseph Hartigan (1878-1952), born in Yass, New South Wales. He was a Roman Catholic priest in the Goulburn diocese and later parish priest at Narrandera -- also rural towns in New South Wales.

'Said Hanrahan' paints a wonderful portrait of Australian-Irish bush culture, together with its church, the land, the climate and the seasons which constitute its core. Hanrahan (a quintessentially Irish name) expresses unconquerable Irish pessimism about the prospects down on the farm. Hanrahan has a point however: the lush growth from spring rain can indeed dry out into fuel which poses a serious fire risk in summer.

'Said Hanrahan', I think, is readily accessible to non-Australians but here are a couple of notes: 'rooned' is Australian-Irish pronunciation of 'ruined'; 'never since the banks went broke' refers to the turbulent 1890s which were bad drought years and also when, in the absence of a central bank, nearly all the land banks and building societies, and 12 of the 22 trading banks went broke, following the collapse of an intense property boom. 'Back-o'-Bourke' is an Australian colloquialism for being just about anywhere in the vast and sparsely populated heartland of bush Australia; 'every creek a banker ran' means that the rivers overflowed.

'Said Hanrahan' was published in Around the Boree Log and Other Verses (1921)

William Grey.

I love most of the poety of  John O'Brien!  I posted "Around the Boree Log"  here.  Being brought up in any Irish Roman Catholic family, though I no longer hold the doctrines of that denomination, his poetry brings back many childhood memories for me. 
I thought to post "Said Hanrahan" because I was thinking about the many long years of drought we have been through and now it is just raining, raining, raining, day after day, week after week and we find ourselves wishing that "this 'ere rain would stop" even after praying for rain for so long! Hope you enjoy!

Melbourne and Points Beyond

Our wonderful trip to Victoria is over :-(

So many months in the planning and every bit as exciting as we had dreamed.

Too much packed into those nine days to write about so I will do the album thing.

I have selected these from 450 photographs we took.

Enjoy!

Leaving Rockhampton airport.

To the Top of the World!

88 floors in 37 seconds to see the spectacular view from the Sky walk at the Eureka Towers

Then on the the Old Melbourne Gaol.

Site of the hanging of Ned Kelly.

WANTED

and other disreputable characters!

The Melbourne Zoo

showcases the wonders of Gods animal creation!

We were delighted to watch a platypus swimming, diving and frolicking.

Jemimah's favourites ~ the butterflies.

Elephant wallowing.

The Aquarium.

Absolutely awe inspiring creatures of the deep!

We could have spent a long while just watching the antics of the nesting and playful penguins.

Up close to some very spectacular creatures!

More than a mouthful!

The Museum held many wonders including

a 3D presentation from the Hubble Telescope.

"The Heavens declare the glory of God"!

The absolute highlight!

Two days at Sovereign Hill Historical site.  Ballarat.

WOW!

This place is so well done in every detail.

The children enjoyed panning for gold, and finding a few specks.

The huge treat was dinner in one of the old pubs, the spectacular light show and re-enactment of the events leading up to and including the Eureka Rebellion, and staying the night in the on site accommodation!

The Red Coats fired some pretty impressive guns!

Every building is done up in minute detail, right down to folks in 1850s clothing doing needlework and shop assistants passing the time of day with quaint conversations.

Site of the Eureka Stockade

Bendigo

The Chinese Museum

Winging home.

Exhausted and exhilarated!

Bloggers three!

Jeanne, from  A Peaceful Day, Ruby, That's me! and Jeana, from Jeana Marie Blackert

As with all things, people are the best part of my holiday memories.

Jeanne is the same wonderful, warm person in real life as she is on her blog. I cannot tell you how much I appreciated the hospitality and generosity which she and  her family showed us nor the time and energy they spent ensuring that we had the holiday of a lifetime. Well, for me at least, perhaps my boys will go on to great adventures.  Life long friends have been made and many precious memories as well.

It was an added bonus to meet and spend some time with Jeana and her family.

On the Lords Day we were blessed to worship with the people of God at Jeanne's home church.

"Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brethren dwell together in unity!"

H ~ H ~ H

Don't judge a book by its cover" ~ so the old adage goes.  I guess I did just that and I think I have been pleasantly surprised by this recently released novel by Christine Bongers, Henry Hoey Hobson.  The cover suggests a creepy, witchy type book and this is what one is meant to think.  All through the theme is that things are not always as they first appear and that one should not jump to a conclusion too quickly.

This is the second novel by Ms Bongers, I wrote a little about the first DUST here.  Henry Hoey Hobson is a very different type of story. As I said, the cover, and my misgivings about the previous book, led me to be not overly enthusiastic about reading this one. However, as you gathered from that last post, the author is known to me and her sister-in-law, who is an old friend of mine,  told me recently that I should read it. She promised it was not at all like the "based on her own life" book.  Then my sister passed on this copy and there you have it.

Henry has been shunted around all his short life and when he finds himself at yet another new school he feels the odd man out, being the only Year 7 boy.  Much of the "bullying" is in Henry's head as he begins his ordeal.  He also sees and sums up his arty/ alternative new neighbours without really knowing the facts. Vee is in fact not a vampire but suffers from Xeroderma pigmentosum and although they live unusual lives, they each have a story.  The entire book is about being different and being accepted.

WHAT I LIKED ( and didn't) ABOUT HHH...

There are suggestions of bullying and weirdness and witchcraft but they mostly turn out to be in Henry's imagination. However, his fears and past experiences are very real and I think many would identify with them.  There is resolution with  the protagonists as well, which is good. Most of the adult characters are not your normal Mum and Dad stereotypes, and yet the adults come through. They have worked through their hangups, problems, disabilities and show some wisdom, leadership and compassion. Lydia, Henry's mother is the exception but she comes through in the end. 

I do not particularly enjoy modern fiction and slang writing but on the whole it is not too heavy here. I did not like the use of the expression OMG, though I realise how frequently that is used in today's society. I think the use of the vampire and a few other creepy things is a concession to what seems very attractive in literature for young people these days so although I am not into it, it did make for a good yarn. Not giving it a thumbs up or down,  but the end result was I really liked Henry and the crew by the end of the book and thought Christine Bongers has done an okay job of this one. Because I know that like me, most home schoolers tend to like more wholesome books I would suggest pre reading before letting it loose on the children!

The book is set in Brisbane so many of the places and land marks are familiar. It is suited to readers around the ages of twelve to fifteen.

A Poppy for Remembrance









,

A Rose for the Anzac Boys







When my sister passed on this book to read, I thought I may read it aloud to the boys. Yes, it is historical fiction, and very accurate. But now that I have read it I will pass on the reading aloud. When you start to get teary from the very first chapter, you know it will be a difficult book to read to others in any sort of cohesive manner. It is one of the most heart breaking books I have read in a long while.

Although it is fiction, it is meticulously researched and poignantly realistic in the telling. Jackie French has based her story on the letters, diaries and memoirs, right down to some very gory details, of real characters who were there as well as official dates and documents. Mostly, it is the vivid and emotionally charged portrayals of this bloodiest of all wars which pulled my heart strings and kept me in tears throughout.

Set in Australia, New Zealand, England and the battle fields of France in the Great War, it tells the story of Midge Macpherson.   Midge is a New Zealand girl of Scottish decent who winds up leaving school in England to volunteer in France. Although it is a story which both boys and girls will enjoy/ benefit from, it is very much the story of the valiant women who volunteered in so many roles, without the recognition received by the even more valiant young men who fought in the War. It is also the story of the nurses and rich patronesses who kept the basic needs of these selfless men foremost in their minds and worked tirelessly for the duration of the war.
But just as much it  the story of, to quote The Band Played Waltzing Matilda,

 "The armless, the legless, the blind and insane,

All the poor wounded heroes of Suvla."

and all the other arenas in which the ANZACs fought.

This story, though a novel, is very close to the bone, and heart,  for me as my own Grandad fought in this conflict in the very fields of France where the story is set. As a child, he spoke very little to us of the horrors he had experienced. He was wounded on two occasions. After the first he returned to action (Oh, after reading this I can hardly bear to think how hard that must have been to do.) After the second very close escape (We have his pocket book complete with bullet hole to show how he was spared) he was sent to recuperate in England and after the armistice was signed, shipped home. As this book describes vividly the transportation and conditions of the wounded and dying, I imagine Grandad in those very tents, among the screaming wounded and the shell shocked. My heart goes out to him and all those brave young men who went to war to do their duty, to serve King and country and came back, alive but forever scarred.

As children, (Grandad died, aged 91,  when I was 20 years old) he glossed over the actual horrors and atrocities we now know he must have seen and experienced. But he loved to tell of the wonders of Egypt and spoke of how lovely the people of France, England and Ireland (where he visited relatives after recovery) were. He would roar laughing about  how the French girls called him Michelle (Michael). Of course, France and London were battle scarred and deeply depressed when he visited.But as I got older, I realised that Grandad didn't just carry the scars of the shrapnel which we could see on his shoulder and over his kidneys. He carried much deeper scars and as so many men of that era, he carried them silently.

Now I have only the few memories which my own Dad has relayed of those dreadful hand to hand battles on the fields of France. An image of his mate being blow apart beside him. Of Grandad refusing to shoot a German whose head kept bobbing up and down as he dug in just yards away from them. All was quiet and apparently he told the Captain if he wanted him dead he could shoot him, himself. Which he did apparently and all hell broke loose.

My grandfather was a quiet man, a gentleman and a scholar. How that war must have crushed his spirit.
When World War II broke out and his sons wanted to enlist he advised them to seek positions other than foot soldiers to spare them the same horrors. The two who went become drivers in the Army and were also blessed to return home safely. My Dad, a little younger and also a gentle soul, was blessedly not required, though the ones at home carry many cruel and vivid memories as well.

Once again, as we remember the fallen and those who have served our country in all conflicts, on this November 11th, I thank God that my grandfather was spared and that I have such precious memories of a wonderful man. A grandad, a story teller,  a farmer, a deeply religious, pious and well read man, a hero.

The pocket book which was tucked in Grandad's trousers, over his kidneys,

which took the brunt of the bullet and probably  saved his life.

(It is hard to see the hole in the bottom in this pic.)

Service medals and the Rising Sun insignia

He served in the 47th Battalion

.

A Rose for the Anzac Boys

http://www.jackiefrench.com/historical.html#anzac

Where 'ya bin?

WORDLESS  WEDNESDAY

Around the Boree Log

by John O'Brien

Oh, stick me in the old caboose this night of wind and rain,
And let the doves of fancy loose to bill and coo again.
I want to feel the pulse of love that warmed the blood like wine;
I want to see the smile above this kind old land of mine.

So come you by your parted ways that wind the wide world through,
And make a ring around the blaze the way we used to do;
The "fountain" on the sooted crane will sing the old, old song
Of common joys in homely vein forgotten, ah, too long.

The years have turned the rusted key, and time is on the jog,
Yet spend another night with me around the boree log.

Now someone driving through the rain will happen in, I bet;
So fill the fountain up again, and leave the table set.
For this was ours with pride to say - and all the world defy -
No stranger ever turned away, no neighbour passed us by.

Bedad, he'll have to stay the night; the rain is going to pour -
So make the rattling windows tight, and close the kitchen door,
And bring the old lopsided chair, the tattered cushion, too -
We'll make the stranger happy there, the way we used to do.

The years have turned the rusted key, and time is on the jog,
Yet spend another night with me around the boree log.

He'll fill his pipe, and good and well, and all aglow within
We'll hear the news he has to tell, the yarns he has to spin;
Yarns - yes, and super-yarns, forsooth, to set the eyes agog,
And freeze the blood of trusting youth around the boree log.

Then stir it up and make it burn; the poker's next to you;
Come, let us poke it all in turn, the way we used to do.
There's many a memory bright and fair will tingle at a name -
But leave unstirred the embers there we cannot fan to flame.

The years have turned the rusted key, and time is on the jog;
Still, spend this fleeting night with me around the boree log.



Boree (sometimes accented on the last syllable) is the aboriginal name for the Weeping Myall - the best firewood in Australia except Gidgee.


John O'Brien AKA  JP Hartigan

John Williamson True Blue

Australians will be so familiar with "True Blue" that it needs no introduction,

but have a listen anyway and soak up just being an Aussie.

Versions of "The Band Played Waltzing Matilda" were being posted on a forum I belong to and ooops.... I couldn't help myself....I went into a bit of a patriotic Australiana lesson!

Anyway, I thought I would post this little ripper after my posts on the great Aussie poets. Enjoy!

and 'ave a good weekend !

In Defence of the Bush

by A.B. "Banjo" Paterson

So you're back from up the country, Mister Lawson, where you went,
And you're cursing all the business in a bitter discontent;
Well, we grieve to disappoint you, and it makes us sad to hear
That it wasn't cool and shady -- and there wasn't plenty beer,
And the loony bullock snorted when you first came into view;
Well, you know it's not so often that he sees a swell like you;

Andrew Barton "Banjo" Paterson

And the roads were hot and dusty, and the plains were burnt and brown,
And no doubt you're better suited drinking lemon-squash in town.

Yet, perchance, if you should journey down the very track you went
In a month or two at furthest you would wonder what it meant,
Where the sunbaked earth was gasping like a creature in its pain
You would find the grasses waving like a field of summer grain,
And the miles of thirsty gutters blocked with sand and choked with mud,
You would find them mighty rivers with a turbid, sweeping flood;
For the rain and drought and sunshine make no changes in the street,
In the sullen line of buildings and the ceaseless tramp of feet;
But the bush hath moods and changes, as the seasons rise and fall,
And the men who know the bush-land -- they are loyal through it all.

But you found the bush was dismal and a land of no delight,
Did you chance to hear a chorus in the shearers' huts at night?
Did they "rise up, William Riley" by the camp-fire's cheery blaze?
Did they rise him as we rose him in the good old droving days?
And the women of the homesteads and the men you chanced to meet --
Were their faces sour and saddened like the "faces in the street",
And the "shy selector children" -- were they better now or worse
Than the little city urchins who would greet you with a curse?
Is not such a life much better than the squalid street and square
Where the fallen women flaunt it in the fierce electric glare,
Where the sempstress plies her sewing till her eyes are sore and red
In a filthy, dirty attic toiling on for daily bread?
Did you hear no sweeter voices in the music of the bush
Than the roar of trams and 'buses, and the war-whoop of "the push"?
Did the magpies rouse your slumbers with their carol sweet and strange?
Did you hear the silver chiming of the bell-birds on the range?
But, perchance, the wild birds' music by your senses was despised,
For you say you'll stay in townships till the bush is civilised.
Would you make it a tea-garden and on Sundays have a band
Where the "blokes" might take their "donahs", with a "public" close at hand?
You had better stick to Sydney and make merry with the "push",
For the bush will never suit you, and you'll never suit the bush.

by Pro Hart

Banjo Paterson and Henry Lawson were  the "duelling poets" in these poems (Up the Country and In Defence of the Bush) pitting the Australian Bush against the City Life! I have always enjoyed the works of both poets and love this little spar between them. It is amazing that two of our greatest poets wrote at around the same time and give us an wonderful glimpse into our country at this time. These poems were published in 1892.

While "The Banjo" portrays quite a romantic view of pioneering Australia,(Waltzing Matilda, The Man from Snowy River) Henry was more of a realist (The Drover's Wife, Andy's Gone with Cattle) and wrote his poetry just as he saw things.

The painting "In Defence of the Bush" is by Pro Hart from the anthology I have of Banjo's poems illustrated by Pro! (Yep, first name terms. They are all my good friends :-)

Up the Country

by Henry Lawson

I am back from up the country -- very sorry that I went --

Henry Lawson

Seeking for the Southern poets' land whereon to pitch my tent;
I have lost a lot of idols, which were broken on the track --
Burnt a lot of fancy verses, and I'm glad that I am back.
Further out may be the pleasant scenes of which our poets boast,
But I think the country's rather more inviting round the coast --
Anyway, I'll stay at present at a boarding-house in town
Drinking beer and lemon-squashes, taking baths and cooling down.

Sunny plains! Great Scot! -- those burning wastes of barren soil and sand
With their everlasting fences stretching out across the land!
Desolation where the crow is! Desert! where the eagle flies,
Paddocks where the luny bullock starts and stares with reddened eyes;
Where, in clouds of dust enveloped, roasted bullock-drivers creep
Slowly past the sun-dried shepherd dragged behind his crawling sheep.
Stunted "peak" of granite gleaming, glaring! like a molten mass
Turned, from some infernal furnace, on a plain devoid of grass.

Miles and miles of thirsty gutters -- strings of muddy waterholes
In the place of "shining rivers" (walled by cliffs and forest boles).
"Range!" of ridgs, gullies, ridges, barren! where the madden'd flies --
Fiercer than the plagues of Egypt -- swarm about your blighted eyes!
Bush! where there is no horizon! where the buried bushman sees
Nothing. Nothing! but the maddening sameness of the stunted trees!
Lonely hut where drought's eternal -- suffocating atmosphere --
Where the God forgottcn hatter dreams of city-life and beer.

Treacherous tracks that trap the stranger, endless roads that gleam and glare,
Dark and evil-looking gullies -- hiding secrets here and there!
Dull, dumb flats and stony "rises," where the bullocks sweat and bake,
And the sinister "gohanna," and the lizard, and the snake.
Land of day and night -- no morning freshness, and no afternoon,
For the great, white sun in rising brings with him the heat of noon.
Dismal country for the exile, when the shades begin to fall
From the sad, heart-breaking sunset, to the new-chum, worst of all.

Dreary land in rainy weather, with the endless clouds that drift
O'er the bushman like a blanket that the Lord will never lift --
Dismal land when it is raining -- growl of floods and oh! the "woosh"
Of the rain and wind together on the dark bed of the bush --
Ghastly fires in lonely humpies where the granite rocks are pil'd
On the rain-swept wildernesses that are wildest of the wild.

Land where gaunt and haggard women live alone and work like men,
Till their husbands, gone a-droving, will return to them again --
Homes of men! if homes had ever such a God-forgotten place,
Where the wild selector's children fly before a stranger's face.
Home of tragedy applauded by the dingoes' dismal yell,
Heaven of the shanty-keeper -- fitting fiend for such a hell --
And the wallaroos and wombats, and, of course, the "curlew's call" --
And the lone sundowner tramping ever onward thro' it all!

I am back from up the country -- up the country where I went
Seeking for the Southern poets' land whereon to pitch my tent;
I have left a lot of broken idols out along the track,
Burnt a lot of fancy verses -- and I'm glad that I am back --
I believe the Southern poet's dream will not be realised
Till the plains are irrigated and the land is humanised.
I intend to stay at present -- as I said before -- in town
Drinking beer and lemon-squashes -- taking baths and cooling down.