Remembering

I woke at 5:00 am, determined to attend at least one ANZAC dawn service in my lifetime.
Hundreds of others were of a similar mind and I joined them, all of us heading to the Soldiers' Memorial Gardens in Victor Harbor.

The setting was sublime; the deep, rich, velvety-orange hint of a sunrise shimmered on the horizon, reflecting its hues in the still waters of Encounter Bay.

Tall pine trees were silhouetted against the faint light; it was still fairly dark - and cold.

The tall cross that dominates the gardens was illuminated with lights, and a screen stood nearby on which were projected harrowing scenes of war and photos of those who did not return.

A lone bagpiper walked along the path to the cross, the haunting sound of the pipes both sad and soothing.


Annoyingly, into this tranquil scene, the organisers decided to inject a modern song about Australian heroes marching to war.  But this was followed by the anti-war, hymn-like tune And the band played Waltzing Mathilda which I admire and which always brings the tears on, the futility of war made clear by the powerful lyrics.

The laying of wreaths and the playing of the Last Post completed the service.

Two autumn walks

Walk 1: Onkaparinga River 
Last week we ventured north to the Onkaparinga River National Park. The sun was shining, a picnic lunch and thermos had been packed and we were heading into unknown territory. Anticipation was high. This is a large park with numerous gates opening off the main road and many listed walks. Unfortunately our 2010 map did not help as, apparently, all the gate numbers had been changed a year or so ago; hence Gate 6, our destination, was now Gate 11. (We only found this out after looking on the internet when we returned home.)  After some moments of deliberation, we decided to do the signed Echidna Trail.

The walk was not particularly scenic as a lot of the trees were regrowth eucalypts and, after the summer, everything seemed dry and crunchy. There were wattle trees, river red gums, peppermint box and she-oaks. I do love grass trees and there were many of them.

High on the ridge overlooking the river and gorge (though it was difficult to see any water at all) were the ruins of a house, built in the 1880s so our pamphlet said.

After the walk, we decided to visit Old Noarlunga, a village on a bend of the Onkaparinga River and settled in 1840s. Sadly, despite a detailed brochure extolling the historic atmosphere of the place, the sense of history eluded us. Many old buildings have been demolished and shops and businesses have closed. However, there were a few beautifully restored houses.

We had lunch on the banks of the river in a very peaceful setting.

On the way back home we impulsively turned off into Mt Jagged Winery not far from Victor Harbor where we sampled and bought a lovely semillon and a sparkling red.

The autumn light shone through the leaves.







Walk 2: Hindmarsh River Trail
Not far from home is the Hindmarsh River. There is a walk that follows its winding route to Encounter Bay. We walked the midsection which was called the Wattle Trail. The walk was flat and easy.

The river was fairly narrow at this point and lined with river red gums and swamp paperbarks

This was a beautiful section of the river.

We played Pooh sticks here, throwing our sticks in then hurrying to the other side of the bridge. Even though Steve threw his stick further out than mine, he still won.  Pooh!

Encounter Bay celebrations

This past weekend saw the 114th anniversary of the meeting between Matthew Flinders and Nicolas Baudin and the subsequent naming of our bay by Flinders. To mark the occasion there was French flag flying, a re-enactment, readings from the navigators' log books, French food, petanque, a display of Citroen and Peugot cars - and to even things up a gathering of wonderful old Austin-Healeys, mostly from the 1950s.

A colourful Citroen 

And ....

Some of the Austin Healeys

And ...

an MG

And, of course, we had to try some French food. Steve opted for a plum crepe, while I chose a rum and prune Breton cake.

The calories thus ingested made my next activity worthwhile.
The Victor Dragons had a fun meet against an Adelaide team of women who had survived breast cancer.  The weather was perfect and made paddling on the lake most pleasurable.

Close up of the intrepid paddler

Here I am, lifejacket, gloves and cap!

And they're racing.......

I used to love going to the trots at Gloucester Park in Perth. We were in our early twenties and it was a great night out with a group of friends. The course was floodlit and there was a heightened sense of fun and expectation as we inspected the horses, checked their previous form from the Racing Guide, noted their colours ( I often opted for a horse because I liked the colour of the silks) and placed our bets.

So it was with a great deal of excitement that I noticed a trotting track not far from our new home and a notice saying 'Next meeting, March 27'. So off we went.

Morgan Park is a country track, the races are held in the daytime and there were not the bustling crowds I was used to. But the setting was lovely, and this time, 40 years later, we paid concession prices because of our Seniors Card!!!!.

We duly inspected the horses in their stalls and I studiously read the Guide we purchased.

Steve selected the horse for Race 1. Sadly, the horse Wrongly Accused was wrongly selected and it powered past the finishing line a proud last.

I decided to watch the next race with no bet attached, and the horse I mentally selected came second.

We loved the way that, before each race, the stirring sounds of 'Chariots of Fire' erupted over the loudspeaker, adding to the atmosphere and our excitement.

Sadly, my bet for the third race Theeyeshaveit did not have the magic touch either and despite a valiant effort toward the end in which my hopes began to lift, sped by to come fourth.

But it was a fun time. We munched on our picnic lunch, admired the sleek lines of the horses and enjoyed the thunder of hooves as they paced around the track.

     

A friend comes to stay

It's always a delight when Margaret, my Tasmanian friend, comes to visit. Of course, now we have moved to the Fleurieu Peninsula, it's that much easier for her, as her mother lives in Adelaide.

So it was that, on the Friday following Easter, Margaret drove triumphantly into Jeffery Drive. First things first, we had to compare our toes. Yup, that's right. It seems that M was very proud of her recently professionally manicured toes and wanted to show them off.

 That's hers on the left in vivid magenta, and mine (amateurishly completed with a lot of stretching and hasty removal of blobs of polish) on the right in a vampish red.






And then it was time for lunch. I had whipped up some zucchini and feta fritters and salad.
[An aside: I looked up the recipe on the internet. Following the ingredients and method, there was an advertisement from Coles explaining how much the items cost from their store. The site then said:

Your nearest Coles store is ......

Well, I was expecting it to say Victor Harbor which is a mere 5 minutes from home, but no. Apparently, my nearest Coles store is Alice Springs, a two-day drive from here. Hmmm.....]

We then left for the Bluff, a huge granite outcrop lording itself over Encounter Bay. Unfortunately, there was little sun and the whole sky was cloaked in clouds. There was also a brisk sea wind  swirling and gusting and challenging us to stay upright.

But we made it to the top and a kind man took our photo.

I had been telling Margaret of our recent trip to Myanmar and the reclining Buddhas we had seen, so she was keen to replicate this in her own inimitable fashion.

We then did a bit of the Heritage Trail, a lovely coastal walk I am rather fond of.

A celebratory meal at the Anchorage Hotel where it was Tapas Night, completed an exhausting day.

Day Two saw us heading towards Langhorne Creek, a premium grape growing region 45 minutes north-east of home. It's only a small region and much less flashy and commercial than McLaren Vale to the immediate north. We found it peaceful and picturesque.

We visited about five wineries - all different - which was what made the day so enjoyable. The people at the extensive Angas Plains Wines were most welcoming;  Bleasdale Winery has been making wine since 1850 and the small red-brick buildings give the sense of a small English village; the cellar door at Bremerton Wines was an 1866 stone barn; Lake Breeze Wines had stunning views across the vines; Fabal Wines has only been open for three weeks and is a fascinating mix of wines and olive oil soaps and cosmetics.

We did a lot of walking.

And as you can see by the next photo, we were having lots of fun.

We lunched at the charming old Bridge Hotel where we did indeed receive 'a warm country welcome'  as the brochure promised. After two more winery visits and purchases, it was homeward bound.

It is de rigueur for our guests to do the Encounter Lakes Wetlands walk, a 20-minute meandering path a couple of minutes from our front door. And so on Day Three off we went. I always love watching the glossy black moor hens, the curved-beaked ghost-like ibis that burst into flight at the slightest movement on our part, the ducks that come swooping in to land on the water, and the ever-circling seagulls.

It was such a lovely few days.  I always feel inspired after a Margaret visit. I love her joie de vivre and unfailing optimism about life in general.  Our never-ending chats embraced family, gardening, literature, food, home, travels, history and much more. Yes, friendship is a truly wonderful gift that should never be taken for granted.

Thanks Margaret.
Until next time.......

Writer Obsessions

Ernest Hemingway
Last year I became intrigued with Ernest Hemingway. I had read The Old Man and the Sea in high school but that's all.  It was after I read The Paris Wife by Paula McLain, a fictionalised but very moving account of his first marriage, that I wanted to know more about the man, his life and his writings. I found a fairly basic biography ( Ernest Hemingway: A Writer's Life by Catherine Reef), but it was Paul Hendrickson's amazing Hemingway's Boat that pulled me in. It's a detailed portrait that shows the man in all his personas: charming, romantic, a macho big-game hunter and fisherman, a bully, neurotic.

I was then given the hefty The Hemingway Women by Berenice Kert, which totally absorbed me and provided information from a different perspective.

I then read A Farewell to Arms and was captivated by the writing.

I also loved A Moveable Feast, written later in life when he reminisced rather romantically about his time in Paris in the 1920s.

But I then discovered a copy of one of his earliest books The Torrents of Spring, written in 1925. This is a bizarre book unless you know why he wrote it, a fact that shows a perverse and mean side to his character. A friend and mentor, Sherwood Anderson, had just written a book that critics praised, saying he was America's greatest writer - a label Hemingway wished to have. So he wrote a parody of the novel, poking fun at the simple style and in some cases actually paraphrasing paragraphs. Everyone told him not to publish such a cruel book, but he went ahead anyway. Not surprisingly the friend never spoke to him again. Modern readers, like me, are likely to find it silly and pretentious, though I did read a review that praised it as 'clever and witty' and Hemingway scholars will find clues in it that foreshadow his very characteristic writing style.

On my shelf, still to read, is Hemingway's last novel, True at First Light, an account of hunting in Africa, and a book I found in a secondhand shop in country Victoria for $5: My Brother Ernest Hemingway by Leicester Hemingway.

George Orwell


My second obsession is with George Orwell, aka Eric Blair.  I read a marvellous biography Orwell: Wintry Conscience of a Generation by Jeffrey Meyers that, while being extremely detailed, was a powerfully penetrating portrait of the man, culled from contemporary accounts interviews, archival documents, photographs and his body of short stories, articles, non-fiction books and novels.
Evidently he had a peculiar relish for discomfort and a need to be thoroughly unhappy, not a hard task as he was permanently weakened by bronchitis.
I loved facts such as:

• Animal Farm was rejected by five publishers before being accepted
• Nineteen Eighty Four was described by one critic as 'cynical rot'.  

These classics are well known, so it was a pleasant surprise to read the semi-fictionalised account of his time in Burma as a police officer in Burmese Days. It is an unsettling tale of life in British-held Burma in the 1920s, a scathing attack on imperial bigotry, racism and corruption with many scenes incredibly moving in their intensity and honesty, yet balanced with evocative descriptions of the heady scents of the exotic plants, the dry, dusty roads, the stifling humidity and the alien native customs.




Next, was Coming Up For Air, another one of his early novels.

There's little plot but a lot of captivating descriptive writing: a man reminisces about his past and decides to revisit the scene of his childhood. Orwell's whole approach to this novel is unorthodox and intriguing as he describes the minutae of everyday life, but it shows his early confidence and command of the English language.

Similarly, Keep the Aspidistra Flying shows Orwell's ability to write about ordinary people in ordinary situations that grips the reader and propels them into the lives of his characters.

While not a man who was easy to like, his often tortuous life experiences coupled with his social conscience have left us with works of immense power that continue to move us.