Honey Hush

When I wrote this poem a few years ago, I was thinking about the joy this little boat brought to me and my friends as we sailed the waters of Fisherman's Bay in South Australia. 

A Rainbow Class yacht Dad bought for David and me, David was caught under the sail in a capsize and never wanted to get in the boat again.

Brian Tiller, David Kent, Trevor Moore and many more mates terrified water skiers as we fought for space on the deep water in the small bay. 

Honey Hush, I loved you to bits.

SIXTEEN

It was a girl

She was sixteen

Her dad’s old guitar

And ripped blue jeans

She strummed old strings

We sang along

It was a boy

He was just fifteen

A red sailing boat

For his summer’s dream

His gaze she held all night

We watched on

It was a boat

As dawn broke golden

And soft white sails

Her name emboldened

Slow waves on morning tide

We did not see

It was new love

On summer breezes

Days just drifted by

Seaweed sand and evening breezes

No one he loved more than she

We saw it all

Old Symes Family Photos

Having all sorts of fun trying to edit the old black and whites from almost one hundred years ago, found one of Harold William Symes taking a bit of time out. I'm not too sure about his bed, even for 1940 those pine posts look a bit uncomfortable. This is taken alongside the house in Government road Orroroo, not long before he died.
Harold left behind a family who followed in his footsteps believing in his example of his hard work and Christian ethics.
A highly social man Harold loved his sport and did everything from Tent Pegging, Tennis, Clay Pigeon shooting, to organising athletic events.

Andrew William and his wife Doris Elizabeth Symes
 my great grandparents, cut a proud pose for the camera

This photo shows Edna and Beth Symes decked out in their Sunday finery, Mum still has he plaits here, but later at her sister Aileen's insistence, they were severed. She has always liked her hair and the amount of curlers and driers in her Fifth Street bathroom are testament to that.

Edna's life Story

Never too old to give it a try

January 2017
88 Year old Edna Probert of Orroroo ready for some slides 

While sorting through my mother Edna's photos and journals to help me build a chapter plan for her story, I thought about her many visits to Darwin and how easily she fitted in with Danny's friends. 

  For Mum fitting in with people always came naturally and she often did it without needing to be asked. In 1987 I found her volunteering for different duties to help our young motorsport community at the Black Rock Dirt Circuit Club.

 A few years later, and she was helping my son Danny to build his drift car in Darwin. This year she was surprised when he brought a car back to South Australia so he could show her what drifting was all about. 

 This is a picture of Gran buckled in and ready for a blast around the circuit at Mambray Creek.

Photo Courtesy of Xdrift Industries Drift Team

How do you decide whether to write a biography, or tell the story of some-one's life.

Edna Probert in her Fifth Street  home May 2017

Surrounded by mountains of memories in the form of notes, journal entries and photos I'm trying to find the best way to record my mother's stories. We have plenty of Stud Books as my Uncle Doug calls them, family trees that document our ancestral roots, but these are as dry as a vacuum cleaner repair manual. I want something more, more entertaining. Therefore I have started imagining my mother as a ten-year-old and working from the stories her sisters and brothers told me and used them as the base to paint a picture of her life just before the Second World War.

Below is an excerpt from the introduction.

Iris looked at her mother, pointed toward Edna and said. ‘What’s the chance that next week Dad can take both of them?’

Emily brushed at her dress again. ‘Absolutely none. If anyone needs to know their Bible, it’s Edna.’

‘What, who said my name?’ Edna was never one to be left out.

‘Mum said you’ll need a lot more Bible lessons yet.’ Aileen grinned at her, ‘just to keep you out of the Devil’s clutches.’

From the moment the visitor from the north took the pulpit, Edna always knew she wanted to be a missionary in New Guinea, so it did not matter what anyone said, God understood her and she knew he would help her resist any of Satan’s temptations. She thought about New Guinea and how she would look after unwanted babies. Along the way she would spread God’s word. While this was the world of many a scrawny country kid whose social life revolved around family church and school, it was how Edna saw herself. She still does.

A nice review about writing character

Melton Library

My writing colleagues and I often go on about the importance of plot and if one of our stories is strong or seems to lack something. As my Wordsmith's of Melton friends are a critiquing group, discussion can be quite robust and at times it becomes difficult to subject a piece for critique, then an unexpected review comes into our inbox. This is one of those.

I had passed out a few final drafts of my Detective Voss novel 'The Price of Innocence' for the members to read and identify strengths and weaknesses in the manuscript. To say I was chuffed with Sonia Doherty's review is an understatement and I have pasted it below.. Thank you Sonia.

I have started reading Voss and one thing you do really well is relationships and people. You create interesting characters and how they interact. You make us like them, flaws and all, and not like others. Some we watch grow throughout the story and some we laugh at how they behave. In all your books this is one thing that has stood out to me.

Sonia

For anyone interested in writing I would recommend working with other writers within a community based critiquing group similar to ours because your writing will grow from it. Check out Writers Victoria. S A Writers and your local library should be able to help direct you too.

A little bit from Les Gillespie's Gold

Coffee scene set in Maggie's in Orroroo South Australia.

‘No..., toys, stuff to tantalise tease and explore. You know the gear I mean.’ Fiona was laughing too.

Tilly raised her eyebrows. ‘I’ll leave all that to your imagination, but I think you have offered me an insight into your seedy side.’

‘What can I say, some girls just want to have fun.’ She winked, as the police car pulled into the kerb in front of them. ‘Not a word to John now. Deal?’

‘Not sure I can keep all of that information to myself.’ Tilly laughed.

‘No afternoon babysitter if you squeal, girl.’ Fiona’s laugh had grown louder.

‘You drive a hard bargain, friend, but we have a deal.’

‘What are you two giggling about’ John said.

‘Just the things that little girls say, Em is a crack-up.’ Fiona said.

‘I was just on my way to the hospital when I saw you two out here, sunning yourselves and drinking coffee.’ He kissed his wife. ‘Just thought I’d let you know I won’t be home for lunch, love. After this I’m off to Port Augusta, should be home a bit after six.’ He bent over and kissed her again. She ran her hand through his hair and held his kiss longer than he expected.

‘Love you.’ She said.

John felt somewhat embarrassed, looked around and gave a low growl. ‘You hussy,’ he said. ‘I’ll attend to you after the kids are in bed.’ He winked at Tilly, waved and walked back to his car.

‘And that, ladies, is how it’s done.’ Fiona remained in her chair, put her arms out and bowed until her nose almost touched her cup. She laughed, and felt her mood lighten. ‘Now you get those legs polished and book a luxury suite somewhere in Adelaide. You’ve got your own love song to play.’ She drained her cup and stood up, Fiona’s chores were calling.

Stories, where does it all come from?

Well I know where this passage came from, it's a similar conversation that many of my friends had with our bankers during the eighties. Some businesses and farms didn't make it, some people couldn't take it and a piece of rope or a rifle was their choice of escape others like Ron persevered for as long as they could. This piece from Les Gillespies gold is some of my story.

A bit of  history from my Orroroo Days
Mk 1 Cortina trunk-lid Danny Probert's
Dirt Circuit Car

Ron Reardon pushed a hand through his greying hair, he and his banker were walking around the paint and panel shop. Grass had died between the back walls and the fences, everywhere between was cleared by the four, pet sheep laying in the shade of an abandoned four-wheel-drive. A few wrecks in a line against the back of the used car yard fence. Ron had never used the second-hand yard and to him it was useless real estate.

Two months ago, a major customer declared bankruptcy, Ron had hoped for thirty cents in the dollar, but after the tax office and the first mortgage holders, there was nothing left for creditors. Now he was in trouble and the banker had told him as much only a few weeks ago. He had to sell, his latest loan application could be approved, but only with more security and at a higher interest rate. The last thing they could afford was more interest.

‘I can’t do it to Polly, there’s no way I’ll put the house on the line.’ He said.

‘I’ve known you a long time now, mate and I know how much you’ve invested yourself into the business. If you don’t find the security, maybe it’s time to call it quits. Look, if it were me, I’d declare the business bankrupt and walk away. Ron, you’re not fifty yet, start again.’ The banker tried to keep their mood upbeat.

‘The house is freehold. If I did it, we’d still keep our home, yeah?’

‘I don’t think so.’ He shrugged, ‘personal guarantees...’ He rested his backside on the front tyre of a tractor. ‘I don’t expect you’d have much to pay creditors either.’

‘Just my debtors’ ledger?’

‘First mortgagee. There’s the personal guarantees too, so the bank ’ll take that too, I’m sorry.

‘Sorry bullshit, what your saying is, I’m fucked. Twenty years of slog down the drain. Got any good news.’