Holidays:

Detail of carpet at Qantas end of Melbourne airport.

Distance shot of same carpet.

Photos: first of all the Melbourne airport carpet at the Qantas end. This is a continuation and addition to American Barbara’s wonderful carpet post: https://silverinthebarn.wordpress.com/2015/04/02/flying-carpets/

Australian airports don’t have the flair that we saw in Barbara’s post of her various carpets in America. Ours seem to be made for heavy traffic and are very mundane and practical. She has made me far more aware of where I’m treading.

I stayed at a B&B on the Mersey River, Devonport, the same road that I lived on as a child. It was wonderful waking up and seeing the river over the parade opposite.

Walking in Devonport each evening was such a peaceful way to exercise. I had no fear after the sun went down walking on my own. Many joggers use the path which has been resurfaced in a soft material.

Looking from the beach to the B&B where I stayed.

The Mersey at twilight.

Rowers on the river

A large nest of drift wood at twilight.

A series of public exercise pieces of equipment for all to use.

More exercise equipment.

Sea and sky with a sandy beach in the background.

Beautifully kept gardens with running track.

Joggers at twilight.

Map showing Mersey River and the size of Devonport, Tasmania

Peace at sunset.

Running/ riding track after sunset.

Pleasant surprise on Victoria Parade: second hand books to use. A treat for those away from home.

Rain on my departure day, sorry I was leaving , of course! Photo taken from Dannebrog Lodge, B&B dining room.

Carpet at Devonport airport .

Detail of D’port airport carpet.

Thanks for travelling with me!

 

Time away:

Three nights away and I feel a different person. Celebrating my aunt’s 90^th birthday was a treat. She is the last of my mother’s sisters. Mary holds herself so straight; always dressing in such a dignified manner, she’s an inspiration. Her health hasn’t always been good, and yet her complaints are kept to herself. I wonder to myself, will I be as stoic?

View from fire lit D’Anvers restaurant with delicious hot chocolates.

Mary

My aunt’s cousin, Jane, (80, previous winner of the Australian Seniors’ Golf Championship), took us for some wonderful drives. On arrival we had afternoon tea at the House of Anvers, a boutique chocolate factory/ restaurant at Latrobe.

Jane

 

 

 

Lunch on the birthday was at La Mar at Turners Beach. Totally delicious fare of fish and chips, cooked just right.

Up behind Devonport there are places called No Where Else and Paradise. Places such as these had their signs removed during the war to confuse the enemy, in case they were invaded. I’m sure with the signs any enemy would have been none the wiser! The Forth Valley is mostly farming, with such vegetables as: beans, broccoli, onions, leeks celery, swedes, potatoes, cabbage, cauliflower, lettuce and pumpkin.

Glencoe, B&B

B&Bs are scattered, this taken out of the moving car, shows a sign for one of these where there is a famous French chef. They grow their own produce and the food is exquisite.

Poppy growing

 

 

Tasmania is the only Southern Hemisphere location where poppies are grown for the production of morphine, codeine and thebaine. Victoria has been threatening to start competing in this area, but Tasmanians are hoping to retain their monopoly.

 

Of course the conversation always wanders down memory lane, and my aunt’s long- term memory is in full swing.

Deloraine was where we met up with my mother’s only brother, Henry, (92) and his wife Anne. Eating out, my aunts, cousin and uncle are recognized wherever we go. Tasmania is such a friendly island with so many links.

Henry

 

Afterwards we went into the rural countryside behind Deloraine. (In the middle of no –where, where the search for the Tasmanian tiger still goes on). Here, there is now a place called 41degrees South where they farm salmon and grow ginseng, producing gourmet products with free tastings. Returning to the Highway we went to a place called the Creamery where they make ices of every description, dairy free! They were like the Italian gelati with a wide range of flavours. There too, of course, someone knew someone, and more discussions ensued in the Tasmanian way.

The rows of poplar trees were all golden and glowed in the sunshine with the blue of the mountain as a backdrop.

We didn’t stop at the cheese factory this time. The whole of Tasmania is catering to tourists and niche industries have struck up all over the island. It is certainly a place I’d recommend for a holiday, no matter what your interests are. Many artists and writers have settled in Tasmania as it retains a fresh and unspoilt feel.

 

Enduring Threads: part 18

A year at home

External exams in the large city hall were very daunting. My mother kept her promise; I left after passing the Schools Board, happy to be away from boarding school. Matriculation wasn’t for me. Mum kept me home the following year. I did part of a typing course and also became totally absorbed in painting and drawing classes at the local Tech. Christopher talked me into going to art school. He painted my portrait in his holidays; but I later painted over it, never appreciating seeing myself, and I didn’t realise its future historical significance.

Religion had always interested me. ‘Why don’t you go to Bible College?’ the young minister asked, when he came to afternoon tea. I had so many questions, but he answered none. He was a total loss. I certainly didn’t want to go to Bible College.

Conventional religion didn’t answer my questions. There were so many things I couldn’t accept. It was the following year that I discovered the Quakers, or Friends. Questions were welcomed amongst Friends. Because they had no set dogma there were all sorts of interesting people attracted to the Meeting House. One accepted principle was pacifism, and this appealed to me. They supported the young conscripts who didn’t want to join the army and fight in Vietnam. My mother and two sisters had been sent to The Friends’ School, as my grandfather had greatly admired the Quakers. Here my mother’s distaste for meat was accepted, and she was able to go home and tell her family she no longer had to eat meat.

 

Barbara, David Brown, Mum, Lea Brown, Uncle Henry at ‘Latin Quarter’, my first night club. 28-6-1963

In the winter of 1963 Uncle Henry took my mother and me to Queensland for a holiday. We stopped in Melbourne and Sydney on the way, catching up with Henry’s friends in expensive restaurants. After dinner at my first night club, the Latin Quarter, we drove around Kings Cross looking at the night life.

Hiring a car in Brisbane we travelled up to Rockhampton and then west, where we met distant relatives on a large cattle station. Such generous hospitality seems to be the way of the outback. Their closely- knit family was essential for survival and happiness, living in such isolation.

 

Uncle Henry sailing to Stradbroke Island

We then holidayed at Surfer’s Paradise. The tropical fruits were delicious; feeding the parrots and watching the dolphins made the holiday seem exotic. Relaxing under palm trees, enjoying the warmth and tasting fresh coconuts, made the Tasmanian winter storms an unreality.

 

In Devonport, Vita Endelmanis helped me design smocks to wear at art school; also suggesting

Barbara at Hawley Beach pre-art school

how I could wear stockings and skivvies to match, underneath the smocks. It was good to have a mentor, as I’d never before been encouraged to think about any form of creative dress, or what might suit me. I loved black and coloured stockings.

Nigel, Graeme and Angus at Hawley Beach 1963

 

Mrs. Westcombe, the butcher’s wife, was my chaperone when I went to the summer school in January before I started art school. We stayed at a small hotel nearby. It was an enjoyable and appropriate introduction to art school as it was held in the same Gothic building, as the art school, up on the Hobart Domain. Going out watercolour painting in Battery Point and starting my sketch- book helped me feel I was on the way to becoming an art student.

 

Nigel, Mum and Mrs. Westcombe at Hawley Beach

The year at home was wonderful. During the year I had a boyfriend called Des. I met him at an end-of-school year party in Sheffield. He wore a cadmium-yellow jumper, which suited him very well. He was studying a trades teaching course at Technical College in Hobart and I only saw him during holidays. We went to the drive-in. My mother warned me of what could happen there. I came home most disappointed or was it relieved? This friendship fizzled when I went to Hobart.