The Waning Summer

It was a cool day today, almost too cool, with a misty light drizzle for most of the morning. This follows several mild days and a decent shower of rain the other night, hardly enough to register in the gauge but cooling yes, and envigourating to the garden. Last week we had mild overcast mornings, as still as can be, followed by warm and sunny balmy afternoons that had me looking for shade.

For all money, it looks and feels like autumn has come early, although there's some hot weather forecast for early next week. For sure March can be stinking hot, but it does seem unlikely now.

I had a rheumatologist appointment on Monday. It went as I expected. My blood tests showed inflammation levels were still up. It appears the combination of methotrexate and sulphasalazine is not working so he wants me to go on another drug soon, Abatacept, a biological DMARD. I am to get more blood tests next week, (for an extra raft of screening that must be done before I can go on it) and then see him again on March 7 with the anticipation of then taking the Abatacept, with the methotrexate still, and dropping the sulphur one. The Abatacept can be taken a variety of ways but he said probably best for me is to self inject once a week.

I have not taken prednisolone since October. I know if I take this I can function freely without much pain but the side effects of long term use are a serious risk and I was on it for nearly two years, long enough for me to rest my mind and get off it unless I'm desperate. I was taking therapeutic doses of Panadol Osteo daily for some weeks which helped but I have backed right off that too to give my system a break. I pop a couple of Paracetomol+Codeine at night and a couple of Panadol Rapid in the morning, trying to limit to 4 tabs a day in total which does take the edge off it, with some days when I take nothing at all. I'm OK, still able to do most things but more slowly and carefully. My blood test readings of last week showing the inflammation was no surprise because my pain barometer told me it was so.

This medical stuff weighs down the mind, but I have to say my enjoyment of life is high. With the detraction of less than perfect physical health comes a greater appreciation of all I'm grateful for, and it seems, enhanced receptors for the beauty around me. On Monday on my way back from the specialist I happened to look to my right into the houses on the hill east of Stud Rd as I went down the hill towards the creek, on Heatherton Road, to see a magnificent Atlantic Cedar boldly dominating the scene. I had never noticed this tree before, not surprisingly, as one is usually focused on driving in traffic. It was majestic in shape and size and admirable for its soft blue colouring. It literally made my day and I will watch for it every time I go to Dandenong.

On Tuesday I had a meeting to attend in the museum late in the day and went for a stroll afterwards to let Pip have a walk as she had been in the car while I was in meeting. In a row of golden maples that we planted some years ago, I was happy to see that one that had struggled for three or four years (when planting it the dirt fell off the root ball when we cut the bag off, on an unusually hot September day, and the tree was shooting), had come good, and was catching up the trees either side of it in the row. This was enormously heartwarming to me.

The big tree in the row was there already when we planted the others to make a row. Adjacent is a row, right of photo, is a row of red maples, planted above Gus Ryberg's memorial tree at the same time as the golden maples, also to make a row. Imagine the magnificent autumn colour when these trees reach maturity in the years ahead.

Well It Was a Good Day

Yes. A good day.

I took Lib some breakfast in bed- juice and peppermint tea with vitamins before toast and black tea- before I had to dash at 9.30am to open the museum for a bus group of seniors that was coming at 9.45am.

I was 2 minutes late. And there were three other people there to open the museum so I was a little pissed about that. They came at 10am, the 9.45 was a ruse to make sure we were there. There was no reason for me to be there at all, when I was under the understanding that there was no one to do it but me.

The bus group were good. They could not get the bus past the arch, as the go around was restricted by two limbs on the red oak. The bus was a very big high bastard. The patrons had morning tea where they could go no further and then walked down to the museum.

They left at about 12 midday. I dashed to Shirley's to cut some grass. Shirley died just before Christmas, pancreatic cancer. I'm still looking after the place for her daughters as they are preparing to sell the property, just starting now.

I was back at the museum at 1.30pm as I was on roster duty. Beryl and her grandson James were also there. Beryl is an English lady by descent, in her eighties, who goes to the museum every Sunday and shares duty with whoever is on roster. I could write a lot about Beryl. I did a Signpost article on her once, if I can find it I will copy it here.

                                                           TAKE OPPORTUNITIES

“I’ve used one of them,” Beryl Bartacek said to me once in the Emerald museum.  She was talking about a farm implement I can best describe as a scoop, pulled behind a horse for moving soil. She explained her first job on leaving school was on a farm.

Beryl was born in March 1929 in London. Her family moved to Hornchurch Essex where Beryl spent her childhood and attended the junior girl’s school.

She remembers bomb shelters being built in the school grounds during the war. Until they were finished the kids came to school for half a day then were sent home for the other half with homework to do. Hornchurch was between London and the coast and a large aerodrome right next door was often a bomb target.

Beryl and her friends watched dogfights above during the Battle of Britain. With the airfield so close most of the boys, including her two older brothers and the boys across the road, wanted to be fliers. They survived the war, but the other end of the street did not fare as well and many sons were lost. Everybody hoped the telegram man didn’t stop at their house, knowing what it would mean.

Beryl wanted to attend agricultural college and needed do a year’s full time work on a farm first. Her father, who worked for a wholesale fruit and veg firm at Covent Garden, had farmer contacts and in 1946 Beryl moved to Suffolk to a large mixed farm which grew many grain and vegetable crops including potatoes, sugar beet and kale. There were 1000 black faced Suffolk sheep, pigs, and milking cows. There were three tractors that did the heaviest ploughing; other work was done by draught horses of which there were fourteen in work and three stallions. Beryl worked in all areas of the farm progressing to working a team of three horses harrowing.

The manager of the farm was an Englishman who’d moved to Australia and married an Australian girl. Just before WW2 he’d gone home to England for a holiday with his bride but was caught out by the war and couldn’t return. His stories gave Beryl a desire to one day travel to Australia.

Much to her disappointment Beryl could not gain a place at agricultural college, preference being given to returned servicemen. At her mother’s insistence she left the farm and started work as a bookkeeper for a Swedish import firm. She enjoyed this and often lunched by the Tower Bridge. London still had plenty of vacant land after the WW2 bombing.

One day on a bus going past a school she looked into a classroom at the kids and was moved to say to herself, “That’s what I’d like to do.”

She enrolled at teacher’s college and after two years of hard work, most days being from 9.00am to 7.30pm., she qualified as a teacher and worked in new estates where the schools were crowded and class sizes large.

At the end of 1954 she boarded a ship and alighted in West Australia. She went to the Education Department in Perth telling them she was a qualified teacher looking for work. She was posted for six months to Pengilly in the south west wheat belt, then to Roebourne near Karratha in the north, teaching indigenous children of all ages who’d had little schooling.

Roebourne had three shops and a pub, where Beryl stayed as there was no alternative. Texas oil men with their rigs parked in the street were fellow guests. ‘’They were rowdy and hard to like.” She received an allowance for her accommodation and saved all her wages as there was nothing to spend it on.

At the end of the year, cashed up and keen to see more of Australia, she caught the Trans Australia train from Perth to Adelaide, then Pioneer bus to Melbourne and Sydney. She met future husband Karel on a visit to the Tooronga zoo. He had been working in Tasmania for 8 years after coming to Australia from Czechoslovakia as a displaced person.

On to Brisbane, then Mackay, where she walked into the hospital and said she was looking for work. They gave her a uniform and she became a nurse for some months. It was then another bus to Mt Isa, Tennant Creek, and Darwin, then Alice Springs, back to Adelaide, and to Tasmania to visit Karel.

Now out of money but still with a return ticket she left for England before returning to Tasmania in1958 when she and Karel married. Karel worked at a newsprint mill and Beryl worked as a teacher. They moved to Melbourne in 1965 with their three daughters, living in South Oakleigh before coming to Emerald in 1993 where they enjoyed retirement and made valuable contribution to the Emerald Museum.

After a recent interval which saw the passing of Karel and Beryl undergoing hip replacement, she has rejoined the museum committee with typical enthusiasm.

“I’m fortunate that my Christian faith has held me in good stead.” Her advice to young people, including her seven grandchildren, is “to take opportunities as they come, and follow through. Things work out.”

So i have a long standing relationship with Beryl. After an hour or so of chat wit Beryl and James I went out and pruned a couple of of fruit trees. I have been going through the little orchard there pruning in my spare time as the council failed to do it in the winter.

We had a lovely roast beef for dinner and I'm now well and truly ready for the sack.

 Good night.