Down to the Nitty Gritty

I so needed a haircut. Hairdresser Leanne snipped, clipped, buzzed and nudged as I told her that my last haircut was exactly two months earlier in Auckland, New Zealand. It was on the day of our flight home and I was attracted into the shop by a sign I’d seen the night before, offering 50% discount, just as the shop was closing.

It turned out the discount applied to haircuts done by students from the hairdressing school, and none were in at opening time next day, so I had to pay full fare. Never mind. The barber had enormous implants in his stretched ear lobes and was heavily tattooed, including his face, but he was congenial and gave me an excellent cut.

Leanne is a mobile hairdresser. She told me she met her husband when she was training. He volunteered to get a free haircut and was her subject in an exam. It’s amazing where a cheap haircut can lead.

They married and moved to Gembrook 30 odd years ago and Leanne worked at Lillian Granieri’s Gembrook Hair Centre, which was located in Redwood Road and also in Emerald in the main street, I think in the old telephone exchange. Lib was a customer. In those days Lib cut my hair to save a few dollars but I couldn't return the favour.

After Lib tired of cutting my hair I became itinerant and grabbed a haircut anywhere when I had a little time, or when the hot itchy feeling of a bushy head of hair in warm weather drove me to urgency.

These days I ring Leanne whose two girls went through school with our boys. She’s an avid Richmond fan so we talk footy too. She isn’t always available when I need her so I still pop into barber shops and hairdressers where I might be when the urge to be refreshed and invigourated by a clipping takes hold.

It’s one of life’s little pleasures.

Footnote - I’m told there was a men’s barber shop and billiard room in Gembrook in the 1930’s, where the supermarket is now.

Henryk Rejmers

Lib and I have been down to Lakes a couple of times lately, last weekend, and about a month ago. The first visit was a bit of R+R and our friend Will was going try to get to get there to look at options for building new steps/deck at the rear side as the existing were removed due to the substantial excavations that went on to do the new retaining walls. These walls are up but backfilling has not yet been done as the contractors are busy with emergency work elsewhere. The cost of the work is now tallied to $93,000 which is staggering and demoralizing, this cost shared by three families as the house is owned by Lib and her sisters.

As it turned out Will couldn't make it then so we arranged to go on the weekend just gone which was his first available opportunity. We drove down Saturday and came back Sunday. We discussed a few options with Willy and he's been given the green light to get it done asap which will be in a couple of weeks from now.

On our visit in April we met neighbour Dorothy one day who is now on her own after her husband Henryk died last year of mesothelioma, that ghastly form of lung cancer that is contracted through exposure to asbestos dust and usually takes about 30 years to manifest. Tears welled in her eyes. Henryk was 87 and had an amazing life story some of which I had heard about previously as Dorothy and Henryk were good friends of Lib's parents Molly and Bill.

I found a little book at Lakes house which I brought back with me. It was an account by Henryk of his story, beginning in 1925 at birth in Poland. He was the youngest of thirteen children born to his mother and father who lived in Warsaw at the outbreak of WW2 in 1939. Henryk and his family survived the bombing and strafing but Henryk was arrested in 1941 aged 16 while he was out shopping for material for his mother and press ganged by train to Germany where he was sent to a work camp. He was never to see his mother  and father again, indeed it was some 47 years before he went back to visit his siblings. He escaped the work camp eventually and travelled far, eventually being captured by police and put to work on a farm where he was when the Russians came. He wanted to get out of Russian occupied Germany get so he took off and managed to get through the Russian lines.

After quite a while in refugee camps he migrated to Australia and ultimately and worked  off his two year obligation to work where he was told with a team in the south east of  SA cutting down trees so that pine forests could be planted. The only tools they had was an axe each and a sharpening stone and a file and it was very hard work. He met and married Dorothy whose father worked in the forest camp and eventually moved to Adelaide where he worked for the Council then bought a service station. After several years this was bought out by a neighbouring company who then employed Henryk and Dorothy. They bought a house in Adelaide and lived there till the mid sixties, raising three kids. Henryk was a motor mechanic but had no trade certificate.

Morwell was the next call. Dorothy's sisters married two Italians and Henry and Dorothy visited them in Morwell where they lived, and decided it was time a move to Morwell where there were good opportunities. Henryk started work with the SEC at the power stations and sat exams to have his fitting and turning certificate approved. He worked there until retirement in the mid 1980's, when they moved to Lakes.

Hendryk had a hard working life beginning with slave labour in the German factory. For years he did not have enough to eat and suffered all manner of hardships along the way. He never saw the inside of a hospital as a patient till his mid eighties. He must have picked up some asbestos dust cleaning brake drums out as a mechanic or in the power stations where its use was extensive. A sad end to a fine man.

The inside cover of the little book I read had writing by Henryks hand-

'To Bill and Molly Meek, from Hendryk - November 1996'.

In his acknowlegements he thanks Molly and others for inspiring him to write the book. I'll never go to Lakes without fond memory of Hendryk, and Dorothy, whose house is for sale, she's planning to move to a unit closer to town where she won't need to drive if she chooses not.



 
    

Mellowing

Last Friday, the day after Anzac Day, at writing class, a discussion was had re the dawn service at Anzac Cove, which is of course held on the anniversary of the first landing on Turkish shore in 1915, in line with Anzac Day services held all over Australia.

Teacher Maria presented an opinion piece by a writer whose name escapes me- there was a big crowd in for the first class of the term and not enough handout sheets and I was late so missed out- but from memory the guts of the article was that the correspondent had no desire to visit on the day to be among a crowd of tourists who were there largely for the celebratory party atmosphere and the 'notch on the belt'.

I sympathize with the author's view. I don't like crowds for starters and I have reservation about Anzac Day anyway as a means of paying respect and remembrance to our fallen soldiers. The Gallipoli campaign was the first major military exercise of our new nation and was a disastrous failure costing 8,000+ Australian lives. I don't for a moment dispute the hardship, grit and heroism of our soldiers. As a kid in school in the 50's and 60's Anzac Day it was drummed into me. The preparations at school must have happened the day before because I think it was a public holiday then as it is now, and I recall being home on Anzac Day watching the television and being fascinated by the historical portrayal of the landing and the stories such as Simpson and his donkey.

Memorial services and marches on Anzac Day were first held in the latter years of WW1 and were used as recruiting drives for enlistment. After the war the fallen were remembered in solemnity and the day was an opportunity for reunion for veterans wishing to participate. Many did not including my grandfather who served three years in Palestine and France and who was teetotal and disapproving of the boozing at the reunions.

World War 2 followed, then Korea, Vietnam, and Afghanistan and Iraq and peace keeping force participation in various parts of the world, and Anzac Day has been expanded to include all those who suffered and served in all of these conflicts.

At class last week one member, Big John, voiced his objection to the article, calling it the most pompous thing he'd ever read. Big John said the writer came across as thinking he was above the service at Anzac Cove with the throng of young people. John said, "Good on them I say, they are only trying to connect to their ancestors. I have been there, it's the most moving experience, one that changes the lives of those who attend forever."

I remain loathsome of violence and war and the flag waving patriotism that accompanies it, which is where it hatches from its egg. Yes, I would like to visit Anzac Cove. But not on Anzac Day. I'd like to go there to contemplate the horror and stupidity of war in my own solitude, and grieve for the soldiers who lost their lives and those maimed and scarred emotionally for life. Not only for the 8,700 Australians and the 2,000 plus New Zealanders killed, but also the 10,000 French, the 21,000 from the UK, and God knows how many Turks (Wikipedia does not give a number) who were, as God knows, protecting their shores from invasion.

But I doubt I ever will go there. I can grieve the fallen from here. And I prefer to carry my loathing of war and violence with me daily. I would prefer to see national reverence for Remembrance Day, which marked the end of the conflict, and is appropriately named.

However, I am mellowing. Big John is entitled to his opinion. So are those who choose to go to Anzac Cove on Anzac Day.

Just as I'm entitled to mine. I'm no wowser, but when I see retired Major General Cosgrove advertising beer on the television in the lead up to Anzac day, I can't help but feel I'm not in step. Thankfully.




    

Chook Drama

Not long after we returned from NZ Lib's chook Myrtle went AWOL. On the first day of its absence I was concerned at lock up time when Henny hungrily followed me to their pen but Myrtle was nowhere to be seen. She'd been scarce for a day or two and reluctant to go in the previous couple of evenings so I thought she must be broody and have a nest somewhere.

Oh well, Foxy Loxy'll have a nice supper, I'll get another young bird, a brown one like Elvie's. She says they don't get broody as much as black ones.

A couple of days later I spotted Myrtle briefly, eating some of the bread I'd left out for Henny.

You little bugger.

No sooner had I seen her with some amusement on my part that she's survived than she was gone again, not to be seen for another couple of days. This time I'd returned from my walk and put the dogs dishes down to feed them then turned and walked a few paces back towards the shed when I heard a flapping noise and a dog squeal. Turning around I saw bully Myrtle hopping into Snowy's breakfast. She has it all over Snow who runs the other way when she employs the charge she learned from Rooster Lemon, whom you may recall met his demise last year.

You horrible savage chook.

I shoohed the thing away for poor Snow and stood guard while she ate her food. Pip is oblivious to all Myrtle's aggressive tactics and therefore the chook does not trouble her. There's a pecking order with the chooks and the dogs and Snow's at the bottom.

Over the next couple of weeks I looked high and low in the garden and shed for Myrtle's nest a number of times, and crawled under the house with a torch more than once looking for the stash of eggs. It was baffling me. Then one day I saw Myrtle on the deck, I had been nearby and hadn't seen her approach, then she disappeared again so quickly. So for umpteenth time I looked under and behind everything and being more thorough than previously I got down low and looked into the back of Pip's kennel. Sure enough there was the black feathered fool. As I reached in to pull out the bedding the stench hit me. There was a dozen and a half eggs in there some of which were broken.

You stinking horrible idiot chook.

I threw everything into a garbage gag, bedding and all. Rotten eggs exploded as I did this and it still stank to high heaven so I triple bagged it and put it in my neighbour's bin - they have moved out and their house is for sale so that was OK. Pip's kennel has a flat roof with a bit of carpet on top and I'd seen her lying on top of her kennel. I thought it was because of the warm balmy weather, but I now knew better, and also why a fox hadn't got it.

Within a day or two Myrtle was back to her normal nutty self; harassing, aggressive, noisy, always after food when you walk out the door. Both chooks are now laying in the shed, next to the fridge, against the back wall. I don't mind that. It's a stretch to get the eggs but at least I know where they are.

  

Back in the Hunt

In the footy tipping Round 5 I had 9 winners from 9 games to claw back 3 on Rickyralph, who slipped up on Collingwood, Richmond and West Coast.

I feel like the the big game fisherman slowly reeling in the mackeral soon to be gaffed.

I had $2 on my multi 9 tip. It paid $45 only in total as there were some shorties in there like Geelong, Sydney, Hawthorn and Brisbane, and the others were less than or around even money.

Besides the collect it was nice to see Collingwood smashed by the Essendon steamroller. Essendon will get theirs soon enough I reckon but not next week as they play the GWS in what could be some sort of record AFL deficit. I reckon GWS will set a record for long odds.

Footy Tipping

Rickyralph has jumped me this year. After 4 rounds he leads 26 to 21. He had a perfect 9 in round 2 followed by two sevens, leaving me floundering.

In our criss cross emails this week he mentioned the passing of his dog Dodge, at 14 years of age from liver disease a few weeks ago. Dodge started getting very thirsty some months ago and when he went off his food altogether it was time to call in a vet friend to put him to rest.

Rick is still grieving and I feel great sympathy for him. He and Dodge had a special bond that humans and dogs can have but the depth of which is uncommon. Rick has aged from 47 to 61 over Dodge's life and inevitable as everything is it still leaves a great emptiness I'm sure, as I have often imagined should I lose my girls.

I have great determination though to improve my tipping and take the title for the third successive year. At this point there are 18 rounds yet to go.

Good Harvest

Towards the end of a difficult season I can report that the last month has provided a bountiful harvest at Hanna's where I grow most of my vegies. Corn, beans, carrots, zucchini, button squash, tomatoes potatos, silver beet have all been delicious and herbs like parsley dill, basil and rocket and have been plentiful too and also shared with my friends. There's some good pumpkins that'll last a while, hopefully through to when pumpkin may go to $5kg like it did last year. We had some parsnips and capsicums too, in small amount.

I've put in some brocolli here at home and a row at Hanna's and some at the farm, and over the next few weeks should get some broadies in and garlic too. The silver beet and parsley should pick into the winter and I've put some seed in as well, and seedlings tend to pop up all over the place by themselves too. I've never done very well with onions, but I'll try some.

I'm lucky to have had Hanna's place, it has good deep easily worked red soil. I'm sure wherever I go in the future, as long as I'm able, I'll be growing vegies. I love the work getting them in and going, and the harvesting, and especially the eating. The limiting factor in my recent years has been a lack of time and little sunny open position both at the farm and here. We became very tree and shrub orientated through the nineties and noughties, responding to demand. We over planted certainly, and with a lot of stuff that is now no longer wanted by the market.

I can't say the same about a honey harvest, it's been another miserable year.  I have yet to pack the bees down for winter, but I fear they'll be very light on for stores. I may give the bees away. I went to the trouble of setting the shed up to extract honey but for poor return. I put all the tools and accumulated 'stuff' in the wood shed. My electric uncapping knife did not agree with the new switch board we had put in when we had our solar system installed, tripping the circuit breaker continuously which makes knife unuseable. The sheds are still in disarray and I'm hoping for a couple of weeks yet of fine weather to reorganise everything and get the firewood under cover. It's scattered all over the place.

I'm losing enthusiasm for many things, working bees is one of them. AFL footy is another. Business leaves me cold. I have no desire to catch up on bookwork and plan new strategy for next season and take on the big tasks of necessary garden renovation.

All I really like to do is grow vegies, take walks, watch birds, read books, and write, which is why I'm telling you this. Life is about leaving things behind as we go down the road. Not wise to deny it. Once I was a baby, a child, a teenager, a young man. The body ages but the spirit grows. Everything changes. I must. My profile talks about a simple life. It's time to live it.

But there'll be winter vegies, and spring is just round the corner. And a federal election. How dreadful.


 

Elise Petit (2)

I'm very pleased to say that I located Elise through facebook and learned that she did get her purse back. She emailed me as follows. It made me feel happy.

hi!! Sorry for the response times. I'm backpacker and I haven't often internet... THANK YOU VERY MUCH for my wallet. I thought it was lost but Australian people are very honest and nice. It was mportant for me, i had my french credit card, etc... You saved my travel!!!  I asked your phone number at the policeman but he didn't want to give it me. Sorry for my english...  Thank you a lot!! Have a good day!! Fortunately that people like you still exist!! Updated to Elise Petit March.

More (Creeping City)

I have wondered how it is that for many years the block of land on the corner opposite St.Silas church on the Pakenham road has remained vacant.

Not for much longer.

I have picked wild carrot flowers on this plot for many years

The backyard of the house in background ( my old friend Ida's) has been subdivided off  and  all trees and shrubs removed prior to more construction.
 

I do not resent this development which is smack bang in middle of town and inevitable, sad as it is in my selfishness that that the landscape along my walk is changing so rapidly. You would think there would have been a building on this site at sometime previously given its central location, but not so in my 32 years in Gembrook. I must ask one of the Gembrook lifetimers. I have been asked to do a talk for the Gembrook senior citizens on April 10, so there'll be an opportunity then. My friend Joyce Begg who gave me the invite grew up on the property on the other corner (where now the community centre stands) which was a dairy farm in her childhood. I'm flattered to be asked so I accepted. I can choose my own topic and should be OK with a general talk about my activities and livelihood at Chamomile Farm. I loathe public speaking but can't seem to get away from it.

Elise Petit

Returning from New Zealand on the evening of Thursday 28 Feb, I barely had time to open and deal with the build up of mail both hard copy and electronic an catch up to speed with various areas of work before the NHPEM function on 3 Mar to celebrate 20 years of the museum in the current building which was opened in 1993. As current president it was required of me to make a speech, not my strong suit by any means and something that is forefront in your mind as it approaches. It was a relief that the day was a great success due to the work of my museum colleagues who had been tireless in their preparations during my holiday absence.

On Monday 4 Mar, I took my morning walk with my two dog pals whom I had missed so much while I was away. On the way back down the hill 'Pip' was determined to sniff in a hedge of lonicera in front of Orford Cottage, and relaxed as I was with the relief of the previous day's function now behind me I indulged her and 'Snow' even more than normal. I noticed a tatty looking object under the hedge and picked it up. It was a small purse made of soft material which seemed damp making me think it had been there some days as it had rained before we returned from NZ but not since.

There was identification in the form of credit and debit cards and a French railway pass in the name of Elise Petit, along with various other paperwork suggesting the owner of the purse had recently been in West Australia, and an amount of cash stuffed in with the paperwork, disorganized and dishevelled.

I knocked on the door of Orford Cottage and asked the lady whom I know quite well if she knew of an Elise Petit. Where I found the purse in the hedge was adjacent to where visitors to their house park their cars and I thought it may have fallen out of a car and somehow been kicked or knocked into the hedge. It was a good way off the road, unlikely to have got there by falling from a car passing along Launching Place Rd. Elise Peteit was not known by the the lady of the house so I took the purse with me and rang the police at Emerald when I got home, thinking the purse may have been reported lost.

The constable suggested I look for a mobile phone number in the purse so he could contact the owner straight away. There was none, but I gave him he name of the owner of the purse so he could check to see if there had been a report of its loss. I told him I'd drop the purse into the police station that afternoon. After I finished talking to him I counted the money in notes and coins and made the contents more tidy after a thorough search for contact details. There were all of odds and sods including cotton buds loose along with other paraphenalia.

I went to the police station that afternoon and handed the purse in. The police woman examined the contents of the purse and quickly went to get rubber gloves after seeing the cotton buds. I think this was some sort of protocol to prevent her getting Aids or some other infection, not that such had entered my mind as I had examined the contents earlier. She counted the money, notes and coins $171.70, and filled out a lost property form asking me questions about where I found it and my personal contact details. There were new forms she said which were unfamiliar to her. It took a long time it seemed to me who wanted to get about my business as quickly as possible. I couldn't just hand it in and leave, I had to wait while she went through the form as I had to sign it when she was finished. I could not help but be alarmed at her slowness and lack of urgency making me acutely aware that she was being paid for every minute while I was not. Eventually I was given a copy of the PALM Property form 1346860 and left. I told her I'd like to hear if the purse was returned to its owner as I could imagine the stress a tourist would feel at the loss of bank cards and cash, and it would be nice to know if there was a happy ending.

That night I recounted this to Lib. A few days later Lib asked me did I hear if the purse was returned to its owner. "No, I've heard nothing." A few days later she asked me again. The reply was the same. I found my copy of the PALM Property report and had a close look at it. There's a yes/ no tick box mid way on the form which has the words (without question mark) 'Wish to Claim'.  The No box was crossed. There was another yes/no tick box along side it with the words ' Forward details to finder' It was also crossed in the No box.

I was not asked these questions. The police lady had marked them of her own volition, and I had not examined the copy of the form when it was given me, I had quickly left. I told Lib that I will never hear if the purse was returned to its owner as the form had been filled out to that effect, without my sanction. What happens to the cash if Elise Petit did not contact the police I know not. Perhaps eventually it goes to the police Christmas fund or government revenue.

Life is a learning experience. Should I hand in found lost property again I'll pay particular attention to the paperwork as it is being done. If by some miracle of the internet Elise Petit gets to read this post I hope she gets her purse back with the cash. I've tried to find her by my own means unsuccessfully.

Just how her purse got into that unlikely place remains a mystery.

* This had a good ending. I contacted Elise through FB and she thanked me for the return of purse. See post April Elise Petit (2)

AUCKLAND and HOME

We left Whitianga on the Wednesday for drive back to Auckland, stopping for lunch at a delightful town the name of which escapes me just now. Dinner that night was excellent in a Japanese restaurant across the road from our hotel. Afterwards we went to a live comedy show two doors up from the restaurant where 10 comedians performed one after the other. It was terrible with foul language and crude jokes about the worst things you could imagine.

Next morning before driving out to the airport we went up the sky tower, supposedly the tallest free standing structure in the southern hemisphere. We watched a few brave souls do a sky dive down on a controlled speed descent on a couple wires. Not for me.

View from top. That wire in the middle is one of those the sky jumpers use.

Rob and Gord picked us up at Tullamarine about 6.30pm. Almost on cue there had been 60ml of rain in the previous couple of days, the first for many weeks and the hot weather had abated for a while.

WHITIANGA

We left Piahia on Sunday 24 Feb. I looked at the map saw what I thought was our destination at Whangarei only a couple of hours away so we took a back road through some fairly remote bush and picked up a coastal tourist road where we got back onto bitumen. The scenery was superb. After a while we were back on a major highway. Some Kiwis on our yacht trip in the Bay of Islands were from Whangarei and when they asked me where we were going next and I told them they said, "Why are you staying there, it's not on the coast and isn't really a tourist town, it's NZ's northernmost city." I said the agent worked out our itinerary.

We arrived at Whangarei about lunch time and pulled up to find the name and address of our motel in the bag in the boot. 'Beach Resort Motel' Whitianga it said. "Where the hell's Whitianga," I said to Lib, fumbling for the map, to find Whitianga was 4 or 5 hours drive away on the Coromandel Peninsula well and truly the the other side of Auckland. So we steered our Nissan Tida along the highway and arrived at the town of Whitianga about 5.30pm.

It was obviously a big tourist town with many new buildings in wide streets, an air of prosperity was immediately felt but with relatively few people about, not like Piahia which was busy with tourists from all over the world. The population multiplies in peak season which we had fortunately missed. This time our accommodation was spacious, had excellent cooking facilities and was upstairs with a great view of the bay.

Five minutes by car from Whitianga, a nice spot for lunch

A little further on the road to the next bay

We were here for three nights and two full days exploring the coast and finding so many quiet little bays and white sand beaches. This place is a little piece of paradise. Like the other places we stayed, there were no fly screens on the windows and no aircon. Neither is needed in the north on the coast; it doesn't get too hot and there are few flies if any and mozzies either, and no moths came in at night. You just opened the windows and let the breeze in.

Next bay

There were hot springs on this beach

Irony 2

I looked up the dictionary to refresh on the word Irony. It's a tough one to grasp and I don't really get it.

Try this - Conveyance of meaning (generally satirical) by words whose literal meaning is the opposite.

Or - A situation or utterance (as in a tragedy) that has a significance unperceived at the time, or by the person involved.

Or - A condition in which one seems to be mocked by fate or the facts.

Perhaps I shouldn't use the word at all. In the previous post I don't think the fact I sailed on a yacht built by/for Sir Peter Blake and then a few days later was reading an account of a bloke who interviewed  the man was ironic at all. Simply a coincidence. Certainly it does not fit the above dictionary explanations of irony. I must ask Maria at writing class to explain to me (again).

Irony

Nor would this go where I wanted. A view from 'Lion'

For some reason I can't get this further down where I wanted it

We have looked at the word irony in my writing class more than once over the years. It's a word my son Gordon uses regularly, I think mostly in the wrong meaning, but what the heck. For some reason I just can't retain the meaning of irony and I'm too lazy to go looking up the dictionary just now. I will tomorrow and maybe due to this post it will finally sink in to my poor ageing brain which has had its share of binge drinking and concussion (football) over time.

However it is ironic that I should meet a man in Beaconsfield some days before our NZ trip who gave me a book he wrote ten years ago when he was aged 50. Peter Sweeney is his name, a journalist working out of Perth for most of his working life but Berwick born and now residing thereabouts. It was a chance meeting, his book titled 'Half Time' (He intends to live to 100) is one of three he has written.

On our day sailing trip we walked down to the wharf half an hour before the ferry left for Russell about 20 minutes away (big ferry fast speed) as instructed to do so. The Maxi yacht Lion left from Russell as its port had more water depth than Piahia which is why it was a base for whalers and sealers and therefore vice and whoring and drunkenness one hundred or so years ago, reportedly the wildest location in the South Seas.

The crew of Lion were three, a skipper with the gift of the gab,competent, as were the other two, an attractive and strong lady and a man about my own stature who had incredibly powerful forearms from years of 'grinding' on the winches that enable swift changes to the sails on these racing yachts. The skipper told the history of the yacht with almost reverential tone to it's original owner who had it built, Sir Peter Blake.

It was a nice day as we headed out. Dolphins rose and played, dozens of them all about. The crew told us not to look at the dolphins as we hadn't paid for a dolphin tour. It was magic to see these beautiful creatures in such numbers and so close you could almost touch.

The skipper explained that the conditions were not ideal for sailing and the motor would need to be used quite a bit if yesterday was repeated. We didn't mind, it was just nice floating over the blue water. After a couple of hours under sail at reasonable clip with lessons given to the tourists in the work of grinding to change sails we pulled up at the 'Isle of the Princess' for a one hour break. A few swam ashore, Lib and I took the inflatable dinghy which did three trips to get everyone off.

A highlight was a pair of little birds Lib and I saw on our way up to the lookout. Black with a bit of white, I said to Lib they had the beak of a robin, but were not like anything I'd seen before. I asked a couple of Kiwi people if they knew what it was, both replied negative, and I asked the crew member with the huge forearms who also didn't know, but said he did believe a type of  rare bird had been released on the island because of the lack of predators there and a program to save this endangered bird. Later in our motel we were watching the tourist TV channel and a segment came on about the Stewart Island Robin which had been bred and released here and there, and was the little bird we had seen.

After a great lunch we sailed off again. The wind picked up and the resultant sailing was magnificent with the maxi  leaning so far over you'd swear it would capsize as it sped across the water at great speed. The crew and us tourists alike whooped it up in the excitement in what was a fantastic experience.

The irony? After we left Piahia I read Peter Sweeney's book. In one chapter he talked of interviewing Sir Peter Blake the renowned sailor. An amazing man, he won the around the world race at his third try, he won the America Cup. He was killed shot dead by pirates sailing up the Amazon river at age 53, so Peter Sweeney informed me.

I enjoyed Peter Sweeney's book and related to his thoughts and feelings on many scores, in fact most.

It was not possible to photograph when she really got going as it was hang on or go overboard

PIAHIA

From Opinono to Piahia was a short hop of a couple of hours from the West Coast to the East through farmland that seemed to increase in productivity, population and traffic. Piahia surprised us, it's a tourist town highly commercial in the Bay of Islands area, busy and crowded with people spilling from all manner of campers and vans and rent cars like ours on the foreshore onto the beach and into restaurants and ice cream shops.

Our hotel was a little of the main st and regrettably again had no cooking facilities in its excellent motel unit that was ours for 3 nights. Making up for this was the biggest and best bed I have ever slept in, a king size you seemed to be lost in. We did a load of washing in the hotel laundrette and emailed Gord who was looking after the watering at home and the chooks. We'd put the dogs in a kennel, not wanting to overload Gord, especially with all the thunderstorms activity and the shot gun blasts in the distance that occur regularly and sends dogs into panic, particularly if we aren't there.

Friday our first of two full days we took the coastal tourist drive to the north east calling in at numerous picturesque bays small and not so small, at one of which we had our picnic lunch which is a favourite activity of Lib and I these day followed by the read of a book, in my case in the nearest shade available, and in Lib's in full sun lathered in sunscreen.

We'd seen an advertising hoarding of  a day sailing trip on a sixteen berth yacht with gourmet lunch so on returning to Piahia that afternoon we decided to book for the next day only to find it was booked out. Plan B was the big tourist booking office near the wharf which also had a day sailing sign and book we did, $110 a head including lunch. I think it was the best $110 I have ever spent. We were on the Maxi yacht 'Lion' which was built by Sir Peter Blake I think in the 1980's and came second in an around the world event that Blake was determined to win and which he did at his next try in a slightly lighter and faster boat he had purpose built. This is the bloke also that won the Americas Cup for New Zealand after Australia's win at Fremantle in 1983. A serious and famous sailor.

I'll write more about this memorable day sailing in the Bay of Islands next time, but I just want to get a few photos up now and hit the sack.

This sort of scenery is everywhere

The yacht stopped at this 'Isle ot the Princess' for an hour

 

The view from the lookout, The big yacht central is 'Lion'

OPINONI

Lib and I left Opinoni two weeks ago on Thursday 21 Feb. On that morning we walked the shore of the river looking for a lucky stone for our friend Raelene. Years ago at lakes Entrance we found a stone on the beach at Lakes Entrance while walking with Raelene and her husband John. Raelene carried her stone as acharm all over the world till she lost her handbag one day I think in Morocco. So we have another for Raelene and we hope she likes it.

We stayed in the 'studio' apartment behind me, two nights

Looking towards the Ocean from the jetty

Opinono is on the west coast. Highlights were the Tane Matua Kaurri tree, 2000 years old it is estimated, and the Koutu boulders (good feed of oysters off the rocks), picnic lunch one day at a remote beach. We loved the area. 

'God of the Forest', Tane Matua

Hippy Geologist - we bought a painting at his gallery

Geologist said these boulders, there were several quite round were 6 million years old

Looking across the tidal river

Home And Tired As

Lib and I returned from our NZ holiday last night. It was highly successful and without mishap. We loved the scenery and the mild temperatures and the general laid back pace. We restricted our travel to the north of the north island after arriving in Auckland on 18 Feb. We had a hire car and spent 2 days in Opinono, 3 in Piahia, and 3 at Whitianga and an overnight stay in Auckland at beginning and end. I'm too tired now but over the next week I'll put up some photos and talk about some highlights, which were numerous.

For now let me just say it was a total pleasure to drive about 1500km over 11 days and not see one speed camera. Average Jo doesn't have to have a fishing licence and nobody on the boats wore life jackets as far as we could tell. There was a feeling of freedom, probably accentuated by our holiday mood. The economy is strongly tourist orientated and they certainly make you feel welcome, right down the pecking order to the cleaners and maids and burly bartenders.

Paul Griffiths - What I Should Have Said

I wish I had said this on the night. My congratulations to you Paul, and my thanks, in writing.

Recently I wrote a profile of a storyteller for a local magazine I contribute to and it began,

"Economies may run on oil but stories are the lubricant of culture and society."

Those words have never seemed more accurate to me than tonight as I listen to the stories told by the speakers and around the table in between. Beekeepers are great storytellers. I would say this is because they spend much time working by themselves, they are in the bush a lot exposed to inspiration from the natural world, they spend a lot of time on the road driving long distances, and the nature of their business is challenging, with problems of many kinds, some confronting them suddenly and unexpectedly, others of gravity are constant and affect the industry generally. Beekeepers are thinkers, and they have a build up thoughts and tales to tell, just waiting for the opportunity.

(I would hope that the story of the NEAA can be written up, starting with recorded interviews with people such as those who have spoken tonight. Social history can be easily lost with time passing.)

The first time I met Paul Griffiths was in May 1976. I met Laurie Braybrook and Linton Briggs who have both spoken so well tonight, for the first time on that same day. Laurie picked me up at the Apicultural Research Unit at Scoresby in Melbourne where I had spent a week in orientation before moving to Wangaratta to take up my position as apiary inspector for northeast Victoria. My second week was to be on the road with Laurie learning the ropes. We had lunch at Len Cumming's at Alexandra and Laurie said we should call in on Linton Briggs at Glenrowan on the way through. Linton was president of the VAA and Laurie said it would be courteous as we were going past that he should introduce the new inspector to him first, before the NEAA function that evening.

"Linton is an absolute rock." Laurie said. "If you have anything you want to talk over, or any problem, you can rely on him for help, no matter what it is, and if it's something that should remain confidential you can be sure it will."

Linton, queen cell producer and farmer was down on the creek cutting a large tree limb into firewood late in the afternoon and repairing a fence that the tree limb had broken, with his father Jack, an ex policeman at Glenrowan.

At the function in the evening at the Council Club Hotel to introduce me to the beekeepers, some of whom had come long distance to meet me, I first met Paul. Most of the beekepers were twice my age or older and I was more than a little daunted at my future prospects. I was just turned 24 years old and had scantly more than two years in beekeeping, one year at QAC and one working for Ron Tonkin and Norm Redpath.

Paul, younger than most of the other commercial beekeepers, was assuring in his welcome. As time went by we related well as our outlook on many things was similar. Always encouraging and supportive, Paul told me the whereabouts of numerous neglected beehives around the district and was invaluable to me for his amazing knowledge of every nook and cranny, and some of the idiosyncrasies of  local beekeepers, which I must say, with benevolence, were considerable.

I reiterate all that the other speakers have said about Paul's beekeeping expertise and his generosity to share his knowledge and assist you in any way that he could. He was not pushy or self opinionated, the reverse in fact. He was just there if you needed him, reliable, rock solid.

So here I am after an abscence of 32 years from NEAA business, to honour Paul's wonderful contribution and qualities, elaborated so clearly by Laurie, Linton, John McMonigle, Helen Briggs, Mick Leahy, Ron Rich, Donald Whitehead and Elwynne Papworth.

Five days ago, before any knowledge of this dinner, I wrote a piece on integrity in which I said that most of us had only a small number of occasions in our lives where our integrity was really tested, when we had a real choice between the right which may be costly and difficult, and the alternative which may be easier and less costly, or even profitable. It is how we respond at these times that measures us as people.

Tonight's testimony demonstrates that Paul Griffiths came through with flying colours on every occasion when his turn came. It was my good fortune on that day in 1976 to meet three rocks in the foundations of the beekeeping industry, and it is my good fortune and great pleasure to have been invited tonight.

Banquet to Honour Paul Griffiths

It was a helluva busy week for me, starting with Garth Jenkinson's funeral last Monday at 10.am in Brighton. Tuesday afternoon I had a PAG meeting at 3.30. I chair these meetings and report on them, this time the report will wait, maybe Monday night. I'd double booked myself Tuesday arvo, so had to reschedule my Signpost interview to 10am the next day. My computer classes resumed Wednesday evening, I arrived home about 10.00pm and did a draft of my Signpost article over a couple of cups of black coffee, finishing well after midnight.

After the PAG meeting Tuesday there was a message at the farm when I picked up Gord, to ring Linton Briggs before 4pm or in the morning. As it was 6pm already, I rang Linton Wednesday am to learn the Nth Est Vic Apiarist's Ass had a dinner to honour Paul Griffiths' 56 years continuous service on the executive of the Association from 1956 to 2012. Paul was an inauguaral member at age 18. Linton extended me an invitation to the dinner which took place last night starting at 6pm at the Gateway Motel in Wangaratta.

The weather all week was hot and dry and in between the funeral, meeting, interview and class I was busy watering and picking. I would hate every week to be so demanding, I would pull the pin pronto. But I wanted to go to the dinner, to acknowledge Paul's remarkable achievement and to see again my friends / colleagues from that period 1976 -1981 when I was employed by the Victorian Dep't of Agriculture as the Apiary inspector for northeast Vic based in Wangaratta.

I managed to get away a little after 2pm Friday after watering, picking and popping in on my writing class briefly to give teacher Maria some beans I had picked for her and pick up the week's worksheet in the hope I will have time to do the homework by the next week's class. I also needed a phone number she was going to have for me but in my haste forgot to ask her for it. Gord came with me to Wang to help with the driving as I get very sleepy at the wheel after an hour or so, and he drove from Bonnie Doon while I had a little day dreaming and shuteye.


Paul

Linton, John Mac, Laurie



Laurie



Paul and Linton

I was not late for the dinner which I enjoyed thoroughly and the camaraderie. Many of those present I had not seen for 32 years. The only regret I have is that towards the end of the evening with the guest speaker, my ex Senior Apiary inspector Laurie Braybrook now 86, having made a memorable speech, the proposer of the toast Linton Briggs now 82 likewise, and the MC John McMonigle regaling the audience with many humourous anecdotes, I did not take the floor as a few others did to say some words to express my admiration for Paul and his wonderful record. I was unprepared, very tired and a little overwhelmed by the occasion myself, meeting so many people I had not seen for so long

On the way home this troubled me a little and I mind mapped what I would have liked to have said, had I the clarity and confidence last night. I will post this first half now - I have to go and water things now - and return to edit this post this evening or tomorrow. My plan is to send my words to Linton and Paul in the hope they will have some significance for them. They would not know of my blog and probably they don't use computers.




Nice Surprise

These photos came today from Lib's sister. The first one must be Xmas 1980 at Lib's auntie Nell's in Melbourne. Lib and I married Jan 31 1981, and I had a beard at that time, only because Lib wanted me to grow one. Back Left to Right- AKath 100 now, ANell died aged 98 not long ago, Roger then married to Janet front row middle (now divorced), Bill and Moll(Lib's M+D), Uncle Tom died maybe 20years ago. Centre L to R- Phil sister Marg's hubby, sister Pat, AMarg Canada about 92 now, Lib, me. Front L to R- Andrew ANell and UTom's son died maybe 20 years ago heart attack, Michael Pat's hubby, Janet ANell and Tom's daughter, sis Marg, UGordon Canada died long ago.  It would seem two of the children are Marg's Liz and Alex, and Janet's Freya, and Felix?(with Roger)

Receiving this has been a real tonic to me. I married into a great family.







The Browne Clan (some) and spouses and offspring - Xmas 1980
 

This was in Wangaratta, Bill and Moll's back yard. I'm sitting on the edge of the pool, under the lemon tree where many happy times were spent, 1992 I'm told.

Back when I smiled a lot- 1992