Vale – Frank Jones – Thank You For Pausing and Sharing Your Poetry…

July 17, 2017July 17, 2017 ~ mairineilcreative writer ~ 7 Comments

There was joy in the return from my travels, but sadness too when I heard that Frank Jones had passed away on 9th of May, aged 92 years. His funeral held at St Brigid’s Mordialloc on 18th May 2017.

As a longtime member of Mordialloc Writers’ Group, Frank’s poetry and stories have graced eight of our nine anthologies. Another broken link with the group I founded in 1995 and although I am no longer active at Mordialloc workshops, I’m sure there are many Mordi writers who grieve Frank’s passing.

FrankJones 90th birthday celebration.jpg — I was privileged to attend Frank’s family celebration for his 90th, 2015.

Frank celebrated his 90th birthday at our regular Readings By The Bay and was the oldest writer in our last anthology, Kingston My City, contributing a marvellous reflective essay on his 65-year relationship with Mordialloc and the City of Kingston.

A natural born writer, Frank loved poetry – especially ‘bush’ and rhyming poetry – ‘the old -fashioned kind’, he said to me when he first joined the group. He wrote from the heart, a kind compassionate heart.

Pale Green Walls of Innisfree.jpeg — From **Casting A Line**, Mordialloc Writers’ Group 2000.

I’ve never forgotten when he and his wife Joan turned up at the inaugural Readings By The Bay. Frank stood up and recited from memory, a poem he had written to Joan on their wedding day 50 years before! A romantic at heart too.

Frank reading at his birthday copy.jpg — Surrounded by friends and family Frank reads at his birthday celebration, held Parkdale Footy Club.

When Joan was diagnosed with breast cancer Frank suffered deeply and was shattered when she died. He, of course, used writing to share their story. Another poem showing his love for Joan as she struggled with treatment.

Breast Cancer revisited.jpeg — From **Up The Creek with a pen!** Mordialloc Writers’ Group, 2003.

I lost my partner, John in 2003, and also had a breast cancer diagnosis in 2010. These shared sorrows added a depth to my relationship with Frank I didn’t have with other writers in the group.

Frank and I lived a street apart and sometimes bumped into each other when he walked to U3A, or latterly to his acupuncturist in McDonald Street. He’d often ring me and ask for help editing or to give an opinion on a writing idea, or to share the joy of publication.

My daughters knew who was calling before Frank offered his name – he had a distinctive Aussie twang and spoke at the level you’d expect from someone going deaf.

‘Mairi, is that you? It’s Frank Jones,’ he boomed.

When Frank had bouts of illness that kept him from workshops or readings, I still included him in any anthology project because he always produced a memorable poem or story.

He was a writer who understood deadlines, listened to and appreciated any feedback. Also that rarity – Frank accepted the editor’s suggestions and decisions. A boon for those who helped edit the anthologies.

Frank referred to me as his ‘writing teacher’ although he never attended any of my classes!

short story The Test Flight.jpeg — **Eleven O Four,** Mordialloc Writers’ Group 2004

Frank used his life experiences to produce interesting and contemporary pieces: –

growing up in the country (Kyneton area),
serving in WW2 in the RAAF
working in the building trade (a brickie)
and newsagency business,
his love of family,
his British heritage
love of swimming – he was in the icebreaker club
love of golf,
his love of dogs, especially a particular pet
his determination to continue to learn the craft of writing – he wrote stories, poems and a play
his commitment to his Christian Faith and volunteer work for St Vinnie’s

St Vinnie's mob.jpeg — **Casting a Line,** Mordialloc Writers’ Group 2000.

A prolific writer, I can remember how proud Frank was when his family collated his poems into a beautiful leather bound volume. He brought it to Sunday Readings to show us.

What a wonderful gift for a writer – your life’s work in a gold-lettered book!

The book was for one of his significant birthdays. Frank said it was after he became an ‘OBE’, ‘over bloody eighty’!

Frank’s honesty and sense of humour will be missed too. I have many photographs of Mordialloc Writers’ events over the 21 years but only the last few years are digital and easy to add to this blog post. Below is a selection from the last five years.

In Mordialloc Writer’ eighth anthology, Off the Rails, 2012, Frank wrote about attending an interstate swimming carnival – he had a pool in his backyard and swam every morning – perhaps a key to his longevity.

To Albury Grand Railway Station

Frank Jones

Hurrah! I proclaim we’re away on the train
Without fanfare or celebration
We glide down the tracks and never look back
As we leave old Spencer Street Station.

Our journey profound, we are Albury bound
In their carnival, we’re listed to swim.
We’ll strive to be best as our bodies protest
Even though we are taut, fit, and trim.

Onwards on time through a mesh of train lines
We view backyards tightly compacted
We wonder amazed, some even quite dazed
By urban plans neatly protracted.

We pay no heed as the train picks up speed
The wheels clattering faster and faster
No one complains as we head for the plains
Where drought is a common disaster.

Soon a voice loud and clear announces
!e cafeteria is ready to serve us
!reading through seats to sample the treats
The swaying train a challenge, if nervous.

Cars on the roads and trucks with their loads
All head for unknown destinations
!e train’s horn blasts every crossing we pass
No cause for great consternation.

Wangaratta and snowfields well passed
Signposted Canberra a further location
The Murray in sight and Wodonga’s delights
We are nearing our destination.

Speed now declines … it’s the end of the line
We’ll get on without hesitation
You won’t read in the papers about our capers
Or the fun of our jubilation.

We savoured the home, of ‘Albury’s Own’
So many sacrificed for this nation
On the hill high, their memorials lie
To overlook Albury’s historic Grand Station.

pasted-image — Albury Railway Station – grand indeed.

Frank wrote from the heart expressing himself in a language he understood and used daily – the best qualifications a poet can have – he was himself! He didn’t try to emulate another style or be ‘poetic’. His words authentic. Frank Jones, the poet, writer, and raconteur will be missed.

One of the first poems of Frank’s that our group published is one I have never forgotten and is alluded to in the title of this blog post. It is one I mentioned to others when on my recent travels.

I spent a lot of time overseas visiting cemeteries. Not just chasing information about relatives but because I find them fascinating historical records. Discoveries are inspiring and intriguing, headstones holding so many stories.

Sadness too – all those people who have lived and by the state of some graves, are forgotten, or the family line has died.

Frank Jones – a rich legacy indeed – thank you!

You will be remembered as more than a pause between two dates.

Frank at Readings By The Bay 2016 — Frank enjoying my apple cake at Readings By The Bay – the main reason he attended he’d say with a grin.

Several Natural Tweets Trumps 45

February 15, 2017 ~ mairineilcreative writer ~ 2 Comments

Some days the world seems to have exploded with craziness. Who would have thought the man now in the office, often referred to as the most powerful in the world, would spend his days watching cable TV and tweeting?

Every time I think of Donald Trump as President of America – especially in light of his derogatory remarks about, and to women, I shake my head in disbelief. But there are many other failings that worry me more including the fact he has the power to start a war and has access to the nuclear codes!

I’m part of the generation born in the decade after World War Two in the shadow of the atomic bombs dropped on Japan and the development and proliferation of nuclear weapons.

Three Wise Monkeys
Mairi Neil

Mizaru, Kikazaru and Iwazaru sit on the mantlepiece:
seeing no evil, hearing no evil, and speaking no evil.
A Japanese pictorial maxim transplanted to Scotland;
brought home by a great uncle, a ship’s captain,
these wise monkeys an added admonishment
to a childhood steeped in Presbyterian rules.
Yet, the shadow of evil an unseen cloak
as we lived in the tatters of World War Two.
Crowded cemeteries, buildings awaiting demolition,
food rationing…crippling austerity
shattered families struggling to find meaning,
shuddering when ambulance and police sirens wail.
Speak no evil an achievable rule perhaps
hearing no evil more difficult
and what of seeing evil or evil seen?
The brass monkeys cold. A chilly weight
in my child’s hand, etching a mystic message
of aspirations difficult to achieve.

Born in Scotland I lived not far from the Holy Loch where American submarines were first based in 1960. People in the peace movement (CND), including my father, protested this base made Scotland a first strike nuclear target.

This was the era of ‘The Cold War‘ and Russia was the enemy to fear, the people and country to demonise.

However, many people who survived WW2 were shocked at the devastation caused by the atomic bombs and believed the only way to safeguard the world was to ban nuclear weapons. CICD, the Campaign for International Cooperation and Disarmament became a part of a worldwide movement.

Fears were realised when interference in Cuba escalated into what became known as the Cuban Missile Crisis. The Polaris submarines were deployed from Scotland but hostile contact averted.

“By midOctober six of the Navy’s new Polaris submarines, based at Holy Loch Scotland had deployed to their battle stations deep under the sea. USS Abraham Lincoln (SSBN 602), in upkeep at Holy Loch, and two other submarines that had just completed shakedown cruises were also prepared on short notice to add their firepower to the nuclear equation.”. . . “ On October 22 at 1900 at DEFCON 3 “Polaris submarines moved to their launch points.”

Cuban Missile Crisis paper from Wilson Center

My mother told me about the day news came of the movements at Holy Loch, after days of tensions being reported on the radio.

A neighbour rushed into our house in Scotland crying hysterically, ‘we’re all going to die!’ She had young children like Mum, had survived the Greenock blitz and horrible memories had been triggered by the threat of another war – this time one that would wipe out sizeable chunks of countries simultaneously.

I used to have a similar poster as this hanging on the toilet door throughout the 70s.

Perhaps it is the story from Scotland and recalling other stories my parents shared about the war that feeds an almost morbid fascination with President Trump’s cavalier attitude to the power he has, where he seems more enthralled with his signature than what he is signing.

I’ve had to make a conscious effort to switch off and try and actively look for peace of mind. Luckily, living where I do and working where I do, it has been fairly easy.

Bird Tweets Trump Donald’s

Mother Nature has given us wonderful birds who tweet because it’s their natural way of communicating. Their tweets more inspiring than those from you know who!

The rainbow lorikeet (Trichoglossus moluccanus) is a species of parrot common along the eastern seaboard, from northern Queensland to South Australia and Tasmania. Its habitat is rainforest, woodland and coastal bush, hence its attraction to Mordialloc!

Limerick for the Birds
Mairi Neil

Australia has parrots galore
feathered wonders love to soar
with squeals and tweets
the Rainbow Lorikeets
brighten our Mordy foreshore.

I spotted a rainbow lorikeet one evening when I was out for a walk with my friend Jillian. Usually, they are in pairs or a cluster but this one sat on the electric wires observing us. Not sure if he was as enamoured with me as I was with him! They really are pretty birds.

This little fellow that I think is a Thornbill entertains me every morning and early evening. He and a couple of mates flitter in and out the vines outside my kitchen window, moving so fast it is difficult to take a picture. I’m sure they sense me hiding behind the net curtains.

Focused and persistent, they chat to each other as they forage for insects. Their antics make me happy and I look forward to catching a glimpse of their fluttering feathers.

Haiku – Mairi Neil

Winter’s skeleton
Hides the promise of springtime
And the buzz of life

One day recently, having coffee with my friend Lesley in Mentone, a tiny House Sparrow decided to join us and we had a lovely conversation. Although, we were never in any doubt of what he was really after!

One reason for the successful establishment of the House Sparrow in Australia and, indeed, all over the world, is its ability to feed on a wide range of foodstuffs. Birds eat insects, spiders, berries, seeds, flower buds and scraps of food discarded by humans. There are many reports of birds entering canteens in buildings to feed, with birds even learning to activate automatic doors in order to gain entry.

Walks with friends around my neighbourhood of Mordialloc, Parkdale and Mentone, a welcome distraction to current political shenanigans dominating the news and even birds regarded as pests are more appealing than many of those who claim to be leaders.

Mordialloc Beach

Mairi Neil

The day is calm. Tranquil. A great-to-be-alive day.
Eucalypts and pine compete with salty air and
the whiff of abandoned seaweed.
The blue-green sea a mirror for fluffy clouds of whipped cream.
Dainty dollops on a pale blue plate.
Gulls sit or glide atop this glassy sea.
Bathed in white sunlight I imagine I too drift and dream.
In the distance, palm tree fronds tremble casting lacy shadows on hot sand. The clink of moorings and masts drifts from the creek
and a sudden gust of wind whips sand to sting legs and face.
Airborne seagulls now screeching origami kites.
A dark veil unfurls from the horizon, shattering the grey-green mirror
and peaceful contemplation. Waves lap and soap around feet.
I retreat to the shelter of eucalypts and pine,
the taste of salt bittersweet.

Polluting Politics

The current state of politics and events are repugnant yet there is a fascinating compulsion to follow the relentless shocks – that’s where playing with words relieves the tension.

Limerick for the Times
Mairi Neil

President 45 an aggressive male
as a leader, he’s destined to fail
dividing his nation
without hesitation
‘Trumplethinskin’ is no fairy tale.

Of course, what passes for Australia’s political leadership is not much better. Some Australian MPs adopting the style, policies, and even similar slogans to Donald Trump.

Limerick for the LNP
Mairi Neil

Cory Bernardi is making news
he’s given PM Turnbull the blues
South Australian Bernardi
now has his own party
being ‘Liberal’ exposed as a ruse!

And then we had the Prime Minister, Malcolm Turnbull attacking the Opposition Leader, Bill Shorten in a most unbecoming personal rant while those on the government benches laughed like hyenas savaging prey.

The face of the leader of the National Party and Deputy Prime Minister, Barnaby Joyce dark red like an apoplectic fit in progress, albeit driven by laughter, not anger.

Although apoplexy as a specific medical term is not such a common term now, the word apoplectic certainly is, meaning furious and red-faced with uncontrollable rage (so called because its symptoms of flushed red face and loss of bodily control mimic those of apoplexy).

When Treasurer, Scott Morrison brandished a lump of coal and the Energy Minister Josh Frydenberg championed ‘clean coal’ WA (usually hot in summer) flooded, NSW and Queensland faced the hottest days ever recorded and bushfires destroyed homes and farmlands. SA faced extreme weather conditions and power blackouts. We in Melbourne had four seasons in one day as usual but on steroids as summer temperatures fluctuated more than normal.

Time for harsh words to be written.

Dear Federal Parliament –

You laugh as Australia burns
the LNP MPs taking turns
to promote dirty coal
cut pensions and the dole –
dear PM where’s your soul?

Barnaby’s red face a disgrace
and vitriol sprayed like mace
Appalling barefaced liars,
Climate-change deniers,
all justify influence buyers!

Halt the wheeling and dealing –
it’s our kids future you are stealing
the Antarctic ice cracking
yet you consider fracking!
Show leadership, please
wind turbines need a breeze
the sun doesn’t always shine
all adjustment takes time…

So, instead of point scoring,
lying, bluster, and theatrics
parliamentarians must sit down
to discuss the energy mix.
The public wants clarity
Extreme weather our reality!

From Mordialloc where even a small rise in sea level threatens homes!

Thank Goodness For Distractions

I’m lucky classes have resumed, limiting the time I have available to check on the latest scandals, shocks, and silly decisions from those who are supposed to lead.

I’ll get more writing done if I ignore social media – yet switching off or ignoring the news at this critical point in history, seems an impossible task – especially when social justice is at stake.

It’s a bit late for New Year Resolutions but I’ve decided to follow the advice I’m always giving my writing students – ‘write every day’. My lack of output directly related to allowing myself to be distracted and become obsessed with ‘the News’, ‘fake news’, ‘alternative facts’ and worrying – which as the quote above implies, is a waste of energy.

My daughter Mary Jane made me a lovely gift at Christmas with a quote from my favourite character, Jo March, from one of my favourite books, Little Women by Louisa May Alcott.

Jo wanted to be a writer and as a nine-year-old reading about her made me determined to be a writer too.

I want to do something splendid before I go into my castle, something heroic or wonderful that won’t be forgotten after I’m dead. I don’t know what, but I’m on the watch for it and mean to astonish you all some day.

I’m grateful for having parents who valued books. When I was ten I received Jo’s Boys, and the following Christmas my aunt gave me Little Men – I treasure these books.

I’m not sure I’ll ever achieve something heroic or wonderful but perhaps some of my writing will remain and be read after I’m dead. It may not astonish but it will reflect me and the times I lived.

During the week I received a lovely card (with a bird on it!) and thoughtful presents from a student who said, “thank you for mentoring me so well with my writing.” I’ll treasure these too.

We may live in tumultuous times where there is much to criticise and feel uneasy about, but with a purpose and job I enjoy, wonderful friends and family and surroundings that provide constant delight, I know I’m privileged.

The mantra ‘one day at a time’ and a conscious effort to stay positive will keep me focused.

Ten Ice-Breaking Questions For Writers

February 6, 2017July 31, 2017 ~ mairineilcreative writer ~ 2 Comments

Writing For Pleasure & Publication classes started last week and with several new students in the mix a ‘getting to know you’ exercise important.

Icebreakers

There are lots of Icebreaker Exercises available on the Internet. Questions and games for almost every situation you can imagine – I think I’ve tried them all over the fifteen plus years I’ve been teaching. How do you come up with something original and relevant?

Like all good writing teachers, (indeed writers), I donned a pirate hat and cobbled together ten questions from a day of research. Writers must be good listeners and observers. They must know themselves and others so they can create believable characters.

From a lesson by Annie Dillard, the great writer of literary nonfiction, Alexander Chee, her student learnt:

You need to turn that attention to yourself. Research yourself… what do you think you can write that you couldn’t write before?… How do I use it in fiction?… I would start next, for me, with what feels real out of what I want to invent. Using your life in fiction doesn’t have to mean only replicating it. That I call the mistake of verisimilitude…

The students could use whatever they gleaned (and it may or may not have been ‘the truth’) to write a mini-bio, a short story, a poem, a newspaper report, magazine column – any piece of writing, any format or genre, from the interviewee and share with the class and at home perhaps write their own bio, or produce another piece of writing triggered by work in class.

Ten Questions

If you could live in any sitcom on TV past or present, which one would it be? Why? What character would you be?
What do you look for in a friend?
Describe the best dessert you have ever had? When was the last time you ate it?
It’s Saturday morning. What’s the first thing you do when you wake up? Is there a routine to this day?
If you were to get a tattoo, what would it say or what would the graphic be? And where would you put it on your body?
Why do you live where you do? How long have you lived there?
If you could have been told one thing that you weren’t told when you were a teenager, what would you like to have heard? Why?
If you were to write a book what would it be about? Do you have a title?
If you could be any animal in the world for 24 hours, which animal would you be? Why?
Name your three favourite smells, why are they your favourite and what is it they evoke, or what memories do they trigger?

Experiment with the information you have learned – after you have written a factual piece is there anything to trigger your imagination that you could turn into a fictional story?

1. What sitcom character would I be?

Years ago on the ABC, there was a BBC comedy The Good Life. A couple decided to live off the grid and make their suburban house and garden “green” and environmentally sustainable. The good life equating with the simple life.

The blurb says:

A milestone birthday convinces Tom Good to make a change. He talks his wife, Barbara, into giving up the so-called rat race and joining him in a life of simplicity and self-sufficiency. They convert their suburban home into a farm, planting crops in the back garden and bringing in pigs and chickens (including a rooster they name Lenin). The new use of their property comes as something of a shock to their very proper neighbours, Margo and Jerry Leadbetter. A social climber of the first order, Margo can’t bear having chickens roaming the back garden. She’ll have to put up with it, though, since Tom, despite his desire for self-sufficiency, can’t bring himself to kill the chickens.

It aired on TV from 1975-1977

Tom (Richard Briers) turned 40 and in a midlife crisis gave up his job as a designer of the plastic toys that came free with breakfast cereal. (This was really big in the 60s and 70s and as one of six children I can remember having to take turns and arguing over the toys! I guess they were the precursors to the plastic junk given away with McDonalds’ Happy Meals!)

His wife, Barbara (Felicity Kendal), goes along with his aim for sustainable living – their house is paid for and one could say the risks in a change of lifestyle were minimal. However, the conflict and comedy occur when Barbara and Tom continual challenge their friends and neighbours Margo (Penelope Keith) and Jerry (Paul Eddington) and confront their wasteful ways while, as it happens, they often have to rely on them for help!

The self-sufficient lifestyle involves lawns becoming allotments for food not flowers, chickens, and pigs (Pinky and Perky), a goat, and a rooster named Lenin. They generate their own electricity using the animal waste byproduct methane, attempt making their own clothes, have success with homemade wine, and barter and sell produce to bypass and ignore capitalism’s monetary system!

Needless to say, many of the episodes are hilarious.

Both couples are childless and the political events of the 1970s are used as an effective backdrop because as Bob Dylan warned ‘the times they are a’changing’.

I admired what ‘Tom and Barbara’ tried to do; the show awakened in me, a real interest in the environment and sustainable living in suburbia.

Barbara described as –

… a normal, middle-class housewife when the series begins. While she sometimes wilts under Tom’s determined and dominant nature, her sharp tongue puts her on an equal footing. She is the heart of the enterprise, while Tom’s engineering brain designs and builds what they need. She yearns for luxuries but her own determination to succeed, with Tom’s single-minded persuasion, keeps her going.

She was feminine but feisty, practical and independent, compassionate and kind, a loyal friend and well-read and witty, but most of all she had a great sense of humour. What’s not to like?

In many ways, The Good Life was prescient, if not revolutionary – over the years I’ve embraced the mantra reduce, reuse and recycle. I helped make mud bricks for my brother’s Mt Evelyn house, I grow veggies, have solar panels and a water tank. I believe in limiting my footprint on the earth – thank you to Barbara, my inspiration!

2. What do I look for in a friend?

Many qualities such as – loyalty, honesty, trustworthiness, understanding, compassion, reliability, discretion, support, a good listener, a sense of fun and Monty Pythonesque sense of humour.

I have been and still am blessed with dear friends – special people I love dearly.

3. What is my favourite dessert and when was the last time I ate it?

My taste in food has changed over the years although my penchant for sweets probably hasn’t. Like most women, I’ll own up to being a chocoholic – hormones the excuse!

My most recent encounter of dining out was at Mordy HQ and always, if Sticky Date Pudding is on the Seniors Menu, it gets my vote. This dessert, all the more delicious because I never make it at home. The same goes for my second choice – cheesecake – there’s something yummy about cooked cheesecake.

When I reflect, there are two instances when dessert has stood out and in both cases, the delights were one-off occasions so memorable they’re worth writing about.

On our first cruise as a family, we went to the South Pacific on P&O’s Fair Princess in 1997. One special evening, the dining crew marched in bearing Bombe Alaska. The lights were dimmed, the line of waiters glowed. A magnificent line of red and gold-speckled waistcoats on mainly Indonesian and Filipino waiters, their white shirt sleeves stark on stretched arms holding trays aflame.

The delicious dessert of meringue, fluffy sponge and lemon sorbet folded through vanilla ice-cream, studded with juicy raspberries is doused in brandy and set alight just before serving!

A tasty spectacle indeed. Checking the available recipes on the web it seems various fruits and other ingredients and methods can be substituted but they all agree the ‘bonfire’ at the end is what makes it great!

The other dessert that lives in memory is a meal in London, in a French restaurant, in 1973. My girlfriend, Nobuko worked as a Japanese Air Stewardess for British Airways and we caught up in London. The two pilots on her flight took us out to dinner and the waiter cooked the Crêpes Suzette in front of us at our table. Again this became a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle entailing flames as Grand Marnier and cognac were heated to lift the basic pancake recipe into the realms of the sublime!!

4. Saturday mornings, I usually have no timetable to obey.

No classes to teach, no set time to be anywhere. Luxury. A relaxing breakfast which may extend into a pyjama day if I don’t have to be anywhere or no visitors are expected. In the days when The Age newspaper was delivered, I would have done the crossword but now I might spend time online, check Facebook or maybe curl up in a chair and read, wander the garden, sit at the computer and write. Occasionally, I may even do housework!

5. If I ever got a tattoo…

A highly unlikely event, but I’d have a tiny butterfly above my right breast. This would represent transformation because I’ve had to rethink body image since a mastectomy and I must admit I miss my cleavage.

6. I’ve lived in Mordialloc since 1984

I live in the first, and only house, I’ve ever owned. John and I chose Mordialloc because we both loved the sea. It was easy to fall in love with 21 Albert Street – an old Edwardian weatherboard with character features, including leadlights at the front door.

Crossing the threshold for the first time, I sensed its history but also a benign and calming spirit living within the walls. It became a much-loved home – the girls know no other and in 2002, John died here, in his own bed.

So many precious memories that I’ll leave behind when I too am ‘carried out in a box’.

21 albert street 1984.jpeg — Albert Street 1984

7. What knowledge or advice would I have liked to hear as a teenager?

Born into a Scottish Presbyterian family in the 1950s with a strong Protestant work ethic and not yet influenced by the Women’s Liberation Movement, I wish I’d heard that thinking of yourself does not necessarily mean you are selfish.

Guilt, strict sexual mores, and the Protestant work ethic all influences hard to shake! Add the workload expected of mothers when I got married and still out-dated ideas of ‘good wives’ sacrifice and personal denial almost to martyrdom status seemed built into the DNA!

8. If I write a book about myself…

I’d build on the thousands of words I have already written about my journey to recover from breast cancer. I walked part of the Larapinta Trail not long after I finished chemotherapy to prove to myself life may be different but I still had physical health and strength. It will be called I Feel the Wind in my Hair…

9. If I could be any animal for 24 hours

I’d swap places with Aurora, the family dog. She is loved unconditionally, is totally spoiled with absolutely no responsibilities – nearing thirteen years of age she sometimes forgets to bark fiercely at passersby…

… and she takes the giant part of the Queen-sized bed.

10. My three favourite smells

Favourites hard to pick because there are many evocative smells I love. However, fresh bread baking sets my olfactory glands working overtime (as does roasting meat) because it reminds me of Mum in the kitchen baking her soda bread, pancakes, scones, Sunday dinner. Yum!

Then there’s the smell of freshly laundered sheets. Whether it is the lemon-scented washing powder and clothes conditioner or just the wonderful fresh air impregnated in cotton, the experience of slipping between fresh sheets absolute heaven.

The other smell is unmistakeable eucalyptus – a pungent reminder of the native trees in my garden and also Vicks Vaporub. The medicinal ointment a reminder of the times during childhood when I’ve been nurtured because of a cold, or when I nursed my daughters.

Another vivid memory is touring Angel Island, a former immigration detention centre and now a state park in San Francisco Bay. Careering around the island on a scenic train and smelling the remnants of a eucalyptus forest planted by an Australian made me homesick!

Variety Is the Spice of Life

The students interviewed and then introduced each other with sitcom characters ranging from Downtown Abbey’s feminist Isobel and traditionalist Maggie, naughty Brooke in Bold & The Beautiful, Hot Lips Houlihan in MASH, Seinfeld, a reporter or news reader on a current affair show, Julie from Happy Days, the Goldbergs’ neighbour who plays too loud music, the narrator of Wonder Years, Rachel in Friends and Elana in The Vampire Diaries.

Everyone on the same page when it came to qualities expected from friends: loyalty, sense of humour, discretion, non-judgemental, has empathy, trustworthy, good listener, caring, reliable, warm and loving, shows sincerity, respect, has similar interests, reliable and adventurous.

The favourite desserts revealed sweet tooths: plenty of chocoholics, especially dark chocolate, gooey brownies but also date scones. A strong desire for English Trifle with ‘all the trimmings’ (a missed gift from a friend sadly deceased), homemade apple pie and cream, fresh tropical fruit and cream, chocolate mousse, a chocolate-flavoured sundae from ‘Maccas’, homemade pavlova piled high with fruit and cream, and chocolate fondue.

Most people indulged their dessert desires recently because of Christmas but one unlucky writer is now lactose intolerant so fondues no more!

Cats and dogs top the list for animals to be: students wanted to see the world from a dog’s perspective for 24 hours and understand how they interpret human emotions and moods, being a cat would be interesting, or a lion and be leader of the pack, perhaps having the fecundity of a rabbit; a tiny dog is loved and spoiled, dogs have fun, cats get to explore places and are well fed, they’re astute and can work out humans. Someone wanted to be a lioness because they are courageous, proud, and protective.

The topics chosen to write about varied: a book to help young people understand mental illness, My Melbourne – a book about Aussie life from the 1930s onwards, an autobiography called A Life of Changes, a memoir, family history, autobiography, So She Did, detective stories for children including a clever, funny dog, an autobiography with lots of pop culture references Big Brother in the Suburbs – aka 1984, book of travel experiences, Lauren’s Storybook, Eli’s Story…

People lived in a variety of settings: family homes, with parents, daughters, alone, near public transport, near the sea, in retirement villages, some were long term residents, others recent arrivals. There were houses, apartments and units, gardens and nearby parks or foreshore, ordinary views or scenic views.

The exercise was a great ice-breaker and getting to know you exercise.

It encouraged observation, listening skills, perception, and attention to detail. At home, there will be plenty of reflection, perhaps research, and maybe the start of longer stories, a poem or novel and/or character sketches.

Information on real life people has been shared, realistic settings and a reminder to include the senses, particularly the sense of smell when writing.

The sense of smell a powerful memory booster and the range of evocative smells included: gourmet cheese and chocolate, flowers like rosemary, scented candles, Estee Lauder perfume, the smell of husband/lover, the rose Black Beauty, food cooking, roast meat especially rabbit, which was eaten a lot after the war, Paco Rabanne aftershave, Chanel Number 5, yellow roses, lavender, Daphne, roast chicken, sausages cooking, Dad’s deodorant, new packaging when stuff ordered from E-Bay, garlic in food, paprika, lavender oil, boyfriend’s aftershave, family dog, jasmine scented candle…

I’m looking forward to listening to the homework – these are exercises anyone can do, you don’t need a partner – interview yourself!

Please feel free to share anything you’re inspired to write because as Annie Dillard’s student noted –

You know the least about your life precisely because, for living in it, you might barely notice it.

Remember we are pirates, so let’s share the treasures unearthed…

A Writer’s Best Friend Is Another Writer

November 28, 2016November 28, 2016 ~ mairineilcreative writer ~ 5 Comments

Yesterday was the last Readings By The Bay for 2016. It was also the last Readings for me as coordinator of the Mordialloc Writers Group – after 21 years, I’m spreading my wings like a fledgeling duck and wobbling off for new adventures – in particular, my love of travel.

I’m spending term two next year away from teaching and will be travelling to more places on my bucket list. Definitely moving from my comfort zone by going to Mongolia and Russia and hoping the talent of so many Russian writers I admire will inspire me as I indulge in another love – history.

It was great yesterday to not only have a guest author, Jennifer Scouller, to share her writing journey to publication but to reflect on other guest writers this year: Maria Katsonis and Isobel Knowles and Cat Rabbit.

We also had Mordy Writer, Glenice Whitting attend to share her good news about her latest novel, Something Missing, to be launched soon. (Read all about this on Glenice’s blog!)

On Saturday, at Mentone Public Library, Glenice was the guest local author and I was asked to introduce her:

glenice-at-mentone — Glenice with poster of her book in background

Introducing Glenice Whitting

It is a privilege to introduce my dear friend Glenice Whitting to you today, although looking around the room no introduction is necessary for so many here, who are already aware of Glenice’s writing ability and talent.

Glenice has been a valued member of Mordialloc Writers’ Group since 1999, and we were lucky to workshop her writing, and later publish early excerpts from both her novels in our anthologies:

Pickle to Pie first delighted us in the story Grossmutter And Me published in 2000 in the anthology Casting a Line and we gleaned the first hint of Glenice’s latest novel, Something Missing, in 2004, with the story What Time is it There? in the anthology Eleven O Four.

Over the last two decades nurturing and teaching local writers, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard: ‘I’m writing a novel’ ‘I could write a book’ ‘I want to write a novel.’

Sadly, few follow through with the task or achieve their goal. They may give up by choice or circumstance, or they don’t put the work into the manuscript to realise publication, the traditional or even non-traditional way.

Having a published book in your hand is no mean feat – the journey is not for the faint-hearted. You need dedication to the craft, incredible determination and effort, as well as talent. Networking and luck such as serendipity can play a part, but overwhelmingly it is sheer hard work and a belief in self that finishes the book. And if you are looking for success you need to write a story others want to read.

Glenice ticks all the boxes: she has created recognisable characters and interesting worlds we can identify with – both novels are mainly set in Australia and span historical periods many will recognise. However, they also cover universal themes of family relationships, love and grief, desire, disappointment – real life! Her storytelling style sweeps the reader along and we turn the pages!

Glenice has worked tirelessly at being the best writer she can be, her personal learning curve an inspiration. She went back to school as a mature age student, onto university studies that culminated in a PhD in creative writing.

She has drawn on her own life experiences for her novels, which makes them resonate but has added that infinitesimal quality that good writers possess – imagination!

Enjoy her presentation.

And we did!!

mentone-library-crowd — Glenice in the centre of her fans:)

2016 Guest Authors at Readings By The Bay

I want to thank Kristina Rowell for arranging these author presentations – each one so different. I also thank the writers’ for their generosity in sharing their journey and experience. The three presentations worthwhile, inspiring, and the detailed talks gave new insight into the publishing world today, and the various paths writers must take to achieve their dream.

We had a unique opportunity for an intimate discussion with author, senior public servant and mental health advocate Maria Katsonis as she talked us through the publication of her novel: The Good Greek Girl.

This life-changing, heartfelt memoir about her mental breakdown after graduating from Harvard, the ramifications on her family life and high-level job in the public service and the long road to recovery and acceptance of living with a diagnosed mental illness is riveting reading.

Maria’s story also covers being part of the LGBTQIA community and what that meant to someone within the Australian Greek community. Her honest presentation to our group kept everyone spellbound and I wasn’t surprised all the books she brought to the session sold!

In Australia, like many countries, mental health and gay rights are two very hot topics! Throw in the multicultural nuance and this is a book you want to read, and a book that adds value to what it means to be human.

The personal financial commitment Maria made, taking writing courses, getting a mentor from Victorian Writers’ Centre, going on a writers’ retreat, paying for editing and publicity – all before finding a publisher – was important information for writers to hear.

Her acceptance of critique, changing the title and now promoting her work all part and parcel of a modern writer’s life.

20160925_141431 — Maria reading from her novel

Earlier in the year the two young author/artists Isobel Knowles and Cat Rabbit, delighted us with their presentation creating the crafty, innovative and unique children’s books Owl Know How and Too Much for Turtle.

authors-of-soft-stories — Isobel Knowles and Cat Rabbit

These two young writers/textile designers/artists/animators shared their journey of being asked to turn their visual art exhibition and soft toys into children books.

Tech savvy and brimming with ideas, they also have a strong social justice conscience. Their books bring up difficult issues like homelessness, refugees and global warming but are delivered in a sensitive child-friendly way.

As you can tell, I have a preference for books that deal with real life issues, contribute to peace and tolerance and help us understand that universal theme “the human condition”.

My Last Readings

I only met Jennifer Scoullar yesterday, but recommend everyone check out her website. A wonderful short story there kept me engrossed, as well as a lot of other information she generously shares with her readers, as I researched for my intro speech!

Jennifer is another writer I admire because she cares deeply about the environment and it shows. In fact, as she stated yesterday, the environment is always a character in her books. She is a proud rural Aussie writer and her love of ‘the bush’ evident in her work.

Jennifer is a best-selling author of rural fiction with her genre advertised as eco-romance.

I searched for a snippet from her website to introduce her and the first paragraph on her ‘About’ page revealed why it would have been difficult for her not to be a writer or a committed environmentalist (I said I’d let her fill in the romance obsession… )

“Writing is in my blood. My grandfather was editor of the newspaper at Wood’s Point in its heyday. My mother, Alice, was a great story teller. My great aunt, Mary Fullerton, was a novelist and poet, and a friend to Miles Franklin. But a greater influence was my father, Doug Scoullar, who had been a jackeroo in Queensland. Later on he began a nursery specialising in native plants, long before it was fashionable to do so. Dad was a man ahead of his time. He passed on to me a lifelong love of horses and the bush…”

Jennifer has a love affair with the wild …. again check out her website and blog where there are many examples of beautiful writing…

“When I was a child I lived in suburban Melbourne. Our house backed onto a railway line, and I could tell the time by the trains. Our back gate opened onto a broad, shady laneway and wild paddocks lay between it and the tracks. A canal, where I wasn’t supposed to play, flowed past the end of the lane.

That was decades ago now, and the overgrown paddocks and canal are long gone…

The heartfelt connection I formed with the natural world has lasted me a lifetime. It caused me to seek out wild places, and for the last thirty years I’ve lived on a hilltop overlooking the beautiful Bunyip State forest.

As a keen amateur naturalist, I’m fascinated by the notion of rewilding – restoring flora and fauna to their historical range. The theory has gained popularity after conservation success stories such as bringing wolves back to Yellowstone National Park and the large-scale return of Europe’s apex predators like lynx, bears and wolverines.”

As I mentioned her genre is Eco-romance and her first novel was published in 2008, others followed in 2012,2013, 2014, 2015, 2016 (Another almost ready to be released with the manuscript at the publishers!)

What a pattern and what amazing output … we sat spellbound and indeed did learn many useful tips!

Like the other writers mentioned, she worked hard to be the best writer she could be –

She reads in her own genre and moves out of her comfort zone and reads other genres – she does what I tell my students: read write read write read write…
She established a blog and engages with her readers.
She writes 1000 words a day
She finishes the first draft before editing – but rewrites and rewrites!!
She does her research – not just Google, but visiting settings, always including the senses
She checked the acknowledgement pages of other books to learn where to seek help when she was looking to publish (libraries and bookstores your best friends)
She joined her local writers’ centre (the Victorian Writers’ Centre)
She bought the Australian ‘bible’ for writers – the Australian Writers’ Marketplace an invaluable resource to help find agents and publishers
She blitzed both agents and publishers
She got used to rejection (6 publishers, 6 knock backs)
She learned to pitch at a writers’ conference – and 3 minutes with a Penguin representative produced interest and an eventual deal
When she was rejected she resubmitted after rewriting but never abandoned her integrity or forgot the aim of the story
She deals with the major issue of mankind’s damage to the environment, the fragility of the earth and the animals are her themes, but she always has optimistic endings!

For those who attended Readings By The Bay in 2016, it’s been a year of exposure to successful writers but also regular listening to each other – the reason I started the writers’ group and the public readings.

All writers need nurturing and encouragement and someone to listen to finished stories and poems and say well done!

Thank you to everyone who has joined me for 21 years of reading and writing – good luck for the future!

Change Is Indeed Constant

October 25, 2016October 25, 2016 ~ mairineilcreative writer ~ Leave a comment

toris gifts.jpg — Tori’s parting gift to the class

Yesterday, a milestone in the Monday class, we farewelled Tori Dowd who has been attending for over a decade. Tori is what you would call ‘a personality’ or ‘memorable character’ (we are writers after all!) – and she will be missed.

Tori wrote us a thank you letter plus a card and gave us chocolates. Her mother, Lyn visited with lovely flowers to say thank you and goodbye. Niceties and kindness not everyone remembers and it was truly appreciated.

Lyn wrote:

Thank you to you very special people, Tori’s friends, who have been so inclusive of her at Writing For Pleasure.

To the staff at Mordialloc Neighbourhood House – thank you, one and all. Tori has been welcomed for many years.

With my love and thanks.

Lyn

Ta Ta Tori
Mairi Neil

A sad Monday Class, farewelling Tori
Admin say the beginning was 2006
Tori a fixture from February to December
A decade of individuality in our midst.

Her wheelchair’s special controls
Enabled whizzing around the room
Two favourites were Barb and Kay
Between them Tori could zoom.

Each Monday, she arrived by special taxi
Most days a grin upon her face
Her greeting “a cup of coffee please”
The other students fetched with grace.

Tori’s special loves: her pet dog, Mimi
Watching romance on her bedroom TV
And we’ll remember her sweet tooth
How she looked forward to morning tea!

Chocolate being her favourite food
A love the rest of us also shared
Birthdays celebrated with gusto
Special cakes made because we cared.

But ‘all good things come to an end’
Tori’s future safeguarded by sharing
Mother Lyn organised a move to Sydney
Where brothers will help with caring.

Future Mondays will feel strange
No yellow taxi stopping outside
No smiling drivers in coloured turbans
Strong hands the wheelchair’s guide

No teasing about forgotten homework
No whispered, ‘Mairi what can I write?’
No exclamations to Heather or Barbara
Or squeezing hands with all her might.

The dynamics of Mondays will be different
But with prompting poised pens will move
Poems and stories imagined and shared
Writing class mojo continues to groove!

Memories To Cherish

Each year as we published class anthologies, Tori contributed her writing, her words a wonderful reminder of who she was and her time with us in class. Although Tori could hold a pen, writing took great physical effort.

However, she was an example, not of disability but making the most of abilities.

Her time with us a reminder of our diversity, the richness it adds to daily life, and the fantastic safe spaces provided in community houses where all adult learners are welcomed to ‘write for pleasure and publication’.

Tori has left her address and so we will now be pen friends in the old fashioned way – Australia Post can expect to be busy!

Vale Amelia Auckett – Artist, Writer, Film Maker

October 9, 2016October 9, 2016 ~ mairineilcreative writer ~ 7 Comments

On Thursday, along with my friend Barbara Davies, I travelled to San Remo to attend Amelia’s funeral. The journey, by public transport, took 2 hours and 58 minutes: first a train to Frankston, a bus to Cranbourne and then V-line coach to San Remo.

Others attended from further afield: Gippsland, Healesville, and Ballarat. A measure of the lives Amelia touched; her influence and legacy, and the high esteem in which she was held.

Although she has lived for over twenty years in Parkdale, Amelia was born in San Remo and has strong family connections there. Her sons John and Paul, felt it fitting she be buried where she was born and grew up – her life a full circle!

The wake held at Amelia’s childhood home which is now occupied by a niece.

When Barbara and I stepped off the coach directly opposite the little wooden church of St Augustine, I gasped. My eyes immediately drawn to the empty silver-grey hearse across the road. ‘Amelia must be already there,’ I whispered to Barbara.

Each grief reminds you of a previous one and flashes of other funerals and other hearses came to mind. Despite the warmth of a wonderful spring sun I felt chilled.

The deep azure sky mirrored in the blue sea stretching to Phillip Island, promised a day of brilliant sunshine. A day for enjoying the beach not attending a funeral.

As I watched the traffic speed by and cross the bridge I wondered how many gave even a second glance to the little church gleaming white in a new coat of paint, belying its 110 years of weathering the storms from the sea, and the countless upheavals of the hundreds of families in attendance over the century or more, of its service to the township.

Amelia was one of my writing students, first at Sandybeach Centre and latterly Mordialloc Neighbourhood House. For many years she attended Readings By The Bay, the public readings by Mordialloc Writers’ Group, often referred to as ‘The Prom lady’ because Wilson’s Promontory, a place she loved, was the subject of so many of her poems and stories.

Asked to read some of her poetry at the service I, of course, included The Spirit of The Prom. I can recall the day she wrote it in class and the discussion we had about the Aboriginal spirit Loo-Errn .

Spirit Of The Prom
Amelia Auckett 2004

I am the Prom
A sacred place
A place I love

Walking to Lilly Pilly Gully
On Christmas Day
Cicadas a symphony of sound
Piercing our ears

Yellow-tailed black cockatoos
Feasting on banksia seeds
Forest ravens dancing
Crimson rosellas a splash of colour

Mount Oberon, a guardian
Mount Bishop presiding over the Prom
Kangaroos, wallabies, wombats and emus
Ranging free

Rocks singing
Wind bending the trees
Eleven rainbows viewed from Pillar Point
Within the space of an hour

I am the ocean
Its roaring sound
As breakers run up the beach
Then a soft sigh as they sink back to the sea
Oystercatchers scour the seashore

I am the silence
I am one with Loo-errn
The Spirit of the Prom

A kookaburra laughs

The Artist and the Nurse

Amelia was also a prolific artist and belonged to the Mentone-Mordialloc Art Group for several years and even mounted her own art exhibition. Her sons displayed many of her framed works at the church and invited everyone to take one or two pieces as mementoes.

A lovely gift to mourners who will now have a permanent keepsake – I chose a Prom painting but also one from Amelia’s time trekking in Nepal – another period of her life she shared with us in class.

When I went into the Tarkine wilderness, Amelia gave me the backpack she used when travelling ‘I won’t be needing it anymore,’ she said, ‘the Prom’s far enough for me to travel.’

20161008_223435-1 — A gift from Amelia when I was going through chemo

Amelia’s son, Paul gave the eulogy and his voice reflected the pride in his mother’s achievements which include nursing, writing, painting, music and filmmaking. Her nursing career took her to Central Australia and Canada, and for 25 years she was the Maternal and Child Health nurse at Frankston, Victoria.

Extract From Amelia’s Memoir

When people look at me they see a Miss Marple type. A woman with wisdom gained over the years and a person with knowledge, a love for, and understanding of people. They are not surprised I decided to be a nurse when ten years old. After all, my mother was the Matron of the Deniliquin Hospital in NSW before she married at thirty-two. My eldest sister Mary was two years into her nursing training at the Austin Hospital, Heidelberg, Victoria. Nursing was in the family.

At the age of sixteen in June 1945, I started a twelve months Cadet Nursing course at the Eye and Ear Hospital, East Melbourne. It was an eventful year. The Americans dropped an Atomic bomb on the Japanese city of Hiroshima on August 6th and a second bomb on the city of Nagasaki on August 9th. The cities were flattened, thousands of people died.

On August 15th 1945 the war in the Pacific ended when the Japanese surrendered. A large group of nurses, from the Hospital, including me, joined thousands of people in Swanston and Collins streets outside the Town Hall that evening, in joyful celebration. We hugged strangers, and each other, We danced, laughed and cried, feeling a great sense of relief. Shouts of, ‘The war is over!’ ‘Peace at last!’ rang out.

We look at older people and what do we see? Who do we see? When they share their stories, or others share them at milestone celebrations or funerals, it is surprising what historical events they have witnessed, what skills they have learned, and their achievements.

When she left an unhappy marriage, Amelia worked hard as a single mother in a time when divorce and single parenting did not have the understanding or support from society like they have today.

Always breaking new ground, she published a book and DVD on Baby Massage. This has been translated into many languages and is a standard fixture in Maternal and Child Health centres throughout Australia. She also wrote music and produced songs as lullabies and for relaxation. Her sons are proud of their mother’s many talents, achievements and unique gifts.

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer and undergoing chemotherapy, Amelia came once a week and massaged my bald head and shoulders. She meditated with me – a peaceful interlude encouraging calm reflection and relaxation, and to focus on healing.

Claire from Ballarat told me how Amelia mentored her and other infant nurses. Claire helped update the baby massage book for Amelia when Infant Welfare clinics were rebranded. She said the baby massage book was revolutionary and innovative.

I remember using the technique with my daughters who were born in the 80s and how thrilled I was when Amelia joined my writing class in the 90s – although it took me a while to make the connection!

Amelia’s son, John has established a website for people to access Amelia’s work, including his mother reading two poems that he set to music. This recording was played during the service. No shuffling feet or rustling papers disturbed Amelia’s soft rhythmic tones as they filled the room. The Prayer of Thanksgiving followed, accompanied by a whispering sea breeze through the open side door.

Staring at the pine coffin adorned with a gorgeous display of flowers in various shades of purple, Amelia’s favourite colour, it was difficult to comprehend I wouldn’t see her again.

On the way to the cemetery, Amelia’s nephew Sam pointed out various places Amelia mentioned in her poems and talked with affection about her affinity with the Prom and her love of the natural environment.

San Remo cemetery is high on a hill with magnificent views as it overlooks the township and the sea. Prime real estate – the pioneers who chose the spot, chose well!

Amelia is descended from the famous Andersons of San Remo and was very proud of her connection to Scotland. Their graves are nearby.

On the way to the wake, Sam stopped at Amelia’s favourite beach and as I stood and listened to the lapping of gentle waves I remembered the stories Amelia told of growing up when San Remo was a fishing village, and how calm waters could also be treacherous. The sea claimed the lives of two of her brothers, including her twin.

Extract From Amelia’s Memoir

The beach was our playground. In the summer, June, Sam and I swam in the warm water, then lay on our towels on the warm sand, sheltered from the southerly breeze behind clumps of marram grass, in the sand dunes. We floated on our backs in the waters of the fast flowing flood tide, on the beach side of the sandbar, starting from opposite our house, then floated down to the pier. We would then walk back to our starting point and float down to the pier again, again and again. It was pure magic, like floating on air in another world.

Many years later, when our mother died, June and I stayed in her home ‘The Haven’ for a few days clearing the house. During that time we swam at the beach and floated down to the pier, again and again, capturing magical moments from our childhood.

As children we played houses on the beach, creating large rooms divided by very small sand walls, leaving gaps for doors and windows We gathered green lettuce seaweed and shellfish for make-believe food. In the cool weather, we took long walks around the beach, collecting shells and seeing sea anemones and small fish in rock pools.

I loved the space, the freedom, the sun, the blue skies, the glistening clear blue sea, the stormy days and the fun.

The Haven, an appropriate name for Amelia’s family home and after a scrumptious afternoon tea provided by the ladies of the church I was grateful Claire offered to drop Barbara and me home saving us a long wait (the return coach left at 7pm!) and a circuitous trip to Mordialloc.

Amelia never returned to class in July because she fell and fractured her hip but up until then, despite failing health she came by taxi every Monday morning and always gave me a hug when she left, saying, ‘Thank you for a lovely class.’

Hugs were a signature of any encounter with Amelia – I’ll miss them!

Olympic Memories Make a Moving Memoir

August 22, 2016 ~ mairineilcreative writer ~ 5 Comments

After a few days of almost Spring weather, mercurial Melbourne reminded me it is still officially winter and inadvertently revealed a trace of the past. Above, is an outline which appeared on the kitchen window, of a butterfly sticker removed over two years ago!

The heat generated by the gas heater, plus steam from the pot of sweet potato and lentil soup I was cooking for a Union of Australian Women luncheon, revealed this outline despite the glass being cleaned umpteen times since the sticker was removed.

I’ve never noticed this outline before (day or night) – a ghostlike skeleton from the past – a reminder of something no longer in existence.

A great metaphor for memoir and life story writing when we never know what memory will pop up or be triggered to write about…

I love creative writing and the four classes I’m teaching this year at three neighbourhood houses (Mordialloc, Longbeach Place, and Godfrey Street) enables me to meet many passionate writers and hear their wonderful stories.

If I can encourage and facilitate these stories into print to be widely shared I feel a sense of accomplishment – especially if the stories are from life experiences. This is how we appreciate and learn from each other – and I’m forever amazed at what turns up!

The Olympic Games

School teachers love the Olympics and plan lessons in all subjects around the theme, but I don’t specifically do that in adult classes. However, what a delightful surprise when a student in the Wednesday Life Stories & Legacy class entertained us with her connection to the 1956 Olympic Games held in Melbourne.

postcard melbourne 1956 olympics copy — An unused postcard found in the Croydon house when we migrated here in 1962

Donna, not only wrote about the links she had with the 16th Olympiad but brought in a jar containing part of the famous field finishing line!

This ‘show and tell’ was in response to previous lessons when we discussed nostalgia and memories. Sometimes in class, an item is mentioned and the whole group gives a collective laugh or sigh and says, “Oh, I remember that” or “I haven’t thought about that in years.”

Think carefully…

Have you an item/relic from days gone by, no longer useful apart from being an oddity? Have a look in drawers and cupboards and write about it before passing it on to the op shop!

Donna turned up with an old chutney jar from the back of her mother’s kitchen cupboard. This jar had a piece of the turf from the finishing line (white chalk barely discernible after more than half a century later), historic in more ways than one!

The 16th Olympiad was the first time the Games had been held in Australia, and classed as the ‘Friendly Games’
It was the beginning of the tradition whereby all athletes walk into the Closing Ceremony as one group, and not individual countries.

The above newspaper clipping featuring Donna’s mother, “Mrs. John Hellier” explains how she was in a position to souvenir such a piece of Olympic memorabilia.

Heather Hellier was the private secretary to Sir William Bridgeford, the chief executive officer of the Olympic Committee. It was her job to put overseas visitors and other dignitaries at ease (notably the Duke of Edinburgh and Australia’s PM Sir Robert Menzies) as well as a host of officials and journalists from all participating countries.

A typical day for Heather included:

arranging press conferences with Sir William for Australian and visiting journalists
arranging plane tickets and hotel bookings for one of his interstate tours to publicise the Games
typing his many speeches
dealing with correspondence and telephone calls
receiving numerous guests, visitors, and queries
assisting planning for official banquets and receptions (before, during and after the Games) including those for Royal guests of honour
controlling the steady stream of people paying courtesy calls and business people seeking meetings with Sir William during the Games

donna and annie reading stories copy — Donna reading her story while Annie reads a copy of the newspaper article

Donna recalled some of her mother’s conversation about that exciting time when she probably had one of the most prestigious and memorable secretarial positions available.

For my mother , it meant long hours, care for every detail, and constant polite communication, culminating in the Games themselves, which were a well-ordered whirlwind of inspirational efforts, patriotic pride, the honouring of Olympic ideals, as well as meetings with Prime Minister Menzies and even a chat about cycling with the Duke of Edinburgh…

It was frantic but went like clockwork due to all the careful planning.

There were winners and there were losers, heroics, and even bloodshed in the pool as the Cold War managed to enter the Melbourne Olympics, better known from that day to this as The Friendly Games…

… as their feet went over that white chalk line they were as one, no longer divided by country. There were many tears shed as the Olympic flag was taken down, the Olympic Flame extinguished and the athletes left the stadium…

… my mother was horrified to see the Olympic track being unceremoniously dug up in order for the MCG to host a cricket match… this was almost sacrilegious. Always quick on her feet, she ran downstairs and grabbed two pieces of the chalked turf finishing line – one for herself, and one for Sir William…

… that piece of white chalk on Olympic turf had done its job, brought pride and achievement, rewarded hard work, stamina, and sheer guts. Its time in the spotlight under the glare of thousands of photographers’ flash bulbs over. Sad to be gone in physical terms but living on in the history of this country, in the minds and memories of all who saw it, and in film (early TV) and photography.

How lucky to see a tiny piece of that memorable event – even if stored in a chutney jar for 60 years!

olympic turf copy — I tried to capture that faint white line.

After Donna read her story I remembered some memorabilia from previous Olympic Games that are probably quite rare in Australia.

The Moscow Olympics

In 1980, I worked for the Victorian Branch of the Federated Miscellaneous Workers’ Union and one of the officials, Frank Brady was fundraising for a close friend going to the Olympic Games in Moscow.

However, Russia had invaded Afghanistan in 1979, and the USA and other countries decided to boycott the Olympic Games. The country was divided about attending and the angst and controversy of the time a direct contrast to the cute bear who was the mascot of the Games.

Frank gifted me the bear and badge.

It holds precious memories of my time in the union office and of Frank who died a few years later. There were many debates and discussions around Russia’s invasion of Afghanistan (ironically the USA also took that path years later), the Olympic boycott, the decisions of individual athletes to go or stay, and the spectacular opening and closing ceremonies. These set a high competitive benchmark for every Olympiad since and the effort to go one better.

As Alexander McCall Smith said, ‘we don’t forget…’ and keepsakes and objects help spark the memories!

mascot of russian olympics copy — Misha, also known as Mishka designed by children’s book illustrator Victor Chizhikov

The governments of the United Kingdom, France, and Australia supported the boycott but left any final decision over participation to individual athletes and respective NOCs.

The International Olympics Federations protested that the pressures by the US and other supporting countries for the boycott was an inappropriate means to achieve a political end, and the victims of this action would be the athletes.

Needless to say, there have been plenty of politics at every Olympics since and the controversy over Moscow resulted with only eighty participating countries, the lowest number since 1956.

Yet, the Moscow Games have the distinction that more world records were set than by the fuller contingent attending the previous summer games in Montreal, 1976.

The Sydney Olympics

I have several photographs commemorating the 2000 Olympics held in Sydney, Australia, starting with the Olympic Torch Relay. Lots of community members were chosen to take part in mini relays on the lead up to the great day and my friend from the Union of Australian Women, Amy Duncan ran in Mordialloc.

When the Olympic Torch came to Melbourne, I kept the girls off school and with hundreds of others we cheered the runners at Mentone. We had some morning tea and then caught a tram to spend the afternoon at a special exhibition about Anne Frank at the Holocaust Museum in Elsternwick.

The tram had to stop to let the runners go past, we hopped off and joined the throng of well-wishers. The crowds were so huge, and traffic jammed that we met up with more torch relay runners. It was a slow run because I think the authorities underestimated the thousands who would take to the streets to cheer.

The girls met several runners (former and current athletes) and they both got to hold an Olympic Torch. Perhaps in a writing class of the future, they’ll write their story of that day.

For most people, the highlight of the 2000 Games was Cathy Freeman and although I would never call myself a sporty person, Cathy, and those Games encouraged me to be a couch potato for a few weeks, and join John and the girls watching the Games!

The Beijing Olympics

The final Olympic story triggered by Donna’s magnificent Mother’s history was of the Beijing Olympics in 2008.

Prior to China hosting the Olympic Games, I was working for Melbourne University Student Union, and we hosted a delegation of Chinese university students from the same Beijing university that led the protests in 1989 later known as the Tiananmen Square Massacre.

The students were coming to Australia to learn about representative student unions, how to run student elections, and work with university administration.

We had many interesting discussions and I showed them photographs of my time in China in 1979 – long before any of them were born! We also talked about 1989 and what memories they or their parents had. They were optimistic for the democratization of their country’s institutions.

All of them had gifts to share and along with a lovely wall hanging and polished wooden coasters, they gave me an Olympic Games fan, and I requested their autographs.

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Please share whatever memories you have of Olympic Games – past or present!

Resisting The Fear of Terror, Trump and Tempestuous Times

July 25, 2016 ~ mairineilcreative writer ~ 7 Comments

In a world of instant news, we seem to be inundated with horror, and as the well-known dictum suggests: Bad news travels fast.

A couple of days ago, I received an email with news I hadn’t yet heard. It was from my dear friend Tanja, who now lives in Italy.

‘Last night a crazy guy shot many persons in Munich. My children are all well. They live in the center of Munich. I feel very sad for this crazy world.’

I sighed with relief while feeling tremendous sorrow and heartbreak for those who had suffered!

Since then, the number of dead and injured in Kabul has risen, there have been more incidents in Iraq, ongoing carnage in Syria, and fearful repercussions of what may or may not have been a well-organised coup in Turkey while the people still recover from suicide bomber attacks. And more shootings involving police and African-Americans in the USA.

I’ve mentioned before how privileged I feel to have the world of my writing and teaching to keep me sane and grounded in reality. A reality that there is only a small percentage of human beings committing these acts of terror and violence, but we must all work towards a solution to stop people feeling angry and disenfranchised, or forcing their view of the world on others.

Irresponsible political leaders and celebrities like American Donald Trump, Britain’s Nigel Farage and Australia’s Pauline Hanson peddling the politics of fear, ignorance, lies, and hate in the West and multiple groups and leaders fighting for power in the Middle East – the place we are led to believe is the origin of current acts of terror – can’t be allowed to define who we are.

Limericks Against Loose Language

There’s a presidential hopeful called Trump
From Australia, he looks quite a chump
He speaks in platitudes
With aggressive attitudes
Yet, his popularity is not in a slump!

So many seem to admire Donald Trump
Because ‘political correctness’ he’ll dump
But dissecting his words
Reveals policies absurd
If he wins ‘stop the world’ let me jump!

In Oz, we have a female version of Trump
Pauline Hanson is back with a thump
Fear she’ll expand
’All Muslims banned’
But ask for the logic, and she’s gazumped

Pauline’s no stranger to misinformation
Founding the ironically named ‘One Nation’
She nurtures division
With xenophobic precision
Be welcome as long as you’re not Asian!

Study History and be Informed

If you have lived over six decades, like me, you’ll remember the prolonged bombings, murders, and plane hijacks by nationalist groups such as the IRA, PLO, Spanish ETA, not to mention others with perhaps a broader agenda like the Red Brigade, Baader-Meinhof , American Weathermen, the Front de libération du Québec and too many guerrilla groups in South America and the African continent to list. Who can forget Pol Pot, the Tiger Tamils, extremist groups in India, Pakistan, Indonesia and Burma, the plethora of groups involved in the Vietnam War, China’s Cultural Revolution, the Sarin Gas Subway attack in Japan … and the list goes on.

Google isn’t the only source of knowledge and shouldn’t be but it is a good start if you type in any of the above struggles, countries, or causes.

Turmoil and tempestuous times are not new but having instant access on our phone which we carry everywhere means we have difficulty escaping from whatever circulates on social media as well as mainstream news.

Bigger television sets with clearer satellite images and on the spot reporting beamed into our homes, every doctor, dentist or hospital waiting room, pub, shopping centre and anywhere else people gather, ensures 24-hour shock and horror with often limited context or facts. Creating and marketing fear second nature to some sections of the media.

May we… be part of the answer, and not part of the problem.

This quote, also from the Rev. Peter Marshall was on a plaque above our mantelpiece when I was growing up. My parents shared a lot of the values of Peter Marshall, which was not surprising because they were Scottish Presbyterians before coming to Australia and joining what became the Uniting Church.

I was lucky to be brought up with what I consider good core values, particularly in regard to social justice and belief in equity and the priority of peace. My parents were Christians who acknowledged that others, as well as their own children, may not necessarily have the same views. They may not have celebrated our drift away from their religious practices, but they accepted it.

Dad spent his life studying and questioning the tenets of his Christian faith. He was a deep thinker and loved philosophical discussions. I’ve inherited some of his books, including one about Comparative Religions, which he encouraged me to read when I was studying Eighteenth Century history in my final year of high school.

We listened to the Boyer Lectures on the ABC together and had great discussions on the wide-ranging topics covered. Dad read and listened to tapes by the Rev. William Barclay, who many considered preached heresy. He loved debating aspects of religion and church life and read and admired Paulo Freire. Sometimes discussions could be prolonged, passionate, even heated and sometimes ended with agreeing to disagree!

In today’s world, voices of religious fundamentalism of various persuasions and fanaticism want to dominate. We could do with more people like my father. Dad enjoyed seeking and sharing knowledge, having a respectful debate, not only being tolerant but accepting different religious and spiritual beliefs.

The world does seem crazy, so I focus on the wellbeing of family and friends, celebrate birthdays and achievements, share coffee catch-ups with past students and close friends, enjoy the seasonal changes of my garden.

I throw myself into the various volunteer events I enjoy. (Next weekend is Open House Melbourne.) I’m glad the discussions and laughter shared in writing classes are meaningful, life-affirming and a source of joy – and we all love the writing time.

My Five Memorable Experiences This Past Week To Keep Me Singing and Wondering:

I receive a delightful and humbling thank you email plus a gorgeous gift from past student Trish when we meet for lunch. She had created the mini garden just for me and sent a lovely poem by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross.

2. I prepare a book for publication by a beautiful woman who has helped many people find peace in meditation and yoga. She wants to leave a legacy of her life’s journey, which is a triumph of survival against barriers, cancer, and other life events that would have defeated others. Julie Wentworth’s, A Life Shared will be as treasured as her first book, Love & Light.

3. I attend two consumer focus groups with people like myself determined to make our health system the best it can be.

(a) One to help the Cancer Council’s Quit Campaign improve its approach and be more effective and advise on the language used on their website.

(b) One to improve quality and safety in our hospitals with the Department of Health and Human Services (DHHS) Quality and Safety Framework Consumer Focus Group at the Health Issues Centre.

4. I spend a Saturday afternoon with Karen Corbett one of the best theatre/drama teachers in the business learning to improve my play-writing skills to submit a monologue to Baggage Productions annual Madwomen’s Monologues. Shortlisted two years ago I will keep trying in the hope my work is performed.

5. Two long-standing writing buddies and dear friends help me workshop a novel started in 2008 (!), abandoned when I was diagnosed with cancer – but now ready to be resurrected. I am so blessed having valued critics with amazing writing talent. When the three of us get together we have a lot of fun as well as work hard workshopping our words.

Writing Class
Mairi Neil

A library of imagination
Pens fill blank pages
Words arranged and stacked
Released to the public
Knowledge laced with fantasy
A choice of genres
To receive a stamp of approval

I hope after reading this post people can count their blessings and perhaps create a list too! A great buffer against negativity.

Writing For Pleasure Has Its Own Rewards

May 19, 2016July 31, 2017 ~ mairineilcreative writer ~ 2 Comments

A poet always writes of his personal life, inches finest work out of tragedy, whatever it be, remorse, lost love, or mere loneliness.

WB Yeats

We have just celebrated Neighbourhood House Week and working as I do, in three local community houses, I felt the pressure to showcase what my classes achieve to encourage new enrolments and justify my existence.

Evidence of ‘money’s worth’ and ‘bums on seats’ has to be seen in a world where the power of economic rationalists reign supreme. Everywhere, it seems is pressure to ensure education in the adult sector is all about employability skills with the well-being factor often forgotten, although numerous reports have investigated the ‘social capital / human capital spectrum’.

How do you quantify or monetise the benefits a ‘Writing for Pleasure‘ class brings to society?
Unless students write their individual stories how will the bean counters or the decision makers know that friendships have formed and limited the number of doctor visits and prescriptions for anti-depressants?
How do you recognise the importance of gaps in education being filled for students beyond working age?
What about the benefit to future generations of the family histories that are written, the individual legacies recorded?
Who considers the pride and soaring confidence when someone writes a poem or a short story, a novel or a play and achieves a dream they never thought possible?

Two of my classes have concentrated on poetry this term so that we could produce a zine for Neighbourhood House Week. (The covers above)

With the 8-page booklet, I manage to get the majority of students to polish some poems to include. I even wrote a few new ones myself during our splurge time!

We’ve studied rhyme, metaphor and simile, form poetry including limerick and clerihew, and free verse.

Lessons in Rhyme
Mairi Neil

On the train, stations slip by
My thoughts are fleeting too
Years of commuting make me sigh
Respite days, oh, so few.
And yet there’s something comforting
About train journeys I have taken
They’re a metaphor for life
Places loved and others forsaken.
The stations and various signals
Stop start – get off – get on
Stay on the rails or let loose
But always journey on.

Bentleigh station May 2016 — Bentleigh Station in the midst of renovation

Haiku Selection
Mairi Neil

Twilight glow from sky
Pier promenade shelters us
From gathering storm

Ships in harbour creak
Moored safely for the night
Silent sentinels

Beneath the water
Life blossoms and flourishes
Our ecosystem works

A tourist mecca
Attracts people in all weather
Revenue alleys

I Love Cooking (After Dr Seuss)
Mairi Neil

I love cooking, I love the smell
I love it more when it turns out swell.
I love old recipes, they are the best
I gather ingredients and begin with zest.

I love my oven, it’s electric. If it was gas I’d be sick.
I love my bench top, granite and wide, equipment sits side by side.
I think my cooking is okay, there’s not much more I can say.
I’m not an expert like some boast, I’ve been known to burn the toast!
There’s people who just love their food, always categorising, bad or good.
I eat to live, variety’s not king, a few favourite recipes are my thing.

I’m happy to bake my apple cake. I am.
Can even manage scones, cream and jam.
I love to peel, dice, chop and knead.
It’s from cleaning up I want to be freed.

I love cooking – it’s a necessary evil – we have to eat.
But boy I’m glad – really glad – Nandos have opened up the street!

Election 2016
Mairi Neil

Australians are having a vote
Malcolm and Bill both want a moat
People smugglers to shatter
‘Cos Refugees don’t matter
We’ve stopped the boats they gloat.

Writing Class
Mairi Neil

Monday writing class
A library of imagination
Pens fill blank pages
Words arranged and stacked
Released to the public
Knowledge laced with fantasy
A choice of genres
To receive a stamp of approval

Albert Street May 2016 copy — Albert Street at dusk

21 Albert Street
Mairi Neil

My Edwardian house no longer sags
And sinks into sandy soil
Aged and in need of renovation
It now squats on renewed stumps
A bulldog ready to scare off
A proliferation of developers.

Mary Jane’s car gleams, winking in sunlight
A cheeky adolescent ready for adventure
Compact and fuel efficient
It darts in and out of traffic
A trainee athlete refusing to be intimidated
By those more powerful.

My garden an oasis of peace today
But as the rain continues flora flourish
the garden transforms
An island of tranquility becomes
A factory production line of
Unwanted grasses and weeds.

Aurora, my ever-alert sentinel
Listening, watching, protecting
Warning of danger.
Aurora, a loyal, loving companion
My four-legged disciple of friendship
Epitome of unconditional love.

Keep Mordialloc Beautiful
Mairi Neil

Albert Street busy each morning
Passersby always on a mission
They head for church, railway station,
U3A, public schools – people in transition
They’ve found God, want to learn
Are travelling near and far
Perhaps they just love to shop
Or are looking to park their car!

I love this changing scenery
Glad Council upkeeps the greenery
But I don’t like the litterbugs
The ones who care nought for others
They chuck containers, cans and bottles
Did they learn nothing from their mothers?

A magpie pecks at sodden ground
Moves to nibble at bark on trees
He takes what he needs, moves on
No rubbish left when he feeds
So, why do humans leave their litter
To clog drains and on roads skitter?

Albert Street an extension of my home
And passersby are free to roam
But please keep your trash, bad manners too
That’s a plea, from me to you!

A Wake Up Call
Mairi Neil

The people of Longreach
Appeal to fellow Australians
You’ve forgotten us they cry
The rain has stopped
Not seen for years
The grass all withered and dry.

The people of Longreach
Appeal to fellow Australians
Do you know what it’s like here?
Drought has destroyed
Our way of life
The community we hold so dear.

The people of Longreach
Appeal to fellow Australians
Climate Change must be faced
This parched land
No longer produces
Bore water has poison laced

The people of Longreach
Are silent and so sad
Heads bowed at funeral pyre
People, cattle, farms
Now dust to dust
Their history erased by fire

The people of Longreach
Not the only community to die
The driest continent
Will shrivel and shrink
Global warming is making us fry!

Writing For Pleasure & Publication at Mordialloc Neighbourhood House
A Reflection by Teacher Mairi Neil.

The writing class at Mordialloc Neighbourhood House is the longest running, continuous class since the House was established. The size of classes has fluctuated over the years, reflecting the growth in U3A in the area and a variety of writing courses at TAFE and online, but for students attending Mordialloc the motivation, inspiration and intimacy they gain is invaluable.

For several years we ran classes in the morning and afternoon. Student Barbara Davies has been attending since 2002 and Dennis Worledge has joined this year.

Dennis Worledge & Barbara Davies May 2016

A retired primary school teacher, Barbara taught creative writing for fourteen years at U3A and joined the class at Mordialloc to encourage her own creativity.
‘I love coming to this class and have made so many friends over the years while improving my writing.The class is a safe environment to write, a place of trust to share confidences.’

Barbara is one of many students writing memoir in a creative way but also having fun with imaginative stories and poems.

When individuals take the time to reflect and document even 10-20 short stories about their family history, culture, life experiences, opportunities, challenges, gratitude, disappointments celebrations and ideas, they communicate their wisdom, values and generosity to the next generation in a very positive and instructive way.

New student Dennis agrees. ‘I love writing and want to further develop my skills as well as enjoy the fellowship and fun I’ve found in this class. I hadn’t anticipated writing poetry and am amazed I enjoy the challenge!’

Heather, Amelia and Kay joined the class in 2004. In the years between Heather moved from Beaumaris to Mt Eliza, but still makes the trip each Monday morning. ‘I’ve been coming forever,’ she says with a laugh, ‘because of the fun and friendship and I love the mental stimulation.’

Heather added, ‘I’m staving off senility and it’s keeping me fit. I attend poetry readings, visit libraries and bookshops because through the class I’ve become a more discerning reader.’

Kay published her memoir from workshopping stories in class as have other students: Fay Lucas (a book of poetry about life in the Mallee) and Bob Croker (tales of being a grey nomad travelling around Australia). All of the students have work published in class anthologies.

However, the class is not all about retirees. More than 140 students have participated over the years, many like Tori who joined in 2008 and loves coming to the class because she is accepted as a writer and storyteller. We see her ability, not disability.

Younger students have included Michael (23) who thrived despite his ABI from a severe car accident and now publishes poetry online. Often the carers discover latent writing talent as they join in!

Young women have come for semesters while on Maternity Leave using the great childcare facilities to have alone time and write about the changes in their lives. Students with English as a new language like Mari and Naoko love how creative writing improves their understanding of the nuances of English as well as extending themselves to learn techniques while making friends.

Although it is a constant struggle to find funding and support for the classes in community houses, I hope they continue to provide everyone with the opportunity to reflect, write and share their stories and imagination for themselves, their loved ones and their communities. We have established a great tradition of that at Mordialloc.

Life is Absurd – If You Don’t Laugh You’ll Cry

March 20, 2016March 20, 2016 ~ mairineilcreative writer ~ 6 Comments

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What a week ! Despite all good intentions and a host of ideas I’ve found completing a post for the blog elusive. I had plans to write about my mother in relation to St Patrick’s Day but in the planning I rearranged a class lesson and decided to do a post on all things green and Irish. However, I haven’t got around to editing and polishing the flash fiction and poems that exercise triggered.

My fingers moved too fast typing this post and ‘flash’ came up auto-corrected as ‘flawed’. Ha, ha – a Freudian slip or is my iMac confirming the truth of recent findings that computers are smarter than man and will soon be able to control us? Perhaps I should order a robot to write my posts!

Meanwhile in the search through my files for a poem I wrote about my last trip to Ireland, I came across one written when I worked at Melbourne University. A bit of doggerel born from the time spent travelling on the train each day.

The hour long trip in the morning and the hour home again put to good use writing in my notebook, jotting down ideas often prompted by articles in the free mX newspaper, which had a section of brief stories from around the world titled Weird.

For a creative writer this was manna from heaven and indeed one such story on the lead up to Christmas inspired me to dash off a verse. The nonsense produced actually fits in with the sense of unreality I’ve felt this week as the media promotes the likelihood of Donald Trump, not only being the Republican candidate for the Presidency, but perhaps the President of the United States of America.

In Australia, we elected Tony Abbott to a position of power so what people do with their vote never ceases to amaze me, but how do we explain Trump’s popularity and the scenes of hero worship and frenzied adulation?

And then I remembered Diana Duyser and her grilled cheese sandwich.

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virgin-mary-toast-fetches-28k

Ode To A Cheese Sandwich

Mairi Neil, 2004.

Challenging the world’s non-believers
a goodly woman’s news did travel
displaying the Holy Toasted Sandwich
advertised as an E-Bay marvel.
Modern headlines scream of terror,
famine, war, pestilence and more
so the mother of God visited Florida
a lasting impression to make for sure!
The Blessed Virgin was desperate
she’d visited Earth before
statues wept, shrouds wrinkled
wraith-like she’d walked through doors.
But all that is so last century
modern Americans are much more cynical
Mother Mary had to choose a medium
observable without being mystical.
In the year of Our Lord, 1994
checked out of Heaven by God’s clerk
Mary traversed God’s own country
looking for somewhere to leave her mark.
Lo and behold, great tidings
Diana Duyser’s toaster was set just right
and miracle of holy miracles
she instantly saw The Light!
Without any theological training
or a holy life of note
she recognised the Virgin Mary’s visage
upon a sea of butter afloat.
In cotton wool and plastic wrap
two wonders of modern technology
for ten years the blessed sandwich
has defied all toxicology.
And so in December 2004
Golden Palace Casino’s gullible folk
made Diana $A35,000 richer
proving the silly season is not a joke!

In 2004, I was also studying part time and achieved my Certificate IV in Workplace Training & Assessment. The course spanned 18 weeks – a much more intensive and thorough course than many on offer today – especially those in the scandalous private sector where charlatans have received government money because ideologically driven governments insist private does it better than public.

I was lucky the Sandybeach Centre was founded by a family of teachers who believed in public education. They gifted the centre to the community. My Cert IV tutor had relocated from Canberra and was one of the people who designed the course aiming to ensure people training others had the teaching skills to present and pass on that knowledge.

There were 18 students meeting each week and the insight into the range of skills and ideas for courses, as well as the range of personalities and backgrounds, led to fascinating lessons.

At our farewell luncheon I presented everyone with a poem on parchment, rolled and tied with a bright red ribbon. The scroll, a little reflection to celebrate the end of what had been an intense course for some.

CERT IV – 2004

At Sandybeach for eighteen weeks
Eighteen students gathered to learn
With expert guidance from Maria
We experienced a pleasant sojourn.

Deanna taught us yoga breaths
Especially breathing through the nose
Encouraging meditation and calmness
Just make sure a handkerchief is close!

Esther explained website design
With a great example of how it’s done
Being first to do the ‘assessment task’
She was the perfect guide for everyone

A veteran of the corporate world
John’s mapping a new career
He enthralled us with statistics
Showing a water crisis is here!

Artistic Shelly displayed flair
We admired her icon painting
But if she’d gone into labour
Some of us would be fainting!

Toni was the second youngest
To be a teacher her ambition
Her presentation on computers
An excellent example of tuition.

Kamil was the youngest in the class
Yet his forte is knowledge of business
To actually gain this qualification
To Kam would be sheer B.L.I.S.S.

Softly spoken Paula’s desire
To train civil celebrants is unique
Her advice for aspiring celebrants
‘Get it right!’ before you speak.

There was a doctor in the ‘house’
Janos Bognar was his name
He shared his knowledge and expertise
The ‘mad cow’ debate to inflame!

Andrea is not demented
And she tested all of us
Her presentation and assessment
Completed with minimum of fuss.

Stefan tackled each session
Enthusiastically with a smile
His commitment to French food
Gave us a salad with style!

Gordon’s morning drive was impressive
His keen participation too
Flowery speech and tussie mussie
Made his presentation difficult to outdo.

Frank kept us entertained most sessions
Mr. Hospitality could be his name
We learnt what makes good coffee
and dealing with complaints is not a game.

Liz recognises signs of conflict
And has solutions that will work
Her triangular presentation
Helped us recognise a jerk.

If ever we suffer depression
Let’s hope Maralyn is on hand
With soft voice and caring manner
Our every symptom she understands.

Eve coached us all for life change
She made us think seriously about time
The quality not quantity
To have a balance just sublime!

Leanne loves outdoors
But suggests gardens need design
Her checklist incredibly helpful
To avoid a strangling vine.

Ann embodied the perfect presenter
Her cool style one to emulate
Customer service is her forte
Her training talent innate.

And last but not least is yours truly
A wordsmith of moderate note
The best thing about Cert IV
is the people about whom I wrote!

Mairi Neil

The celebration with classmates cut short because a close friend had died suddenly. The funeral to be held in Castlemaine where she had relocated with her family to start a new life in the country and fulfil her dream of bringing her children up in a healthy sustainable lifestyle.

I left a city restaurant, caught the train to Castlemaine and met up with a group of friends, all in a state of shock like me. We’d become acquainted through Alida. I’d taught puppet and writing workshops at her home when she organised large groups of home-educated children. Her two young children had come to my Scottish country dancing classes. Before that they had briefly attended the same Steiner school as my daughters.

Alida had just turned 40. Why were we attending her funeral? As children painted her coffin and a quartet of strings played Mozart, we heard how she had died of a blood infection picked up after she cut herself gardening. Life is indeed absurd.

Alida – one of my angels. She supported me through John’s illness, encouraged me to write and insisted I was a good teacher, giving me opportunities through the home education network. She gave me confidence and the impetus to improve my qualifications. I should have been showing her my certificate not signing a condolence book. She left instructions for her funeral and it was unique like herself. Lots of laughter as children and adults painted flowers, trees and rainbows on her coffin and shared quirky stories about a truly remarkable and memorable person.

And as this post visits random memories triggered by files on my computer I discovered a story I’d written about another bizarre episode in the Life & Times of Mairi Neil…

Hospitals Take Patience

When Anne was in primary school she ached to roller blade. Each school holiday we received a discount voucher to the local skating rink in White Street and each holiday I promised to go ‘one day’.

My childhood memories of roller skates were of expandable contraptions strapped over shoes. One size fits all. They usually slipped off, loosened, or stretched. Children were fortunate to reach adulthood with ankle bones intact. Skate design improved but I discovered eva in adulthood, risks of broken bones remain.

One Easter, I kept my promise and took Anne to the rink. I hired skates for us both so that I could demonstrate and help Anne skate, but the speed and antics of teenagers whizzing around made me change my mind. It was twenty years since I last roller-skated. One novice on the rink was enough. I returned my skates.

I showed Anne how to stand, glide and most importantly hang onto either my arm or the side of the rink. The first three encirclements slower than a snail on ice. Anne bounced back from falls, her patience, perseverance and endurance astonishing as she alternated between grabbing the side of the rink and me. Confidence and skill improved and she staggered solo.

Fourth time unlucky!

Clipped by a boy as unsure as herself, Anne fell. On the way down her left foot landed on my right foot. The slip-on canvas shoes I wore offered no protection from the wheels of the skate. Oh, the pain! So intense I was glad the general hubbub masked my expletives deleted.

I managed to finish the circuit and endure two more before suggesting we call it quits. Every step of the ten minute walk home excruciatingly painful.

After an uncomfortable night, John insisted I should have an x-ray in case I’d cracked a bone in my foot. (To match the one in my head his unspoken judgement.)

The human foot has 26 bones, 33 joints, 107 ligaments, 19 muscles and tendons. The 52 bones in your feet make up about 25 percent of all the bones in your body.

We went to Frankston, the nearest public hospital and I limped to the reception desk.

‘Do you want see a doctor?’

I hoped the receptionist didn’t hear John’s mumbled, ‘No, we want to see a plumber.’

I managed to keep a straight face while explaining my injury.

Usual questions on personal and medical history were answered before she said, ‘Take a seat and I’ll arrange to have your foot elevated.’

However, a lady sitting at the adjoining window called me over to ask more questions of why I was there. I gave a detailed explanation, which she typed into a computer. My foot throbbed more and a headache developed to match.

At last sitting down I watched as moments later, three youths and an older lady helped a young girl through the doorway. She clung to the woman’s arm, hopping with an obvious swollen ankle. I discovered they were German tourists.

The receptionist deemed it necessary to repeat everything they said accompanied by an increase in the volume of her voice. I don’t think any of them were deaf but apparently your hearing and privacy disappears if your English is limited.

A twenty-something couple with two small children arrived next. They collected food and drink from the foyer vending machines and settled down to watch the television suspended from the ceiling. No reporting to reception – perhaps their TV was broken at home.

It was now 10.00 am. I turned to John, ‘The hospital isn’t that busy, hopefully this won’t take long.’

An orderly wheeled the young German girl away. She returned after having her ankle x-rayed. An hour had passed. The young children bored with the television offerings demanded more snacks.

John checked his watch for the umpteenth time. A pulse in his cheek throbbed as he stabbed at The Age crossword with his pen. I flicked pages so fast in the magazine I was reading they were in danger of ripping.

Anne and MaryJane were being taken care of by a friend but as is usual with emergency child care arrangements I worried. Stymied from voicing guilt and fears for the hundredth time, when a nurse called my name.

I hobbled after her, along the corridor, through double doors to a large area bustling with activity. Health professionals in abundance talked on phones, wrote on clipboards, chatted to patients and each other. People in various stages of treatment occupied three beds. A baby cried from behind a screen and a worried mother nursed a toddler being examined by a young doctor.

How long had these people been here? Was there another entrance to Accident & Emergency I didn’t know about?

The nurse directed me to join a couple sitting on a row of seats against a wall. The elderly man displayed an injured foot and his wife sat beside him holding crutches.

The nurse elevated my foot too and asked me to explain what had happened. She had difficulty finding evidence of ‘vital signs’ but at last announced she’d located a pulse in my foot. We both sighed with relief. She marked the spot with a biro, ‘to make it easier next time.’

She tried to take my temperature with a new machine that plugged into your ear to show body temperature on a portable screen. It didn’t work. She discarded the machine for an old-fashioned thermometer muttering, ‘so much for hi-tech medicine.’

Left alone, I introduced myself to my fellow sufferer and his wife. Fred said, ‘I’ve been sitting here since ten o’clock.’

I panicked. It was nearly midday. I shuffled back to Reception and told John about the back-log behind the scenes. He didn’t need convincing to check on the girls, ‘I’ll grab some lunch and return in a couple of hours.’

I resumed my conversation with Fred who confided a woman pushing a stroller knocked him over. ‘I just got the plaster off this morning and went to the local shopping centre. She careered into me from behind. Hit me good leg and sent me flying. I grabbed a parking meter to save myself but hit the kerb and the leg snapped.’

The woman didn’t stop to help or apologise but when Fred repeated what he said and how, I suggested her lack of response was through fear rather than indifference. His wife nodded in agreement. Righteous anger can be scary.

‘When you say good leg what happened to the other one?’

‘Oh,’ said Fred, ‘I broke that playing golf.’ He pointed to his left leg. ‘It was summer and the ground was dry and hard and I was wearing me winter shoes.’

I hid my ignorance – I didn’t even know there were special shoes for golf, never mind ones for different seasons!

Fred barely paused in his tale of woe. ‘I hit the best shot of me life, swung around but the shoe stayed put. I heard the lower leg and ankle crack.’ He shuddered with the memory.

Both his wife and I let out suitable sympathetic sounds and shook our heads. Some people attract bad luck!

I shared my mishap and laughed at our lack of sporting prowess.

A young intern approached. ‘Steven’s the name,’ he said with the false friendliness of a McDonald’s commercial. ‘What happened to your foot.’

I explained, yet again and wondered if a lie detector lurked nearby checking to see if this fourth retelling any different from the initial one hours before.

Steven attempted to take the pulse in my foot but couldn’t find it despite the biro mark. He expressed surprise at the foot being cold. I reminded him I’d been sitting for an hour in the path of the blast from the air-conditioner and two doorways. He didn’t acknowledge there may be a connection.

‘Are you a smoker?’

‘No.’

‘That’s odd, you have very poor circulation.’

He called a nurse and they both felt for a pulse. The nurse found it near the biro mark. Steven still couldn’t find it. He started to manipulate my toes and move my foot about. He pressed hard. Obsessed about my pulse he forgot about the injury. My not quite muffled scream brought an embarrassed apology and the original nurse over.

‘What’s the significance of this worry over my pulse?’ I wondered aloud. ‘Is it a sign of terminal illness? My foot was smashed by a roller skate. I just want to know if I’ve broken anything.’

The original nurse recognised fear. ‘It means nothing except they can’t find it!’ She dismissed Steven with a glare.

He wandered off to practise on another patient, the nurses returned to their respective posts and Fred and I pondered on the training interns received.

The German girl had joined us and another intern was using sign language and broken English to explain the intricate muscle, bone and nerve structure of the human leg. She paid great attention to his every word, mainly because she couldn’t understand it – neither could we.

He had examined her x-rays, which revealed no broken bones. That would have taken seconds to say. Perhaps he recognised she hadn’t been waiting the obligatory three hours or perhaps because she was young and attractive he wanted to delay her departure.

I wondered if Steven had bothered to order x-rays for me when as if by mental telepathy a young technician appeared with a wheelchair. He asked what happened and so for the umpteenth time I explained why I had come to the hospital. I had a desire to begin the narration with ‘a tale as old as time… ‘

Half-an-hour later John returned in a mellow mood. Lunch had been delicious, the girls were happy. The x-ray a great advance in his eyes until I reminded him it was after 2.00 pm.

Fifteen minutes later a nurse came over and bandaged the German girl’s ankle and my foot. Steven reappeared and introduced himself to John, ignoring me.

He talked over my head. ‘I don’t think the foot is broken but I’m not saying it isn’t in case you come back and sue my ass off.’

Steven received my most scathing look. John refrained from speaking. I thought how my Irish mother sometimes mangled the English language but then she had no great love of the English or their language and made no pretence of having studied it at tertiary level.

A nurse bandaged the foot that may or may not be broken. I didn’t tell her being a proud owner of a Ranger Guide First Aid badge, I could have done that at home.

We left Fred demanding loudly if they had misplaced his file while his wife shrunk behind his crutches.

I limped out to the carpark leaning on John’s arm reflecting that before being let loose as a General Practitioner, Steven needed a trifecta: to improve his medical knowledge, master a doctoring technique and find a better bedside manner.

‘You’ll think twice before roller-skating again,’ John said as he helped me into the car.

My smile, lopsided and fleeting as I vowed next holiday, the school’s discount vouchers better be for the cinema.

To Albury Grand Railway Station

Frank Jones

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Three Wise Monkeys Mairi Neil

Bird Tweets Trump Donald’s

Limerick for the Birds Mairi Neil

Haiku – Mairi Neil

Mordialloc Beach

Mairi Neil

Polluting Politics

Limerick for the Times Mairi Neil

Limerick for the LNP Mairi Neil

Dear Federal Parliament –

Thank Goodness For Distractions

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Icebreakers

Ten Questions

1. What sitcom character would I be?

2. What do I look for in a friend?

3. What is my favourite dessert and when was the last time I ate it?

4. Saturday mornings, I usually have no timetable to obey.

5. If I ever got a tattoo…

6. I’ve lived in Mordialloc since 1984

7. What knowledge or advice would I have liked to hear as a teenager?

8. If I write a book about myself…

9. If I could be any animal for 24 hours

10. My three favourite smells

Variety Is the Spice of Life

Please feel free to share anything you’re inspired to write because as Annie Dillard’s student noted –

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Introducing Glenice Whitting

2016 Guest Authors at Readings By The Bay

My Last Readings

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Ta Ta Tori Mairi Neil

Memories To Cherish

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Spirit Of The Prom Amelia Auckett 2004

The Artist and the Nurse

Extract From Amelia’s Memoir

Extract From Amelia’s Memoir

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The Olympic Games

The Moscow Olympics

The Sydney Olympics

The Beijing Olympics

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Limericks Against Loose Language

Study History and be Informed

May we… be part of the answer, and not part of the problem.

My Five Memorable Experiences This Past Week To Keep Me Singing and Wondering:

Writing Class Mairi Neil

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A poet always writes of his personal life, inches finest work out of tragedy, whatever it be, remorse, lost love, or mere loneliness.

Lessons in Rhyme Mairi Neil

Haiku Selection Mairi Neil

I Love Cooking (After Dr Seuss) Mairi Neil

Election 2016 Mairi Neil

Writing Class Mairi Neil

21 Albert Street Mairi Neil

Keep Mordialloc Beautiful Mairi Neil

A Wake Up Call Mairi Neil

Writing For Pleasure & Publication at Mordialloc Neighbourhood House A Reflection by Teacher Mairi Neil.

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Like this:

Three Wise Monkeys
Mairi Neil

Limerick for the Birds
Mairi Neil

Limerick for the Times
Mairi Neil

Limerick for the LNP
Mairi Neil

Ta Ta Tori
Mairi Neil

Spirit Of The Prom
Amelia Auckett 2004

Writing Class
Mairi Neil

Lessons in Rhyme
Mairi Neil

Haiku Selection
Mairi Neil

I Love Cooking (After Dr Seuss)
Mairi Neil

Election 2016
Mairi Neil

Writing Class
Mairi Neil

21 Albert Street
Mairi Neil

Keep Mordialloc Beautiful
Mairi Neil

A Wake Up Call
Mairi Neil

Writing For Pleasure & Publication at Mordialloc Neighbourhood House
A Reflection by Teacher Mairi Neil.