When I was 9 years old my father sent me on a holiday to Sydney for 10 days.
I was to stay with his Aunt. This was unusual because I didn’t know her. I couldn’t put a face to her name. This Aunt was the oldest child in his father’s family. There were four boys and two girls. When the boys grew up, they mostly bought farms in close proximity to each other, but this elder sister had gone to Sydney early in her marriage. Gossip had it, somewhat under a cloud. My father’s own father had died when he was 9 and, as was fairly common in those days, my father was farmed out to relatives. He never lived with his own mother again until he was an adult. His father had died owing more on the mortgage than the farm was worth, so his wife had no option other than to live with her relatives and for my father and his brother to live with his father’s relatives. My father never saw this particular Aunt as she was already in Sydney, but she always took a particular interest in him. They kept in touch by letter. My father never mentioned the gossip that was always attached to her. This gossip would surface from time to time from various relatives. It was alluded that she did not marry well. There was an incident when she had stood at the side of the road with a baby in her arms and people had driven past without stopping. At one public gathering some people had publicly ignored her. Cut her completely. Some people did speak about her, but some relatives never ever mentioned her name. Why my Father and his Aunt arranged for me to go on Holidays I do not know. I travelled by train from Albury to Central Station. My father put me on the train early in the morning before it was light. I enjoyed the journey. I had lots to look at. I noted with surprise that the land was fairly green all the way from Albury to Sydney. The land in the King Valley was always dry at this time of year. It was nighttime when I arrived at Central Station. It was a large building. Quite atmospheric. I could smell burnt coal. My great Aunt had no trouble finding me. She hugged and kissed me. This was an unusual thing for me because no one in my family ever kissed anyone else. We were soon on our way to her place. We had to travel by train, then bus and then walk for a fair while. When I arrived at her house I found she had two of her grandchildren staying with her. One was an exceptionally beautiful 16-year old girl. The other was a Down syndrome girl my age. I gave my Aunt a letter from my father and when she opened it I could see it had money in it. “He shouldn’t have done this”, she said. I had never seen a Down syndrome child before. I was alarmed and concerned. I did not know how to treat her. Her elder sister understood what she said and spoke to her as if she was normal. I only tried speaking to her once and she didn’t reply. She did not look at me. I did not know if she understood. She spoke in mumbles and grunts. My Aunt never explained her situation. She just treated the situation as normal. I did not know how to act. Whenever we were out, I could see people looking at us. We attracted stares and occasionally children would come and look closely at the Down syndrome girl. Some even tried to touch her face. I always felt ashamed verging on humiliation at the attraction, but my Aunt never wavered in taking everything as normal. Nothing bothered her. My 16-year old cousin was exceptionally good looking and also attracted interest from men who often whistled. I had never seen this behaviour before. She was blond and had long hair. She was tall and always dressed stylishly. She was the best-looking girl I had ever met. Of course, I was happy to be seen with her. When I think of it, we did a lot in the week I was in Sydney. My Aunt’s other two grand children were from Central NSW and had never been to Sydney before. She took us to several places. The Zoo. The Aquarium. Manly Beach. We went to a kind of museum with lots of old entertainment machines. I looked into a machine and saw flash cards which showed an Edwardian lady getting ready for bed. I had never seen anything like this before and was shocked. I recorded myself on a primitive tape recorder. I sang, I thought very well, a song we had learned in school. Before I had finished the song, it suddenly started playing back something that I slowly realised was me. I was mortified. I sounded terrible. The joke was - it was broadcast over the public address system for everyone to hear. People actually laughed. Thankfully, it did not go on for long, but I was struck dumb with the humiliation. I wanted to shrink into nothingness. My 16-year old cousin said nothing. My Aunt lived at one end of her house. Her husband lived at the other end. He was a Tram Driver and a ‘Union Official’, although I did not know what this meant. Trams didn’t run during the day and only started in the afternoon. If her husband came out of his room in the morning, he went straight to the racetrack. It was inferred by my Aunt that he liked to drink too much. She never touched the stuff she said. They didn’t have much to do with each other. He told me he had a special job at the racetrack and offered to show me, but My Aunt said no. One disturbing thing happened. We were robbed on the train coming home. We were in a train that did not have a corridor but had a door to every compartment in the carriage. As we came into the station a man stood up and seemed to be looking at all the bags on the overhead rack. He selected my Aunt’s knapsack and picked it up. My Aunt demanded - what are you doing? My Aunt said - someone stop him. I did not know what to do. My 16-year old cousin stood up and grabbed hold of his arm. The man put his hand on her face and pushed hard. She went sprawling into the corner of the compartment. I stood up but did not know what to do. I was transfixed. I froze. My Down syndrome cousin started screaming. Her screams were not normal screams but were guttural sounds of utter terror. And loud. The man simply put the knapsack on his back and walked out. My 16-year old cousin also started screaming, “Catch him, catch him” and went to the door of the train and called for help. Quickly a uniformed man came into the carriage. But he became increasingly agitated with the noise my Down syndrome cousin was making and ended up yelling – “Can you shut the mongoloid up”. When he said this there was silence. My Aunt said “” and clasped my cousin in a hug to comfort her. I was still frozen to the floor. When we got home and my Aunt’s husband heard what had happened, he was angry and became violent. “Why did you let this happen? How much money did you lose?”, he yelled. Then he stormed out. When it came time for me to leave, my Aunt arranged for one of her sons to take me to Central Station. He was late in coming. This turned into really late. Then there was panic. There would not be any time to get to the Station. But suddenly he was outside, and I had to grab my bag and get into his truck. The truck didn’t even stop moving. There was no opportunity to say goodbye. My Aunt stood at the front door and waved goodbye. I waved back. I thought she looked sorry I was leaving. I genuinely wanted to hug her. I found myself suppressing sobs. I turned my face aside and tried not to let my Aunt’s son see I was crying. My Aunt was by no means the only black sheep in the family. There was a brother who was a genuine black sheep. He was always known as ‘young Albert’ if he was ever mentioned. Information about him only came out in small spurts. His name was persona non grata. He had more-or-less been removed from family history. He had impregnated a girl when he was quite young - he was forced to marry her - but he abandoned her soon after the marriage and departed for areas unknown. She stayed in the area, much to everyone’s regret. Unfortunately, she had a stroke when she was 30 from which she never really recovered. But she was guilty by association. No one in the family really spoke to her - except for my father and this particular Aunt who now lived in Sydney. This poor woman, who had to live with the slights of her husband’s family, always wore an excess of rouge on her cheeks and always had trouble with her lipstick. Her teeth were always smudged bright red. She would sit on the public seat in the main street and was always pleased to recognise my father. When I was with my father, I would look at her makeup and teeth and not know how to act. She always mentioned that she had recently received a letter from my father’s Aunt in Sydney. Neville Gibb February 2024
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Rose at 4AM in order to be at the airport at least 3 hours before take off. Trip to airport uneventful. Checked in to off site parking without much trouble. I noticed that the long term carpark appears to be chockers. Are they full up with no other customers possible? Has the increase in travellers meant that there are more cars to be catered for. Hence the myriad of off airport parking that now ring the airport. When Jenny did the census over 10 years ago one elderly couple we came across described themselves as Travellers. And I am sure that they really were Travellers. I looked at their ute and it didnt look like it would last much longer. They had a minimum amount of luggage stored in the back of the ute in brown paper packs ready for a quick getaway. Their clothes were old looking and had been much repaired. I wanted to ask if they were what used to be called Gypsies. But as I was driving for Jenny I didnt. They were the first Gypsies I had seen since I was a child. We often confronted them on the roads when I was a child. We left Tullamarine about 12.30 for Singapore. Flew with Qantas. Staff are OK. Give the appearance of trying to help. Disguise their annoyance if they have it. Its a long trip. I had a middle seat. The space for people to sit is much smaller that it used to be. In 1972 the trip from London to Australia was not much trouble. I found it easy. Not so now. No leg room. Seats are hard. Buttocks are bruised. Hips are injured. Not much sleep is possible. Very difficult to even get out of the seat to go to the toilet. Television and Movie selection offered nothing. There was not one movie I was interested in. They seem to have stopped showing European films. Music is pretty awful. Aircraft is loud and hard to hear if you found something interesting. Cannot remember what I watched or heard. But I survived. Singapore is now a large airport. We saw out the window of the airport train the artificial waterfall. I wonder just where my father worked when he was labouring on building the airport. Which part. Its an extremely well run place. Efficient looking. Queues not too long. Toilets are clean. You know the name of the person responsible for its upkeep because his photo is on the door into the toilet. Had to wait 5 hours between flights. The trip from Singapore to Zurich was a bit of a nightmare. Flew with Swiss Air. Very cramped. And hot. All other airlines have a policy of keeping people cold. Swiss appear to be the opposite. Like a sauna. I think I did a lot of sweating. Seats even closer together. Not possible to even move. I was in pain the whole trip. Cannot remember sleeping much. I took particular interest in our route. We skirted several points of interest. Tehran. Mosul. Ukraine. Istanbul. Some interest in the entertainment. Watched a typical documentary on Maria Callas. Various documentaries on many subjects. I did not watch any of them all the way through. I watched a bit of Annie Hall. I think Woody Allen made a good picture. It was better than I anticipated. A film about nothing really. Hollywood. Moral standards in the movie industry. Paul Simon playing an overnice do gooder verging on slimy. With an extra tall girlfriend constantly in attendance holding his hand. So I have been on the move for approx 36 hours without sleep. We arrived in Zurich approx 7AM confronted with large crowd wanting to get quickly through the airport. Connecting flights needed to be caught. Some people were told that the queue was way behind where they were. They pointed out the emergency of their plight. We finally got on our Prague connection only to find that our bags were not in Prague when we arrived. Well - some of our bags did arrive. Jenny’s did. Mine didnt. We took the underground train to the city centre. We are staying in a big hotel. And I mean big. As big as Las Vegas it seems. A train station is attached to the hotel. Virtually in its basement. Prague is larger than I thought. Spread over several hills. The city centre is interesting. Lots of small cobblestones. Walked to St Wenceslas Square. There was no signage so I asked a person who was trying to drum up business for the hop on hop off bus if this was indeed where the Soviet Tanks rolled into town to stop the Socialism with human face rebellion during the Prague Spring. It was obvious that he probably had never heard of the conflict. I thought maybe I should mention the name Alexander Dubcek but I decided against. He was the second person I had asked about the Soviet Tanks. Both expressed non plussed expressions. Maybe its like Vietnam. Who knows where the Australian Troops were. They were there but no one knows where. I also asked where Hitler had his parade when he took over Czechoslovakia but again no one seemed to have heard of it. Time passes quickly. We had no trouble getting train tickets or using the underground. The ticket machine worked easily. We purchased half hour tickets. You can go anywhere in the half hour. Later on someone told us people over 65 don’t have to pay. I had a shower and went to bed at 9PM. Virtually slept through. Very tired. 36 hours without any real sleep. Watched a bit of TV. Deutsche Welle TV in English. Some CNN in English. Woke up at 5AM. I always suffer from hard core core constipation when I go on Hollidays. My bag turned up in the middle of the night. Delivered to my room without waking me. We spent the day on an organised tour. We are some distance from the city centre. Went through tunnels to get there. Toured the Castle and Old Town. Very well built. Been an established county since before the middle ages. Lots of impressive structures built at various times. Some quite a long time ago. Most in the 17th and 18th centuries. The country must have been quite wealthy at the time. Because they haven’t had many wars not many buildings got smashed. Cars are restricted in the city. Some very new ones slowly and silently gliding along the one lane roads. All parking areas full up. Pedestrians have the right of way. Cars do stop at Pedestrian crossings of which there are many. Lots of Trams and Buses. Had fried sausage for lunch from a take away stall. Saw two beggars with dogs. How do they make any money in a cashless society. They did have some coin in their begging hats. We are travelling cashless so I have no coin or notes. Lots of statues and plaques commemorating the various kings etc. An obelisk commemorating WW1 where apparently half the Army changed sides and helped in the breakup of the Hapsburg Empire and in the establishment of the country Czechoslovakia. Nothing indicating the Socialist Period. On the way into the airport we passed some evidence of Stalinist style apartment buildings. No statues in sight portraying the victory of the working class over the capitalism. We made a pilgrimage to the Theatre where Don Giovanni was premiered. There is a statue outside with a plaque in English. A larger Plaque in Czech also. Large theatre. Looked in the booking office. Both Don Giovanni and Clemency of Titus are on this month.There are 4 Opera Houses in Prague but they don’t always show Operas. They do Plays and Concerts as well. Ate at the food hall in the shopping complex connected to the Clarion Hotel. Had an egg and avocado sandwich followed by a fruit crepe. I had previously eaten at a place that offered lots of overcooked food but it suited me. I pointed and asked for some rice and borsch with mashed potatoes on the side. This was not on the advertised menu on the billboard. But they were happy to accommodate me. We went to an exhibition of Warhol, Dali and Mocha. They all have a connection with Czeckoslavikia. Warhol was born here. Dali’s image was created by a Czeck photographer and Mucha was Czeck but his work was not accepted as being Art until after he had died. Andy Warhols mother never spoke English. Presumably he communicated with her in Czech. Wednesday 15th Nov
We left Prague supposedly at 8AM. On the bus virtually all day. Drove through suburbs of Prague. Some places look like inner city Melbourne. South Yarra, Toorak, East Melbourne. Went through countryside that looked fairly fertile. They are getting ready for winter. All grass has been cut. Only one crop of what looked like corn left in the paddock. We got to Bratislava approx 2.30 in the afternoon. Had a good look at the old town. Distinct difference between the old town and the new town. Fairly large tourist area. New town is the other side of the Danube - which is running fast. A lot of Stalinist Architecture across the river. Doesn’t look all that bad. I tried to withdraw 50 Euros from an ATM. The transaction went normally until it came time to release the note and the note did not come out. The dispenser flashed as if to say here it comes but it didnt. Suddenly a sign came up saying machine was out of order. I took a photo of the relevant details but no email or phone number shown. We then drove to Vienna. We are staying several kilometres out of town. Some Australians behaved badly on the bus. Some complained rudely that the bus was too hot. - It wasn’t. Then they complained that the PA was too laud.- it wasn’t. I squirmed in my seat. There are some Australians who I find hard to get on with. I know the history of one bloke - his work successes - his triumph's in life - etc - because he told everyone and it was impossible not to overhear. There were no tea making facilities in the hotel room. When I queried this I was told that no Hotel in Austria offered these facilities. The suggested we walk 20 minutes in the dark to the nearest McDonalds. Very quickly coming to the conclusion that in Eastern Europe the concept that user pays is King. You have to pay to go to the toilet. There are no tea making facilities in motel rooms. Pay for a cup tea at the bar is the advice given by hotel management. Thy claim that nowhere in Austria is this service offered. We did go for a cup of tea at McDonalds. Had to walk in the dark through a park. I stood in mud which covered my shoes. I had to hand clean them back in the room. Thursday 16th. Up at precisely 6AM. Not a great deal of variety in breakfast. We were taken into Vienna City Centre. The tour guide gave us a bit of a tour. Kept promoting St Stevens and the Viennese Spanish Horses. I wanted to go to Mozarts House and the Kunstler Museum so we went our own way. Unfortunately Jennys phone was configured incorrectly and it could only take us to a destination as if we were driving a car. Cars are pretty well verboten in Vienna. Consequently we did a big circle to get to Mozarts House. Found this out when we left the house and it was actually about 100 metres from where we started out from. Even worse with the Art Gallery. Did a lot of walking up and down streets trying to figure out which direction to head. Finally finished up asking people handing out pamphlets in the street just where the Gallery was. But we saw the Bruegel's. They are fantastic. Very easy to look at. Took photos. Did not have time to look at anything else. We owe the fact that Mozarts House exists to the efforts of the German Nazi Party who wanted to make Mozart into a German Hero after Anschluss. They requonishened the house where Mozart spent the most extended period of time in Vienna and where he wrote The Marriage of Figaro. It became known as the Marriage of Figaro House or the Figaro House. It was the best house that he lived in during his life. It was a good apartment in a fashionable area within the city walls. He moved a lot in his life depending on his economic circumstances. And as we know they varied a lot. They have tried to set up the rooms as they were then but they admit they don’t really know what the layout was when the Mozarts lived there. We know that Mozarts father visited them and stayed there for a period of time. We know that informal concerts were held in one of the rooms and that on one night Mozart and his father played a violin duet and that Hayden was present and afterwards Hayden wrote several violin duets himself that resembled Mozarts style. Mozart often had pupils and it in not known whether any or all of them stayed with the Mozarts. We know that for a time Mozart had a child prodigy as a pupil and this child stayed in the house with them. Mozart used him in his public concerts when he needed another piano player to play duet parts. The apartment is nothing flash really. A number of people had to fit in the 8 rooms. Mozart and Constanza and their 2 children. A Maid and a Cook. A manservant. There weren’t 4 bedrooms. They believe the Cook and the Maid slept in the Kitchen. The Manservant apparently assembled his bed every night in a corridor and took it down every morning. From Mozarts letters they did a lot of entertaining. There was only one stove in the apartment. The house was believed to be exceptionally cold in winter.There was one weird room that showed off ornate plaster on the walls that a previous owner had put up to advertise his product. Mozart did not have enormous success when he was here. Still Mozart kept at it. Working every day. Its hard to write a complete foolscap page of music every day but he mostly did. When you see facsimile copies of his original work you realise just how hard it is to compose original music. And at such length. Had trouble with a self service machine trying to buy tickets to the Gallery. I felt the machine accepted my 32 Euros but did not spit out any ticket. Had to go to Reception and pay there. I could end up having several wrong charges on my travel card. Had some take away noodles for tea on the way back to the bus. Could have done with more Soya Sauce. Dark at 4.30. Walked to the Westfield Shopping Centre to have a look.The pathway there was better lit this time. Shopping Centre fairly large but fairly normal. Always interesting looking at things overseas that are exactly the same in Australia. Playing spot the difference. Bought an energy drink. It doesn’t taste like it has hydrolytes. Maybe it had hydrolytes in abundance because I later had trouble sleeping. Advice : Do not stay at the Pyramid Hotel on the outskirts of Vienna. It has no tea making facilities in the rooms. What’s more the management claim that no hotel in Austria offers these services. And the scrambled egg for breakfast was cold both mornings. And not a great deal of variety on offer. Just egg and bacon really. 3 types of serial only. No muesli. TV was OK though. BBC, CNN, MSBN, English French. Etc. Friday 19th. Picked up at 9am. Drove to Ljubljana in the country of Slovenia. Two stops at very modest service centres on the way. But mostly though the countryside. It looks prosperous. Well kept. Cattle are obviously under cover for the winter. Houses all painted white. Picture postcard really. The country is supposed to only have 2.1 Million people but I would say there must be more than that. The countryside is well inhabited and there are some large towns. It was part of Yugoslavia. It does not look poor. Yugoslavia was poor and became even poorer when it split up. The people look prosperous. According to Wikipedia Slovenia has quite impressive qualifications. It has the lowest income inequality in the world. It was the first country to take up the Euro. It is in the EU and the Schengen zone. It is a devout member of the EU. It is described as a developed country with a high income economy . Slovenia suffered greatly during WW2. Suffice to say that 8% of its population and all of its Jews were killed. There was virtually a civil war between marxists and fascists during the war and lots of people were killed. A large proportion collaborated with the nazis and the Partisans lived in the hills and resisted. At the end of the war lots more were killed. Revenge was extracted on 30,000 people. This is all new to me. Jenny got ill on the bus and we were not able to go on the supervised tour of Ljubljana. The hotel allowed us to check in early. We walked around town for a bit later on at night. Lots of young people in attendance. We saw a wok street trader and had prawns and mushroom vegetables. It wasn’t very good. Not much taste at all. Its best if you leave it to Asians to cook Asian food. No Asians were used in the cooking of our food and we suffered for it. To bed at 9PM. Nothing much on TV. Channels are pretty well the same as Australia. Game shows. Quiz shoes. Pop shows. An overseas Chinese Channel. Reports on Xi Ji Pings visit to California. Not his first time apparently. A photo has emerged of him being in San Francisco 40 years earlier. The Chinese TV gives an indication of how the Chinese government thinks. They are a large country with a large population. It is not a simple matter having a close relationship with another country. Saturday 20th Nov. Breakfast better than the last hotel. This hotel is much friendlier. Rooms are larger. We are lucky we have a free day. We declined to go and look at Lake Broz. We spent the morning and into the afternoon walking around the market area and visiting the Ljubliana Castle. It goes back a long way. They have found a bone flute that dates back more than 30000 years. As usual Castle is on highest hill. Funicular takes you to the top. Lots of small galleries etc. dotted around. We covered all. The most interesting was the Puppet Museum. Puppetry must be big with Eastern Europe. Even the Partisans had a Puppetry squad to entertain the troops. Remember that East Germany also was big on Puppetry. Lots of people at the market. Many similarities with Queen Vic. Crafts. Clothes. Lots of specialist food. Some outdoors. Some under cover. Queue to buy cabbages. Must be good. People look sophisticated enough. Many have bikes. Some have designer dogs. Women’s clothes are a higher quality than in Australia. And women dress fashionably. Much more taste than Australian women. Its nice to see women wearing stockings. Its definitely more attractive than the uncovered legs with three layers scraped off you see in Australia. A Jazz Band in the City Square and 3 couples dancing the Tango. There are more smokers in Eastern Europe than Australia. Also more vapers. Both men and women smoke. We are both exhausted and have come back to the Hotel to recuperate. Bought bread rolls and croissants etc in a supermarket. Similar range to the UK. Quite good food and not expensive. Looked over both the Main Art Gallery and the Modern Art Gallery. Not an awful lot to write home about. After the 19th century a lot of paintings had a pastel look about them. Soft focus. None really stood out. Some family portraits. Portraits of important men and women. Most art in the Gallery was religious. Endless Madonna and child. Mary and Jesus. Jesus on the cross. The modern art was derivative of just about everyone. Dali. Rothko. Attempts at feminism. Some modern paintings had attempts at humour. Not one good painting. One interesting thing was that there were maybe 5 paintings that were painted during the war. Even with all the chaos of war they still were inclined to paint. I ate fake Tibetan Soup and Jenny had samosas. She said they were authentic. Tasted good. Lots of people out walking about. Eating and drinking at street cafes. Lots of socialising. People talking. This must be a pleasant place to live. Back to the Hotel at 6PM. Suffering from Jet Lag. Have an overwhelming desire to go to sleep at 7PM. Woke up at 1AM and really did not sleep again. Feel better after a shower. Sunday 21st Nov Once again I mismanaged the shower and put lots of water on the floor. Yesterday I directed a lot of water into my toilet bag. Why don’t they have proper shower heads. Who uses these hand held showers. We drove to Venice through Italian looking countryside. Took a ferry from the bus station to near St Marks. Jenny and I walked around a bit. Tried to find where we stayed in 2018. Got close but didnt get to the alleyway. Every house in Venice has a different number. Some shops still in the same place. I think Venice might have lifted itself somewhat economically since 2018. More money changing hands. Certainly more people here now. We were here 1st week of 2018 so it was in the off season. There seem to be more shops open now though.. Its still a wonderful place. Completely self contained. I like it. Gallilao came from here. He used the telescope to look at the moons of Venus. He confirmed that planets revolved around the sun. And that the sun does not resolve around the earth. For this he was put under house arrest and shown torture instruments and told - mate - if you say anything further this is what will happen to you. He stayed silent from then on. Why isn’t the church criticised for this. Telescopes were developed in Venice because they wanted to be the first to look out to sea and see which ship was coming in. They could then go to the stock exchange and buy shares in that ships produce. We went inside St Marks and the Doges Palace which we didnt do in 2018. They always seemed to have long queues in 2018. They were long today to get into St Marks but the queue moved quickly. No queue to get into the Doges Palace. Maybe it was the cost that distracted me in 2018. The history of the Doges is quite interesting. And long. From 5th Century to the big power politics of Napoleon. Quite a history. Venice has been here a long time but the fact remains Venice existed to make money. Two men came back to the ship wearing what they had purchased. One had an apron with male genetalia stencilled on it. The other had much the same thing printed on his shorts. Everyone in the crowd laughed when they showed their purchases. Especially the women. No why don’t I find this type of thing funny? Monday 22nd. Took the bus from Venice to Rome. Passed through several Italian districts. Including Tuscany. It lives up to expectations. But as we were always with one small exception on the motorway (autostrada) we could only see it in the distance. It looks very Italian. In fact the whole place looks Italian. I kept seeing what I considered could only be Eucalypt Trees. They certainly looked like gums of some type. Wikipedia confirms they are eucalypts. We got to Rome in the afternoon and went to the Port Area. Had to go through security, customs etc. Then on to the boat. Which is enormous. Must have several thousand people on it. They held a drill soon after we got on. Confusion bordering on chaos. We had to go to a distant area to swipe our cards and the go back to our cabin and dial a number. This was quite a distance. Had tea with Reggie and Floor. Two people who came from the Philippines to Australia 30 years ago. We have an allocated table. Found out later that we do not have to go to the Dining Room but can go to the buffet on the 18th and 19th floor. The woman we spoke to said that the buffet is better. Very tired. Slept quite well. Tuesday 23rd Nov. Had a largish breakfast in the Dining Room. After breakfast we checked out the buffet. It is better. Left the boat at 9.30. Walked past lots of spruikers trying to sell tours on buses, horse drawn gigs, tuck tucks, buses etc. Finally came to a young girl who offered us exactly what we wanted. A tour of Palermo on a train that goes on the road. We had seen the trains from the ship. This tour just went around all the main spots and cost 10E each. It was good value. Palermo does have some interest. It is old. It looks knocked about. The parks look neglected. Prickly pear might be Sicilies national plant. The town is inhabited by cars rather than humans. Cars are everywhere. Double parked. Triple parked. Every nook and cranny is taken up by a car. If there is a spot on a pedestrian crossing a car will be on it. Admittedly all the cars are small. Some are really small. Lots of street markets selling mostly junk. Old clothes. Knick Knacks that nobody would want. There was a man busking outside the concert hall and he really could sing. He had an electronic helper that played background music. He sang live with an orchestral accompanyment. He should have been inside the concert hall rather than outside on the street. Palermo is unkempt. Litter on the streets.There is graffiti everywhere. And its nasty graffiti. No art is attempted. Roads are potholed. Badly kept. Sidewalks can suddenly disappear. Some buildings are really old. But they are not well kept. Police sirens are more or less constant with Police cars and Emergency Vehicles trying to get through the traffic. All have their sirens on full bore. Rushing here and there. I would not want to live here. The very opposite to Prague and Vienna where cars are not encouraged and the place is clean and well kept. Palermo is extremely noisy. But to be fair not a lot of horns and no road rage that I could see. We had tea in the Dining Room. Jenny has become friendly with Floor - another passenger from the Philippines who has been in Australia of 30 years.. The menu was not the same as last night Wednesday 22nd We again tried the Dining Room and whilst we had a better experience overall as far as food goes the waiters do not understand the concept of English Tea. They do not appear to have heard of it. Jenny had to have two goes at getting tea. Even then they put hot milk in it. This was after they had poured hot milk on a tea bag thinking that was English Tea. They did not appear to have heard of hot water on a teabag. We did the organised tour of Valetta. With a bit of a drive around Malta. Went to a coastal village where they do scuba diving. We next went to a fishing village. The fishing village set up for tourists. Boats were in. Quite colourful. There were seats to sit on. Came back to Valetta and had a good look. Mainly seems to have been built by the Knights of St John in the Middle Ages. Cars go down the tiniest of streets. We saw the Palace of the Inquisition. It did resemble the Stasi building in East Berlin. Malta was ceded to Britain in 1798 and was a British Colony for approx 200 years. I know that Malta was the most bombed place except for Tokyo in WW2. All the citizens of Malta were awarded a special medal - maybe the equivalent of the George Cross - for their bravery in enduring the constant bombing. They drive on the left hand side. Had a good look at Malta. Buildings made of sandstone. Its rocky. Its dusty. Its gravelly. It doesn’t look too productive. Not a lot of things growing. Prickly Pear is the main native plant. Some Cyprus trees. At night we went to a entertainment show called Amelia. Supposedly about Amelia Erhardt. It was a singing dancing variety show. Acrobats. Dancers. Illusionists and motorbikes. I saw an identical act to what I saw at the Wangaratta Carnival in 1958 except the motorbikes then had petrol engines and were so loud the noise went through you. The actors in this show are amazing. They have total control of what emotion they show on their faces. They are able to portray any feeling they want to. They are so precise in what look they have on their faces. Why are they working in a cruise ship and not in Hollywood. Thursday 23rd Nov A free day. At sea all day. I finally had a light breakfast in the Buffet. Muesli. Fish. Tomato. Croissant. Coffee. Back to the cabin to do nothing. Watching Japanese TV. Jenny has ben ill all day. Moaning with pain. I have been passing copies amounts of urine. What did I eat that has made my kidneys work overtime. The disturbing thing is I am losing control of my sphincter nerve. Friday 24th Nov. We both slept in a bit.Took the shuttles to the Hop Off and Hop On bust stop.We took 2 tours of Barcelona. Stopped at the Sagre Famille. It is big. Couldn’t get in because we had not booked in advance. Nevertheless I have now seen it. It looks more impressive than in photos. It is indeed a work of Art. They are getting close to completion. Only another few years. What will they do then. Took the bus to The Picasso Museum. Picasso was in exile for most of his adult life so consequently not a lot of his pictures are in Spain. The exhibition shows just how prolific he was though. He could virtually turn his hand to anything. There are a lot of early drawings which show he could be exceedingly realistic. Picasso was exceptionally talented. A genuine genius. No doubt about it. Saturday 25th Nov Jenny was ill yesterday and I am ill today. I have an overwhelming urge to cough at length. I cough so much I have taken skin off my throat and cough up blood. We did take the shuttle tour around Toulon. We missed Marseilles because of weather. Toulon is a Port Town. I have been here before but remember nothing of it. We had a street toasted sandwich. It was the best food we have had for a week. Came back to the boat and spent the day in bed. Slept most of the day. Did not feel like eating. The food on this boat is nothing to write home about. It all tastes the same. Watched a bit of TV. The Gaza War is on 24/7. There is a European Chinese channel in Chinese. The Chinese seem to be saying we don’t want to get involved. All the European Channels are firmly on the side of the Gazans. Italian TV has not improved since were last here. Lots of Talent Shows. Lots of stand up comedians. Lots of talk shows. Dutch are more civic minded. Germans concentrate on sport. French try and give a wide coverage. Turks definitely on the side of the side of the Gazans. Friends and Big Bang Theory are dubbed into various languages. They aren’t as funny. Even fleetingly saw Bluey dubbed into some language. There has been a change in the ethnic mix of Europe since I was here in the 70,s. The people on the boat reflect this. Definitely more people of colour. Very much integrated. Asian People also. Must be Chinese. Hardly any Indians though. The Staff are all Asian or African. Its rumoured that boat is owned by Indonesians. It appears all of the cabin maids are Indonesian. The Italian women seem to have moved on and are not so concerned that their body shape does not resemble Sophia Loren. They seem to be saying that its possible to get satisfaction out of children. At least on this boat. They are on this boat for the journey not the arrival. Sunday 26th November. This is the illest I have ever been for quite a while. I have been in bed for the past two days. Still I think I am recovering. We did not get off the boat in Genoa. Slept for most of the day. Monday 27th November We took the Vatican Tour. It was a lot of walking . Most of it in the rain. I got wet through. The traffic in Rome is horrendous. It took us two hours to get to our Hotel by bus. It took us an hours walk in the rain to get to the bus. The tour guide reminded us that the traffic situation is part of the Rome experience. Embrace it. She smiled when she said it. Two people pulled out of the Vatican Tour so we took their place. The Vatican has collected a lot of Greek statues and Renaissance paintings. Not much in recent times I would say. It is interesting to note that most of the Greek and Roman Statues have fig leaves covering the male penis. Either that or the penis has been knocked off with a hammer. Sometimes both penis and testicles have been smashed off. Who ordered this I wonder. In the 60’s Myers hosted a visiting exhibition of the statue of David and other sculptures. The exhibition was raided by the Vice Squad on the orders of Mr Bolte and Mr Rylah because there were naked men on display. On television that night Graeme Kennedy prominently displayed the Statue of David on his desk but had it wearing a jock strap. People have always voted for idiots. And Idiots have always been keen to see evil. Times don’t really change unfortunately. Saw the Sistine Chapel. Overall its disappointing. Its smaller than its portrayed. The Art isn’t terribly significant. Michaelangelo was a sculptor and an Architect. He was a competent painter. The scenes he painted are all predictable. He wasn’t half the painter than Leonardo was. And many others who were better than him. Its time we started criticising art where it doesn’t come up to scratch. So much of the painting in the Sistine Chapel is not significant. In fact so much of the churches renaissance Art is second rate. And why did they stop commissioning paintings at the end of the renaissance? Why didn’t they keep on with Religious Art. Something trying to convert humans to a higher moral plane. The Church was trying to portray a period when the Church was all powerful. I was disappointed with Rome. We only saw the Colosseum. We didn’t see the Forum. Or The Pantheon. The Colosseum is impressive. Its pretty well the size of the MCG. Here we were feeling self congratulatory that we had constructed this magnificent stadium in Melbourne but wait a minute a previous one was constructed 2000 years ago. How did that happen. Maybe Sir Kenneth Clarke was right. The disappointing thing is that most or all of the marble used in the finish of the Coliseum was pilfered and used in building churches. They also stole as many bricks as they could lay their hands on. They called it recycling materials. The walk back to the bus was a nightmare. Walking for an hour in the rain is not enjoyable. We had a two hour drive to our Hotel. Its on the outskirts of Rome. We stayed in and had two cups of tea. There was no restaurant attached to the hotel. This was the total of our evenings meal. Tuesday 28th Nov. I had a light breakfast. I do not feel that I have the energy to eat. We walked to the Shopping Mall close to our Hotel. Difficult to spot any differences. We had lunch which was not bad. We ate with John and Moon. Just waiting for our bus to the airport. Finally the bus came and we were on our way. We flew Swiss Air from Rome to Zurich. I think all Swissair planes are old. They appear to be. The seats are old looking and very hard. Very rigid. The material looks at least 30 years old. It leads to very painful buttocks. If its possible I will not fly Swissair again. We had to change from domestic to international at Zurich Airport. Large airport. I was very tired at the end. Finally took off. I had several coughing fits. The German in the seat beside me put his facemask on. I didn’t say a word. I felt sorry for the poor bloke next to me. I nearly ran out of hankies. In queuing up to go to the toilet I waited 5 minutes and knocked on the door. A flight attendant came out angry that I had disturbed her. Later on another girl and I waited 15 minutes outside an occupied toilet before I knocked on the door. Nothing happened so I knocked again. I insisted to a flight attendant that she check inside the toilet as someone cold be dead. It turns out they have a little spy hole. There was no one inside. The occupied sign was malfunctioning. The Swissair Flight attendant did not even apologise. From Singapore we were on Qantas. I never thought I would say that I was grateful I was on Qantas. To be fair there was more legroom and the seats were much more comfortable. But also there were less people on the plane. The food was better than Swissair. I wasn’t aware of experiencing any sleep on either leg of the flight. I arrived home exhausted. I immediately went to sleep in front of the TV. Unfortunately I was still exhausted when I woke up. I don’t think I will ever travel overseas again. If we do we will go to a place - say Berlin - and stay for a fortnight. Maybe Paris. Maybe Hanoi. Definitely no more cruises anywhere. When I was young I could only read about retired men. I didn't know any personally. Sometimes there would be photos in the newspaper. They would be older men - thin - wizened - and the photograph would show them standing or kneeling in front of the flowers in their front garden. They would explain that they devoted their time to their garden. Sometimes the photo would show both husband and wife. Both would be beaming happily. They did look happy and contented. They were not beset with worries about money. Retirement was an exciting and pleasurable thing. It was something to look forward to. I could only dream about it though.
I did have some relatives in Melbourne - men - who were retired. One was an official high up in the Police Force who claimed that he went back to work the day after he retired. He didn't last long in retirement because he died within a few months. I did have one other relative - a man - who survived Gallipoli and was supposed to have health problems. He also seemed to die quickly. I lived in an area where men didn't retire. They normally died in office. They were farmers mostly. No males in my family lived past 60. The normal thing was to die in your 50’s. In my life I never overburdened myself with hard work and stayed fairly healthy. But I had the concept conditioned in me. I imagined that when I turned 70 I would retire and die soon after. This hasn’t happened. When I did retire I had not planned it. I did not expect to retire. What happened was that my wife retired. She was offered a retirement window and she had to take up the offer straight away. Even she didn't want to retire at that particular time. Because she retired she thought it would be a good idea to move immediately to Benalla. I had to make several decisions. One of which was that I had to completely retire. We moved to Benalla. I made several attempts to gain employment in Benalla. I don’t know if I was serious. But I did make enquiries. I didn't want to work in an Accountants office. I only wanted to work in Benalla. I did not manage to gain employment. I planned to keep myself busy and purchased Pepys Diary with the intention of carefully reading it in full. It turned out I only read it when having breakfast. It did provoke an interest in Pepys however. He wrote it in code. He knew that if the authorities were informed as to what he wrote he would be in deep trouble. He did live through some interesting times. The fire. The death of Charles 1st. He once saw Shakespeare's Hamlet and was impressed with the to be or not to be soliloquy. He did an enormous amount of refurbishing inside his house. He did not keep a diary all his life. He discontinued it several times and twice took it up again after a vacant space. Even his editors censored his writing. He lusted after most women and was not afraid to make sexual advances. He always thought of sex when he saw women. He would start each month with the news that his wife was menstruating and the editors deleted this from the published diary. After 2 months my previous work phoned and asked if I could come back to work. I didn't even think about it. I said "Yes" before they could explain why. This led to another career. I was able to commute to Melbourne every week and boarded with friends for 3 nights a week. Later on our house became vacant and I was able to move back in and work full time. Some things had changed. There was a niche for me. I took on a higher management role in production. I continued with sales also. After some time The company was taken over by a larger firm and I was asked to stay on. As as salesman. I enjoyed the feeling of having this extra time added on to my working life. It meant I could retire when I wanted to. The downside was I had to drive to Melbourne each week. And drive home. I had to watch for Kangaroos on the road. It was a worrisome thing. I saw a delivery Van in Bonnie Doon deliberately drive over a young Kangaroo. This type of image stays with us. I cannot fathom the mentality of some people. The two people in the van had smiles on their faces as they drove deliberately at the animal. Eventually it did not suit me to work in a large corporation whose head office was in Brisbane. I was offered a job in Brisbane and it was hinted that I might go to Malaysia. The company was expanding into Asia. They had a large printing plant in Vietnam. Employees came and went to gain experience. But they also had simple rules. You had to attend sales meetings every Monday morning. If people didn't conform they were quickly disposed of. An out of date computer system had to be coped with. The firm who took us over had people with preconceived ideas as to who was important. I retired a second time. This time I enjoyed it. I discovered an organisation called U3A and immersed myself in it. Neville Gibb September 2023 Quit
There have not been many instances where I have said “ I QUIT” One was in the middle of a 100 metre sprint. I had just discovered that I was good at running but I went into the race exhausted. I had not trained for the event. I had taken part in several other shorter sprint races and some long distance races earlier in the day and they had had an effect. I had pulled up sore and by the final sprint which was the 100 metre I was very sore. I had pulled several muscles in my legs. I was in pain. Some muscles in my body were screaming with pain. Real pain. I had little reserve strength. I could hardly breath. I had little inner strength to call on. I could not exert myself without experiencing great pain. I felt exhausted. I went through the first 50 metres attempting to strive as best I could but at 50 metres when I would normally make exertions for greater speed I made a decision. The pain was not worth it. I felt that I should withdraw from the world. The pain was too much. Did I care about how people felt about me. I said I quit. I slackened off and took the last 50 metres slowing down. I finished in 4th place. I have regretted it ever since. Once was when I was 22 and my life fell apart. To be more precise it could be said it virtually came to an end. A dead end. I had no future. I had destroyed my past. My private life had become none existent. I had destroyed my private life. I did not know it but I was immature. I could not understand where I was going. I could not understand what was happening. I did not know how fortunate I had been In the life I had previously had. I seemingly went out of my way to make things worse. I almost felt the need to go the whole way and destroy my life. I thought that I could fix my private life by being destructive. I had the urge be overly honest with my work. I talked myself out of two jobs in quick succession. I lived by myself and actually felt lonely. I was alienated from my family. I had taken a job in local government. The job had no depth to it. I was someone's assistant. I spent most of the day sitting doing nothing. I knew I had no future. I said to myself "I quit". And I really did quit. There and then. I instinctively burnt my bridges behind me. I quit everything. I have never regretted it ever since. Neville Gibb June 2023 We are obviously shaped by childhood. Lots of things happen in childhood. We remember them. Some things are indelibly written into our memories. We watch our parents and maybe try and do what they did. We try to live up to our parents expectations of us. Their beliefs are imprinted on us.
My parents were both hard working. My father felt he had achieved something by owning a dairy farm. He felt he was privileged to own a farm. He was willing to do whatever it took to improve it, willing to play by the rules. He always worked hard without any complaints. Nothing interfered with his work. He was as regular as clockwork and was willing to work through illness. He sometimes suffered from malaria, but it never stopped him working. He did not like to be away from the farm. My mother was much the same. She didn't like housework, however, preferring to work outdoors. She always said she would have liked to have been a boy and regretted that she was not shown how to do certain things when she was a child because she was a girl. She came from a large Irish family and she was the second youngest. There were several older brothers and then there was a gap of several years before three younger children were born of which two were girls. The two younger girls were kept separate from the others. My mother always claimed that they were never let do anything outside the house. It was her constant sorrow that she was never able to do certain things on the farm. She often said she was never allowed to assist at the forced birth of a poddy calf. She often said she was never shown how to work a posthole digger. She never learned to drive a car or a tractor. My mother and father had known each other as young people. They lived in the same valley. Both my parents mostly led lives within their own family group, my mother more so than my father. Neither had many friends outside the extended family. My mother never really strayed outside her extended family group and her closest confident was her sister. My mother had lots of relatives that she liked and enjoyed their company. She often met female relatives when she was shopping and this gave her great delight. She enjoyed visiting her relatives socially and she was never happier than when they visited in masse at Christmas or on birthdays. My father was a sociable man and was quite popular. He did not restrict himself entirely to his relatives. He belonged to several community groups, but it was obvious that family members were the most important people in his life. My father also had a large extended family. Quite often distant relatives of his would turn up and they would treat him with a lot of affection. He had been in the war and was treated as a war hero. Especially by some aged relatives. I have been imprinted with my parents work ethic. I have always felt obliged to do my best. I have always worked hard in whatever job I have had. I have always given more to the job than was required. So much so that since retirement I have nightmares about not working. I have been constantly plagued by a continuing nightmare. I am at a loss because I have nothing to do and I am not sure about what I should do. I dream that I am in a job where my work is not specified. I am in a job where I have no computer print out and I don’t know where to get a new one. I am in a job where I have been sent to a new office and there is nothing to do and I have to look for work. I am in a new job and there are no desks and certainly not one for me. Neville Gibb May 2023 Failure and Success
What can we say about failure. Is it the opposite of success. At the end of our lives are failures and successes equalled out. Do they have any meaning in the experience of life. Do we ever have as many successes as failures. Do failures always spoil successes. Is failure an end in itself. Are our lives made up of a series of failures strung together into something that is called life. Is success ever interspersed within these failures. Are we reliant on others to be awarded successes. Do others always judge our failures. Do successes even make a difference in our lives. Is success the big picture item in life or does it always end up the small item at the bottom left hand corner of the big picture. Failure is a difficult word. Failure is a concept that follows us through our lives and we never really come to terms with it. We are always failing. We always put more emphasis on failure than success. A dyeing person always recounts their failures. Do we ever get solace from our successes or failures. Most people must die feeling they have failed. Even if we consider the most successful people can they ever claim to be successful. Can the most successful politicians ever claim to have succeeded in their endeavours. Winston Churchill for instance. He had many more years of failure in his life than years of success. Perhaps like some notable people living much longer than he deserved to could be called success. Just how many people really succeed in this world. Think of how many people in the world can claim to have success. Paul McCartney for instance. Even he has had his failures. But perhaps his failures contributed to his success. Failure is a constant in most lives. If you succeed at some enterprises but fail at most desires does this mean you have succeeded or failed. Can failure ever over ride success. Can we claim that success comes in small packages. In time can we claim that these small increments add up to success and outnumber the failures. Just what is the definition of failure and success. Is success the admission that you might have done something worthy of self recognition. Is failure the admission you have done something that is not worthy of any self recognition. 392 words I have never had any 'precious objects' that I have given value to. I have never given any importance to jewellery or property or any other physical object to the point where I wanted to have them near me. Happiness to me is dependant on other matters.
'Precious Things' are a different matter. My precious things are my wife and children. I have always wanted to have my precious things near me. I am not alone in this. This is a common ambition. For example, I understand that one Rupert Murdoch - more of him later - has always had the ambition to have his precious objects - his children - around him. He has at times inserted his children into positions within his business organisation. So - as he says - he can have his precious things near him. While always retaining ultimate power himself it has to be said. Nevertheless, I understand his sentiments. He likes to have his children around him. I do too. Whenever my children expressed dissatisfaction when unjust circumstances were forced upon them or if they felt another sibling got favoured treatment I would advise them that they had their own life to lead. They could not live the life of someone else. I was trying to get them to understand that they were lucky to have their own life and that they should concentrate on it and not be influenced by anyone else. They would normally take this statement without commenting on it. The relationship I continue to have with my children is one where they allow me to love them unconditionally. And say anything I like. In the 60’s I spent some years in the UK. I enjoyed it. I felt at home there. I felt British. I felt welcomed. Maybe these things mean nothing, but I was glad I was there. I even voted there. There were two things I immediately latched on to. The Times Newspaper and the BBC. These became my precious things. The Times was enjoyable to read. It was definitely highbrow. I was not sure of its prejudices. I was not even sure of its sentiments. The UK was at this time still affected by wartime austerity. People were poorer than Australians. Food and housing were inferior to Australia. Industry was massive and inefficient. The Times made no mention of this. It concentrated on higher matters. Suddenly a new paper appeared - The Sun came into existence and it was the mirror image of the Times. It was instantly popular with a fair cross section of society. Mr Murdoch seemed to know exactly what people were thinking. Most people in the office started reading it. Including people with pretensions I noted. I stayed loyal to THE TIMES. When I listened to the BBC it was a revelation to me. I felt it was talking to me. I felt it was on my level. The BBC’s guiding aim - Inform - Educate - Entertain - was, I thought, completely correct. In Australia I had grown up in an anti intellectual society and the ABC was thought to be irrelevant and high brow - a favourite saying of my Father and his cronies. There was no doubt that The BBC was catering to the elite of society. They did this without fear or favour. The ABC had seemed to me to be completely intimidated by the ruling party in Australia and both parents and extended family went along with this wholeheartedly. Not so with the BBC. They were not intimidated by the ruling party. The Times and the BBC became my precious things. I had to give up these two precious things when I returned to Australia. We stayed out of contact for some time. But in time Marshal McLuhan's prediction has come into being. The digital age has changed communication. I’m not sure if the medium is the message but we certainly now all belong to a global village. I can listen to the BBC 24 hours a day if I wish. I can listen to the media from anywhere in the world if I want to. It has got to the point where there is too much to pick from. I have to pick and chose. And times change. Between the 60’s and now, unfortunately, there has been a lowering of standards on both the Times and the BBC. And Mr Murdoch’s hand has been involved in both cases. The Times attempts to be a highbrow paper but it is Mr Murdoch's and it can only reflect his beliefs and prejudices. It is not hard to gauge its prejudices and sentiments. They are sometimes disheartenedly crude. The Times Newspaper is no longer a precious thing and I regret it. Mr Murdoch and his media empire has long been a critic of the BBC. The BBC seems to have taken this criticism to heart. The BBC seems to have said in order to placate Mr Murdoch we need to aim our programmes at a lower level of society than what we used to. We need to show the people that we are one of them. And therefore definitely not aim at the elite of society. The BBC can at times now show prejudice. The BBC can at times be unfair. The BBC can at times indulge in very un BBC behaviour. The BBC can at times indulge in Murdoch-like behaviour. The BBC is no longer a precious thing and I regret it. Neville Gibb March 2023 When I was young the seasons seemed to be more pronounced. This was because the years were longer than they are now. In late middle age we go from Christmas to Christmas and they seem to be about two months apart.
In my childhood we had winter each year. It rained more than now. We had a flood every year. The river always flooded and we would have water up to our back door. The actual river was approximately a mile from the house but when it flooded it was obvious that in previous times the river had changed its course a number of times. There were three ancient waterways between us and the river. When it flooded the river resumed its old ways. The river itself flowed close to a large hill and when it flooded you could see that it burst through the narrowing as it ran into the hill. The water took on a life of its own. I liked the fact that we had a flood every year. We were sometimes surrounded by water and we were cut off. School was off for a day or two. But life hardly changed. It only became more interesting. The cows would congregate on a temporary island surrounded by water. They were never in any danger. They knew what to do and still came home to be milked. They would walk through water to do this. Water holes would all fill up when the creeks and ancient water courses flowed with water. Rabbits would be trapped out of their burrows and were easy targets for dogs. They were easily caught if they attempted to swim away. I can only remember it being cold once. We had a neighbour visiting us and my mother had prepared a hot water bottle for bed. The neighbour made fun of me for having to have a hot water bottle. What was I - a man or a mouse. Of course it must have been cold. The puddles on the road froze up. If you were skilled you could skid your bike across the ice. Your back wheel. Undoubtedly we had summers but I cannot remember being hot. We once had a bush fire but I didn't feel unsafe. The fire came towards us and it was like watching water flowing from tree to tree. It didn't seem to move very quickly. I watched from a distance. I had no sense of it being hot. I do remember the noise of cicadas on overcast muggy days. They made a loud noise that went on for some days. They were probably there because the winters flood had made conditions that suited them. Alas we no longer have the pleasure of hearing cicadas. As we grew up we enjoyed the summer more. You could go swimming every day. We had large water holes full of water we could play in. One hole was rumoured to be bottomless. It never dried up. I built a raft for this hole. I remember the sweat pouring off me as I worked in the corrugated iron shed attaching the four gallon drums to the wooden slats. My cousin - recently deceased - would come to visit. I liked it when he came. We did lots of good things. We spent a lot of time on the raft. He was once on the raft in the middle of the water hole when he spied a large very dangerous looking insect in the water. It frightened him and he came out immediately. Later on when we were in our early teens I was able to stay at his place one wonderful summer. He had been given a Jersey heifer as a pet and he had trained this heifer to act like a horse. He rode it everywhere. We rode it everywhere. It could carry more than one child. He lived near the river as well and the heifer would take us to the river and when asked carry us into the river. This was great fun. I cannot recall it ever being oppressively hot. One notable thing happened when I was there. I rebelled against my mother. I had a haircut. My cousin's father took us to the barber and I was asked if I would like a haircut. I said yes please. I was always asking for a certain type of popular haircut but my mother would never allow it. When it came time to go home and my mother came to get me I had the popular haircut and she was not happy. I wasn’t allowed to stay there again. In adult life the seasons have changed. For the past twenty years or so we have lived with an extended drought. In drought times we go from a dry winter to a dry summer. There is no spring or autumn. This is disappointing. I do enjoy the winter more than the summer however. We have a winter house that has proper insulation in the walls and the windows are all double glazed. We have a large wood heater that spreads a comfortable warmth through the whole house. Neville Gibb February 2023 Obituary of Heather
As an unofficial historian I would like to try and give an essence of Heather. Heather was always optimistic. Tolerant of human beings, she didn’t judge people harshly. Well not openly, out loud. She was friendly to a large proportion of the population. In turn, Heather was liked by most people who met her. She had a fairly full social life, belonged to many groups and fitted well into the wider community. She would have had a mitigating effect if any of her groups showed signs of extreme behaviour. Always quick to laugh, she could always easily defuse a tricky situation. Heather started life living in a house the King Valley side of the cutting. This was quite a crude house. It did not enjoy many amenities. The inside was not fully lined. It had a limited supply of cold water. Heather enjoyed living here. This house is nestled in between the River and the Hill. It is close to both. She claimed she could go into the bush whenever she wanted. She might have done this in secret. But most likely she would have done it with her siblings and relatives of which she had lots. In time her family moved about two miles down the road to the house that is still in the family. This house was on 30 acres and close to the river. You could always hear the river at night. A clearing sale was held on the day they moved in. They had already purchased the property. The clearing sale was in the afternoon. They slept in the house that night. They had to move quickly because there were 20 cows to be milked twice every day. The cows came with the property. In time they also kept pigs. The pigs were the responsibility of Heather’s mother. Both her mother and father milked the cows, but her father worked off the farm as much as possible as an agricultural labourer or casual worker in industry. Heather’s Father was Scottish. His name was Tom. He came from Paisley. Tom wasn’t hollywood Scottish. He never wore a kilt. He admitted however to having a connection with Robbie Burns and his family had kept intact a pair of Burn’s breeks. Tom had had a privileged upbringing until the time his mother broke with his father. The father was a serious drinker and was inclined to go on benders which lasted sometimes for weeks. Tom’s sympathies were with his mother. The family breakup however meant Tom’s life changed forever. The business which gave them a comfortable living came to an abrupt end. Tom had to leave school before school leaving age and get a job. In later life he would recall in detail how much he had loved school and how much he missed school. How he sometimes would stand outside the school and watch the pupils going in. Tom could quote Shakespeare. He could quote Wordsworth. Tom’s family did not get back together and in time it was decided that he would come to Australia and join his relatives in the King Valley. He came to Melbourne by boat and then train to King Valley. He claimed the train journey from Wangaratta to King Valley lasted approximately the same time as the journey from Melbourne to Wangaratta. The train stopped at all 12 stations. Sometimes for an hour. Heather’s mother belonged to a musical family. Her name was Edith, but she was called Edie. There was a Laffy family band composed of Edie’s father, two brothers, and sister, but Edie never sang with the band. She sang solo songs which highlighted her voice. Her singing career went on long after the Laffy family band split up. She would often be asked to sing at public occasions. She would sometimes take part in talent quests run by the local radio station. All her relatives and friends would listen with interest when this happened. A vinyl record was made of one of her appearances. Heather did not always get on with her mother. She once ran away from home, or more correctly rode away on her bike. She took refuge with her Aunt and came extolling a list of complaints. The middle verandah had to be swept. The kitchen floor needed to be washed. The beds had to be made and she was expected to do it all. Quickly, however, Edie was notified, and the conversation turned to how fast Heather had ridden. She had travelled 8 miles in an hour. How fast was she going? Heather had a full working life until she got married and she then became a full-time housewife. She was good at this occupation. Excelled at it even. She got on well with her husband David and in time they raised two well-adjusted children. David and Heather had many adventures. David had several careers in various industries. Heather always supported him. It can be stated that Heather and David were soul mates. They appreciated each other in the deepest sense. If any marriage can be described as successful, then theirs can. This wasn’t all David’s fault. Heather had a hand in it as well. In late middle age during a bout of illness Heather gave up smoking cold turkey. She had been a reasonably heavy smoker quite attached to the joys of smoking. She was never tempted to revert. Heather was always generous to her relatives and friends. She always welcomed people to visit, was always accommodating if people wanted a meal or to stay the night. This was her strength. It was not always openly appreciated but it was always understood. It’s a cliché, but if anyone was generous to a fault, then Heather would qualify… Neville Gibb October 2022 Bernie Laffy Obituary
Bernie was born in Wangaratta Hospital and lived in King Valley as a child. He died after a short illness. This was hard to bear because no one expected it. It was during the time of Covid 19 and only limited people could visit him in hospital. He was diagnosed with leukaemia shortly before going into hospital for treatment of this condition. He did not appear to be ill. The day after he was diagnosed he digressed from his daily walk of 6 kilometres a day to see us when we visited our son and his family in Middle Park. It was no big deal him coming to see us. Of course we did not know he was going to die. I did not even take a photograph. He contracted golden staph in hospital. He could not talk on his mobile phone. I did not expect him to die. I miss him terribly. He was one of these people who only had good in them. He was an extremely moral person. For most of his life he was a devout Catholic and he never deviated from the responsibilities this entailed. I would mercilessly tease him about it. He never wavered until later in life and then he wavered considerably. We went to school together but were never in the same form. We were friends although he had his close friends and I was never a member of this set. In his teenage years he was a keen bike rider. He rode with his friends all over the north east. The bike riding club he belonged to was popular and he had some success in competition. We left school at the same time and wondered what we would do with our lives. We didnt know if we could be good at anything. For one wonderful summer he had a pet yearling calf which he trained into thinking it was a horse. He allowed us to ride it with him. We would ride it to the river. And sometimes into the river. Whatever happened to this wonderful animal. We applied for various jobs. We both applied to the Commonwealth Bank. I thought that Bernie was accepted but maybe he wasnt. I was not accepted. I did the test in green ink and I think this was held against me. In time he became a Police Cadet. I also applied to be a Police Cadet. We applied together on the same day. I said I wanted to be a detective. Again I was not accepted. Bernie was accepted. He was Police Cadet for some years and he was based at the Police Barracks in St Kilda Road no longer there. Bernie stayed in the Police Force when his Cadetship came to an end. He more or less enjoyed his time in the Police Cadets and made several long term friendships. He then had a career of several years in the Police Force. Our paths in life sometime crossed and for a short time we both lived in the same boarding house. This was enjoyable. From time to time he would live in the Russel Street Police barracks. I only once visited him there. He had just finished eating with his friend Neil Sherritt from Beechworth who also was a Police Officer. I wonder what happened to him. Bernie should have had a dream run in the Police Force and ended up close to the top echelons but he didnt. He did not tick the right boxes. He had integrity. He was of good character. He was honest. Incorruptible. He had moral standards. He was tolerant of human flaws. He was always fair. He considered both sides. He never took advantage. He was never a bully. He never used his authority improperly. He was never aggressive with the public. We know that none of these things are ever taken into consideration when considering Police for promotion. Unfortunately. So he missed out on promotion and went on to other things. He married Anne and in time they raised two well adjusted children. These children have gone on to have successful lives. He took great delight in his family and loved them all to distraction. He took great delight in his grandchildren. And he enjoyed looking after his children dogs. He and Anne had a shop in Waverly Gardens for some time. He enjoyed it. I know he worked hard. I called on him unexpectedly one day and he invited me in. I noted he had a good system for keeping his lay-by’s until they were fully paid. Although I lived in Ferntree Gully and could have called on him frequently I only once visited him at the shop. But I stayed the whole day and enjoyed myself. I liked being in his company. In later life when he was living in Port Melbourne I guess I saw more of him. He was an expert at picking a good pub to have a meal in. He always had an easy familiarity with the landlord or staff. We had some good meals but in hindsight not enough. We had more planned but unfortunately they never came to fruition. He will be missed by those who knew him. I have always had a bucket list sitting in the back of my consciousness. As I get older my bucket list has maybe shortened. But essentially it has stayed the same. Although a bucket list is always nebulous and can always be subject to change when I was younger my bucket list was almost endless. I wanted to do so many things. I wanted to do things. Just do things. I wanted to get away from where I was. I wanted to be able to do anything I wanted. I wanted to travel to exotic places. I wanted to meet exotic people. I wanted to eat exotic food. I wanted to experience exotic adventures. I wanted to see interesting places. I wanted to live in London. I wanted to live for one whole winter in Vienna and be able to go to concerts and the opera whenever I wanted. I wanted to have a successful career. I wanted to have an interesting job. I wanted to work with interesting people. I wanted to have a stable domestic life. I wanted to have a happy home. I wanted to have many friends. I wanted to be talented at something. I wanted to be good at things. Maybe two or more things. I wanted to be good at sport. I wanted to be able to run well. I wanted to be able to play football. I wanted to be a respected spin bowler. I wanted to be part of a team. I wanted to have a pet kangaroo who loved me. One who lived inside and slept on the couch. I wanted to be able to sing opera. I wanted to be able to write music. I wanted to be able to sight read music. I wanted to be able to play the violin in an orchestra. I wanted to be able to write. I wanted to be a good writer. I wanted to write something that others found interesting. I wanted to write novels. I wanted to be able to relax and enjoy myself. I wanted to feel contented. I wanted to be respected by people I respected. I wanted to feel some connection to people I admired. I wanted to know more people. I wanted to have lots of friends. I wanted to watch more interesting tv. I wanted to work for the BBC. I wanted to belong to some important group. I wanted to have influence in some public issue. I wanted to be free. I wanted to be beholding to no one. I wanted to be confident enough to say anything. Neville Gibb September 2022 We all ask - what is a community?
There is of course - The Australian Community. And within the Australian community there are numbers of other communities. Australia after all is officially called a multi cultural community. I once belonged to a community. It wasn’t a large community but it was a community of sorts. This was the 60’s music community. I belonged to this community and it manifested itself in the setting up of a Community Radio Station dedicated to the playing of good music. You could call it the Public Radio Community. In time there came into being several Public Radio’s. There was a hierarchy of sorts. And they all competed with each other. I was there at the first ever public meeting regarding community radio and I sort of hung around. I went to many meetings. Eventually when we were awarded a licence I was elected as one of two coordinators. The community had over 500 members and I knew this because I had everyone on a computer file. I embraced my community with affection. I was determined to do my best. The coordinator was a position I wanted to have. So I stood for it and was elected to the position. I was excited. It turned out to have more power than originally thought and this eventually led to my downfall. In the beginning there were two coordinators. We split the responsibilities. I took on administrative responsibilities while my colleague took on more public activities. I was in the background and my colleague was in the public eye. I did work hard. I sometimes had to be present at 4AM on Sunday mornings. I sometimes had to work until 2AM on Monday and Thursday nights. I had to monitor the 10PM Friday slot to keep the bad language at a minimum. I am able to make some comments about the Public Radio Community. It was obvious that a lot of talented people exist who do not get onto radio. There are a lot of talented comedians who are unsure about appearing in public but are attracted to Radio Stations. There are a lot of very talented musicians who dont get a chance to play in public but are attracted to Radio Stations and assemble there. There are a lot of lonely people who are attracted to public bodies. There are a lot of people who would like to be on radio. There are a limited number of people who believe strongly they should be on radio. After some time and some criticism of my activities there was a board meeting and it was decided that there would be three coordinators. It was thought that I did not recognise true talent and gave time to people who were not really suited to public radio. Appointing three coordinators did not really change anything and the level of annoyance with my decisions could only increase. I had the power to award broadcast time and I had strict rules about it. I followed more or less the first come first served rule. If a new subscriber submitted a proposal that was interesting I would listen and if appropriate allocate them a spot. If you were a regular who always requested a slot you waited until it was your turn. This caused enormous resentment from people who thought they were both more talented and more worthy and should have been given more time on air. In the artistic community the pecking order is often disputed. Quite often talented people do not get a go because they don’t look the part. Or don’t sound the part. But sometimes these people have talents that can be drawn out. Because the Radio Station was a public body it sometimes attracted people we had trouble coping with. I experienced knowing a young girl who was actually homeless. I did not know how to cope with her and was sometimes confronted by the demand that as I had the power I should exercise it and remove her from the premises. I did not but neither did I take her home with me as I should have. For a time another young man who wanted to have a career as a singer slept in the radio stations lounge room. This person after some years did achieve success and I can claim that I knew him when he had hair. However I become acquainted with a fact of life that is universal. It seems in all things artistic the ego reigns supreme. I have to admit that I was taken down by the blatant exercise of this concept. At the end of the financial year and before the next annual general meeting it was decided that the Board would exercise its rights and take control of the station. All present official positions were abolished. The Board would have total control. Various board members would be allocated duties that they had expertise in. The Board would be elected by a strict preferential voting method. I failed to gain enough votes to be elected to the board. I left the station that night. I emptied my desk and left through the back door. I did not say goodbye to anyone. Later on I was contacted by board members and asked what happened to me. I was asked to come back to the station because I was needed. I declined. I always tended to take criticism personally. I had an ulterior motive however. I had during that year became a father. I enjoyed the experience of having a wife and child and settled into the pleasure this afforded. I selfishly followed my own desires. Of course I never regretted this. Except for re unions I never went back to the station. The Public Radio Community still exists. 968 words Certain things trigger memories. Memories can be both good and bad. Like all human beings I have memories lying dormant inside a memory bank that resides in my head. Mostly they lie unopened but they spring into life when triggered. Its like they are always on a constant loop inside my mind just waiting. There can be something on TV. Sometimes it is a song. Sometimes someone says something. Whatever – a trigger always seems to be sprung easily and memory comes flooding out. I would explain that my life is littered with regrets. Most that I would like to forget. Only some are bitter sweet and are worth remembering. There is a certain Road in Ferntree Gully that triggers feelings of regret. I cannot help feeling bad. I am reminded of how I treated our eldest son when I was teaching him to drive. Tom had asked me to help him learn to drive. I had taken him to a large car park where we could practice parking and maneuvering. This worked out satisfactorily. He then asked me to let him drive home and as he seemed to have the hang of it I said yes. We drove up backstreets to keep away from traffic and off the main roads. Finally we came to the turnoff that led to the road that took us to our house. This particular road was narrow. Halfway along there were small traffic bollards in place to slow the pace of cars. Tom hit one with the right hand front Tyre as we went through. I winced and Tom could see I was upset. I had made a groaning noise. I actually groaned out loud. Tom apologised. He smiled regretfully as he said it. Instantly I knew I had done the wrong thing and I regretted my actions. I had critisised my son for a minor misdemeanor. There had been no damage done yet I had acted as if my property had been damaged. I was giving a higher priority to my possessions than to the feelings of my son. I had made him feel bad. I was showing that I had more concern for my possessions than him. The irony was I normally raged against certain relatives who also had these failings. I had grown up surrounded by people who had felt that property and possessions were the most important thing in the world. I did not want to pass this culture on to my children. Yet here I was exhibiting it. This incident went into my memory bank to wait until triggered and would always come out to haunt me and remind me of my failings. My next two children paid for their own driving lessons. Maybe Tom had warned them. To to my knowledge Tom has never attracted the attention of the Traffic Police. As an adult he certainly gives more importance to his children than to his possessions. The words My Toolbox or the mention of the word toolbox are triggers in a similar way. Whenever I see a toolbox or hear the word I am reminded of our second son. When our second son was nearly two years old and not yet talking the television suddenly went off. This was a crisis. I went to the back of the TV and started to tease out the aerial wire. Before I had finished James had arrived back and was offering me his own tool box. He had received a toy tool box as a Christmas present and although he could not talk he knew what I had said. He knew his toy was indeed a tool box and he was offering it to me. He was showing what a wonderful generous heart he had. He was genuinely offering his help. And he was doing this silently. He has not changed in 30 years of life. He is generous and helpful to a fault to whoever he knows. He still normally offers his generosity in silence. The sight of The Simpsons on TV are a trigger that remind me of our third son. Our children grew up watching The Simpsons. We first watched them when they were a fill in on The Tracey Ulman Show. When our children were babies it was I who decided that they should have dummies. My wife was a no nonsense type of women who initially saw dummies as a crutch that children did not need. I knew that suckling was important and that dummies did have some effect. None of our children became addicted to dummies and all voluntarily gave them up when they were old enough to reason the situation. James said he would give up the dummy cold turkey on Christmas Eve and he did. Alexander said he would experiment with giving up but would promise nothing. Alexander did experiment and we thought his dummy was a thing of the past. But one night watching The Simpsons the plot focused on Maggie. Now Maggie does not do much except suck on her dummy. After watching Maggie suck on her dummy Alexander left the lounge room and went to his room He re appeared sucking on his dummy. He even sounded just like Maggie. He had been reminded of the pleasure of sucking on his dummy and thought he would experience it again. He indulged to the full in sucking. We could even hear him. The TV had reminded him of the pleasure of sucking a dummy. Alexander still has the same attitude. He can reason his own problems and likes to think through issues in his own life. The Simpsons have been another trigger. When the children were teenagers I felt that it was important that they were acquainted with classical Indian Music. I prepared a tape of Ravi Shankar to play in the car. I played it expecting the normal complaints of - why do we have to listen to this - why cant we play a tape of ours? Instead they listened for several seconds in silence. They then broke into excited conversation. They all recognised the music. They even knew the name Ravi Shankar. They then proceeded to remind each other of the plot of The Simpsons episode where the Concert for Bangla Desh is parodied. Whenever The Simpsons appear on TV in the presence of my children they cannot help but remind me that they knew about Ravi Shankar before I could take it upon myself to educate them. Their memories are triggered and they cannot help but remind me of how they had it over me for once. This reminisce is accompanied by a lot of good natured schadenfreude chortling. James came home in the morning to drive us to the airport. Left at 6.30PM – arrived Tullamarine 8.30 PM. We discussed amongst other things George Pell during the drive. I said I wasn't on the Jury so I don't know if he is guilty or not. After a while James admitted much the same thing. I added that if he had molested 2 boys it is likely he would have molested more. Maybe we don't know. Maybe he did and they wont testify. I didn't tell James that an Anglican Priest had attempted to seduce me into sexual activity when I was 13. It did not affect me. I got up from the bed and left the Priest with a disappointed look on his face. At the time I thought that all Priests were good and I did not understand homosexuality. James also asked if I had listened to any of the podcasts he had downloaded for me. He is trying to wean me away from the BBC. I keep telling him that I am suspicious of TED because there are no black faces or Indians ever as guests or even in the audience. He assures me that America is free. Flight to KL was uneventful. Some announcements of turbulence but no real movement within air currents. Not one film that I wanted to see on offer. Not really any TV shows either. Popular entertainment is all Hollywood or Bollywood. Could not see any decent Chinese films. The airline offered a video/audio of The Koran and I watched that. The Koran was chanted in the background and the words were offered in Arabic and English. Pretty crude translation into English I thought. Whatever - it was interesting for a while and I think helpful in drifting off to sleep. After that I listened to a selection of Mozarts Arias. Not all sounded familiar but were pleasurable to listen to as I dozed. I think this was the best flight we have had. Jenny didn't get – I wont say airsick – but I will say sick. I didnt find the flight as trying as I have in the past. After our last Chinese trip I did say I did not think we would fly again. Mixture of Australia being so big and taking so long to go anywhere and the fact that Jenny always got violently ill to the point where I did not think it was worth it. This time it did not seem so boring. Plus I think I was prepared to accept the inconvenience. Plus I did have a bout of high blood pressure with some atrial fibrillation on saturday and sunday and I was putting myself through a calm down regimen and I think this worked. I did calm down to the point where I took the flight calmly. We think some cheap meat loaf may have triggered the bout. Flying over Malaysia I noted the large area of land taken up with Palm Oil plantations. It is obvious that whole areas are covered with Palm Oil trees. A large party of what appeared to be Pilgrims at the KL airport. They were in a separate section to the rest of us. They had a medical facility set up and lots were wearing masks. All were carrying Arabic Korans. I presume they were going on a Haj. They had a look of excitement. They were wearing special costumes. Spoke to soon as Jenny had a terrible time from KL to Delhi. I question if its worth traveling by air. There is no logic to it. She just says I’m going to be sick and gets sick. Nothing can stop it. She spends all the flight heaving into a sick bag. Going from saying she is shivering to saying she is sweating. I had the window seat and a good view. Flew over ocean and then over India. Flew above lots of big clouds that did not move an inch. Towards the end could see the land. Flat land resembled Australia with a number of exceptions – ground cover was green – inhabited areas were larger - small towns that looked much the same size as inland towns in Australia do but had more buildings - a number of sluggish brown rivers. Thats about it. Paddocks were straight. Rectangular even. Roads were straight. Some paddocks were small. Some were large. It all looked quite fertile. Did not see any desert. I listened to music and read on the flight. Mozarts 20th Piano concerto. The one that goes d dum der dum der dum der dum- der dum der dum der dum der dum - Da da da da da da der. I realise now it sounds like the Papageno/Papagena song in The Magic Flute. I have read Schickenaders letter thanking Mozart for the song and saying the Po PO Po song is quite good. Quite an understatement. Of course Mozart was not the important figure he is now. He was writing music for money with a fellow Mason. Also listened to Strauss Music. All of his waltzes are meant to be played at Deb Balls. Just start with the music and the dances will fall into place. We walked off the plane into fairly intense heat. Changed some money at the Airport. We were given a garland of Marigolds when we got in the bus which was thankfully air conditioned. Our tour guide announced that the hotel was 10 ks away and it would take one hour to get there. He then announced that the tours were are going in the next few days are all 120k or so and the journey will take 5 hours. I thought this was a little strange until we got on the road. Its not possible to go at much more that 10k. Too much traffic of all types. Roads badly maintaines if at all. Lots of small 3 wheeler vehicles. Some pedaled bikes with trailers behind them. Saw a few cows eating grass. First impressions - not much has changed in 50 years from when I was here last. Looks pretty well the same. Roads certainly look the same. People still living on the sides of the road. Beggars at some big cross roads. Lots of scratches on vehicles. Vehicles have a battered look about them. Our tour guide for today – Sanjeev – reminds me a little of Owen. Looks a bit like him. Same serious nature. Always willing to help. We got to our room which was cold. We put the temperature up. Could not get the TV to work as the screen needs a separate flicker but of course was not available. Had to go to the desk and get someone to come and show me. TV is something that has changed in 50 years. News is now POW POW POW. Thundering background music. Many lines of written material running across the screen. All sensational. The ads are all very much over the top. I think Indians must lead fantasy lives if they are impressed by these ads. They all seem to be set in a weird fantasy land. Every product offers lasting happiness. Lots of overacted domestic dramas. All full of extreme ham acting. Lots of threatening looks. Lots of what appear to be curses said. All actors look like they are wearing loads of makeup. All men seem to have dyed hair. Finally found a news channel that is more western in its approach. Mostly Indian news but some concerning Trump. They are definitely less sycophantic towards Trump than Australian TV is. One can see the difference. They concentrate on different facts. Wednesday 28th August Blood Pressure 136/75 Pulse 81 Breakfast was quite good. I liked the food. It tasted authentic. It did remind me a little of what was served up at the wonderful canteen at India House. So it must be good. Read The Times of India over breakfast. Full of stories. Full of news. A serious paper. In the tradition of The Times. One Indian MP - a woman – has claimed that the opposition parties are casting spells on BJP members and one BJP MP has already died from sorcery. This is another example of how all over the world new right political parties are accusing opponents of the left of weird things and it seems normal. Donald Trump has made it acceptable. There was one story of a man who was lynched for suspicion of killing a cow and his family are now worried about their safety. The Police will not give them security. Apparently it is a capital offense to kill a cow – its in the Indian Constitution – and a faction of the BJP party have passed a motion in Parliament making it law. Paper reported two separate lynchings have taken place in the past week. Today we went to The Big Mosque. The Red Fort. The Government Section of New Delhi. Parliament house, Government House etc. A Rickshaw drive through Old Delhi. Passed through some Slum Areas. Went to the Palace of the same Moghul Emperor who built the Taj Mahal – he built a large Palace area in Delhi. Went to where Gandhi was cremated. Also went through The Bahai Temple. Ate at a swanky restaurant. Saw a largish Monkey walking along the sidewalk. We were in the bus. Guide told us not to ask it to stop so we can take its photo. It would probably steal our phone. Saw a number of cows completely at home in traffic clogged roads. Just walking at their pace ignoring the cars. Saw a lot of dogs completely ignoring humans. Made no gestures of acknowledging human beings and no wagging of tails. Did not respond to my whistle. Saw some sprightly little squirrels. Saw some bird not seen before. Same size as magpies but with slightly purply looking colour around their necks. Had our photo taken a number of times by visiting Indian Families. Wanted their children photographed with westerners. Spoke to some schoolchildren until their Teacher came up and admonished them sharply. We spoke to a young woman who worked for Goldman Sachs and she said their preferred form of communication at work was English. Went past a gathering of men squatting patiently on the sidewalk showing that they were cement workers by showing their trowels sticking out of their carrying bags. Waiting for offers of employment I presume. Lots of schoolchildren visiting Gandhi’s cremation site. Both boys and girls but not together. Very well dressed. Stylish Uniforms. Elegant looking girls. All of the same skin tone. All thought provoking. The elephant in the room is what would India be like if the British had not come. Or were still here. Were they good rulers of other countries. Was this their only skill. Maybe the British were irrelevant. Maybe India is never changeable. They have retained a lot of British Customs. British Institutions. British Buildings. Thursday 29th August Blood Pressure 146/97 Pulse 84 Jenny is ill. She has a headache behind her eye. Boris has suspended Parliament. The Queen has caved. We drove from Delhi to Jaipur. Thankfully Jenny did not stay ill. We saw lots of animals. Cows. Sheep. Goats. A few camels. Some small monkeys. Occasional pig. 3 dead cows that had been hit by a car. Looked like they had been dead for a week or more. One dead dog. Amazing that there are not more dead cows. They stand on the freeway facing the traffic and they would only have to move their heads a few centimetres to get a fatal knock. We saw herds being looked after by men dressed all in white – maybe some religious figures. We saw lots of Millet being farmed. We saw lots of Pilgrims walking along the road. Sometimes large groups – sometimes in 2’s and 3’s. All were on some Pilgrimage to some Temple. Same kind of thing as what was described in Chaucers Canterbury Tales I would imagine. We went from village to village. Endless number of villages. Road was a double highway clogged with all types of traffic. Sometimes an individual on a motorbike was going against the flow. Sometimes even a car. Road in bad repair. Roads not up to much in India. Lots of rubbish on the sidewalks. Lots of eating places. Lots of places that called themselves hotels. People sleeping on the sidewalks. But no evidence of traffic accidents. Only saw 2 cars that had previously had their fronts stove in waiting for repair at a repair centre. Did not see any damaged cars on the road. Saw some water buffalo in the distance basking in water being tended by 2 women dressed in white. I remember a number of years ago I was taken from Brisbane to Surfers Paradise along the old Highway. Every so often – quite a number - there were forlorn looking people standing beside their car that had been stove in – either at the back or the front – waiting for assistance. None of that today. Lots of horns but no collisions. So bad roads and lots of traffic does not mean more accidents. I think the drivers today were quite skilled. No sense of Road Rage either. Except for one motorcyclist who took offense at our driver for scraping him and carried on far to much. He was the bad driver who nudged the bus. My conclusion is that maybe Indians have driving skills. Our tour guide has on at least two occasions advised us of the religious breakup of India. Hindus 60% Muslims 15% Christians 10% etc. I asked him if there was a box on the Indian Census form that said NO RELIGION. He did not answer. No doubt he thought – another smart alec tourist. But I think the point is valid. Why is religion so important to Indians. Yesterday I thought our guide was Muslim but today he informs us he is a Sikh. I wanted to ask him if he defines himself as a Sikh first and an Indian later. But I didnt. Like all travel guides he doesnt like questions. We passed lots of Temples. Mostly on the top of hills. Tour guide didn't hesitate to tell us about them – year built etc – who built them etc. We stopped for lunch at a western style hotel. Garish on the outside. Garish on the inside. Large place and we were the only customers. We had a soft drink and some small vegetable buns. Have driven through Jaipur. Heavy traffic. Schoolchildren going home. Seems to be more of a Muslim town than Delhi. Centre of town isn't much. Does not look like a wealthy place. So why were the Rajastan Royals stationed here? Maybe the cricket club has connections. Lots of missed photo opportunities. Takes too long to get the phone camera set up. We went to a jewelry factory where we looked at a diamond ring worth $3200. I did not think it would be that much but diamonds do look nicer than any other stone. It looked good. Very nice diamond. Salesman was quite adamant we would buy until I disarmed him by showing him photos of where we lived. How dry it is. What its like after a bushfire. Jenny felt sorry for him and thought I had acted inappropriately. We went to an interfaith Temple in the centre of town built only in 1985 by the most wealthiest family in town. It had to be all encompassing. No keeping Dalits out. Saw a man make the sign of the cross when he came out. Lots of Indian Tourists for once. Jenny spoke to a young bloke who does some kind of volunteering and he said he had been trying for 2 years to get employment. Spoke pretty good english. Watched a bit of TV. Lots of public affairs shows with people shouting at each other. Kashmir is on everyone's mind. If any politician so much as mentions the name Pakistan they are accused of treason by the BJP. Another example of right wing parties making sensible behavior questionable. Friday 30th August Blood Pressure 123/76 Pulse 88 Slept OK. Loud car horn with variable pitch heard often. Different type of breakfast to last hotel. Mainly western food. I had a cheese omelette. Quite good. I had Chai which was also quite good. Only had it once before at the famous restaurant at Collingwood Farm. This mornings was better. We stopped at some Temple in the middle of the city where there were snake charmers. Snakes are supposed to have their venom sacks removed and are also supposed to be drugged. But all snakes seemed to me to be very much nervously on edge. Always trying to get away. Slithering under the snake charmers legs etc. Snake Charmer constantly picking up the snakes and putting them back into their basket. Snakes constantly flattening their necks. I took some photos and gave the snake charmer 10 Rupees. Today we went from Palace to Palace. All built by various Hindu monarchs – they were great builders - finished up in the Palace where Mountbatten held the last Dergha before independence. I have had enough of past Indian glory. I would like to see more modern glory. Not much recent glory to be seen. We did go to the museum of solar instruments. A ruler from the 16th century set up a series of instruments that measures time of day etc. Position of stars etc. I have seen it on TV before. Peasant woman cutting the grass by hand and I mean by hand. Pulling it out strand by strand. Took Photo and gave her 10 Rupees. We then went to a carpet factory were we spent over $1300 on a carpet. Typical impulse buying that I normally critisise.. Had lunch at a western style restaurant. Had to wait over an hour for our meal. Had to indulge in small talk. Had previously had to listen to one mans rave about inner city Melbourne Greens and how dangerous they were so I was not inclined to talk to him. We finished up with an hours walk through the retail area. Thousands of shops all selling the same thing. Fabrics. Tee shirts. Dresses. Trinkets. Every shopkeeper trying to show you his wares. I mean every shopkeeper. Plus some single hawkers trying to sell souvenirs. Got talking to a young boy who said he went to school a half day each day. Tomorrow he would go to school after he had sold his quota. I tried to give him a donation but he was too proud. Would not take money unless I bought something. I refused to to buy anything so we had a conundrum. Yesterday this appeared to be a city with a large Muslim population. Have not heard the friday call to prayers. No Muslims to be seen on the streets today so they must all be in the Mosque. Saturday 31st August Blood Pressure 130/96 Pulse 89 I did not sleep well. Dont know why. Maybe the 2 cups of Marsala Chai I had last night. I expected my blood pressure to be well up. Maybe after a shower I will feel OK. I would like to have a day off today and just relax. Today we went to Pushcar. Quite a long drive along the main Delhi Mumbai Highway. Lots of traffic on the highway – not all going the same way. Lots of animals on the road. Finally finished up at a Hindu religious festival. Thousands of people there. Quite crowded. Saw a holy man fully naked riding a motorbike. Black skin covered in white powder. Saw a woman symbolically washing herself with her hands. I was surprised when she let down her sari and showed her breasts for a second or two. We went to the festival area and watched some people being blessed by Hindu clergy. Jenny got a dot on her forehead. We then went for a camel ride. Saw a Gypsy camp. We talked to 2 gypsy woman and Jenny thought one of them tried to stab her with a Henna Pen. We went to a relic of the Raj for lunch. $20 dollars for a fair meal. Saw a bus with at least 30 adults and children sitting on the roof. This was on the main freeway. Animals everywhere at the festival. I tried patting the cows and most responded but I was the only person doing this. Indians do not befriend cows. I don't know why. Saw 2 high rise apartments that were up to China standard. There should be thousands of them littering the countryside. But no – people live in hovels at the base of these high rise buildings. I wasn't quick enough to get a photo. The high rises are either all empty or hardly any tenants. Our guide proudly explains how Indians want to live in their own home. I didn't ask him if they would rather live in hovels instead of proper housing. Sunday 1st September Blood Pressure 154/102 Pulse 94 Did not sleep well if at all. Woke up with blood nose. Very hot night. Will try and sleep on bus. I should have taken the day off yesterday. Blood nose stopped at breakfast but was start stop for rest of the day. We spent all day traveling. I did some sleeping on the bus. We went to the deep well built by a Hindu Prince. I have seen it previously on TV. A deep hole with steps all the way down. Like an inverted pyramid. Slimy water at the bottom. But of course the water was holy. As usual it was a pleasure palace for a Hindu Prince. When the Moghuls took over they converted it to a Muslim site and knocked the faces off all the statues. They did this a lot. The Hindus got the sharp end of the stick from the Moghul Muslims. But no matter – we will make them all a religious site. This was a recognised holy place with lots of pilgrims. Buses pulling up and leaving extremely full to overflowing. They seem to be rebuilding the temple by just putting half broken figures on top of one another. Concrete figures lying around all over the place. 2nd September Blood Pressure 148/86 Pulse 99 Not much sleep but better than the night before. I did go to proper sleep watching TV at about 5PM for half an hour or so. I am both exhausted and in pain. My body is packing up. Cold shower. We are up at 5AM to see the Taj Mahal at dawn. A bit after dawn when we got there. It was quite hot. Well laid out gardens. Our guide explained the story behind the mausoleum. Maharajah loved a commoner and had problems in arranging marriage between the two. He was Muslim and she was Hindu. But persisted and they were married. Maharajah loved his Hindu Queen so much that when she died he put up this monument to her and gave instructions that he was to be buried next to her. She is in the very centre. He is beside her. They are not in the coffins we see but they are deep underground in the same spots. The building is impressive. Simple look about it. It has a look of perfection. It is symmetrical. It can certainly be called beautiful. A work of Art. Lots of people in attendance. Also dogs fighting. Also monkeys looking for food. We spoke to a woman and her mother from Korea. A number of Indian tourists. Not many westerners. Some people asking if they can take our photo with them in it. The building is very simple in its own way and dominates the whole area. I think humans are intimidated by it. It is definitely impressive. You cannot help looking at it. We went through the centre of the building and were well catered for by a guide who when he had explained everything asked for backsheesh. They do it by a hand gesture. He was inside the area that contains the coffins. A wall separated us from him. India has lots of these moments. Seemingly authentic people taking care of things – sweeping the grounds etc – cutting grass - but all have probably paid to be able to be where they are and be in the position to ask for backsheesh. A virtual franchise system for beggars. Dogs and monkeys in the grounds. A number of dogs attempting to work out the pecking order. Sporadic fighting. We went down the river a little to another Moghul Mosque where we had a good view of the Taj Mahal in the distance. Saw a Hindu woman flirting with a man which was most unusual. During the time we were in India a number of things occurred that were noteworthy. There were two people lynched who were accused of being cow killers. The ruling Party has recently re stated a law that says cow killing is a capital offence. In these two instances a crowd gathered around a person who had allegedly killed some cows. The crowd became agitated. The person was lynched by the crowd. There were two people who barely escaped lynching after being accused of child stealing. For some reason it is thought that India is going through a period of child stealing. This is where it is believed small children are stolen by one group of people – mostly Gypsies. And I presume Dailits. Different skin tones between children and adults are thought to be the give away. In one case an elderly woman with dark skin was carrying a small child with light skin. A crowd gathered. The crowd became agitated. The woman was physically attacked. The woman barely escaped with her life. In another case a young woman had a child that had lighter toned skin. In this case she was probably a Gypsy. She was beaten by the mob and had to be hospitalised. Her child has been removed from her. Both these cases were reported in the papers. I presume they are not fake news. I mentioned earlier the a female member of Parliament has accused the opposition of using sorcery to kill one member of the ruling party and make another ill. This has been said in Parliament. And reported with not much surprise. India has too much religion. People are defined by their religion. There are too many poor people. There has been no effort made to lift these poor people out of their poverty. Roadsides are covered with litter. Sidewalks are crumbling. Freeways do not have smooth surfaces - they have been badly made. Toll booths are always in need of repairs. Broken windows etc. One thing I noticed and asked our tour guide about was why do trucks have talismans hanging outside their windows. These are approx a half metre long and look like short streamers attached to various parts of the truck and are made of a long thread with small pom poms attached at intervals. They are always grey. They are mostly rigid but they can bend. Some of the pom poms may be red. These adornments can be attached to windows – to mudguards – to roofs. I asked our guide what significance they had and he replied decorative. I asked if they had some religious significance and he said no. He did not like me asking questions because I guess he figured out I was skeptical about everything. I also asked him if the Indian Census form had a box for No Religion and if it didn't then why didn't it. He didn't answer. He often quoted the percentage breakup of religion in India. He was inferring that this was a good thing. He said that if we asked a Sikh to do us a favour such as look out for a female we could be sure it would be carried out. I realised after a few days where I had seen the decorations on trucks before. They are adornments that are attached to the harness of elephants. They have the same grey colour as elephants. Obviously truck drivers see themselves as descendants of elephant handlers. And they probably are. They do the same things. They transport things around the country. Their trucks are the modern day equivalent of elephants. The drivers attach the same adornments. Before I finish I want to mention certain things about India that appall me. Lots of poor Hindus go on pilgrimage. They walk along the side of the road in groups – sometimes with a motorised sound system blaring out bollywood sounding music. People are resisting moving into high rise. Its not unusual to see a half or quarter full high rise surrounded by hovels that are full. Our guide advised us this was common. He said it with a hint of pride. There are no shopping malls in India and those that exist are are mostly in Liquidation and empty. Once again our guide told the story with a hint of pride. Indians are resisting shopping malls. There are people living in the street. Quite near our hotel in Delhi people were living in hovels on the sidewalk. Some families just had a bed on the street. There are lots of beggars in the streets. Some with missing limbs. Some with half limbs. Of course they are very appreciative when you give them money. The footpaths are strewn with rubbish. Most footpaths are only half finished. They have deep holes in them. Most people walk on the road. History is littered with “If Only” Moments. If only Rene Kink had kicked a goal instead of a point after the siren at half time in the 1977 Grand Final Collingwood might have been too far ahead for North Melbourne to catch up in the second half. If only Phil Carman had not telegraphed his intention of chasing and hitting Michael Tuck during the last quarter of the second semi he would have been able to play in the Grand Final. But he did telegraph his intentions and he ran after Michael Tuck and hit him and was therefore reported. These are two personal reminisces that are If Only moments that come to mind. If only Mozart had not died when he was 35 and had lived until he was 60 or 65 what wonderful music we would have to listen to. Hayden said when he learned that Mozart had died that we would not see his like again for 200 years. Actually he was wrong. We have not seen his like in 300 years and are not likely to see his like in 400 or 500 years. Mozart was a great composer who improved as he got older. It is arguable that his later compositions were better than his earlier compositions. What a pity we missed out on his work after he was aged 35. Of course all our lives are littered with If Only moments. If Only I had stayed in England instead of coming back to Australia when my father died. For some reason I allowed my father dieing to be the key to my returning to Australia, My mother did cry and did ask me directly to come home so I said OK. I could have said no. I was happy living in London. I was happy with my job. I felt at ease in England. I thought the politicians of both sides were essentially decent and far superior to politicians in Australia. I admit that I felt British to my bootstraps. I felt part of the establishment. I did not feel excluded from anything. I took a healthy interest in all things cultural. I felt at home. I felt people liked me. What if I had stayed in London? Of course I would not have had the comfortable life I have had in Australia. I would not have enjoyed the fruits of our wonderful nuclear family. My wife and wonderful children are my life - everything else fades into insignificance. Where would I be? One big If Only that has occurred in my life was something completely out of my control. When I was 14 my family fostered a 2 year old child that transformed our life. We were not a particularly dysfunctional family but it is fair to say that there were always pockets of unhappiness affecting all members. We did not enjoy each others company and we were dominated by a mother who felt women always got an unfair deal. She would have preferred to be a man with mens rights. This little girl shamed us into being happy. My mother forgot about being unhappy and recognised the goodness inside this little girl. All other members of the family fell in love with her. It is fair to say that she affected us all in a positive way. She made us all happy. The If Only comes with this childs later life. We made desultory inquiries about adoption but her mother wanted her back again. She went to live in Wagga and we never saw her again. Fast forward 50 years and miraculously I was able to track her down. Unfortunately her life had been one long series of tragedies. She had never lived for any length of time with her mother and amazingly had for a time in her teens even lived in Wangaratta where she was charged with being in need of care and attention and spent time in goal having ran away from her Aunt with whom she was living at the time. This was only one of many terrible things that happened to her. If Only we had known her whereabouts we might have been able to offer her some comfort. If only we had been able to keep in touch we might have been able to bring some stability to her life. If only we had known what was happening. To my mind one big If Only in life concerns If Only people had voted differently. If only 3 or 4 people had changed their vote at various times our country would be different. We can only speculate how different Australia might be if the elections of 1966, 1975 and 2019 had turned out differently. There is no doubt that Australia would be a better place. From time to time changes are required and can only come through a change of government. If Only people could overcame their prejudices and were able to vote differently. History is littered with If Only situations. Regrets. I wish situations. At least mine is. First bike. I received my first bike for my 5th Birthday. My birthday was in October so I didn't start school until I was aged 5. It was always anticipated that I would have to ride a bike to school. The nearest school – Meadow Creek - was 3 miles away. My parents milked cows so they did not want to have to drive me to school when it was milking time. I think I was keen to start school. The bike was sized 20 and was blue coloured. A Malvern Star. It was the smallest you could get. The sizes went up by 2’s. 20 – 22 – 24 – 26 – and if you were grown up you had a size 28. I presume this was the diameter of the front wheel in inches. I once saw a size 28 and it seemed gigantic. The bike was presented to me outside the chaff shed. My parents had hid it in there waiting for my actual birthday. I asked if I could get on it straight away. You don't know how to ride my mother said. I had seen older children ride their bikes and it didn't look too hard. You just hopped on and pushed the pedals. My father held the bike upright. I climbed on and put my feet on the pedals. I started pushing and off I went. My father had given me a bit of a push so I already had momentum. The pedals went round and I was upright on the bike. I pushed hard and speeded up. Suddenly I had put distance between me and my Mother and Father. I was going in a straight line directly for the telephone line. Turn around. Turn around they shouted. I didnt turn around. I just stopped and leant against the telephone pole. I thought – I should put my foot on the ground. So I did. I knew I knew how to ride a bike. I didnt have to be taught. I had seen others ride and I had taken it in. I rode the bike all that day. When I started school I rode my bike from the very first day. Conclusion This incident was replicated with my third child. He took to riding his bike with gusto. He learnt to ride in the morning and in the afternoon I saw him riding his bike on Station Street Ferntree Gully behind a car – and he was being followed by another car. I was worried but I knew I had done the same thing more or less. How could I be worried or chastise him. History was being repeated. A Fine Day in London. When I lived in London I cannot remember being unhappy. I went to sleep each night wondering what was going to happen tomorrow. Whatever happened I knew it would be good. I knew that something interesting would happen at work. I knew in the morning I would walk to Earls Court Station and take the District Line to Temple Station. I would stand in the underground and feel the wind on my face which announced a train was coming although you couldn't hear it. I would wonder how many other people on the station would be as excited as I was. Why didn't they smile with pleasure. Just being here is exciting I would think. I would read The Times on the way to work. I always felt reading The Times was extremely pleasurable. It was civilising. I felt The Times spoke directly to me. I more or less read it from cover to cover. This took all day. Morning and afternoon tea breaks. Lunchtime too. Coming home from work also. I shared a room with a car mechanic. We got on well. He worked somewhere in North London. The first thing he did when he came home each night was to try and wash off the oil stains on his hands and arms. He had no hot water where he worked. He was restoring an old car where he worked in his spare time. His boss let him do this after his normal work. Finally he bought the car home to show us. It was indeed old. I dont know what type it was. It appeared to be put together from parts of other cars and it probably was. He had hand painted it green but the previous colours showed thorough underneath. Each part of the car seemed to have a different colour. He didn't bring it home very often because it was not registered and he was afraid of being caught. But one night he said that he had to go past Kingsway the next morning so he could drive me to work. I said OK. The next day dawned and there was a slight hitch in that his lights were not working and we had to wait until it became fully light. This was in the middle of winter. But the day turned out to be one of those miracle days. One of those days you never anticipate in wintry England. It was a wonderful sunny day. Bright blue sky. Almost blinding sunlight. Steam rising from the leaves. Sunlight coming through the cracks in sunbeams. Sunshine reflecting off buildings. People walking with optimism. I did not mind being late for work. My friend did not want to drive down main roads as he did not want to get caught with an unregistered car. So he drove all the way to Kingsway down side streets. I don't think we saw a Main Road. My friend seemed to know exactly where to go. I had no idea where we were. I didn't mind. I was struck by how wonderful the day was. Driving along narrow streets seemingly full of people going to work. It was obviously cold but it was wonderfully sunny. The ride did not last long. We seemed to go from one side street to another side street and suddenly we were in Kingsway. All the way in wonderful sunshine. I was let out of the car. I walked a short way along Kingsway and then along The Strand and then I was at work. I knew these were wondrous times. When I left London he drove me to Heathrow and he still hadn't had his car registered. To get to Heathrow we had to drive along main roads but we didn't see any Police. Conclusion I don't think its possible to replicate these times. I feel the British have changed permanently. To the point where I don't recognize any of the Tory Party leadership candidates as even being English. Let alone Tories. They don't even remotely seem to be Tories. I myself felt British to my bootstraps. Now I think Theresa May will be judged to be the last British Prime Minister. Of course Mr Murdoch owns The Times and the paper reflects his prejudices. Its all very dispiriting to someone like me. China 2019
Saturday 1st June. Set off at 16.40 after watching Collingwood get beaten by 4 points by Fremantle. Collingwood should have won if they had allowed a goal that was kicked as the 1st quarter siren went and the ball was still in mid air. Later on in the game a shot was touched off the boot and the goal was allowed to Fremantle. Both teams played well. We should have tagged Fyffe. James drove us to the airport. We were there by 18.30. Alex was up for the weekend and he stayed home. Took us over an hour to get through customs and security. I used to love airports. I thought they were warm friendly places. Always something happening. Workers didnt seem to be workers. They were close to going somewhere. Always a semblance of feeling of being connected to somewhere else when I was there. I used to dream that someday I would fly off from Australia. Now I do fly off and its not the same. All airports have been made bigger for a start. The food has not improved. Understandably security has been arced up. To the point of where it has gone over the tipping line. Whether all the inconvenience and cost has had an impact on terrorism I do not know. I very much doubt it. Goods and Services are expensive. Many luxury brand stores in existence. All deserted. Do the airports pay for them to set up shop and make the airport seemingly more fashionable and exciting. We finally got onboard only to sit for over an hour until we were asked to leave the plane. Mechanical problems. Finally we left over 2 hours late with no chance of connecting with our flight to Chendu in Shanghai. As it was the flight was uneventful. One tiny baby on board that cried occasionally. Saw his mother preparing to breast feed him and he opened and shut both his hands in pleased anticipation of being fed. Just like Tom James and Alexander. We spied the obvious other Trip a Deal tourists on the flight. I must say some women take an inordinate amount of time in the toilet. Just stand outside waiting for them to come out. I would have sworn there was a female in the toilet – she pushed in front of Jenny - and after standing waiting for 15 minutes I informed the Stewardess. But when she investigated there was no one in the toilet. One of those mysterious and embarrassing moments. Because of the time delay we had two meals. Rice mixture and Noodle mixture. Noodles was better but not much good. I think airline food has deteriorated. Jenny was sick for most of the flight. I am personally considering not flying again. I dont think its worth it. She sits for most of the flight with a sick bag in front of her face. Groaning and crying. She stands outside the toilet heaving into a sick bag. Even as we were landing she was coughing up phlegm into the sick bag. As it was the landing was perfect. At Shanghai we had to change our flights which caused us some panic. We also had to collect our luggage which also caused panic as the luggage was not on the bag carousel that it was supposed to be on. We then spent all day in Shanghai Airport. Could not find a money changer inside the domestic terminal. The only ATM Machine would not work. Had a cup of coffee at Starbucks. Acceptable but not as good as Starbucks in Saigon. Chinese still like to take on board double the carry on luggage that Australians do. The airport does have a small Art Gallery. Some interesting paintings. One a collage of an old fashioned high rise. Very interesting idea. Both collage and painting over the collage and very heavily varnished. Looks an authentic work of Art. Other paintings also worthy of mention. I took photos. I did watch one memorable Chinese Film during the flight. There was nothing interesting on offer really except for this. I watched a bit of the new Mary Poppins film but it was really no good. Rubbish even. I listened to a lot of Mozart’s Piano Concerto’s. All 21. The impressive film was called Going Back to 1942. It was set during the famine in Henan Province. The film followed the fortunes of Chiang Kai Chek, the local administrator, the Army and its battle with the Japanese, grain hoarders, corrupt officials, the famine and its effects, and the refugees the famine produced. Very well produced. Must have cost a fortune to make. Looked authentic all the way through. Theodore White reporting for Time Magazine was woven into the plot and this showed his connections with both high government and lowly peasants. Some smiling American Military person after America came into the war. The same Theodore White who later published Whites Weekly and help end the Vietnam War. The film was honest about Chiang Kai Chek but somewhat sympathetic. Obviously used his words and quoted from speeches he had made at the time. Official figures for people killed in the famine was 1600 or so but in reality it was 16 Million or so. Whilst waiting all day in the Airport I did some reflection on Chinese women. What effect has the feminist revolution had on them. Looking at them in the airport I wonder what their motives are. I would say they are not trying to look sexual. They do however seem to accept that they hold up half the sky. How many women are in the National Peoples Congress. Not many if any I suspect. Are there any women in the government – not that I know of. But I do notice some things. I would say there are more flowing dresses than in Australia. One fashion is to wear a normal skirt above the knees but cover it with a voluminous outer skirt made of mosquito netting. These dresses are common. But overall less overtly masculine clothes. No tattoos. We did have a butch girl sitting next to us in the flight from Shanghai to Chendu and she wore masculine clothes. She spoke English pretty well and was a very nice person. Had been to Australia. Regaled us about the harsh working conditions of Chinese. Not many holidays for a start. I dont think she was typically female though. The Stewardesses were all very slight and some were tiny. Are there minimum weight standards so they can scoot up and down the aisle easily. What do they think though? Do Chinese women wake up in the morning with the expectations that they will someday rule the world? Have they entered into the agreement with the Chinese Government that they will take no interest in Politics and will leave all Political decisions to the Chinese Communist Party. Yes. Will they work hard and diligently all their lives. Yes. Will they take life seriously. Yes. Otherwise they are not much different than Australians. Men also. I always ask – how are you different to Chinese when I come across Australians saying disparaging things about China. Can we ever make any generalisations though. Probably not. I would have loved to come here in the 60’s and 70’s . Was it possible to make observations then or were they all too internal and intimidated. What with the Cultural Revolution and its consequences. Why was Mao such a gigantic figure. It is however possible to make some modern generalisations. The Chinese have progressed from bikes to cars in 30 years. The standard of car is higher than in Australia. But does everyone have one - I would probably think not. It will be interesting when they do. More freeways will be needed. There are already specified alternate days for cars only allowed. The new freeways are very well planned and well built. New housing for everyone appears to have been built in the last 30 years. So – new cars – new housing – new industries. Plus a new high speed rail complex. New buildings everywhere. Its obvious they are succeeding in what they are intending. When we left Pudong airport we flew over Shanghai City Centre. Very thick pollution. Dark in colour. Something like a real pea souper. Finally made it to the Hotel at 1AM Melbourne time. We have been on the road for more than 24 hours. Monday 3rd June Blood Pressure 141/82 Pulse 83 Alarm set for 7AM. Good nights sleep. Only woke once. Excellent breakfast. Carrot and Garlic Moss available. Never heard of this before. Had a selection of a lot. Proper coffee machine dispensing American Italian and French coffee. I had 2 cups of French. Today we went to the Panda research Facility. We then had lunch Sechual Style. We then went to a Shopping Mall. We then went to the Sechuan Opera. Most of the day was spent on the bus. The Bus Driver was very skillful in his driving. The traffic is not as close as Vietnam but still quite close. Mostly cars. Not a lot of bikes. Hardly any Motor Scooters. The Panda Research Facility was slightly disappointing. Not a lot of Pandas on display. Wrong time of year to visit. They are more winter creatures. Most of them were living inside their airconditioned quarters. Not that I wanted to see lots of Pandas. I had seen a Panda in London and even then I felt sorry for the single Panda. The pens did not look natural. Lots of concrete. Still the Pandas put on a good show for the public. Wrestling and playing – then resting etc. Having a snack of Bamboo. Large crowds. A fair number of children. Lots of bamboo growing. Not the type that Pandas eat though – this type is very good at cleaning the air. Lots of walking up and down hills to enclosures that had nothing showing. Signs apolagising for being shut. The Chinese crowd seemed to join in the walking happily. No obese people like in Benalla. Took more than an hour on the bus to get there. Interesting looking at Chendu on the way. Fair amount of air pollution. Chendu has 20 million but is still classed as a smaller city – class 2. Not up with Shanghai or Beijing. Large statue of Chaiman Mao in the main square. Did he ever come here I wonder. Stopped off for lunch on the way back to Chendu. Ate Sechuan style. Large table seating 8 people. Sechuan is cook it yourself. A number of side dishes. Flaming couldron in the middle. Take your side dish and cook it in the couldron. Couldron split in two – inner and outer. One for water and one for chilli liquid. Both bubbling with extreme heat. Everyone has their own bowl of different cold sauces which they got before they came to the table. You take the cooked meat etc out of the couldron and put it in your bowl of cold sauces for flavouring. Side dishes included fungus, duck, beef, meatballs, tofu, etc. Meal was quite good. Finally arrived back at Chendu city at approx 16.40. Finally got some Chinese moneyfrom an ATM. No money exchange though. Walked up and down the City Centre Mall. As usual lots of luxury goods shops. Lots of young people walking around. At one end of the Mall there were what appeared to be lifesize statues on a modern K Pop girl group, another of a young western man looking at his mobile phone and a statue of who I believe is Jane Fonda. I took a photo and asked our tour guide and even though she comes from Chendu she had never seen the statues. Is this an example of people leaving all interest in public affairs to the authorities. Cannot get google to ask. Google is apparently now banned in China. Another triumph for Mr Trump. After we had left the main shopping area we passed through a street eating area. We had dumplings and tandoori cooked nairn bread. Both excellent. We then went to the teahouse attached to the Sechuan Opera where we had Chinese Tea. Again excellent. I dont now how this deal originated but the tea was free. You sat at a table and a man our age came around and gave us a bowel with chinese tea flakes already in it. He then poured hot water into the bowel from a steaming kettle. We had to let the tea stew for a minute or 2. When we had finished he came around and topped up our bowels. It reminded me of Mao’s time. Or how China was portrayed in the 60’s and 70’s. Simple and pure. The Sechuan Opera was a bit over hyped. Not much comparison to Peking Opera. What it was really was was a variety show in native costume. The circuses who came to Moyhu in the 50’s had much the same acts. Jugglers. Balancing Acts. Fire spitting acts. Tumbling acts. Dance Acts. This show also had impressive shadow puppet acts and face changing acts. Never seen them before and dont know how they did it. The face changing acts are native to Sechuan apparently and were a mystery. Magic even. A performer comes out on stage dressed as a historic character and does a dance of sorts. During the dance his face changes mood. Suddenly. Dramatically. Magically. How does he do it. At the end some came into the audience and did the trick close up. The show was mainly accompanied by native instruments but also had pre recorded modern music. Female announcer in both Chinese and English. Back to the Hotel at 22.00 Slept reasonably well. Still no internet. No World Service. Tuesday 4th June Blood pressure 139/87 Pulse 86 Reasonable nights sleep. Still no BBC on the internet. But The Age is partially up to date. Brendon Bolton has been sacked. Had to be ready to leave at 8AM for the fast train. Very good breakfast again. I had American Coffee and I think it was a bit more bitter than the French I had yesterday. Chendu Station is reasonably impressive. Lots of people waiting for the train. Security check before you can get into the station. Bags through a scanner. Lesser security check before you are allowed on the platform. As far as I know China has not experienced an Islamic Terror attack. Is it because of the tight security. I would say not. Lots of people inside the Station as well as outside. Very modern looking station. Modern conveniences. On the way to the Station I tried to ascertain the number of electric cars on the road. It appeared that the majority did not have exhausts. Does this indicate an electric car. No doubt there are some. Didn't see any recharging stations. Fast train is comfortable but did not go overtly fast in the early stages. Going along at 190kph. Doesn't seem fast. Traveled through mountains with lots of tunnels. Very green vegetation. Lots of trees on the hills. Place looks very Chinese. Like a landscape painting until you glimpse a town in the distance with lots of high rises. Sometimes the high rises are close to the train line. For part of the way we followed an old narrow gauge line. Narrow valleys at the base of the hills intensively farmed. Lots of terraced paddocks. Both old and new housing attached to the farms. Who lives here. China is a big country and this is a long way from Beijing and Shanghai. Lots of rivers. Lots of new rail lines. Lots of new roads. They must get lots of rain in this area. Very lush vegetation. Saw some peasant activity attending to the fields but not much. Chinese hats on the people. Chinese garb – covered up bodies. In and out of tunnels a lot. Finally got to Yishang. Smaller city. Not as many people. Roads are not packed with cars. We are at the very West of Eastern China. Six and a half hours on the train. Not a spare seat. I expected to see more socialising by the Chinese but most sat in their seats quietly. Some looked at me with curiosity. I couldn't have any conversation. We went and ate in a Restaurant in Yishang with the sign out the front - Drunk Love my Family – in English. Large place inside with lots of corridors and small rooms. We were led to a room for ourselves. We had a set menu meal and thankfully no one refused to eat what was on offer. We then took a bus to the 3 Gorge Dam. Finally got to the boat. According to an ex naval person on the trip a ship is something that has boats. If this has lifeboats then this is a ship. I prefer to call it a boat as in we are all in the same boat. As it is not all people on the same trip are in the same boat. I always have trouble understanding the motives of Australians. The majority didn't want to slum it and opted to upgrade so we don't see them. They eat in what I presume is the 1st class dining area. They have waiter service. We have the buffet. They have the Captain in their dining room. They also have better cabins. Our cabin is small but adequate. Shower satisfactory. Had to go to a meeting in the Bar to see what was on offer for optional tours. Jenny had already paid for some. I really do not want on any excursions. What I wanted was to be on a boat that slowly sailed downstream and I could watch what was happening on shore. As it is we are going upstream and we are going to be tied up for 3 days and the boat will only travel at night. Wednesday 5th June Blood Pressure 142/88 Pulse 82 Slept in fits. Hard Bed. Breakfast very good. I sampled pretty well everything. Was allowed off the boat at 9.30 for a little walk around the town. Had to be back for instructions as to what the projected 3 Gorges Dam tour entailed by 10. The town looks completely new. Only a few years old. Not large. Steep hills slope up a long way from the water line. Houses built into the hills. Blue haze interferes with looking at anything. I think that the whole of China resembles a smoke making machine because there is what appears to be smoke everywhere. But it is not all smoke. I think some is climatic. Modern brick houses though - 2 or 3 stories. Maybe these are resettlement houses for people displaced by the Dam. People selling tourist souvenirs on the street. Street stalls selling fruit and vegetables. Large Police Station. Started raining heavily just as we were about to disembark for the 3 Gorges Bus Tour. Lightning on display. Wet feet before we got to the bus. Drove around the Dam – the bus slowed down so we could take photos. We finished up at the visitor centre but not before we had gone through Security. The Tour Guide explained that this is a project of the Central Government and is owned and controlled by the Central Government so they are very security conscious. There are approx 10k People maintaining the Dam. It has a large Lock for quite large ships to go through the Dam Wall. It has a large ship Lifter – something like a lift for boats - which isn't working at present. The Dam produces a prodigious amount of Electricity which apparently goes straight to the Beijing / Shanghai / Hong Kong region. That's why the government is so security conscious. We will go through the Lock tonight. It takes about 2 hours apparently. The lift takes half an hour. Rained pretty well up until it was time go go back to the boat. This was heavy rain too. You can see how this area is affected by floods. Part of the Dams function is to mitigate flood damage. Aftereffects of rain made the place look like a Chinese Landscape painting typical of Chinese. Lots of low white cloud covering the mountain tops. Green ridges sometimes peeking through the top of the cloud. Tour Guide pointed out that even though some of the old houses were primitive they all had TV dishes attached. We had a new Tour Guide – Coco. Reminded me of Lilli. Spoke like her. Looked like her. Smiled like her. Maybe Lilli could learn Chinese and become a tour guide for Chinese Tourists in Australia. We entered the lock as we were having our formal evening meal. Women wore dresses. Captain came and drank to our health. Lock is same as conventional lock on any canal in the UK but on a bigger scale. Multiple large ships in the Lock. It is filled up with water and the ship rises to the next level. Gate is opened to the next lock and the ships sail through. Gate is closed behind them and the procedure starts again. Had a sleep before tea. Deep sleep. Wednesday 6th June Blood Pressure 123/66 Pulse 90 My brothers birthday today. He will be 69. Will he ever forgive me. Do I deserve to be forgiven? Still no rice at breakfast. Maybe they don't eat rice in this area. Food is good. Very helpful young 20 years old waiter. Adam. I gave him my card and told him to visit me when he comes to Australia, Starting to get tired. But holding up fairly well. We left our boat and took a ferry up a tributary. Narrow Gorges. Two Jar People area. We had a new tour guide who was a 2 Jar person and had taught herself English. Saw some 2 thousand year old coffins buried in cracks in the walls of cliffs. How they got there no one knows. The terrain is pumice like and twisted all ways. Obviously subject to massive movement from either Earthquakes or tectonic plate movement. Grey coloured rock. Very tall steep hills. But covered in thick vegetation. New houses have been built to rehouse the inhabitants who used to live at the bottom of the valley. They moved over a million people to new locations when they built the dam. The area looks very Chinese. Went through relatively uninhabited areas. Terrain is not suited to human habitation. We saw some Rhesus Monkeys. A distinct lack of any bird life. Came back to our boat and we then sat and watched the world go by as we sailed up the Yankse. This is how I imagined the trip would be. Had and invigorating sleep after lunch. Rice was available for once. I have overindulged in food on every occasion. Don t seem to be suffering yet. We finished up the evening with a talent quest. No westerners took part. The crew did some dances etc. Some Chinese sang. Some children sang and played the piano. Normal dancing at the end. Nutbush. YMCA etc. Jenny indulged herself in dancing. Thursday 7th June Blood Pressure 134/80 Pulse 96 Slept relatively well. Ate less food than normal. I think I’m full up. Cake is on offer for breakfast. We think that they have put the cake out for the westerners but only the Chinese are eating it. And they are eating it with relish. Some have packed plates. We woke up already tied up at a small village. Schoolchildren came to school on ferries at 6AM. Saw a duck in the water. Walked up a long hill – a lot of steps – towards the town. Ran the gauntlet of the street traders. Jenny bought some saucers with Pandas on them. Some primitive art for sale. How they make a living is beyond me. Where is the Communism I ask. Saw the ducks again. One Muscovy and 4 White. All domestic. Possibly escaped from captivity. Quacking frequently. Hot day with haze in the air. Friday 8th June Blood Pressure 135/85 Pulse 84 Another day on the Yanksie. Walked up to some stalls. Jenny bought some ceramic dishes. At 2 in the afternoon we went to the Ghost Village. Lots of steps to get there. Ghosts for tourists really. Was mostly destroyed by the Red Guards during the Cultural revolution and rebuilt in the 90’s. Lots of Ghost Stories told by our local guide. Lots of statues. Old Town has been moved to the other side of the river. Only the Ghost Town this side. Beggars at the top of the stairs with physical disabilities. Looked like completely different ethnic group. I should have given them money but didn't. Saturday 9th June Blood Pressure 150/98 Pulse 82 Last breakfast on board. Had to walk a lot of steps to get the bus. Went to old Chongquing. Walked around. Had a tea ceremony. Were not many people in the area when we arrived but soon the area was packed. Lots of people out and about. Its a long weekend in China. We then went to the Train Station. Took the fast train to Xian. Very hilly terrain. Lots of tunnels. Country is Green. Very Green. Chinese Green. Our guide was not there to meet us. We had to wait 1 hour. Sunday 9th June Blood Pressure 152/86 Pulse 77 Normal Breakfast. Took coffee up to our room. Had a touch of diarrhea. This is slightly ironic as our new tour guide for Xian announced we would have no choice in selection of our lunch restaurant the next day as Australians always have diarrhea by this time and must be taken to where there is proper toilets. I think this was spoken partly in jest. I was skeptical at the time but turned out true. Reminded me of being on the ship to England when I had diarrhea for most of the way. The upside then was I lost a lot of weight. I hope I have the same upside this time as well. We went to a tourist place selling figurines of the Terracotta Soldiers as well as furniture, clothes, trinkets, carpets – lots of tourist stuff. People buy it. You can pay to have your own image put on a terracotta soldier. We didn't buy anything. But it did have proper toilets and I was grateful. Saw a bit of the countryside on the way. The rice has been recently harvested. Xian is a very big city. Old City Wall still intact. Has a Muslim Quarter. Looks well run. Big shops. Lots of luxury hotels. Even though it is an ancient city it was always set out on a grid system. A city of blocks. Saw the terracotta soldiers. Only about 10% have been dug up so far. Learnt that all soldiers have been broken up into bits by massive earthquakes. They have been in the ground since the time of christ. The area is earthquake bound. You can see this by the shape of the landscape which is twisted and turned – up and down – round and round – to the point where you can understand that everything in the ground will be busted into little bits. There has only ever been one more or less complete soldier taken out of the ground. They are reconstructed in the building from parts. There are no two soldiers alike. This was the first time that terracotta figures as opposed to live human beings were buried. From then on they only used figurines. Every Emperor started planning his tomb from the day he assumed power. When an Emperor died they stopped any further work on his tomb and buried him. The new Emperor then started work on his tomb. This particular Emperor who owns the Terracotta Soldiers is buried close by but the government has decreed that his tomb will not be opened for another 100 years. They might have finished with the Terracotta Soldiers by then. At lunch the conversation was as usual dominated by two ex tradies who claim to speak for all Australians saying that at some slaughterhouse up north you have to be Muslim to work there. His neighbor then said the government was spending a fortune somehwere out west where only aborigines would be able to work - same thing. Another person then went on to claim that in Melbourne you are not allowed to wish anyone Happy Christmas. This prompted the women next to me to say – I’d send them all back to where they came from if they don't like it here. This prompted me to lose my temper. I said to her – Why don't you leave. I am offended by racist jokes. I meant to say I am offended by Racist Statements. She replied lamely by saying she was second generation Australian. I didn't say another word. I have listened all week to ignorant statements. Massively ignorant as well. Why some men think that all Australians think alike and hold such ignorant views is beyond me. Why so many think they talk for all Australians is beyond me. I don't like it and feel I should speak up. But would it do any good. I wanted to say – I am offended by your racist statements. I am going to leave the table and you can continue your racist talk. I only ask how you would cope if you were forced to come and live here as a refugee. But of course I didn't. I’m a coward. We went to a very large store to eat. Went up and down the escalators. The store is very modern. Very well laid out. Better than Melbourne city or Knox City. China is surprising. I had a very nice coffee – so nice I had 2 – and Jenny had a bubble tea. I was handed a card with the English translation on it. We listened to a young girl practicing her karaoke. She had the background music on her phone which she plugged into the sound system. She was quite good. A young man helped us when ordering crepes. All very western. It could have been Chadstone. The girl sang in Chinese but the song sounded western. This confrontation with our fellow passengers completely extinguished any enjoyment I might have had in the trip. In the end there was no one on the trip I liked. Or would want to spend any time with in Australia. I felt they were all ignorant philistines. All were racist. And that is speaking lightly. I kept away from everyone as much as I could for the rest of the trip. I didn't speak to anyone. If I could have I would have gone home immediately without seeing any of them again. Winter Fuel When we moved into 45 Francis Crescent we converted the fireplace to a solid fuel heater. It became a tradition with me that I would provide the wood.
Our first solid fuel heater was a Heat Charm. It was the best we have experienced. It put out a seemingly perfect heat that pervaded the whole house. You could close it down and stop even slow burning. It could smolder all day and all night. This style of heater is no longer made. The authorities do not allow heaters that only smolder. They must burn. Something to do with the smoke being offensive. The Heat Charm brand no longer exists. Our block at 45 Francis Cres contained a lot of stringy bark trees. It had lots of unused wood standing about. Left over from previous building attempts. Lots of dead trees. I would spend every summer sawing up wood to use in the heater. I would supplement what I collected from the block by getting discarded wooden containers from where I worked. These containers normally had to be disposed of so no one complained. Whatever - I collected wood and put it in an old water tank turned on its side that had been left on the block. Perfect for keeping wood dry. One year I photographed Alexander in front of the wood I had collected as I knew the photograph would go into the album and I would feel satisfaction in that it would also show how responsible I was. Of course only I would know this when looking at the photo. Fast forward to 2019. I still get the wood for our solid fuel heater. It can be argued that I am getting a bit to old for this but I will take it slowly and battle on. I enjoy getting the winter fuel and get satisfaction from it. When we had the house built we made sure it had the biggest solid fuel heater available. This present heater is not as good as the original Heat Charm but it is satisfactory. I wouldn't have any other type of heater. Of course we are contributing to global warming by burning wood. I know we are adding carbon dioxide into an atmosphere that already has too much Carbon Dioxide.. I justify this by saying that the trees I am sawing up by hand I have planted myself. Its true. Trees that I planted myself are now dieing and I am cutting them down for firewood. It is disappointing that they are dieing. Whether from age or global warming I do not know. Lack of water. Heat of summer. Extended drought. Whatever - trees that I planted myself 20 years or so ago are now dieing. Trees that I especially selected for their suitability for koalas. Trees that I selected for their suitability for bees. Trees that I selected especially for birds. A good lot of them are dieing. All the golden wattles have died. All my good intentions have mainly been in vain. We have only had an individual koala on two occasions. There is not much food for bees in the trees. The birds have probably been appreciative but small birds also attract large raptors. We also have some mature trees that have fallen over. We have one tree that was struck by lightning. This tree was a mature tree probably well over 100 years old. It was demolished by the force of the lightning strike. Debris was spread for over 500 metres in all directions and sizes. Just picking up the debris was a job in itself. We now know just how much power is involved in a lightning bolt. Believe me it's a lot. We have demolished the old wives tale that a tree struck by lightning will not burn. We have burnt the debris. We are sawing up branches. There is a small regrowth at the base of the wrecked tree which I hope will grow into a tree. In time. Sawing up wood provides lots of opportunities for reflection. I saw by using a Bow Saw. I saw by hand. I know people see me doing this and think that this is a stupid person. I do not use a chain saw. I am the equivalent of an Olympic Champion at blunting chain saws. Within 1 minute I can have the chain saw starting to divert from a straight line because the chain is wrecked. I spend more time trying to sharpen the chain than what I do sawing. You can think when you are sawing. I have learnt how to count up to 30 in German by forcing myself to count each sawing motion. It hasn't been easy. I am doing a German course at U3A. In the German course I have transformed myself back to the mid 50’s. The only difference is that I am now one of the dumb ones who sit up the back and understand nothing. I have reflected on E = Mc2. Mass and Energy are interchangeable. We store Energy in Mass by converting Carbon Dioxide to Carbon and Oxygen by photosynthesis using heat Energy from the sun. We then reverse the formula. We combine Carbon and Oxygen to Carbon Dioxide and have Energy in the form of heat as a by product. The problem is we are contributing to the Carbon Footprint. However I can claim that I have planted the trees myself. Does this get me off the hook. I am always reminded of the Christmas Carol Good King Wenceslas and the line – When a poor man came in sight gathering Winter Fuel. I am that man. Gathering Winter Fuel. I think its a worthwhile activity. I feel satisfaction when I am doing it. I even sometimes remember doing the individual sawing when I come to burn it. This gives me a certain satisfaction. Does anyone else understand? Each to his own. The year that made me was 1966. My voting habits were formed in 1966. There was an election in November 1966 but me being only 20 years old I could not vote. The big issue that dominated the election that seemed to go on for the whole year was conscription and Australasia’s commitment to the war in Vietnam. I felt it was easy to decide on how to vote. It was a matter of conscience. The moral issues were clear. After the election I was shocked at how the public voted. I did not understand it. I was taken aback at the enormity of the vote to increase Australia’s Military involvement. None of my family voted against our involvement in Vietnam. Not one. All were enthusiastic supporters of Australia's involvement. Every one spoke only in derogatory terms of people who wanted us to cease our involvement. In the early 60’s the Federal Government had prepared the people for military adventures by announcing that they would bring in National Service and conscription would be instituted. They did this inferring that Indonesia was a problem and this procedure was needed for our National Security. For me it all worked like clockwork. Time moved on inexorably along towards the day my number would be pulled out of the hat and I would be called up. Actually it wasn't numbers that were pulled from the hat but dates. The people whose birth dates were pulled from the hat were called up. The ballot that I was involved in took place shortly after the election. My birth date was picked. The election depressed me greatly. I could not understand the thinking that led to our involvement in Vietnam. I became more depressed as time went on. Quite quickly I became alienated from my family. My father for instance saw my behavior as being particularly shameful. He did not like me speaking in public. He would try to stop me and remove me from any situation where his friends might hear what I had to say. He thought that anyone who identified as being left politically could not be trusted. To vote labour was somehow un patriotic. Un Australian. He could not resist telling me how I should act and interfering in any anti war sentiment I expressed. For instance he would remove any bumper stickers I put on my car protesting against the war and conscription. I found this humiliating. I felt this showed how little he respected me. I never forgave him. Neither did he ever protest when one of his acquaintances would say to me that I should be put up against a wall and shot for thinking the way I did. My father particularly hated it when I tried to grow my hair long. He stood in front of me and insisted I cut my hair. He stood over me and made me shave my mustache off. He wasn't alone in this. Adults would walk past me in the street and make scissor cutting motions at my hair. This happened in Wangaratta. Looking back with the benefit of hindsight I wonder if they ever reflected that only a limited window occurs when males can grow healthy long hair. Experience has told me that baldness exists for longer than long hair. Did my father ever think that I had a life of my own to lead? I don't think so. I found all this behavior unedifying and not worthy of so called adults. To me the crucial point was what if we reversed the situation. I saw it as a moral issue entirely. If Australia was artificially divided into North and South what should we do about it. Was it a legitimate exercise to try and re unify the country. If efforts were made to re unify the country should we accept resistance to our efforts by foreign military forces. Adults also believed that if we withdrew from Vietnam then all countries in between Vietnam and Australia would fall like domino's to Communism. One after another. All the way to Australia. I could not see the connection between the two and felt it was immoral to say so. To me a simple moral issue existed. What was Australia doing? Was there anything remotely correct in what it was doing. The answer was plainly No. It was plainly wrong. People should have voted against it. Finally I got a letter from The Department Of Army. There was no mistaking what it was. I believed it would tell me to report for National Service. This was the end of the process. Inside the envelope was a little card that said I was not needed at this time. However I should keep myself ready to be called up at any time. I later found that the explanation for this was that the call up had produced more people than were needed so they didn't take anyone whose birthday was past October. After all I had been through I felt a little disappointed. It was certainly an anti climax. I walked out of the house and told my girlfriend. I knew I would never be called up. 1966 made me. I had started out on the right politically. I finished 1966 on the left. Subsequent events have only radicalised me further. I still think people vote for the wrong reasons. No one I know ever applies morality when they come to vote. They will vote for immoral people time after time. I am convinced this makes them immoral also How do you describe good music?
There are similarities with all good art of course. We recognise it immediately for a start. The conundrum remains though - there is good art and there is great art. On Sunday 31st March a concert was held in the Arts Gallery where music of Hayden, Kats-Chernan and Shostakovitch was played by the Strelitzia Ensemble of Cello, Violin and Piano. Haden was alright but his piece was from nearly at the end of his life and Kats-Chenan was copying Shostakovitch. The highlight of the afternoon was obviously the music by Shostakovitch. It is easy to comprehend great art when listening to Shostakovitch. Shostakovitch is considered by some to be the greatest composer of the 20th Century and maybe he is. He was caught up in the siege of Leningrad and although the music we heard was composed in 1944 after he had been evacuated from Leningrad he must had had the siege in his thoughts as he composed the music. His music sounds modern – it could be said that the music explores the human nervous system and sounds on edge - it has scratchy sounding notes – it is always in a minor key - it has dissident sounding chords – it has fractured sounding chords – it has chords that do not sound like chords – it has piano notes that jar – the violin sounds on edge - almost tinny - it all sounds very Russian if there is such a thing. But somehow the music comes together as a total work of art. It carries you along in a joyful powerful way. Nothing jars. The audience is caught up in the totality of the work. As in a great painting Shostakovitch spreads the music across the canvas in a totally balanced way. The music is complete and the audience understands this. While the work is in progress time is suspended. There will be further concerts later in the year. The public should look out fro them. VIETNAM OCTOBER 2018 Left home 22.10.2018 Monday morning around 6.30. David Treleyven drove us to the airport via KalKallo. Usual problems going through customs and homeland security. Passports not scanning etc. Taken aside to be inspected intently. Vietnam Airlines plane. Cannot help remembering the time Air Vietnam tried to become a carrier into Melbourne in 1967. Junie Morosi’s husband was their representative. President Key piloted the first plane himself. Or perhaps he piloted a Vietnam Airforce plane seeing he was an Air Vice Marshal. Whatever - its engines smoked alarmingly when he started it up. “You’ve heard about it. Now come and see it” was their slogan overlaid over a photo of mountains. I don't think many people went to Vietnam voluntarily. I would say none at all. Our plane was more or less full. The Vietnamese carry less hand luggage than the Chinese. Very smooth flight. Only 2 choices of food. Chicken or Pork. Watched the film about Churchill. Not very good. Watched Analyze This and fell asleep halfway through. I thought the film was a good idea and well made. But ultimately silly. Listened to Hi Way 61 Revisited. Surprised at the crudity of production but Dylan was the Master at this time and the songs were simply eye openers you could not ignore. Like a Rolling Stone is a tricky song. It seems to have a lot of meaning. I was one who was devastated when he stopped performing solo and gave up protest songs. Listened to Roy Orbison. What a voice. Its hard to believe that he used to come to Shepparton and give performances. Listened to Wind in the Willows. Discovered the plot was often different to both films and cartoons made of it. Go to the Bank of England museum and you will find a lot on Kenneth Grahame. They are very proud he worked for them and only mention in the fine print that his boss harassed him so much and the bank asked for his resignation. Jenny got more ill as the journey wore on. Came through enormous clouds on entering Saigon airspace. We seemed to have a passageway through amazing clouds. They were large, unmoving and impressive looking. Full of rain. And we landed in extremely heavy rain. Could hear thunder inside the plane. Long wait for all people on the tour at the airport. Finally left late at night Melbourne time to come to the hotel. We sat in the 2 front seats. Had a great view of the amazing traffic. Lots of motor scooters on the roads. Many near misses but surprisingly no accidents. Traffic much more chaotic than Beijing or Singapore. But no evidence of road rage. Scooters flow like water. Took lots of photos. Passed Independence Palace where the tank broke down the front gate and the driver raced out to put up the Vietcong flag. We are in the tours lesser hotel. We chose to stay in a 3 star hotel and not pay to upgrade. But this turned out to be to our advantage as the lesser Hotel is in a more interesting area. Quite close to food stalls and markets. Lots of street life. We ate out at the local food hall. I had what looked like soup made out of stomach linings. It was the cheapest on offer. But good. Just the thing. 40,000 dong. Back to the hotel to bed. We are 3 hours behind Tarnook time. Correction - 4 hours. Tuesday 23.10.2018 Woke up around 5AM. Blood pressure 97/76. Pulse 92. Don't know if this is good or bad. Sampled pretty well everything for breakfast. I love Asian Food. Why don't we eat it all the time. Jenny had a large panic attack because our bus and guide did not turn up on time. Was about to go up to our room to consult the circular put out by Tripper Deal when our man called Near turned up. Pretty well on time as well. We went via many twists and turns and some time on a freeway to the Mekong River. Spent over 1 and ½ hours in the bus. Then half an hour on a ferry. But an enjoyable journey. The enjoyment on this trip is to look at the scenery as we drive along. Some interesting points. Went through many roadside markets operating. Lots of motor scooters and scooter trucks on the road but not the freeway. No real big trucks off the freeway. Roads are quite narrow. Only large truck we saw on these secondary roads had a large electronic pulse generator on its roof that flashed when its horn blew. Lots of roadside stalls. Some even on a slow part of the freeway. Not an awful lot of money changing hands. Must be a hard slogging day when you spend it silently at your stall waiting for a customer to turn up. Vietnam in many ways is still the same as it was described 100 years ago. Patient roadside seller sitting silently waiting for custom. Sometimes he/she has a hammock. His goods are all on display. Its not a very efficient way of distributing goods. Its possible that Vietnamese consider running roadside stalls as being part of their culture. Its possible that capitalism at its lowest point staves off starvation for the majority of people. But there must be a lot of waste. People do not get the best of what is available. A lot of work goes into not much outcome. There must be a lot of waste of product. Observed things looking like graveyards with headstones in the middle of paddy fields and was told that indeed they are gravestones of people buried in paddy fields. Families do it to honour their forebears and it has the added benefit of discouraging families from selling the land when you have to hand over the remains of the parents etc as well. It also discourages people from buying land which has people buried in it with elaborate gravestones attached. Which I suppose also have to be kept up. It is a uniquely Vietnamese custom. Took a long time to get out of Saigon. Saigon is a big place. Saigon still has pockets of housing that could be called sub standard. It is still not up to the standard of Beijing or Shanghai or Singapore. It is large – 8 million people. Much larger than I thought. The Vietnam War gave the impression that Saigon was small and Cholon was larger. There is a fair amount of building going on. Not as much as Beijing or Shanghai or Singapore. But its getting there. Freeways are not the same standard. Traffic is much more chaotic. But we did not see any accidents. We arrived at The Mekong and then went through an area of what can only be classed as conventional jungle on an island in the Mekong. Would have been a good place for the Viet Cong to hide out. We were rowed gondola style on waterways through this jungle. Virtually impassable on foot. Probably completely impassible. The people doing the rowing were old women. We were in authentic rough wooden sampans. All very stereotypical. Lots of water plants in the water flowing down the Mekong. Saw a coconut in the water. It will eventually end up out at sea and then to another island and hopefully grow into a tree. We walked around an island and we were serenaded with Vietnamese Music using Vietnamese Instruments by the family who live on the island. We were also given examples of Vietnamese fruit. I sampled the lot. All good. Of course the usual suspects refused to eat anything. Its disappointing that there are people in our group who refuse to eat anything not from Australia. This brings out the worst in me. Another feminist illness I say to myself when I hear someone has allergies and doesn't eat anything she doesn't know about. Definition of Feminist Illness: illness that never occurred before feminism. We had a very nice meal in a restaurant on the island which finished up with a recently opened coconut to drink. Elephant Ear fish on the menu. Bland. I liked another fatty type fish that was on offer. Don't know its name but it had the taste of fatty fish. Ate lots of greens. Coconut milk was slightly sweet watery substance. Very invigorating. No wonder they were valuable during the war. Long trip back to Ho Che Mingh City (HCMC). Jenny ill for most of the way. We went to the ATM near the Hotel and got 1,000,000 dong. Everyone is making jokes about being millionaires. We ate at the same place as last night but had something different. Bought supplies from a Supermarket. Tea coffee and milk. Took some photos of the very impressive traffic in the roads near our hotel. Crossing the road is tricky even with pedestrian lights and a zebra crossing. Look out for a native and follow them is the tip. At one point we had 2 sets of caucasions at traffic lights on either side of the road both waiting for the other to move. Who was to take the initiative. No one moved so we both missed the lights. Still the motor scooters are very skilled and will miss you as they race past going against a red light. 20.19PM Blood Pressure 121/70. Pulse 90. Maybe it is the Coconut milk. Wednesday 24.10.2018 Up at 6.15AM. Blood pressure 116/80. Pulse 83. Is it the walking or is it the tropics. Ate normal breakfast. Sampled everything including guava. Near arrived on time at 8AM. Near is our guides name. He has lived in Australia - claims he lived in Springvale. Panic one hour into the journey when a phone call told him he had left 2 people behind at the Hotel. He was asked to come back to pick them up but he refused and insisted they send out another bus. We would wait for them at a sheltered workshop. It would always be extremely annoying to have to go back in Saigon traffic. Saigon traffic being so powerful you wouldn't want to jump back in after you have gotten through it. So Near didn't even contemplate it. We stopped at what was described as a sheltered workshop where they make art out of wood and eggshells so our 2 friends could catch us up. The people in the workshop are sufferers from agent orange and must have some genetic disability. I didn't think any looked particularly disabled but who knows what Agent Orange does to you. They make artwork on blocks of wood which are lacquered and super polished and show scenes of Vietnamese life. Some were Picasso inspired drawings labeled Picasso but were sometimes variations of Klimpt. I purchased a fridge magnet. Woman who says she suffers from allergies covered her nose with a tissue when she saw the eggshells. Walked around as if what she was smelling was disgusting. Perhaps she could smell whatever eggshells that have obviously been washed smell like. The sheltered workshop had a small eating area that had a snake inside a wire box about 1 square metre The snake was not happy. Hissed when I got close. Looked like it had been there for some time and as about a quarter of his cell was covered with his poo. I felt sorry for it and thought about letting it out. I should have. Finally we got to the Vietcong stronghold Cuchi. This was the real thing. Real Jungle. The type that terrifies westerners. Or used to. The whole area is still criss crossed with tunnels. Since they have not been used since reunification they are starting to fall in. But some are maintained for the tourist and some of the veterans still work there. We were shown how easy it was to disguise a tunnel entrance and how a person could disappear under the ground in seconds. We were shown how they disguised air vents by building what appeared to be termite mounds and have the outlet disperse through the termite mound. I am the worst person to bring on a tour of historic places because I am constantly correcting the guide. He was born after reunification. I knew much more about the Vietnam War and couldn't help opening my mouth about the area and what went on here. How the Americans tried to smoke them out of the tunnels for instance. Finally he asked me how come I knew all this and said it in a way that was requesting me to back off. I said I had lived through it. The area is obviously authentic and they have done their best to show how it really was. But it is now a tourist attraction. They even have paintball camps attached where you can relive the war. We could even hear the paintball guns firing but couldn't see them. You cannot see because its pretty extensive jungle. And they also have a firing range where you can shoot an AK47. An AK47 makes a very loud bang. Saw a Tank sitting precisely where the Vietcong blew it up. In the middle of the jungle. One tries to understand the mentality of Americans but depressingly its pretty well impossible. What were they thinking bringing tanks into this area. We saw models of workshops where the Vietcong manufactured weapons. Recycled bombs etc. The whole area is fairly large and there are reconstructions of pretty well all that went on there. Hospitals. Barracks. Schools. Lots of Booby traps. Places where Political meetings were held. Photos from back in the day. Etc. Finally some of us who volunteered went down into a real tunnel. Very limited room and this is where they said it was made for larger people. I knew I was in a very confined space and could have got into trouble easily if I panicked. I couldn't keep on my feet and had to crawl on hands and knees. Plus it was totally dark and we had an ex Vietcong urging us on in Vietnamese. Not the most enjoyable experience. Had to stop myself panicking. Not something I want to do again although I think it would be easier next time. The Vietcong did not have torches except what they could steal from the Americans so they had to negotiate the tunnels in the dark. No such things as batteries either. They were valuable items. I was glad it was not a more extensive tunnel system that we had to go through and was relieved when I could see light. The tunnel complex extends for 150k in total length and had outlets to Cambodia as well as Saigon. This was the Vietcong nerve centre. The Americans built a base right in the centre of the area no doubt thinking they could kill everyone. I wonder if Westmorland ever went there. Long trip back on main road which is not very wide. Roads will have to be completely reconstructed when people get cars. Saw some Rubber Plantations. Lots of roadside stalls. People selling lottery tickets on the side of roads. Saw some water buffaloes. Young ones. Brown coloured. Not many water buffaloes left. Farmer's mostly have tractors now. Saw a rice harvesting machine in action. About the size of a binder and shaped like a small baler. We went and ate at the local food hall. We finished up with a bubble tea. Yoghurt drink with black jelly balls. Supposedly milk based. Very refreshing. Cold. I don't think Vietnamese girls try to dress sexy. Very functional clothing. Very sensible. Germaine Greer would be pleased. Do they live chaste lives I wonder. Its pretty obvious when you see a Chinese girl or a Japanese girl. Or a western girl. Not only from their build but also their dress. Thursday 25th October 2018 Up at 6AM. Slept well in spite of severe back pain. Blood Pressure 117/71. Pulse 73. I had the usual breakfast. Thought about having scrambled eggs or an omelet but I didn't. You could have had cooked Pho soup but there was a bit of a queue. A rude English person half pushed me out of the way because I was holding him up. No doubt he was the typical Thatcherite British still celebrating Brexit. I have a very different attitude to the English since Brexit. We flew to Da Nang. Uneventful flight. Clouds towards the end. Don't know where the American Air Base was but pretty well all of Da Nang is now luxury hotels and golf courses. And I mean luxury hotels on a large scale. Interesting journey to our hotel at Hoi An. Saw the Danang surf beach alluded to in Apocalypse Now. We walked to the nearest Mini Mart to buy some milk. Typical small shop that sells lots of pre packaged food. We then took the Hotel Shuttle Bus to the Hoi An Market and walked around for a few hours. Ate in the market area. Every stall inside the building tries to get you to sit down when you approach. I wanted Pho and got it although I didn't think it was all that fantastic. Literally hundreds if not thousands of small cooking stalls both inside and outside the Market area. I bought some Vietnamese Tiger Balm from a blind seller. My good deed to assuage my guilt. Maybe he was blinded by American Bombs. Jenny thought he had been burned. Very hot day. Lots of sweat. Was finally able to go to the toilet. Friday 26th October 2018. Blood Pressure 130/86. Pulse 90 Did not sleep well. Alternated between hot and not so hot but still hot night. Wifi not operating satisfactorily. Was able to get The World Service on my phone though. Did not overdo the breakfast but still all Asian. Left for My Son at 7.45 on the dot. New guides name is Henry. He lives in Da Nang with his parents. Likes jokes of a slightly blue nature. Australian women laugh out loud. Sample punch line – why doesn't coconut harvester not have hair down there. Baileys Irish Cream makes it easier to please your lady. Etc. My Son is a world heritage listed ancient city. Comparable to Ankar Watt in scope and time. Buildings are similar. Hindu Temples with lots of Hindu Gods. Shiva etc. We were treated to a folk dance by an orchestra of 4 with 6 barefoot girl dancers. Walked for 2k. Saw some bomb craters left over from the war. Thick jungle rumoured to be part of the Ho Che Mingh Trail. Apparently mountains in area were heavily bombed. Some bombs must hare landed in the wrong spot but did the Americans know there were ancient temples where they were bombing. Certainly Vietcong country and that is why it was bombed. Certainly the trip from Hou An to My Son was full of interest. Saw more water buffaloes today. Did not get any photos though. An enterprising owner had one on the side of the road for tourists to stop and take photos. He was lying on its back. There are a lot of westerners (powerful looking young girls mostly) who hire bikes and it was mostly these who were stopped taking photos and obviously tipping the owner. Went through several towns of varying prosperity. Lots of small town construction going on. Lots of new houses built in the Vietnamese style. Long slim houses. Pencil shaped almost. Long narrow rectangles of 2 stories. Rectangle shaped rooms. Built of concrete. Shades of blue and yellow. White. We stopped on the way home and the tour organised lunch in a private home. Several generations involved in the production. Extremely good food. Approx 1k off the main road. We came back to the hotel where we both had a sleep. Then took the shuttle bus to Hoi An where we did much the same as yesterday. Except I had genuine street food. Jenny also. Took photos of the traders. Went into the food hall and had a passion-fruit drink. The Vietnamese fruit drinks are very refreshing. Tried to engage people in conversations asking where they were from. Is everyone Vietnamese? Are they Vietnamese from other areas. Seems to be a number of Russian and Korean tourists. Lots of Australians. Cannot tell if people are Chinese or Japanese. The Hoi An area is full of tourists of one type or another. The only thing I am prepared to say is that there are not many Americans. None really. Could not find anyone who spoke English well enough to understand what I was asking. Got a Taxi back to the Hotel. 64,000 Dong. About 4 dollars. Came home at 16.30. Blood pressure 113/72. Pulse 90. Don't know what to make of this. Saturday 27th October 2018 Up at 6.30. Went to bed early and had long sleep. Blood Pressure 133/91. Pulse 83 Day spent traveling from Da Nang to Hanoi. Saw the American Airbase or what remains of it. Large Nissan Huts still in existence from where they flew their helicopters. Had an omelette for breakfast. No lunch on the plane. Limited space. Very cramped. Not made for foreigners. Uneventful flight. Could not help wonder if our flight was similar to the bombing runs from Da Nang to Hanoi. Probably was. No surface to air missiles though. Noticed two small fighter Jets at Da Nang airport. Seemed very small – smaller than a car. Bridge that was dismantled daily during the bombing has been rebuilt. Naturally. Lots of big new buildings on way in from the airport. Looks a modern city. Traffic not quite so chaotic as HCMC. We are staying in a hotel in the Old Quarter. Walked through the old quarter to Hanoi’s equivalent of Tian An Men Square. Saw Ho Che Minghs mausoleum. The whole area is very French colonial looking. Looks as you imagine Hanoi should. We could not decide where to eat as Jenny will not eat duck and most places sold duck. Finally she had a cold meal. She claimed she liked it but I’m not sure. It annoys me that she will not eat chicken or duck and can give no explanation as to why not. It got dark as we ate and as we found our way home from the restaurant we discovered that numerous street food places had opened. We were just a little to early. But it was OK if a little expensive where we ate. I had duck and white rice. Up at 6.30. Slept well. Blood Pressure 124/87. Pulse 86. Breakfast not as extensive as Hotel in HCMC or Da Nang. We left at 7.45 AM. Went through many interesting areas. Saw several flocks of ducks. They seem to be able to stick together without any human help. These are flocks of hundreds. Saw peasants harvesting rice. People with rice drying in their front yard. Even saw one woman selling sheaves of recently harvested rice still on the stalks. She was even sweeping up her selling area to make it neater. Had the Vietnamese hat on. Everyone seems to work for themselves. It seems that the south is more mechanised than the north. More water buffaloes in the north. Finally arrived and were taken out to our boat by tender. Small cabin but with all mod cons except electric kettle. We can buy coffee etc. Admittedly bathroom is basic but how unusual it is to have such luxury in a country that was at war for 40 or so years and only stopped fighting in the mid 70’s. We had a very enjoyable lunch and then we went and had a long ride on what is called a bamboo boat. Went through a large cave to get to a sheltered bay. We then took the tender to Titov Island. Originally thought it was named after General Tito but it is named after German Titov the astronaut. Apparently Titov came here sometime in the 60’s with Ho Che Mingh and they decided to name the island after him and put up a statue. I couldn't quite get the full story when listening to the guide. Titov Island now has a beach. Jenny said it reminded her of the Soviet Union. Lots of people, families etc having fun in very limited facilities. Very small roped off area to swim in. Toilet facilities very smelly and primitive. You could climb so many hundred steps to get to the top of the island but I didn't try. We engaged a young couple in conversation thinking they came from Ireland. They didn't. They came from halfway between Glasgow and Edinburgh. They did look Irish. The girl looked like Sinhead and the bloke had red hair. We finally came back to the boat for drinks in the happy hour. We only had pinapple juice. Others had wine etc. Wine is Chilean and New Zealand and is quite expensive. $35 for white and $65 for Red. Price did not dissuade other Australians from buying bottles. Meal was OK. Different type ingredients. One type of noodles tasted like newly cut hay. A rice dish was excellent. There were about 10 courses. Half were just OK. Not hot enough for a start. To bed at 8.30. Monday 29th October We slept on the boat in Ha Long Harbour. Lots of other tourist houseboats. 18 people accommodated on this boat. Did not sleep all that well. I had pain in my lower back which could not be relieved. We did Tai Chi this morning. I am so clamped up. My body has no elasticity. I cannot move any bones. We then went into the cave system. So many hundred steps. I took it slowly and made it. Once inside it was OK. Something like Jenolyn or Buchan. But drier. No evidence of water seeping through the rocks. If anything less impressive than whats available in Australia. I am bored by this type of thing. If we come to Vietnam again I will not be going on any of the optional tours. Except for the Vietcong tunnels I have been pretty bored with all the tours. But that's just me. I would rather see the war sights. Actually there is very little evidence that the war actually occurred. We did pass some well kept graves of people I presume were killed in the war. On the way back to Hanoi we called at another sheltered workshop – this time for mentally disabled people – attached to a shopping complex called Diamond Gems - who do artworks by needle and thread. All showing scenes on Vietnamese Village life. No doubt greatly skilled in their work but I would have thought there might be a scene of a bomber overhead or soldiers in the jungle. But no. We had a cooking lesson on the boat and I now know how to make spring rolls. We all made one or two which we later ate at lunchtime. Nothing out of the ordinary except for the rice which was exceptional. The rice always is. Long bus journey back to Hanoi. Again unfortunately I sat on the wrong side of the bus to take photos. All traffic is fairly skilled at avoiding other vehicles. But there were one or two times where I watched evasive action take place to avoid close shaves. The tourist buses seem to go faster than all other traffic. Including cars. And certainly motor scooters. And large flashy double cabin Utes. The tourist buses pass everything. Why I couldn't tell. But our driver wove in and out of traffic – often on the wrong side of the road. When we got back to Town he dived back into the old quarter traffic which is something else again. Took us to our Hotel. We have a different room to before. We went to a Water Puppet Show. Held in a theatrical area. Upmarket look about it. Lots of people waiting to go into the theatres. Lots of decadent westerners sitting about having drinks and coffee. All spending their hard earned foreign currency no doubt. Tourism is supposed to be 50% of the economy but I find this hard to believe. We could have been in Europe. Maybe not America. Vietnam does sell Coke – admittedly made in Vietnam – but still coca cola. However I did not see one MacDonalds but they must be here. What Ho Che Mingh would make of it all I wonder. Would he object to how life has gone in Vietnam since the end of the war. We cannot know. The French quarter is preserved totally and he could have pulled that down when the French left. So he may accept the way the population has directed life to go. At least they are one country again. When the North finally took over they tried to impose the same austerity regime that they had in the North but this only lasted for a short while until they had a Party conference where a vote was taken and within a week every sidewalk in Saigon was taken up by street traders. They like selling on a small scale. Even now there are not many large luxury item shops. They are here but the shops are small. The Water Puppet show was a traditional Vietnamese tale. Pretty well all caucasions in the audience. The company was formed in 1968 by the government as a moral booster for the population at a low point of the war. I remember it happening. The art was developed by farmers when they had to live in water during what they call the flood season. The show was interesting enough – indigenous instruments – dialogue provided by the orchestra – no hint given as to how they do it – and not too long. Puppeteers come out into the pool at the end of the performance to show themselves to the audience.. They all looked well cared for. Well built. Professionals. It is after all the State theatrical company. They would all be privileged people. After the show we went to a restaurant called Duangs. Food OK but restaurant catering for westerners. Supposedly typically Vietnamese food. No Vietnamese eating there. Came home and watched TV. A lot of overacted soap operas and overacted situation comedies. Vietnam's Got Talent. Sports replays. Certainly lots of ads. Tuesday 30th October 2018. Up at 6AM. Blood Pressure 127/88. Pulse 83 Feel tired. Did not sleep all that well although I shouldn't really complain. Starting to get exhausted. I should have done all this traveling in my 50’s when I was capable of it. Only saw one other couple from the tour at breakfast this morning. I am not good at small talk and really I disapprove of it. “Next month is our 5th wedding anniversary” is not a statement I can respond to. Yet I heard it said yesterday morning and a lot of people cooed ooghs and aarghs.. Then replied. “Congratulations” in unison. I would never think to reply and anyway disapprove of such silly trivia. Why say it I ask. This sets me out from the crowd and makes people uneasy to be in my presence. Finally they get angry at my superior attitude. I do disapprove of their complacent attitudes and do not understand them. I cannot hide it. We had to check out at 12.30. Before checking out we walked through the old quarter looking for a place that sold egg coffee. Had to ask at several places. Finally found a place that would normally only cater for locals. Very small chairs. Had to wait a while. We sat and watched the street life while we waited. Took lots of good photos. A man in his 50’s sitting on a corner with a battered transistor radio. Dressed like a Vietcong. Did not object when I took his photo. Had a beggar woman with a bad leg ask for money. As I only had large notes I said no. She persisted for a while but I still said no. As she was negotiating with me a young man on a motor scooter stopped at the coffee shop to ask one of the staff a question. He saw her asking me and gave her some money himself. She triumphantly held the money for me to see as if to say “see – here is someone who will give me money you cheapskate”. But she did smile when she did it. The egg coffee was quite good. Its basically eggnog with coffee. We walked to the Army Museum. Passed a statue of Lenin. Probably the only evidence they attempted Marxist Leninism. Planes from both sides at the museum. A Chinook helicopter. Guns etc big and small. Some scrap from planes shot down arranged into an artistic looking pile. Not a lot of recriminations against America. Mostly reiterating Vietnamese triumphs. No talk about War Crimes. America gets a mention but not much abuse. A whole room dedicated to General Giap. What a long career. Was he ever considered for redundancy I ask. Ho Che Mingh did not live to see the reunification but General Giap certainly did. He even lived on to well after the end of the War. What did he feel. How did he think. Did the war ending take away his reason for existence. Did he have anything to say about how things were run after the war. He certainly had a lot of people turn out for his funeral when his body was transported back to his village for burial. No mention of the Chinese invasion of the 80’s. Bus came on the dot of 13.45 to take us to the airport. No problems in checking in. Internal flight to HCMC. Smooth flight with Air Vietnam. Our bags sent direct to Melbourne. When we had to go through security at HCMC I had to have 4 trays. When the Security Woman noticed I was taking a long time to get myself sorted she pulled me aside and went through everything I had in my trays. Then she noticed I still had something in my pocket so she pointed and said something harsh as if to say whats that in your pocket. I pulled out my well used hanky with blood stains on it. When she saw it she changed her attitude to one of sympathy and didn't even make me put the trays through the Xray machine. She even helped me carry them to the other side. We had to wait an hour or so for our flight. Had a Vietnamese meal which was OK for airport food. Flight back to Melbourne was uneventful. I tried watching Jumangi but couldn't hack it even though it had Murray from The Flight of the Concords in it. Listened again to Wind in The Willows again. Not much sleep. Looked out the window at Australia. Its Dry. Its Desert. Long lines of windswept dust. Fractured ground torn apart by heat and cold. Occasionally a man made road. Sometimes a fence. The landscape is moulded by the laws of physics. Vietnam was an eye opener. I am glad we went there. The same conditions still apply really as in 1954. It hasn't changed much. I do find it hard to understand why America thought it could establish a new country in the south and that the country would just stop trying to re unite. Australia should be ashamed of what it did. The short history of Vietnam is that it was already a country at 1066. The French colonised it in the 17th Century. The Japanese occupied it during the second war. The French came back at at the end of the war but were finally forced to leave the north by the Viet Mingh in 1954 after a few years of guerrilla war. America had meanwhile separated the country into North and South and reneged on an agreement to have an election. America and Australia espoused the Domino Theory and claimed they were fighting Communism and needed to commit troops to the country. They took up the political vacuum caused by the French leaving. However the Vietcong were fighting to re unify their country rather than fighting for Communism. 80,000 Americans were killed. 500 Australians. Millions of Vietnamese were killed. A greater tonnage of bombs was dropped on Vietnam than was dropped on Europe during the whole of the second world war. What were the Americans and Australians trying to do I still wonder. I never once wavered in my belief that the Vietcong cause was just and that the American and Australian cause was wrong. I lived a parallel existence. I was in Australia but I was also in Vietnam. Every minute of the day. I felt shame for the duration of the war. How We Met I first met my children the day they were born. The moment they were born to be exact. The relationship and feeling I have for all 3 was created at that time and has not been changed. They in turn have not changed and have stayed the same. The character and personality that was revealed that day has stayed in place. All three children were planned. All were anticipated with love. No gender was known in advance. All 3 births were different experiences. There were absolutely no similarities. The first was the most physically demanding. The labour was about 5 hours and seemed to be more difficult than it should have been but we didn't know this until it was over and the cleaning up was commenced. Lots of pain and not much movement. Drugs were administered but did not work. I had announced at least 1 hour before birth that I could see its head – and indeed I could see a head with hair. After a lot of further exhausting painful effort the Doctor finally held up the forceps in a threatening manner and this did the trick. The forceps looked both medieval and veterinary and did look frightening. Whatever - they did the trick and Tom was extruded shortly after without the help of the forceps. But Tom was born drugged and asleep. As soon as he came out he was whisked away to a corner in the room and tubes were inserted in his mouth and down his throat. After a short time however we could hear him breathing even if he sounded like a dentists suction tube. This was a relief. Normal breathing was soon achieved. The Doctor checked him over before he commenced the tiresome and lengthy duty of sewing Jenny up. After Jenny was sewn up Tom was handed to us. He still had his eyes closed. We both held him close to our faces. He opened his eyes. Looking straight at us. Seemingly in recognition. HELLO. Hello we both said in unison. Jenny asked for a cup of tea – the first she had had in 8 months. She had gone off tea while pregnant. Tom still looks at us in the same recognising way. The next birth was on a Saturday morning. Jenny had feelings she wasn't sure of so she phoned the hospital they said to come in. She had show. There was no urgency. No hurry. However the moment we walked into the ward area she had a massive contraction and we were shown into the birthing room. We were welcomed by what appeared to be a 19 year old girl. What had happened on the previous Wednesday was that Jenny’s Doctor had been killed in a car accident. We had not been told anything apart that he was dead. I did not exactly ask if the girl was here on work study or what school she went to but she could see my concern and she laughingly explained that she was a Doctor – the Hospital Registrar and she was here to supervise the birth. And she was wonderful. She took charge straight away. Jenny went into deep contractions close together and The Doctor announced that the birth was imminent. She just had to break the waters. Which she did and indeed the waters came gushing out like a fountain. She then told Jenny to stop pushing as the baby was coming too quickly. She said she wanted to get the head right. She inserted her hand into Jenny and held James down while keeping Jenny calm. She then extracted her hand and said OK push and James immediately came out. He almost shot out. It was like he was coming out of underwater. As he came out he put his hands in the air as if to cheer that he had made it out. He started crying immediately. He was placed on Jenny’s chest while the umbilical chord was cut and he immediately tried to suckle. He had dark hair. Lots of it. He was happy to be alive. He has not changed. The third came slowly but surely. The due date arrived. Jenny wasn't sure. Were they contractions she was having? Should we go to the hospital or should we wait. We went to the Hospital and waited there. Jenny said it felt different. It must be a girl. It wasn't a big thing. We did not mind either way. We talked as we waited. Suddenly things speeded up. Jenny said it was too quick. She felt she was not prepared. And there was no Doctor present. He was away on an urgent case. There were 2 midwives and they reassured her that all was well and they would handle it. And they did. Their technique was to urge breathing deeply with every contraction. Jenny tried but requested gas and took it in hungrily. They reassured her that everything was OK. The baby was pointing the right way. They had their listening devices and they could tell the baby was not stressed. Their listening devices looked over 100 years old and looked like they were made of Bakelite. But they knew what they were doing. They kept placing these apparatuses on Jenny’s stomach and listening on the other end. Everything was OK they both said. Just keep breathing and don't do any pushing as yet. Jenny said that she could not help pushing. She was worried she might want to go to the toilet. Not possible said the midwives. Don t worry about it. Just don't push. Jenny said she couldn't not push. OK Push they said. She pushed with relief. And Alexander was born shortly after without too much trouble. He came out like he was still in the foetal position. The first thing I saw was his testicles. There was no mistaking him for a girl. I told Jenny and she was pleased. Another boy. Alex cried for a short while but then seemed to relax and went to sleep lying on Jenny’s chest. His one characteristic different to his brothers was that when still in his bassinet he would throw all his blankets and sheets off before he woke up from deep sleep. As if he was coming up from a deep dive. He retains the ability to have deep sleep. My greatest wish in life was to work for the BBC. It is still my greatest wish. I know it will never come true. I always knew it would never happen. But nevertheless it was my dream. I will go into my reasons. Hard to explain reasons but I know the BBC is an organisation that is admired worldwide. The BBC's motto is - Inform, Educate, Entertain. From this simple thought a philosophy has arisen that I believe has not been bettered. Now what was this philosophy? Well it is sometimes explained in what it isnt. and it can be explained in what it is aiming for. I believe the BBC Philosophy is always aimed at helping the world become more civilised. It believes in civilisation. It is always on the side of decency. It wants the world to do the decent thing. The BBC thinks long and hard about these issues. The BBC is never dogmatic. It never preaches. It always tries to be fair. Orwell was a minor employee of the BBC but he enjoyed writing about and commenting on the BBC. To the point 70 years later when Orwell's writing has not faded from the public's consciousness they have allowed a statue of him to be erected outside their building and have allowed a saying from Animal Farm to be put up on their wall next to the statue. If Liberty means anything at all it means telling governments what they don't want to hear. I cannot help but think of Margaret Thatcher. Both the statue and the comment would infuriate her. The BBC has always insisted on being independent of government. This amongst other things has infuriated Rupert Murdoch and he has continually hacked away at the BBC for the past 50 years. The BBC has not always responded in the right way. They should ignore him. But they don't. It has attempted to match Mr Murdoch by going down market in places. Television News for Instance. It tries to be sensationalist much in the same way as Mr Murdoch. I don't like it. His argument is that the BBC are taking revenue off him and cannot be as independent as he is. I don't entirely agree with this - well not at all. The BBC is not necessarily taking any revenue off him. And would his revenue increase if the BBC was closed down. And could he keep up the high standards of the BBC. Would he even try. What are Mr Murdoch's aims. Is it anything other than to make money and exercise power. Enjoy himself. Does he even consider he has any responsibilities to the wider public. He probably claims that he has his thoughts on what can benefit society and he needs to push them. The closest I got to the BBC was to be in an audience. I was in a queue waiting to go into the viewing area of the Post Office Tower when a person came along the queue asking if people wanted to go to the making of a televison show. I took one of the paper forms required and filled it in. In time tickets were sent to me. The TV studio was in Golders Green. The show was the Roy Castle Show. His guest was Spike Milligan. When Spike was introduced to the audience he said "Where are we?". The crowd yelled out "Golders Green". "Are you Jewish?" Spike asked. Great laughs from the audience. This was the closest I got to working for the BBC. The producer came on stage and said he was a recent Cambridge graduate but don't let this worry you. He said he wanted us to laugh as loud as we could. He had a definitely upper class accent. I knew that I could never compete against someone like this. In Australia I had been conditioned to believe that I could never equal anyone else but I had a slight confidence that in England I maybe could amount to something. But not against this bloke. No one in the world would ever accept that I was equal to this bloke. I learned a few things. The show was taped and some songs had to be sung twice. Lots of jokes were told that didn't make the show. At the end of the taping almost a separate show was held and jokes of a blue nature were told and the resultant loud laughter was inserted into the show where the acceptable jokes were told. The show was supposed to be set in a nightclub and the people at tables had knives and forks, plates etc, glasses etc. But no food. Spike Milligan was a conventional comedian telling jokes. Playing the trumpet. Pretending he was hit in the face with a golf ball. Losing a tooth. U3a Writing
What I was wearing. Sometimes clothes feel very uncomfortable. Sometimes they feel real good. Sometimes we know we look terrible. We don't know why we just know we do. As young people we are extremely conscious of what we are wearing. Clothes are one of the most important things in our lives. Very often we love our clothes. Very often the first grown up thing we do is chose an article of clothing that we have longed to have. Very often it is an act of rebellion to buy a certain frowned upon article of clothing. Very often years later we can remember precisely what we were wearing on a particular day. We can describe our clothes accurately. Some clothes are special. We can tell you how much we liked them. We can tell you where the clothes were bought and how they came to be in our possession. We can recall the very thinking that went into picking them to wear on the day. We can recall what we spent our first pay packet on. What we bought and how long we had it. We can be walking along the street doing something mundane and suddenly realise that our clothes do not match. The colours are wrong. We suddenly consider them to be the wrong size. Or out of fashion. Suddenly our day is ruined. We can meet an acquaintance in the street and suddenly realise that we are behind the times. We know that we have no fashion consciousness. The whole world is very fashion conscious. To an extent the world is dominated by fashion. Our leaders are always very fashion conscious. Our pop stars are always fashion conscious. They set standards. We always look for trends to follow. We look in magazines and see what royalty is wearing and then magically the same clothes are suddenly also worn by other leaders of fashion. It is known that if a manufacturer can get their brand mentioned on television or in the media then their sales will be affected positively. In March 1962 I was taken into Osmotherly’s Store in Murphy Street Wangaratta by both my mother and father. I was 16 years old. My mother wanted to buy me a new suit. A nice one to wear at weddings and at church as she explained to the salesman. Of course Madam. We have a new range just come in. Not too modern she said. Black please. I was put into a change room and told to take off my clothes. I watched through the curtain to my mother and the salesman deep in conversation. I hated what was happening. I knew they would pick something terrible and when he passed a suit through the curtain I saw he was right. It was black with narrow collars. It was made of thick patterned material. It was shiny. The trousers had cuffs. It had a fake belt. All these things were awful. The trousers felt like they didn't fit when I put them on. The material felt like it was made out of some abrasive material and chafed against my skin. I knew instinctively that I looked hideously ugly. I was made to come out of the booth and walk up and down so the salesman and my mother could see how I looked. Oh - very good said the salesman. Just the thing. When I came out of the booth I noticed that my good looking cousin had also come into the store. She had seen me. She was giggling and talking to her older sisters. Pointing at me. I didn't want to be seen especially by her. There was nowhere to hide. But she saw me in this awful suit. I could not prevent it. The salesman made some adjustments to the jacket to show what it would be like if I had a tie on. See – perfect fit he said. What do you think young man he said. But he did not wait for my reply but said to my mother – shall I wrap it up or do you want it on a hanger? I said nothing. I felt awful. I was conscious I looked ugly in this suit. It felt terrible. I knew I looked awful. I could not have felt more self conscious. I could not have felt more unattractive. I could not have felt more ill at ease. My father noticing my utter self consciousness took it to be resentfulness and chided me for being ungrateful. How dare I be ungrateful. I was hurting my mothers feelings. My mother was buying me a new suit. I should be happy. They were doing me a favour. Why wasn't I grateful? Whenever I wore this suit I felt it was dirty. I felt my skin was being tainted by something unclean. I knew I looked unattractive. I knew I looked ugly. I felt the normal reaction of all people looking at me wearing this suit would be to point and laugh. I would have worn the suit on less than 10 occasions at most. I felt extremely uncomfortable on every occasion. I couldn't wait to take it off. What happened to it I don't know. I can look back now and think about it with interest. I winder why it was so terrible. I realise now that it wasn't the suit that was terrible but it was the feelings inside me that it promoted that were terrible. I was for some reason worried about what people might think of me. I wonder why we give so much weight to the perceived thought or opinions of others. What others think weighs so heavily in our minds that it could be said that their thoughts carry real physical weight. These so called opinions of others are sometimes the most important thing in the world. But do we ever really know what others think of us. And do we even care when we learn actually what people do think of us. It is the perceived opinion held by others that we bring from within our hearts that does the damage. It is an unfortunate fact that most perceptions of oneself are formed in early teenage years. We look ugly. We have no sex appeal. Our bodies are repellent to others. We are no good at anything. People will always think badly of us. We are worthless. We will never be respected by others. Our lives have no meaning and will never amount to anything. We will always be misunderstood. We will never be accepted. We are all capable of thinking terrible things about ourselves. And these thoughts are always pretty well impossible to overcome. Unfortunately. Life would be better if we could. Who makes us feel this way? Why dont we reject it when it occurs? |
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