Theme Day - Landmark

Rookwood Necropolis was established in 1865. It covers 286 hectares. There are upwards of one million people buried in the cemetery. It is the largest in Sydney. Indeed, it is the size of a suburb. Within the Anglican Section of the cemetery lies the epynonymous Serpentine Canal. The canal is an open, brick-lined drain that was commenced prior to 1890, giving employment to labourers during hard economic times. It is crossed at regular intervals by wrought-iron bridges. There has been much restoration work done on the canal and its surrounds over the last decade. The plantinga. where possible, have been returned to their original horticultural base. This is an ongoing task, akin to painting the harbour bridge.

Visit other City Daily Photo blogs and see their chosen "landmark".

Trust

At Clontarf, this assisting role is invariably taken by males.

Jack time

It is that time of year again. When the lilac blooms flutter increasingly from onhigh. When driveways are strewn with honey-traps. When those who frolic bare-footed, take their life into their own hands. Yes, our Jacaranda tree is in bloom, and whist it may not be the shapeliest tree in all Christendom, nor the most bountiful tree even on the lower north-shore of Sydney, it is OUR tree!

Travel by train (3/3)

Often, when I travel by train, I am one of very few in a carriage. I know I travel early in the day. I know, serendipitiously, I often get on at the beginning of a route. I rarely travel in peak hour, when trains and buses are loaded to the gunnels. I get scared in crowds, and the pressures inside my head beome intolerable. On a Saturday, if I am late returning from Gosford, and the train has four carriages instead of eight, we are packed in like sardines. To make matters worse, a large proportion of these travellers seem to have travel suitcases with them. Large travel suitcases. But, primarily, what you see here is how my journeys begin.

Travel by train (2)

When I visit my brother - my "big" bro'- I make tne outward journey from Sydney Central without change, to Gosford. The entire outward journey - walk, bus, train, taxi - takes three hours. The outward journey is via Strathfield, and Hornsby. The return journey is different. I take one train from Gosford to Hornsby, and then change trains to go down the North Shore line rather than the Main Western line. I shop in Chatswood, and then catch the 267 bus home with a 20 minute walk. It is a long day that starts at 6:30 am. The photo shows my connection waiting at the platform at Hornsby, as soon as my train from Gosford pulled in. It takes a while for me to shake off the movement of vehicular travel. Things are still moving, and the ground still swaying for about 10 minutes. And that is even when I bury myself in the single seat on the lower level of the carriage immediately adjacent to the stairs.

Travel by train (1)

I travel a lot by public transport. Not exclusively, but overwhelmingly. I am used to it now. It was a wrench being banned from driving, but I chose not to dwell upon it. Gosford is about 80kms north of my home in Sydney. I travel there to visit my brother. Yesterday, a steam locomotive had just arrived, full of day-trippers. In this tableaux, guess who the steam engine afficianado is.

Getting a feel for early Sydney

The Glover cottages are located on an artificial rock shelf on the east side of Kent Street. The 1820s cottage was built by Thomas Glover, the mason responsible for much of the fine craftsmanship on the government buildings commissioned by Governor Macquarie, and is said to be one of the first terrace style buildings in Sydney. Much of the adjacent rock shelves were quarried for buildings in early Sydney, like The Lord Nelson..

Bonding

What better way to bond with my younger grand-daughter than over a "Milk Coffee" biscuit? Juliet had water, and Ma had a Nespresso "Dharkan". Then we got back into kneading the playdoh.

Aussiemandias

And on the pedestal these words appear: 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away. Percy Bysshe Shelley Some short-comings I acknowledge, but all-in-all, I am so glad we had him.

Question Time

My grand-daughter often finds it a chore to get through dinner-time, even though thirty minutes earlier she had been starving and really, really needed a peanut-butter 'n' honey Sao. So, my daughter has introduced "Question Time". Tonight, Alannah asked, "How do you make glass?" Mama opined that somehow sand was involved. Papa phoned his friend, Mr Google. The child was satisfied with the explanation that a part of sand was heated so very, very hot that it melted. This sand is on Clontarf Reserve beach, but not protected by the shark enclosure. Being a calm, harbour beach, there are not many shells. There was an array of beach ephemera though, sufficient to engross this photographer.

Figment upon a Fez

The design engineer could probably see his dream in his imagination, but like many things in life, had trouble getting the vision to flow out the tips of his fingers. Perhaps it is simply a chap being held at gunpoint with a penny-bunger shoved in his mouth. Perhaps it is the last resting place of a fez afficionado. Perhaps it is a concept drawing for Escher's "Waterfall". One of the saving graces of the seaside, is that stunted genius lasts until the next tide.

Diplopia ... seeing double

Having achieved our aim of arriving early, the beach, although not deserted, was quiet. The Spring sun was above the ridge, but still low enough to cast a long, clear shadow. The sea-weed had hung there for many a day so, although wet, was not moist. It was shrivelled and taut, with a pungent smell. Looking more like reinforcing bars for a concrete slab, than shark-proof netting, the enclosure provides security, even though a Wobbegong could easily slither through.

Something for everyone

On Fridays, I walk over to High Strret shops. I enjoy the shops: the people are more like me, than the, probably, equally lovely people who frequent the Castlecrag shops. There is a myriad of ways I can mooch to my destination, and I am working my way through the variety. I nearly always, however, walk through, or around Willoughby Park. It was relatively quiet today, but the sky could account for that. There is a concrete path around the playing fields, which accommodates cyclists, scooter(ists), skate-boarders, walkers, and walkers with a leashed friend.

On the outside of the pathway - in the "corners" of the park - are: cricket nets, enclosed playgrounds for young children, a pre-school, a rotunda, and a community hall. There are picnic tables galore, and a couple of coin-operated BBQs. It is a lovely, friendly, family place to be. As I wobble along the path, nearly everyone returns my smile.

Back to the future ...

Pleasant seems underblown, yet idyllic seems overblown. I hate to say it, bit the perfect description for Clontarf Reserve is "1950s". Could that possibly be an adjective? For mine, the beach is not commercialised. Yes, there is a Whippy van, but not under that name, and it sells coffee and croissants. I gather the cafe, Clonny's, ceased. Yes, the parking metres are daylight robbery, but there are free spots if you arrive early enough, and are prepared to hoof it a bit. There us not loud music. There are not ball games over nets by people with sculptured bodies. Yes, there is a lovely multicultural mix. I guess it is the family orientaion that appeals to me.

Ageing before my Eyes

This Banksia serrata (Old Man Banksia) is on the verge, two-doors up. I guess it takes but a single season to go through the stages of development of this flower. When the kids, invariably, whack off the "old man", I collect them to scatter through my garden. The Banksia serrata is not to be confused with the Banksia grandis (Bull Banksia). The Old Man is found in the SE of Australia, whereas the Bull is found in the SW of Australia. Natively speaking.

Time 'n' tide ...

... wait for no man. Shark-proof enclosures abound on the still, warm beaches within Sydney Harbour. This is Clontarf, yet again, which is on the eastern side of the Spit Bridge. There have been 30+ fatal shark attacks within the entirety of the harbour, the first in 1791, and the most recent in January 1963. I guess they make an impression on the general populace. The enclosure at Clontarf was constructed in 1949. The Mayor at the time was Bob Scharkie.

Already? Groan ...

For mine, the beginning of December through to 5th January is enough.

Traditions have to start somewhere

This was a Sunday, right? We left home at 8:15am, both kids lathered with squillion+ sunscreen. Not hard to find a free car park at that time. We left for the return trip home about 11:45. Perfect. The crowds were beginning to swell, the heat was beginning to sting, and we only had two swimming nappies! Two other families joined us, six little girls in total: Gracie, and Tilda, Annabel and Eleanor, Alannah and Juliet. Lanuages covered were French, Dutch, Swedish, and English. It was a great morning. The older girls entertained each other, and the two "babies" were left to do their own thing without being over-ridden by big-sister. Mummies and Daddies chatted, sipped coffee, and exercised the eyes in the back of their head. Such a lovely family beach. Hardly anyone aged between 12 and 30. I suspect they were all down at somewhere like Coogee.

Apropos of time standing still

One of the venues for SAG, the Society of Australian Genealogists, is in Lower Kent Street. I catch the 207 bus from the end of my street, which gets me to York Street outside Wynyard Station. From there I hoof it (avec cane!) through a maze of underground passages and cycle paths (bless Clover Moore's little cotton socks!) over to Kent Street. I have not yet been able to walk past "Cava", without a coffee and croissant, warm but otherwise plain. Today's course was "Researching and Understanding the Convict Sytem in NSW". Which was quite ironic, as whilst sipping my coffee, I was in The Rocks, where the convicts were tossed in those first turbulent days of the colony.

The overwhelming need for symmetry

Back in the '80s when my children were kids, and even I was a young slip-ofa-thing, we were devoted to "Mastermind"- amongst others. It took perhaps two turns from me for those sweet poppets to twig that my poor old brain craved balance. This front entry in Alexander Street is most pleasing to my eye. However, that Murraya hedge (or is it English Box?) is a smidge out of kilter.

Rituals of the summer lifestyle

One of the rituals of life in Sydney - living close to sparkling water, and clean beaches - is the family trip to the sun'n'sand each weekend. We have already had a number of days over 30C, and more are promised, or threatened! The Northbridge Baths are about a 10 minute drive, and nestle on Middle Harbour. As the warm weather really gets into the swing, it is best to arrive at our favourite beach spots - Northbridge Baths, and Clontarf Reserve - before 830am, and leave before midday. This way we beat the parking hassles, the traffic hassles, the crowd hassles, and the heat hassles. And we reckon the coffee is better earlier at Clonnys.

Movement

I had intended to enter the October Theme Day, but sill could not get around having my photo upload blocked. Then, suddenly, I was back in action again. No idea. I think this tree of mine must drop over a million leaves during Autumn. It takes me all April, May, and June to rake them. That is a lot of movement on my part. But, I like to ponder the movement made by each individual leaf over its cycle.