A reflection - Mind Tricks

Random woman looking out to sea on the rocks near the Bogey Hole, South Bondi

The mind does play tricks, I concede.

My grandmother moved to Blair Street, North Bondi, in August 1956, six weeks after her youngest son died in London, and the same month as my father upped-stumps and moved his protesting family onto a farm out the back of nowhere. We stayed with her for holidays every summer for well-nigh ten years after our diaspora.

Aye, I remember it well – and fondly.

The walk down past the ‘stink pipe’ to the terminus where ancient green and gold trams spewed forth their loud day-trippers. Hopping gingerly along the uneven expanse of hot concrete, down past the pavilion, until reaching the cool of the slowly withering Norfolk pines along Campbell Parade, being killed by the southerly busters, laden with salt.

Running back along the hard, wet sand from the Bogey Hole to the mermaids below Ben Buckler - mermaids that were ‘stolen’ regularly. Getting Grandpa’s prescriptions filled by the chemist, Mr Roper, and the interminable wait for the Kodak 400 ASA film to be developed.

The mind is selective, and does not ‘do’ perspective. My grandmother had a cabinet television in her dingy lounge-room where there was ample latitude to watch Fred and Ginger in a ‘bigger than Ben Hur’ spectacular crafted all the way back in 1938, before the beginning of time, even. How could she fawn over films that were so old and dated?

Yet, I travel in the blink of an eye back to the summer of 1963.

Dad and I on top of the brand spanking new AMP building in CQ, December 1963

I have researched the term 'bogey hole' and there is information in a comment. This is my contribution to the Weekend Reflections community.

A reflection

When You Are Old When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face among a crowd of stars. William Butler Yeats

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Crawling 'round the harbour

There was a regularity to his arm movement: over, down, through, push. Keep the flutter kick going. And a random breath every so many strokes goes down a treat, too.

To the victor, the physical accomplishment; to the viewer, the mesmerised meditation upon life. People watching is balm for the soul.

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Weekend Reflections - Jostling for supremacy

On George Street, a block down from the town hall, the old and the new jostle for supremacy. The new is represented by the concrete, glass and aluminium of the Hilton Hotel (c. 1970). The old is represented by the sandstone, glass and copper of the Queen Victoria Building (c. 1898).

You realise, of course, that those dates are meaningless as both buildings have had extensive make-overs through the years, both inside and out. The QVB maintains its original appearance more so than does the Hilton. However, inside the Hilton is the 1893 Marble Bar, which, although maintaining its 'scaffolding' has also had a nip here, and a tuck there.

That is what cities do: they metamorphose to meet the needs of commerce.


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Weekend Reflections: Water, wind and light

Astounding, isn't it?

Parts of the water look glassy and glutinous. Yet light can be imploded in this way, totally mangling a simple reflection of a flag.

I quite like it. But I like Picasso, and Dali, and Bacon.



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A pleasure of the flesh

Out along The Finger Wharf, jutting into Wooloomooloo Bay, there is a small Spanish cafe, Velero, which serves exquisite tapas and Rose to take one's breath fair away.

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Her jewel sea

Roberto was expectant, he could not settle, he wanted their arrival complete, for them to be seated, for his eyes to feast upon their love. He had shared this evening with them every year for the previous fifteen, they were as family to him. He fussed over them, he smoothed their every wrinkle, he gave to them an attention that he spared for few others. They allowed him now full reign over the menu, over the quantities, over the progress. They granted him this in appreciation. And, yes, in love.

He quivered at their history, at the sixty-five years, at the family that spread organically into the community. He paced the parlour, inspecting his nails, brushing a mote from the pressed seam of his trouser. He roused with the growing bustle in the foyer, they were here, flanked by three generations of sons.

His bow circumscribed his deep affection.


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Emphatically speaking

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In days of old when knights were bold

In April, I attended my very first historical reenactment festival. 'Iron Fest' was held in Lithgow a small town west of Sydney. The enthusiasm of the participants was infectious.

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Caught red handed

Frollicking on the harbour in 'Radar' a Balmain Heritage ferry, I befriended this old codger and his wife who both had a great sense of humour.


So would I, if I had a hip-flask in my back pocket!


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Weekend Reflections - Hastings River

We sat in quiet harmony, supping our steaming coffee, munching on a shared apple-danish and reading the weekend paper. The weather crept steathily up the delta from the ocean, as the sky painted the river with dread.


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Awash with colour

In the early ‘60s the Ord River in the north of Australia was dammed to create an irrigation area. During my recent tour of the Kimberleys, I took a three hour trip from below the dam wall of Lake Argyle down to the outskirts of Kununurra. This was no lazy-Sunday-meander. There were two speeds: hang-onto-yer-hat-fast & stop.


Over the millennia, as the Ord cut through the red rock of the Carr-Boyd Ranges, towering cliffs were left to overhang the river. On our whizz-bang scoot down the river we carved out a massive wash. This wash played merry hell with the previously immaculate reflections.



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Theme Day - Reflections on an ancient land

Top two images taken on the Chamberlain Gorge near the junction with the Pentecost River, west of Kununurra in Western Australia

Bottom two images taken during a walk into Cathedral Gorge in the Bungle Bungles in Purnululu National Park between Halls Creek and Wyndham in the north of Western Australia

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Weekend Reflection - Digging yourself into a hole

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Weekend Reflection - On sacrifice

Macquarie Place, along the Bridge Street boundary reflecting The Lands Department building

Deep in the shade of a Moreton Bay Fig in one of Sydney’s ‘precious places’, resides this unassuming fountain completed in 1960. It is a memorial to John Christie Wright a Lieutenant in the 20th Battalion, AIF, killed in Bullecourt, France, 3rd May, 1917. Born in Aberdeenshire, Scotland, he emigrated to Australia in 1912, and was 28 years old when he died.

‘He was a man who could ill be spared, but, having heard the cry and call of duty, he went forth to fight for the liberty of others.’

John Christie Wright was a sculptor and a painter.

Macquarie Place is ‘precious’ because it is the cradle of our nation, just as tomorrow is ‘precious’ because it is the forge of our nation, ANZAC Day. This is a precious day, not just because of one battle. It is precious because men and women, Australians all, went far away from home to stand up for something bigger than any individual, bigger than any nation. Concepts that straddle nations: comradeship and freedom.

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Weekend reflection - the Rosamunde andante

Acting as a buffer between performer and audience, the lily pond snuggles along the front of the sound shell at the apex of the Barrangarra amphitheatre which is the home of Four Winds. As well as an array of lilies, the pond contains frogs. Frogs which respond to Schubert's music. Searching through Frogs of Australia, I have determined that the critters in question were Eastern Common Froglets. Their presence was a delight.


The second movement, the andante, from Franz Schubert's String Quartet #13, 'the Rosamunde' was played by the Flinders Quartet with Erica Kennedy on first violin, Matthew Thompkins on second violin, Helen Ireland on viola, and Zoe Knighton on 'cello. These images of a lily opening were taken before and after the full performance by the Flinders Quartet, my favourite performance of the weekend.


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Weekend Reflection - Now look here

The book "The Birth of Sydney" was edited by Tim Flannery who wrote the introduction. The magnifying glass was willed to my father by Olive Sylvia Annie Cole (1888- 1987), his mother's spinster sister.

Left: Olive standing on the left in 1924 aged 36 Right: Olive in 1979 aged 91

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Weekend Reflection - Early morning light

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Weekend Reflection - She would not be amused

The Queen Victoria Building reflected in a more modern building on the western side of York Street

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Weekend Reflection - Red dinghy

Moored at Darling Point wharf, Sydney Harbour, early morning.

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