Editor Des….that’s me.

Hello, I am very lucky to be alive and able to tell this story. The full details have never been revealed before. You are reading what is known in my profession as  A SCOOP!

Well down in the corner of our garden  in the Blue Mountains there is a little stone house that used to be called Frog Hollow.  It was always decorated with flowers. A friend of mine lived there and I loved visiting him. Unfortunately,  Hoppy had a life-changing accident and had to move closer to the village.

Hoppy kept a lovely home.

Anyway, a few weeks ago some unknown ‘beings’ moved in and transformed the property into a sinister place called FORT X.  My guardian Pauline Conolly  told me to stay well away, but I just couldn’t.  One night I sneaked out and  rode down on my trike to investigate. You could say I’m a bit like  Detective Colombo, except I don’t wear a raincoat……only a jumper.

There was a sign on the  FORT X gate saying KEEP OUT, but I took a deep breath and went in. I am quite brave really.

I  waited until the sun rose, then peeped in the door. A sort of elfy person (yes, elfy, not healthy)  was holding a big  box. He took the lid off and I got such a shock at what was in there that I inadvertently  (good word eh?) whistled.

Could hardly believe my eyes.

Next thing  someone whacked me from behind. CRACK! I was out like a light, Mate.

No idea how long I was unconscious. When  I finally woke up I couldn’t see or hear a thing, couldn’t move a muscle, and when I yelled  ‘ Help Pauline! ‘  it came out like  I’d whispered  ‘Elpleen ‘  with a mouth full of  cotton wool. Oh my word, I thought I was a goner!

Pretty soon things were crawling on me and biting me; ants and spiders I suppose. Extremely horrible.

Over the next couple of days I would feel vibrations as Pauline clumped past in her gumboots. I’d splutter out; ‘Elpleen!…. Elpleen!’   But she didn’t stop and ‘elp,  she just clumped on by. I cried a bit because I was so hungry and my head hurt. Also, it was going to my 18th birthday  very soon and what if I died and missed the big day?

SALVATION

Finally,  early on the third morning I heard that familiar clump clump and before I could mumble anything at all I heard Pauline shouting…‘DES!! WHAT ON EARTH….’   Guess what? I’d been tied to a tree with a black stocking over my head. Can you believe it?

OH NO!!

It was such a relief to be rescued that I didn’t even mind being told off. Had to spend a couple of days in bed because I had concush…. concusion and  a gash on my head.

Sick and sorry.

Here’s  why I couldn’t speak properly when I was tied to the tree.. My assailant  had squashed a note in my mouth and it said; ‘ Tell anyone what was in that box and  you’re as good as dead, you fat  fur ball.’

What a load of  rubbish. I’m not even fat!  Do you know what was in it?  Three black and gold ……

YOU CAN LEAVE ME A MESSAGE OF SYMPATHY AND SUPPORT IF YOU LIKE. AND A BIRTHDAY WISH. HA HA. I’LL BE ABLE TO DRINK AND VOTE. PAULINE SAYS I’M NOT MATURE ENOUGH TO VOTE, BUT I AM. I DON’T THINK SHE IS THOUGH.

Most of my garden seats are made from ‘found materials’; concrete blocks, stumps, slabs of stone  and bits of timber I deem wide enough to sit on.

My impatience when I have a notion to create a new one knows no bounds. Fortunately my aging muscles seem to rise to the occasion.  I cannot bear to wait even five minutes for help.  Whenever I walk by this giant slab  (excavated from some long forgotten location). I marvel that I was able to lift it onto the supports. I should hide those ugly paver columns, in fact I’m sure I did, but something must have died,

Among the grevilleas.

Stumps make perfect seats, especially if the chainsaw has made a clean slice at the right height. It’s always sad when a tree has to go, but at least there can be a  lovely memento. The one below comes into its own in autumn, when it’s surrounded by one of nature’s colourful carpets.

‘Faith Seats’ are a special feature in my garden. One must have faith that the  spiders in the stumps are asleep, and are not  deadly Funnel Webs as some people insist they are. My associate Editor Des sometimes ‘fishes’ for them.

Come on out and identify yourself Mr Spider.

I’m not the only one to use my seats. Our resident Wonga considers the one below one  his very own. It’s his woodland wooing seat.

Clearly a  successful courtship.

When the wongas are absent I get a chance to use the bench seat myself. It’s a good spot for reading, and watching all the other birds,

Seat of learning.

This seat below is often used as a table by a currawong.

Not much for lunch.

Tasty though.

My chamomile seat wasn’t a great success. It was in the wrong position, with not enough sun.

My chamomile seat beside Christmas lilies; was created a fragrant memorial to my mother Myra.

I was inspired to create it during a visit to Sissinghurst.

How lovely is the seat I saw at Sissinghurst?

WINTER

In July, fragrant Daphne flowers behind a stone seat. It’s a pleasure to sit here in the winter sun. This is the only ‘store-bought’ one I have.

A fragrant winter spot.

I also have a pair of chairs  rescued from a council throw-out in Bondi. They are made of iron and surprisingly durable rubber strips. So far they have survived several years of sun and snow.

A cushion of snow

At AFL football final time in early spring I decorate one of the chairs in the colours of my team, the  Sydney Swans. Fortunately, camellias are in full bloom and  look great threaded through the rubber.

Go the Swannies!

Editor Des  is pictured swatting up on gardening. His little friend is being kept quiet with a chocolate bar.

Lunch, and a seat on which to dream of  visiting distant lands.

It’s true, most gardeners don’t spend enough time just sitting in the garden, and I don’t either. Well, except when the lavender and roses are in flower.

My favourite spot  amid the lavender,  looking towards a little rose garden.

A CONTINUING KOOKABURRA CONNECTION

TAFFY

TOFFEE

Toffee (L) and Taffy (R)

In June or July every  year a pair of kookaburras arrive in my garden at Blackheath, in the Blue Mountains of New South Wales. The rest of the time  I only see them in the distance, and hear them laughing  and chattering with their extended family. Their regular visits  are one of the special joys of winter, along with fragrant daphne, AFL football  and warm, wood fires.

I call the birds   Toffee (left) and Taffy.  Toffee has lighter head feathers, so they are easy to tell apart. I think of her as the female, although I don’t  really know for sure. . Apparently kookaburras mate for life, so I hope nothing nasty happens to one of them. They live for about 15 years in the wild.

Toffee  and mate Taffy.

Back in Pauline’s garden.

Nature being what it is, their behavior is not always so sweet. One day I spotted them squabbling over a poor mouse. What a dreadful way to go! Taffy appeared to have the better hold. I think they mainly live on lizards and snakes, and frogs down in Pope’s Glen Creek.

Tricky situation for the mouse.

Day after they arrive on the balcony rail of the deck. I presume they are watching their reflection in the windows, but they never seem agitated. I don’t feed them, and they rarely  use the birdbaths. However,  they become quite friendly and used to my presence. Taffy is on the left in the shot below.

Beside the deck is a Japanese maple that has coral coloured bark in spring. It adds a slash of colour when the trees are bare, and is a pretty backdrop to the kooka photos.

Snuggling up!

My young associate Editor Des was a bit unsure of the visitors at first, especially Taffy. However, they eventually  became friends .

You lookin’ at me?

That furry little fellow is here again!

Des’s friend Milly was even more cautious. I think this was Toffee.

Milly meets Toffee from a safe distance.

Kookaburras are such characters. I’m delighted that the dear old kooka is the official bird for New South Wales.

Ain’t love grand?

Last year I watched them coming and going from their nest hollow. It was too far away to document with my little ‘point and shoot’ camera.  And with chicks  to care for they no longer had time to sit and bond on my deck.

UPDATE – A few days ago  I saw Toffee and Taffy  sitting together high on a gum tree branch. Goodnight my friends. I hope you will be back soon.

Day is done.

Hello, from me….Editor Des of Blackheath.

We have so many bees at our place here in the Blue Mountains. I know, because I  help my guardian Pauline Conolly look after the garden.   Or  rather she helps me…ha ha. Of course the bees are asleep now, keeping warm in bed until springtime.

Baby birds and bees don’t like the cold.

Pink horse chestnut.

When  my dear  Grannie Jean was in hospital  the only thing she really liked to eat  was  bread and honey. I thought that  if I could find some for her it would smell and taste like all the beautiful flowers in our garden. She could pretend she was walking about with me in the sunshine.

The bees love azaleas.

Correa Flower

Pauline told me that sometimes bees make their honey in hollow trees  And do you know what? I FOUND ONE! It was a gum tree  in the bush near our house.

Well, sad to say there was nothing in there except  some very angry ants.  Some (23) crept into my jumper and bit me on the chest. And on my arm too.

In the end I thought the sensible thing to do would be to ask a bee where to find some honey.  I met one on my broad bean flowers,  but he  wasn’t at all helpful….or kind. His bite was far worse than the ants. He said he didn’t slave away all day for the likes of me!

Oh dear me!

It’s a hard life.

Pauline had to put a band-aid on my nose.  A friendlier bee apologized, but  said he couldn’t tell me where the honey was because it was a secret. ‘Well that’s not very fair,’ I said.’You and your mates take all our nectar, so we deserve some of the proceeds…….ie; honey!’
I could see this one understood my position.

He buzzed around the garden for a while (thinking I guess) , then he came back and said. ‘Here’s what I’m willing to do, mate. I’ll leave you some honey in a flower tomorrow under the tulip tree. Alright?’

I thought he would forget to be honest, because (unlike bears)  bees have quite small brains. But next morning I had a look and there it was. Just…wow!

I scooped some out with a little spoon.  And do you know what ? Grannie Jean  loved it.

I took this to Grannie Jean

Table top dancing with Grannie We had plump pudding and honey  sauce for Christmas dinner..

I might buy a beehive next spring  and produce my own honey. The little girl in the photo below is Gaia, who lives in England. She just might be the littlest beekeeper in the entire world. Gaia is a junior apiarist….that’s the proper word.

All suited up. (photo courtesy of Gaia’s mother)

I could have a stall at the Farmers’ Market. I would have a label saying Editor Des’s Floral Bouquet Honey.

In loving memory of Grannie Jeannie. (1924-2017)

What a joy the busy  Blackheath Growers’ Market is. Mind you, I’m glad I can walk up there. These days  people have to park their cars  almost down to my own house near the duck pond.

Arrive early!

It’s held on the second Sunday of the month at the Community Hall in Gardiner Crescent. With additional  stalls in the park behind around 60 growers and producers are represented.

There are always lots of people sitting in the  sunshine with a coffee listening to  live music. Yes, we do have sunshine in dear old ‘Bleakheath’.

Must confess  I am usually too busy buying goodies to sit down for long.

Fresh berry muffins.

I loved the presentation; an individual box, with all the style of a French patisserie.

Back home for morning tea.

Don’t you just love figs? And chocolate?

Lovely on icecream.

Let’s not forget the fruit and veg.

Fresh produce from Orange.

I suspect someone from Leura or Katoomba  crept up the hill and tampered with this sign!

WINTER CHILL

The Farmer’s market is as popular in June as it is in January. Mind you, everyone is a lot more bundled up, even the singer!

Feeling the cold but warming hearts.

Hats and scarves and warm coats.

So cosy.

Warm, but very smart!

The queues for coffee and  comfort food are pretty long.

Delicious.

Well, we burn a lot of calories here in winter!

A touch of the tropics.

Pop around the corner and there’s  a craft market  in the old Presbyterian Church Hall in Wentworth Street. On other Sundays the stallholders are across the railway line at the RSL Club.

Lots of homemade craft goods  here and, oh my word, the most heavenly fudge. I bought mango/coconut and  coffee/chocolate.

To die for!

For details of the craft market click HERE.

I’m not sure how one goes about having a stall at the Growers’ Market, but my  young associate Editor Des wants one, to sell his kitchen garden produce.

Ready for the Blackheath village market.

Just quietly, I think Editor Des’s  prices might need a bit of adjustment.

Writers spend  lot of time alone, so it’s great to get out  occasionally to enjoy the social buzz of a café.  There are plenty to choose from in my Blue Mountains village of Blackheath.

Altitude –  Good name for a café in the Blue Mountains. Last food orders at around  3pm, which can be a trap for the uninitiated. The ambiance is not quite the same since they moved from next door.  On the plus side, the breakfasts are great and  the Melting Moments  are pure heaven (mostly butter and icing sugar). Of course sometimes the words just don’t flow smoothly… even after an injection of butter and caffeine.

Sorry, messed up the coffee art before I took this pic.

Not much progress.

Anonymous –  I feel I should use  a pen name when I work here. I’ve yet to enquire about the name, but there are certainly photos of nameless people on the wall.

Every one Anon.

There are times when I suddenly remember long overdue projects and feel too guilty to order a treat with my coffee.

Oh dear, procrastination is a curse.

Bakery on Wentworth – Famous for  its sourdough breads and old-fashioned pies. Follow the aroma of fresh bread down Wentworth Street. It’s located opposite the  local medical centre, so unfortunately  GP’s can spot their patients sneaking in for too many carbs and calories.

July equals- hot chocolate.

Blackheath Deli – Since I was writing about Australia in  the 1950s  the day I came here, a lamington  seemed appropriate. Very few seats, so only to be  used in their quiet periods. 

An old classic.

Blackheath General Store – Be careful when ordering at this café. I pointed to a plate of plain scones in a display case and said. ‘A flat white  coffee and one of those scones please.’  And look what arrived. Well I didn’t like to create a fuss, so I  had to eat the lot.

.

A bit fancy!

New Ivanhoe Hotel. – There’s rarely a lack of seats in a pub. I was drawn to this venue when I heard they had a coal fire. Now I’m not in favour of burning coal, but apparently it produces a particularly cosy heat.  Lithgow ( further west)  still has a working mine. Of course the wretched  fire wasn’t going when I ventured in.

The atmosphere of the Ivanhoe is summed up by a collage clock on the lounge mantelpiece. A pot of tea seemed more appropriate here than coffee.

Tea and toast.

Half past a fanciful figure.

Govetts Café – In Collier’s Arcade. An old favourite of mine. They will give you a password for free wifi if you need it. Located beside and opposite Glee Books.  My first  book  The Water Doctor’s Daughters was given a front row seat here.

Move over Dan Brown!

Winter special.

Public Library –  No food or drink at the library of course, except for free chocolate hearts on Library Lovers’ Day (February 14). On the plus side there is free wifi,  spare power points, and  a quieter atmosphere than  cafes and pubs.  It’s only open  four days a week, morning or afternoon, so one has to check in advance……. or have a good memory. The librarian bearing chocolates in the photo was at Katoomba library, but they do send some ‘up the hill’.

So warm in winter.

Library Lovers’ Day chocolate heart.

Victory Antiques Centre Café –  This space is very dangerous if, like me, you love antiques. I accidentally bought an antique writing desk recently. I suppose I could claim it as a tax deduction. Mind you, the attached  café is a pleasant spot for a working lunch or afternoon tea. The tables at the back are best; quieter and away from  drafts when the door opens. To be avoided on weekends and school holidays as it’s a real tourist draw.

Hard to beat a Devonshire Tea.

Wattle Café  – a worthy finale to the list, especially in winter.

How cosy!

Writing in cafés  is generally a solo experience, unless you can find a like-minded  soul who doesn’t have much to say. My associate Editor Des comes along occasionally. Rarely interrupts, bless his heart. Did he come up with any ideas? No.

A few words of wisdom  for fellow café culture types.  Don’t outstay your welcome.  Avoid busy periods.  Spend a decent amount of money.  Oh, and borrow a few library books.  We don’t want any branches closing down, especially Blackheath.

I never really stay that long, because the call of home is too strong. There’s always a  warm fire, and  free coffee made by Barista Bob, who even turns his hand to coffee art on occasions.

Well. I write about birds a lot.

Writer’s nest

On the hunt.

I think, at a child’s birth, if a mother could ask a fairy godmother to endow it with the most useful gift, that gift would be curiosity. Eleanor Roosevelt.

What wise words;  especially for future scientists….and writers! English crime novelist Ann Cleeves was  asked what motivated her to become a writer and her answer was; ‘Curiosity’. When she was a probation officer she was fascinated by the reports on her clients. However, she was frustrated that she was unable to change the outcome of cases and began to write fiction.

I think curiosity is the only trait I have that gives me any licence to write. I was the child who sat quietly listening to all the dark old family stories told over endless cups of tea. I write non-fiction, which is why many of my stories have no ‘happy’ endings…or any resolution at all for that matter.

These days one’s curiosity can often be satisfied via Google, but writers like me still need to delve into old manuscripts within libraries.

What wonderful places they are. My personal feelings are similar to those expressed by Germaine Greer;

Libraries are reservoirs of strength , grace and wit, reminders of order, calm and continuity, lakes of mental energy, neither warm or cold, light or dark…In any library of the world, I am home, unselfconscious, still and absorbed.

THE  UTTER JOY OF RESEARCH

However, Germaine did not mention the sheer excitement of research. It is a mental treasure hunt, with wonderful moments whenever a nugget of vital information appears.

Author Stephen Scheding understood perfectly. While researching his book A Small Unsigned Painting, he spent hours at Sydney’s Mitchell Library searching for a telephone number in an old directory. His joy when successful was unbounded; ‘I can’t believe it. I want to shout out in the vast muffledness of the library. I want to tell all the other researchers. I know that they would just love to share my triumph…..I rudely jump the queue at the front desk to get the Sands NSW Directory off the reference shelf. I haven’t got time to explain my frenzied manner, but I’m sure the other researchers in the queue would understand…..’   Yes, we would, Stephen.

I suspect it was the gleam in the eye of people like Scheding and myself that prompted the NSW State Library to hang a sign on the stairs asking patrons not to slide down the bannister. (It has since been removed, which I hope does not reflect diminished enthusiasm.)

It occurs to me that  all this explains why I love to be at fishing harbours when the tide is out. My partner thinks it just looks messy, with all the anchor chains and seaweed and lopsided boats. But I love the chance to see what’s underneath the surface. It would be even better If I could run a metal detector along the sand.

Mysteries revealed

I have more library cards than credit cards. They allow me entrance to half a dozen public libraries, the Mitchell Library’s Special Collections, the Australian National Library,  and the British Library.  For one  magical week I also held temporary membership of the Bodleian, in Oxford.

I was issued with a readers’ ticket when I was researching my book The Water Doctor’s Daughters. As part of the Bodleian’s strict admission procedures, I was required to make an oral declaration promising not to steal or deface books or , ‘ bring into the library, or kindle therein, any fire or flame.’ When I finally entered the ancient Duke Humphrey room I experienced the same feeling of awe described by Charles Lamb;

‘What a place to be in is an old library! It seems as though all the souls of all the writers that have bequeathed their labors to these Bodleians were reposing here, as in some dormitory or middle state. I do not want to handle, to profane the leaves, their winding sheets.’

The Duke Humfrey Room

The Bodleian is strictly a research library, so you are not allowed to actually borrow the books. Mind you, King Charles I was not allowed to either.

THE NIBBLE ON THE LINE

I do love author Nicholas Shakespeare’s words on research;

‘So much of research involves combing for wayward threads. Most of the time you pluck and what comes away is fluff. Just occasionally, as in fishing, the line goes taut and you feel a tug like a submerged handshake.’

I almost missed one of those tugs while researching the life of the controversial Tasmanian surgeon Victor Ratten. Leaving his position as bank clerk in a rural New South Wales  town in 1897,  20 year old Victor was presented with a gift and wished bon voyage. I presumed he had left for Sydney, where he initially trained as a dentist.   It was months before the words bon voyage penetrated my consciousness. Surely that suggested travel by sea rather than an overland  journey to the city?

Eureka! More  investigation came up with one tiny reference to Victor and a friend setting off from Sydney on a world bicycle tour.  Mind you, I don’t think they got far, because I could not find another word. However, it revealed a great deal about Victor Ratten’s character.

No cure for curiosity?  Well thank goodness for that, Dorothy.

By the way, my associate Editor Des loves setting off on a research trip as much as I do.

Camera….check, notebook…..check.

You forgot your pen, Des.

Hello, Editor Des here.

Me!

Well I like visiting medical museums.  In fact,  I quite fancy myself as a doctor. Last year I  performed  a little operation  on my neighbor  Fred, after he  carelessly lost a second  leg. It was reasonably successful.

In theatre.

These  museums  can be a bit scary though.  Just look at this unfortunate bear (or bears) I spotted them in an institution  in Newcastle, England.  Oh my giddy aunt! What went wrong there??  And in the gift shop they had bits of people in tins! I bought some for when Milly and I play hospitals (she wants to be a nurse).

What an unfortunate bear!

Milly is good with bandaids.

Ready for transplanting Nurse Milly.

The scariest place  of all was  The Wellcome Trust in London.  My guardian Pauline Conolly took me here when she was doing some research.  She said this exhibit was  a warning not to eat too much. Oh  good grief, I had to run away and hide. I know I’m a bit rotund, but honestly!

I’m only eating half a bowl of porridge from now on!

There is another medical museum in Worcester, and crikey….you wouldn’t believe it. They were cutting off a man’s leg and I think the poor chap was awake!

It won’t hurt a bit!

And then there was a place where you could  stick your hand in and feel a mystery object.  Uggh….I think I touched a BRAIN.

How gross!

There was a smirking  man  on duty who made me do a special exercise and I could hardly get up the steps. It was so embarrassing; he said I was a candidate for an early heart attack.  But he didn’t take into account  my very short legs,

Oh good grief!

Do you know what? Now that I’ve written all this  I’m not sure I’ll bother with any more creepy museums. Pauline can go on her own.

BLUE MOUNTAINS TWITCHER

Me.

Introducing myself…Editor Des.  After a bit of training I’m  now a master bird watcher in the beautiful Blue Mountains.  I was originally banned  from this pursuit by my guardian Pauline Conolly, because I kept chattering and scaring  Mr  Satin Bowerbird.  For heaven’s sake, they can’t even hear. Have you ever seen a bird with ears? It would just look ridiculous.

Hahahaha… a rabbit bird.

My girlfriend Milly was given permission  to watch, which upset me even more.

Lucky old Milly but no Mr Bowerbird! Oh, wot a shame.

I had to attend classes on how to behave appropriately. For heavens sake!

A bit humiliating.

Anyway, I finally passed the exams. So *!#*#! #*!  hard.  I had to sit for an hour without uttering a word.  Never mind, here I am in position at the bower. Finally! I thought I would give Mr Bowerbird a  spring flower to present to his next lady visitor.

What a treasure.

Look, he’s spotted it. I bet he’s delighted. Go me! I’ll be Mr Bowerbird’s best friend.

Excuse me, I don’t like yellow!

Hang on! the silly fellow threw it away.

Oh my goodness. look where it ended up. Honestly, that bird could be a discus thrower in the Olympic Games.

Hurled right out!

Hmmm. It appears bowerbirds only like blue.  I’ll have to study more bird books I think. There’s such a lot to learn.

Wow, very interesting.

Ah, here we are on Page 54…… The Satin Bowerbird.

See that? YELLOW! I feel vindicated.  You know what? I think our satin bowerbird needs some re-education. I picked a  daffodil for Milly. Bet she loves it, and me. Haha.

THE VICTORY….HEART OF ‘OLD’ BLACKHEATH

The Victory Theatre opened in 1921 as The Arcadia.

Talkies at The Arcadia

Locals even enjoyed an early form of 3D.

It is now a vast antiques centre.  The bear (Editor Des) is not for sale, though sometimes I am sorely tempted to put a price on his head.

It’s a great place for tourists when the wind is whistling around ‘pleurisy’ corner or when it’s raining…or snowing!

I have found many of my husband Rob’s  birthday and Christmas presents in here. I can only hope he likes them as much as I do!

It was also here that my collection of antique Bilston enamel patch and pill boxes began. And where I found  a sweet desk for my new study.

Bought in readiness for my  new study.

Bilston Enamel circa 1780

My purchases do not always find favour with Rob. I arrived home with an old baby bath  a few years back, which he thought I had rescued from the roadside.  But it’s lovely…..some  people have no imagination.

The bath decorated for Christmas.

I do have a sad personal  tale  regarding the centre. Once I had a garage sale, and to my great excitement an early arriver bought  such a huge quantity of my wares that I gave him a substantial discount.  A few weeks later I found my prints and collectibles  in The Victory at eye-watering prices! I was filled with unreasonable rage.  To add insult to injury, I had bought many of them there in the first place. Oh well, that’s the cruel circle of commerce.

When you finished wandering around the galleried antiques centre you can visit the café at the entrance to the building.

Hard to beat a Devonshire Tea.

The cheapest lunch in the village can be found here…maybe not that healthy, but never mind.  Coffee at $3.50 and you can share a giant bowl of chips for $5.  Tell them the old lady with the laptop sent you.

Oh yes…enough for two.

I love the Jenny Kee mural on the wall of The Victory.

Victory Antiques Centre Mural, Blackheath by Jenny Kee

‘Heart of the ‘Heath’.

Here is a challenge. Could someone with an air of authority please  identify and ask the relevant stall owner to move the wooden shelving in the centre of the heart?  If anyone succeeds I will shout them lunch in the café  (not just the chips, I promise.)

WARNING…..INCLUDES CONFRONTING SPIDER PICTURE!

It wasn’t until my friend  Dianne told me about her battle to get rid of ivy in her new garden that I realized my own ivy problem had become super-serious.  Stupidly, I  had deliberately  spread the variegated variety around. I’d considered it more or less benign.  Oh my hat, it had been creeping about and covering everything.

Originally  there was an old pine stump under the smaller one in the photo below.  Look….not a sign of it remains. This was to be my first point of attack. Could have used the tomahawk!

The old stump has vanished.

Here we go….a good start.

DANGER!

I was pulling the ivy off with great energy when I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of  a deadly funnel web spider.  Might be the local Blue Mountains species.  He/she had emerged from its lair in the rotting wood of the old stump. And not particularly happy about being disturbed.

Oh good grief!

We parted company, with no plans to meet again.

My project created a lot of interest.  Editor Des had his morning tea (well, chocolate milk) while supervising.  Milly kept her distance in case more funnel web spiders were lurking.

Editor Des supervising

Any more spideys, Milly?

The first casualty turned out to be the garden shears. I was using the blades to twist out roots and they bent! Beyond hope I fear.  The roots turned out to be Clematis Montana, so I let them stay.

Clematis Montana.

Added some wormy compost and some potting mix.  Hmm, now what could I plant?  Editor Des suggested Spider Orchids….oh the wit of that young fellow!

Ready to plant.

I’m thinking  Lithodora might be nice with the clematis.

Lithodora.

The birds would be happy. It’s confectionary for satin bowerbirds.

Couldn’t fit much more in!

UPDATE – My husband repaired the shears. And I’ve put in  some plants; Lithodora, Sweet Alice and Cerastium (Snow-in-Summer).

Do geese eat spiders?

Hello, Editor Des here.

I have to be very brave about writing this, because I am still a bit traumatized.

Well I went to Sydney with my guardian Pauline Conolly this week week. She wanted to do a bit of shopping and other stuff at the big Library in Macquarie Street.

We stayed at a hotel in the city….all very nice. I ordered dinner from room service; five iced, cinnamon buns. Here I am on the third one;

Better than peas!

Next morning we went out for breakfast at a café near the old Sydney Hospital.  I noticed that Pauline was looking at a reflection of a man on her computer screen. Hmm, she seemed a bit………concerned.

First sign of trouble!

And then she said…..Desmond (that full name  means trouble) have you done anything wrong lately. I mean really wrong??

‘Wot Me? No!! ‘

‘Well, don’t look now, but you seem to be, umm, how can I put this….… under surveillance.  There are three policemen behind you and one is staring at you with a very nasty look.’

Oh good grief!!

I felt really sick, because  actually I have done a lot of things wrong, much wronger than the things Pauline knows about. Not in Sydney though, only at home in the Blue Mountains. I’m pretty well behaved in the big smoke.  Everything got worse when they they came over and told me I was on their ‘wanted’ list.   I tried  to tell them that couldn’t be right, but they wouldn’t listen.

So next minute I was in cuffs! Can you believe it?  Yes, under arrest. They took me down to the police station at The Rocks to be interag..interr…. asked questions. They said  I looked suspiciously like a bear who had robbed a bank in George Street at gun point. His picture was on a poster, but honestly he looked nothing like me.  OK, similar nose and figure.

‘ Maybe you don’t look so similar  now, but anyone can change their appearance’, they said.  ‘Fur dye, different clothes etc. We’re pretty sure you’re the bear we’re after.’ 

They said I’d be held ‘on remand’, whatever that means.

And then Pauline asked them what day the robbery was and they said it was  September 6th.    ‘Oh, well’,  Pauline said, ‘Editor Des was with me in Singleton that day, so it couldn’t have been him.’   

And do you know what?  She had  a  photo on her laptop to prove it, date on it and all.  She’s a bloomin’ star that woman.  There I was with Singleton born  Anzac Ted. You might say he was my alibi.

Well, they had to apologize and let me go. I might claim compensation.  It’s all very well for this copper to smile, but the whole bungle  will likely scar me for life.

Oh the relief!

Pauline said let it be a lesson , because it’s a miracle I haven’t been arrested in the village where I live. What a lot of nonsense. The local Mr Plod and I have ‘an understanding’ as they say. Wink, wink…say no more.

Like most Australians the  ubiquitous Weber bar-b-que was part of my life for many years. And yes, it even produced our Christmas turkey on a couple of occasions.

In all its glory

The Christmas bird.

But somehow we lost our passion for bar-b-ques and the old Weber was retired from service. We tried to sell it at a garage sale, but nobody showed any interest (even when offered for free or thrown in with a  $10 purchase.).  It sat around for another year or so.  Then one day  I had an idea  (well I may have stolen it from another gardener) and asked my partner Rob to deconstruct it.

Work underway.

The bowl became a herb garden. Still that food association. Roast pork with rosemary and oven baked potatoes perhaps?

Herb garden and Editor Des’s prize potato.

The cover was transformed into  a garden planter, filled with pansies, and ajuga.

The cover in bloom.

Vertical garden anyone? The bowerbird likes it.

Anything worth stealing here?

But what to do with the wheels and base?  Hmm my associate  Editor Des’s birthday was approaching. Oh yes, a trailer for his bike might be the go.  The result was quite something in my opinion. Rob even included match fueled turbo burners for extra oomph.

Ready to light the burners

As a birthday present it was  pronounced a huge success, especially as Des was venturing into the market gardening business.

Bringing in the harvest.

Perfect for transporting a pumpkin

Admittedly there were a few problems when Des tried to take the trailer ‘off-road’.   I think his girlfriend Milly feared for her life sometimes.

Hold on Milly!

The pair ventured down to Sydney on vacation at one point. Good grief, is that a cigarette in the wretched fellow’s paw?

Off on holiday.

Give up the smokes, or the Weber trailer will be confiscated, we told him. And do you know what? The threat  worked.  He still takes it to  the local supermarket. See below….this looks like an Easter shop to me.

So handy for shopping.

In the northern hemisphere, Halloween is celebrated during fall, when  landscapes are wreathed in eerie mist. Here in the Blue Mountains of New South Wales we are supposed to be in the full glory of spring, but  there can be some surprisingly  appropriate weather.

There are haunting  scenes everywhere, such as this old lamp in Blackheath’s Memorial Park. Note the spring blossom.

Taken mid October and appropriately spooky..

Deep amid the old rhododendrons in the park.

Abandon all hope ye who enter within.

Look at this web in my Blackheath garden. Alas, there are plenty more on my windows!

Nature’s Halloween decoration.

Mind you,  I have never actually participated in Halloween. This may be because no  ‘trick or treat’  child in ghoulish costume  has ever knocked at my secluded door.

Not a soul in sight.

I did have some treats on hand a few years ago, but ended up eating them all myself. Perhaps I should make pumpkin lanterns; the glow might attract a few small ghosts or vampires who wander off the beaten track..

But increasingly,  the festival is celebrated in our villages;

It seems that Hazelbrook had a special connection with Halloween way  back in the 1920s.  The following is from The Sydney Mail on October 31 1923;

A HALLOWE’EN CONFERENCE

The Hallowe’en Conference of United Fays  [fairies] took place place this year in the valley of the Horseshoe Falls, Hazelbrook.

The opening feature was an impressive procession down Winding Stair, each delegate carrying a green lantern and wearing his cloak of invisibility. There was a full accompaniment of elfin horns and an illuminated escort of fireflies. As the procession wound past Lizard Stump and under Sassafras Arch the full scheme of illuminations beneath Horseshoe  Falls came into view and evoked delighted comments from the visiting delegates. The company then took their seats in the toadstool clump that always springs up around Slippery Log, beneath the falls. A choir of singing sprites rendered the old glee, ‘From Oberon in Fairyland,’ and the business of the conference commenced.

The centre for celebration these days appears to be further west at Lithgow, The town holds an annual Halloween Festival. Below is a photo taken last year. All is in readiness for a skull auction at the local library;

Just a little macabre.

Even the birds of the Blue Mountains get into the spirit of things;

A  mystical aura.

How about this for Mountains magic? A bit of ‘special’ water and hey presto….a Halloween Bowerbird. Spooky eh?

Even the residents can look a little, well…..

Like something from Dickens in Blackheath village.

When it is too foggy to drive a car safely, witches have an advantage. Quite fitting for Halloween really.

Good grief!

My associate Editor Des was inspired to make his own  broom for the occasion;

Off we go…

HAPPY HALLOWEEN TO THOSE WHO CELEBRATE IT!

Hello, Editor Des here.

Well it’s springtime where I live in the Blue Mountains. All the flowers are out and the  birds start  singing so early  they wake me up while I’m still dreamin’.

Does he have to have breakfast so early?

I thought it might be a nice time to go on a little wander up to the village. Pauline  (my elderly guardian) says I should learn to appreciate the beauty around me.  She can be so annoyingly  pretentious  sometimes.

I can sort of see what she means though. Even the grass verges have their little delights. Look.I could make a daisy chain for my girlfriend Milly. Except that I can’t be bothered.

Pretty little things.

Past the duck pond. Some of the wood ducks are such show-offs.

I could do that!

Here I am around the corner in the park It’s  called Memorial Park to honour the soldiers who fought in the war. Well I’m at the wisteria pergola. It’s very pretty, isn’t it? I feel I enhance it.

Smells delicious.

The giant rhododendrons are nearly out. It’s the festival this weekend and I’m going.  Say hello if you see me.

They are too tall for me to climb

Up near the top gate I sneaked in to see if Mr Bowerbird was at home. But he wasn’t.

Nobody home.

He was up in the canopy, looking around for lady bowerbirds I reckon. They like more than one girlfriend. I doubt if Milly would stand for that….haha.

Handsome chap

So there’s a cherry tree beside the bower, but Mr Bowerbird doesn’t seem to know it’s there. That’s pretty strange, because he really loves fruit. Anyway I pinched a few. I’ll get Milly to make some jam if she knows how to.

xx

They’re a bit sour.

Here are some of the azalea shrubs by the gates. Impressive eh? I had to be careful not to get bitten on the B– by a  bee.

In the pink!

Poppies planted by the council,  sort of on the corner of Govett’s Leap Road and Wentworth Street.

They make me feel happy.

It’s quite a steep climb up to the shops. I had a little bit of lunch lunch while I edited my photos.

Mmmm….mango.

Egg sanger!

That’s it folks, the end of my walk. I hope you enjoyed coming with me….so to speak.

IMPORTANT UPDATE –  Pauline  Conolly is not elderly. And  no, she did not force me to write this. Oh dear, so hard for me to type that.  

Her eyesight is bad, so she won’t be able to read this. She did make me write it. Haha.

Hello, Editor Des here,

Well I was walking up to the Blackheath Rhododendron Festival  today when I spotted  one of my neighbours selling home made lemonade. It was opposite the swimming pool in Memorial Park. Actually Fergus was minding the shop while  the prop, propri…the owner Luke popped home for something. 

Oh yes, a very nice drop.

Fine bit of sign writing. Yellow for lemons…get it?

$1.50 a cup; very reasonable I thought. I was their very first customer. Look at that wonderful barrel. It was  sort of like being at a pub, not that I go to them of course.

I loved their money tin, too. My guardian Pauline Conolly had one like it when she was little, so it must be an antique. Well yes I know it’s upside down; that’s  for ease of access.

Wow, I can see paper money.

Had a fun time at the Festival. They had mystery bags of lollies for $1. And mine even had an icecream with a cherry on top.

Oh the joy.

I wanted to congratulate Luke on his enterprise (isn’t that a good word?), so I called in again later. Was he there? No he bloomin’ well wasn’t. Fergus said he’d had to pop home and make more juice. The poor young lad must be exhausted. Apparently he had been up until the wee hours the night before, juicing lemons and grapefruit.

THIRD TIME LUCKY?

Called in yet again and still  no sign of the wretched boy. For heavens sake!   Oh, but wait….suddenly a head popped up a few metes behind the stand. YES, it was him! I must say he did look a bit weary around those blue eyes.

His stock was being kept chilled in an esky, down by the water channel. How very clever.

Keeping everything cool.

It was quite hot so I bought another drink for my other guardian, Dr Bob. He was at home building our house. A fair bit  of it had gone by the time I handed it over. I’m sure I only had a few sips, so maybe I spilled some. Anyway he was very pleased.

Well when the boys are at school I might set up a stall with my girlfriend Milly. I’ll probably sell milkshakes though; more profit margin in them I suspect. And also, I love them.

Mmmm, delish. I could charge $5 each.

‘Could we please go somewhere without  Des, Pauline?’  This  pathetic plea came from Milly, who lives in the shade of her famous boyfriend, Editor Des. ‘Well of course we can Darling’, I said. I decided she might enjoy a walk to Campbell Rhododendron Garden in our  Blue Mountains village of Blackheath.

Set to go

Off we went, up our lane and into Inconstant Street. We both  always giggle about that name. It has connotations of incontinence and unfaithfulness. Apologies if you live there.

The are  some gorgeous gardens in the street. Milly loved these giant poppies.

And look at this white wisteria;

Milly  was captivated by the snowball tree. She wanted to pick some, but I told her they would melt.

Snowballs in spring.

We turned right into Bacchante Street, and into the garden. Only a gold coin donation required from each of us.

Pink on pink

I thought we would have tea and scones first, except Milly couldn’t resist leaping in to a blooming azalea bush. It matched her dress. We ordered Devonshire Tea, although to my amusement the volunteer catering ladies called it Australian Afternoon Tea. I think the idea was to prevent international tourists being confused.

Let’s have tea

Oh the glory of the gardens. They were amazing; spectacular azaleas set among the gum trees. Here are just a few;

On fire!

Glorious sight around the old eucalypt trunks.

And we both agreed that this was our very favourite rhododendron, oh that soft apricot. I think we must buy one for our own garden.

What a special  rhodo.

We were feeling a bit hot and thirsty on the way home. Milly skipped ahead when she spotted a convenient tap. It was a bit high for her to reach  (well she is quite short) so she climbed up. Oh dear… it was  hard to turn on, too. Never one to give up, she gave  it a big shove with her boot….Voila!

Success!

On we went. Sometimes there were sweet little tracks instead of  footpaths;

Milly took great pleasure in telling Editor Des all about her day. He tried to look unimpressed, but we could see he was a bit envious.  Milly  just smiled quietly to herself, remembering her scone with jam and cream.

Des listening to Milly’s account of her day. He looks a bit miffed!

Hello,

Me.

Well my guardian Pauline Conolly and I  have been documenting the life of a satin bowerbird. It lives in Memorial Park, Blackheath, here in the Blue Mountains. I’ve become quite friendly with him. Sometimes I take him a blue treasure, because he collects them to impress his girlfriends.

Wow, look at that! Can you spot him in his grass bower?

Hello there young Desmond!

We have been watching the wild cherries ripening right above his bower.

A canopy of cherries

The funny thing is that he doesn’t seen to have noticed them.  Pauline says it doesn’t make sense, because he and his friends eat anything remotely fruit like in our garden.  Anyway, I climbed up and picked a few for him.

I’m being quite careful up here in case I fall on my head.

He wasn’t at home when I called in, so I left some in one of his blue bottle tops.

Come on Mate!

Do you know what?  He just threw them away! Well since he didn’t seem to be interested, I thought I’d pick some more to take home and make cherry jam.  It was a bit disappointing, because Pauline said by the time they boiled down I wouldn’t have enough to cover the bottom of a jar.  Also, she said I should have asked permission to take them from the park. Oh for heaven’s sake, how ridiculous! What are they going to do…gaol me for nicking 28 cherries? (it might have been 30)

Anyway I decided to stew them up for breakfast.

They look pretty good.

A bit more water…

The result was quite satisfying I thought, although Milly said they were too sour, even with all the sugar we put in. And she wondered if they would even be edible because she’d heard the pips contained cyanide. Well I wasn’t intending to eat the bloomin pips!

Beautiful colour

Well, they’re wild alright!

They were….interesting! I feel OK though. Milly stuck to boring  old Weetbix and eggs.

Hot milk or cold? Scrambled or poached?

Sometimes I think I need a girlfriend with an adventurous spirit to match my own!

Me!

Hello. It’s nearly Christmas and I have made my very own tree in the garden. I think I have done quite a good job. I pinc…borrowed the ornaments.

I love my little tree.

Now last year I got into a bit of trouble about presents. My guardian Pauline Conolly thought I asked for too much from father Christmas.

I was hoping for a  sports car, that’s why I used the barrow instead of a stocking but hey….I’m not one to make excuses.  I didn’t get the damn car anyway (just saying!).

Hmm…….maybe time to do things a little differently.  I sat down and wrote Santa a very special letter.

In it goes!

Well I sort of forgot about it then, being a very busy soul.  Then  one day I rode my bike around to my vegetable garden and got the biggest shock of my life. Good grief…it was Santa!  He was a bit smaller than I thought he’d be. Seemed a lovely chap though and was happy to hand over the  sack of goodies I asked for. We had a little chat and  I explained a bit more about my plan. He said he now had a much higher opinion of me.

Well hello….are you Editor Des?

To fulfil my end of the bargain I took the sack of goodies around and left them with all my neighbours. First stop was my girlfriend Milly’s family.

They will be so surprised!

The person who lives in the next house never comes outside and never opens the door when I knock.  But I left him some bananas and a carton of chocolate milk. I gave him a boomerang to play with. That could be a mistake.   He might throw it at me next time I’m around!

P’raps he will  come out when I’m not looking.

Oh yes, and I left  some things  for the fierce  bandits at Fort X, even though they kidnapped me once. My heart is truly golden. Yes, and even the stump spider gets something, because he hasn’t bitten anyone for quite a while.

I’m treating nastiness with niceness, Santa.

I’ll leave something out here for you, Spidey.

Next stop was a very dear  old friend, Hoppy. He gave me the hat last year, so I thought I’d better wear it.  It’s a bit small….. I reckon his mother knitted it for HIM! I don’t think recycling gifts is in the right spirit really, do you?

Here you are dear Hoppy.

Now for the last stop….Christmas gifts for all the birds. I’ll just leave the sack by their baths and they can help themselves. I hope there won’t be any squabbles. Pauline gave them some baubles…..very silly. They might try to hatch them.

Happy Christmas dearest birdies.

Do you know what? I felt all warm inside when I’d finished.  It’s a pity I can’t tell Pauline what I did, but it’s better to be an anomi….aynomi….a secret giver.  Yes, I know I’ve told you…but that is all!

I HOPE SANTY WAS GOOD TO YOU.  HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Christmas is a time for giving.  Even Editor Des is aware of this and realized he really ought to buy something for his guardian, Pauline Conolly.  But what exactly?

She loves chocolate, but he wanted to get something  a little more imaginative and appropriate.  Hmm…… what might an editor buy for his writery employer/guardian?

Pauline at work (sort of)

She always has plenty of notebooks and pens, so that didn’t  seem  quite  right.  And then…….the proverbial light-bulb moment struck.

He thought of something that would make his editorial life far less stressful. Even better, it  might lead to higher income for Pauline and better wages for himself!

Off he went Sydney with a case full of cash. He has never been trusted with a credit card.

Should be enough.

Waiting, waiting….

He eventually found just the right thing at a shop in Macquarie Street. There was a fair bit of money left over, so he spent it on lollies and milkshakes.

What takes your fancy young man?

Back home he carefully wrapped up the present. Note the stocking theme; rather creative.  No words of affection  on the card of course, as bears are not known for displaying sentiment. Besides, Editor Des has a testy relationship with Pauline. He puts it down to poor pay and a lack of appreciation for his valuable work in correcting her errors. She says he is cheeky and disrespectful.

Right on top of the pile,

When Santa Claus arrived on Christmas Eve he was delighted to see that Editor Des had been so thoughtful. So delighted that after he had unloaded his gifts  he couldn’t resist taking a peek. He carefully removed the  tape and slid out a little book. OMG!!  He could barely believe his eyes;

OH, EDITOR DES!

Santa  was horrified, and found himself in a  moral dilemma. Should he replace the offending book with something a  little more….. tasteful? And then he remembered that many, many years ago Pauline had written him a letter that read in part;

Please bring me a new trike, because Dad ran over the old one and it’s wheel fell off.  I hope its not too much to ask.

‘Oh my goodness, it seems she never did get the hang of apostrophes‘, he muttered.  ‘Maybe young Des has a point’.

Then Santa quietly slipped the little red book back in its wrapper, picked up his sack and went on his way;

From a review of the book  by Larry Heath;

UPDATE – CHRISTMAS MORNING

Christmas Morning