Cinema

Gadfly 263 NEW YEAR RESOLUTION By Robert Macklin One endeavour above all others will be obsessing me in 2023 – a book full of surprises for Canberrans and, I hope, for a wider readership – on the real story of the men (and one woman) who laid the foundations for our National Capital. The biggest surprise, I suspect, will be the extraordinary contribution of someone who barely figures in Canberra’s official history. The working title sets the scene. We’ve dubbed it, CHARLES WESTON’S DREAM CITY – ‘poet, artist and tree planter’ after the phrasing in his obituary by the Sydney Morning Herald’s Horticultural Editor, John Gilmore Lockley. I say ‘we’ because I am working with Dr John Gray who in his retirement from the NCDC, completed his Doctor of Environmental Design thesis in 1999, a massive research effort on Weston’s life and work. And while it will be a central element of the narrative, the book will also bring his extraordinary achievement into the wider context of the British Imperial era – and the young Australian Federation in which it took place. Already, at this early research stage, it includes a cast of extraordinary characters from the worlds of science, religion, politics, architecture, officialdom, treasure hunters, royalty and even an appalling mountebank. (And the woman, is of course Marion Mahony Griffin whose brilliant work with her husband Walter might well have been the key to the winning Griffin design.) Weston, an international arboreal and horticultural virtuoso, according to former NCDC Commissioner, Malcolm Latham was ‘the man who breathed life into Griffin’s design for Canberra.’ John Lockley, went further: ‘It was Mr Weston who made Canberra the dream city she is today. His message to the nation, his melodies, his pictures, he pieced together with limb and leaf. Others did the planning and building leaving their finished work for time to discolour and perhaps to spoil. But Mr Weston set the growing beauty of Australian and exotic trees in places where old Mother Earth would guard and guide them. ‘This is not the place,’ he wrote, ‘to tell of how the magnificent work was done. That story can be told another day.’ With a bit of luck – and lots of late nights – that day will come in 2023. Weston’s remarkable contribution – the experimentation, selection and planting of many millions of trees and shrubs - is virtually missing from Canberra’s public chronicle. Many think the suburb and district of Weston and Weston Creek respectively were named in his honour. Not so. Even some of the official government publications wrongly identify the ‘other’ Weston who, it turns out, was a NSW Corps soldier and amateur illustrator, said to have published the first rendering of a didgeridoo. That might account for the oddity of the suburb’s streets being named after Australian artists. Weston Park is Charles’s only separate memorial. Walter and Marion Griffin provided the framework brilliantly, but it was upon their latticed canvas that Weston drew foliage from all the continents but Antarctica to give life to the Griffin concept. And though he was no futurist, the astonishing range of species he experimented and selected in his millions of plantings, provided a ‘fortress of foliage’ for Canberra in the struggle against climate change. While Sydney and Melbourne face the loss of up to 90 percent of their limited range of protective trees, Weston’s ‘green draperies’ will survive the coming arboreal pandemic. If for no other, that’s reason aplenty to tell the amazing inside story of a humble, but dedicated hero of our beauteous National Capital.

“Well that’s 2022 done and dusted, Mick. What a year eh? From lockdowns to freedom, a change of government and even Novax Djokovic is now Comeback Djokovic…… Cheers!”

They both took generous sips but Mick returned to his open laptop. “Now Bazza, the boys in Canberra have asked a select few to come up with ideas to win back government. Now…..I don’t want any smart arse comments.” Bazza rubbed his chin.

“Fair enough, Mick. I’m all for an effective opposition to keep the government on its toes. First up, I think you need to do something about the number of boys in the opposition.” Mick raised both eyebrows. “In the new parliament women make up forty three percent on the government side in the lower house. That compares to twenty one percent in the Liberal Party and only two female MPs in the National Party. Now…… our population is just over fifty percent women so it’s not rocket science.” Mick took a sip and scratched his head. “More women means less blokes, Bazza and that’s a hard one to sell…. but you might have a point.” Bazza half smiled as Mick typed. “Mick, it’s happening without the Liberal Party showing some leadership on female representation. Female Teal independents won six seats previously seen as Liberal heartland. The parliament should look like the population.” “Ok….ok, Bazza…… now this never ending honeymoon of Albo’s?” “Tough one, Mick. You see ScoMo was a gift that just keeps giving. I reckon on every major decision Albo asks himself ‘What would ScoMo do?’ and then does the opposite. He is letting his ministers do their jobs as opposed to your old mate doing everybody’s jobs. Consequently, there seems to be numerous faces to this government but I am flat out naming anyone apart from Peter Dutton in the opposition.” Bazza took a sip and Mick typed. “Yeah…..yeah…..you’re a bit harsh Bazza. I do need to come up with some ideas about his image…… you know…..soften it a bit.”

“Another tough one, Mick. You can’t have him rolling croissants, welding, operating heavy machinery, hairdressing or playing a musical instrument. If you put him in a fluoro or a football jumper people will cringe. Coming up with a nickname might be a goer….that seems to work for Albo.” Mick’s eyes widened. “Yeah….that’s what I need, Bazza. How about Dutto?”

Bazza grinned. “Nah, Mick……sounds too much like….. Ditto.”

Reading—history 100 Years Ago 6th January 1923

MR. McCreadie, of McCreadie Bros., the famous building contractors, was in Moruya for the past week examining the granite quarries on the Moruya River with a view to obtaining stone for enlarging the G.P.O. Sydney. A NUMBER of motor car accidents have taken place in the district during the holidays, but without serious results, the worst being a collision on the Bateman’s Bay road when Mrs. Leeder, wife of Mr. R. A. Leeder, den st, of Yass, received severe cuts and bruises. The cars in all cases were owned by tourists. A LADY visitor to the district at Christmas me by some means fell out of the window of the top storey of the Club House Hotel, but fortunately the force of the fall was broken through striking the corner of the back verandah and gasometer. The vic m is now in the local hospital suffering from severe concussion and fracture of the skull. DURING the past few weeks the district has been encircled by smoke. On Saturday last a terrific wind storm from the west struck the town and as a result the iron telegraph poles on the Moruya bridge are not only bowing, but are making a complete obeisance to the rising sun. OUR li le community was greatly shocked on Wednesday a ernoon when the sad intelligence was flashed round of a fatality at Kiora, the vic m being Mrs. Eliza Colle , widow of the late Mr. Benjamin Colle and one of the oldest and most respected residents of the district. … The deceased lady, who was 79 years of age was a sister of the late Messrs. G., J. and C. du Ross, and by her loving and charitable disposi on made hosts of friends. MAGSITERIAL INQUIRY. – The Coroner, Mr. R. J. Anderson, held an inquiry at Moruya Hospital on Thursday. Margaret Colle being duly sworn stated: I was driving with my mother, Eliza Rebecca Colle , about four o’clock in the a ernoon, driving a flighty horse in a sulky. Just as we came over the Western end of the Kiora bridge we met a man riding a motor bicycle coming towards us. Owing to some small oak scrub and a bend in the road we did not see the bicycle un l about forty yards away. … the horse backed us over the steep bank which had about ten feet of a drop into the river. The next thing I remember was that we were under water. Both my mother and I were rescued by Allen Innes the rider of the motor bicycle. Allen Innes did all he possibly could to restore life. … THE FINDING. - …..on the third day of January, 1923, Eliza Rebecca Colle died from shock caused through a horse backing a sulky into the Moruya River at Kiora and immersing the deceased in the water. Death being accidental.

James Gault describes himself as a simple ex-mariner who spent much of his life at sea mucking around in ships and boats. That was the rela vely adventurous part, encompassing a good slice of the world and its ever-changing challenges and joys, from violent wars and cyclones to glorious sunrises and oceans of tranquillity. These days the semi-re red ex-Navy Captain is a resident in Sunshine Bay where the stability of reading and wri ng seem more preferable. Jim's works are mainly fic on but o en based around real-world events where the reader is le to make their own mind up as to what could be real and what not.

Jim's most recent publica on, Sea Lord, is the second in the series,“Owerd the Briton”, that has just been released on Amazon [h ps://www.amazon.com.au/gp/product/B0BQQBFN4C/ ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vapi_tkin_p1_i0 ] and con nues the historical saga that began in the lead-up to the Norman invasion of Britain. The Owerd series is cap va ng historical fic on about Saxon England in the 1060s and grim prospectsfor a man called Owerd, a Briton, the son of a miller, and the looks of a Dane.

For Owerd the Church beckons, as does a warrior life but he must first learn his ‘sta on’ with frequent humilia on. Fate lends a hand in rewarding his courage but as his lot improves the Normans invade. Does he fight them or aid them?

His loyal es are tested by events involving violence, loss, love and fate as he tries to manage the balance between security and oppression.

Step back in time to late 11th century England, where the Normans have invaded and are pursuing total domination. Owerd the Briton, a lowly rural knight, is trying to find his way. Can he do what he believes to be right amidst ongoing oppression and under the watchful eyes of a potentially merciless king? Enemies build round him even as he gains the king’s favour and he is given a task well beyond his expectation or experience. Both he and his lady love live under constant threat.

Here is the problem: Now where is the solu on. All we can hear is silence

The Beagle Editor, I’ve dreamt of leaving my abusive rela onship for a li le while now, actually years. But something was always stopping me from leaving. I just couldn’t. But now that I am trying to, it feels like everything is pulling me back there. Back to what? Easier. Back to all that I know. Back to the abuse. So where do my children and I go now we have fled the violence? We have fled the state, but what now? Ge ng approved for a rental in the current housing crisis in Australia is hard. I am a damn good tenant but I can’t secure a house to save my damn life. I remember star ng the year off thinking “this is going to be my year” and what a laugh, it’s now December 2022 and I could not have been more wrong if I tried! I had my daughter in May, and that’s when my life spiralled out of control in a blink of an eye. Everything I worked so hard for was gone. It started the moment I received my no ce to vacate le er in the mail from the realestate le ng me know the landlord wants to occupy the property in 60 days me. I had been given 60 days to pack my house, my business, my kids, our en re lives up and find a rental all whilst s ll being a mother to a breas ed newborn, a 6 year old in kindy and a grumpy teenager. On top of that I had my kids father who, is more demanding, needy, and sooky than a toddler & I was at the me s ll a business owner, dealing with everything that comes with running a business. The pressure, too much. With the stress followed physical abuse. What more could I take? Now not only was it up to me to do everything from breakfast to school pick up, I had to also walk on eggshells, make and pack customers orders, deal with Australia Post and issues like damaged or lost orders my customers were complaining about. I had to hand over my money whenever he felt like he had to go have a break because he was just so hard done by. He enjoyed gambling my hard earned savings down the drain, he was unemployed and not evening receiving a payment from Centrelink. He had $0 and contribu ng 0% to the household. My rental was $715 per week, alone. Ah, the pressure. At least I can breathe somewhat at the moment. Whilst he is in prison. If I didn’t pull all nighters in a cold shed in my backyard making stock and doing postal lodgements. I couldn’t pay rent. I couldn’t rely on anyone but me. Fast forward- 6 months. December 2022. A week before Christmas. I am si ng on a ma ress in a cold damp garage below my “ex”in-laws. I’ve managed to fit our fridge, some shelving for my business, a bed, tv and some milk crates I’ve transformed into storage nooks for clothes and toys. I have had to remove my kids from their school in Victoria and return to my hometown in NSW because we have no where else to go. We le behind our friends, family, rou ne, and I personally even le behind the woman I worked so hard becoming. All my furniture, sold. Savings blown. Just ge ng us to NSW cost an arm and a leg, far out. I le Batemans Bay 10 years ago. I was 22, heartbroken, poor, unemployed. And have returned 10 years later the exact same person I was when I le , just with more trauma. More pain, more kids, more stress. More scars. I’m si ng here, and inside my head I’m screaming. Screaming at the world and at myself for failing. I’ve failed. My business and its reputa on is basically unrepairable, my kids have not had a solid rou ne since I would say at best 2021 and I have not had one single day to actually just switch off and enjoy being a mother to my first li le baby girl. She’s crawling. And I have no been present enough to enjoy watching her grow. That regret will honestly stay with me for the rest of my life. I'm present, physically but mentally I’m in the depths of worry and stress inside my head I can’t be present. My thoughts don’t sleep un l I do, when I try to sleep I lay in the dark for hours, doing head miles.

Con nues… I have no money in my bank, and haven’t purchased one single Christmas present for my kids and I have less than a week un l Christmas. I’ve already explained to my kids that Christmas is cancelled this year. Sorry kids. I dream over and over that my kids and I would be have our first proper family Christmas together in a cute li le rental, sadly that isn’t going to happen, not for a long me. If ever now. I’m playing with fire by staying here, I knew this, but I have no where to go. I don’t have any other op on. The caravan parks can’t have us, the women’s refuge won’t take us as they are not only at capacity with women and children in similar situa ons, but my eldest is 14 and they don’t accommodate families with teenage boys. February, I have un l then to get out of this garage and be somewhere safe away from the control and abuse my ex will eventually inflict if I fail to secure a rental in me and escape his grasp. Now, I understand that there is just yet another damn reason why women stay. It’s easier some mes to wear the bruises, or the black eyes. Come to think of it, I would actually prefer to be physically beaten than deal with the pressure and constant rejec ons I am copping. It’s harder walking away knowing we are walking into the dark unknown with nothing but the clothes on our backs facing nothing but rejec on a er rejec on, whilst carrying all the baggage alone. Waking up every morning knowing today is just another uphill ba le, of scouring the rental market, and trying to find services in the area that may be able to help with a food voucher of some sort. All you want is your life back. I want what I created. I want me back. It’s true what they say, you don’t know what you’ve got un l it’s gone. What I would do to have my life back, I was happy, my kids were happy, I was running a successful company alone that I absolutely loved, we were living in a massive rental house on acreage on the Surf Coast in Victoria. We were content. I had made something out of nothing. Me, the girl from Batemans Bay, the feral teenager to successful business owner, right back to nothing. Reflec ng back on what I worked hard to create for myself and my kids is too upse ng to think about most days because it seems like a faded interrupted dream now. What I’d do to have it all back. Oh gosh, maybe it will happen one day if I can muster the strength to con nue. Unless you’re in it, I don’t think people are really aware of just how damn hard it is with the current rental market. It’s outrageous, the prices alone are hard for anyone to afford, too bad if you’re only receiving Centrelink, you haven’t got a chance in hell, basically. The standard cost for a 3 bedroom house in Batemans Bay is minimum $500 a week. I get roughly $800 per week from Centrelink whilst I’m not working. Yet, Our government say people can afford and can pay up to 50% of their weekly income on rent. Isn’t that just insane? What’s le over once the rent is paid? You know with the current cost of living and all that jazz, if something doesn’t shi NOW, we are going to see more and more people living on the street. No kidding. Take a drive out to North Heads at Moruya. Go see the locals that are living in swags and tents. Some have been there since the fires destroyed their homes. They’ve been there throughout the pandemic, and I haven’t seen one men on, one ounce of support from our leaders. These are the true blue Aussie ba lers. The general rental shortage and coming up against 15 other families, couples and singles, who have the ability to offer 3 or more months rent in advance or those that simply appear be er on paper compared to others, or just that they don’t have as much baggage as I do. Whilst there are thousands of empty homes along the coast, especially in Batemans Bay, there are families like myself who are in these situa ons, which are dangerous, but have no other op on. What the hell is our government doing? What is our local MP doing? What are we all doing to help our own?

Con nues…. What have you done this year for someone else? Have you paid it forward this year? Like really paid it forward? I’ll be the first to say, I have not actually been able to pay it forward. I can’t even repay my father or sister who lent me money a er I spent all my savings reloca ng. I have been regularly mee ng a support worker through Anglicare Moruya- the closest and best op on I have for a refuge is in QLD. A whole state away. This refuge will accept my teenage son and my dog. That’s all I’ve got. What the hell is our government doing? Why do I vote? Why do I bother? What is the point? And the classic… why me? Why is it so damn hard? The children’s father assaulted me twice that the police are aware of in the months a er I had given birth in May, whilst I was fran cally house hun ng. Both mes have ended up with him doing a sentence in prison, which is a relief. But I’ve been le bruised, and more broken than before and I s ll had to wake up and breas eed and pack-up our lives into boxes. But how do I avoid it happening again? We have no where to live now, my only op on that I have is to stay in a ny garage with 3 kids, 1 dog and my business and personal belongings all crammed into one space, one single garage. I have less than two months to find a rental, otherwise the situa on I am in can, and will, become very dangerous once he is released from prison. We will be back under his control, his abuse and I know, I won’t survive it next me. If I fail not only will I lose my children to the system, I will lose the person I spent the last 10 years becoming. I won’t be back. I will not return. I have no doubt. Please if you take anything from this, it’s to appreciate what you’ve got, the warm clean bedding you wrap yourself in at night, or the simple things like the morning sun rays shining through the window hi ng the kitchen bench illumina ng all the dirty dishes from the last two days. Oh goodness, what I would do to have a sink full of dirty dishes again or even just a home cooked meal, all we have is a ke le, air fryer and a toaster. But hey, be er than nothing isn’t that right? Count my blessings? Enjoy the li le things?! Please appreciate what you have because you have no idea when your life will be turned upside down. Never in a million years did I think this me last year I would be rock bo om, si ng on a ma ress on a cold cement garage floor, snot all over my face crying. Stressing about how the hell I’m going to afford to get to Victoria to a end my cousins funeral next week on top of the extreme pressure Christmas puts on parents whilst being Alone. Scared. Broken. This summer please be kind, the person in line next to you, could be having a rough me, maybe their biggest achievement today was literally just ge ng out of bed. We will never know how much pressure someone next to us under. Maybe they may just need a smile from a stranger or $5. If you can pay it forward, to someone in your community. Please do so. This year, all I ask for is a safe place for my children, and I. That we can call ours. That we can create memories in. I ask that this current situa on will be soon nothing but a stepping stone. I will write in again this me next year, because.. 2023 is my year to shine. I can feel it. All I’ve got le is hope. Name supplied