Swan magazine jan2016

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O N LY A N H O U R ’S D R I V E F R O M T H E c i t y

V i s i t w w w. t o o d y a y. c o m f o r f u r t h e r i n f o r m a t i o n o r c a l l ( 0 8 ) 9 5 7 4 2 4 3 5

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YOUR COMMUNITY

Gidgegannup

School holiday SUMMER

activities 2016 Circus Challenge

Roll up, roll up!! Are you ready for a Circus Challenge?

Come along and learn some circus skills under the big top at Percy Cullen Oval! Develop your circus skills and learn new tricks from the professionals and be part of a performance for family and friends!

When Where Time Age

Saturday, January 23, 2016 Percy Cullen Oval, Gidgegannup 5pm – 7pm Suitable for ages 5 and up

For enquiries, contact Jenna Whistler on 0427 163 317.

Parents/guardians are required to stay during the activity.

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CoS02298

This activity will run prior to the Gidge Movie Night, so bring you picnic blankets and make a night of it under the stars!

IN THIS ISSUE PAGE

FEATURES

Art in the Hills 29 Books 22 Business Card Board 35,36 Community Free Eco Home Audits New Public Hospital Obituary Education

Entertainment Kookaburra January

18 19 33 28 27

Finance 31 Gardening Get Social with Jay Gordon the Optom Health Matters Erin’s Story Homoeopathy for Children Holiday Reading The Memory Finder Persistance

Kara The Stained Glass Portrait The Helena-Aurora Range Ugly Ducklings

5 10 24 3 4 4 11 12 14 23 26

PAGE Notes From Parliament

19

Poetry Happiness 3 Girl on Fire 7 In The Glass Eye

of the Beholder 7 Seven Dreams Round 10 The Right Stuff 21 That Rage 21 This Woman,

This Joker and Me 21 SAFE 33 Style by Kirsty 30 Swan Valley and Regional Network Choir Auditions 8 Twilight Market on Swan 8 Pirates, Stars and Jack 9 The Idler The Voice of Swan Hills Toodyay Feature

32 18 16

What’s On

34 Wr iting 21 KSP Writer’s Competition 6 Write Your Own Sonnet 7

Front Page Photograph: Summer Holiday Photographer: Mallin Photographics Studio: 123RTF

Have a book to publish?

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SWAN MAGAZINE Published by: Swinburne Press WEBSITE:

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Publisher: Douglas Sutherland-Bruce editor@swanmagazine.com.au Editor: James Sutherland-Bruce office@swanmagazine.com.au Office: 18 Tokay Lane, The Vines, Western Australia Phone: 6296 5161 E-mail: office@swanmagazine.com.au

DISCLAIMER The information in this publication is of a general nature. The articles contained herein are not intended to provide a complete discussion on each subject and or issues canvassed. Synhawk Publications Pty Ltd does not accept any liability for any statements or any opinion, or for any errors or omissions contained herein.

Sales: Liane Cugley 0400 025 345 E-mail: office@swanmagazine.com.au Postal Address: P.O. Box 554, Mundaring Western Australia 6073 FEBRUARY DEADLINES: Advertisements: 25th January Editorial: 1st February Copyright: Swinburne Press 2016 1

HEALTH MATTERS ERIN’S STORY ERIN BARRETT

I

’ve debated long and hard about writing anything about my health. This feels like a very personal journey, yet, at the same time, one I want to make sure as many women as possible can avoid.

So, with raising awareness in mind, I’ve decided to share what’s going on with me and my ovaries. Actually, ovary. Singular.

I happily gave birth to a wonderful baby girl, Edie, on September 24th.

Less joyfully, at the same time I also had my left ovary, fallopian tube, and a nearly 6lb tumour

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we jokingly named Ozzy removed.

Shortly thereafter I was diagnosed with stage 1c, grade 1 ovarian cancer. The stage and grade are important because it means they caught it early.

I am currently going through chemo and will start radiation at the end of January.

I feel nothing but positive in regards to my outcome and future plans. Plans that include never facing this again. And growing my hair back.

People have asked me what they can do to help. This is something I have struggled with as I have been so well looked after. My decision is to ask you all to help me raise awareness.

They call ovarian cancer the silent killer.

This is because the symptoms are so subtle that

it is often caught too late. Currently, the odds of getting ovarian cancer are one in fifty-eight (compared to one in seven for breast cancer).

I want the next ten women who are diagnosed with ovarian cancer to be diagnosed early. This means I need your help in telling 580 women about the symptoms.

This is where you, the reader, come in. Take fifteen seconds – that’s all it takes – to tell two or three women in your life about the symptoms.

This could be your wife, your mother, your sister, your daughter – any woman you care about.

Here we go:

• Persistent stomach pain

• Persistent bloating

• Finding it difficult to eat or feeling

full quickly

• Needing to pee more often

• Back pain

• Changes to bowel habits

(constipation or diarrhoea)

• Feeling tired all the time If any or all of these are present, especially in women over forty, please, PLEASE. go see your doctor.

You’re not wasting anyone’s time, you’re being smart and ensuring you’ll be around for the long haul for the people you love.

So, if you want to help me, get on the phone, send an email (or six), grab a coffee with a woman you love and spend fifteen seconds talking about this. It could save her life. And, it’ll make me happy (guilt, guilt).

If you have any questions about my health, my treatment, or about ovarian cancer, send me a message via office@swanmagazine.com.au.

I realise that opening myself up this way means a lot of you will have questions and I’m happy to answer as best I can.

Don’t worry, I’ve decided that I’ll be fine, and that’s just the way it is.

Here is a link to an ovarian cancer charity: http://ovarian.org.uk/…/what-are-the-symptomsof-ovarian-c…/

HEALTH MATTERS HOMOEOPATHY FOR CHILDREN DR. ANKITA CHAVDA (Homeopath)

C

hildren often resist taking conventional medicine. Perhaps our children are trying to tell us something?

It is time that parents and physicians seek safe, natural and effective alternatives to conventional, potentially harmful drugs.

Homeopathic medicine is one such alternative. Homeopathic remedies can often help relieve many common acute problems of children, and can also help prevent recurrent bouts of illness.

Homeopathy supports both physical ailments and emotional upsets. Homeopathic remedies work quickly and effectively in treating infants teething or colic, asthma, eczema, behavioral and sleep problems, including Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.

Homeopathy may help to support and strengthen a child's own natural defenses so that they can fight off colds or flu more easily and can benefit the hyperactive child, helping to calm their restlessness.

The impact of a child’s daily sickness or disorder on the family and the their schoolmates can be enormous. If a sleepless child begins to sleep through the night, the parents can be better rested and able to deal with their daily tasks.

If a disturbed child settles and becomes calmer then their learning experience and the

POETRY HAPPINESS EVAN JECKA

True happiness is hard to find. You never know where or when you’re going to find it. You just one day realise you have.

We catch glimpses of it here and they’re moments that don’t last the embrace of a lover the smile of a child the moment you see you’ve made a difference to someone’s life.

But all these moments try as we might we can’t make them last, and until we stop looking. We’ll never find the happiness we seek because it’s all around us in the people we see every day.

The people’s lives we change by being there in their time of need, the smiles of children we once were and now love the embraces past and present, happiness is not something we can seek out.

It seeks us out and follows us around, tho’ we may not know where to look to find it.

It will always find us if we let it.

whole class can be greatly improved.

Most children love to take homoeopathic remedies. They come in the form of drops or spray and are easy to administer with no bad taste. They cause no ill side-effects, and do not hamper digestion. Homeopathic remedies do not produce allergic reactions and are not harmful even if taken for a long time.

Homeopathy can also be used successfully in partnership with any necessary drugs such as inhalers, steroid creams or anticonvulsants and can lead to significant reductions in the need for these types of drugs.

Homeopathy may help raise the immunity of your children to help deal with illness throughout their childhood.

It can also help prevent illness and give support through difficult periods of their life.

With Homeopathy, a child’s health may improve and chronic conditions often clear up completely and never come back.

If you have tried everything else and are still not in good health why not give homeopathy a chance to help you and your family. www.chiropractichomeopathy.com.au

If you would like to receive a free copy of the new, expanded digital Swan Magazine sent to you electronically and save a tree’s life, send an email to: editor@swanmagazine.com.au with ‘Subscribe’ in the subject line.

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HOLIDAY READING THE MEMORY FINDER

T

he room is so white it disorients. Hard to tell where walls end and the floor begins. He bumps into a white chair, sits, waits. A brown smudge on a pristine picture.

She enters, and the room glows whiter.

He stands, fumbles. Fractured pieces of a woman drift across the room, assembling before him. An intense face, slim neck, dark hair swept high. Two pale peachy hands, long fingers, pearl polished nails. Hints of flesh inside a pair of white French heels. A body camouflaged in milky cotton and rayon challis.

She looks him up and down, as if she wants to bleach him.

‘You’re younger than I imagined.’

He shuffles forward, takes a disembodied hand. ‘I’m the Chronicler. Thank you for meeting with me today.’

‘How could I resist. I was intrigued. The chance to meet a Chronicler? Such a rare species.’

She was correct, he knew. Time was only meant to look forwards, towards the not yet.

Following in his father’s footsteps, carrying on a tradition, saving a vanishing profession, these were all frowned upon, just confused things.

Entangling the past with the present with the future. Cross-contaminating the epoch.

He sits again, awkwardly. She floats, descends with grace onto the unnoticed white chair opposite.

‘So, Chronicler. Tell me why you are here.’

‘I’m recording the stories, the past, of this community.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘For many things. For information. For human understanding. For a hypermedia display at the museum–‘ ‘Museum? Phooey. Museums belong in a museum. I’m surprised there still are any.’

‘Of course there are. We still need to connect with the past, its stories, its objects.’

‘Why? We have the power to create and recreate ourselves, purchase any identity we like, define whole new worlds, if we so wish. Why squander energy, emotions, on inferior past ones?’

‘To form society’s memory. To know the present. To create better futures.’ That was what his father had taught him, implored him, to believe. Daily affirmations now settled in synapses, hardwired in neurons.

She laughs, head tilting slightly back. Like one of those old-time carnival clowns. ‘Society’s memory? Everyone makes their own memories.

“Don’t let the past damage the present.” Isn’t that what The Agency tells us? This is a waste of my valuable time.’

‘Someone has to record our past, recover our history.’

‘History is something to escape from, to shed.

Not to keep in pretty boxes under your bed, nor wear as a kind of Sisyphean ball and chain around your neck. “To escape history is to march forward, to be truly free”.’

He sighs. Fingers fidget, observed by downcast eyes. ‘Please, I think you can help me.’

4

NINA LEE

‘How? Whatever has all this to do with me?’

‘You might be able to tell me things.’

‘Why chit-chat then? Surely, if you have the authority, you can transfer whatever you need, from the records.’

‘I’m after more, um, organic memories.’

She smiles, creates crooked lips and narrowed eyes. ‘Explain further, Chronicler.’

‘I’m interested in the story of the Rainbow Residential Treatment Centre, especially the children, the orphans. You might know it was destroyed over 20 years ago.’

‘If it’s gone, what’s the point of talking about it?’

‘I want to know about the children. How they were treated. Document it all.’

‘We’ve done away with all that. Let it go, it doesn’t matter anymore.’ Her head turns away, as if preparing to leave.

‘Still, I want to – no, need to know. It’s my job after all, to chronicle I mean.’

‘It’s hardly a real job.’ The head swings back, changing its mind. ‘But anyway, why choose me?’

‘I came across some digital records, in the Repository, that referenced past, er, visitors to the Centre. A name linked to you, your previous name, was in there.’ He leans forward, contracting the space between them. ‘So I’d like to talk to you, record any information you might have, about that time.’

‘I think you have the wrong person. I was never at such a centre, an R T C.’ Each letter seems poison in her mouth, to be expelled rather than spoken. ‘Are we done now?’

‘No, I think it is you. I’m certain it’s you.’

‘Digital sources can be changed, deleted, replaced. You cannot trust them. That’s just naïve.’

‘They’re authentic, I’m certain.’

She stares across at him. The silent seconds grow obese, consuming the tension.

‘How do I know you’re authentic? That you really are a Chronicler?’

‘I transferred you my bioID, didn’t you check–‘ ‘Yes, yes, of course I did. The building would not have let you enter otherwise.’ One manicured hand dismisses his words as she slumps back into the polypropylene chair.

‘Please, can I just ask a few questions? Maybe you noticed something. Remember things. You’ve lived in this community all your life, isn’t that so?’

‘I don’t recall anything about any RTC. Why would I? Unlike those children, I had a happy childhood.’

‘So, you never lived on the streets? Had any, ah, psychological or drug-related, ah, challenges?’

She snorts, looks down her slim nose. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.

‘Where could you possibly get such notions.

Look at me! Look around me! Do I look like someone who’s been on the streets?’ The elegant head and hands move, in unison, to escape the slander.

‘OK, OK, never mind. Please stay.’ He runs a hand through unkempt, thinning brown hair.

Reveals the moisture gathering in his armpit. ‘Tell

me about your happy childhood then.’

‘Why, will that help?’

‘It might.’

She floats back down.

He takes something thin and black from his jacket pocket, moves a hand over the top, begins aural and visual replication. Balances the device on his knees.

‘Let’s start afresh. Tell me about yourself.

When were you born?’

‘17 January 2007. Same day and month as my mother.’

‘What was your childhood like?’

‘It was perfect,’ she almost exclaims. Her demeanour relaxes, hands become animated, as if there has been a shift in personalities. She tells him about parents, parties, picnics.

‘We were near a forest, and a butterfly flew past. I remember as it was so strange. Lemon yellow, with black patterns and edging, like someone had traced around it with a thick black texta. The back of the wings had a shaded powderblue strip, with red circles just on the inside edge.’

‘That’s some fine detail. You seem to have a great memory.’

She nods her agreement, accepts the compliment. ‘Only the good shall march into tomorrow.’

‘Yes, so, you did have quite the delightful childhood, it seems. Some others, back then, weren’t so lucky though. You might remember, there were stories of abuse, of neglect…’

‘At the Rainbow?’

He notices her change of reference. ‘Yes.’ ‘I have already told you – what would I know of such things? Have you been listening at all?’

Things had shifted back. ‘Please, I mean no harm. Would you like something to drink?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Her facial muscles soften, shoulders retreat. ‘Could you please pour me a glass of refined rain water. Just over there, in the jug.’

His gaze moves left to where the slim hand directs, meets a white table on which indeed stands a perfectly clear jug of perfectly clear water.

He is surprised that he did not trip over it on his way into the room.

He slips the device back into his pocket, moves to the table. Pours two glasses, slowly turns back. She takes the proffered drink, sips, almost glowers at him. Daring him to continue to play this game, to resume the excavation.

He wonders if he should stop, perhaps she is of no use after all, to the reconstruction of stories.

No, he must stay. He is, after all, an archaeologist of the mind.

Retrieving that which has been lost. He has a responsibility to the evicted past, to record all that can be known, no matter the cost. Salvaging fragments from a society that values consuming over knowledge. Invention over tradition. No matter the cost.

He brings back the replicator. Waits for the Liquid Kinase, enhanced PKCζ, to take effect.

Continued on page 6 ...

GARDENING KEEPING LAWN ALIVE

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ith Buffalo grass or Kikuyu, try to avoid letting them dry out completely. Sure they can go brown and come back, but even a little water after twoweeks of summer dry can have a benefit.

If you cannot water due to water restrictions, then apart from praying for rain, the following may help.

A little more length of leaf can really help.

If the lawn is really dry, and unless it is really long, avoid mowing it, particularly do not mow it short.

Avoid high nitrogen fertiliser applications during or just before summer. Unless the soil is very sandy, while water restrictions are in effect, fertilise in early spring and autumn only. When you can water, water at most once per week in summer, but make the watering long and heavy.

This encourages a deeper root system.

The advice is pretty much the same for Couch and Empire Zoysia, apart from the fact that you really need to watch Couch and Kikuyu along garden borders or paths.

In the summer months, these grasses can run up to fifty centimetres into a garden within three weeks. In summer, edge these lawn types every week. If they do get into the garden, Fusilade will kill the grass without hurting plants, provided the

plants are not true ornamental grasses.

This chemical after all is a grass killer. Grass like plants, such as Dianellas, Lomandras and Liriopes can be sprayed with Fusilade and will be OK as they are not true grasses.

Wetting agents are also invaluable in summer.

As soils become very dry in a drought, they are often less likely to let the water penetrate when it does rain and often the whole lawn, or sometimes patches, become hydrophobic (dry patch).

So at the beginning of summer apply a wetting agent. Stamina G from Nuturf is an excellent product, as once the water gets into the soil, it coats the soil particle. So rather than repelling water it, attracts it.

Stamina G also contains a small amount of Penetrant, which releases the soil’s surface tension and allows the water to penetrate. If a lower cost product is needed for very large areas, then try Stamina Express which is only a Penetrant.

However, it does not last as long as Stamina G. Getting water into the soil rather than running off is one of the most important things you can do for a lawn in summer. Spring aeration of the lawn, or de-thatching renovation before summer will help the lawn cope much better. If sections of lawn are really suffering in the summer, try reducing wear on those areas.

If you would like to receive a free copy of the new, expanded digital Swan Magazine sent to you electronically and save a tree’s life, send an email to: editor@swanmagazine.com.au with ‘Subscribe’ in the subject line.

HYPERLINKS You will notice in some advertisements and articles that some web addresses are blue. These are hyperlinks and if you click on that link your browser (Outlook, Opera, Firefox) will open that page for you providing you have permitted it in the browser’s ‘Preferences’.

OLD SCHOOL SHEDS STILL THE BEST QUALITY

W

here do you still find a shed builder that builds your shed in their own premises?

Where do you find an shed builder that is still family owned and operated?

Where do you still find a shed builder that still makes an Old School Shed with welded trusses and proper columns?

Unfortunately the trend in the sheds of today is sheds where the frames are made from C-section purlins. The Old School Shed's solid structural Frames has stood the test of time.

These new type C-purlin sheds unfortunately cannot say the same, just read through websites like www.sheddisaster.com.au for instance.

Coastline Sheds started way back 1996 and

was founded on the principles of commitment, quality, honesty, service, and competitive pricing!

They specialise in designing, engineering and fabricating all kinds of sheds, from farm sheds to smaller backyard workshops.

Their commitment to be the market leader in high quality sheds drives them to provide excellent workmanship and customer service for individuals who need customized needs for sheds.

That is why ninety-five per cent of their work is coming through word of mouth, so you know your shed will be second to none.

For more information visit them at their premises at 18 Keates Road, Armadale or call them on 9497 8832.

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HOLIDAY READING Concluded from page 4 ...

Imagines what his father might think, whether he would accuse him of cheating. Of assassinating their craft. Of insulting time itself. But how else could he keep up? How else could he fight the forces opposed to him? How else could he fulfil his promised duty? All is fair in love and war. And this was a war, of sorts. A War of Annals.

She rubs her nose, suddenly itchy.

‘Do you remember the fire?’

‘Fire?’ She flushes, feels ambushed.

‘The night the Rainbow was destroyed.’

‘I remember no–‘ She stops, suspicion and revulsion uniting to transform her face into something more twisted.

Her head turns, stares towards the large, bare window for moments that seem longer. He waits, drinks. Permits the aqueous intruder to locate the ghostly shanty towns in secluded corners, her mind long since colonised, dominated, by larger, prettier architecture.

The corner of her left eye moistens. Her lips slightly quiver as intimidated memories attempt to emerge. Washed out from the darkness, surprised, vulnerable. Like debris caught in an unexpected flood.

‘There was smoke?’ she asks.

‘Yes, a great deal, I believe.’

‘And sirens.’

‘Yes.’ She stops again. He wavers between patience and acquiescing to the desire to provoke a reaction. But uncovering memories is no different from the old art of fossicking. One must proceed with brushes, not shovels or bulldozers, to uncover the treasure intact.

‘Sometimes, you know, discarded memories just pop into our head. Forgotten, they lie buried for decades. Then they just appear, rudely unannounced.’ His voice is gentle, hypnotic, reassuring.

She looks at him, distress invading moistened eyes. Her hair loses shape.

She takes in air, audibly expels breath.

‘I couldn’t see, the smoke, in my eyes, lungs.

So dark. But there was noise. So much noise.

Screams, of trapped children, of animals, of the flames and air. Of my breathing, my heartbeat.

Everything screaming. A symphony of fear, of terror. A firefighter grabbed me, dragged me away.

I called out for my friend, choking on the smoke.

Where are you? Oh god, where are you? … She didn’t make it out. We were only thirteen…’

She covers her eyes, as if it stops the scene from unfolding inside her head.

‘You’re doing well, so well … How did it start?’

She struggles, is bewildered by the leakage of words and images and tears. Uncrosses and recrosses her concealed legs. ‘We were asleep, it was night-time. There were rumours it was deliberate, arson.’

‘Why?’ Her eyes evade his. ‘He used to come and see my friend. At night.’

‘Who?’ ‘The Superintendent. Did things … told me I was next if I talked…’

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She grabs her head, as if in intense pain. Tries to squeeze the memory out and discard it, like pus from a pimple.

‘There was to be an enquiry, I remember, he wanted to destroy the evidence–‘ ‘The evidence? You mean the children?’

‘Sorry, I don’t have any more…’

‘But-’ She snaps back to now. Grabs at something on her wrist. ‘I said no more!’

It has finished too soon. He moves forward to pick up her glass. ‘Here, have some more water, you’ll feel better–‘ ‘Stay back!’ She pulls off a small translucent rectangle, swipes at it, rises.

‘We are done. You can let yourself out, Chronicler.’

He jumps, desperate to make her stay. She is the only one left, the only one who can tell him what he wants to know. He grabs wildly at the air, is surprised to latch on to a milky arm.

‘Please, we were just making progress. Please stay, we can talk about something else, if you like.’

She pushes her shoulder hard against him in anger.

C

He falls backwards over the table, releases her. Is distracted by streams of water staining whiteness with elusive shades of blue; by glasses tumbling and smashing, the small, glittering shards creating miniature rainbows on the floor.

He looks up. She is gone.

He stands, notices she dropped the rectangle, its edges now curled towards each other. Picks it up, straightens it, reads the screen. Prof E. Billington, Memory Erasure, Transition and Replacement Specialist.

He knows her lemon yellow butterfly will soon be restored. He steps over broken glass, pools of liquid, sees the replicator resting on the floor. Like a dark, odd-shaped mole on porcelain skin. He retrieves it, strokes the device that contains only slivers of a story, marks of a memory.

Briefly wonders at what is most real: the organic memories stored on his device, or the implanted algorithms encased in flesh and blood, now on their way to the Professor.

He looks around, then exits the room. A rainbow in reverse.

Ed: Nina Lee won the Open Section of Speculative Fiction of the KSP Writer’s Competition.

KSP WRITER’S COMPETITION

ongratulations to all the KSP Competition winners and also to the shortlisted entrants.

The first place results from the Katherine Suzanna Pritchard awards ceremony. Lovely to see so many WA winners.

Short Fiction Open: Hard Seed, by Mary Pomfret, VIC Youth: Persistence, by Samantha Watson, WA Poetry Open: Seven Dreams Round by Kevin Gillam, WA (See page 10) Youth: Girl on Fire, by Anisha Goorha, VIC (See page 7) Speculative Fiction Open: The Memory Finder, by Nina Lee, NSW Youth: Sleepless Nights, by Isabelle Tan, WA At the KSP’s award ceremony, all three judges praised the high quality of the entries.

Glenda Larke, judge of the Speculative Fiction Award, said that every single entry contained an element of good writing, Youth Fiction winner Samantha Watson with KSP which made selecting winners difficult but Chairperson Tabetha Beggs (read her story on page 11) made for an enjoyable journey of reading.

‘On a different day, with a different judge, protagonists in this short story are beautifully the outcome may well have been different,' said sketched in ways which underscore the message Laurie Steed, Short Fiction judge. of the tale. One character represents tradition Congratulations then to all who entered; and the importance of remembering the past; the Do not be discouraged, but keep writing, keep other argues for the benefits of a life where the reading, and keep entering competitions. past is forgotten. Good use of dialogue not only Judge Larke said of Nina Lee’s unfolds the story bit by bit to the climax, but also story: strips away the self-deceptions of both people. An ‘The minimalist physical setting and the two excellent short story.’

HOLIDAY READING GIRL ON FIRE ANISHA GOORHA

er plumage brazen, her skin ablaze, she thinks her mind is determined, her soul is firm; she walks into an adulation that’s glazed, and she hears every cheer that makes her squirm.

T

WRITE YOUR OWN SONNET

his year, 2016, marks the 400th anniversary of William Shakespeare’s death, for which there will be commemorative events world-wide.

The Shakespeare Club of Western Australia plans to join in by sponsoring a sonnet-writing competition.

The readers of your magazine obviously have a real interest in poetry, and poetry writing, so we believe that many of them might like to enter this competition and have a go at creating their own sonnet.

When life gave her no solace or verdant greens, but grief, pain, heartache and deathly scenes, WRITE YOUR OWN SONNET this was a chance – one she thrust upon Is a poetry competition for secondary herself, a fatal task done for family with no thought students and adults. The Shakespeare Club of Western Australia invites all poets, experienced of self.

Choose any theme, but give it a Western Australian link. Treatment can be comic, serious, satirical, romantic -- or what you will.

Prizes for both categories:

First: $300; second: $200; third: $100 Download the competition rules and guidelines at: http://perthshakespeareclub.blogspot.com. au/

or first-timers, to create a fourteen-line poem in the Shakespearean pattern, but using modern determination language.

She enters the fray, developing; yet sometimes she falters, sometimes she halts.

Her mind rebels – a queen to this boy, an unproven king; and a drunk mentor who sees little promise and boundless faults.

The charade continues and she endures the grind, the prize beckons, and the hopes swell her mind.

The embers within her now quietly erupting; then her aim comes true, and they notice her thrusting.

POETRY IN THE (GLASS) EYE OF THE BEHOLDER KAREN RADFORD TREANOR

MShe was a tough and fierce old woman, hook-nosed and weather-beaten, y father’s mother’s mother looked like Sitting Bull.

skin like a kid glove much-crumpled by the sweaty hand of time; nearly blind when I knew her, possessed of only one good eye—the other made of glass, and capable of coming without notice from its meaty socket, fearful and fascinating to a child of five.

We called her Nana, unaware she had another name.

She was just the fierce old lady in the corner, The rot in this game is deep, heartless and thumping her cane on the wide pine floor boards, contrived, instructing any passing child to ‘fetch!’ all morals deeply buried, all loyalties now Until I was six I might have been a beagle, fetching slippers, fetching reading glasses, fetching handkerchiefs, seem far.

Blood flows, friends die. Her body is scarred, and—one memorable day—fetching the glass eye in its overnight waterbath; rewarded with strong lint-frosted mints from the bottom of a reticule. her heart too now knifed – for the smiles of a child cannot endure (Do they still make reticules? needless war.

Nana’s was black satin, with drawstrings and jet bead tassels.)

The king’s character misjudged, his life now in tatters; she changes her battle to one of heart and of resolve.

She finds reason to kill, and save all that matters; a game she must end, a stalemate she must solve.

The queen is ablaze; she knows not what she is winning, the battle is now won, the war though just beginning; The adulation is deafening, but her soul is now burning.

She’ll change the game and bring justice to all who are yearning.

Decades down the rutted years I inherited a sepia photograph printed on heavy card, a photographer’s scrolled gilt monogram in one corner.

Pictured were two little girls and a handsome woman.

Scrawled on the back in pencil the notation “Self, Marion and Nina.”

The fierce old woman had once been elegant and young; awareness came like wind-driven rain on a window.

How was it that I never realised?

Had I thought the old woman sprang, fully wrinkled, into my young life?

Perhaps those we only knew as old gave their youth as hostage to our time-my own approaching ancestorhood informs reality.

Ed: A nisha Goorha won the Youth Poetry Section of I look into the mirror: of the KSP Writer’s Competition for this poem.

The shade of Sitting Bull hovers just out of sight.

7

SWAN VALLEY AND REGIONAL NETWORK AUDITIONS FOR THE SWAN CITY YOUTH CHOIR

C

alling male and female singers aged between eightyears and young adults to audition for the Swan City Youth Choir.

The Choir is a not for profit choir that provides talented children and young adults who have a passion for singing, an opportunity to perform.

Swan City Youth Choir is by audition only – auditions are held every six months.

Auditions for 2016 are on February 6th and (providing there are still places) Saturday July 23rd.

Auditions are held at the Midland Town Hall, Great Eastern Highway Midland opposite Centrepoint Shopping Centre.

Auditions will be held between 2pm to 5pm (arrive by 1.30pm to register) Please note that the doors will be locked at 2pm and no late entries will be permitted.

Prepare an appropriate song for your age, record the backing track onto a CD and arrive at the Midland Town Hall by 1.30pm to register for the audition. You will be required to stay until

5pm. Bring a water bottle with you. Tea, Coffee, Water, soft drinks and hot dogs/toasted cheese sandwiches will be available for sale on the day.

(Drinks $1.50; Hot dogs and Toasted Cheese $2.50).

If you feel you would like to audition, please

email Patty Williams on forgottentreasures@ bigpond.com to advise of your intention to audition.

An information package will be sent to you with fees, uniform requirements and commitment level required.

TWILIGHT MARKET ON SWAN

U

nder the Lanterns in the Alfresco, Celebrate the Vintage weekend in the Swan Valley with the winemakers of the Swan Valley, local artisans, boutique food producers, quirky craft, skin care, and local product from the Swan Valley and Regional Businesses.

Enjoy tasting some of the Swan Valley's premium wines with wine tasting, colourful atmosphere with food made by Swan Valley Humane Food Regional Ambassador Caroline Taylor, that can be purchased at Taylor's Cafe and Art Gallery.

Music by Patty Williams and the Swan City Singers – and Random Axe Band strumming guitars – so get on your dancing moves There will be a large varety of stalls with Cakes by Vines Cakes, Honey I’m Home Produce, award-winning Tea from Toodyay, Native Foods from “Bushfood Experiences”, Duck & Hunter – vintage and retro fabulous finds, Artisan, Fabric and Design from Judy Taylor and the Swan Magazine to name a few of the twenty and more stalls.

You can taste some of the great wines of the valley with tastings and orders from Entopia Wines, Tyler’s Vineyard and Neilson Estate Wines.

All while helping to raise funds for Sue Hurt and TEAMS Living Well with CML and Crack Cycling in the Ride to Conquer Cancer, and Carol and her team for Women’s Walk Weekend all supporting the Harry Perkins Institute of 8

Medical Research (The Perkins) for blood cancer research into Leukaemias.

The details: · Taylor’s Art & Coffee House

510 Great Northern Highway, Middle Swan · Saturday 5th March 2016 4.00pm - 10.00pm · Food: coffee-tea & cake available for purchase from Taylor's Art & Coffee House · Ticketed Event $20.00 - A Fund Raising Event · Children twelve years and under free · Bookings Essential – · Payment is a donation – and not refundable · I need your support to make this a fantastic event · By purchasing a ticket you are also supporting critical medical research for blood cancers · This is a Private Fund Raiser

Email Sue Hurt to advise how many tickets you require on svrn@ iinet.net.au or ring 08 9296 1369.

Even if you cannot attend Markets – please consider donating to cost of ticket – or buy a ticket for someone who cannot afford a ticket – Buying a Ticket makes a difference Face Book Page https://www. facebook.com/ events/773683612767746/

SWAN VALLEY AND REGIONAL NETWORK PIRATES, STARS AND JACK DOUGLAS SUTHERLAND-BRUCE

I

t is generally held that children are entirely selfcentered and selfish. Well, anyone who thinks that should meet Jack Churchman and his family.

Jack is nine and has a vision and a cause raising money for Cancer Research. Two years ago, when he was seven, Jack heard of someone cutting their hair for charity and having friends at school who had suffered from juvenile cancer he decided to do the same.

At that time his hair was short, so over the next two years Jack has steadily grown his hair until it now reaches his waist.

During that time he was not idle in preparation. He wrote personally to more than two hundred film and sports stars asking for support or a signed item to be auctioned on the Big Cutting Day. To their eternal shame, not one wrote back or acknowledged the hand-written letters. After many weeks of nothing in the letterbox Jack sat his mum down at the kitchen table and told her solemnly that since they obviously weren’t going to get photos from the stars they would have to create their own.

With his older sister Daisy (eleven), aided by his younger Lily (six) and photographed by talented amateur mum, they set about recreating movie star magic moments.

The family scour Op Shops for costumes and props, set decoration and working together have created some delightful photographs.

While this is going on Jack’s hair grows ever longer

the Fundraising Effort.

So now the Big Cut is scheduled for January the 31st - possibly even live on TV. Jack’s first target for the Cancer Council was a modest $500. That was very quickly passed, so $1000 was mooted, then $1500. The current balance is $5,817.41 and rising.

So, by now you’re all saying ‘What can I do to avoid being shown up by a nine year old boy?’ Well, firstly ‘like’ his FaceBook page: https://www.facebook.com/ JacksBigCut/ and check out his website: http://jacksbigcut.com, then consider how much you would like a photo of Jack as your favourite movie star and make a donation or a pledge to support this imaginative and brave lad and his family.

If you would prefer to make a donation directly to the Cancer Council go here: http://wa.cancercouncilfundraising.org.au/ personalPage.aspx?RegistrationID=907970.

Oh, and if you’re wondering what will happen to Jack’s hair once it’s been cut off - he’s donating it to be made into a wig for someone who has lost their’s due to treatment. towards the Big Day. Please support Jack. He deserves it and so do This was originally the people he’s working to help. going to be just before Christmas, but a sponsor turned up to keep Jack’s hair growing.

Graeme Diamond from Outback Jacks decided to give back to the WA community by donating $20 every time someone ordered a “Jacks Cut” meal in any of their five restaurants in WA. He also pledged $2000 as a donation to 9

GET SOCIAL WITH JAY your marketing relies on being online. However, here are some tried and true tips for putting this time to good use while maintaining your online presence.

DISCONNECT JAY CRISP CROW

I

t’s forty-seven degrees in the shade and I’ve been awake since 5am fishing with my unexpectedly angling obsessed daughter.

I’ve also taken my three year old swimming twice, all the while allaying his fears that Santa won’t find us in the ‘holiday caravan’, and had an in-depth discussion with my teenager about the responsibility of assimilation in Australian culture.

We’ve now been driving for two and a half hours in flat, scrubby country with the ocean teasing out from behind the dunes and the big, blue sky almost too huge to believe.

According to my phone, this expansive view comes with exactly no reception. In fact, I’ve been disconnected for around 80% of this trip so far.

Had I not experiences the restorative effects (both personally and for my business) of being disconnected from the internet in the past, I would probably be panicking right about now.

As it happens, this time I have a spot of connectivity back at the caravan and, don’t worry, I am making extraordinarily good use of it.

But apart from a quick eventing session to check in and upload content, I am ‘gasp’ disconnected.

It can be worrying to be unplugged from your business for any stretch of time, especially if

10

look forward to is the actual excitement about putting into plan everything you’ve thought of for your business when you get back to it. All those tinglingly good ideas that have had a chance to marinate in a mind not completely overwhelmed with daily business tasks, that’s a nice anticipation.

PLAN AND AUTOMATE Being disconnected from the online part of For now, wish you were here. your business doesn’t have to mean you aren’t (P.S. Santa does find you in your holiday caravan.

Phew!) visible online.

Although business may close up shop or slow Courtesy of Crisp Crow Communications down over the summer period, social media gets a boost with people spending more of their downtime online.

If you can manage to spend a couple of hours in the lead up to your time out automating your kevin gillam social media, your online worlds will keep ticking over even when you’re hollering at the kids not to out, one mile out off Goode Beach, lean quite so far over the cliff face to photograph the ‘Whales’ Graveyard’, surface scuffed a shark. and tugged but three fathoms down Blog posts on your website, Facebook daily and seven dreams round, a cairn posts, paid advertising, and other online hotspots of bones, tide combing at fronds can either be totally or partially automated. You’ll be able to keep up your conversation with your of seagrass, the handwriting clients and customers online without picking up your phone. of the dropped, shunned by writings

POETRY seven dreams round

GET OLD SCHOOL If writing of any description is part of the way you market online, just check how much more productive you will be without working on your laptop.

Yes, paper and pen.

Get your next quarter plan scribbled out.

Write your next six months of blog posts. Map out some social media interaction for the upcoming season.

Without the distraction of all the flickering fluff happening on your computer, you’ll whizz through tasks faster than you could have imagined.

of time, cartilage on beach shy reminders beside fronds and pike fish and flotsam scuffed

by Southerlies, ashened cairn shedding its story all down the shoreline, songs of whale down in the dance of tide writing, in Phrygian mode, a cairn’s history, blood from Cheynes Beach Whaling Station purpling scuffed seas, shark fins crazing, the fronds out and and below in wait, fronds thriving on gristle. and down now in this hushed grove, scuffing breeze atop, what is written? what is remembered? a beach of whale bone whispers, a cairn

BREATHE IT IN Everyone needs a chance to breathe out the hard work of the preceding year and to breathe in the good stuff. Small business people are particularly renowned for eating, sleeping and breathing their calcium rich, lush, a cairn business. But our families need us home to exotic fish, fronds to connect with them too. and flora unseen and beach From a self-confessed social media addict, disconnecting from white as forget, the sky down your online self, even if only for and matt finishing, writing a couple of days, will seriously briny fiction on waves, scuffed enable the reconnection to the reason many of us do what we do but holding, greedy sea, scuffed, – our family. bones stolen, hunkered in cairn, For me, this is undoubtedly the orb of sunlight writing the most rewarding aspect of the in kelp and weed and green fronds, unplugging, even if my two big wrasse and black brim darting down kids tend to take the complete and through undergrowth, Goode Beach mick out of every landmark visit by verbally beginning a blog article in a falsetto voice, complete cradling and keeping its fronds with “This is Jay Crisp Crow for and flensed tales, while out, a cairn, Crisp Crow Communications” and one mile out, watches a beach elbowing each other in mirth.

Ed: K evin Gillam won the Open Section of Poetry of The other experience to the KSP Writer’s Competition with this poem.

HOLIDAY READING PERSISTANCE SAMANTHA WATSON

YOUR TIME STARTS NOW

W

aves of moonlight shifted across my field of vision. I tiptoed across the damp ground.

One wrong move and I would probably fall through one of the many holes located around the place. As I snuck up to the small silver gate of the elegant terrain, I swiftly ducked for cover under the over-hanging tree foliage.

The night was beginning to feel monotonously long and I felt the urge to slip into the light and let the alarm go off. My heartbeat raced as I slowly stepped over the red electric beam connecting the fence to the open gate. I looked up.

The mansion sat on the hillside overlooking a small lake. It had a large red roof and pale blue walls. Every light was off, but you could still see the soft glow of the moonlight reflected on the front broad bay windows. As I gulped down on my saliva, my body shifted towards the protection of the bush. A small path led towards the next undulating line of trees.

I started walking forward up the narrow cobblestone path. Step after step, I moved quicker and quicker. I moved fast and steadily. I reached the window on the lake side of the house.

Although the house was quite old, the small wooden porch seemed to look quite new. I swiftly gazed inside, finding a long room, completely empty, and pushed open the ornate bay windows.

I climbed inside the house, waiting, silently, for the lasers. The lasers that always go off. The mostly red, glowing lines that can trigger the noisiest alarm ever! Nothing. I found myself taking another step forward.

Suddenly, thousands of lines shot out in random directions, from every wall. I really wanted to retreat outside and hide, but I knew I could do this. I rolled, curled up and threw myself under the maze of laser beams. I now had only thirty seconds to disarm the alarm system.

Finally, after what seemed like minutes of belly surfing to avoid contact with the red beams, I reached the safety of the far corner of the room, with the wallpapered surface, further distinguished by a simple built in power plug.

I knew from experience that this was the solution to my problem. I briskly applied the switch and to my relief, the red, angry beams disappeared. The alarm was deactivated! Phew, there was no time to waste. I now had exactly five minutes to complete the mission.

Quickly, I ran upstairs and tiptoed into the main room across the landing. I reached into a drawer and threw the contents haphazardly into my back-pack. This was no time for neatness. I opened another window, threw myself out and grabbed hold of a sturdy tree branch.

I softly dropped down and ran toward the gate. No time to waste. I sprinted down the sloping driveway, through the open gate and ran out

onto the street pavement, dodging pedestrians.

I practically flew down the road, getting many confused looks from my actions.

Finally I made it home; very breathless. I threw my backpack on the ground and marched into the lounge room where I kept my most precious items. I opened the glass lid to my display cabinet.

The items were gone! I groaned. Remembering my big vault of money, I swiftly raced upstairs. I threw myself at the door to my vault.

Strangely, although I was the only one in the room, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was somehow being watched. I cautiously turned around. Nothing.

A soft click rattled through the air.

I opened the large brief-case lying by the huge vault and automatically entered the twelve d i g i t

number code into the built in keyboard.

Thank goodness I was good with numbers. As I activated the ENTER button at the base of the case, the vault door slowly opened. The huge steel metal scraped against the walls. I stared inside.

It was also empty! I swiftly closed the door and swung around. As I did this, more clicks swarmed the air. I stopped dead in my tracks, my heart racing again. About a dozen police officers had snuck into my house and were now holding guns, weapons and my beautiful, precious items and loot.

One officer held up my confiscated backpack and raised his shaggy eyebrows. Two cops barged through the crowd of officers and hand-cuffed me. I looked solemnly down at the floor.

MISSION UNSUCCESSFUL! These words flashed up on my computer screen. I slowly forced myself up.

REALITY I had been sitting on my hard desk chair for what seemed like an ‘eternity’ and my left thigh was actually starting to feel numb.

I audibly sighed. That level was the final one I needed to unlock the bonus map!

Reluctantly I drew the curtains and opened my bedroom door. Predictably, light shone through my bedroom and the smell of mum’s cooking filled the air. It was then I noticed the

plate of freshly baked cookies left on the dresser inside my room. I stuffed one into my mouth and sipped again on the milk that I had been slowly drinking during the game. It was good to have my appetite back again.

I double clicked on an icon I had saved onto my desktop. It held my times. My best times!

The scores achieved for completing every game.

The folder opened and I smiled. I may not have finished the task, but I had completed a new speed record. I typed in my latest high score and saved the folder. I double-clicked on the game icon and re-launched the level. * * * * * * I spawned in a small city. The houses isolated by neat wooden fences and rows of neat hedges.

I sprinted up the hill towards the fancy, pale blue mansion overlooking the lake with the undulating line of trees. I knew I would complete it soon enough. I just had to! I had a plan to test my persistence and persistence is something I never give up on.

THE BIG “O”

I had been home now for well over two months and it was starting to become really tedious.

No other kids around, all because of my tumour, or as the doctors call it; “Oligodondrogliome”.

I think it sounds simpler and much better if I simply refer to it as just the “O” disease.

Sometimes I wish I could be treated like other kids again; getting out and even returning to school. Well maybe; but mum says recovering after this treatment is all that matters right now.

Well, that and video games of course! I now own virtually every cool popular game out there. I even plan to become a famous online gamer when I grow older.

Some of my school friends have asked to come around to hang out and play online together, but my way overprotective mum won’t have it. She says it’s far too dangerous until my blood count improves. Ironic isn’t it. The online game is all about taking risks to achieve the big prize. Well, no challenge, no gain, I say!

When I finally get to unlock the bonus map, I intend to name the new land that I win; “O” city. That’s where this disease with the funny unpronounceable name really belongs. Just as a fantasy in an online gaming world.

Still, this secret code with the funny “O” name, won’t win.

The doctors say it has a good 90% survival rate. Well, that’s good.

I like playing with numbers.

I like playing for the highest scores.

Hell, I keep playing till I eventually win!

It’s called persistence.

Ed: Samantha Watson won the Youth Section of Speculative Fiction of the KSP Writer’s Competition.

11

HOLIDAY READING KARA JOHN H LEWINGTON

The elders were grouped by the creek listening to the night spirits whispers amid the paperbark trees...

-oOo-

T

three years.”

“Money’s good,” he persisted. The gun barrel shone as he let it point her way. “You had big ideas of spending it. You could have stayed down south, if you had insisted.”

“I realise that now. I’m too bloody soft.

Wanted to look after you.”

“You do.”

“You spend more time in town than with me.

You wonder I’m fed up?”

“If you didn’t grate on so.”

“I don’t nag.”

“You give a fucking good impression. I’m working my guts out for our future. You don’t seem to realise,” The chair creaked violently. “I was going to make it with you.”

“Not-only-with-me!” the words were icy.

The rifle polishing stopped as the point sunk in, like the knife in his arm, that he had felt in a fight outside the tavern, just a year ago. He felt sweat and knew she was acidic.

“Think I’ll get another beer. When’s grub up?”

“When it’s ready!” A non-committal reply spat out.

He placed the gun carefully on the chair and headed for the beer fridge in the Sleepout. The kitchen door banged behind him.

he man, who had been Roo shooting, was sitting by the fire under an outback dark sky filled with stars. The crackling of twigs made him grab his rifle. You could never be too sure.

But it was only a dingo, crossing an open patch in the firelight. He took a pot shot for fun.

The animal gave an almost human scream and fled. The sound shook the man. Then all went quiet until whimpering came from a distance.

The man built the fire up until the flames again glinted strong. Nothing stirred but eyes were watching him.

The gaunt elder put a finger to his lips, as his son started forward, checking him. They knew the dingo would die, but slowly. The white fella had destroyed a spirit of the wild……… The white fella was drunk.

The man was uneasy. The bush was dark and the night cold. He stayed close to the fire in his sleeping bag and finally slept.

A dark hand slipped something into his knapsack. When he got home the next evening the man, as usual, threw the knapsack into the Sleepout.

-oOo The Kara stirred.

Reaching for a cold can his hand trembled.

Was she was onto him? The thought of facing her -oOowith the facts frightened his inner soul. If only Liz hurried up the stairs from the yard there was an easier way……… Some accident? clutching the day’s washing which was stiff from He walked to the Sleepout door, sipping the the oppressive heat of the outback sun. The drink, and glanced out at the darkening sky. Soon Sleepout door banged behind her. there would be a cooling the land after the heat of With her free hand she brushed a wisp of hair the day. from her eye, amid sweat, wishing she could fling Meanwhile the Kara had taken up residence off the thin cotton dress that clung sticky to her on the outside wall of the Sleepout. Its body lithe form. pulsating while eight eyes shone with an inner He, relaxed dark haired, bronzed and tall, of light. And it grew … course, sat resplendent in fresh shorts and shirt in his favourite rickety armchair cleaning his rifle -oOowith a soft rag. Liz was unfazed about his success The kitchen door banged as usual a he entered at Roo shooting. the house and the noise made Liz cringe.

She gritted her teeth at his smugness. Their “Did you have to do that?” marriage was as rickety as the chair her husband “What?” occupied engrossed with his beloved gun. Out of “Bang the bloody door.” the corner of her eye she saw him aim the weapon “It always bangs.” at her back as she dumped the washing and He retreated to the chair taking up the rifle turned to the dinner stove. The air conditioner in again, “What are we having?” the corner was working overtime.

“Sort of Irish stew.”

“Still hot out there?” A pointless comment “Hell’s bells, Liz! We’re bloody hot as it is!” from him.

“Think of it as a curry. It’s all I’m doing. Use up “What do you expect? This bloody climate. the vegetables. They cost a fortune.”

Heat and flies. Heat and flies.”

He grunted, fingering the gun while she “The mine pays well.” stirred the pot and thought hard. Gazing into the “Just pocket money for you to booze.” swirling vegetables she saw herself back in Perth “Don’t start that again! You didn’t have to when they were first married. come up here.”

Lying on the beach. Sometimes nude. The feel “Didn’t realise things did I? You married me of the ocean. The feel of him within her as they remember? It was your idea. You didn’t want us made frequent love. She sighed. They hardly made apart. Got this ram-shackled place, in a town right love now. It was stale. out of the way, but handy to the mine. Eighteen The clock ticking quietly in the background months you said. Two years tops. Now nearly soothed her till the gun clicking brought Liz back

12

from the past.

“Do you have to play with that thing?”

He muttered, “Not playing. It has to be cleaned. I shoot Roo’s, remember? Any time I get a break from the mine.”

She looked at the rifle as he stroked it. He sensed that she was watching. He continued stroking with the same gentleness she had felt when he first explored her. She shivered, pulled herself together and began to serve the meal.

They ate in silence…

-oOo The clock chimed as she ventured, “Suppose you’re going to the tavern?”

“Course. Company darts finals.”

“It would be that.”

“Right. Practice makes perfect. I’m in the team damn it.”

“Darts, billiards and bloody beer.” she sighed.

“Can’t stand the place.”

“Lucky to have them up here. You don’t mix.”

She snapped. “You do. Besides playing darts with your mates?”

“What are you getting at?” He stood up, jarring the table, and dropping the gun on the chair. “I’m getting another beer.”

“Do that,” she stabbed back.

The kitchen door slammed yet again as he yanked the fridge door open to stand looking into the cold light. Breathing heavily he stood thinking of her. Not Liz. Lindy. Lindy at the tavern. Lindy with the lovely hair. Laughing Lindy, ever oozing sex as they went to bed. Bringing him towards her softness.

He grunted. She knew about Lindy. He was sure now. That’s what all the agro was about. He closed the fridge quietly.

What to do?

Taking a long drink he stood looking out at the sky, as beyond their neighbour’s house the irregular line of street lights made intermittent shadows of the buildings. A distant road train rumbled on the highway going south. The air was still warm. He couldn’t get Lindy out of his mind.

He ached for her.

The Kara in its blackness was getting bigger all the time…

-oOo Liz was picking at her food when he returned, can in hand, to the kitchen, carefully stopping the kitchen door banging on the way.

“You’re going then?”

“Soon.”

“You’re like all the rest.”

He picked up the rifle. He didn’t want a fight, yet something compelled him to say, in a whisper, “What’s niggling you?”

“You’re having an affair with that damn barmaid woman!” It gushed out like vomit as she slapped the table.

His knuckles whitened on the gun with the retort, “I’m not.” The complete lie.

“I’m not stupid!” her eyes flashed, “Can add up.

What were you doing last Wednesday then?”

HOLIDAY READING The statement unnerved him so he feigned puzzlement.

“Darts practice again. You know that’s regular.”

“Practicing something more than darts with that bitch, I reckon. She’s had every one you know.”

His voice was cold. “Careful what you say.

This is a small town.” His hands gripping the gun tightened. His palms sweated along with his body.

His wife smiled knowingly, “You partner with Jim don’t you? Jim Kinder from management?”

“So?” “Elsa Kinder told me her husband had to leave home early as there was trouble at the mine. You weren’t with him at the darts practice were you?

I phoned you about something, remember? You said he was there with you playing darts.”

“He was coming-” “He didn’t come. Elsa told me last night he couldn’t get way from the mine for hours. You weren’t playing darts. Something more active with that barmaid, what’s her name? It was her night off and your night on. On her. Bastard!”

They stared across at each other as the clock patiently ticked in the background.

The Kara was still growing…

-oOo His eyes gleamed under the kitchen light as he brought the rifle slowly up towards his wife’s face…Slowly…Slowly…

Slowly………….

She stiffened.

The clock seemed to stop in her mind.

Then Liz remembered the gun was being cleaned. It wasn’t loaded. He was taunting her.

She looked steadily at him till he released the threat was hollow. Abruptly he lowered the gun, placing it carefully on the chair, like a treasured pet, saying in a low controlled voice. “I’m going now.”

He walked deliberately slow to the kitchen door, slammed it behind him, and opened the creaking Sleepout door.

He slammed that too for good measure as he entered the night air. He never glanced at the outside wall where the Kara quivered in the dark.

Behind him came the shattering sound of crockery flying against the walls.

He picked up the torch kept on the ledge and swore when he remembered he had left the car keys in the bedroom before his shower. He couldn’t go back into the house. He dare not. He couldn’t risk his mood. Risk her mood. It was not a long walk to the tavern. He could do with a walk to stop the blood pounding in his head.

-oOo The human noise and vibrations agitated the Kara into an frenzy. If he had swung a torch on to the wall, the man would have seen that the creature’s diameter was now some twelve inches wide, vibrating its legs viciously.

It was beginning to descend to the ground…

The man moved quickly out of the back yard, then along the ill lit road, muttering oaths,

failing to hear the rustle behind him of many feet scrabbling in the red dirt.

Growing as it moved.

All the town seemed to be in the tavern. The road silent.

As the man moved along the road he failed to look back and see the Kara in the shadows reaching the size of an adult Dingo. It was only a matter of time now….

-oOo Amid the scattered china pieces of her rage Liz saw the rifle mocking her on the rickety chair. She walked over and picked up the object he would never let her handle. She ran her hands over the smooth butt. So much care taken on that gun.

How much for her?

Jealousy welled again within as she took the rifle and grabbed a scatter of cartridges from the dresser drawer. She fed the gun as she had seen him do so many times. BASTARD! Taking the rifle in the crock of her arm she moved purposely towards the kitchen door, and then to the sleepout exterior door. She’d scare him. The fool hadn’t picked up his car keys.

He would have to walk there! Then walk back!

Pissed!

She hunched the rifle up more comfortable.

She gave a half hysterical laugh at the sudden thought of him shitting his pants in fright, seeing his gun in her hands. His phallic symbol.

The Sleepout outer door creaked as she opened it.

“I’ll teach you!” The word rang into the black of night. The door slammed closed as she stepped down to the back yard. There was no sign of her husband. Only silence, darkness…

She muttered, “Damn you.” the words quieter now.

-oOo A light suddenly flashed against the side of the house as a car swung into the yard and stopped.

The car beams silhouetted Liz against the Sleepout with a menacing rifle in her arms. Dazzled, she stood until a voice from the darkness behind the light urged.

“Liz? Are you all right?”

It was Elsa. The car’s lights died. Her friend joined her at a trot.

“Hell. What are you doing with that? Prowlers around? Where’s…”

“Out!” She spat the word.

“Liz, dear…”

“He’s down at bloody tavern. As usual!”

“Your car’s still here…… Oh! Was that him I saw walking down the road towards town? He was in shadow. Must have been. He seemed to have some dog following him. Dingo type. I only got a quick look as I turned off here.”

“We haven’t got a dog.”

Seeing the cold look in her friend’s face Elsa added. “My God! You’ve had yet another row? You weren’t going to use that, were you?”

Looking down at the gun as if for the first time Liz dropped it like a sun-hot rock. She burst into tears. Her friend embraced her, and then silently

picked up the rifle. They turned back to enter the house as Elsa whispered. “I’ll make some tea. You had better tell me what happened.”

-oOo The phone rang while the two women were well into the beer from the Sleepout fridge, having given up the idea of making tea amid the smashed china.

Liz, eyes wide, finally let the phone drop with the statement, “He… He’s dead…… Elsa…dead… corner of Barn… and… Firestone… Sergeant Fillaby wants me to meet him there… Not far…

Nearly to the tavern.”

Elsa nodded in their mutual shock.

The two women made the short ride to where the police sergeant’s van sat without flashing lights. Sergeant Gerry Fillaby stood talking with an aboriginal tracker. They could see a human form covered with a blanket on the ground.

The routine of the town pub had not been disturbed judging by the sound of the distant pounding music. Liz took the presence of the lean tracker as someone who had found her husband.

The sergeant nodded. “Billy here found him after he left the station. Only one set of foot prints.

You husband. Something else has disturbed the dirt in Billy’s opinion. Not quite sure what. He shot back quick to tell me.

“We’re keeping it quiet. Don’t want the rabblerousers around just yet. This is an odd one. Sent for an investigation team.”

The aboriginal nodded from under his battered hat. His eyes looked sympathetically at Liz. He liked the woman.

The police sergeant wiped a perspiring brow. ”I can’t make it out, Liz. Not a mark on him. I thought hit and run…No tyre marks…

No anything. I’m afraid you will have to look for identification. Be prepared. It’s not nice. Not nice at all.”

He pulled back the blanket.

The face that stared up at them had bulging terror stricken eyes set in a face drained of blood from seeing the unspeakable. The man’s dark hair was white. The mouth gaped...

Elsa gagged, while Liz went white faced and slumped to the ground, as the sergeant flicked the blanket back.

Elsa stood rigid, suppressing a scream, as the Sergeant knelt quickly to attend Liz, hissing, “Don’t lose control Elsa! Give me a hand! Get her to the station. Stay where you are, Billy. Don’t touch anything. Got that? Keep everyone away.

You’ve got your badge. Police now.”

The young man nodded; his eyes bright in the shadows.

A trembling Elsa helped the sergeant move her friend into the police van. They speed off silently.

-oOo The aboriginal stood staring after them, a slight smile at the corner of his mouth, as the dust settled, amid the muted background noise of the nearby tavern.

He cocked an ear … Listening … Listening ... For some small sound … It was out there somewhere …

Concluded on page 15...

13

HOLIDAY READING THE STAINED-GLASS PORTRAIT JAMES FORTE

T

he five girls simply burst through the door of the railway compartment. All arms and legs and grey-green uniforms and talk of boys and horses and ball gowns.

The lady in the corner leant forward. “I recognise that uniform. My old school.”

There was an immediate silence. She might be oddly dressed – rather bohemian in choice of colours and jewellery - but she looked like she might also know the principal, or someone on the Board of Governors.

The train started to grind its way out of the station. The door was quietly closed and everyone settled down.

She gave them a broad smile. “So? Term starting for you? Ending for me!”

“Beg pardon?” from the one with the prefect’s badge.

“I don’t have long to go now. Twenty minutes to the next stop. Might just make it.”

The girls exchanged glances. “Are you alright?”

The lady leaned forward and dropped her voice as if divulging a conspiracy: “A story. A true story.”

Conforming, they leant forward and listened.

“As I said - I don’t have long to go now. It’s not so much the doctors. They smile and say: you’ve got years yet. Liars. I should know.

I’ve a medical degree from St Andrews.

No, it’s us bloody statisticians. Yes, I’m a statistician too! Our figures are irrefutable…

You live the sort of life I’ve led... The sort of problems… You can work out your life expectancy on the fingers of a double amputee.

Oh my god. You should see your faces.

Not another weird crone who wants to tell you her life story… before she shuffles off.

How she loved a fine man before he went away… maybe to war. Never came back… and she never loved again. Sorry… but no.

Not long. And when I do go… It’s going to be… interesting… complicated.

How do you bury someone who doesn’t exist? No name, no date of birth, no family.

Everything you might have heard about her is… ephemeral. You’re stuck with a body and no idea of what to chisel on the tombstone.

It’s going to be an insoluble problem, for some poor bloody bureaucrat. A body to be disposed of quietly? Digging a hole in the dead of night?

Hmmm. There’s this little irritation in the back of my brain. Do I want to be hidden away?

Hold on, you’re saying. You do exist. We can see you… sitting there!

Sure. I’m not a ghost. Nor a robot. I’m not some sort of optical illusion. I eat and breathe and do all the other things a person does. I’ve DNA and a blood group. You could run your hands over my face and body.

You do and I’ll have you for assault. I’m a lawyer too.

What a interesting thought. Where was I? Oh,

14

yes. My non-existence.”

There was a silence which none of the girls dared break. They watched, fascinated, as the lady opened her bag and extracted a large silver flask, a bottle of tablets and a picture frame containing a postcard of a church window. She took a gulp from the flask before offering it around. The prefect bravely took a sip.

The lady smiled: “The real college motto: I drink, therefore I am!

There’s evidence that I once existed. My portrait is in a stained glass window in Trinity Church. I posed for the artist when I was sixteen.

He said I made a better angel than any girl Raphael ever had. You can look in Trinity’s guidebook. It says: Angel modelled by Miss Brenda Wilson.

Portrait of an Angel, Chapel of Westminster Presbyterian Church, Sacramento, California.

[Photo by Rob Small]

Stained glass lasts a hell of a long time. There are some church windows over a thousand years old. So the life expectancy of my portrait is quite good.

But me? Not so good.

There should be a ceremony when you are born. The mid-wife should be intoning: ‘Welcome to the world, little one. You are already dying.

Your life expectancy is currently eighty-five point seven years.’

But you can ferret around in all the official records.

I’m not there. Check the Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages. No birth or wedding certificates.

Anywhere in the world. I was never born. No mum or dad. No mid-wife. No intoning.

And a death certificate? Does it really matter?

Not to me.

But I do need to explain my… extremely peculiar… circumstances. How a woman who did all those amazing things… influenced all those important people… changed world history…

How she came to never exist.

Clearly, there must have been an instant when I came into being. At some point prior to this afternoon… I materialised. What a lovely word.

‘Materialised’. I must use that more often. If I was not born, then there must have been some point when I materialised. Hmmm. Well if you would like to know…

Seven of us. Seven girls in the top class of your school. The magnificent seven. Bright as chrome in a Cadillac showroom. Young, clever and indestructible.

And daring. We wanted to do outrageous things. Isn’t that normal for young people? Bored with our vanillaflavoured respectable middle-class lives.

So we invented an identity. ‘Miss Brenda Wilson’. Now there’s a respectable middleclass name!

And if you were sixteen and you wanted to go and pose… in the nude… for some stained glass artist… You told him you were eighteen and your name was Brenda.

One of us even flew ’round the world on a rather tatty false passport in Brenda’s name. She bought it from some slimy git in a back alley. Sold it back to him afterwards. At a profit! After all, it now had genuine bordercontrol stamps.

Maybe he sold it again, to some other girl who wanted to call herself Brenda.

There could be dozens of them out there.

I wonder if you young people of today could get away with that? Inventing someone. With all those electronic records that governments have now? Maybe it’s even easier. You’re just a few bits in some database.

Have you noticed? When there’s a discrepancy between official records and real life, it’s usually the computer that’s wrong.

Supposed to catch ‘bad people’. What a laugh. And they are so easy to change, if you know how.

And we did know how. Even then.

Outrageous? We started enrolling this imaginary Brenda in all sorts of classes and clubs. Then one of us would pretend to be her. If you already had an honours degree in maths, it was easy to sit the exams again next year… this time as Brenda.

And the qualifications would be authentic… from some genuine university.

We became competitive. Who could gain the most amazing qualifications for Brenda? There were windows of opportunity everywhere. For a while she held the lap record of fastest junior around the Nürburgring.

Well done, Brenda!

She has a doctorate in modern history from Cambridge and one in cosmology from Caltech.

HOLIDAY READING Not to mention a masters in economics from Sydney and one in literature from the Sorbonne.

Plus those medical degrees. We were going to put Brenda up for the Nobel Prize in medicine.

She’d been a co-author of so many first-rate papers. I reckon she might have got it too if there hadn’t been a fight between us… as to who was going to turn up in Stockholm wearing the posh frock.

Happy days. Those opportunistic windows yawned wide and became one continuous adventure. There seemed to be at least three Brendas doing something fantastic at any one time.

And travel... No longer any need to buy dodgy passports in back alleys.

If one of us was in a foreign country, Brenda would mysteriously appear, use a genuine pilot’s license to hire a Cessna Aerobat. Fly it inverted under some bridge… and then disappear again.

Magnificent. Once she auditioned for a part in a play on Broadway… a part she was already playing in the West End that same night. She was everywhere.

And with seven professional, highly-qualified ladies willing to provide her with references and alibis… she simply thrived.

She was in the papers all the time. We disliked photographs in those days. We all looked similar and a bottle of hair dye or a wig kept her appearance reasonably consistent. Even so… best to avoid photographers. But we loved interviews.

We were going to change the world. We did change the world! We put submissions into parliamentary enquiries. Brenda was twice invited to join the Prime Minister’s advisory committee on education. Her blog changed political views on global warming.

My God, we had an amazing time.

Tempus fugit. We all settled down… married, a few children, a couple of divorces.

Then one day I woke up and realised I was totally Brenda. I didn’t want to be anyone else. I struggled. I tried to remember the person I was before… with all that respectability. Couldn’t do it.

My final rebellion. Life’s too short. I had money. I could do anything. Why stop the fun?

The others? They were only ever pretend, part-time Brendas. I was the only twenty-four carat gold Brenda. I slowed down a little. Brenda Wilson, the celebrity, became more reclusive.”

The last sentence ended with a long hacking cough. But no girl interfered as she opened the bottle – clearly labelled: “Maximum two tablets per diem, not to be taken with alcohol” – and washed four pills down with a good swig from the liquor flask. She settled back on the seat and caught her breath before resuming the story.

“A while back, we had our annual dinner. The Secret Society of Brendas. We decided to fly out to that five-star hotel on the island. Two of the others had pilot’s licenses… but only mine was current. The plane was booked in Brenda’s name and the seven of us bundled aboard. Took off into a beautiful clear night.

“Of course, a plane full of Brendas… the

magnificent seven… well, we couldn’t just fly to the island. It was a matter of honour, to do a couple of barrel rolls.

“Perhaps that last loop started a bit low.

Judging your height, at night, over water…

“When you hit… even at a shallow angle…

It’s not like a seaplane coming to rest… It’s like hitting concrete.

“We were all knocked unconscious. At least I hope we were. There was a fishing boat. They managed to drag me out of the pilot’s seat before the plane sank. What was left of it.

“They were quite adamant. I was the pilot.

So I must be Brenda Wilson. On my label as the ambulance raced to the hospital.

“I discharged myself the next day. There was a short enquiry… but I knew many of the top people in the Air Safety Office. So my license was simply endorsed “medically unfit to fly”. And that was that.

“They only found a couple of the bodies but there was an impressive funeral… for the magnificent seven.

“You are looking at the last Brenda. And soon… No tombstone is going to be big enough to record all the things we’ve… I’ve… done.

“Last week, I went over to Trinity and had another look at my portrait. A priest came over to tell me about the stained glass. I couldn’t resist… confiding that I was the girl in the window. He insisted on taking my photo… with the portrait.

“And you can still see the likeness, in the right light. He agreed to amend the guidebook. It will now say: ‘Angel modelled by the eminent scientist, Doctor Brenda Wilson, when a young girl.’

“Here’s to all Brendas. Everywhere. Cheers!

“I don’t have long to go now. Perhaps, I will go out and do one last outrageous… act. Perhaps I will just disappear. Perhaps some journalist will ask: “What happened to Brenda Wilson?” Perhaps my body will be found…

So, my young friends, now you know. You will be able to sit back and enjoy the sight of the coroner… running round in little circles. Trying to work out who the hell I am.

“And if you believe in Brendas, you will not tell. Just say…

“I’m the stained-glass portrait in Trinity church.”

Concluded from page 13 ....

In the shadows. It had to be…He didn’t need to see…He knew…

It would be small now, natural size, moving unnoticed in the red dirt.

Eager to move back.

North…… Where the elders waited.

Where……The Kara should be….

-oOo When Liz recovered she insisted on going home.

“I’ll require a statement from her in the morning.” the sergeant whispered to the every helpful Elsa, who remembered the rifle, but said nothing. “She’s in no condition now.” He was keen to get back to meet the forensic team.

They used the sergeant’s private car, on his insistence. Billy would bring Elsa’s car back.

Elsa drove off, after assuring the sergeant she would stay the night with her friend. The women were silent on the short drive as they cruised along shadowy streets.

As the car entered the yard behind the house the light beams spotlighted the Sleepout wall.

Elsa sighed. “Did you know you had a wolf spider on that wall? I saw it after your hubby came home. I came by and nearly stopped, but I was late in myself.

Liz muttered. “Really?”

Elsa smiled. “It’s gone now.”

Liz was calm. ”So’s he.”

Volunteering - ordinary people performing extraordinary tasks to help others There are so many opportunities for you to help those in our communities!

Call us now on 9278 9690 to make an appointment. For more information, contact: Swan Volunteer Resource Centre (Midland) 10am-4pm, Monday to Friday (closed Wednesdays)

Ellenbrook Pop Up Volunteer Centre 9297 9600 10am-3pm, Wednesdays

swanvolunteers@swan.wa.gov.au www.swanvolunteers.com.au 15

TOODYAY GEOCACHING FUN IN TOODYAY KRISTEE JOLLY

J

oin a real-world outdoor treasure hunting game around Toodyay’s Central Tourist District!

Geocaching uses “Global Positioning Systemenabled” devices to navigate to a specific set of GPS coordinates to find the geocache (container) hidden at that site.

Anyone can join and basic membership is free. Register at www.geocaching.com to find out more about this fun activity more than six million people world-wide are enjoying.

After registering you can visit the “Hide and Seek a Cache” page on the Geocaching website and key in the postcode of the area you wish to investigate.

Choose any geocache from the list and click on its name. Enter its coordinates on your device and then use it to find the hidden geocache.

Sign the logbook and return the geocache to its original location.

Share your geocaching stories and photos online. If you don’t have a dedicated GPS navigation device then the Official Geocaching app can be downloaded to your smartphone from either the Apple Store or Google Play.

In Toodyay’s Central Tourist Precinct eight geocaches have recently been hidden as part of a walking trail. All are of a traditional design with a low degree of difficulty for first time treasure hunters!

While some geocaches are located at wellknown sites, others can be discovered in spots you may have overlooked on previous visits to Toodyay.

All locations have an interesting story and if you become a Geocaching member you will be able to access information about it including the geocache GPS coordinates, the location’s description and history, additional hints and a logbook of comments from previous finders.

For people who would like to try out this fun activity at Toodyay before committing themselves we have produced a brochure which can be picked up at the Toodyay Visitors Centre.

Included are GPS coordinates, a map and a little bit of information about each site.

The complete Toodyay Tourist Precinct Geocache walking trail measures 3.55km with some uphill sections.

The trail between each of the sites is on a made surface and although a sprint around the trail would probably take about forty minutes, you should allow at least two hours for finding

A

Valley

for

TOURIST PRECINCT #3 - Toodyay Pioneer’s Arboretum A cache by dimor Hidden : 10/14/2015 In Western Australia, Australia Difficulty: 1.5 out of 5

1.5 out of 5

Size: Size: micro (micro) No.3 Toodyay Pioneer’s Arboretum In 1979 the Toodyay Naturalists’ Club marked the State’s 150th anniversary of European settlement with the establishment of an arboretum in Toodyay. It was dedicated to the European pioneers of the district and was located next to Gumley’s Mill which had closed down in the 1970s. Mainly Western Australian eucalypts were planted on land leased by the Shire of Toodyay from Westrail.

Further plantings were carried out in 1988 to commemorate the Bicentenary of Australia. A brass plaque was unveiled to mark the occasion.

More trees were added to the arboretum the following year and a catalogue was produced in 1992. This booklet is available today from the Toodyay Visitors’ Centre, although it should be noted that currently the numbering of the trees is not in situ and not all of the specimens may be present.

* You could have a lovely walk around town grabbing these Tourist Precinct caches Cache contains log only so please BYO pen Please try to just use date and name only on the log to allow room for others to sign and also save our precious trees Happy Hunting ...

These caches have been placed for and in conjunction with the Museum Curator/Heritage Officer at the Shire of Toodyay. Thank you for all the information and photos Barnzy12 Found it Found it 01/01/2016 TFTC! Took a drive out to Northam with a detour to The outskirts of York and Toodyay and completed a bunch of caches in between. Was a great day out and I can't wait to come back soon. Thanks

All

Seasons

O N LY A N H O U R ’S D R I V E F R O M T H E c i t y

V i s i t w w w. t o o d y a y. c o m f o r f u r t h e r i n f o r m a t i o n o r c a l l ( 0 8 ) 9 5 7 4 2 4 3 5

16

Terrain:

the geocaches and enjoying each of the unique locations. Picnic facilities are located at two sites.

Each Tourist Precinct site is also accessible by car.

While site number 1, called “Lock Up Your Horses”, begins at the Newcastle Gaol Museum Precinct you can begin and finish the trail anywhere you chose, as it is a circular route.

Geocaching - a fun and family friendly activity you can access right in the centre of Toodyay!

TOODYAY THE WORLD’S BIGGEST TREASURE HUNT

I

t’s not very often that you can date the start of a hobby precisely. The card game Whist, for example, from which the modern Bridge is descended is itself a descendant of the 16th century game of Trump or Ruff.

By comparison, we know Geocaching (pronounced gee-ocashing) began on May the 3rd, 2000 by Dave Ulmer of Beavercreek, Oregon.

Geocaching was conceived shortly after the removal of Selective Availability from the Global Positioning System on May 2nd, 2000.

Because the improved accuracy of the system allowed for a small container to be specifically placed and located Dave Ulmer placed a cache of a partially buried black plastic bucket containing software, videos, books, food, money and a slingshot and posted the location on the Usenet newsgroup sci.geo. satellite-nav.

The concept of something hidden specifically to be tracked and found by hikers was rather older, but known as letterboxing.

The origin of letterboxing can be traced back to 1854 in Dartmoor, Devon. William Crossing in his Guide to Dartmoor states that a well known Dartmoor guide, James Perrott, placed a bottle for visiting cards at Cranmere Pool on the northern moor in 1854.

From this hikers on the moors began to leave a letter or postcard inside a box along the trail (sometimes addressed to themselves, sometimes a friend or relative)—hence the name "letterboxing".

The next person to discover the site would collect the postcards and post them.

The first Dartmoor letterboxes were so remote and well-hidden that only the most determined walkers would find them, allowing weeks to pass before the letter made its way home.

Until the 1970s there were no more than a dozen such sites around the moor, usually in the most inaccessible locations. Increasingly, however, letterboxes have been located in

relatively accessible sites and today there are thousands of letterboxes, many within easy walking distance of the road.

Dave Ulmer at the site of the first geocache

As a result, the tradition of leaving a letter or postcard in the box has been forgotten.

Letterboxing has become a popular sport, with thousands of walkers gathering for 'boxhunts' and while in some areas of Dartmoor it is particularly popular amongst children, some of the more difficult to find boxes and tougher terrain are better suited to more experienced adults.

The growing popularity of the rather similar activity of geocaching during the 2000s has increased interest in letterboxing as well.

In essence Geocaching is an outdoor recreational activity, in which participants use a Global Positioning System

(GPS) receiver or mobile device (iPhone or smart phone) and other navigational techniques to hide and seek containers, called “geocaches” or “caches”, anywhere in the world.

A typical cache is a small waterproof container containing a logbook (with a pen or pencil). The geocacher enters the date they found it and signs it with their established code name.

After signing the log, the cache must be placed back exactly where the person found it. Larger containers such as plastic storage containers (Tupperware or similar) or ammunition boxes can also contain items for trading, such as toys or trinkets, usually of more sentimental worth than financial.

There are millions of geocaches around the world, just waiting to be found. There are 737 geocaches near Perth alone.

To get started, all you need is a free Geocaching account and the Official Geocaching app or a GPS.

Your first port of call should be the official website Geocaching to register your account: https:// www.geocaching.com/play.

This website is pretty much an ‘all-you-need’ guide with a FAQ, videos, shop, community and step-by-step guide.

Good luck and good hunting.

17

THE VOICE OF SWAN HILLS SHOO FLY, DON’T BOTHER ME FRANK ALBAN MLA

L

ast month the State Government established a quarantine zone over a number of suburbs after Department of Agriculture and Food Western Australia (DAFWA) found six male Queensland fruit fly or Qfly (Bactrocera tryoni) in the Alfred Cove area in late November.

We have seen three previous outbreaks between 1989 and 2011, where they were eradicated. This interstate threat is the number one pest of horticulture across our east coast.

A quarantine area was established and restrictions on the movement of non-commercial fruit, including home grown fruit, came into force from 1 December 2015. More information on this is available at www.agric.wa.gov.au/qflymetro.

Interestingly, during the 2015 ALF preliminary finals, both being played in September 2015 at Domain Stadium, the Queensland fruit fly was one of the pests that required an increase of quarantine officers and detector dogs to deal with the influx of footy fans for the matches against Hawthorn and North Melbourne.

Our state has strict policy that no seeds, honey, vegetables and fruit are allowed to be brought in. This is not to be confused with Mediterranean fruit fly or Medfly (Ceratitis capitata) which is an issue within Western Australia.

With regard to Medfly, in recent years there has been a restriction of chemicals, such as fenthion, that have previously been used to combat this pest.

In Western Australia, DAFWA has used the Sterile Insect Technique (SIT). This involves the release of insects that have been exposed to radiation to render male flies sterile. They are then released over a large area and used in conjunction with baiting and orchard hygiene.

The negative aspect of the SIT insects is that they are less competitive and active at mating than their non-radiated counterparts.

In November 2015, DAFWA announced a new trial with supporting funding from Horticulture Innovation Australia Limited, utilising a Medfly strain from the company Oxitec.

In glasshouse trials, these Oxitec fruit flies will be monitored for their mating performance.

It is hoped that these flies will be more active and competitive than the previously utilised SIT flies.

The key difference between the existing SIT method and these new flies are two genes. One is a “self-limiting gene” which male flies pass on 18

to female genes and will prevent the female offspring from developing to adulthood.

Given that the life-cycle of a Medfly can be three weeks from egg to reproducing adult and that an adult will typically survive three months, this will hopefully have a significant disruptive impact on the breeding cycle.

The second gene is a “marker gene”, resulting in a visible identification

Mediterra

nean fruit

fly (Medfl

y)

COMMUNITY FREE ECO HOME AUDITS

R

nd f eensla

ruit f ly

(Qf ly)

(under special light) allowing the tracking of the male flies and offspring.

For these reasons, it remains imperative that, across the state, people properly maintain their plants, be it someone with a few fruit trees in their backyard, or a grower who has an orchard or vineyard. Fruit fly remains a significant pest and the potential for even greater impact on our WA industries is significant.

Photos provided by the Department of Agriculture and Food, Western Australia (DAFWA).

Qu

Unit 8 Vale Town Centre 31 Egerton Drive Aveley WA 6069 Phone: 9296 7688

Email: frank.alban@mp.wa.gov.au

esidents in the City of Swan’s Altone and Midland Place areas can get free eco home audits as part of the City’s Thinking Green program.

City Mayor Mick Wainwright said the offer would be available throughout January, February and March 2016.

“The City has a strong environmental focus, both on reducing our own carbon footprint and helping our community to do the same,” he said.

“The Thinking Green workshops have been very popular and this is an extension of the program.

“Initially it is only being offered in the Altone and Midland Place Management areas, but if it is popular, the City will consider extending to other areas.”

Altone Ward Councillor David Färdig said residents who took up the offer would be given tips to help them reduce household waste and make their household more efficient.

“An experienced auditor from Environment House will visit your household to consult with you and identify actions you can take to use water and energy more efficiently,” he said.

“Free or subsidised eco-friendly hardware products will also be provided during the audit visits.”

Midland Place takes in the suburbs of Jane Brook, Koongamia, Midland, Woodbridge, Guildford, Hazelmere, Middle Swan, Swan View, Viveash, South Guildford, and parts of Bellevue and Midvale.

Altone Place includes the suburbs of Beechboro, Caversham, Kiara, Lockridge, Brabham, Dayton, Bennett Springs and Whiteman.

For more information or to register, please contact Brenda at Environment House on 9840 9232 or email brenda@envirohouse.org.au.

COMMUNITY NEW PUBLIC HOSPITAL

S

t John of God Midland Public Hospital has opened, revealing $1 million worth of public art commissioned to enhance the look and feel of the facility and support local artists.

Over the past three years, the hospital has been the focus of a major public art program, facilitated by non-profit cultural organisation FORM, involving thirteen local artists who created eleven artworks as part of the State Government's Percent for Art Program.

St John of God Midland Public Hospital Chief Executive Officer Dr Glen Power said the artworks greatly enhance the look of the hospital and assist with creating a welcoming and comforting environment for all who work at and visit the facility.

"The welcoming and innovative artworks have enabled us to create spaces where patients, staff and visitors can go to think and reflect, and they form an important part of our holistic approach to care," he said.

"I thank the efforts of the artists in creating such first-class artwork and for FORM’s efforts to enable a public art gallery to be woven into the hospital."

FORM’s Public Art Project Manager Kate Parker said the project focussed on facilitating

artworks that would help provide a connected and inclusive atmosphere and promote wellbeing, healing and hope amongst patients, staff and visitors.

The artworks follow the theme of journeys and spiritus to recognise the area’s heritage and people as well as the hospital’s focus on health and wellbeing.

"Several of the artists come from the hospital’s catchment area, including Deborah Bonar of Ballajura, Peter Dailey of Woodbridge and Peter and Miranda Farmer of Bassendean," Ms Parker said.

"Peter Dailey’s Transition in the second floor paediatric ward references the nearby Helena and Swan Rivers and wetlands. The artwork features hand drawn birds and local icons. The flight of the birds through the work is symbolic of progression and movement."

NOTES FROM PARLIAMENT HON DONNA FARAGHER JP, MLC Member for East Metropolitan R egion Parlimentary Secretary to the Premier

S Advertisement

Your local Liberal East Metropolitan Members of Parliament

Here to help!

WESTERN AUSTRALIA

Hon Helen Morton MLC Ph: (08) 9452 8311 Fax: (08) 9452 8366 helen.morton@mp.wa.gov.au

Hon Donna Faragher MLC Ph: (08) 9379 0840 Fax: (08) 9379 0845 donna.faragher@mp.wa.gov.au

Hon Alyssa Hayden MLC Ph: (08) 9274 8484 Fax: (08) 9274 7874 alyssa.hayden@mp.wa.gov.au Authorised by B.Morton 2/12 Parliament Place,West Perth WA 6005

Several of the artists are of Aboriginal heritage, including Peter and Miranda Farmer, whose works Grass Tree, Pink Orchid, Tea Tree and Marri Tree make up four shade canopies referencing local species of flora, which are known for their medicinal qualities.

The works were created through a professional development program for Aboriginal artists run

by FORM called Land.Mark.Art. The major commission in the entry park to the hospital is by Perth artist Simon Gilby. Entitled Spiritus the work was developed in collaboration with the Spatial Information Architecture Laboratory at RMIT, analysing slow motion films and images of exhaled breath to generate the form of the work.

All artworks are located in public areas of the hospital and grounds, accessible to the wider community and patients, staff and visitors.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

tudents in public schools across Western Australia are set to benefit from more than $80 million in upgrades to existing computing technology as well as general school maintenance.

Over $50 million has been allocated to Information and Communication Technology to purchase server and network infrastructure for schools, including wireless network equipment that is designed to improve internet access.

In addition, school maintenance improvements will The Hon Donna Faragher JP, MLC with Jessica Stewart the winner of her Happy Santa Christmas Card competition include classroom refurbishments, school parking upgrades and the resurfacing of welcome improvements including Beechboro Primary School, Hampton Senior High School, bitumen play areas.

In the past two years alone, access to online Kalamunda Senior High School, Embleton digital content has increased by more than 360 Primary School and Glen Forrest Primary School. per cent and these upgrades will ensure that All upgrades are expected to be completed by both students and staff have access to the highest mid-2016. quality facilities to benefit teaching and learning. Finally, congratulations again to Jessica This recent announcement is in addition to Stewart from Helena College Darlington Campus existing education funding that has been allocated for her winning design in my 2015 Christmas Card Art Competition of a happy Santa. by the State Government in 2015-16.

I am very pleased that more than 60 schools May I take this opportunity to wish all readers in the East Metropolitan Region will receive these a happy and safe 2016.

19

esents...

Swan Valley Rotary pr FREE COMMUNITY EVENT

lle Oval, , 2016, Baskervi th 20 ry ua br Saturday, Fe UE, Baskerville Memorial AveN Pre-movie entertainment from 5:30pm, movie starts at sunset Gourmet Sausage Sizzle available from Rotary Club Swan Valley Enjoy a movie night under the stars in the Swan Valley with family, friends and neighbours. BYO picnic blankets and low back chairs. Support your local community groups providing food and entertainment.

This is a smoke and alcohol free event supported by

20

CoS02039

Coffee and Icecream on sale

HOLIDAY READING THE RIGHT STUFF MARGARET O’MAHONY

his is the tale of Jack the lad Whose countenance was never sad..

He’d smile when times were getting tough Fir he was made of the right stuff.

They helped their dad in many ways, With little pay, but plenty praise.

The garden flourished in their hands Flowers and vegies at Jack’s commands.

He was short and stout of stature Engaging, friendly was his nature.

Wheeling, dealing, buying and giving Was the way he earned a living.

He had a secret few people knew, Why his plants just grew and grew.

At night when no one was around, He would pee straight on the ground.

His house he built of stone and brick, He was up to every trick.

When he had not quite enough He’d make some with the right stuff.

His wife declared she’d never seen Lettuce and cabbage quite so green.

Tomatoes too were quite delicious.

Never once was she suspicious.

Mud and straw is what he used.

Observing neighbours were amused.

But Jack was not deterred at all Two hundred years wont see it fall.

Our little family were loyal and true.

And so in time their fortunes grew.

Hard work had reaped its own reward They now could holiday abroad.

His children were his pride and joy, First two girls and then a boy.

To say the least they were somewhat rough, Although imbued with the right stuff.

And so it was in other climes, Jack meditated on those times When life was hard, the going tough But he had been made of the right stuff.

THIS WOMAN, THIS JOKER AND ME JIM RATCLIFFE

I

was drinking in this pub down in Earl’s Court When I hear a woman say “G’day sport’ and this joker says, “Cripes you an Aussie too?”

She says “I was a jilleroo at Wooloomooloo.”

“Be blowed”, he says, “I was a jackaroo at Paraburdoo, cripes this warm beer gives me pains, and an overseer at Anna Plains.”

“Go orn!’ she says “Didja know Dangerous Dan?” “I try to forget him if I can.”

“Well, didja ever see Clancy?”

“Dunno. Mighta done though.”

“Hey - that didn’t rhyme!”

“Woulda done if you’da finished your line.”

Then I tried to pick up a piece of fluff.

She said “Yes, I’ll be in it dear.”

Got ‘her’ home and found ‘he’ was queer!

Well the three of us met again that night.

They asked “How’dja get on?” I said “Alright.”

I didn’t tell them that the ‘she’ was a ‘him’, they might of thought I was just a bit dim.

So we all spun a yarn and told atale, and then tried more British ale.

Stone the crows! What a catastrophe!

We was all crook!

This woman, this joker, and me.

Not long after we’s all recovered a talent scout says we’ve been discovered!

Well they had a good laugh, a giggle and a shout So we practice night and day I says to meself; it’stime to get out! to find the right words to say.

As I stand up they notices me hat, The producer says “Stay as you are, and says “Here’s another, fancy that!” and I will make each one of you a star!”

Well not wishing to be unsociable see, He hands us all an ‘Aussie’ script book.

I buys another round for this woman, this joker, We takes one look and it makes us crook. and me.

The producer says, “You’ll play the part of the persons within.”

When the barmaid says we’d had enough We threw the book in the bin.

We said “Keep em coming or else we gets rough.’ Well he gets mad and starts to swear The Bow Street Runners took us in We get the hell out of there. and we spent the night inside the bin.

It was a day and a half ‘till we got free.

Back at the ‘Court’ we decide to go home.

This woman, this joker, and me.

Never again to England we will roam.

We boarded this plane and made our way to When we got out we toured around Perth. saw the sights and heard the sounds.

Now we’re so happy on our small piece of earth.

Picked up souvenirs, postcards and stuff.

This woman ... and me.

THAT RACE WAYNE PANTALL

couldn’t give a hoot about the stupid Melbourne Cup. The ‘Race that stops a nation’ is the one that stuffs it up, by halting all production, and increasing nat’nal debt.

We’ve all been on a goose chase, since ‘the colt from old Regret’.

It takes food off the tables, of the kids who need it most, as daddy’s wages on the nose, get’ pipped right at the post’.

Mothers cry, the children fear, for no rent means ‘eviction’.

Because the Cup day justifies, our gambling addiction.

The experts fill the coffers of the bookies with their tips, as dumb and dumber punters punt upon what leaves their lips.

We can’t tell crooks from princes, or princesses from old chooks.

They’ll talk a nag up - talk him down – whatever cooks the books.

Fashion in the field, with hideous hats - bare flesh revealed.

Designed to vacuum dollars out of purses, unconcealed.

The socialite peacocks abound ‘midst lowly peasantry, whilst sneering down one’s champagne stem, devoid of pleasantry.

The young girls in the vomit and the mud can hardly crawl.

But if they ever make it home, they’ll say they had a ball.

They’ll never know who picked them up, or which horse won the race.

The object for this group of friends was ‘get right off your face.

‘The Race that stops a nation’ slows it down the next day too, as morbid zombies don’t produce with chunder in the loo.

That is of course if they can’t wangle one more RDO. Or simply take a sick day off, ‘cause that seems all the go.

We’re on the juice, and on the chaff, and on the turps then “OFF and racing in the Melbourne Cup”, as champagne fills the trough.

They pound the ground round Flemington, to quite a mighty roar, to cheers and fears and tears in beers, for richer and for poor.

“It’s ‘In The Know’ from ‘Ignorant’ – a long neck back to ‘Stubby’ as ‘Bottoms Up’ now makes her move, too late here comes ‘Hubby”.

But now they’ve hit the finish line – it’s Bubbles, Froth and Thirst.

For three nags I drew from the hat, ran third, second, and first.

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Title: Author: Publisher: Reviewer:

The Well at the World’s End A J Mackinnon Black Inc Karen R Treanor

nd now for something completely different. Readers might assume that I only read and review crime novels, since that’s what mostly appears in these pages.

Not so, friends: I also read history, biographies, travel books, cook books and other non-fiction.

My favourite non-fiction book so far this year is The Well at the World’s End, the amusing story of an Australian teacher who one day had EE-nuff of classrooms, and who quit work to pursue the dream of drinking from the well of eternal youth on the tiny island of Iona off the west coast of Scotland.

Sandy Mackinnon had already been to the well once, when he was a very young man, but in a laughable misunderstanding had stripped off and swum in the icy water rather than drinking from it.

Now he planned to do it right, and by “right,” he understood that he must make his way back to the well by old fashioned means: shank’s pony, boat and train, not the relatively easy eighteen hour airplane trip.

Things begin to unravel almost at once when Sandy finds himself becalmed in New Zealand, waiting for a ride on a yacht which he eventually realises is never going to go anywhere. He hitches a ride on another yacht and gets to Sulawesi, uncomfortably aware that he is a fifth wheel in an unhappy marriage.

Among other adventures in this tropic paradise is Sandy’s near-drowning in an underwater cave and a very close call as a meal

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22

BOOKS REVIEWS

for komodo dragons. He eventually finds a temporary home on a yacht whose owners are seeking a tutor for their two children.

Landing in Singapore, he decides to set off cross country and get into China.

As you’d expect, this isn’t as easy as it sounds in the letters Sandy writes home to his friend Chris (“Don’t tell Dad!”. He finds various backroad methods of traversing a lot of south-east Asia, thinks he might have been married to a Laotian princess, bumbles into China and then spends several days being grilled by border guards before being summarily dumped back over the border penniless.

Thanks to the hospitable Laotian people Sandy is fed, washed, and transported down the country until he gets back to Vientiane and then across to Bangkok. Meeting up with his American yachting family again, he gets a bit of a vacation before inexplicably turning down their offer of a lift to the Mediterranean in favour of a tramp steamer to India.

The steamer doesn’t let him off in India—or Kenya, and after weeks of living on various forms of beetroot, Sandy finally gets off the ship in Port Said. There he meets his friend Newton whom he was supposed to meet at the post office in Kathmandu much earlier.

The two of them get in and out of various near-disasters, including Sandy’s accidental incarceration in the towers of Mont Saint Michel.

Being so close to England, you’d think that Sandy’s trip to Iona is now a done deal, but he is delayed once again by the unexpected offer of a job at a very nice private school, not the sort of chance even a crazy Australian would forego.

It isn’t until the following spring that Sandy at last stands on Iona again. What he does then may surprise you—or maybe not. The last chapter provides much food for thought.

I heartily recommend this book as a present either for yourself or a friend, or perhaps an armchair travelling mother—were mine still alive, I’d be sending my copy to her express air mail.

Title: Author: Publisher: Reviewer:

White Loepard Laurent Guillaume Le French Book Karen R Treanor

he publisher is a new player in the print books market. Le French Book’s motto is “If we love it, we’ll translate it”.

There’s a real skill required to translate a book from one language and culture to another.

One man’s slang is another’s incomprehensibility; just knowing a language’s vocabulary and grammar isn’t enough to make a

translated book read smoothly.

All of which is prologue to saying that Sophie Weiner, the translator of White Leopard is as good a translator as Guillaume is a writer. There were no awkward spots where the reader thought “Oops, clumsy phrase there.”

White Leopard is the nickname of Souleymane Camara, “Solo” for short. Solo is an ex-cop, a wanted man back in France where he was once a policeman, a mixed-race man whom Malians term white and whites call coloured.

An all-around tough guy, Solo works as a private eye in Bamako, one of the more dangerous of the capital cities in Francophone Africa.

One day a beautiful lawyer comes into his office ready to pay, and pay well, for his help in getting her sister Bahia out of jail. Farah Tebessi knows that in places like Mali, anything can be accomplished if you find the right person to bribe.

On the face of it, the girl is an innocent drug mule, one of hundreds. Against his better judgment, Solo agrees to help make the arrangements.

A considerable amount of money is placed in the right hands, Bahia is freed, and that should be the end of the job for Solo. Unfortunately there’s some sort of mix-up and the girl is not waiting for her sister to pick her up, she’s taken a taxi somewhere. She never turns up at Farah’s hotel, and the next time she’s seen, she’s dead in the Niger River.

Farah is determined to find out why Bahia was killed. It’s obvious that there was more to her involvement with the drug gang than being an unknowing mule; somebody wanted the girl dead for fear of what she could tell.

Farah hassles Solo to find the killers and kill them in turn, but he’s not interested—not until he finds his long-time houseman Drissa held prisoner in his own home by some very bad men.

Drissa dies of his injuries and Solo in a cold rage sets out to find the villains.

The rest of the book involves a lot of travel, a lot of tracking down the higher-ups in the criminal enterprise, a great deal of bloody violence, and a small serving of passion between Solo and Farah.

If there’s one criticism of the story, it’s that no normal human, even fuelled by righteous anger, could carry on after the amount of physical punishment that Solo suffers. That’s an afterthought—at the time you are reading it, the story moves so fast that you don’t stop to question the superhuman tenacity of this anti-hero.

The author, having worked in Mali and being an experienced law enforcement officer, brings a real flavour of the country and the milieu to his writing.

While this sort of thriller isn’t my usual fare, I am rather looking forward to the next offering of noire d’Afrique. from Le French Book.

R eview courtesy of NewMysteryR eader.com

HOLIDAY READING THE HELENA-AURORA RANGE CHRIS OAKELEY

H

ow I long to be a painter. I could squeeze the essence of this landscape onto my canvas in a way that snappy all-grabbing photos can't.

These trees seem to change position as I move, so intricate and dense are their patterns, stopping when I stop, walking silently on a bed of fine rust-coloured loam, tiny ironstone chips the size of baby-teeth and silver tussocks of what look like spinifex but are a soft as freshly washed hair.

The Helena-Aurora range rises abruptly for a few hundred metres in a ten kilometer series of hills covered with a blue-green fuzz of vegetation speckled with ironstone outcrops and breakaways.

From the top of any of these hills I am struck by its uniqueness.

Uniqueness as the flatness all around lying like an Axminster carpet unbroken to the Northern, Eastern and Western horizon where some very small bumps can be made out.

Uniqueness for another reason. It is very old. It is pristine. It is famed for its botanical diversity. It contains rare plants, and it has so far escaped the fate of a similar range to the South which is being razed to the level of the plain by mining.

I feel strongly this is one place that should be left untouched for my grand-children to enjoy as I have enjoyed it.

There is no surface water in these woodlands apart from the salt lakes in the distance. Underground, the cracks and crevices in the banded ironstone catch and hold the summer rains from the cyclones that start in the Timor Sea and exhaust themselves over the Great Australian Bight.

This sustains the dense woodland, the wandoo-like groves of tall trees, the sandalwood, the quandong and other bush fruit trees, wattles, grevilleas and a cornucopia of other plants for which I know no name.

I find a pair of stick insects that are mating, the male being carried on the back of the much larger female, their tails touching. It's a photographer's dream environment too.

When I leave the track on the summit ridge I feel a part of pre-history, before the Aborigines, crunching my boots on stones that consist of thin five millimeter bands of red and yellow ironstone that glisten like steel where they have been recently broken, passing an outcrop that has been weathered into the shape of a face, or a whip of orange meringue.

I wonder at the forces and the climate changes that laid down these deposits so long ago, before advanced forms of life evolved. I stop and listen to the silence. There is no wind, no traffic, no mining machinery, no aeroplanes; only my heartbeat.

I will come again for a longer stay and walk the range from end to end. It will be good to learn more about this place.

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GORDON THE OPTOM THEATRE REVIEW

Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement.

- Helen K eller

A

laddin, this adaptation of the story was written by Ben Crocker. After studying Drama at Exeter University, Ben continued the family tradition of creating pantomimes – and it shows.

Like his other dozen pantomimes, this is a true traditional script, beautifully written on two beautiful daughter, Princess Jasmine levels. Crocker has his own theatre company that (Bryony Oliver) to leave the Royal Palace. covers all genres, and has even appeared at the

Aladdin and Jasmine manage to Old Vic. meet, and instantly fall in love. When Ellenbrook Theatre Company Inc. is presenting the Emperor discovers this he orders this world favourite, musical pantomime at the the executioner (Sarah White) to cut off Ellenbrook Performing Arts Centre, 100 Main Aladdin’s head. However, Aladdin rubs Street, Ellenbrook. an old lamp that he found and the bright This 130-minute, colourful and most blue, Genie of the Lamp (Jack Williams) professional show can be seen at 7.30 nightly until appeared.

Tuesday 22nd December. Please be aware that due Princess Blossom (Ruby Oliver) to the theatre regulations, latecomers cannot be and Chelsey Ward danced and sang admitted into the auditorium until the interval. beautifully, as the mishap and mayhem Pantomimes should be filled with vibrancy, took place. Will Aladdin die? What will colour and an excess of zany props (Richard happen to poor Widow Twanky?

Hadler, Tony Perry). Immediately you could see that this company was on the right track.

The big stage had several large flats, depicting The director of this delightful various scenes, including a cave, desert and street pantomime was Suzanne Perry.

Suzanne has completely captured scene, all skilfully painted. the atmosphere of pantomime’s pure magic.

The avaricious and cruel The sets were outstanding; Abanazar (Richard Hadler) boo hiss, and the very high quality costumes tells us of his search for the cave of jewels (Jan Oliver, Bryony Oliver, Nicky and treasures. In frustration, he rubs his Stewart) included the Princess’s ruby ring and a beautiful Genie (Amber stunning and opulent clothing, Moore) appears. He asks her to find the the sublime dancers’ outfits, to jewels but she explains only one person, the wonderfully horrendous, Aladdin (Giordarna Rigoli), can enter over-the-top getups of the Dame the cave. Abanazar then sets out to find and Abanazar.

Aladdin.

The vivacious cast were word Aladdin’s mother, Widow Twanky perfect, and moved around the (Peter Boylen) is talking to her laundry stage adeptly. The delivery of boy, Wishee Washee (Gerran Turner) the corny jokes and puns were and his intelligent pet monkey, Nobby made with aplomb. Abanazar (Aryan Menon – superb) when the had wonderful audience rapport, palace guards deliver the washing to the extracting the hiss like a trouper; widow’s laundry. The loyal, but brainless on the other hand, Widow police, Ping and Pong (Jack Hammon, Twanky, dressed like a Christmas Tim Ward) announce that the Emperor tree, and brought peace, love and of China (Nick Stamos) will be arriving humour. soon in his sedan chair, carried by his The styles of choreography servants (Damion Brown, Dominic (Emma Poolman) was varied – Masterson). from tap to ribbon dancing. The

They must ensure that no one is athletic dancers carried out the around before the Emperor allows his

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splits and ‘no-hands’ cartwheels, whilst smiling throughout.

The dancers were Holly Burgess, Shirelle Burgess, Jessica Greene, Tylah Maher, Jasmin Pradhan, Kaitlin Pradhan, Summer Roscoe, Lynda MoreyLudlow, Breannah Rigoli, Bethany Robinson, Samantha Stein, Jade Stewart and Ebony Ward.

There were a group of Cave Sprites (Isaac Angage, Kurtis Angage, Kasey Burgess, Phoebe Marcinkowski, Tsz Kwan Pradhan, Bertie Turrell Knight, Alex Westbrook) – the oh, cute factor – who even though they were around only five or six carried, out their routine fearlessly and in perfect sync.

The face makeup (Berti Mosso, Sylvia Guest, and Jan Oliver) of the dancers was ornate and perfectly applied.

The lighting was clever with some wonderful effects. The two follow-spots were handled with skill. The high quality soundscape (Suzanne Perry, Mark Turnbull, Tony Perry) had some magnificent sound effects and was one of the best I have heard at a pantomime. The tech operators were Yasmin Perry and Isobel Clare.

On a large show like this, with a massive cast, good stage management is essential well done Tony Perry, Erin Smylie and Megan Jackson.

This show had warmth, fun, colour and most of all magic. A first class pantomime from a dedicated team of performers.

ADVERTISEMENT

AN ACTOR’S LIFE FOR ME ...

T

he skills required to be an actor are useful in many, many other walks of life and careers.

Some are obvious, like the ability to speak in public, projecting your voice, speaking without hesitation but with assurance and confidence.

But it’s far more than that most actors are trained to read and mimic the unconscious communication we all give off with the way we stand, what we do with our hands, the tilt of our heads, eyebrows, mouths and walk.

The great actor Charles Laughton always began his creation of a character with the walk, much as David Suchet did when creating his truly splendid Poirot. That titupping, small stride absolutely conveyed his prissy pernickety character long before he even spoke.

The art of non-verbal communication is just one of the skills that will be taught at the Next Model Academy’s Advanced Acting Workshop on the 31st January.

The tutor is Douglas Sutherland-Bruce and the full-day workshop costs $175 (discounted) and covers voice (light and shade, diction, tempo, accents and projection): how to prepare for a role (reading the script, make-up, point in time); stagecraft (what to do to be effective on stage, the role of the director and actor) as well as the art of overcoming every actors’ nightmare - the audition.

ABOUT THE TUTOR To say Douglas is steeped in theatre is no more than the truth. Although not form a theatrical family, his Godfather was Des Morley, doyen of the South

Coming to Australia in 1974 Douglas plunged into the community theatre scene and seldom does a year go by without him directing, acting or writing a play.

His award-winning vignette of Sir Winston Churchill in The Last Lion was much admired (he wrote, directed and acted the title role) repeating the role in the two-part ABC Television special Desert War broadcast in 2014.

He has won many awards for acting and directing and was the originator of the Shakespeare Birthday Festival at Marloo Theatre in 2014. He also directed Macbeth for that season which won every available award for the show.

For his most recent role - Wilf in Quartet he has been nominated for Best Actor 2015 by the ITA. Douglas is also a gifted, and sometimes very funny, teacher, having taught at the Universities of Natal and Western Australia and guest lectured at Murdoch and African Theatre who brought The Curtin.

King and I, The Sound of Music, This is a chance to Calamity Jane and many others to pick the brains of a Durban’s stages for the first time. theatre buff and a Douglas studied theatre and drama at performer of note school and later at university and was taught by don’t miss out - book now. the late, great actor David Horner.

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HOLIDAY READING UGLY DUCKLINGS AND SNOW QUEENS: THOUGHTS ON A NEW YEAR KATY WARNER

Life is like a beautiful melody, only the lyrics are my inner swan, maybe I’m still the ugly duckling, messed up.

Hans Christian A ndersen maybe I am a writer and read too much into things. chose the swan, and everyone laughed. Even the It happens every year; every time we click girl who was meant to be my friend – although I over to January 1 – I start to over-analyse and get anxious about goal setting and dream journalling had had my doubts before this incident.

The mean girl, whom I shall call Vanessa, and vision boards and what-am-I-doing-with-mybecause that was her name, had a tendency to life and who-am-I and does Kiki-K have a range rub her hands all over my face and chant “snow of items to help me plan for everything I think I queen, snow queen” at me because, duh, I am need to achieve this year? (The answer is yes, yes quite pale. Yep. But still … Vanessa was meant to they do. And no, I will not buy them all.)

I worry about the point of this blog, its raison be a friend. And she laughed. At my swan.

It was the first year of high school. The well- d’être and the fact that I just popped in the phrase meaning, socially awkward health teacher must have had some weird epiphany overnight and instead of the usual food pyramids and condoms on bananas, he asked us to draw a picture of the animal we’d most like to be.

I wanted to draw a human because, when you think about it, we have it pretty good compared to other animals. But I was studious and wellbehaved and my rocking the boat stage wasn’t set to begin for another two years or so.

I had heard how swans mated for life and I thought there was something lovely about raison d’être because I love it even though I know that, plus I thought they were elegant and I still it sounds completely pretentious, unless you secretly harboured a desire to be a ballerina happen to be French, of course. despite my lack of coordination and, well, Nothing and everything sounds pretentious if you’re Parisian. What do I intend to do with this training.

I had gone the route of many young women thing, this blog thing, this year? Why am I even growing up in the early 90s; Jazz Dancing. There keeping a blog? What is a blog really meant to be was nothing elegant about Jazz Dancing: Jazz anyway? If my blog was an animal, what animal Hands and Jazz Smiles and Jazz Leaps to The would it be? Blog is a weird word.

Shamen’s Ebenezer Goode. Anyway, regardless of If I had the confidence and, let’s be honest, vanity and, let’s be even more honest, musical my varied and weird reasons, I drew a swan.

If I had known we had to share our pictures inclination, I might put it to music and become with the class I may have gone for the lion or the one of those on-trend cabaret performers who eagle or the dolphin like everyone else. I said sing about their love-lives and embarrassing-butoh-so-cute moments in witty, pithy songs whilst swan and they all laughed.

Because they laughed, my well-meaning, straddling the piano Delta Goodrem style. socially awkward teacher thought I should be But this sort of vanity, let’s call it blog vanity, put through more humiliation and offer up probably suits me better; I can hide in my “office” an explanation for my choice. I wanted to tell and assume no one has noticed, rather than him where to go but I was studious and well looking out to the empty auditorium. behaved and, as a result, provided much needed In the first serious show I wrote and entertainment on that god-awful final period of performed in a friend whispered to me from the front row. We were about to begin. I started on the day.

I don’t know what the point of that story is stage. Very contemporary. to be honest … Maybe I still haven’t embraced “Do you want to bother? No one is here,” he

I

26

whispered – although he didn’t need to.

Despite his well intentioned warning, we went on. I couldn’t tell who was out there with the stage lights in my eyes, naivety in my heart.

The three people in the audience, including the lighting / sound guy, clapped at the end and we all got a drink afterwards.

And that’s it … That is my big old plan for 2016.

To perform for the three people in the room. To choose the swan when everyone else is the lion.

To maintain a messy blog. To preserve. To create.

To throw in French whenever I can, merci.

And to try and read less into things …

Here’s to 2016.

Photograph Swan Dancing courtesy of Pia Drezdany’s stock photos. Her remarkable photographs can be viewed at Deviant Art: http://chop-stock.deviantart.com/art/swandancing-3-54306815

Katy Warner is an award-winning actress, director and playwright, whose works include the highlyacclaimed Dropped and Reasons to Stay Inside.

She is also a teacher and occasional blogger.

We are very pleased to be able to bring her writings to you, our reader.

Reasons to Stay Inside will be having its West Australian premiere as part of Perth’s Fringe on 22 January (5.30pm); 23 – 25 January (6.30pm) plus 24 January (4.30pm) at The Blue Room Theatre.

Tickets are available on line here: http:// blueroom.org.au/events/reasons-to-stay-inside/

ENTERTAINMENT KOOKABURRA JANUARY PROGRAMME Hotel Transylvania 2 [PG] Screens January Fri 15th only Directed by: Genndy Tartakovsky Starring: Adam Sandler, Andy Samberg, Selena Gomez, Kevin James.

Everything seems to be changing for the better at Hotel Transylvania… Dracula’s rigid monsteronly policy has finally relaxed, opening its doors to human guests. But behind closed coffins, Drac is worried that his adorable half-human, half vampire grandson, Dennis, isn’t showing signs of being a vampire and enlists his friends to put Dennis through a “monster-in-training” boot camp.

Directed by: Peter Sohn Starring: Raymond Ochoa, Sam Elliott, Frances McDormand, Jeffrey Wright Asks the Question: What if the asteroid that forever changed life on Earth missed the planet completely and giant dinosaurs never became extinct? An epic journey into the world of dinosaurs where an Apatosaurus named Arlo makes an unlikely friend.

While travelling through a harsh and mysterious landscape, Arlo learns the power of confronting his fears and discovers what he is truly capable of.

The Martian [PG] Screens February, Sat 6th, Sun 7th Directed by: Ridley Scott Stars: Matt Damon, Jessica Chastain, Kristen Wiig Astronaut Mark Watney finds himself stranded on Mars after being presumed, and left behind by his crew. Relying only on his ingenuity and with meagre supplies he must endeavor to subsist and find a way to signal Earth that he is still alive.

The Intern [M] Screens January Sat 30th, Sun 31st Directed by: Nancy Meyers Starring: Anne Hathaway, Robert De Niro, Rene Russo The founder of a thriving e-business is told her company is importing seniors to be interns as a community outreach effort. While she thinks she is getting a college senior, it turns out to be senior citizen, Ben Whittaker (De Niro) who takes advantage of the opportunity to get back into the game after discovering that retirement is not what he expected it to be.

5 To 7 [M] Screens January Sat 16th, Sun 17th Directed by: Victor Levin Starring: Anton Yelchin, Berenice Marlohe, Lambert Wilson, Olivia Thirlby, Frank Langella, Glenn Close.

When an aspiring young writer, Brian (Yelchin) and an older woman, Arielle (Marlohe) meet by chance, they embark on an unlikely love affair, in true Parisian style between the hours of 5 and 7.

The Dressmaker [M] Screens January Fri 22nd, Sat 23rd, Sun 24th Directed by: Jocelyn Moorhouse Starring: Kate Winslet, Liam Hemsworth, Judy Davis, Hugo Weaving Set in early 1950s Australia, tells the story of Tilly Dunnage (Winslet), a beautiful and talented misfit who, after many years working as a dressmaker in exclusive Parisian fashion houses, returns home to the tiny middle-of-nowhere town of Dungatar to right the wrongs of the past.

The Good Dinosaur [PG] Screens January, Fri 29th Only

Eric Clapton: Live At The Royal Albert Hall: Slow Hand At 70 [G] Screens February Fri 5th Only Directed by: Blue Leach Stars: Eric Clapton Captures a momentous night for one of the world’s greatest rock guitarists, celebrating his 50 years at the top of the music business and more than 200 performances at the iconic London venue that holds a special place in his heart.

Acclaimed by critics and loved by his fans, the setlist blends vintage blues tracks and Clapton classics from across his amazing career.

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EDUCATION

28

ART IN THE HILLS

29

STYLE BY KIRSTY PACK LIGHT, PACK RIGHT KIRSTY NOAKES

I

t’s that time of year again. Finally! Sand between your toes, sun on your face, balmy nights, the sound of a calypso band, the smell of coconut lotion and the taste of fruity cocktails … Summer Vacay here we come!

But Wait. No… Step away from the suitcase. You don’t need to take your whole wardrobe. And yes, you can take more than one bikini.

Let’s ‘unpack’ the mystery of summer holiday packing so that you can be stylish for every occasion, and still have plenty of room for holiday shopping.

Pre-Vacay: Pop on a tanning moisturiser a couple of times before your holidays.

You’ll feel a million times better hitting the beach with a golden glow rather than a fluorescent one.

Paint your toenails a pretty colour, as you’ll be seeing them a lot, get a wax (everywhere), and tint your brows and lashes so that you can leave the mascara at home.

either your cool runners or wedges, which is great as that’s one less pair of shoes to pack.

Sexy Top: Throw in a sexy top that goes with your denim for a quick and easy evening outfit. Think sequins, backless or even crop.

The Basics: Throw in these basics and you’ll cover a myriad of holiday scenarios. White singlet, black V-neck t-shirt, denim shorts, denim jeans, multi-way bra, nude underwear, and waterfall cardigan.

These staples will see you through from casual days to changes of weather and anything in between with the rest of your holiday packing.

catching some rays (sunscreened of Beach Wear: Three bikinis. One two-piece course), one super stylish one-piece or bikini for straight strapped bikini for lying by the pool and happy hour pool bar drinks, and one (preferably one-piece) sporty piece for snorkeling or diving.

Throw in two kaftans, one short and one full length. They take up no room and can be worn over your togs during the day, with a belt and gorgeous sun hat out shopping, or with your wedges and jewelry out at night.

Simple Shoes: There’s no need to over pack on the shoes. Two pairs of thongs (one glitzy and one plain) will see you through most of your holiday.

Then just add a pair of tan, leather wedges and your runners and you’re good to go.

If you have cool runners like Converse that look great but you can still power walk, jog, horse ride or coral walk in, then that’s perfect.

Dresses: Two dresses. You already have your kaftans as extra dresses, so you’ll only need two more.

Pack one gorgeous little summer dress that you would love to wear to dinner or dancing with your tan wedges or glitzy thongs. Make it something summery and sexy.

The other dress is your travel dress. A black, butterfly back, scoop neck maxi is perfect.

Comfortable yet stylish and can be worn with 30

House Clothes: This is something I commonly forget, and end up borrowing my other half’s pyjama pants all week. Take something comfy to lounge around the unit, room, hotel or house in.

Work Out Gear: One set of active wear will do.

You may or may not use it. Snorkeling, biking or hiking might be enough exercise for you, but if you feel the need then you have it there.

Rinse it out in the shower after use, like your togs so that you can wear it again if the need arises, and you already have your sneakers anyway.

Bags & Accessories: A tan tote or shoulder bag will fit perfectly into your holiday style. Take a matching belt too. These are the perfect partners to your tan wedges and go with your maxi, your kaftans and even your jeans.

Pack some extra necklaces, bracelets and earrings to dress up your day and evening outfits.

These take up less room than more clothes and give every outfit a unique look, doubling or tripling your wardrobe in an instant.

With this pack you’ll probably find there’s still a bit of room in your luggage. Don’t get over excited and fill it to the brim. But do remember to take your iPad or iPhone so that you can enjoy Swan Magazine’s Holiday Reading issue.

Leave extra space for holiday shopping – you know you will!

Have a wonderful and stylish summer holiday!

FINANCE PACK UP, SELL UP AND TAKE OFF STEVE BLIZARD

D

uring meetings with retiree clients, discussion often arises about their need to move overseas to see the grandkids, or where to live as their children have transferred overseas for employment.

Parents left with an empty nest often experience mixed emotions.

Reluctantly or willingly, couples are faced with the prospect of starting a new chapter in their lives, often involving making financial decisions including travel plans.

While traversing the globe, some retirees discover that relocating offshore for longer periods, if not permanently, may be the path to a more fulfilling retirement.

RETIRING OVERSEAS Over the past three decades, Australia’s cost of living has risen, forcing many retirees to look for new ways to cover their day-to-day expenses and stretch their pension income further.

But according to Stephen Wyatt and Colleen Ryan, authors of Pack Up, Sell Up and Take Off, there is another option - relocating to south-east Asia.

Married with two adult children, the couple have packed up and taken off overseas to live several times - in Papua New Guinea, London, Washington DC and, most recently, Shanghai, where they were the joint China correspondents for the Australian Financial Review from 2004 to 2010.

Both are economists with majors in accounting: Colleen worked as a tax accountant for an international accounting firm in her early career and was later editor of the Australian Financial Review; Stephen was a banker with Merrill Lynch for fifteen years, before turning to journalism.

They are passionate about the benefits of selling up, packing up and taking off at various stages of life, especially retirement.

“A lot of our friends are retiring and moving to places like Penang and Chiang Mai,” said Ms Ryan.

Mr Wyatt thinks the overseas retirement trend will become more pronounced in years to come.

“The cost of living in Australia is very high and the number of people over sixty will triple over the next thirty years, so there will be more people

looking to places like Asia,” he said.

CRUNCH THE NUMBERS It isn’t hard to see why baby boomers are heading to Asia.

According to cost comparison site Numbeo.com, a meal at an inexpensive restaurant in Penang will cost you $3.19 compared with $25 in Perth, while monthly utilities for a small apartment costs an average of $55 compared with $221.

Simon Munton, editor of International Living website and magazine, said living costs in Australia are encouraging many retirees to move abroad.

“About seventy-five percent of our readers are all looking for cheaper retirement options overseas,” he said.

Some retirees are facing a tough road ahead.

“The government is looking less and less likely to fund people’s retirement, they are actually making moves to reduce people’s pensions,” Mr Wyatt said.

“It is becoming clear that people are going to have to be self-reliant when it comes to their retirement.”

WEIGHING IT UP There are many fascinating kitchen table-style interviews in Pack Up, Sell Up and Take Off with couples (and individuals) in different countries.

Wyatt and Ryan cover the popular Asian retirement destinations, plus a chapter on Spain and France. When deciding what part of Asia to retire to, it is imperative to factor in medical costs.

Malaysia, Thailand and, to a lesser extent, the Philippines all offer decent medical care, however Mr Wyatt suggests securing evacuation insurance if you choose to live in the Asian nations of Indonesia or Cambodia, that may not provide reliable healthcare.

Property rules differ from country to country, which are comprehensively covered in their book.

Indonesia doesn’t allow foreigners to buy property outright but they can buy longterm leases; in Thailand they can buy an apartment but not a house and in Cambodia they can buy an apartment as long as it’s not on the ground floor.

Technology has become a real game-changer.

“Skype has been a real clincher for people and their willingness to move overseas,” said Mr Munton.

“Australia is a great country but it is very far away from the rest of the world and technology makes it so easy to keep in touch - internet speeds in some parts of Asia are faster than parts of Australia.”

Visas vary, too: in the Philippines, for example, you can obtain a retirement visa after the age of thirty-five, while in Malaysia you can live on a long-term visa that needs renewing each decade.

SUPERANNUATION TRAPS SMSF trustees who plan to relocate overseas in 2016 need to be aware of the significant risks in maintaining an SMSF while living abroad, and the severe consequences of breaking the residency rules.

CFS executive manager Craig Day said “that while there are strategies that can be employed for meeting the central management and control test and active member test, SMSF trustees often do not fully understand the issues involved and the considerations required. Mr Wyatt concedes overseas retirement is not for everyone.

“Some people move to Asia and expect to live a five-star lifestyle, and eat at the best restaurants all the time, but a five-star lifestyle is expensive anywhere you go,” he said.

Then, of course, there are those who prefer a more sedate retirement.

“I think it has to suit your personality type, you have to be a bit adventurous.”

Mr Munton adds a note of caution: “Just make sure you do your homework on a place first.”

Courtesy of Roxburgh Securities

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THE IDLER The Idle Thoughts of an Idle Mind

WILL GLOBAL PRAISE CHANGE OUR NATIONAL PSYCHE? GLENNYS MARSDON

I

n 2010 International Living Magazine rated Australia the second best place to live in the world, that’s second best out of 194 countries!

As a nation poised on the underbelly of the globe, it felt good to be recognised, but what effect would all this international praise have on the nations psyche?

Unaccustomed as we were to global praise, my initial reaction to the 2010 result was to wonder what constituted ‘best’. How was it being measured and more importantly what were we excelling at?

Past tourism campaigns suggest that we’re masters of lazing on the beach, having a beer around the barbie and wandering around picturesque locales, sans friends, hollering ‘where the bloody hell is everybody’.

But surely that can’t be the basis for our winning ways? My researcher brain was certain the competition would be based on a series of complicated algorithms and recalibrated economic factors, yes? Evidently not.

In 2010 ‘best’ was quite simply defined as ‘a great place to live’.

No wonder we did so well, the subjective measurement played right into our laidback ‘she’ll be right’ hands. Based on such a loose definition first place was clearly within our grasp.

All we had to do was carry on in our casual, nonchalant manner and it would be ours, simple.

And so that’s what the nation did, we carried on as usual.

Fast forward five years to 2015 and I was surprised to read that the United Nations had recently ranked Australia second, as best country to live in. The United Nations!

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As you would expect they’d taken a more rigorous approach to their deliberations, comparing factors such as life expectancy, living standards, years of schooling and wages to name a few.

As a nation that hangs it hat on a heritage of ‘battlers’ and ‘underdogs’, and regularly slaughters its tall poppies, how would we handle the knowledge that we’d nearly reached the top of the lifestyle mountain?

Would we become brash, annoying, arrogant global citizens, strutting around the quadrangle demanding others in the playground pull their long white socks up?

Would we dob in those found smoking behind the bike sheds?

Or would we carry on with a quiet humility, cherishing the warm feeling that comes with knowing how lucky we are to be living in such an idyllic country?

As I sat on the Boxing Day couch, watching Christmas Day 2015 fade away, I pondered how the nation with the second best lifestyle in the world, would be spending its day.

The vast majority would be tuning into the start of the Rolex Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race.

Within minutes perennial winner Wild Oats XI raced to the front, and in true tall poppy avoidance, several friends left the room declaring it a fate de complete that they’d win the race, for a ninth time.

Several hours later we’d learn that fifteen contenders, including Wild Oats XI, had retired after strong winds hit the race. This was not the start we were used to.

Had the glowing report from the UN made our yachtsmen complacent? Four hours into the journey, faced with thirty-five and more knot winds, sea sickening waves and a broken rudder, did they realise they could be sitting at home with a shrimp on the barbie?

Another segment of the nation would be glued to the Boxing Day cricket match between Australia and the West Indies.

The two opening Australian batsmen were

setting a cracking pace, which made some of the cricket traditionalists wonder if they’d inadvertently switched over to the Big Bash channel.

The commentators, instead of patriotically basking in the magnitude of the local teams success, were expressing heartfelt concern that the West Indies and their new young captain, were being ‘thrown to the wolves’.

‘What? Then all too suddenly the hope of a nation, left handed batsman David Warner, was out. What was happening? Were our cricketers feeling sorry for our competitors?

Had our number two positioning made us soft? Were we uncomfortable out front, did we long for our usual underdog tag?

A far smaller segment of the nation not interested in sport, yes there are a few, had willingly entered into their own personal battle.

Armed with little more than a credit card and a comfy pair of shoes these brave souls were doing battle at the Boxing Day sales.

For at least eight hours they ducked and weaved in the quest for half price towels, juice extractors and Christmas Cards.

They squeeze their feet into shoes that have been reduced by 70%, even though once home they’d find out they were a size too small.

Unperturbed they meet this challenge head on for three days in a row.

The physical strength, stamina and resilience displayed by these Australians was far greater than that shown by any Australian test cricketer or long distance yachtsman.

It is with these Australians in mind that I’m sure our great nation will soon take out the number one lifestyle spot, even if its occupants can no longer remember where they put the half price Christmas Cards.

Roll on 2016.

OBITUARY HARLEY TREANOR 1996 - 2015

O

LEXI

ften when families decide to adopt a dog they firstly think of a puppy but at SAFE we have many older pups and dogs who are looking for homes and would make excellent family pets.

Eighteen-month-old Lexi is a gorgeous, highenergy girl who’s always wagging her tail, especially when her favourite humans are around. She loves company and gets along well with other dogs.

She has the cutest habit of copying what the other dog is doing in her foster home – if he sits on a chair then she will too.

Lexi is still young and has many puppyish qualities especially when it comes to Photograph courtesy of Veemeedia Photography energy so will need to be in a family who can entertain and walk her and continue management, write stories for publications, do with her training. She would go well in a family public relations and administrative work. with older children as she has a tendency to jump At the moment we're particularly in need of up that might be too much for little ones. fundraisers and marketers to raise funds to pay If you’d like to add this happy-go-lucky loving vet bills - every rescue animal has to be desexed, girl to your family please email karratha@safe. vaccinated and microchipped. asn.au or phone (08) 9185 4634.

We’d love to welcome more foster carers in SAFE is a not for profit organisation that saves Perth who we can fly animals to from our remote rehomeable animals from euthanasia. We have branches. Fostering is a vital role as it provides twelve branches around the state and are always rehabilitation, training, caring and loving of in need of donations to pay vet bills. If you’d like animals to prepare them for their new lives with to donate, information can be found on: www. permanent owners. safe.asn.au/How_to_help/Donate.html People with writing skills who are confident Have you considered volunteering? We have to interview foster carers can make a valuable volunteers working effectively from all over the contribution by writing captivating, honest country performing all sorts of tasks. profiles of pets needing rehoming.

Our overheads are kept small as we If you’d like to make a difference and join our rely on volunteers to care for the animals, team of volunteers, please email karratha@safe. take photographs, write profiles, coordinate asn.au or phone us at SAFE Karratha at (08) 9185 photographers and profilers, do website content 4634.

Annie’s Vintage Wonderland Your One Stop Vintage Prop & Decor Shop 0430 456 586

Shop 3/121 James St., Guildford www.anniesvinatagewonderland.com

O

n the 2nd November 2015 a local identity went to his great reward, which one assumes will be a sunny garden full of three-legged mice.

Harley Treanor, aged nineteen, star of the children’s book Sleepy Harley used up the last of his nine lives and with the aid of a kindly veterinarian and her nurse (who exclaimed, “Oh, no! Is this the cat from our book?”) slipped away to another plane of existence.

Harley’s most recent adventures had included an air trip all the way to Tasmania, getting lost and then being found, and meeting several strange new creatures including wallabies and quolls.

He had a good innings, and will not be forgotten.

SAFE Saving Animals From Euthanasia (SAFE) was founded by Sue Hedley in 2003. Since then SAFE has developed branches and networks across the state.

SAFE’s dedicated work has had a positive impact on people, pets and wildlife.

SAFE’s innovative foster care program provides temporary care for animals until a permanent home is found. This means there are no cages or time lines on an animal’s life.

Your donation or bequest can ensure SAFE can continue its life saving work.

Have a look at our website:

www.safe.asn.au

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WHAT’S ON IF YOU WOULD LIKE AN EVENT LISTED IN THIS COLUMN RING OUR OFFICE ON 6296 5161 Entries for non-profit entities are free, commercial entries are welcome at $10 per fifty words.

ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS Glen Forrest Group Every Monday evening We meet at 7.00pm at the Glen Forrest Uniting Church, Mc Glew Rd, Glen Forrest. Call Dermot 0488 905 211 or John 0448 074 536 or the Perth Office (all hours) 9325 3566.

AUSTRALIAN BREASTFEEDING ASSOC. Discussion groups, guest speakers, morning tea. Free breastfeeding counselling. Expectant mothers, mothers, babies and children welcome.

National Breastfeeding Helpline 1800 686 2686 is a 24 hour 7 days a week service.

Swan/Mundaring Group meets every Monday, 9:30-11:30am at the Gumnuts Family Centre, 8 Mudalla Way, Koongamia. A qualified ABA counsellor is present at each meeting to give confidential information and support on breastfeeding issues. Contact Natalie 9572 4971.

With a diverse and unique array of locally handcrafted products and produce, there will be something of interest for all. From garden ornaments, homemade jams and relishes to handmade soy candles, cards, bags, cushions, children’s toys, bears, baby and children’s wear.

Individually designed and crafted glassware, jewellery and beautifully made wood products and so much more to tempt you.

Make a day of it, stroll around the markets and then take the time to wander about the heritage listed town of Guildford. Enjoy a picturesque Heritage Walk Trail or pay a visit to the antique, art and craft shops along the cafe strip.

Enquiries: Bromwyn, 6278 4252.

on 1st, 3rd, 4th, and 5th. Tuesday, and at 7-00pm. on 2nd Tuesday of each month. A demonstration and cuppa are the norm. Men and Women are welcome. Enquiries to Ted 9295 4438.

TALKING HORSES Wednesday evenings 6:00pm The WA Horse Council equestrian radio program is now in its seventh year. The programme is broadcast on the Community Radio Station 91.3 SportFM. To ensure that your club, event, breed or business gets coverage, call Diane Bennit 0409 083 617.

SWAN VALLEY COMMUNITY CENTRE Monday Mornings The Art Group meets at Baskerville Hall from 9am – 12pm for just $5.00 per session.

The group leader is Gilly, she can help and advise with most media. Feel free to come and have a look and meet our local artists – they are a very friendly lot, new members welcome!

For more information call 9296 1976 or email enquiries@swanvalleycommunitycentre.com Web: www.swanvalleycommunitycentre.com.

MORRIS DANCING All welcome. It’s like bush dancing, with sticks and bells. It’s aerobic exercise and great fun!

Tuesdays 7-9pm practice, Guildford Town Hall, cnr James St and Meadow St, Guildford. And Kalamunda Group meets fortnighly on a drinks later at the Woodbridge Hotel with live Thursday, 9:30-11:30am at the Maida Vale Baptist Irish music Church, Edney Road, High Wycombe.

For more information please contact: Contact Jenny 9252 1996.

Christine Hogan: 9279 8778 Email: madtattersmorris@iinet.Net.Au Northam Group meets each second Tuesday of Website: madtattersmorris.Myclub.Org.Au TUESDAY BADMINTON CLUB the month at the Bridgeley Community Centre, Tuesdays Wellington Street, Northam 10am to Noon.

Join us for Social Badminton from 9am - 11am BASKERVILLE FAMILY PLAYGROUP Fourth Tuesday each month at Toodyay Playgroup, EMPTY SESSION – at Brown Park Recreation Centre. Beginners Stirling Terrace, Toodyay. Noon to 2pm. Please Friday Mornings Welcome. Contact Miriam 9274 5058. phone Louisa 9574 0229.

Baskerville Family Playgroup has a free session on Friday mornings in a ‘ready to play’ SWAN HARMONY SINGERS HILLS CHRONIC PAIN SUPPORT GROUP facility, great toys and resources as well as a Wednesdays 1st Wednesday of each month fenced playground. Set in lovely rural surrounds, Come and sing with us! Swan Harmony Singers is a Hilltop Grove Estate, 1645 Jacoby Street, at Baskerville Memorial Hall, Baskerville. community choir that meets, 7-9pm, to sing music Mahogany Creek. Morning tea provided, between Normal playgroup costs apply. ($25 per family/ ranging from jazz to pop, plus the occasional 10.30 - 12.00 noon. term, $30 annual insurance fee to Playgroup WA) classic. No auditions. Join us at the Salvation Army Enquiries Terina 9572 1655.

Phone 9296 1976 or 0419 922 791 or check our Church Hall, 371 Morrison Rd, (opposite Swan webpage www.swanvalleycommunitycentre.com View Primary School), Swan View. Enquiries: call Anna on 9299 7249, or Chris on 9298 9529 or THE HILLS CHOIR MUSTARD SEED - DISCOVERING COMPUTERS 0435 062 728.

Monday Evenings Do you enjoy singing and joining with others Mustard Seed is a non-profit organisation to make beautiful music? Come and join the Hills and caters for all aspects of everyday computing. ELLENBROOK AND DISTRICT MENS SHED Inc. Choir. We meet from 7.30 to 9.30pm at the Uniting Ability levels from beginners onwards. Do you Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday Church on Stoneville Road, Mundaring. Contact want help with Windows 10? Have an iPad and We are open at 4 Transit Way Ellenbrook from don’t know what it will do? We can help. Cost is 10.00am to 3.00pm. Potential members can turn Margie on 9295 6103 for further information. $3 per session. To gain a place enrol now. Forms up on those days and there will be someone to explain what we do and give membership and information are available.

SWAN VALLEY SQUARES – ELLENBROOK details. Annual fees are low and members can Phone 9299 7236 or 0416 815 822 or Every Friday Night do their own thing, participate in projects for the E. mustardcomputers@gmail.com Modern Australian Square Dancing from community or simply just come in for a chat and a 8.00 pm – 10.00 pm Woodlake Community Hall, cuppa. We are considering extending our days to 1 Highpoint Blvd, Ellenbrook. Friendly, fun and ELLENBROOK COMMUNITY include Saturdays or evenings if there is enough low cost. No previous experience necessary. All WEIGHT LOSS CLUB interest.

Every Wednesday evening Welcome. Contact Greg Fawell 0417 912 241 or We meet from 6.45pm to 8.00pm at the www.swanvalleysquares.weebly.com Woodlake Community Hall, Meeting room 1.

Highpoint Blvd, Ellenbrook. Friendly support GUILDFORD MARKET group and low cost. Male and females of all Third Sunday of every month At Guildford Town Hall, Corner of James and ages welcome. Contact Shirley 9276 7938 shirleysardelich@aapt.net.au.

Meadow Streets. 9am - 3pm.

Situated in the heart of Guildford, within five minutes walking distance from the Guildford SWAN WOODTURNERS GROUP Train Station, a visit to the Guildford Market is The group meets in the rear hall of The Senior Citizens’ Centre, The Avenue, Midland, at 1-00pm. sure to please.

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BUSINESS CARD BOARD ACCOUNTANT

DRY CLEANING

FOR QUALITY & FRIENDLY SERVICE

• Wedding & Evening Dresses • Doonas & Blankets • Curtains • Woolens/Silks etc • Alterations and Mending

Phone 9295 1488

Shop 5, Mundaring Shopping Centre 7025 Great Eastern Highway, Mundaring BRICKPAVING

Specialising in Brickpaving & Soakwells

FREE Quotes No job too big or too small Call Larry: 0431 057 124 or 6278 2301

EDITOR

Need an editor?

Get expert advice on layout, editing, costings, publishing and marketing from a professional editor.

First consultation free. Free quotes.

Swinburne Press (founded 1989) P: 6296 5161 E: douglassb@iinet.net.au

CARPET CLEANING

GARDENING

CANVAS

GARDEN SERVICES

DOG TRAINING

GARDEN SERVICES

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BUSINESS CARD BOARD GLASS

TIMBER FLOORING

MAINTENANCE

TREE SERVICES

Just Trees Your Affordable Local Tree Service Pruning - Lopping - Removals - Mulching

9274 3236

~ Fully Insured

~ Call for a Free Quote

7B Bushby Street, Bellevue, WA 6056

MARKETS

Guildford Town Hall, James Street 9:00am ~ 3:00pm

TUITION

Bromwyn 6278 4652

CALL FOR A FREE ASSESSMENT ELLENBROOK - 9297 3654

PUBLISHERS

TV ANTENNA

Held on the third Sunday of each

Have a book to publish?

v Family History v Non-Fiction v Autobiography v Biography v Fantasy v Fiction v Poetry

Swinburne Press (founded 1989) P: 6296 5161 E: douglassb@iinet.net.au RUBBISH REMOVAL

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WEB DESIGN

A TASTE OF THE WORLD

A HAPPY CHRISTMAS GIFT & SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL AUTHOR!

$20 FOR 2 BOOKS!!

If you love TRAVEL, FOOD & TRUE STORIES from the HOSPITALITY Industry, containing over 50 RECIPES, then Come and Explore the World with Ellenbrook’s ‘The Chef Explorer’!

TWO BOOKS FOR THE PRICE OF ONE, and an IDEAL CHRISTMAS PRESENT OR TWO!

A SUPER SPECIAL FOR SWAN MAGAZINE READERS OF $20 FOR THE 2 BOOKS, (OR $12.50 EACH) * THAT IS A SAVING OF $22 ON AMAZON & BOOK SHOP PRICE!!

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p u n n a g e g Giddoor Movie NIGHT sents re p B U L C N IO T A E R C E GIDGEGANNUP R

Out

6 1 0 2 , 3 2 Y R A U N SATURDAY, JA OX 7.30PM , MOVIES START APPR

FROM 5PM EGANNUP G ID G PRE-ENTERTAINMENT L, A V O EN LL U C PERCY

Enjoy a movie night under the stars in Gidgegannup with family, friends and neighbours.

BYO picnic blankets and low back chairs.

Support your local community groups providing food and entertainment.

Circus Challenge will be running a Circus workshop under the big top from 5pm – 7pm for all ages as part of the City of Swan School Holiday Program.

For more information about the School Holiday Program please contact Jenna Whistler 0427 163 317.

For more information about the movie night please contact Paul Carroll on 9574 6601.

These events are alcohol, smoke free.

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