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Felting Finishing Wash - Stockists Garments & Gadgets Bright Vic 0419 212 476 info@garmentsandgadgets.com.au Jenny Nundle Woollen Mills Nundle NSW 02 6769 3330 woollenmill@nundle.com Lewis Nick Bradford Felt Fine East Dunns Creek NSW 02 4938 5669 gary@gilmoresrun.com.au Gary Sheen Shiloh Wool Drysdale Vic 03 5251 2497 shiloh40@bigpond.com Jenni Trudgeon Fiberific! Bethania Qld 0416 233 398 chantelle@fiberific.com.au Chantelle Hills Tasmanian House of Fibre Railton Tas 03 6496 1942 info@tasmanianfibre.com.au Highland Felting & Craft Supplies Railton Tas 03 6496 1942 www.highlandfelting.com Sue Mott Sue Mott Tenterfield Carding & Crafts 02 6737 5558 phyllusjones@gmail.com Phyllus Jones Libby's Aussie Wool Cooroy Qld 07 5447 0650 libby@aussiewool.com.au Libby Murphy The Emporium Sheffield Tas 03 6491 2404 Jenni Sargent Lara Downs Mohair & Merino Balliang Vic 0417 549 213 lara-downs@bigpond.com Uralla Wool Room NSW 02 6778 4226 enquiries@urallawoolroom.com.au Nicola Wilkins Pam Goble Woolsey Trading Post, Geelong West woolsytradingpost@bigpond.com Graeme King Milly Moo Crafts Smoky Bay SA 0400 196 185 daveandpolly@bigpond.com Some spinners & weavers groups have Felting Finish & Wash available to their members
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Crafty People
Historic Photo Collection
● Knitting bee, 1940.
● Thomas W. Mitchell, Victorian Attorney-General, knitting in his office. 1951.
● Althea Knitting Mills, 282-284 Malvern Rd, Prahran. 1961.
● Woman seated at a sewing machine. 1900.
● St Andrew’s Hospital Sewing Room. 1976.
● Sewing and filling women's show hats at Headwear Pty Ltd. 1946.
● Bissetto Tailors at 122 Bourke St, Melbourne. 1947.
● Teacher and students looking at a book of dress sewing patterns. 1978.
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Craft
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There’s A Gecko in There Quilt and Softie A wonderful combination for a new born. The quilt is a Kate Conklin design and features geckos, frogs and tortoises. The gecko softie can be soft or a heat pack, designed by Funky Friends Factory. Quilt kit 84cm x 107cm / 33" x 42" $39.90 +$8.50 post within Australia* Gecko Kit 43cm 17inch $22.50 (excludes stuffing material) $4.00 post within Australia* Quilt pattern $12.50 incl post within Australia* Softie pattern $13.50 incl post within Australia*
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Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 24, 2013 - Page 27
Observer Classic Books
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Les Misérables by Victor Hugo VOLUME IV - SAINT DENIS BOOK SEVENTH - SLANG CHAPTER I - ORIGIN Continued From Last Week
He must descend with his heart full of charity, and severity at the same time, as a brother and as a judge, to those impenetrable casemates where crawl, pell-mell, those who bleed and those who deal the blow, those who weep and those who curse, those who fast and those who devour, those who endure evil and those who inflict it. Have these historians of hearts and souls duties at all inferior to the historians of external facts? Does any one think that Alighieri has any fewer things to say than Machiavelli? Is the under side of civilization any less important than the upper side merely because it is deeper and more sombre? Do we really know the mountain well when we are not acquainted with the cavern? Let us say, moreover, parenthetically, that from a few words of what precedes a marked separation might be inferred between the two classes of historians which does not exist in our mind. No one is a good historian of the patent, visible, striking, and public life of peoples, if he is not, at the same time, in a certain measure, the historian of their deep and hidden life; and no one is a good historian of the interior unless he understands how, at need, to be the historian of the exterior also. The history of manners and ideas permeates the history of events, and this is true reciprocally. They constitute two different orders of facts which correspond to each other, which are always interlaced, and which often bring forth results. All the lineaments which providence traces on the surface of a nation have their parallels, sombre but distinct, in their depths, and all convulsions of the depths produce ebullitions on the surface. True history being a mixture of all things, the true historian mingles in everything. Man is not a circle with a single centre; he is an ellipse with a double focus. Facts form one of these, and ideas the other. Slang is nothing but a dressing-room where the tongue having some bad action to perform, disguises itself. There it clothes itself in word-masks, in metaphor-rags. In this guise it becomes horrible. One finds it difficult to recognize. Is it really the French tongue, the great human tongue? Behold it ready to step upon the stage and to retort upon crime, and prepared for all the employments of the repertory of evil. It no longer walks, it hobbles; it limps on the crutch of the Court of Miracles, a crutch metamorphosable into a club; it is called vagrancy; every sort of spectre, its dressers, have painted its face, it crawls and rears, the double gait of the reptile. Henceforth, it is apt at all roles, it is made suspicious by the counterfeiter, covered with verdigris by the forger, blacked by the soot of the incendiary; and the murderer applies its rouge. When one listens, by the side of honest men, at the portals of society, one overhears the dialogues of those who are on the outside. One distinguishes questions and replies. One perceives, without understanding it, a hideous murmur, sounding almost like human accents, but more nearly resembling a howl than an articulate word. It is slang. The words are misshapen and stamped with an indescribable and fantastic bestiality. One thinks one hears hydras talking. It is unintelligible in the dark. It gnashes and whispers, completing the gloom with mystery. It is black in misfortune, it is blacker still in crime; these two blacknesses amalgamated, compose slang. Obscurity in the atmosphere, obscurity in acts, obscurity in voices. Terrible, toad-like tongue which goes and comes, leaps, crawls, slobbers, and stirs about in monstrous wise in that immense gray fog composed of rain and night, of hunger, of vice, of falsehood, of injustice, of nudity, of suffocation, and of winter, the high noonday of the miserable. Let us have compassion on the chastised. Alas! Who are we ourselves? Who am I who now address you? Who are you who are listening to me? And are you very sure that we have done nothing before we were born? The earth is not devoid of resemblance to a jail. Who knows whether man is not a recaptured offender against divine justice? Look closely at life. It is so made, that everywhere we feel the sense of punishment. Are you what is called a happy man? Well! you are sad every day. Each day has its own great grief or its little care. Yesterday you were trembling for a health that is dear to you, today you
● Victor Hugo fear for your own; tomorrow it will be anxiety about money, the day after tomorrow the diatribe of a slanderer, the day after that, the misfortune of some friend; then the prevailing weather, then something that has been broken or lost, then a pleasure with which your conscience and your vertebral column reproach you; again, the course of public affairs. This without reckoning in the pains of the heart. And so it goes on. One cloud is dispelled, another forms. There is hardly one day out of a hundred which is wholly joyous and sunny. And you belong to that small class who are happy! As for the rest of mankind, stagnating night rests upon them. Thoughtful minds make but little use of the phrase: the fortunate and the unfortunate. In this world, evidently the vestibule of another, there are no fortunate. The real human division is this: the luminous and the shady. To diminish the number of the shady, to augment the number of the luminous,— that is the object. That is why we cry: Education! science! To teach reading, means to light the fire; every syllable spelled out sparkles. However, he who says light does not, necessarily, say joy. People suffer in the light; excess burns. The flame is the enemy of the wing. To burn without ceasing to fly,— therein lies the marvel of genius. When you shall have learned to know, and to love, you will still suffer. The day is born in tears. The luminous weep, if only over those in darkness.
CHAPTER II ROOTS Slang is the tongue of those who sit in darkness. Thought is moved in its most sombre depths, social philosophy is bidden to its most poignant meditations, in the presence of that enigmatic dialect at once so blighted and rebellious. Therein lies chastisement made visible. Every syllable has an air of being marked. The words of the vulgar tongue appear therein wrinkled and shrivelled, as it were, beneath the hot iron of the executioner. Some seem to be still smoking. Such and such a phrase produces upon you the effect of the shoulder of a thief branded with the fleur-delys, which has suddenly been laid bare. Ideas almost refuse to be expressed in these substantives which are fugitives from justice. Metaphor is sometimes so shameless, that one feels that it has worn the iron neck-fetter.
Moreover, in spite of all this, and because of all this, this strange dialect has by rights, its own compartment in that great impartial case of pigeon-holes where there is room for the rusty farthing as well as for the gold medal, and which is called literature. Slang, whether the public admit the fact or not has its syntax and its poetry. It is a language. Yes, by the deformity of certain terms, we recognize the fact that it was chewed by Mandrin, and by the splendor of certain metonymies, we feel that Villon spoke it. That exquisite and celebrated verse — Mais ou sont les neiges d’antan? But where are the snows of years gone by? is a verse of slang. Antam — ante annum — is a word of Thunes slang, which signified the past year, and by extension, formerly. Thirty-five years ago, at the epoch of the departure of the great chain-gang, there could be read in one of the cells at Bicetre, this maxim engraved with a nail on the wall by a king of Thunes condemned to the galleys: Les dabs d’antan trimaient siempre pour la pierre du Coesre. This means Kings in days gone by always went and had themselves anointed. In the opinion of that king, anointment meant the galleys. The word decarade, which expresses the departure of heavy vehicles at a gallop, is attributed to Villon, and it is worthy of him. This word, which strikes fire with all four of its feet, sums up in a masterly onomatopoeia the whole of La Fontaine’s admirable verse:— Six forts chevaux tiraient un coche. Six stout horses drew a coach. From a purely literary point of view, few studies would prove more curious and fruitful than the study of slang. It is a whole language within a language, a sort of sickly excrescence, an unhealthy graft which has produced a vegetation, a parasite which has its roots in the old Gallic trunk, and whose sinister foliage crawls all over one side of the language. This is what may be called the first, the vulgar aspect of slang. But, for those who study the tongue as it should be studied, that is to say, as geologists study the earth, slang appears like a veritable alluvial deposit. According as one digs a longer or shorter distance into it, one finds in slang, below the old popular French, Provencal, Spanish, Italian, Levantine, that language of the Mediterranean ports, English and
German, the Romance language in its three varieties, French, Italian, and Romance Romance, Latin, and finally Basque and Celtic. A profound and unique formation. A subterranean edifice erected in common by all the miserable. Each accursed race has deposited its layer, each suffering has dropped its stone there, each heart has contributed its pebble. A throng of evil, base, or irritated souls, who have traversed life and have vanished into eternity, linger there almost entirely visible still beneath the form of some monstrous word. Do you want Spanish? The old Gothic slang abounded in it. Here is boffete, a box on the ear, which is derived from bofeton; vantane, window (later on vanterne), which comes from vantana; gat, cat, which comes from gato; acite, oil, which comes from aceyte. Do you want Italian? Here is spade, sword, which comes from spada; carvel, boat, which comes from caravella. Do you want English? Here is bichot, which comes from bishop; raille, spy, which comes from rascal, rascalion; pilche, a case, which comes from pilcher, a sheath. Do you want German? Here is the caleur, the waiter, kellner; the hers, the master, herzog (duke). Do you want Latin? Here is frangir, to break, frangere; affurer, to steal, fur; cadene, chain, catena. There is one word which crops up in every language of the continent, with a sort of mysterious power and authority. It is the word magnus; the Scotchman makes of it his mac, which designates the chief of the clan; Mac– Farlane, Mac–Callumore, the great Farlane, the great Callumore41; slang turns it into meck and later le meg, that is to say, God. Would you like Basque? Here is gahisto, the devil, which comes from gaiztoa, evil; sorgabon, good night, which comes from gabon, good evening. Do you want Celtic? Here is blavin, a handkerchief, which comes from blavet, gushing water; menesse, a woman (in a bad sense), which comes from meinec, full of stones; barant, brook, from baranton, fountain; goffeur, locksmith, from goff, blacksmith; guedouze, death, which comes from guenn-du, black-white. Finally, would you like history? Slang calls crowns les malteses, a souvenir of the coin in circulation on the galleys of Malta. 41 It must be observed, however, that mac in Celtic means son. In addition to the philological origins just indicated, slang possesses other and still more natural roots, which spring, so to speak, from the mind of man itself. In the first place, the direct creation of words. Therein lies the mystery of tongues. To paint with words, which contains figures one knows not how or why, is the primitive foundation of all human languages, what may be called their granite. Slang abounds in words of this description, immediate words, words created instantaneously no one knows either where or by whom, without etymology, without analogies, without derivatives, solitary, barbarous, sometimes hideous words, which at times possess a singular power of expression and which live. The executioner, le taule; the forest, le sabri; fear, flight, taf; the lackey, le larbin; the mineral, the prefect, the minister, pharos; the devil, le rabouin. Nothing is stranger than these words which both mask and reveal. Some, le rabouin, for example, are at the same time grotesque and terrible, and produce on you the effect of a cyclopean grimace. In the second place, metaphor. The peculiarity of a language which is desirous of saying all yet concealing all is that it is rich in figures. Metaphor is an enigma, wherein the thief who is plotting a stroke, the prisoner who is arranging an escape, take refuge. No idiom is more metaphorical than slang: devisser le coco (to unscrew the nut), to twist the neck; tortiller (to wriggle), to eat; etre gerbe, to be tried; a rat, a bread thief; il lansquine, it rains, a striking, ancient figure which partly bears its date about it, which assimilates long oblique lines of rain, with the dense and slanting pikes of the lancers, and which compresses into a single word the popular expression: it rains halberds. Sometimes, in proportion as slang progresses from the first epoch to the second, words pass from the primitive and savage sense to the metaphorical sense.
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From Page 27 The devil ceases to be le rabouin, and becomes le boulanger (the baker), who puts the bread into the oven. This is more witty, but less grand, something like Racine after Corneille, like Euripides after AEschylus. Certain slang phrases which participate in the two epochs and have at once the barbaric character and the metaphorical character resemble phantasmagories. Les sorgueuers vont solliciter des gails a la lune — the prowlers are going to steal horses by night,— this passes before the mind like a group of spectres. One knows not what one sees. In the third place, the expedient. Slang lives on the language. It uses it in accordance with its fancy, it dips into it hap-hazard, and it often confines itself, when occasion arises, to alter it in a gross and summary fashion. Occasionally, with the ordinary words thus deformed and complicated with words of pure slang, picturesque phrases are formed, in which there can be felt the mixture of the two preceding elements, the direct creation and the metaphor: le cab jaspine, je marronne que la roulotte de Pantin trime dans le sabri, the dog is barking, I suspect that the diligence for Paris is passing through the woods. Le dab est sinve, la dabuge est merloussiere, la fee est bative, the bourgeois is stupid, the bourgeoise is cunning, the daughter is pretty. Generally, to throw listeners off the track, slang confines itself to adding to all the words of the language without distinction, an ignoble tail, a termination in aille, in orgue, in iergue, or in uche. Thus: Vousiergue trouvaille bonorgue ce gigotmuche? Do you think that leg of mutton good? A phrase addressed by Cartouche to a turnkey in order to find out whether the sum offered for his escape suited him. The termination in mar has been added recently. Slang, being the dialect of corruption, quickly becomes corrupted itself. Besides this, as it is always seeking concealment, as soon as it feels that it is understood, it changes its form. Contrary to what happens with every other vegetation, every ray of light which falls upon it kills whatever it touches. Thus slang is in constant process of decomposition and recomposition; an obscure and rapid work which never pauses. It passes over more ground in ten years than a language in ten centuries. Thus le larton (bread) becomes le lartif; le gail (horse) becomes le gaye; la fertanche (straw) becomes la fertille; le momignard (brat), le momacque; les fiques (duds), frusques; la chique (the church), l’egrugeoir; le colabre (neck), le colas. The devil is at first, gahisto, then le rabouin, then the baker; the priest is a ratichon, then the boar (le sanglier); the dagger is le vingtdeux (twenty-two), then le surin, then le lingre; the police are railles, then roussins, then rousses, then marchands de lacets (dealers in stay-laces), then coquers, then cognes; the executioner is le taule, then Charlot, l’atigeur, then le becquillard. In the seventeenth century, to fight was “to give each other snuff”; in the nineteenth it is “to chew each other’s throats.” There have been twenty different phrases between these two extremes. Cartouche’s talk would have been Hebrew to Lacenaire. All the words of this language are perpetually engaged in flight like the men who utter them. Still, from time to time, and in consequence of this very movement, the ancient slang crops up again and becomes new once more. It has its headquarters where it maintains its sway. The Temple preserved the slang of the seventeenth century; Bicetre, when it was a prison, preserved the slang of Thunes. There one could hear the termination in anche of the old Thuneurs. Boyanches-tu (boistu), do you drink? But perpetual movement remains its law, nevertheless. If the philosopher succeeds in fixing, for a moment, for purposes of observation, this language which is incessantly evaporating, he falls into doleful and useful meditation. No study is more efficacious and more fecund in instruction. There is not a metaphor, not an analogy, in slang, which does not contain a lesson. Among these men, to beat means to feign; one beats a malady; ruse is their strength. For them, the idea of the man is not separated from the idea of darkness. The night is called la sorgue; man, l’orgue. Man is a derivative of the night. They have taken up the practice of considering society in the light of an atmosphere which kills them, of a fatal force, and they speak of their liberty as one would speak of his health. A man under arrest is a sick man; one who is condemned is a dead man. The most terrible thing for the prisoner within the four walls in which he is buried, is a sort of gla
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Observer Classic Books cial chastity, and he calls the dungeon the castus. In that funereal place, life outside always presents itself under its most smiling aspect. The prisoner has irons on his feet; you think, perhaps, that his thought is that it is with the feet that one walks? No; he is thinking that it is with the feet that one dances; so, when he has succeeded in severing his fetters, his first idea is that now he can dance, and he calls the saw the bastringue (public-house ball).— A name is a centre; profound assimilation.— The ruffian has two heads, one of which reasons out his actions and leads him all his life long, and the other which he has upon his shoulders on the day of his death; he calls the head which counsels him in crime la sorbonne, and the head which expiates it la tronche.— When a man has no longer anything but rags upon his body and vices in his heart, when he has arrived at that double moral and material degradation which the word blackguard characterizes in its two acceptations, he is ripe for crime; he is like a well-whetted knife; he has two cutting edges, his distress and his malice; so slang does not say a blackguard, it says un reguise.— What are the galleys? A brazier of damnation, a hell. The convict calls himself a fagot.— And finally, what name do malefactors give to their prison? The college. A whole penitentiary system can be evolved from that word. Does the reader wish to know where the majority of the songs of the galleys, those refrains called in the special vocabulary lirlonfa, have had their birth? Let him listen to what follows:— There existed at the Chatelet in Paris a large and long cellar. This cellar was eight feet below the level of the Seine. It had neither windows nor airholes, its only aperture was the door; men could enter there, air could not. This vault had for ceiling a vault of stone, and for floor ten inches of mud. It was flagged; but the pavement had rotted and cracked under the oozing of the water. Eight feet above the floor, a long and massive beam traversed this subterranean excavation from side to side; from this beam hung, at short distances apart, chains three feet long, and at the end of these chains there were rings for the neck. In this vault, men who had been condemned to the galleys were incarcerated until the day of their departure for Toulon. They were thrust under this beam, where each one found his fetters swinging in the darkness and waiting for him. The chains, those pendant arms, and the necklets, those open hands, caught the unhappy wretches by the throat. They were rivetted and left there. As the chain was too short, they could not lie down. They remained motionless in that cavern, in that night, beneath that beam, almost hanging, forced to unheard-of efforts to reach their bread, jug, or their vault overhead, mud even to mid-leg, filth flowing to their very calves, broken asunder with fatigue, with thighs and knees giving way, clinging fast to the chain with their hands in order to obtain some rest, unable to sleep except when standing erect, and awakened every moment by the strangling of the collar; some woke no more. In order to eat, they pushed the bread, which was flung to them in the mud, along their leg with their heel until it reached their hand. How long did they remain thus? One month, two months, six months sometimes; one stayed a year. It was the antechamber of the galleys. Men were put there for stealing a hare from the king. In this sepulchre-hell, what did they do? What man can do in a sepulchre, they went through the agonies of death, and what can man do in hell, they sang; for song lingers where there is no longer any hope. In the waters of Malta, when a galley was approaching, the song could be heard before the sound of the oars. Poor Survincent, the poacher, who had gone through the prison-cellar of the Chatelet, said: “It was the rhymes that kept me up.” Uselessness of poetry. What is the good of rhyme? It is in this cellar that nearly all the slang songs had their birth. It is from the dungeon of the Grand–Chatelet of Paris that comes the melancholy refrain of the Montgomery galley: “Timaloumisaine, timaloumison.” The majority of these Icicaille est la theatre Here is the theatre Du petit dardant. Of the little archer (Cupid). Do what you will, you cannot annihilate that eternal relic in the heart of man, love. In this world of dismal deeds, people keep their secrets. The secret is the thing above all others. The secret, in the eyes of these wretches, is unity which serves as a base of union. To betray a secret is to tear from each member of this fierce
community something of his own personality. To inform against, in the energetic slang dialect, is called: “to eat the bit.” As though the informer drew to himself a little of the substance of all and nourished himself on a bit of each one’s flesh. What does it signify to receive a box on the ear? Commonplace metaphor replies: “It is to see thirty-six candles.” Here slang intervenes and takes it up: Candle, camoufle. Thereupon, the ordinary tongue gives camouflet42 as the synonym for soufflet. Thus, by a sort of infiltration from below upwards, with the aid of metaphor, that incalculable, trajectory slang mounts from the cavern to the Academy; and Poulailler saying: “I light my camoufle,” causes Voltaire to write: “Langleviel La Beaumelle deserves a hundred camouflets.” 42 Smoke puffed in the face of a person asleep. Researches in slang mean discoveries at every step. Study and investigation of this strange idiom lead to the mysterious point of intersection of regular society with society which is accursed. The thief also has his food for cannon, stealable matter, you, I, whoever passes by; le pantre. (Pan, everybody.) Slang is language turned convict. That the thinking principle of man be thrust down ever so low, that it can be dragged and pinioned there by obscure tyrannies of fatality, that it can be bound by no one knows what fetters in that abyss, is sufficient to create consternation. Oh, poor thought of miserable wretches! Alas! will no one come to the succor of the human soul in that darkness? Is it her destiny there to await forever the mind, the liberator, the immense rider of Pegasi and hippo-griffs, the combatant of heroes of the dawn who shall descend from the azure between two wings, the radiant knight of the future? Will she forever summon in vain to her assistance the lance of light of the ideal? Is she condemned to hear the fearful approach of Evil through the density of the gulf, and to catch glimpses, nearer and nearer at hand, beneath the hideous water of that dragon’s head, that maw streaked with foam, and that writhing undulation of claws, swellings, and rings? Must it remain there, without a gleam of light, without hope, given over to that terrible approach, vaguely scented out by the monster, shuddering, dishevelled, wringing its arms, forever chained to the rock of night, a sombre Andromeda white and naked amid the shadow
CHAPTER III SLANG WHICH WEEPS AND SLANG WHICH LAUGHS As the reader perceives, slang in its entirety, slang of four hundred years ago, like the slang of today, is permeated with that sombre, symbolical spirit which gives to all words a mien which is now mournful, now menacing. One feels in it the wild and ancient sadness of those vagrants of the Court of Miracles who played at cards with packs of their own, some of which have come down to us. The eight of clubs, for instance, represented a huge tree bearing eight enormous trefoil leaves, a sort of fantastic personification of the forest. At the foot of this tree a fire was burning, over which three hares were roasting a huntsman on a spit, and behind him, on another fire, hung a steaming pot, whence emerged the head of a dog. Nothing can be more melancholy than these reprisals in painting, by a pack of cards, in the presence of stakes for the roasting of smugglers and of the cauldron for the boiling of counterfeiters. The diverse forms assumed by thought in the realm of slang, even song, even raillery, even menace, all partook of this powerless and dejected character. All the songs, the melodies of some of which have been collected, were humble and lamentable to the point of evoking tears. The pegre is always the poor pegre, and he is always the hare in hiding, the fugitive mouse, the flying bird. He hardly complains, he contents himself with sighing; one of his moans has come down to us: “I do not understand how God, the father of men, can torture his children and his grandchildren and hear them cry, without himself suffering torture.”43 The wretch, whenever he has time to think, makes himself small before the low, and frail in the presence of society; he lies down flat on his face, he entreats, he appeals to the side of compassion; we feel that he is conscious of his guilt. 43 Je n’entrave que le dail comment meck, le daron des orgues, peut atiger ses momes et ses momignards et les locher criblant sans etre agite lui-meme.
Towards the middle of the last century a change took place, prison songs and thieves’ ritournelles assumed, so to speak, an insolent and jovial mien. The plaintive malure was replaced by the larifla. We find in the eighteenth century, in nearly all the songs of the galleys and prisons, a diabolical and enigmatical gayety. We hear this strident and lilting refrain which we should say had been lighted up by a phosphorescent gleam, and which seems to have been flung into the forest by a willo’-the-wisp playing the fife:— Miralabi suslababo Mirliton ribonribette Surlababi mirlababo Mirliton ribonribo. This was sung in a cellar or in a nook of the forest while cutting a man’s throat. A serious symptom. In the eighteenth century, the ancient melancholy of the dejected classes vanishes. They began to laugh. They rally the grand meg and the grand dab. Given Louis XV. they call the King of France “le Marquis de Pantin.” And behold, they are almost gay. A sort of gleam proceeds from these miserable wretches, as though their consciences were not heavy within them any more. These lamentable tribes of darkness have no longer merely the desperate audacity of actions, they possess the heedless audacity of mind. A sign that they are losing the sense of their criminality, and that they feel, even among thinkers and dreamers, some indefinable support which the latter themselves know not of. A sign that theft and pillage are beginning to filter into doctrines and sophisms, in such a way as to lose somewhat of their ugliness, while communicating much of it to sophisms and doctrines. A sign, in short, of some outbreak which is prodigious and near unless some diversion shall arise. Let us pause a moment. Whom are we accusing here? Is it the eighteenth century? Is it philosophy? Certainly not. The work of the eighteenth century is healthy and good and wholesome. The encyclopedists, Diderot at their head; the physiocrates, Turgot at their head; the philosophers, Voltaire at their head; the Utopians, Rousseau at their head,— these are four sacred legions. Humanity’s immense advance towards the light is due to them. They are the four vanguards of the human race, marching towards the four cardinal points of progress. Diderot towards the beautiful, Turgot towards the useful, Voltaire towards the true, Rousseau towards the just. But by the side of and above the philosophers, there were the sophists, a venomous vegetation mingled with a healthy growth, hemlock in the virgin forest. While the executioner was burning the great books of the liberators of the century on the grand staircase of the court-house, writers now forgotten were publishing, with the King’s sanction, no one knows what strangely disorganizing writings, which were eagerly read by the unfortunate. Some of these publications, odd to say, which were patronized by a prince, are to be found in the Secret Library. These facts, significant but unknown, were imperceptible on the surface. Sometimes, in the very obscurity of a fact lurks its danger. It is obscure because it is underhand. Of all these writers, the one who probably then excavated in the masses the most unhealthy gallery was Restif de La Bretonne. This work, peculiar to the whole of Europe, effected more ravages in Germany than anywhere else. In Germany, during a given period, summed up by Schiller in his famous drama The Robbers, theft and pillage rose up in protest against property and labor, assimilated certain specious and false elementary ideas, which, though just in appearance, were absurd in reality, enveloped themselves in these ideas, disappeared within them, after a fashion, assumed an abstract name, passed into the state of theory, and in that shape circulated among the laborious, suffering, and honest masses, unknown even to the imprudent chemists who had prepared the mixture, unknown even to the masses who accepted it. Whenever a fact of this sort presents itself, the case is grave. Suffering engenders wrath; and while the prosperous classes blind themselves or fall asleep, which is the same thing as shutting one’s eyes, the hatred of the unfortunate classes lights its torch at some aggrieved or ill-made spirit which dreams in a corner, and sets itself to the scrutiny of society. The scrutiny of hatred is a terrible thing. Hence, if the ill-fortune of the times so wills it, those fearful commotions which were formerly called jacqueries, beside which purely political agitations are the merest child’s play, which are no longer the conflict of the oppressed and the oppressor, but the revolt of discomfort against comfort. Continued on Page 101
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MELBOURNE WORKSHOPS JANUARY 23, 24 and 25 2014 … Book now for discounts on these! Due to prior commitments in Queensland I shall not be at the craft show, or at the Mad Quilters’ Gathering in Melbourne in September this year. I’m planning to be back in Victoria in 2014. For those of you who are keen to do one of my workshops I have sessions happening in January. Numbers are limited, so ask me about these now to avoid disappointment. - Anne
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Le Jardin Blanche – a hand felted bag combining Nuno like felting and embroidery.
A Country Basket – This is a sampler exploring how embroidery and different fabrics behave during the felting process.
Boho Pin – Easy little afternoon project combining beading and embroidery.
Art Nouveau Basket – A sumptuous heirloom needlework basket. Beautiful & practical.
For more designs and workshop information please visit our website. FREE lessons on Youtube under Colour Streams.
Page 32 - Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 24, 2013
MARKETING FEATURE
Craft
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Galifrey Alpaca Textiles - come to buy from the extensive range of alpaca yarns and hand made alpaca clothing, as well as other local artisanal products. Wiith over 250 yarns in stock, Galifrey Alpaca Textiles may have the widest range of alpaca yarns in Australia. The Farm Shop also stocks Galifrey alpaca fleeces, batts and rovings for spinners, weavers and felters, and other textile artisans. Many original items of handmade alpaca clothing are also made locally - beautiful felt jackets and wraps, warm hand knitted jumpers, vests, scarves and shawls, a range of kids clothes in alpaca felt and hand knits, ecodyed women's wear, gifts, jewellery - a treasure trove of delights! Galifrey Alpaca Textiles is proud of its Australian grown, Australian produced alpaca, and visitors are always delighted to see the alpaca that grew the fibre for their unique alpaca item. With a wide customer base across Australia, the Galifrey Alpaca Textiles online shop quickly dispatches alpaca yarns and other products. Galifrey is open on the first weekend of each month Saturday and Sunday 10-4, or by appointment, so if you are heading out near Braidwood, give Jen and Peter a call and come visit the alpacas - groups welcome. Galifrey can be found at 1008 Wallace's Gap Road, Ballalaba via Braidwood.
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Craft
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Observer Classic Books
From Page 28 Then everything crumbles. Jacqueries are earthquakes of the people. It is this peril, possibly imminent towards the close of the eighteenth century, which the French Revolution, that immense act of probity, cut short. The French Revolution, which is nothing else than the idea armed with the sword, rose erect, and, with the same abrupt movement, closed the door of ill and opened the door of good. It put a stop to torture, promulgated the truth, expelled miasma, rendered the century healthy, crowned the populace. It may be said of it that it created man a second time, by giving him a second soul, the right. The nineteenth century has inherited and profited by its work, and today, the social catastrophe to which we lately alluded is simply impossible. Blind is he who announces it! Foolish is he who fears it! Revolution is the vaccine of Jacquerie. Thanks to the Revolution, social conditions have changed. Feudal and monarchical maladies no longer run in our blood. There is no more of the Middle Ages in our constitution. We no longer live in the days when terrible swarms within made irruptions, when one heard beneath his feet the obscure course of a dull rumble, when indescribable elevations from mole-like tunnels appeared on the surface of civilization, where the soil cracked open, where the roofs of caverns yawned, and where one suddenly beheld monstrous heads emerging from the earth. The revolutionary sense is a moral sense. The sentiment of right, once developed, develops the sentiment of duty. The law of all is liberty, which ends where the liberty of others begins, according to Robespierre’s admirable definition. Since ‘89, the whole people has been dilating into a sublime individual; there is not a poor man, who, possessing his right, has not his ray of sun; the die-of-hunger feels within him the honesty of France; the dignity of the citizen is an internal armor; he who is free is scrupulous; he who votes reigns. Hence incorruptibility; hence the miscarriage of unhealthy lusts; hence eyes heroically lowered before temptations. The revolutionary wholesomeness is such, that on a day of deliverance, a 14th of July, a 10th of August, there is no longer any populace. The first cry of the enlightened and increasing throngs is: death to thieves! Progress is an honest man; the ideal and the abso-
ute do not filch pocket-handkerchiefs. By whom were the wagons containing the wealth of the Tuileries escorted in 1848? By the rag-pickers of the Faubourg Saint–Antoine. Rags mounted guard over the treasure. Virtue rendered these tatterdemalions resplendent. In those wagons in chests, hardly closed, and some, even, half-open, amid a hundred dazzling caskets, was that ancient crown of France, studded with diamonds, surmounted by the carbuncle of royalty, by the Regent diamond, which was worth thirty millions. Barefooted, they guarded that crown. Hence, no more Jacquerie. I regret it for the sake of the skilful. The old fear has produced its last effects in that quarter; and henceforth it can no longer be employed in politics. The principal spring of the red spectre is broken. Every one knows it now. The scare-crow scares no longer. The birds take liberties with the mannikin, foul creatures alight upon it, the bourgeois laugh at it.
CHAPTER IV THE TWO DUTIES: TO WATCH AND TO HOPE This being the case, is all social danger dispelled? Certainly not. There is no Jacquerie; society may rest assured on that point; blood will no longer rush to its head. But let society take heed to the manner in which it breathes.Apoplexy is no longer to be feared, but phthisis is there. Social phthisis is called misery. One can perish from being undermined as well as from being struck by lightning. Let us not weary of repeating, and sympathetic souls must not forget that this is the first of fraternal obligations, and selfish hearts must understand that the first of political necessities consists in thinking first of all of the disinherited and sorrowing throngs, in solacing, airing, enlightening, loving them, in enlarging their horizon to a magnificent extent, in lavishing upon them education in every form, in offering them the example of labor, never the example of idleness, in diminishing the individual burden by enlarging the notion of the universal aim, in setting a limit to poverty without setting a limit to wealth, in creating vast fields of public and popular activity, in having, like Briareus, a hundred hands to extend in all directions to the oppressed and the feeble, in employing the collective power for that grand duty
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of opening workshops for all arms, schools for all aptitudes, and laboratories for all degrees of intelligence, in augmenting salaries, diminishing trouble, balancing what should be and what is, that is to say, in proportioning enjoyment to effort and a glut to need; in a word, in evolving from the social apparatus more light and more comfort for the benefit of those who suffer and those who are ignorant. And, let us say it, all this is but the beginning. The true question is this: labor cannot be a law without being a right. We will not insist upon this point; this is not the proper place for that. If nature calls itself Providence, society should call itself foresight. Intellectual and moral growth is no less indispensable than material improvement. To know is a sacrament, to think is the prime necessity, truth is nourishment as well as grain. A reason which fasts from science and wisdom grows thin. Let us enter equal complaint against stomachs and minds which do not eat. If there is anything more heart-breaking than a body perishing for lack of bread, it is a soul which is dying from hunger for the light. The whole of progress tends in the direction of solution. Some day we shall be amazed. As the human race mounts upward, the deep layers emerge naturally from the zone of distress. The obliteration of misery will be accomplished by a simple elevation of level. We should do wrong were we to doubt this blessed consummation. The past is very strong, it is true, at the present moment. It censures. This rejuvenation of a corpse is surprising. Behold, it is walking and advancing. It seems a victor; this dead body is a conqueror. He arrives with his legions, superstitions, with his sword, despotism, with his banner, ignorance; a while ago, he won ten battles. He advances, he threatens, he laughs, he is at our doors. Let us not despair, on our side. Let us sell the field on which Hannibal is encamped. What have we to fear, we who believe? No such thing as a back-flow of ideas exists any more than there exists a return of a river on its course. But let those who do not desire a future reflect on this matter. When they say “no” to progress, it is not the future but themselves that they are con-
demning. They are giving themselves a sad malady; they are inoculating themselves with the past. There is but one way of rejecting To-morrow, and that is to die. Now, no death, that of the body as late as possible, that of the soul never,— this is what we desire. Yes, the enigma will utter its word, the sphinx will speak, the problem will be solved. Yes, the people, sketched out by the eighteenth century, will be finished by the nineteenth. He who doubts this is an idiot! The future blossoming, the near blossoming forth of universal well-being, is a divinely fatal phenomenon. Immense combined propulsions direct human affairs and conduct them within a given time to a logical state, that is to say, to a state of equilibrium; that is to say, to equity. A force composed of earth and heaven results from humanity and governs it; this force is a worker of miracles; marvellous issues are no more difficult to it than extraordinary vicissitudes. Aided by science, which comes from one man, and by the event, which comes from another, it is not greatly alarmed by these contradictions in the attitude of problems, which seem impossibilities to the vulgar herd. It is no less skilful at causing a solution to spring forth from the reconciliation of ideas, than a lesson from the reconciliation of facts, and we may expect anything from that mysterious power of progress, which brought the Orient and the Occident face to face one fine day, in the depths of a sepulchre, and made the imaums converse with Bonaparte in the interior of the Great Pyramid. In the meantime, let there be no halt, no hesitation, no pause in the grandiose onward march of minds. Social philosophy consists essentially in science and peace. Its object is, and its result must be, to dissolve wrath by the study of antagonisms. It examines, it scrutinizes, it analyzes; then it puts together once more, it proceeds by means of reduction, discarding all hatred. More than once, a society has been seen to give way before the wind which is let loose upon mankind; history is full of the shipwrecks of nations and empires; manners, customs, laws, religions,— and some fine day that unknown force, the hurricane, passes by and bears them all away. To Be Continued Next Week
Observer Crossword Solution No 2 S P R I GH A W U I E T E MA DN E S R A S P MA AM Y ON S E T S SO R GE I S H A U S I T E N T E R S S I T A NGS T G A A M I C EMMA K M T SO F T E S U O U S L AG P A MA D E R N E S T E H L F L E E A I WR I T I GE E S V H R T A S T I E R O AM I D M S OWE B E E J E C T A O Y D I R E C T L A D N R A B B I S E O S K S P R A T S AGS C R P RO D E N S E L E P A R E O X P E T U L A
T L Y R E S E E D AM RR A V E R R E A R S E N EGY P OGR E R T I T O RR I E R D U R A I S EMS T P MA NN E S A U A AMOK F A R N E E E D E A D B I E V N B N A UD I E T R O D S K I N S MSG P R DO N E O OC E A A T E R D H AG I L H E N E S A C S E T R E A T S V F R E OV E R E A I N R M D I N A SM Y E S G L E T H E E UR S A E E MA P P NC E X E ME S S I DD E D Y I N F R NOA H I NG C A N A Y D EMO L S Y MON O K E E N R E C NC E
T I G H T E N E E A U D E N P I O N E E R E D A U N C L E U E N L A R G E
E D O E R A D F O E N E D E N R S T I N A T R C E L A P M P A M M I G I O D I S O T E I CH O R A N D A L P T R E DU P P OE R S S
R N E S U AM R E C T B I C A I E R P OO R I T S R S A EG L I F I T C H I N G
V O R
A C CC U D S E E R D I U B L G E R A T E I N
A A L M O E S S T S A L Y S E
L L A OR C E I N L Y L U T S E A O I D S C C S E O D E T S N P E N S I O N I B S O L A F U E L F S V E V A E R T A S T I G HO L E A N E W T H I R S N AG I UR N I L C A P E S T T L Y E C A MP H P I D E NC E R Y S M C P R E CH N S I D
A Y O A L K A S G R E E E R S P E R I L I O O U S T A T E R B O O S T P L
S A S H E S
S T H I A N D AG G L EG U S R E I E R N OD N A T O E C D RR E D O E ON E R Y I OME N D PG O I M I T E OC T EM E I R S A S C E N R C I E T H A O A T OR RO I GR I N U OG EWN O S I N S T E S L L B L O A R E MA R K A Y N Z E RO E D B
H I N MA N H E A Z A L R D I E D S
E L D I I D GE L A I V E NN A G N A ME L L Y B OS C A C T T H E B R R O GY P S U E L S MA I D N I D H E L A Y E L L I S S N A T H E N E A T E R D T S T HR E S U A I C R EGGA E S E N A T N S S T R E E T L R A L MO F OE S N F O P K E B A L E N N I AGEO P E L L R S MA N A T B A N M I D E A C H A S K E E L S ME A T I OB L Y S E U L E D S P R E
NG O B L Y O B S E E E R S A EW S Y V A L I NG U L L L A Y D ON E S A R T S U B S E B A L D V GE R L T I S V E R E A A D
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Community News
Volunteers sought for Daffodil Day on Aug. 23 ■ Cancer Council Victoria is looking for Melbourne volunteers to support Daffodil Day activities on Friday, August 23. This year’s bloom of daffodils will be available at 390 street stalls manned by more than 2200 volunteers. Retailers including Coles, Coles Express and IGAs across the state will be also be supporting the cause by selling a variety of merchandise including pens, magnets, key rings and wristbands. Cancer Council Victoria is calling on the generosity of Melbourne residents to get involved and give up some of their time to help the 276 people in the Melbourne region diagnosed with can-
cer each year. Cancer Council Victoria spokesman Kate Delbridge said it is thanks to Victorians that the Cancer Council is able to continue its work and carry out its programs. “Residents in Melbourne are wonderful supporters. This year we have 105 stalls in the area, so if you can spare a morning or afternoon to sell fresh daffodils and merchandise, we’d love to hear from you.” Local involvement is integral as every dollar raised goes towards continuing Cancer Council Victoria’s cancer research, prevention and support services. “Last year we raised $1.74 million and this year I’d love us to exceed that target.
Melbourne People
Cancer Council Victoria is a nonprofit organisation and has been leading the fight against all cancers for 75 years. Its focus is on cancer research, patient support, cancer prevention and advocacy. For further information, please visit www.cancervic.org.au or call the Cancer Council Helpline (13 11 20). By giving up your time, you’re helping the people in your area that really need it and growing hope for a cancer free future,” Ms Delbridge said. For further information or to support Daffodil Day, visit www.daffodil day.com.au or phone 1300 65 65 85.
ShowBiz Social Club At Bentleigh Club on Monday night (July 22) Photos: Gigi Hellmuth
● Sylvester Kroyherr, vocalist and guitarist
● Barbara Hatarell, Don Crawford and Phylis (Iris) Crawford
● Buddy Love, vocalist; Colin Garrettm sax; Lisette Payet, pianist
● Esmir Zukancic, accordianist and Michael Grozdanovic, pianist
● Miri Mor, vocalist who sings in seven languages
● Peter Green, vocalist, and Frank O'Brien, bass player
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Products And Services
A bed that provides assistance
Page 104 - Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Melbourne
Observer
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Travellers’Good Buys
with David Ellis
Wealthy American rattles UK high society
■ America’s then-wealthiest man, William Waldorf Astor had England’s high society in an absolute tizz back in 1893 when he had the audacity to buy his way into their ranks by paying US$1.25m for the Duke of Westminster’s grand Cliveden House on the River Thames in Buckinghamshire. And even Queen Victoria announced she was “astonished,” when Astor then went on to snap-up Hever Castle in Kent a little way away from his Cliveden digs. But what really had society’s madams rushing for their smelling salts was Astor’s successful application to become a British citizen, being made a Baron in 1916, and then anointed with the grander moniker Viscount Astor a year later. Such “astonishment,” however, was nothing compared with what was to eventuate at Cliveden House years later in 1961, when a society weekend there would erupt into one of Britain’s greatest sex scandals, the exposé of a Russian spy, a society suicide, the downfall of one of the country’s most senior Cabinet Ministers – and ultimately the fall of the government itself. Cliveden House has seldom been out of the public eye since the first “house” was built on its 150ha (375 acres) at Taplow in 1666 by the 2nd Duke of Buckingham, ostensibly as a hunting lodge for he and his pals, but
● Famous faces: aviatrix Amy Johnson, Charlie Chaplin, Nancy Astor and George Bernard-Shaw at Cliveden House.
Melbourne
Observer Wines & Liqueurs
with David Ellis
Nice reward from unusual Tassie blend ■ We don’t often get the opportunity to try wines out of Tasmania, and when offered not only a Tassie drop but one that was a quite unusual blend too, we jumped at it. And how surprisingly rewarded we were. Grey Sands vineyard is in the foggy Tamar Valley in Tasmania’s north, just 3.5ha in size and since being established in 1988 has produced a range of reds, with particular success with Merlot that was planted there in 1998. Then after a visit some years ago to New Zealand where he was impressed with blends he tasted that invariably included Malbec, Grey Sands winemaker Bob Richter decided on his return home to add that varietal to his vineyard as well. Those vines took seven years to produce any appreciable crops from the low-fertility grey sands (that give name to his vineyard,) and when they finally did in 2012, he blended 45% of that Malbec with 45% of his Merlot and 10% Cabernet Franc, calling the resultant drop The Mattock. This is a beautifully deep-red wine with purple hues, rewarding plum and cherry flavours, silky tannins and some background savoury oak; its great value at $30, and worth investing in the delivery fee (particularly to enjoy with a hearty beef stroganoff.) To order, give Bob a call on (03) 6396 1167 or email info@greysands.com.au
One to note
■ Both Hungary and Germany claim to have been the first to produce –albeit accidentally after fruit was left on the vines too long – dessert wines that are now made from fruit that’s deliberately left beyond normal harvest to be attacked by Botrytis Cinera, a fungus that sucks much of the water from that fruit, leaving it withered and with deep concentrations of natural flavours and often added tones of honeyed apricot. NSW’s Riverina produces some world-recognised dessert wines, and now Shaw Vineyard in the Canberra wine district has released a delightful 2012 Botrytis Semillon that is beautifully fruit-flavoured, sweet, and ideal to enjoy chilled with traditional puddings, cheesecakes and rich fruit cakes. Excellent buying at $25 for a 375ml bottle.
Pictured
■ Tassie tempter worth the extra freight costs (enjoy with a hearty beef stroganoff.) ■ Savour this Canberra surprise with puddings, cheesecakes and rich fruit cakes.
in truth a bolt-hole for escapes with his mistress. That first house burned down in 1795, its replacement fell to a similar fate in 1849, and today’s Cliveden House of much more extraordinarily grandiose proportions built in 1852. William Waldorf Astor was a successful New York attorney who’d inherited huge family wealth, investing some of this into a hotel he called The Waldorf, and which he merged with The Astoria Hotel next door – built by a cousin – to become The Waldorf Astoria. After a bitter family dispute, Astor moved with his wife Mary and family to England, buying and living in Cliveden House until Mary’s premature death in 1906; devastated, Astor gave Cliveden to his son Waldorf as a wedding present, and moved into Hever Castle. But he continued the work that he and Mary had begun on behalf of charities ranging from cancer research to children’s welfare, the Red Cross, warwidow’s families, and a dozen others, and it was for this that he was made a Baron in 1916 and Viscount Astor the next year. The young Waldorf and wife Nancy, meanwhile, lost no time in jumping on the society roundabout, inviting politicians, writers, film stars and other celebrities to join them for weekends at Cliveden House, including Winston Churchill, Harold Macmillan, Mahatma Gandhi, F.D. Roosevelt, Joseph Kennedy, T.E. Lawrence, Charlie Chaplin, Rudyard Kipling and aviatrix Amy Johnson. Like his parents Waldorf Astor gave generously, including building a temporary military hospital in Cliveden’s grounds in WWI and another during WWII. And in 1942 they donated Cliveden House to the British National Trust with the proviso they could live there as long as they wished… giving the Trust 250,000 English pounds (around AU$16m today) for its perpetual upkeep. And for a summer’s weekend party in July 1961 they included amongst others Britain’s then Minister of War, John Profumo and his glamorous actress wife Valerie Hobson, Lord Mountbatten of Burma, and the President of Pakistan. Also invited to stay in the property’s separate Spring Cottage was London society osteopath, Stephen Ward who took several chums along including funloving girlfriend, 19-year old Christine Keeler and a Russian Naval Attache, Captain Yevgeny Ivanov. On the first evening, Profumo bumped into Christine Keeler at the House pool – within days they were lovers. Profumo realising the danger soon broke it off… but the Opposition learned of it, asked a question of the relationship in Parliament, which Profumo denied, and to his horror the spurned Keeler then sold her story to a London newspaper. Even worse she said she’d been sleeping at the same time as Profumo with the Russian Attache Ivanov – whom MI5 revealed was a Soviet spy. Profumo confessed he had lied to the House of Commons and resigned. And when the osteopath Stephen Ward was charged with living off girlfriend Keeler’s immoral earnings, Ward committed suicide. Today Cliveden House is a country house hotel of extraordinary Italianate grandeur, its gardens listed National Trust Category 1; for details
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Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 24, 2013 - Page 105
Melbourne Observer
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Page 106 - Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 24, 2013
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Travel Extra
NORFOLK ISLAND ON SALE
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*RETURN AIRFARES AND TAXES FROM MELBOURNE *RETURN AIRPORT TRANSFERS *HALF DAY ISLAND TOUR *7 NIGHTS ACCOM IN AN EXEC. LODGE *CONTINENTAL BREAKFAST DAILY $1530.00 P/P TWIN SHARE *Book by 30 September 2013 and travel by 31 December 2013 ADD FULLY INCLUSIVE CAR HIRE TO THIS PACKAGE FOR $140.00 p/p
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*RETURN AIRFARES AND TAXES FROM MELBOURNE *RETURN AIRPORT TRANSFERS *HALF DAY ISLAND TOUR *7 NIGHTS ACCOM IN AN EXEC LODGE *FULL BREAKFAST DAILY $1622.00 P/P TWIN SHARE *Book by 30 September 2013 and travel by 30 September 2014 ADD FULLY INCLUSIVE CAR HIRE TO THIS PACKAGE FOR $140.00 p/p
We also have special packages available for all the great events that take place on Norfolk Island throughout the year. Including Governors Cup Golf Tournament in Nov 2013 The Jazz Festival in December 2013 Clay Target Shooting Comp in February 2014 The Vets Tennis Tournament in April 2014 Country Music Festival in May 2014 Please call us for details of these and our great Christmas and New Year packages.
8 DAY DISCOVERY TOUR OF NORFOLK ISLAND Choose a week to suit you! RETURN FLIGHTS FROM MELBOURNE *7 NIGHTS ACCOM IN AN EXEC LODGE *FULL BREAKFAST DAILY *4 DINNERS *DAILY TOURING & SHOWS *FULLY INCLUSIVE CAR HIRE *EXCEPTIONAL VALUE -$2750.00 P/P TWIN SHARE CALL FOR A FULL ITINERARY
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1800 724 400 EMAIL: norfolkselect@bigpond.com LICENCE NUMBER 2TA5508/09 IATA 0235976 WEB SITE: www.norfolkislandescapes.com.au
Check out our other hot deals visit www.norfolkislandescapes.com.au Fly with Virgin and Air New Zealand Ex Melbourne via Brisbane for same day travel to beautiful Norfolk Island. *Conditions apply. All bookings are subject to availability and applicable fare classes, based on seat and 23kg of baggage fare. Blackout dates and seasonal surcharges may apply during peak periods. LIC2TA5508/09
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Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 24, 2013 - Page 107
Page 108 - Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 24, 2013
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Products And Services
Lifting pots with ease ■ It is now easy to move large round and square pots up to 100 kilograms, without any lifting. Buderim inventor Bruno Paoletto designed the Ezy Pot Trolley after injuring himself while moving a heavy pot for his wife. His aim was to design a trolley to avoid back pain. Now Ezypot can be used to move pots and other heavy objects to new locations without lifting. Mr Paoletto’s invention won ‘The People’s Choice Award’ on the ABC’s New Inventors program in 2010. Included with Ezypot is a square pot attachment and a tray to convert to a standard trolley to meet a variety of needs. It requires minimym space and folds neatly away for quicjk and easy storage and transport. Ezypot is available and makes an ideal gift.
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Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 24, 2013 - Page 109
Seniors News
Page 110 - Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 24, 2013
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