Beach shacks and lazy summer days along the fabulous Australian Coastline, you got to love it, hey…!
Photo’s: Baz, Kangaroo Island, Southern Australia.
And hey, take my word for it…!
I worked in Malanda in the late 1970s and lived in this very pub.
Today, I had my first meal in the Malanda Hotel in almost 40-years and I am pleased it is still owned by the same people, the English family, and it is as grand as I always remember it. And how good is that silky-oak timber.
Um, yeah, a touch of reminiscing going on here…!
But hey, the past is what makes up the mosaic of whom we are today, right…!
Cheers, Baz – The Landy, in Far North Queensland…
Ahead of this week’s hike on Hinchinbrook Island I came across one such story as related by a Traditional Owner from the Girramay people. The Girramay come from the lands surrounding Cardwell, in Queensland and this story is common to a number of groups in the region.
A great story to kick-off my hike with!
“An old, old story from long time ago…
Girugarr, we call that bloke the first surveyor, he named all the country, he come from across the sea, we don’t know where he came from. He look like man on top and he got long tail like an eel.
Girugarr comes from across the sea and he stop there on Palm Island, his first foot print is there at Mundy Bay.
The earth was hot and when he put his foot down there was a little bit of splash on the mud, it’s on a rock over there.
He speaks to the old people there, growls at them, “what are you doing?”
Girugarr comes up the channel.
When he comes through the sea up to Hinchinbrook Island there are no waves in that sea. He finds all the old people cutting a candle nut tree down and he asks them what are they doing.
They’re telling him in Guwal, the traditional language, “we are cutting this tree down to find witchetty grub”.
In Guwal the tree is called gabura.
The sea was calm.
That gabura tree it stand up tall and when it falls down into the water it creates waves for the first time…”
Thanks to Marcia, a Traditional Owner, for sharing a part of this wonderful dreamtime story from long time ago.
If there are waves on the passage as I cross to Hinchinbrook Island I will be able to reflect on the dreamtime story of the Girramay people – how good is that, hey.
Photos: Baz – The Landy, Cardwell, Far North Queensland…!
On a recent foray into the outback we thought we were travelling behind a bus full of Japanese newly-weds…
You know, the ones you see down at the Historic Rocks precinct in Sydney on a Saturday morning.
Lots of smiling faces, nodding as only the Japanese can in their most polite way, married in large groups on the steps of Mrs Macquarie’s Chair overlooking the magnificent Sydney Harbour, and more confetti than you could poke-a-stick at.
Strewth, and just to be clear, lest I be accused of casting a racial slur…
I love the Japanese people.
What would lunchtime be without sashimi – Nikon camera’s weren’t the only thing they shared with the world. And hey, I’m not suggesting there were busloads of them in the outback throwing confetti everywhere either.
I was speaking metaphorically…(okay?)
But crikey – somebody must have been.
There was so much of it you could be forgiven for thinking that it must have come from a mass wedding.
Now I get it, it isn’t the most popular dinner party topic, but thanks to the hilarious 2006 movie “Kenny” we have at least got a little more comfortable discussing the issue around the camp fire these days.
And let’s not beat around the bush here, we are talking about “Poo Tickets”
Crikey, I thought everyone has watched that movie?
Toilet paper, you dill…!
Oh, stop cringing and shuffling in your seat…
And spare us the protest, Kenny dispelled many of those urban myths about…
Mine doesn’t smell and I always clean the bowel…
As a kid I used to visit my grandmother’s home in a small country town and she had an outhouse down the backyard. Anyone from the bush will know what an outhouse is and without doubt they’ve been the butt of many jokes for time eternity.
In Nan’s outhouse there was always a small box of matches sitting behind the door and she insisted one be lit each and every time you arose from the throne!
I thought this was normal and I don’t recall anyone ever complaining about the need to do it, it was just part of the routine…
Although, Uncle Bluey did complain about it once, but that was when my cousin accidently set alight to his prized Playboy Mag he had tucked down the back of the seat that us kids never knew about.
And mum’s still the word on that one..!
So why a box of matches?
Well nothing beats a freshly lit match to kill all other lingering smells …
Come-on, you’re not still cringing, surely?
Needless to say, caution should always be exercised when playing with matches and there was the time Bluey sent the outhouse door over the back fence after a brekkie of Heinz baked beans…(thank God for flushing toilet’s these days, hey)
I’m not sure what was funniest, Bluey sitting there in his navy singlet with his Y-Fronts around his ankles, or the dunny door in the neighbour’s mango tree.
He had that “eyes rolled-up, embarrassed” look that dogs get when your eyes meet as they do their business.
Dog owners will know what I mean…
But, here is the thing, we’ve always carried a little box of redheads when we are Out and About.
In one bold strike you fill the air with the smell of a freshly burning match after a squat, removing the need to protest yours doesn’t smell, and importantly, you can use it to burn your poo tickets…
So, for those of you that head bush please take “Miss Redhead” with you.
She may not ignite your passion, but in the least, she will put a flame to your “poo tickets” and spare our wonderful country the indignity of the unwanted and unsightly “confetti” that has increasingly become part of the landscape…
Baz – The Landy
Ps: Seriously, this is a major problem these days!
The rattle of machine gun fire ringing out from the bunkers and motorcycle side-cars was deafening as the Germans fought to protect their ground, shrouded for a time behind the white plume of smoke that was by now drifting across the battlefield.
Mind you, some of the soldiers ambushed on “patrol” were a about a quarter-of-a-century too late for the encounter given it was a mock battle between American and German World War 2 forces; the advance party were dressed and kitted out for the jungles of Vietnam…!
But hang-on, what are those Vikings doing on the battlefield?
Didn’t they have their run a few centuries ago marauding and pillaging their way across England?
And aren’t those fancy looking blokes dressed to the “nines” with the feather plumes on their headgear “Frenchies” from the days when Napoleon was barking out orders as he roamed the countryside looking for trouble?
The scene was unfolding at Ironfest 2017 in the Central Tablelands township of Lithgow.
Ironfest is an arts festival that explores the relationship between humans, metal and identity and is held annually at the Lithgow Showground. It brings together artists, designer-makers, blacksmiths, and performers of all kind, musicians, Steampunkers, as well as historical re-enactors and steam-machine enthusiasts from all over Australia…
TomO, the Crown Prince, is a member of Ausreenact, a non-political World War 2 living history organisation made up of members who share a common interest in history and militaria, with a particular focus on the uniforms, equipment and vehicles of the Allied and Axis forces in the period 1939-1945. He re-enacts as a member of the US Forces 2nd Armoured Division and has quite a collection of gear and equipment he has assembled from the era and which he proudly had on display in his “bunker” during the weekend.
Each year Ausreenact, along with a number of other military groups, including those dedicated to Napoleonic re-enactment and Knights from medieval times, are invited to attend and take part in the festival.
No wonder the “battle-ground” was chaotic…
Medieval swords flashed and clashed to the boom of Napoleonic guns that were challenging the armoured vehicles from more modern times.
When the Knights were not swinging their swords in battle they were charging at each other in a medieval jousting match.
And here I was thinking how macho I must look wielding the whipper-snipper with menacing precision each time I trim the moraya hedge at home. Strewth, talk about starting to feel just a tad inadequate.
So I’ll just move on…
Away from the “battlefields” there was the sound of iron striking iron on anvils as blacksmiths demonstrated their craft, beads of sweat rolling down their faces as they forged metal into works of art.
And hey, what about all those Steampunk people…?
Steampunk I hear you ask? I too had to look up the definition of a “Steampunker” and I am still not sure I have it right.
One of the best definitions for a Steampunker I have come across is from Jess Nevins, author of the Encyclopedia of Fantastic Victoriana (it hasn’t come up on my book club read list yet) who said…
“Steampunk is what happens when Goths discover brown.”
The costumes were as varied as the people that dressed in this fashion genre inspired by the Victorian era of steam and industrial machinery. I think it was the default costume for many who attended the festival.
But the Steampunkers seemed a happy bunch even if the women’s corsets appeared three sizes to small and their mode of transport was from another age if not simply strange…
Without doubt this weekend is possibly the two days of the year the various groups can safely come out from behind closed doors and still look normal; safety in numbers, so they say.
The activity was as diverse as it was frenzied, but somehow it all worked and integrated in a way that you would not think possible and I even got to take Janet-Planet on the cruise she has always wanted to do…
On the infamous “Love Boat”…
Photos: Baz – The Landy & Janet-Planet, Lithgow, Australia…