By Jenny Zimmerman. Woodend, VIC Listen to the author read this story by clicking the below arrow: My mother was a social worker and she told us stories about foster children. They were difficult. They were also very sad. They took chips and lollies to school instead of healthy lunches. I couldn't imagine not having… Continue reading The Sad Tale of Sebastian Becker
Category: VIC
Happy First Mother’s Day to Olivia, My Granddaughter
By Lella Cariddi. Ivanhoe, VIC 25 April 2023 A splendid autumn morning. The weather forecaster announces that today the temperature will reach 25 degrees. My friend Jill and I are invited to a long lunch at the home of mutual friends, Julie and Con. Jill offers to pick me up by 10am. So much to… Continue reading Happy First Mother’s Day to Olivia, My Granddaughter
One Sacred Day
By Margaret McCaffrey. Melbourne, VIC Thirty-four years after my father’s death, I drove one frosty morning in 2010 to Melbourne’s Shrine of Remembrance. It’s a pyramid-shaped building keeping guard, sphinx-like, over the city. There, I joined the shivering, silent crowd huddled around the eternal flame for the pre-dawn service, as the bugle strains of The… Continue reading One Sacred Day
YOU’LL NEVER SEE THE WHITES OF THEIR EYES
By Brian John Pollock, Brighton, VIC In 1966 I was called up for a two year stint of National Service in the Australian Army. After six months basic training I was posted to C Squadron, 1st Armoured Regiment. I spent the next 18 months as a crew member of a Centurion tank. I served in… Continue reading YOU’LL NEVER SEE THE WHITES OF THEIR EYES
Ode to Wooden Boats
By Brian John Pollock, 77. Brighton, VIC For some people it might be fishingOr visiting places remote,But for me the ultimate pastimeIs building a wooden boat.It started in my childhoodBuilding boats out of scraps of wood,My father would take me to the beach to float themKnowing full well they never would. But that was never… Continue reading Ode to Wooden Boats
My Wardrobe
By Beverley Walsh, 74. Balwyn North, VIC I open the door of the wardrobe where I keep the clothes I no longer wear but can’t bear to be separated from. I wonder why this is so. Why do I cling to them? I separate the coat hangers to see more clearly each individual garment. Here… Continue reading My Wardrobe
Patio Contemplation
By Brian John Pollock, 77. Brighton VIC “Out on the patio, we’d sit”Is an iconic Australian song line,A lyric conjuring powerful imageryFor Australians, so sublime. A simple pleasure for manyTo sit alone contemplating life,Out on the patio, glass in handTemporary respite from trouble and strife. For me serious contemplationIs best done outdoors, Perhaps it’s because it… Continue reading Patio Contemplation
Ode to Bondi Beach
By Brian John Pollock, 77. Brighton VIC I’m a twenty-something male, hale and heartyAnd like most people my age enjoy a party.I live in the greater Sydney LGAAnd go to Bondi beach nearly every day. I go to work and pay my taxesI’m not one of your anti-vaxers.I’m waiting ‘til the jab queues start to… Continue reading Ode to Bondi Beach
Don’t Let Them In!
By Gillian Scott, 61. Melbourne, VIC I saw a quote the other day attributed to Clint Eastwood, and I don’t know if really he said it or not, but it seemed like a sound philosophy. When questioned about what he was doing in the following weeks, 91-year-old Clint responded that he was directing his… Continue reading Don’t Let Them In!
Geranium Decor
By Leonie, 78. Port Fairy, VIC A small geranium pokes its pink face through a hole in the fenceSiblings spread out in a riot of colours behind.Bright leggy blooms in patches so denseNeglected, half spent in the westerly windCrowding the path to a once fine weatherboard houseWith splayed grey boards like hag’s teeth creaking in… Continue reading Geranium Decor
My Body, My Ancestresses
By Gabrielle Everall, 54. Fitzroy, VIC TRIGGER WARNING: Sexual violence. I occupy and write on stolen land. My body was stolen on the stolen land that my ancestors stole. I inherit violence. I inherit intra-familial sexual abuse. I fell heir to sexual violence. Intra-familial sexual abuse was passed down to me. My foremothers had intra-familial… Continue reading My Body, My Ancestresses
Footscray, Our Playground
By Leonie, 78. Port Fairy, VIC Empty factories and the rail lines promised not to tell As we explored the inner sanctum of that steel and iron playground Palm trees lined the railway, growing low with fronds that formed a veil Where we could hide with bikes and all, the two of us not… Continue reading Footscray, Our Playground
The Kiss
By Beverley, 73. Melbourne, VIC From under lowered lashes I watched for him. I sat with a clear view of the entrance to his family’s tent — nothing could escape me. We’d only been at the beach for a short time when I noticed him outside the tent, which was near our caravan. We were… Continue reading The Kiss
Loss and Opportunity (Que Será, Será)
By Tessa, 65. Somers, VIC It came as a shock. Mid-morning, I was about to make coffee. My niece had died, suddenly. It was savage. It had been six months since her mother, my sister, died. A stroke and she was gone within 24 hours. There was nothing they could do, they said. It was… Continue reading Loss and Opportunity (Que Será, Será)
For Jane
By Margaret McCaffrey, 73. Melbourne, VIC Click the arrow below to listen to the author read this story. Each year my girlfriends and I have a reunion together. Once we were six. Now we are five. At Jane’s funeral, Lynne rose to deliver the eulogy. She surprised the Melbourne congregation by rotating in the pulpit… Continue reading For Jane
Spring in Autumn
By Agi, 73. Korumburra, VIC
How Did I Ever Have Time to Work?
A brief reflection on adjusting to semi-retirement. By Tessa, 65. Somers, VIC Years back, a colleague of mine moved to New Zealand to live with her new partner. At the time, we were both Directors of Nursing at a large metropolitan health service. She gave up her high-powered job for love. But also, with the mind to… Continue reading How Did I Ever Have Time to Work?
Crooked Creek
By Leonie, 78. Port Fairy, VIC It was down at Crooked Creek under the shade of the willowsYou tilted the brim of my hat and pressed your lips against my cheekYou sought my mouth and I panicked, running crazy into the shallowsWhat brings you back when I must close my ear to the words you… Continue reading Crooked Creek
A Day in the Bush
By Paul, 76. Cobram, VIC A halo round the fading moon,Sweet mist upon the grass.The croak of frogs from yon lagoon,A flight of ducks wing past.A dingo howls farewell to night,The crimson sunrise comes.The dawn is here to start the day,All hail the rising sun! That blazing orb now bakes the plains,Heat shimmers on the… Continue reading A Day in the Bush
The Flower in the Buttonhole
By John, 72. Kangaroo Ground, VIC I can remember it so clearly, as if it only happened yesterday: As I walked very briskly from the Foreign Correspondents’ Club of Japan I rehearsed my precise instructions. The stranger I was to meet would be loitering close to Hibiya Park fountain, where he or she would be… Continue reading The Flower in the Buttonhole
Slowing Down
By Tessa, 65. Somers, VIC I am slowing down. My lifestyle, not my brain or my body — though ageing does reduce the pace at which one can run! It’s been a gradual process I’ve been coming to, particularly as I (and others) have struggled through the last few years in a pandemic. At one… Continue reading Slowing Down
Mid-May 2019
By Lella, 82. Ivanhoe, VIC I’m in Bolzano — the city in Trentino Alto Adige that delineates the boundary between Italy and Austria. Cutting through Bolzano’s heart is the Adige River. While the sun makes a pale appearance, I lean over the railings on the Ponte d’Adige spanning the river. A wind hissing down from… Continue reading Mid-May 2019
STAY STRONG
By Johanna Elizabeth, 70. Melbourne, VIC Time to look ahead,Remember, don’t be leadInto places where you don’t want to go. Stand tall, breathe and just let it flow. Ask for help if that’s what you need,Don’t look back, look ahead and lead. Look for reasons to just keep going. Believe in yourself and your light will be glowing. … Continue reading STAY STRONG
This is My Story
By Margaret Brooks, 93. Bacchus Marsh, Victoria Sunday 8.8.2021 I was born at Quamby Hospital, Bacchus Marsh on the 3.9.1927. I grew up in the Raglan Cottage, Melton. In those days, most of the roads and streets were dirt roads. I had some very happy days going to school and playing skippy and hop scotch.… Continue reading This is My Story