Great Uncle Steve, we are so proud!

I'm sharing this news a little late, however I am so proud of my great Uncle Steve that I wanted to share this news article.  I am so thrilled that finally, in his later years he has been able to make this trip to London to see the Lancaster again, to witness the opening of a controversial memorial, to be with fellow veterans who perhaps have not spoken of their horrific ordeals until recent years.

Surprisingly I grew up thinking that there was noone in our family who fought in the wars. Yet my grandmother's brother was there serving with the Bomber Command.  He has only spoken of his experiences in the last decade and I am only really just coming to understand what he was actually involved in.

It is sad I did not know until now, but I am so very grateful that now I do know.

Tearful trip to UK for Bomber Command vets

• by:From correspondents in London 
• From:AAP 
• June 27, 2012 5:03AM

During a special Australian service at an Air Forces memorial on the outskirts of London overnight tears flowed among an aged gathering as thoughts turned to thousands of fallen comrades.

About 10,000 Australians served with Bomber Command, with 3486 killed in battle, while a further 650 died in training accidents in the United Kingdom.

"In lonely cockpits at dizzy altitudes ... in fog, in deadly cold, in storms, on fire, in prison camps, in skin grafting hospitals, there are none deserving more honour. Today we remember their selfless sacrifice," Major General Mark Kelly told the gathering of about 100 veterans.

The veterans from across Australia are in London for the dedication of a memorial to Bomber Command by the Queen on Friday. It commemorates the 55,573 Bomber Command aircrew killed during the war.

RELATED COVERAGE

• Happy snap of war history The Daily Telegraph, 4 hours ago
• Honouring bravest of the brave Adelaide Now, 2 days ago
• Memorial remembers brothers in arms Courier Mail, 2 days ago
• Queen unveils WWII airmen memorial Courier Mail, 3 days ago
• Bomber Command honoured at last The Australian, 3 days ago

"This is a very emotional day," Adelaide veteran David Leicester, 88, said.

"It really gets to me and I will find I have tears in my eyes for the whole week of celebrations. The playing of the Last Post and the national anthem of both countries gets right into my heart.

"When the Queen unveils the memorial on Thursday (local time), I can't even begin to think how I will react, with so much emotion."

Mr Leicester flew 68 missions with Bomber Command, mostly night-time bombing operations over German cities in aircraft including the Halifax, and Pathfinder Lancasters.

"One of the worst nights for me was March 30/31 1944 when 96 aircraft were shot down and a further number crash landed," Mr Leicester said.

"It was the worst night for Bomber Command casualties and we had a particularly bad time, returning on three engines and severe damage to the aircraft.

"It was a very rough landing, but we were the lucky ones."

Steve Flood, 88, from Stanthorpe in Queensland, flew as a air gunner in 30 Bomber Command operations for 467 Squadron over enemy territory in 1944.

"One was a raid to Revigny (France) which was only a small raid of 106 aircraft and altogether 24 were lost. (Squadron) 467 had six aircraft on the raid that night and only four came back."

While Mr Flood is looking forward to Friday's Bomber Command memorial dedication as a "fitting" tribute, the highlight of his trip to England will be a war museum visit where he will be reunited with the Lancaster aircraft affectionately called S Is For Sugar.

"It will be the first time since 1945 that I've seen her," Mr Flood said of the Lancaster.

"I was on board her one night when she lost 120 rivets out of her wing. I remember the pilot saying `we've been hit', but we still got back okay."

Postcards from the Limestone Coast: Tintinara

I had rather be on my farm than be emperor of the world. ~George Washington

"We are staying on a real farm, aren't we Mummy!" Ess commented excitedly as we wandered about our new surroundings at O'Dea's Cottage, near Tintinara.

To say we enjoyed our time in Tintinara would be an understatement. I must tell you about it, as Tintinara is an unlikely place along the highway to enjoy yourself - some would say. It is only a couple of hours to Adelaide, and perhaps many drivers would be keen to continue towards home with so few kilometres to drive. Yet we stayed...and extended our stay.

Upon our arrival we were greeted by the cows in the front paddocks.

We wandered down the back...

to feed the chooks, collect their eggs...

and have a swing.

By evening, we settled in, by a warm fire, to watch the sun set.

The next morning our host took us on the back of the ute (which was such an exciting novelty for Ess) to see the cows and search for elusive kangaroos. I think it was too near the middle of the day for the dawn and dusk loving creatures.

Ess had the chance to stroke, pat and feed the old mare who has been put to pasture here.

After having spent the morning viewing the historic Tintinara woolshed, we were delighted to have the opportunity to participate in a working woolshed.

How serendipitous that our hosts were shearing on the weekend of our visit.

Ess even had the opportunity to be a 'wool press' for a while, tramping down the shorn scraps of wool. Lots of fun!

For me this was a trip down memory lane. While I had never visited this particular shed, I often spent time at our farm while our shearing shed was in action. I remember the sights and smells well. The busyness of numerous workers, shearing and sorting, herding and directing. The sense of open space in contrast to the pens and runs where the sheep were held for shearing and for dipping. I remember climbing up on fences, finding wildflowers such as yellow billy buttons, which I never imagined could look so beautiful, and running free. I remember my Granny's lamingtons, consumed ravenously on picnics up the paddock with family and friends.

I am so grateful to have been able to share some of my memories with my family as a result of this experience.

Postcards from the Limestone Coast: Tintinara Woolshed

We all grow up with the weight of history on us. Our ancestors dwell in the attics of our brains as they do in the spiraling chains of knowledge hidden in every cell of our bodies. ~Shirley Abbott

This magnificent historic 16 stand shearing shed was built in 1865 on land near the present day Tintinara, South Australia.

It was built by pioneers William Harding and George Bunn who followed the first settlers to the area, namely, The Boothby Bros.

The shed was built at the site of the Tintinara Homestead. The Boothby Bros. had purchased a lease of 165 square miles and formed a station known as Tintinara - a name derived from their Aboriginal workman, Tin Tin, a member of the Coorong tribe. Both the shed and the homestead are classified by the National Trust.

The shed features 80cm thick limestone walls and supporting Oregon timbers, almost 11 metres long, which were carted from Kingston by bullock drays.

Below is an extract taken from Shut Six Gates: A History of Tintinara, Culburra and District by Elizabeth Nicholls.

William Harding and George Bunn took over the 'Tintinarra Run' and proceeded to build the stone homestead and the 16 stand shearing shed in 1865. The imported Oregon timbers for the woolshed branded 'H & B' were carted inland from Kingston on the coast. The timbers measured 7 inches x 3 inches and 35 feet long and were apparently brought out in kit form, as each junction of the main frame had roman numerals stamped in the timber for matching during construction. Sheep pen fittings and gratings were made from sawn red gum carted by bullock teams from Bordertown.

Take a close look at some of the stonework here above the door. These supporting beams have no doubt been put in in more recent times.

Come on in! Take a wander around inside with me.

The old table used for wool classing and sorting.

The wool press and other old machinery.

The stamped 'H&B' mentioned in the extract above.

An heritage rose growing around the exterior walls. It has been identified but I am yet to source further information on that.

I can't help but see this building as a working shearing shed, imagining it as it would once have been a hundred years ago and more. However in recent times it has been used for parties and gatherings. It would be magnificent to see life in here again in whatever form. Perhaps someone will restore and use it. Could it be a B&B? A tourist location? The shearer's quarters and kitchen are nearby.

So why am I telling you all this? Because William Harding was my great great Grandfather. I am just a teency bit proud of him and what he achieved in his life of only 50 years. His wife Mary must also have been a very strong woman. She remained in England with her young children while her husband sailed to the other side of the world in search of something "greener" I imagine. After William's death, she packed up most of her family (including my great grandfather Joseph) and headed north from Tintinara. She left South Australia and headed for Queensland, only she stopped on the way and made her family a home near Moree, New South Wales which is where I grew up and my mother still resides to this day. Mary's daughter, Emma, married a Hack and resided in Naracoorte from where she wrote many letters to her family in New South Wales. So this journey was one of tracing my ancestors footsteps, with good intent.

The Tasmanian Blue Gum seen beside the grave of William Harding about was planted by William in the year that he died, 1874.

Harding is known in the community of Tintinara as being one of the pioneers of the town. It was great to talk with local shearers and hear that one or two of them were in the 'Harding' team for their local school sports. There they were barracking for my great great Grandfather, or so it might be construed ;)

Postcards from the Limestone Coast: Naracoorte

The desire to fly is an idea handed down to us by our ancestors who, in their grueling travels across trackless lands in prehistoric times, looked enviously on the birds soaring freely through space, at full speed, above all obstacles, on the infinite highway of the air. ~Wilbur Wright

Hacks Lagoon

Visiting Hacks Lagoon, adjoining the main basin of Bool Lagoon at Naracoorte, was very special for me. Apart from the fact that we saw hundreds and hundreds of migratory birds which had flown south for the winter, at a beautiful time of the evening, the Hack family name is significant to me.

Emma Hack lived in Naracoorte in the late 1800's. She had moved there after marrying and leaving her family in Tintinara. Her father was my great great Grandfather and her brother, my great Grandfather. I have been on a journey walking in the footsteps of my ancestors - more about that soon.

Had it not been for our Cave Tour Guide mentioning Hacks Lagoon, upon hearing me talk of ancestral names which may be written on the walls of the caves decades ago, we would not have known about it, nor visited Hacks and Bool Lagoons.

The lagoons are absolutely beautiful and definitely worth popping in to see (especially after all the rain we have had this season). Yet there are by no means filled!

Photos simply cannot do justice to the World Heritage Caves at Naracoorte.

You simply must come and see them for yourself to experience the awe and majesty of these unique places under this seemingly inconspicuous terrain.

Once again the flora was spectacular. This native orchid was quickly picked in an attempt to calm a very whingey tired little two year old. Later we realised that it is likely to be very rare and we should have left it alone. It is rather beautiful in its simplicity you must agree.

This gum blossom took my breath away. It is enormous - perhaps 5-7cm in diameter.

This is such a unique and delicate blossom. It is no wonder the fairies call them home in the Australian bush. It is indeed pretty and intriguing with many a hidey hole for illusive little beings.

Seeing the critically endangered Bent-wing bats fly from their cave for a night-time hunt for food was a very privileged act we enjoyed as a family just on dusk.

Grandma's Bedsocks

A garden of Love grows in a Grandmother's heart. ~Author Unknown

Where, oh where, has winter gone? We are seeing Signs of Spring already - warmer nights, inviting sunny days, flowers almost bursting into bloom. It has been a warm winter, yet I have no doubt there is some more "weather" due to arrive here. Usually it is coldest after our birthdays ;)

I knitted these lovely red bedsocks early on during winter to ensure my feet would be kept warm during the cooler parts of this season. I have not needed them yet, preferring my old pink threadbare ones, the last ones Grandma knitted for me, which I have continued to darn and mend over and over. Perhaps we have had warmer nights, or perhaps I have just not had to endure the absence of my warm husband this winter as we have done the last few years.

My Grandma has knitted bedsocks for me and others in my family for many years. In recent times I gave Grandma wool for her to knit some for me but this year, at 89 years of age, I think that she is past knitting. I didn't feel right asking her to knit for me anymore, especially when I am sure I can do it myself. So after some searching and asking various relatives, I managed to receive the pattern for the socks from my Aunty who no doubt wants to keep the family tradition going along with me.

This is the first pair I have made and I am quite proud of them.

Grandma started knitting these particular socks for her grandchildren's cold wintry toes as the pattern was a particularly easy one for socks she remembers. No knitting in the round, just a pair of needles. I can vouch for its' simplicity. The pattern is very easy to follow, although I still managed to make a couple of errors in my haste. Bet you can't spot them! Now there's a challenge for you.

If you are interested in the pattern, be sure to let me know. I am sure Grandma won't mind my sharing it with you.

I am From

Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee

Calls back the lovely April of her prime.
~William Shakespeare

Today is my mother's birthday.  She is away visiting her sister who is also celebrating her birthday today.  My aunty is 80 years old, she is 13 years my mother's elder.  Knowing they are celebrating getting older makes me reflect and think about where I am headed and where I am from. 

I recently read this post of Kellie's on Don't Look Now!  I thought it was lovely that she was from a similar place to me but never thought I'd write my own poem.  Then, at times unsuspecting, the poem sprouted and before I knew it my poetic juices were flowing and I had my own history penned.   So if you think you cannot, you will not, I encourage you to let go and see what might flow.  It is actually quite cathartic.  If you do write your own "I'm From" poem please let me know so I can join you in learning more about where you're from.  If you follow the links from Kellie's poem you will find the original from whence it came.

So here's a sneak peak of some of me.

I’m From

I’m from tireless pioneers, hard-working farmers and long dusty trails. From blacksoil plains, deceptive mirages and vast, tree-studded horizons.  From small country town, regional farming community and “townie vs cockie” the former is me!  From Mehi River, Gwydir River, where rivers meet. 

I’m from maternal ancestors trekking across seas, across lands; from England to South Australia, into northern New South Wales, up to central Queensland.  From sheep grazing, wheat farming then cotton as well. Corrugated iron sheds, blue-topped cotton modules, and seasonal “snowy” cotton lined roads.  From worshipping in a country church built by relatives of friends.

I’m from aesthetic beauty: flowers in the garden, arranged in vases, floral shows as well.  From cakes carefully decorated by my mother’s own hand, from embroidery, crochet, sewing, handmade.  Fixing loose threads on my clothing, “not the good scissors!”, stashes of fabric, buttons, binding and ribbons.  Always dressing well to go out.  From Sylvia’s fabrics, pattern hunting and fabric matching.

Paternally from Denmark to Australia, right into Queensland, freezing to heat.  From food production, apple orchards, vegetable growing and home baking.

From awkwardness, confusion; leadership and faith.  From silliness and laughter with my treasured brother and sister.   From independence and competence, achievement and success.

From “hugs and kisses”, “hugs and kisses” among siblings at the end of car journeys, upon arrival at our holiday destination, the “Uh-oh better go to bed” and “I wear my sunglasses at night, to keep my panties on tight” fun play with siblings.

Photo found at  www.Redbubble.com

I’m from the bright yellow daffodil, pretty pink poppy and rich red rose, the calm Carbeen tree, breezy Belah and the beloved, guarded unique Leopard Tree.

From the smoking besa block incinerator in the backyard, the besa block “barby”, begrudged family trips to the dump.

From oranges, mandarins and almonds in the garden, lawns always watered through hot summer months.

From home-sewn school uniform and Dad-knitted navy cardigan, from tights keeping legs warm from pesky, shivery Jack Frost on our front lawn

From Sunday roast dinners and baked beans on toast, salad plate lunches, toast fingers with soup.  From Potatoes La Jolla, Herbed Chicken pieces from “promite, not vegemite” or “vegemite not promite” sandwiches in lunchboxes.

Piano lessons during lunchtime, then through swimming lessons in high school. Piano duets in my best friend’s Mum’s bedroom on weekend retreats from boarding school.  Boarding school challenges, fun and successes.  Singing and singing, and singing some more, “Yes, Jesus loves me”, Christmas carols and rhymes.  Renaissance polyphonies, madrigals, and contemporary and sacred choral works.

I'm from sharing my music, from teaching tiny littlies, imparting my intuition and knowledge to the families I meet.  From meeting my beloved and sharing in our union, from bearing two treasured, precious daughters who now ofttimes lead me in my journey.

And now I am me, here today, returned to the start, growing veges and living down south in South Australia from whence my ancestors came, living and loving creatively, following my Creator.

Farm photos courtesy of my brother and sister-in-law. 

Before the Plastics Revolution

And Man created the plastic bag and the tin and aluminum can and the cellophane wrapper and the paper plate, and this was good because Man could then take his automobile and buy all his food in one place and He could save that which was good to eat in the refrigerator and throw away that which had no further use. And soon the earth was covered with plastic bags and aluminum cans and paper plates and disposable bottles and there was nowhere to sit down or walk, and Man shook his head and cried: "Look at this Godawful mess." ~Art Buchwald, 1970

Sometimes, when I pull the gladwrap from the roll to cover some food to store in my fridge, I reflect and think “Why am I using this? It is only adding to landfill. Is it really necessary? Do I need such convenience? What alternative do I have? What did they do before we had this option anyway?” My plastic containers which I use to store food were not available years ago. So I am curious about what happened and how people lived then. Not to say that it was all better then, but so we can remember what it was like to live simply before we all got caught up in the consumerism of today’s instant, convenient society. I like to reflect, gain ideas from memories and combine that with my current knowledge of a satisfying way to live.

As Mum is visiting I’ve asked her to remember all she can about what life was like before the ‘Plastics Revolution’.

She remembers the early 1950s when bowl covers came in to cover your containers with food stored in them. Do you recall these? A station-hand’s wife thought they were baby showercaps! An apt description I think. You simply washed and reused them on your china bowls and plates until they wore out and you replaced them at the local department store. “They were such a great innovation because they were just so handy” she reflects. Did anyone consider then whether they were healthy enough, sealing tightly enough, adding to landfill eventually?

Prior to the use of these covers perhaps a plate was put on top of another to cover food. The food was not thrown out. Leftovers were kept to be eaten on another occasion or consumed by the farm animals. Food was not in abundance as it is today and certainly access to a store to buy food was 17 miles away via a dirt road inaccessible after rain.

Waxed and greaseproof paper was used to line cake tins etc. as there were no plastic containers to store your baking. This prevented moisture from the cake coming into contact with the metal and causing it to rust. Paper was also used to wrap sandwiches which were taken ‘up the paddock’ for lunch.

As the convenience of foil and glad wrap came to the fore these papers were removed from common use. You didn’t have to wash gladwrap, you simply threw it away! Using gladwrap meant that you could always find the right shape to cover your container, you weren’t limited by the size of the “baby shower caps” you had available in the drawer. There would always be enough gladwrap to cover anything you needed to – so long as you had maintained your supply.

Food products, such as flour and sugar, were stored at home in large metal canisters and tins or glass jars in the pantry. Stoneware was also used to store some food such as salt. A number of food products were bought in tins and jars and they were reused around the home for food or other storage. The seal on some tins was simply not as good as gladwrap etc. and so the food didn’t remain as fresh. Neither could tins be used in the frig for storage as they would rust, so gladwrap was a convenient substitute, as were plastic containers. Flour started coming in plastic bags after the cloth bags. After being thoroughly washed these were also used for storage when needed. They were used to cover sliced bread as it was placed on the table to serve for a meal. There was a lot of recycling and reusing happening. Bags and containers etc. were disposed of when they wore out.

The advent of plastics has very much changed the method of rubbish disposal. Previously goods came in cloth bags which you often washed and reused for storage or paper which was burnt in an incinerator or to light the wood stove or the open log fire. Now often these things are unthinkable or even illegal. Fortunately we have the choice to recycle paper, some plastics and other containers but not gladwrap and foil! We are dumping an enormous amount of rubbish into the oceans which is killing wildlife. Is that justified?

Regarding food scraps, Mum reflects, “we had a metal bucket made from a fuel can which hung on the awning of the meat house. Vege scraps were carried from the kitchen to the can on a bowl or plate for the chooks to pick at. Meat bones were given to the dog.” I have usually put my scraps in plastic bags, in the bin and then to the main bin. I want to compost them long term for our future garden. However, in the meantime I am changing my habits and reusing our junk mail to carry my scraps to the bin. I am reducing my use of plastic bags when buying fruit and veg by putting items of one price in one bag to weigh and also using cloth bags as much as possible. The girls in our fruit stall think this is fabulous.

Today Mum uses all these types of packaging – apart from the “baby shower caps” which really have gone out of fashion and are simply not readily available are they? I have learnt my habits from Mum and it is only now that I think further about living sustainably that I challenge myself about what to store food in. I very much enjoyed reading this post on Alternatives to Plastic Wrap. Here you can read the results of some research of an environmental scientist now working towards sustainability with her family.

I think at this stage I’d like to store as much as possible in the containers I have in my cupboards whether glass or plastic so as not to add to landfill or experience any chemical leaching from plastic gladwrap onto my food. I’d also like to look more into the use of cellophane for food storage. You can buy food grade cellophane bags on ebay. I have also just purchased some Pyrex dishes with plastic storage lids which I am finding fantastic because Pyrex can be used to bake in and then I can simply place the lid on to store leftover food for next time. Just be careful not to change the temperature of Pyrex too rapidly – it smashes. I learnt this from experience the other week! Storing cooked food in the frig is also a feature of the fabulous waterless Nutrimax pots I use to cook most things in.

How do you reuse and recycle? Do you have gladwrap and foil in your pantry? What alternatives do you have? Do you store in plastic containers?

The End of an Age

How hard it is to escape from places. However carefully one goes they hold you - you leave little bits of yourself fluttering on the fences - like rags and shreds of your very life. ~Katherine Mansfield

This week saw the sale of the family farm.

It seems like the end of an age to me. It has been around with us, part of us for as long as I have known, of course, and for many years longer. It has been in my mother's ownership for over 30 years and her family purchased it over 50 years before that. Add that up and it's almost half of Australia's history as a country. It has been the place which was our section of our Australia. The place my ancestors pioneered in the region producing wool, wheat, barley, cotton and more. It was the place my mother grew up. The place she learned to cook, sew and garden, to ride horses. The place she took us back to with her Mum to enjoy lamingtons together on family picnics. Granny always made lamingtons for us to enjoy at Roydon. The place where I remember many fun moments with my family and friends: riding in the tractor, riding on the sulky, learning to drive the car when I was a young teenager, cooking pan-fried scones, camping out, picnics with my Granny, shearing in the shed and observing the many workers.

It was the place I found my little lamb, Bimbo, when I was about 10 years old. She was an orphan lamb whom I chased and chased and chased around the shearing shed, trying to catch her. Lucky for me, but possibly somewhat unlucky for her, she got caught in the fence. It was rather easy for me to "catch" her then. I pulled her out of the fence, showed Dad and we let her rest in the Landrover until we took her back to our home in town. I loved her, doted on her. Unfortunately she died after catching Tetanus after she was bitten by a dog while staying with a friend as we holidayed. This stayed with me for many years. I think I felt it wouldn't have happened if we hadn't left her. Maybe it gave me a very early sense of what responsibility for our loved ones means.

So now that place I am attached to has moved into new ownership. My Mum is pleased that the new owners are the old neighbours. They are happy for us to visit the old homestead whenever we like. I wonder how it will feel next time I do that. I imagine that sense of it being mine, of having been my place, of it being that part of the country my ancestors chose, will not be gone.

Photos courtesy of my brother and sister-in-law! Thankyou.