Witters from Down Under
Created | Updated Nov 5, 2008
Frenchbean returned to Australia from Scotland in 2005 to see whether she'd fallen in love with the country, or simply with her husband, eight years previously.
The answer lies in the fact that she is still there, living on the Sunshine Coast in Queensland, from whence she writes her Witters from Down Under. It is a life of hard work made bearable by sunshine, beach exploits and topless driving.
The Post Team are delighted to be able to publish her regular reflections on Antipodean life.
Anzac Day
Friday was Anzac Day: my first as an Australian Citizen.
And for the first time I managed to heft myself out of bed for a Dawn Service as well as joining the throngs at the Yandina War Memorial later in the morning. It was well worth it.
It was a stunningly still and cloudless start to the day at Verrierdale Hall, only disturbed by buzzing mozzies, wakening birds, and later the haunting strains of the Last Post and Reveille. As ever I was reduced to tears by the demonstration of humble respect for those who fought and fell - and my personal gratitude for a safe life. (I had a stock of hankies.)
There are gatherings at cenotaphs across the country and many of them are at sun-up, commemorating the Gallipoli landings at 4:30 am on 25 April, 1915. Dawn is particularly poignant, because at that time and on that day they were landing on the wrong beach; one which was not only highly defended, but also backed by the steepest of soft cliffs. And not only did they face fire from the Turks on the tops, but they were also being shelled from behind by their Navy.
In a sign of the extraordinary lack of regard in which the soldiers' lives were held by their leaders, the landings continued regardless and they were pinned down in Anzac Cove (as it became known) and the surrounding area for eight months, during which time 6,000 men were killed or wounded.
It led me to thinking about the kind of mindset and comradeship that lead people to behave in the way of those First World War troops in particular. I'm not sure that we know what it feels like these days; at least certainly not those of us who have been fortunate enough to live a life of peace, security and relative affluence.
I was filled with memories of Grandpa in his Brig gongs, which almost weighed him down in his later years; of Dad's unutterable pride when he was asked to take the salute at the Remembrance Day march-past in Kirkcudbright the year before he died; of the tales of "Granny being Brave in the War" as an air-raid warden; of Mum's courage being different from the crowd as a pacifist and working as a Land Girl; of the stories of the Admiral's extraordinary life and death at sea; of the great uncle who was at Gallipoli; and another great uncle who was shell-shocked whilst stretcher-bearing in the trenches.
I am remarkably proud to be related to people who stood by their convictions, their friends and their countries. I hope they would think it was worthwhile could they see me now.
On a totally different topic (but one which perfectly demonstrates the trivia that fills my life thanks to the Anzacs and their companions) a few weeks ago I acquired masses of mushroom compost to spread around the productive garden. Two bags were superfluous and have been stored at the back of the garage for future use.
To my surprise, white blobs developed on the surface and since starting to water them there has been a continual blooming of mushrooms. And now they are popping up all over the veggie beds and tubs, too, as the photo above shows.
Thank goodness for friends who like mushrooms – and for mushroom-soup-weather. But there are a lot more to come, so if anybody has a Great Idea for this particular superfluity, please pass it to me.
Talking of ideas: last weekend, 1,000 of Australia's brightest and best gathered in Canberra for the 2020 Summit to share and develop Big Ideas. Hosted by Kevin Rudd, it was an example of his knack of being of the people.
It held an aura of optimism, excitement and was full of possibilities. It was a great idea in itself and is quintessentially Kevin.
The trick of course will be for the Rudd Labour Government (or the Rod Laver Government as I confusedly misheard the other day – tennis in Parliament House?) to turn some of the ideas into reality. But amazingly, I actually believe that they will. This man has me believing him.
Finally, there is an injury to report.
My recent discovery of the joys of boogie-boarding has given me a sharp reminder that my bones aren't quite as supple as of old: I am no longer 25.
Not only do I have muscles under my arms which are still aching from repeatedly launching myself onto and into the waves, but a most spectacular somersault over the end of the board has resulted in a suspected cracked rib.
The doc prodded and hugged me (Ow, twice) and prescribed no treatment but rest, painkillers and 'Acting My Age'.
The other time I cracked a rib was slipping when hauling out (like a seal) onto the stern duckboard of Bright Star off Cooktown. I was out of action for a few weeks that time and have come off comparatively lightly now. But there is obviously something about water and my ribs.
Gingerly, until next time...
Witters from Down Under Archive
