Well that was all a bit stressful. Of course you have to drop off a rental car with a full tank of petrol, but were there any petrol stations on the way to the airport? Of course not! Almost ran out and had to drive off in any old direction before I found one. So, have filled up Gutless, dropped him off and am now sitting at the airport in the waning Aussie afternoon sun with way too much time to spare. Am also about to run out of pre-paid mobile broadband, but that's okay.
Really, this trip as been fantastic and have achieved more than I could have hope for, but am so ready to fly home to Rob, them puppies and leafy Gloucestershire. Mind you, Al and I took Koda the naughty Staffie for a walk this morning and again I was struck with how 'blue' the Blue Mountains are. Apparently it's something to do with evaporating euclyptus oil!
So, a ghastly 28 hour journey awaits, with a 5.5 hour stop over at Kuala Lumpur, which means arriving there at approx 5.00am 'my time'. Apparently one can rent sleeping cells there, but they have no roofs so you can hear announcements.
So, this is me, signing off for now.
R
Thursday, 25 April 2013
Wednesday, 24 April 2013
In Memory of Eileen
Given that that the train journey to Sydney is 2 hours, it was surprisingly cheap. Settled into my seat and combined watching the world go by with a bit of writing. Sun-emboldened colours notwithstanding, once the train reached the bottom of the mountain, the landscape outside was much the same as any urban train journey, although the number of outdoor public pools was a reminder that I wasn't on the 6.47 to London Paddington...
Decided to walk from Central Station to my first destination. Central Sydney is like a maze of canyons, quite dark where the sun cannot reach. Took me a while to get my bearings, but once I recognised a few landmarks familiar from last year, I knew where I was. Startling to be among the hustle and bustle of a major metropolis after the peace and quiet of the Blue Mountains. It's ANZAC Day tomorrow, so there was much evidence of preparations for what will be a public holiday.
The opportunity to meet Eileen Westley's daughter was an unexpected bonus to my trip, and as it turned out, rather lovely. Eileen passed away in 2002, and as her daughter is now a mother herself, she has become increasingly keen to know about her own mother's life. We sat over coffee and traded stories and pieces of information which neither of us had previously known about Eileen, and as a result I was able to add even more substance to the tale of the Galloping Tortoise in addition to that which Minnie and Jenny had provided. Eileen sounds like she was quite a character, but I suspect to become a features editor on a national newspaper at only 25 years old, and as a woman in 1968, would have probably required strength and determination.
Eileen's daughter has promised to go through the various photographs and documents both she and her father have kept, and let me have whatever she is able to copy or scan. Apparently, Eileen wrote a lengthy piece about her Marathon adventure, so that would be fantastic to read.
Email addresses swapped, I bid her farewell, and set off for the State Library, where I spent a wonderful 3.5 hours searching copies of the Sydney Morning Herald from November and December 1968. The Herald was a competitor to the Telegraph, and while it was clear that as it hadn't sponsored the Marathon, it offered up less coverage, it did have its own motoring correspondent competing on the event (I met one of his co-drivers when I was here in 2012), so I was able to make copies of the various articles and reports the Herald had published. Combined with the interview recordings, and scanned photographs and documents I have amassed during this trip, I have a lot of admin' to do once I get home!
Wandering back through the very centre of Sydney, I was once again struck with that feeling I get on the final day of any extended visit overseas - while I was aware that I was walking through Sydney in Australia, surrounded by crowds of people rushing here and there, I was also thinking about my imminent departure, and that soon I will be home to Rob and puppies and beautiful Gloucestershire, and the comfort and security all that represents.
A last dinner with my hosts in Katoomba, and then, underfloor heating working away happily (the heating engineer came today), I crawl into my southern hemisphere bed for the last time.
It really has been quite a wonderful and rewarding trip.
Decided to walk from Central Station to my first destination. Central Sydney is like a maze of canyons, quite dark where the sun cannot reach. Took me a while to get my bearings, but once I recognised a few landmarks familiar from last year, I knew where I was. Startling to be among the hustle and bustle of a major metropolis after the peace and quiet of the Blue Mountains. It's ANZAC Day tomorrow, so there was much evidence of preparations for what will be a public holiday.
The opportunity to meet Eileen Westley's daughter was an unexpected bonus to my trip, and as it turned out, rather lovely. Eileen passed away in 2002, and as her daughter is now a mother herself, she has become increasingly keen to know about her own mother's life. We sat over coffee and traded stories and pieces of information which neither of us had previously known about Eileen, and as a result I was able to add even more substance to the tale of the Galloping Tortoise in addition to that which Minnie and Jenny had provided. Eileen sounds like she was quite a character, but I suspect to become a features editor on a national newspaper at only 25 years old, and as a woman in 1968, would have probably required strength and determination.
Eileen's daughter has promised to go through the various photographs and documents both she and her father have kept, and let me have whatever she is able to copy or scan. Apparently, Eileen wrote a lengthy piece about her Marathon adventure, so that would be fantastic to read.
Email addresses swapped, I bid her farewell, and set off for the State Library, where I spent a wonderful 3.5 hours searching copies of the Sydney Morning Herald from November and December 1968. The Herald was a competitor to the Telegraph, and while it was clear that as it hadn't sponsored the Marathon, it offered up less coverage, it did have its own motoring correspondent competing on the event (I met one of his co-drivers when I was here in 2012), so I was able to make copies of the various articles and reports the Herald had published. Combined with the interview recordings, and scanned photographs and documents I have amassed during this trip, I have a lot of admin' to do once I get home!
Wandering back through the very centre of Sydney, I was once again struck with that feeling I get on the final day of any extended visit overseas - while I was aware that I was walking through Sydney in Australia, surrounded by crowds of people rushing here and there, I was also thinking about my imminent departure, and that soon I will be home to Rob and puppies and beautiful Gloucestershire, and the comfort and security all that represents.
A last dinner with my hosts in Katoomba, and then, underfloor heating working away happily (the heating engineer came today), I crawl into my southern hemisphere bed for the last time.
It really has been quite a wonderful and rewarding trip.
Tuesday, 23 April 2013
Stunning Views Be Damned, I Think I May Be Sick...
Am sitting at Katoomba Station waiting for the Sydney train to take me into the city to meet Eileen's daughter. In my opinion there's something particularly fine about being up early on a sunny day, watching the town wake up and knowing I don't have to rush to work.
I had a bit of a revelation yesterday. Even as I hurtle towards my 50th birthday, it seems there are new things to learn about myself! We went for our promised 'bush walk' yesterday afternoon, and decided upon the Wentworth Falls as a good choice from which to descend to the valley floor. The path began its gradual descent through trees and shrubs, the sun piercing the canopy here and there. We passed hikers coming up the trail, all looking a little out of breath. Zig-zagging down, we arrived at the falls, negotiating the stepping stones across the small span of water, watching it disappear over the edge, the breeze occasionally blowing mist backwards. Quite a lovely site to see, the deep gorge beyond, the sun throwing light and shadows off the cliffs beyond. We went onwards, through a little tunnel of trees and emerged on a path cut into the cliff side, rock towering above my head at an alarming angle, forcing me to duck here and there. A rail runs along separating walker from the abyss. For a few minutes we continued, down some steep wooden steps, and all the while I was becoing increasingly aware of the drop, the sudden, sharp edge of the path to my right, with nothing but air and depth beyond. More hikers passed us, and suddenly we reached a sort of bend, curving round to the left and beyond which I couldn't see anything, as it disappeared out of sight past the cliff edge. Al began to point out another path running along the opposite cliff over to the right, seperated from us by the chasm. The wind blew alarmingly, voices echoed all around, I grasped the railing and there, however many hundreds of feet up, I realised I was having a ghastly attack of vertigo!
I think the only things that stopped me lying down and asking to be carried back up was a rather sickly sense of shame, and the only crumb of comfort was the fact that my sun glasses were slightly reducing my visibility. I quietly whimpered words to the effect of 'I say, would you mind awfully if we returned from whence we came?', and sweating with all unpleasantness, I somehow managed to return to the waterfall and, in my view, terra firma.
How appalling is that? We beat a hasty retreat to a coffee shop in Blackheath, and instead amused ourselves by watching the many odd looking people wander by (and for such a small town, there are many odd people!). A mooch around an antique/junk shop restored my senses, and then it was back home, where I carried on writing the Minnie and Jenny (and Eileen) story.
It does make you wonder how these things suddenly rear up after half a lifetime of never being aware, although I do recall feeling a wee bit unwell standing on Rob's balcony where he lived in London when first we met!
Ah the wonders of life and lessons learnt...
I had a bit of a revelation yesterday. Even as I hurtle towards my 50th birthday, it seems there are new things to learn about myself! We went for our promised 'bush walk' yesterday afternoon, and decided upon the Wentworth Falls as a good choice from which to descend to the valley floor. The path began its gradual descent through trees and shrubs, the sun piercing the canopy here and there. We passed hikers coming up the trail, all looking a little out of breath. Zig-zagging down, we arrived at the falls, negotiating the stepping stones across the small span of water, watching it disappear over the edge, the breeze occasionally blowing mist backwards. Quite a lovely site to see, the deep gorge beyond, the sun throwing light and shadows off the cliffs beyond. We went onwards, through a little tunnel of trees and emerged on a path cut into the cliff side, rock towering above my head at an alarming angle, forcing me to duck here and there. A rail runs along separating walker from the abyss. For a few minutes we continued, down some steep wooden steps, and all the while I was becoing increasingly aware of the drop, the sudden, sharp edge of the path to my right, with nothing but air and depth beyond. More hikers passed us, and suddenly we reached a sort of bend, curving round to the left and beyond which I couldn't see anything, as it disappeared out of sight past the cliff edge. Al began to point out another path running along the opposite cliff over to the right, seperated from us by the chasm. The wind blew alarmingly, voices echoed all around, I grasped the railing and there, however many hundreds of feet up, I realised I was having a ghastly attack of vertigo!
I think the only things that stopped me lying down and asking to be carried back up was a rather sickly sense of shame, and the only crumb of comfort was the fact that my sun glasses were slightly reducing my visibility. I quietly whimpered words to the effect of 'I say, would you mind awfully if we returned from whence we came?', and sweating with all unpleasantness, I somehow managed to return to the waterfall and, in my view, terra firma.
How appalling is that? We beat a hasty retreat to a coffee shop in Blackheath, and instead amused ourselves by watching the many odd looking people wander by (and for such a small town, there are many odd people!). A mooch around an antique/junk shop restored my senses, and then it was back home, where I carried on writing the Minnie and Jenny (and Eileen) story.
It does make you wonder how these things suddenly rear up after half a lifetime of never being aware, although I do recall feeling a wee bit unwell standing on Rob's balcony where he lived in London when first we met!
Ah the wonders of life and lessons learnt...
Monday, 22 April 2013
Just Visiting
All too soon my trip to Australia is approaching the finishing line. The day after tomorrow I will be packing up bag and baggage, loading up my gutless little rental car and driving back down the mountain to the airport for the 28 hour flight home.
I think Australia is a land which tolerates its inhabitants while expecting them to be ever-mindful that unless they remain vigilent, its geography, flora and fauna will act to reclaim the parts humans have colonised. Whether it be marauding killer spiders invading house and home, murderous sharks and jellyfish patrolling the waters or invasive plant life ready to encroach and spread if not kept in check, this is a land where people have had to seek some kind of working relationship with what was here before. At the risk of harping on about the little buggars, I don't think it's a coincidence that the venom of the funnel web spider is much more lethal to humans than other animals, so while a dog or cat will become sick and will require treatment if bitten, the human nervous system can quite simply begin to shut down after 20 minutes unless the antidote isn't administered.
So a beautiful, breathtaking, multi-faceted land of desert and water and greenery and forest and mountains, but also very much one which demands respect. We were talking about this the other day - in the 1970s there was a wave of Australian films that explored these themes. Perhaps the best known are Walkabout (a personal favourite) and Picnic at Hanging Rock but for me, a film that captures the essence of man against the hostile Australian environment is Long Weekend. The seventies was a fascinating period for Australian cinema and I've noticed that many of the films made during this time are now available on DVD, so will be trawling through them once I get back.
Drove back into the city yesterday with the intention of meeting a former work colleague for lunch and visiting the State Library, but was defeated by the (hardly surprising) parking restrictions. No different to London or any other major city I am sure, but in the end I was only able to meet Eugene for something to eat and a catch up, before racing back to where I'd put the car (there are parking garages but I decided I wasn't prepared to pay £50 for the privilege!). However, as returning to my limited parking space did afford me a train ride via Circular Quay, I was therefore able to see the still astonishing view of the Harbour, the Bridge and Opera House, the green and white ferries appearing to dart back and forth, expertly manoeuvring through the deep water.
A 'bush walk' is promised for today (Al orchestrating a packed lunch to take, lest we famish in the forests!), and tomorrow I will leave Gutless behind and board the train to the city to meet the daughter of the third Sydney Telegraph Girl. I know nothing of when or how Eileen Westley passed away, but do know that her daughter is keen to revisit her late mother's adventure in 1968. It maybe an emotional coming together, I don't know, but I am so very happy to share what I know with her. Then, I will spend the remainder of my last full day trawling through the newspaper archives at the Library before boarding te Blue Mountain Line back to Katoomba and a final dinner with Al and Marcus.
It has been a delightful trip.
I think Australia is a land which tolerates its inhabitants while expecting them to be ever-mindful that unless they remain vigilent, its geography, flora and fauna will act to reclaim the parts humans have colonised. Whether it be marauding killer spiders invading house and home, murderous sharks and jellyfish patrolling the waters or invasive plant life ready to encroach and spread if not kept in check, this is a land where people have had to seek some kind of working relationship with what was here before. At the risk of harping on about the little buggars, I don't think it's a coincidence that the venom of the funnel web spider is much more lethal to humans than other animals, so while a dog or cat will become sick and will require treatment if bitten, the human nervous system can quite simply begin to shut down after 20 minutes unless the antidote isn't administered.
So a beautiful, breathtaking, multi-faceted land of desert and water and greenery and forest and mountains, but also very much one which demands respect. We were talking about this the other day - in the 1970s there was a wave of Australian films that explored these themes. Perhaps the best known are Walkabout (a personal favourite) and Picnic at Hanging Rock but for me, a film that captures the essence of man against the hostile Australian environment is Long Weekend. The seventies was a fascinating period for Australian cinema and I've noticed that many of the films made during this time are now available on DVD, so will be trawling through them once I get back.
Drove back into the city yesterday with the intention of meeting a former work colleague for lunch and visiting the State Library, but was defeated by the (hardly surprising) parking restrictions. No different to London or any other major city I am sure, but in the end I was only able to meet Eugene for something to eat and a catch up, before racing back to where I'd put the car (there are parking garages but I decided I wasn't prepared to pay £50 for the privilege!). However, as returning to my limited parking space did afford me a train ride via Circular Quay, I was therefore able to see the still astonishing view of the Harbour, the Bridge and Opera House, the green and white ferries appearing to dart back and forth, expertly manoeuvring through the deep water.
A 'bush walk' is promised for today (Al orchestrating a packed lunch to take, lest we famish in the forests!), and tomorrow I will leave Gutless behind and board the train to the city to meet the daughter of the third Sydney Telegraph Girl. I know nothing of when or how Eileen Westley passed away, but do know that her daughter is keen to revisit her late mother's adventure in 1968. It maybe an emotional coming together, I don't know, but I am so very happy to share what I know with her. Then, I will spend the remainder of my last full day trawling through the newspaper archives at the Library before boarding te Blue Mountain Line back to Katoomba and a final dinner with Al and Marcus.
It has been a delightful trip.
Sunday, 21 April 2013
The Great Australian Bake Off!
What started off as dinner round the fire (the evenings are decidedly chilly up here) ended up with Al and me sitting over copious amounts of wine, talking and giggling into the night. I finally crawled into bed in the early hours after what was one of those lovely evenings where anything and everything was discussed - life, loves, politics, friends, films and so on. Without wanting to go into the personal details, suffice to say my friend has been visited with profound loss in recent times, so it was quite special to learn more about someone who passed away a year or so ago, and made me realise that I would have very much likied to have known him. I think talking about people who have passed away keeps them alive, somehow, sharing memories and stories and descriptions.
Personal histories. In the end that is what I am researching, the personal histories of men and women who, regardless of what occurred in their lives after the event, shared this great journey, this madcap run through eleven countries, encountering everything from suspension collapse, through collisions with army trucks and double-decker buses to brushes with bandits! To listen to someone recount stories of their life, told with humour or sadness or astonishment or even anger ('we were sabotaged!') and be witness to the changing facial expressions as memories bubble up to the surface is a rare priviledge indeed and something I hold very dear. To listen to an eighty year old man explain in such a matter-of-fact tone how he refused to let childhood polio stop him achieving his dreams, or witness the wistfulness of two women as they reflect how the third of their number is no longer there to tell her side of the tale is something I am so very blessed to have been afforded the opportunity to do. Again I am aware that as I have pursued these stories around the world, I therefore have a responsibility to 'do right' by those stories. Today I have begun writing Minnie's and Jenny's story, to be further enhanced once I have transcribed our 'interview'.
I have also decided to set myself a deadline - I am at the point where I must exert discipline, regardless of whatever else intervenes, especially 'work'. I know lovely Rob will help me with this, as he will gently remind me or encourage me to go, sit down and work for an hour or two on the transcriptions or manuscript during the weekend. So much still to do, but it will not be done without effort from me, and given that Minnie quietly made her suggestion on Friday, I really do have a target at which to aim.
A rather lovely 'domestic' day today - I actually slept until 9.30am, unheard of for me, and emerged sleepy eyed to face a beautiful blue sky again, all traces of the heavy rain and cloud faded away. Thought it probably best to have a shave as I was beginning to look like a vagrant, and then Al and I wandered up to the supermarket via a sweet little coffee shop in Katoomba. I am cooking for the guys this evening and had made a list of what I need. Then, as we sat sipping our 'flat whites' and munching on cupcakes, he confessed how he often dreamed of the classic English Victoria Sponge he used to have as a boy growing up, as he did, in England. One thing led to another and I decided to give him a lesson in baking! Up and the down the aisles of Coles the supermarket, and as well as the ingredients for dinner, we gathered all the pre-requisites for cake! Now writing this, I have just taken them out of the oven and so they are cooling ready for dollops of jam and whipped cream. Have written out the recipe and instructions (with many thanks to Sally David), so Al is determined to experiment from hereon in. Suffice to say the house is filled with the smell of baking.
Off to Sydney tomorrow to spend the day at the State Library and their fantastic collection of digitised Aussie newspapers from the 20th century, finished off with meeting up with someone I worked with in England a few days ago.
I think the weather will hold!
Personal histories. In the end that is what I am researching, the personal histories of men and women who, regardless of what occurred in their lives after the event, shared this great journey, this madcap run through eleven countries, encountering everything from suspension collapse, through collisions with army trucks and double-decker buses to brushes with bandits! To listen to someone recount stories of their life, told with humour or sadness or astonishment or even anger ('we were sabotaged!') and be witness to the changing facial expressions as memories bubble up to the surface is a rare priviledge indeed and something I hold very dear. To listen to an eighty year old man explain in such a matter-of-fact tone how he refused to let childhood polio stop him achieving his dreams, or witness the wistfulness of two women as they reflect how the third of their number is no longer there to tell her side of the tale is something I am so very blessed to have been afforded the opportunity to do. Again I am aware that as I have pursued these stories around the world, I therefore have a responsibility to 'do right' by those stories. Today I have begun writing Minnie's and Jenny's story, to be further enhanced once I have transcribed our 'interview'.
I have also decided to set myself a deadline - I am at the point where I must exert discipline, regardless of whatever else intervenes, especially 'work'. I know lovely Rob will help me with this, as he will gently remind me or encourage me to go, sit down and work for an hour or two on the transcriptions or manuscript during the weekend. So much still to do, but it will not be done without effort from me, and given that Minnie quietly made her suggestion on Friday, I really do have a target at which to aim.
A rather lovely 'domestic' day today - I actually slept until 9.30am, unheard of for me, and emerged sleepy eyed to face a beautiful blue sky again, all traces of the heavy rain and cloud faded away. Thought it probably best to have a shave as I was beginning to look like a vagrant, and then Al and I wandered up to the supermarket via a sweet little coffee shop in Katoomba. I am cooking for the guys this evening and had made a list of what I need. Then, as we sat sipping our 'flat whites' and munching on cupcakes, he confessed how he often dreamed of the classic English Victoria Sponge he used to have as a boy growing up, as he did, in England. One thing led to another and I decided to give him a lesson in baking! Up and the down the aisles of Coles the supermarket, and as well as the ingredients for dinner, we gathered all the pre-requisites for cake! Now writing this, I have just taken them out of the oven and so they are cooling ready for dollops of jam and whipped cream. Have written out the recipe and instructions (with many thanks to Sally David), so Al is determined to experiment from hereon in. Suffice to say the house is filled with the smell of baking.
Off to Sydney tomorrow to spend the day at the State Library and their fantastic collection of digitised Aussie newspapers from the 20th century, finished off with meeting up with someone I worked with in England a few days ago.
I think the weather will hold!
Saturday, 20 April 2013
Head In The Clouds
Yet another 'first' for me during this trip - being breathalysed. The NSW police are obsessed with speed traps and drink-driving traps. Apparently it's less about safety and more about revenue... I was driving away from my meeting with Jenny and Minnie when I encountered an organised breathalyser trap, and was beckoned into a cordoned area on the roadside and asked to count from one to ten into an alcohol meter. I suppose it's a good idea to do spot-checks at 2.30pm on a Friday afternoon, but really, the available resources to undertake speed and alcohol checking is huge, compared to the UK.
Took Marcus and Al to dinner last night and discovered that while downtown Katoomba leaves a lot to be desired, neighbouring Leura is an altogether more ritzy affair - reminds me a little of Crouch End in North London, where you are hard pressed to find a newsagent but will never run out of scented candles, expensive nick-nacks or gourmet coffee. A lovely but hair-raisingly expensive dinner, and much chuckling was had by all.
Overnight the rains came. Being 3,300 ft above sea level, it's not so much being under a rain cloud as right inside one. Al and I dashed through the deluge to meet a friend of his for breakfast in Leura, a rather lovely woman called Wendy with a permanent mischevous twinkle in her eye - if anyone watches The Good Wife, imagine Jackie having a more irreverant older sister. Also present was a man Al hadn't previously met, who turned out to have gone to school at Beaudesert in Minchinhampton in the 1940s! Discussion wandered from Margaret Thatcher to Julia Gillard to the role of the British within the history of slavery. Really rather needed to have my wits about me, but stated my case regarding Thatcher with some passion. Now we are invited to a pub dinner with Wendy on Tuesday eveing, so I can only assume I didn't disgrace myself!
Brandishing an enormous umbrella, I then ran to my car and drove to Penrith (pronounced PEN-rith, rather than our Cumbrian Pen-RITH), some 40 miles down the mountain, where I met my friend Kim and her little girls for lunch, at the Penrith Panthers centre, a sort of entertainment complex/casino/rugby ground. Kim looked fantastic and the girls presented me with drawings - loved how Jasmine had drawn me in a 'rainbow car'! As the girls tucked into pizzas, Kim and I caught up on 12 months of life lived since last we saw each other. She doesn't seem to have gotten any older since we first met in 1998, which I suspect has something to do with yoga and good genes! A lovely few hours nattering and watching the girls playing, before we say our farewells and I head off for the drive back up the mountain, before realising I had left the flippin' umbrella at the coat-check! The sun is fighting to emerge as I again begin my ascent until about 10 miles from Katoomba I drive right back into the cloud again, and that is where I am now, thousands of feet up in the clouds.
So that's why I am sleeping so well!
Took Marcus and Al to dinner last night and discovered that while downtown Katoomba leaves a lot to be desired, neighbouring Leura is an altogether more ritzy affair - reminds me a little of Crouch End in North London, where you are hard pressed to find a newsagent but will never run out of scented candles, expensive nick-nacks or gourmet coffee. A lovely but hair-raisingly expensive dinner, and much chuckling was had by all.
Overnight the rains came. Being 3,300 ft above sea level, it's not so much being under a rain cloud as right inside one. Al and I dashed through the deluge to meet a friend of his for breakfast in Leura, a rather lovely woman called Wendy with a permanent mischevous twinkle in her eye - if anyone watches The Good Wife, imagine Jackie having a more irreverant older sister. Also present was a man Al hadn't previously met, who turned out to have gone to school at Beaudesert in Minchinhampton in the 1940s! Discussion wandered from Margaret Thatcher to Julia Gillard to the role of the British within the history of slavery. Really rather needed to have my wits about me, but stated my case regarding Thatcher with some passion. Now we are invited to a pub dinner with Wendy on Tuesday eveing, so I can only assume I didn't disgrace myself!
Brandishing an enormous umbrella, I then ran to my car and drove to Penrith (pronounced PEN-rith, rather than our Cumbrian Pen-RITH), some 40 miles down the mountain, where I met my friend Kim and her little girls for lunch, at the Penrith Panthers centre, a sort of entertainment complex/casino/rugby ground. Kim looked fantastic and the girls presented me with drawings - loved how Jasmine had drawn me in a 'rainbow car'! As the girls tucked into pizzas, Kim and I caught up on 12 months of life lived since last we saw each other. She doesn't seem to have gotten any older since we first met in 1998, which I suspect has something to do with yoga and good genes! A lovely few hours nattering and watching the girls playing, before we say our farewells and I head off for the drive back up the mountain, before realising I had left the flippin' umbrella at the coat-check! The sun is fighting to emerge as I again begin my ascent until about 10 miles from Katoomba I drive right back into the cloud again, and that is where I am now, thousands of feet up in the clouds.
So that's why I am sleeping so well!
Friday, 19 April 2013
Lunch With 'The (Sydney Telegraph) Girls'
Yesterday was a consolidation day. Decided to take advantage of the time I spent with Bob and write the framework for his story, although transcribing the interview recordings will have to wait. Once done, I cracked on with writing up previous interviews. The challenge for me is that an average interview, say 3 hours, can mean 20-25 pages. Not the world's fastest typist, but pointless to get anyone else to do it as there are so many references that only I understand. It's a useful exercise though, as I am able to note sections that will be useful or usable later on.
Took a break in the afternoon and wandered into downtown Katoomba in search of a bank and chemist - fortified by 'Vapo-drops' (Mentholyptus to you and me), I returned and cracked on, enjoying the sun, warm through the window. Still in the early 20s here, although the wind is picking up and the dreaded rain threatens.
My friend Al only moved in 8 weeks ago, and while much needs to be done, even since I have been here the transformation of both garden and home has been astonishing. Of course he can only see what's outstanding, but I think it's useful to have me there looking at it all with an independent eye. It's a small space, but rather lovely, if a little cramped for three grown men plus dog plus cat. I am hugely grateful to him for letting me stay amidst the turmoil of it all, however, not least as it saves me the cost of hotel accommodation during my visit. It also means I can enjoy chatting and laughing with someone I first met over 30 years ago. Last night, amidst the giggling, I decided I will cook for them this weekend. Least I can do, if you ask me!
Up early this morning to allow time to get into the city during rush hour. Quite chilly as I quietly leave the house, but am off and away down the mountain by 7.00am. Honestly, the road over the Blue Mountains is a shocker - apparently it's one of the main arterial roads to the west, which is why it's clogged with those huge, American-looking trucks. It's supposed to be two lanes in either direction, but a massive widening programme is causing chaos. Traffic is at a crawl into Sydney, but 2.5 hours later, I find a parking space, go and find some coffee and then mooch in the sun until 10.00am comes around.
Now, I am seeing Jenny and Minnie, two of the three-women crew who drove a Morris 1100 from London to Sydney. They were 26 and 23 respectively, and Minnie wrote a column for the Sydney Telegraph, which she continued to do throughout the 10,000 mile journey. Their third crew member, Eileen, the Woman's Page editor on the paper, passed away sometime ago. I read back through Minnie's columns again last night and as before, sat and laughed out loud, reading her 'take' on their adventure. Hard to think she was 23 as the columns are very clever and quite hilarious.
Armed with my laptop and various books, I find the address, open the gate and walk down steps that lead to the front door. I knock. Moments later, a stick-thin, grey-hared woman in jeans and a denim shirt opens the door, and I am ushered into what is obviously a huge and very beautiful house. This is Minnie. She is as slim as she was at 23. I am guided down stairs into a lovely sitting room, the sun treaming through windows to the left, with doors open to a terrace beyond, table and benches, and standing in the sunlight is Jenny, saying hello, shaing my hand and smiling warmly behind her glasses. Funny, I have seen so many photographs of both of them from 1968, and of course they are 45 years older, but instantly recognisable. Talking of photo's, in most of the ones I have seen, Minnie is smoking. She still does, and roars approval as I wave my packet of fags at her! With coffee served, they interogate me about who I am, what I am doing, and so on. Simply inviting a perfect stranger into your home is not to be sneezed at, even if they have come all the way from England!
At some point we break for lunch, and I run out to move my car, parked in a 2 hour only space. Then, sitting down to munch on bread, prosciutto and sun-dried tomatoes ("is it too early for a glass of wine?"), we carry on. Jenny can recall much more than Minnie, but as I have prepared many questions based on what I have read, they are both laughing and marvelling at events, scrapes and situations long-since forgotten (although Jenny did fly down to Sydney from her home in western New South Wales yesterday, and they both spent last night over a bottle of wine or two, recalling the Marathon and again reading Minnie's columns).
Jenny in particular has travelled the world a great deal since 1968, as she worked for a merchant bank, which took her to the Soviet Union in the early 1970s, and for a time to Vienna. Minnie carried on with journalism for many years, eventually writing a regular televison column before she decided she didn't like the anxiety that deadlines represented. They had all but lost touch until five years ago, they met again. They were both very aware of Eileen's absence today, and Jenny asked if I'd be willing to meet Eileen's daughter while I'm here to tell her more about her mother's exploits in 1968. Naturally I said 'of course'.
Then suddenly almost 4.5 hours has passed. Jenny took a photograph of Minnie and I sitting at the kitchen table, and I took some copies of a few things, including a lovely photograph of them both on the ship from Bombay to Perth. Jenny had even found a spare Marathon car number, a large adhesive Number 41 which would have been afixed to the Morris 1100's door. I suggested she framed it as soon as possible, and hung it in pride of place in her home. "You know?", she said as I packed up my things, "I think I will!"
All too soon it was time to depart. I thanked these two laughing women, so different from each other in so many ways but united by their madcap journey across continents 45 years ago, still giggling about disposable, paper underwear and being held up by bandits - "to this day", said Minnie, " nobody believes us. But it actually happened".
Then, as I leave, Minnie suggests that once I have written the first two or three chapters, and a summary treatment of the proposed 'book', I should send them to her as one of her closest friends is a literary agent of some renown.
If that isn't motivation to keep going and get it done, I don't know what is!
Took a break in the afternoon and wandered into downtown Katoomba in search of a bank and chemist - fortified by 'Vapo-drops' (Mentholyptus to you and me), I returned and cracked on, enjoying the sun, warm through the window. Still in the early 20s here, although the wind is picking up and the dreaded rain threatens.
My friend Al only moved in 8 weeks ago, and while much needs to be done, even since I have been here the transformation of both garden and home has been astonishing. Of course he can only see what's outstanding, but I think it's useful to have me there looking at it all with an independent eye. It's a small space, but rather lovely, if a little cramped for three grown men plus dog plus cat. I am hugely grateful to him for letting me stay amidst the turmoil of it all, however, not least as it saves me the cost of hotel accommodation during my visit. It also means I can enjoy chatting and laughing with someone I first met over 30 years ago. Last night, amidst the giggling, I decided I will cook for them this weekend. Least I can do, if you ask me!
Up early this morning to allow time to get into the city during rush hour. Quite chilly as I quietly leave the house, but am off and away down the mountain by 7.00am. Honestly, the road over the Blue Mountains is a shocker - apparently it's one of the main arterial roads to the west, which is why it's clogged with those huge, American-looking trucks. It's supposed to be two lanes in either direction, but a massive widening programme is causing chaos. Traffic is at a crawl into Sydney, but 2.5 hours later, I find a parking space, go and find some coffee and then mooch in the sun until 10.00am comes around.
Now, I am seeing Jenny and Minnie, two of the three-women crew who drove a Morris 1100 from London to Sydney. They were 26 and 23 respectively, and Minnie wrote a column for the Sydney Telegraph, which she continued to do throughout the 10,000 mile journey. Their third crew member, Eileen, the Woman's Page editor on the paper, passed away sometime ago. I read back through Minnie's columns again last night and as before, sat and laughed out loud, reading her 'take' on their adventure. Hard to think she was 23 as the columns are very clever and quite hilarious.
Armed with my laptop and various books, I find the address, open the gate and walk down steps that lead to the front door. I knock. Moments later, a stick-thin, grey-hared woman in jeans and a denim shirt opens the door, and I am ushered into what is obviously a huge and very beautiful house. This is Minnie. She is as slim as she was at 23. I am guided down stairs into a lovely sitting room, the sun treaming through windows to the left, with doors open to a terrace beyond, table and benches, and standing in the sunlight is Jenny, saying hello, shaing my hand and smiling warmly behind her glasses. Funny, I have seen so many photographs of both of them from 1968, and of course they are 45 years older, but instantly recognisable. Talking of photo's, in most of the ones I have seen, Minnie is smoking. She still does, and roars approval as I wave my packet of fags at her! With coffee served, they interogate me about who I am, what I am doing, and so on. Simply inviting a perfect stranger into your home is not to be sneezed at, even if they have come all the way from England!
At some point we break for lunch, and I run out to move my car, parked in a 2 hour only space. Then, sitting down to munch on bread, prosciutto and sun-dried tomatoes ("is it too early for a glass of wine?"), we carry on. Jenny can recall much more than Minnie, but as I have prepared many questions based on what I have read, they are both laughing and marvelling at events, scrapes and situations long-since forgotten (although Jenny did fly down to Sydney from her home in western New South Wales yesterday, and they both spent last night over a bottle of wine or two, recalling the Marathon and again reading Minnie's columns).
Jenny in particular has travelled the world a great deal since 1968, as she worked for a merchant bank, which took her to the Soviet Union in the early 1970s, and for a time to Vienna. Minnie carried on with journalism for many years, eventually writing a regular televison column before she decided she didn't like the anxiety that deadlines represented. They had all but lost touch until five years ago, they met again. They were both very aware of Eileen's absence today, and Jenny asked if I'd be willing to meet Eileen's daughter while I'm here to tell her more about her mother's exploits in 1968. Naturally I said 'of course'.
Then suddenly almost 4.5 hours has passed. Jenny took a photograph of Minnie and I sitting at the kitchen table, and I took some copies of a few things, including a lovely photograph of them both on the ship from Bombay to Perth. Jenny had even found a spare Marathon car number, a large adhesive Number 41 which would have been afixed to the Morris 1100's door. I suggested she framed it as soon as possible, and hung it in pride of place in her home. "You know?", she said as I packed up my things, "I think I will!"
All too soon it was time to depart. I thanked these two laughing women, so different from each other in so many ways but united by their madcap journey across continents 45 years ago, still giggling about disposable, paper underwear and being held up by bandits - "to this day", said Minnie, " nobody believes us. But it actually happened".
Then, as I leave, Minnie suggests that once I have written the first two or three chapters, and a summary treatment of the proposed 'book', I should send them to her as one of her closest friends is a literary agent of some renown.
If that isn't motivation to keep going and get it done, I don't know what is!
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