They had some kind of special meeting at the youth mental health clinic yesterday. At least a dozen dazed looking young adults with protective parents in tow came through.
One sweet faced, and clearly heavily medicated, young indigenous man wanted to chat and asked me all about myself. It was he who told me of the mental health clinic. He was there with his dad, and his dad’s mate and they were by far the most disadvantaged looking group of the whole lot. Their clothes were dirty and shabby and the older men had that toothless, scrawny, underfed look that the chronically poor get and hands covered in homemade tattoos.
The young man told me about his mob and sleeping at the Salvos, the father, who was Irish, told me how he’d been at the local juvenile detention center on – an ironically named- Care and Protection Order back when he was 14
Suddenly the dad’s mate who’d been sitting quietly reading one of the books from the children’s library, jumped up and started rushing around, picking at the scabs on his hands and looking for somewhere to wash them. By the time the train arrived, he had his top pulled off and was scratching his already very scratched looking back with a piece of stick.
But they were all lovely polite folks and the young man was so very glad to have his father there to support him.
I’ve always been a bit smug/ proud of the fact that the brother of my Great Great Grandfather was transported for theft in the 1820’s, made good brewing beer and sent for the rest of the family, including my direct ancestor in the 1830’s.
The other day I was talking to one of my regulars who I’ve dubbed the Bolshie Lawyer. This a very casually dressed man who does legal aid cases. He comes from a very privileged background where he went to Melbourne Grammar, Melbourne Uni and was probably put down for membership of the Melbourne Club and the MCC the day he was born. He has the jaded view of the Melbourne upper classes that comes from long familiarity and we were discussing a well-known local politician.
“I was at school with him and he was a (insert uncomplimentary noun here) even then. So full of himself and his family. And mines been out here much longer than his.”
I couldn’t help bringing up my own ancestor then and the date 1824.
“That’s nothing,” said B.L. “My ancestor was a free settler and came out in 1810.”
That was when I asked him the surname and discovered his ancestor has a suburb and a railway station named after him and had built what is a now National Trust property. Definitely outclassed. Serves me right for such unearned pride.
And we must always remember our pioneer ancestors helped steal the land and destroy the tribes. So is it pride or shame we should feel? Or a complicated ambivalent mix of both that turns us away from the past entirely and reminds us to try and do better in the future.
This ambivalent looking gentleman is
Australia’s first British governor Arthur Philip from the portrait by Francis Wheatley
School Holiday artworks on the station platform
Ugh! All last week my body was very After Easter – meaning it kept telling me it wants to stay home, sleep in, watch tv and eat lots and lots of Easter eggs. But we must work and I console myself that if I hadn’t gone into work I would have missed;
– A small boy making squeaking noises to mimic the cry of the flocks of rainbow lorikeets that are feasting the gum trees around the station
– A young man wearing bright gold sneakers and carrying a flower a la Oscar Wilde.
– A man metal detecting on the grass nearby looking for old pennies. He found only bottle tops, squashed deodorant bottles and an American one cent piece. “I look on it as a deep clean of the landscape,” he said.
– A chat with young men from the Graz (Austria) Boys Choir
– Lots and lots of happy school holiday kids with their parents and grandparents and stuffed animals bought at the zoo. Noisy but nice.
On the other hand if I hadn’t been at work I would not have the bruise on my lower stomach that I got from trying to help an elderly man manoeuvre his scooter inside the train. He panicked and reversed by mistake and wedged me against a railing. Ouch!
Children enjoying the Royal Park Station Children’s Library (some at least)
An odd incident this week. A kid on a bike – maybe about 13/14 – came riding past the station and slowed to a stop.
“Hello! Do you recognize me?” he called out. “You used to yell at me and my friends for riding on the back of trains.”
I’ve been doing this job for 14 years now and I expected abuse at this point.
“I was only trying to save your lives,” I said defensively.“ It’s a very dangerous thing to do.”
“Yeah! We’ve stopped doing it now,” he said
And he turned round and cycled back up the hill.
I’m looking for 10 people to receive and review The Melded Child on Amazon for me within the next month. I’ll be able to send out free review copies in your preferred ebook format hopefully by the end of next week.
I’ll send free copies to the first 10 people who contact me on
It’s been New Year’s Spring Break in China and the Zoo has been busy with Chinese families coming here to see the astonishing Australian wildlife. I was fascinated when I saw a little Chinese boy with a most interesting windcheater bearing the words. Marco Pool since 1254. I wondered what was going on with this windcheater.
I assumed it was a knock off of the Marco Polo clothes company, but why since 1254. When I looked it up on line I couldn’t find a clothing company but I discovered a very nice looking swimming center in the Philippines called Marco Pool. But its unlikely to have been established in 1254 which was before the days of chlorinated pools.
The oddest thing is that the date is the famous traveler’s birth date. So if you are going to get the birth date right why not the rest. Alas I will never know what was in the mind of the designer of this windcheater but I can’t help suspecting there is a leg pull somewhere here.
The new novel of the Archipelago and the Tari.
Coming out April 7
In Print on Demand from Bernarra Press through Amazon and in ebook from Clan Destine Press
An ancient prophecy has come to pass.
The peace negotiated by the Tari has held firm for ten years, but a new Demon Master is rising.
When Yani the Raven is kidnapped, sorceress Marigoth and her companion Ezratah are drawn into a trap set by a brutal necromancer and his insane sister.
Meanwhile Elena Starchild’s daughter Alyx, heir to the throne of the Mori, finds herself wounded and on the run in a forest full of dark magic; and in the company of her bitter enemy.
Can the insular Tari, dreaming in the secret land of Ermora, be awoken before the demon fire consumes them?
And can a Melded Child bring harmony before it is too late?
Arrived at my station on Monday to discover something lovely had appeared over the weekend.
These delightful little shopping trolleys planted with sunflowers are chained to fences at stations all along the Upfield line and apparently all along the Hershey Electrical rail line in Havana as well. The chaining means that those who are amused by pushing shopping trolleys under trains will hopefully find it too much trouble to do.
Sunflowers with morning glories at Brunswick station
The trolleys have been fascinating people all week and several times I just missed taking meltingly cute pictures of small children in sun hats looking up at them. (I shall keep trying but the little so and so’s move so quickly) The adult passengers ask me if it’s a railway initiative. When I tell them it’s an art project a lot of them make harrumphing noises indicting the serious practical part of them is disapproving of such frivolity. But I always get the feeling that underneath another part of them is delighted. Every time I look, someone is lingering near the shopping trolley reading the little yellow tags.
Myself I think it’s wonderful to be part of an art project and it’s a great use of shopping trolleys
At Zoo station someone is watering the trolleys. At the Junction the staff have adopted theirs and keep them well watered. The trolleys at the unmanned stations are fairing less well. This week’s heat has made them look sad and dried out and I wish people would kidnap them and take them home. As far as I know none of them have traveled yet, though iIhave heard people plotting.
Ben Moreison, the artist, was responsible for this was also responsible for Fieldwork 1, the huge field of sunflowers grown in a piece of waste ground near Macaulay station back in 2014. I’m glad to see he’s still sunflowering. Here’s the link to the video of it. I was a really pleasure to see the field everyday from the passing train.
This project is part of the Havana Biennale in Cuba and involves a series of active art projects in Australia and Cuba based on or around the Hershey Train, Havana and the Upfield Railway Line, Melbourne under the auspices of RMIT and a number of other organisations both here an in Cuba
Hershey Electric Railway line in Cuba. Courtesy of Wikimedia
It was only after the station door swung shut behind me that I realized I’d forgotten to bring either of my sets of keys out with me. Locked out! Not a good start to the day. Since it was still early I thought I’d got back to the Junction and get another set. It’s a lengthy process – ½ an hour out of a 6 hour shift – because the trains don’t meet up. Back at the Junction I couldn’t find the master keys and no one there knew where they were kept, so I looked through the key register and signed out something that was supposed to be the correct key.
Of course when I got back to my station it didn’t open the door. Damn!
I didn’t like to spend another ½ hour getting another set of keys so I thought I’d just hang around for an hour until the cleaner came and let me back in with his key. So I stood around helping people with tickets and directions for the next two trains getting more and more thirsty and in need of a pee, until… Eureka moment! It occurred to me that all trains drivers have the key to stations so that they can pop in and use the toilets if desperate. It’s not really o.k. to do anything that might delay a train, but I thought if I was quick…
The driver of the 1.04 was a kindly woman who was happy to help me re-open my station door and I rushed in and shoved both keys in my pockets before indulging in visit to the toilet, a nice drink of water and a spot of lunch. Adventure over with no one much noticing my inadequacies.
It was a rude shock therefore, when about an hour later Control rang. Apparently at the other end of the 1.04 train, an intoxicated man had been having an argument with his female companion who he’d proceeded to shove out onto the platform at my station. He’d been arrested at Flinders Street later.
That it should be that train of all trains!
The Control man had been viewing the CCTV footage and seen me rushing about. “Had I seen anything of the fight further up the train? Had I been scared by it?” he inquired sympathetically.
He laughed when I told him that I’d been locked out so I assumed I wasn’t in any trouble, but I felt very sorry that I was too involved in my own small drama to help a victim of domestic violence. I fear this may be the way it often happens. I can only hope since she wasn’t there when I’d come out of the station she hadn’t been too badly hurt.
Yesterday a young man I usually avoid caught me talking to one of my regulars. He’s an unusual, dare I say, unwell young person.
“Did you know that the boomgates here use Westinghouse Bells?” He broke in breathlessly. My regular slid off with a look of alarm while he deluged me with all kinds of technical detail about boomgate bells which, to be fair, I really didn’t know and don’t mind knowing. Apparently they are not all the same and his superior hearing can pick out the ones that sound like church bells or much bassier like a boom box which indicates apparently modern electrical bells. Of course now I think of it this all could be his imagination but I must make a note to listen more closely to boom gates.
On the whole I thought him improved since the last time I met him. He looked cleaner. And last time he made lots of creepy enquiries about what I sounded like when I pee. Not good.
So does this count as a Christmas Post? Hmm!
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all my lovely subscribers. May you all have someone to listen to you this Christmas. And Thank you!