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Lest we forget…

Everything I’m feeling today was said this time last year…

Frances Macaulay Forde's avatarPerth Words... exploring possibilities.

I was lucky, I had my dad and mum until my early thirties – but so many didn’t.

1967M&DUmthali web

My Dad was a Pathfinder in the R.A.F. 35 Squadron and awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross by King George.  

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Mum blamed the blitz for making her take up smoking.

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Dad never missed the chance to proudly honor his fallen mates in whichever country he found himself – it was the only time his medals saw the light of day and the only time he publicly acknowledged the war unless ‘Dambusters’ or ‘Battle of Britain‘ were on TV.    

My husband and I have been doing a lot of research into Mum and Dad’s life before Africa and have found out many surprising facts which have answered many, many questions we should have asked when they were with us.  

I now know why  ‘Don’t Fence Me In’was one…

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‘Urban Scrawl’ an anthology of member’s stories published in 2000 by Peter Cowan Writer’s Centre.

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The illustration for my story ‘Write to Romance’.

 

“Write to Romance” appeared in ‘Urban Scrawl’, a collection of member’s writing put together by Peter Cowan Writers Centre in 2000 and was the first of my short stories published in Australia.

As I have quite a few snippets of story on my computer ‘shelves’ I’m very interested in putting together a collection for an eBook to publish online as soon as possible.

Watch this space.

 

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14RoadsidePickUp

It’s that time of year again (photo taken today).   Wish I’d taken photos last year, when I wrote this though…

 

Two Fans

 

Two fans enthusiastically spin amongst

a pile of rubbish waiting for pick up,

roadside.

 

Through wind and rain, even thunder

“Look at me!” but nothing moved.

Clever stack.

 

Unlike No 2’s plant pots. Scattered

colorful rattles voicing the gusts.

Messy!

 

Drive-bys;  inspection opportunists.

Recycling on a budget or business,

who knows?

 

Roadside shopping has rules. Don’t

muddle. Re-stack after inspection.

Carefully.

 

It’s bad manners to sort, scrounge,

accept or reject – pull apart, untidy,

then go.

 

 Frances Macaulay Forde © 2013

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Inspired by Retirement & Beyond.

 

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9781846972980

Do you believe in Karma?

Standing in front of all those Alexander McCall Smith books, I was overawed – found it difficult to settle on just one (or two) to get signed, but   “Trains and Lovers”  called to me.

How could I resist when I had also writtenRail Tales – notes from the Currumbine line.’   like many who had found the enclosed capsule of a train carriage inspiring.

I’ve been waiting weeks since listening to him  talk at UWA , to find the time to read the book.  Not wanting to pick it up for a quick look, but time to read the whole thing because I know once I open those magical pages, I won’t be able to put it down.

Within the very first chapters Alexander had mentioned my home town Perth, Western Australia; introduced us to an Australian lady called ‘Kay’ in her 50’s; mid-twenties ‘Andrew’ with eyes the same color as my Mum’s;  asked another if he was Canadian  (my niece lives there) before letting ‘Andrew’ tell us about himself.

‘Andrew’ comes from the same place as my mother’s family, Oban, Mull, South Uist and Lewis.  Mum also spoke Gaelic when she was young and came from a long line of doctors.  In fact, my maternal grandfather was named after a famous doctor who helped found the Physiology school in Glasgow University,  John Grey McKendrick. ( I’ve tried, but cannot find any other family connection to the famous physiologist except the name.)

And I’d only read to page 17.

So I’ll be ‘gone’ for a while readers…  this book is obviously my Karma.

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Jean of  ‘Social Bridge’  mentioned she’d like to see more stories… so here’s something written a while ago but which still makes me smile – I hope it does you too!

 

BEAUTIFUL!

“Because I don’t want to go on my own.” 

I shamelessly begged my sister-in-law to come with me on my assignment to write about something beautiful: Take a bunch of flowers and walk down a street full of massage parlors.

“Even if you’re supposed to – I’m definitely NOT going in – OK?”

“All right – just come with me, Grace.  We’ll walk down the street… make a few observations… then go – I promise!”

“Unless we get propositioned!”  Giggling, we both felt more relaxed about the whole adventure.

“Turn right here – William Street.   530-something.  415…  There’s a parking.  Quick!  Mind the police car.”

“You sure you want to do this?”

“Where’s 395?”

Anyway, to cut a long story short, we wandered up and down the street.  Noted the scruffy and garish buildings, the smells, the people rushing about and wondered what they were up to – especially the police car, which was still parked outside a place, called ‘The Site – Girls – Girls – Girls’.

One building stood out amongst the colorful, boxy, chaos.  Cream walls, dark brown trim and roof and neat gardens with two stately palms waving gently in the breeze, which breathed ‘class’.   Aphrodite’s.  A brass nameplate and large numbers on the wall ‘395’ for those ‘in the know’.  The door discreetly open and inviting custom.

Of course, curiosity got the better of us – we couldn’t resist and after passing the entry twice, walked in.  The little old lady behind the counter gave a non-committal nod and pressed a button. 

A door to our left opened and another (very elegant) little old lady also smiled a greeting. 

My companion’s mouth had dropped three inches so I smiled, “Is this a restaurant?”

With a pitying look Madam replied.  “No – it’s a brothel!”

Well, I shot out of there, leaving my compatriot chatting about how lovely the room was.

And that was just BEAUTIFUL!

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First there were two…

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Then there was one..

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And finally none.

Well, am I glad that’s over!  March is MAD for us and our ‘day’ job.

So many festivals and working 7 days a week for the last 6 weeks has done me in – we both needed to just veg totally today, and I did!

So I apologize for not posting much lately but thank you so much for reading.

This week, I’ll catch up on your blogs and find something (hopefully) of interest to share with you.

Yesterday we were at a Food & Wine Festival in  Mindarie Keys,  10 minutes up the coast from us.

Turning around to face the sea breeze, I spied two little birds sitting on a wire, behind.  A bit like us this month, barely hanging on but doing what we must.

(I wrongly presumed they were winging their way back to Northern Climes but have now identified them as native Hooded Robins, who also live in Australia.)

 

two 

 

little

birds paused

full-fronting the sea breeze

two wanderers grip fine wire

then gone

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2014

 

 

 

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As I’ve mentioned before, although born in Northumberland, I grew up in Northern Rhodesia (now Zambia) in the 50’s and 60’s.  I was privileged to have had a protected, idyllic, worry-free childhood.

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My Mum & Big Brother on the farm in Garneton… 1960’s

Mwambeshi Memories

Days gone by when safety wasn’t an issue, I remember a little stream that beckoned a group of friends in Garneton.  How many times did we saunter – some on bikes – some walking, along the dirt track under the power lines with the warm sun tingling on our shoulders?

I don’t remember being fashion-conscious only comfortable cotton in the hot sun.  I don’t remember being boy-conscious (that came later).  I just remember loving the escape from home, the walk through the bush, the baking sun and cool, crystal clear water as it hit hot skin.

We laughed a lot; we talked endlessly and carried our innocence and open hearts on our sleeves.  God – I miss those days!

How many competitions did we have?  Shoes off, stripped down to cossies, we’d race over the hot beige sand and stones burning our feet, to the other side of the bridge. 

The bravest would dive into the swiftly running current, going deep, eyes open, avoiding the banks to stay under as long as possible.  The current would propel us under the bridge until the air threatened to burst our lungs, spewing water when your head broke the surface. 

We’d look around to see who had won. Who had stayed under the water the longest and let the current take them the furthest away from the bridge?

We always sat on the Garneton side, a natural pool which opened up to allow swimming and splashing in comfort.  The Marlow’s farm was on the other side of the bridge and further upstream we could hear the cows every now and then. 

Later, I remember a story that a crocodile had taken one of the cows from the bank.  That croc lived in our Mwambeshi – the stream we swam in every day we could!  I don’t remember swimming there much after that.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2014

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WPSketchingInIrelandE

PROPOSED: Back & front cover of a work in progress.

Reading other blogs often inspires me or reminds me of a poem I’ve written and it’s happened again.

Social Bridge  posted about Co. Waterford and reminded me of wonderful times spent in  Dungarvan  and a tour taken of the Waterford Chrystal Factory.

(Although I couldn’t load the whole video it was nice to hear Jean’s voice.)

The original poem is much longer but here’s a preview from the book  “Sketching in Ireland”  – all a work in progress.

 

“Koffee Korner Kafé”

(An exerpt.)

 

Dungarvan town sleeps in school-time.  King

John’s Castle, ancient bridge and four-storey

moderns overlook calm Brickey’s tidal flow.

 

We trod the cobblestones, leaning forward

in the breeze, audibly aware of intoned

melodies caught in doorways and cars.

The courteous cruise with windows down

 

in the warmth. Walking Market Square, coats

closed, feeling echoes of town center seventeen

hundred.  Butter market, slick with Council men

and spirited characters in United Irishmen Power. 

 

Feeling occupation, execution, all history

held in a narrow staircase, an oft-painted

hidden door to the second floor, leading to

The Koffee Korner Kafé.   (Continues…)

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

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A pair (female on right) of Carnaby’s Black Cockatoos in my Jacaranda. Frances Macaulay Forde © 2007.

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Those Carnaby’s Black Cockatoos ‘kissing’. Frances Macaulay Forde © 2007.

New Moon

 

Last night, a sliver of silver low on the horizon, above the sea;

The moon visible through the clear sliding door of my patio

but couldn’t wish on it, not through glass – bad luck!

 

So eyes-down  I opened the door, stepped out bare-feet on concrete 

past the patio setting, minding the balls Sonja has strewn

and stood, out in the cool (now Autumn) air and wished.

 

Can’t tell you what I wished for or it won’t come true – it’s not for me.

I am lucky in love.  My family are healthy and happy, I have you.

All that I need.  So how could I possibly ask for more, for me?  

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2014

 

If you’ve got time, read more about these magnificent Carnaby’s but also, have a look at the best photos I’ve ever seen of them, up close, taken by Grace and posted on Perth Daily Photo today.

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