Swedish Tuesday
Swedish class tonight.
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Richmond River High School
I burst into tears at about 9.30 on Thursday morning. It wasn’t one of those deep heartfelt moments of grief like the death of a family member or friend. But still, it was a moment of grief.
My old school friend, Anne, shared on Facebook a media release from the NSW Department of Education, saying it’s very unlikely our old school will re-open on the same site, following the catastrophic flood in Lismore.
Based on the Department of Education’s site visits and assessments, all buildings except block A, are beyond repair and deemed unsalvageable. It is increasingly unlikely the current site is viable for a rebuild.
Anne wrote:
This is breaking my heart
My Mum went to this school….myself and my siblings, my sister’s kids and then Luke….until Feb 28th when our town was destroyed
And my friend Richard, who went to the school both as a primary school, and then into high school shared this.
That school site was the only one I ever attended from start to finish. It has significance for me. My mother also attended that site when it was Lismore High School.
For the first time I’m aware of, water entered the classrooms in the catastrophic flood in February. Before then, water had often entered the nearby lower-lying sports fields and sometimes entered the grounds.
In fact, I remember going to school in Year 11 or 12, and there was water on the grounds, but we still attended. Back in those rather reckless days, a couple of boys ventured out in kayaks made at the school into the flood waters to get fish and chips for lunch. They got in trouble.
Back in those days, it was customary for teachers and students to come back to the schools for flood clean-up.
No such cleanup could happen after the floods this time, as water entered the classrooms, and the damage was beyond anything anyone who went to RRHS could imagine.
Memories went back to when the science block caught fire, and when the new sports stadium also caught fire (arson?), which saw my year at school lead a fundraising project.
The fundraising project was led by our wonderful Form Mistress, Anne Bosse. Anne was an inspiring figure. Even now, I remember the way she held my hand and embraced me when my dad died when I was in Year 11. Anne died far too young, aged only 39, due to breast cancer, back in the days when awareness, diagnosis and treatment weren’t nearly as good as now.
Another important teacher for me was Barbara Kearney. My German language teacher was smart, funny, and tough when it came to learning German. She also led a small group of us through fundraising, finally realising a trip to Germany back in the days of the Berlin Wall.
Coincidentally, the last time I spoke to Barbara was during the 2017 flood. I was on ABC Radio North Coast (Lismore) with warnings about the flood. She called in for a chat more, and to say hello. In the midst of the warnings, she wanted to say hello.
And of course the friendships. A small group of us still chat most days on Messenger.
Though now part of a three-campus high school, along with Kadina and Lismore High, RRHS was never the “elite” school in town. We were the “flood zone kids” from North Lismore, South Lismore, and adjoining towns. Chatting with a friend who is from Nimbin and caught the bus for an hour every day to and from school. She wondered where the kids from Nimbin will go. Depending on where they build the school, it might be an extra 15-20 minutes each way.
We held a school reunion in 2004, and have been promising to do another one, and then COVID got in the way.
Still, we keep in touch through Facebook, and from time to time, we also keep in touch with real life.
All of those things went through my mind today. Along with the memory I was “Boy Student Of The Year” in 1983. My name was on the “Honour Board”, something which brought great pride to my family, in particular.God knows where the “Honour Board” is. Maybe somewhere down the river?
Ironically, the school named after a river has been destroyed by that same river. The school will move to new accommodation, it’s likely, but not on the site in North Lismore which has been home for over 100 years.
We hope there will be an opportunity to say “goodbye” properly to our old school, a school that thousands and thousands of people went through.
Swedish Summertime
It’s mid-afternoon and I’m sitting in a park on Djurgarden, one of the many islands of Stockholm. And I’m doing exactly what thousands of people are doing here right now: sitting around doing nothing andenjoying the Swedish summer. The weather’s been great all day. In fact it was hot for a while earlier today and I had to put my silly hat on, which makes me look so much like a tourist.
I haven’t begun wearing those backpacker sandals though yet. And I could never wear them with socks which, tragically, seems to happen all too frequently here. I saw a young kid at the airport yesterday wearing socks and sandals and had to stop myself from going up to him and begging him to stop wearing them before it was too late.
As well as a couple of doe-eyed couples looking longingly at each other, and another single male backpacker nearby, there are family groups everywhere. It’s school holidays here right now.
This morning at breakfast the hostel was packed to the rafters with kids, which immediately prompted me to set the alarm for about an hour earlier tomorrow.
There’s also thousands of Americans in town. Their presence has really surprised me, since I never thought of Sweden in summer as an American tourist destination. But they’re everywhere, and that accent can be heard everywhere loudly and regularly.
And the gays have started to arrive for Europride, which is at the end of the month. As I got on the bus a little while ago, I saw a couple of Russians (I later discovered) who gave me that up and down look and a “knowing smile”. We chatted ever so briefly in broken English. Which reminds me, I’ve decided I don’t particularly like Swedish gays. They’re all a bit too girly, in my humble opinion.
This was particularly evident in an exhibition which I just visited at Djurgarden about gays working on the Swedish-American shipping line during the 1940s to 1970s. Lots of camp, lots of draq, you get the idea. I suspect The Other Andrew would really like the exihibition as it has some of those classic gay images he likes so much. It’s a good exhibition, and one I’d recommend, based on a book by Arne Nilsson.
I found out about earlier today, as I spent a bit of time this morning at the main arts centre in Stockholm. They have a newspaper reading room up there with delightful views of the city. You can just go in there and read the papers and no one bothers you. I was surrounded by lots of old blokes who obviously couldn’t afford the papers.
I sat there going through as many of the “what’s on” sections of newspapers I could find, trying to work out how I’m going to spend my days here. I can’t just wander around aimlessly. That’s just not my thing. So I’ve found some music to go and see (I’ve already been to a lunchtime jazz concert) as well as a few exhibitions here and there.
Walking through the city today, I also came across a pretty funny exhibition, actually, featuring road signs from around the world. It’s fairly US-based, and so a lot of the humour derives from Americans laughing at examples of bad English translations. I was more amused by the American signs. I mean, they speak English and they still manage to get it wrong.
Anyway, I’m heading back to the hostel for a little lie-down before heading over to Sodermalm tonight.
The Paddington
“We were the oldest people there”, I said to my friend as we left The Paddington last night. “No, there were some other oldies there”, she argued. Yes, she was right, but overwhelmingly The Paddington attracted a hip and happening younger crowd. And no wonder, it’s the latest Sydney hotel to be “Hemmesphied”. Justin Hemmes has had a terrific record in transforming bars into terrific new spaces. And it’s my feeling he’s done another great job.
“You really must go”, I told a colleague this morning. “For $50 each, we shared a bottle of wine, a whole chicken, salad and chips. It was delicious, and there was chicken left over”, I added.
We were lucky enough to be given a quieter spot overlooking the main serving area, as it was a reasonably noisy space. In part, because it was so damn busy. It was nine o’clock on a wet Wednesday night in Sydney, and the place was jumping. Highly recommended.
Sadness
It’s Monday night and I’m sitting at home just surfing the net and I’m kinda haunted at the moment by the sadness that a few people I know are feeling.
I received an email today from a friend who, twelve months ago, joined the “dark side” of public relations, about which she’s not happy. In fact, she’s quite depressed about things. I wrote back saying…
I hope the job situation for you works itself out. If there’s one really good thing about being “on the other side” is that you should really trust in your own integrity to know that you’re doing a good job from the “inside” (if you know what I mean)!
I also got an email the other day from a friend who is working overseas at the moment who told me…
Life is slowly slowly thawing after a protracted winter in the capital. It was the first Spring-feeling day two days ago, a lovely crisp 8 degrees. I had a big smile stuck to my face all day. Amazing what a bit of temperature does for the mood. Today back down to minus 3. Work is OKish. Sounds funny, but I’m at a stage where I’m learning things very quickly and I get bored very easily. Next challenge please! Bring it on. Ya know?
I wrote back, telling him…
What you said about the weather influencing your mood is soo true. A friend lived in Sweden a couple of years ago and she said it got to the point one day where she just burst into tears, after weeks of snow, and 4 hour days. “It happens to all the Australians who come here”, her boss declared, giving her a few days off to go and buy a sun lamp. Seriously, it works. And the thing about learning new things at work is that just when you think you’ve learned heaps, a new challenge suddenly presents itself. Last year there were a few occasions when I was cruising along and then all of a sudden I thought, “I can’t do this”, as something unexpected came along.
And then I read a post by Mark who is a very nice bloke living in Sydney, but who has lived in Perth most of his life. After a few months back in Perth, he’s arrived back in Sydney and is now feeling a little lonely. I actually thought about him over the weekend, recalling that twelve months ago, he’d gone to Fair Day and had seen the stall declaring the need for a “Clitocracy” (I’m still pondering how it’s pronounced, let alone where it’s found!). I thought for a moment on the weekend that maybe I should have invited him, but decided not to, thinking it probably wasn’t his thing anyway. But anyway, Mark is a really nice guy and I hope he gets through this difficult period, a period which I totally understand, given my experiences in Perth.
Speaking of Fair Day. The weekend was reasonably busy, with yesterday being the busiest of all, with a visit to Mardi Gras Fair Day. It was the first time I’ve been to Fair Day in years – maybe five or six years – but with a visitor, I thought it was a good thing to do. The heat, however, was almost unbearable and, after a couple of hours wandering around and drinking beers, we headed back home. Harley, whose blog I read, provided an interesting insight into Fair Day with this post in which he declared…
Sunday was Fair Day, a lazy daytime gathering where Sydney’s GLBT community and its elite mingle from across the VIP seclusion ropes. Crowds wear singlets, thongs and sunglasses – to show their muscles, affirm their aussieness, and hide from ex-trade respectively. A mere 20 minutes was all it took before I found myself too overwhelmed to stay. Agoraphobia agrees with me, but it was nice to see so many of young and old enjoying themselves.
Ok yeh, I wore thongs, but they weren’t glamorous ones, just the thongs I bought from Woolies in Darwin in 2002. And I have no muscles. And “ex trade”. Well, when approached to fill in a sexual health survey, I told the bloke “You’re assuming I have sex”… which gave him a laugh.
Harley is quite an interesting writer, with a good ability to combine the humorous and the touching. Today, he wrote about his feelings about the Mildura car crash story. In case you’ve missed the news, Grief turned to anger as a man appeared in a Victorian court charged with ploughing his car into a crowd of teenage partygoers, killing six.. He’s from Mildura, a town I know well, having lived nearby for a couple of years and having extended family in the area.
After expressing his initial reaction to the news being “just another car crash”, he wrote today that…
Not until much later did I fully recognise the connection of my home town. Those kids are ten years my junior, I don’t know any of them personally. But I know those families. I know those streets, and I know those parties. I’ve waited by an isolated road for a taxi at 1am, hours from home, watching the once-every-half-hour car drive by, and considering commencing the long walk home. I also know those schools. Ten years ago they would have been my friends. But I don’t know any of those kids, and I’m not one for gratuitous displays of consolation. Life carries on. Monday, lunch-time, Big City Boy walks into the empty bathroom and in the briefest lapse, Small Town Boy had his moment.
I know exactly what he means. Living in Sydney, one minute you think you’re the sophisticated urbanite, the next you realise, having grown up in the country you’re connected to something intangible which you sometimes forget. I won’t say deeper, however, as that implies people in the city don’t have that level of connection and of course they do, but in a different kind of way. Without wishing to oversimplify things, it’s like in Tenterfield Saddler when Peter Allen declares…
The grandson of George has been all around the world
And lives no special place
Changed his last name and he married a girl with an interesting face
He’d almost forgotten them both because in the life that he leads
There’s no where for George and his library or the son with his gun
To belong except in this song
Those memories of what it’s like to be a “small town boy” were also re-ignited by an email I received from Richard, a friend I met in Wagga Wagga, but who grew up in Lismore. He sent me an article from “The Northern Star” about the refurbishment of an old Lismore pub as a gay bar. Although it’s been “gay” for several years, new owners have spent a LOT of money refurbishig the place. I wrote back to Richard…
In some ways I have mixed feelings about what’s happened to the Winsome. It’s fabulous that it’s been renovated and the guy is putting money into the town and trying to build a sense of a gay “community”. But I also question some of the investment – I understand he’s turning upstairs into a gay sauna (hello??) – and whether or not it’s appropriate, imposing a city-based culture on the country. But by the same token, I guess there must be a demand/interest, so maybe it’s not so bad. But on the other hand, I found that, aged 40, the pub was going after a mucher younger clientelle and was not all that inclusive. And I also have those mixed feelings that a bit of history. I thought the previous refurbishment which modernised the pub, but which paid tribute to the history by keeping the old flood markers on the wall was appropriate. I’m not sure about this incarnation.
Nostalgia is an interesting thing, eh?
Sorry if this post has been a little bit down, because that’s not how I’m feeling right now. I’m feeling pretty good about life, which is a nice place to be. So I’ll leave you on a fun note, with a link to Melodifestivalen, the Swedish Eurovision Contest. If you want to find out wha’ts happening or to listen online, here’s the link. My favourite, by the way, is a track by Anna Sahlene, called “This Woman”. Totally fab!
Colonial Spice Dinner
To be honest, I had no idea Elizabeth Bay House existed.
Even though I’ve lived in Sydney for over fourteen years, now, it’s located in a part of Sydney I’ve never really done much exploring in.
Located down towards the water, and behind the intensity of Kings Cross, Elizabeth Bay House is a great building, modestly decorated, but with spectacular views.
Tonight, Colin, Tom, Andrew, and his friend, and I attended a Colonial Spice Dinner at Elizabeth Bay House.
Andrew had spotted the dinner in a newsletter he receives from the Historic Houses Trust.
In essence, it was a very nice dinner (based around the kind of food that would have been eaten by “the upper crust” in the early days of European settlement in Australia), with an accompanying, informal lecture about herbs, spices, and “The Spice Trade”.
Locating the dinner within that historical context, we got to learn a lot about herbs and spices, including what to look for and what not to look for when shopping. In our small group, the biggest surprise was the revelation that Allspice was actually a spice and not just a variation of the ubiquitous Mixed Spices.
The first course was a delicately spiced chicken and rice broth using saffron. Australian saffron, by the way, was later explained to be probably the most expensive in the world.
And then we had some poached whole trout, which was divine, accompanied by steamed baby potatoes with butter and parsley.
The Angove Riseling which accompanied this was very memorable.
And while we were enjoying this meal, the other half of the group of about forty people was upstairs learning about herbs and spices.
We all came back together downstairs for the second course which started with a rabbit curry with rice.
“It’s the first time I’ve eaten rabbit in years”, I said to Colin, as he remembered rabbits with less fond memories associated with difficult economic times in the past.
“Maybe it makes sense”, I thought to myself, that we should be eating rabbit again in the midst of the GFC.
Also as part of the second course, we had cutlets with a rich brown gravy, accompanied by fruit chutney, dutch carrots, spinach, and cauliflower. I thought the cutlets were excellent. Very nice.
We also all agreed the desert was terrific. Vanilla creams accompanied by an orange and muscatel salad crystalized ginger and rose meringues.
And in the midst of it all, we were in a beautiful building once owned by the Macleay Family, and now owned by the Historic Houses Trust. These days the building is modestly decorated in the style of the era in which the family lived there, though with bits and pieces from different eras which may have been indicative of the time.
In the context of its time, it must have been a rather spectacular building. Now, it’s still quite spectacular, except that it’s hidden down the back of Kings Cross/Potts Point.
What a great night…