In one months time, I’ll be on a plane, headed to Stockholm. “What, again?”, I hear you ask. Since 2008, I have visited Sweden (in particular, Stockholm) on several occasions. By my reckoning, I’ve “lived there” for almost six months. I really like the country, have made some friends there, and whenever there’s a few spare dollars in my account, I can’t help but be tempted to pay another visit.
Over the last few weeks I’ve been doing a fair bit of research about new things to do, including tourist spots I haven’t visited before (and those I’d like to revisit), as well as new restaurants, museums and events to attend. I’ve been compiling a fairly healthy list of them.
But I’ve also been going back and looking at previous blog posts. And, hopefully as a benefit to others, I’ve sorted through my many posts about Sweden, to identify those which hopefully have some genuinely useful information for visitors.
These are my travel tips from my visits to Sweden, all in one place.
Unlike some of the many other reviews/tips you’ll read, these mostly don’t include information about entry times, prices etc, it’s more what I thought/felt about the many things I have done.
Actually it’s not that hot, but it is warm. And even though I have the balcony door open – which I’m sitting near – I’m feeling a bit sticky.
Not an especially exciting Thursday. Just sitting at home tonight and listening to the radio.
I’m in “savings mode” right now, as I’ve realised just how few pays I have until my overseas trip. Financially this will be less taxing than the last one, simply because it’s so much shorter. But still, it’s time to tighten my belt for a few weeks at least.
And the day? Well, it was mostly dominated by a funeral I attended late this morning. As with all funerals, there was for me a fair degree of self-reflection that often goes with the concern for others you know and love.
It’s exhausting, you know. So I gave myself a half-hour early mark and came home a little early today.
In stark contrast to some of the impressive mausolea at Liverpool Cemetery (in Sydney’s west), my great-great grandmother, Ellen Lang is buried there in an unmarked “pauper’s grave” (as they were called then).
She died 15 years before I was even born, so I don’t know very much about her. I don’t even have a photograph of her. But her life story has fascinated me for a number of years, and so for at least ten or fifteen years now, I’ve been “Searching For Ellen”.
One of the most significant things you need to know is that she had a relationship with, but never married, her first cousin, William Rixon, and they are documented to have had at least two children together, more likely four. But eighteen months after the birth of their fourth child, William went off and married another woman, moved interstate, and had four more children. What happened in the intervening period is unclear, though it appears Ellen may have raised the children with the support of her extended family in the area around Eden, Bombala, Towamba and Rockton in Southern NSW.
Even though she never married William, throughout her life, Ellen continued to use the name Rixon, although her death certificate refers to her as Ellen Lang. Ellen also appears to have lived a somewhat mobile lifestyle, as the electoral rolls record her living in places such Bombala, Sydney, Lismore and Brisbane at various times. There is no evidence that she ever married, spending most of her adult life in the company of her daughter, Ruby, who was known in my family as Molly.
Ellen appears to have spent the last few months of her life at Newington State Hospital, which NSW State Records notes in these terms…
Although the residents of Newington Asylum were predominantly elderly, Newington and the other Government Asylums also assumed the functions of hospitals for the “ordinary pauper population” and for those with incurable conditions, or who required convalescent care, at one third of the cost to the Government compared to Hospital treatment.
Ellen died on June 16, 1950 (1950/009885) and was buried in a “paupers grave” in the Presbyterian section of Liverpool Cemetery. The death record notes she suffered with Chronic Myocarditis (an inflammation or degeneration of the heart muscle) and Rhuematoid Arthritis.
Death certificate of Ellen Laing (Lang), Sydney 1950
Not just physically, but emotionally, you have to wonder if she died from a broken heart? How could you have four children with a man (your first cousin), only to see him leave, move to another state, and have another family? There are so many questions I have about this relationship to which I’ll probably never know the answers. It’s all in the realm of long-lost verbal history now I suspect. When contact was made with the “other family” a few years ago, they were genuinely shocked, with no idea “our family” existed.
For many years, fellow researcher, Kerrie, and I searched in vain for details of Ellen’s death. It was complicated by the fact she used so many different names, and spelling variations of her name throughout her life. But a few years ago I searched around and found her death certificate. Even there, you have to wonder if the exact details of her life and death weren’t deliberately given to mislead. Or maybe her children just didn’t know because she didn’t talk about it?
So for a few years now I’ve known about the grave, but always thought Liverpool was such a long way to travel to visit. As I was in the area today, though, I decided I’d make an effort. Even though I had the details of where she was buried – Presbyterian Section 16 G K – it wasn’t nearly so straightforward trying to find an unmarked grave in a cemetery where so much has happened since 1950. Unfortunately the layout of the cemetery made it difficult today without someone with specialist knowledge of the layout, and sadly, the office there only operates Monday to Friday. I chatted on the phone to the local historical society, and they were very helpful, but I think I need to do some more solid research for the next time in my efforts to locate her final resting place.
Back in 1950, Liverpool was a sleepy little place a long way from the heart of Sydney. I can imagine the cemetery was tiny then with literally only dozens of graves. In stark contrast to the sheer size of the cemetery and the impressive mausolea now found there, you might imagine Liverpool Cemetery was just the place where someone with Ellen’s life story might have found a final resting place – in a pauper’s grave, a long way out of the public eye.
“You have the best life” was the Twitter reply I received from @swedense
I’d just written a note to say thankyou for all of his/her tweets about the Swedish Royal Wedding, while explaining that I too, was enjoying some Swedish royalty of my own.
I was at an event featuring ABBA fans who had gathered to celebrate the opening of “ABBAWORLD” in Melbourne.
As I mentioned the other day, this weekend is also a bit like a “school reunion” as I recognised about two-thirds of those attending from previous fan events which, for me, go back at least 10-15 years. Others attending have known each other for about thirty years.
Roxy and Trudy
As with a school reunion there was a little nervousness at first as people looked around the room for familiar faces. “People everywhere, a sense of expectation…” After a few drinks, and as the room filled up, people began to be a little more outgoing, especially when the dance floor started in full.
But it wasn’t all plain sailing. Some people feel nervous, others aren’t good at mixing (and I include myself in that). By and large though, it was a fun night, which I enjoyed immensely. Congratulations to all those who organised it.
The tweet from @swedense also reminded me of that line from from Muriel’s Wedding when Muriel tells Rhonda that when she lived in Porpoise Spit she used to sit in her room all day and listen to ABBA songs, but since moving to Sydney her life had been as good as an ABBA song, it’s as good as “Dancing Queen”.
I’ve just spent an hour or so listening to “Angels In The City”, a new CD by Genevieve Lemon, an Australian singer-actor, having appeared in a number of Australian soap-operas, as well as films, including Jane Campion’s “The Piano”. I’m quite a fan of Genevieve’s work, having previously seen her act in a couple of plays, including her knock-out role as Shirley in the Broken Hill bar in “Priscilla – The Musical”. Also last year I saw her perform a couple of times as part of “Lemon Tart”.
What I remember most about the first time I saw “Lemon Tart” was their spectacular version of “Blue Sky Mining”, a fairly big hit for “Midnight Oil” in the 1990s. On this night, in particular, Genevieve transformed what I thought was a fairly typical Midnight Oil rock and roll protest song about corporate intransigence into a beautiful ballad. I’d never really listened to the lyrics until Genevieve brought them to life….
“The candy store paupers lie to the share holders
They’re crossing their fingers they pay the truth makers
The balance sheet is breaking up the sky
So I’m caught at the junction still waiting for medicine
The sweat of my brow keeps on feeding the engine
Hope the crumbs in my pocket can keep me for another night
And if the blue sky mining company won’t come to my rescue
If the sugar refining company won’t save me
Who’s gonna save me?”
Audio: Brief excerpt of “Blue Sky Mining”
This new CD demonstrates effectively what a great story-teller Genevieve is. Also on songs like Tom Waits’ “Tom Traubert’s Blues” and Sarah McLachlan’s “Angel”, she articulates both the strength and fragility of human nature. In many respects, Genevieve reminds me of the kind of thoughtful left-leaning singer-songwriters who are no longer so popular in Australia, like Judy Small, Margaret Roadknight and Norma Murphy. There are also shades of early Bette Midler in the way in which she takes well-known songs and makes them her own.
She also has a great sense of comedy. In her version, for example, of Lou Reid’s “Walk On The Wild Side”, she takes the line “But she never lost her head even when she was giving head”, and turns it into…
“But she never lost her head even when she was tucked in bed
she said, hey babe this is a kids show”
It’s Saturday night and I’m half watching a German film on “World Movies” which is quite good. I’ve also been chatting with Sue on the phone. I’m off to Melbourne again, briefly, this week which I’m looking forward to. Before she phoned I was half way through writing about seeing Death In Venice this week, the latest production by Opera Australia at the Sydney Opera House.
I first read “Death In Venice” over twenty years ago. It was a university text in first year, I think. I seem to remember quite enjoying it because it was reasonably short and I thought the themes were quite interesting, although of course, there’s something a bit pervy about an old bloke who falls in love with a teenage boy.
As part of our studies, we also watched the famous 1971 movie version, Morte a Venezia, starring Dirk Bogarde. Maybe it was wrong place, wrong time, but I didn’t really enjoy the movie. It goes for 130 minutes. Not much happens. The cinema was stuffy. We’d all have much rather have been outside. So the reaction of a group of 19 year olds in a stuffy university cinema when he finally died? Of course, they cheered! In some ways it reminds me of the story about the urban myth about Pia Zadora’s performance in the stage version of “The Diary of Anne Frank”, which was so bad that when the Nazis came to the house, the audience stood up and yelled: “She’s in the attic!”
This production of Benjamin Britten’s opera of “Death In Venice” at the Sydney Opera House draws heavily on the imagery of the film, with a similar palette of colours and a brooding sensibility, and the character of Tadzio bore a remarkable physical resemblance to the film’s Bjorn Andresen. The music, the performances, all were terrific.
And of course, being opening night, there were a few celebrities in the audience including Dame Joan Sutherland. I was lucky enough to be invited back to the Green Room and there she was. I asked someone if she’d enjoyed the performance to which he replied, well she missed the first half. What? “Yeh, she arrived late and they wouldn’t let her in, so she spent the first half in the Green Room”. Great story, eh?
Also this week, Damien and I went out for dinner at Alio, a nearby Italian restaurant in Surry Hills. Although it’s often been favourably reviewed, neither of us were overly impressed with the meals. They were good, but not great. Okay I guess for $18 entrees and $28 mains. Actually, the entrees were very good, it was the mains that weren’t that impressive. But the service was good and the place has a nice atmosphere.
“Why are there so many people here?”, one of my friends asked. “It’s simple”, I said, “Summer has finally arrived in Sydney”. We were desperately looking for a table at Opera Bar at the Sydney Opera House, where we had tickets to see Bernadette Robinson.
Our table of four was lucky enough to score a table early enough so we could enjoy a bottle of wine and some nibbles. You’ve got to have a seating strategy at Opera Bar on Thursday nights, I’ve concluded, especially when the weather is so completely spectacular. Blue skies. A warm night. A cruise ship. The Bridge. The Opera House. It doesn’t get much better.
Sydney Opera House
Well not until you go inside The Playhouse when Bernadette Robinson is performing her show, “Songs For Nobodies”.
Bernadette is a wonderful singer and actor, and a very talented mimic with a wonderful ability to create the voices of some of the greatest female singers of the last century: Edith Piaf, Maria Callas, Judy Garland, Billie Holliday and Patsy Cline.
But this show was more than just mimicry and show tunes. It wasn’t a paint-by-numbers musical. No, it’s a show based around the idea that all of these artists have fans, people who have met them and who have been touched by them. So you have the character talking about their life, and how and why they connect to all of these wonderful, yet often tragic performers.
In the case of Edith Piaf, there’s the character of a woman from English and French origins who is living a fairly ordinary life as a librarian in the English countryside. Each year on her birthday, she travels to Paris to visit the Edith Piaf Museum. Her reason? She says it’s because her French father met Piaf years ago during the Second World War and was helped to escape.
Another character who I loved was an Irish nanny who recounts a story of being on board a yacht owned by Aristotle Onassis, and who is attempted to be seduced by Onassis, and whose life would have improved dramatically, until she hears the voice of Maria Callas, and realises she could never compete.
My favourite character was that of a fairly ordinary journalist who secures an interview with blues legend Billie Holliday, and whose life and career changes for the better afterwards. Meanwhile, Billie Holliday battles the booze and heroin. The journalist is honest enough to recognise the exploitation she may also have committed.
All of the characters were, in my view, well formed. They had depth. They touched my soul with their sometimes distressing honesty.
Bernadette goes from character to character and barely raises a sweat. We knew because we were in the second row.
She’s an amazing actor and singer, and the standing ovation, which I reckon happens every night, was well deserved.
What a beautiful night.
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exciting! looking forward to hearing about the travels!
exciting! looking forward to hearing about the travels!