I didn’t expect to see half a dozen people arriving at the door of our house in South Lismore today. I’m home helping clean up our family home which has been devastated by the record-breaking flood which saw water reach up to two metres inside the two-story house. We’re not alone, there are maybe 2,000 houses in Lismore which have seen similar devastation. Likely more.
Today’s volunteers included a couple from Byon Bay, a bloke from the Gold Coast, three young people who I learned were also from the Gold Coast, and members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. There were no airs and graces. No sense of “pity”. They were all wonderful people who happily did anything we needed help with. We were also joined by a bunch of Michelle’s colleagues, all nurses or working in the nursing area at Lismore Base Hospital.
Gold Coast and Byron Volunteers
They did everything from ripping up carpet, lino and floor tiles, to washing dishes and photographs. They were all happy to do some of the more physical work such as pulling down once-fashionable wall panelling. There were also people who came to our door with food, wraps, coffee, chocolate. The community response has been amazing.
Friends of my seventeen-year-old nephew visited yesterday to help, and in mud left behind a wonderful wish for everyone.
Pat and Jack have lived in the house since 1969, and ripping up the carpet and lino provided me with a flashback to times past. There were four layers of lino/tiles in the kitchen, including some layers that might attract good prices in hipster furniture stores. There was also carpet and underlay that simply fell apart.
Lots of my own childhood memories are in this house, including this toy car.. In the background, the large piles of rubbish.
We’re not alone in this. There are probably thousands of homes in Lismore going through the same thing as us. And in other towns too.
View from an open (smashed by floodwaters) window in South Lismore.
In the (probably) fifteen years I’ve been going to Art After Dark at the Art Gallery of NSW, I’ve never seen a crowd like this before. My colleague Jo (who is a big fan of Tim Minchin) and I agreed we needed to leave work a little early today to make sure we could grab a seat. And just as well we did, because it was standing room only for tonight’s conversation between the wonderful composer and performer, Tim, and the amazing artist, Ben Quilty.
Clearly they were fan-boys of each other, as they discussed art, creativity, funding for the arts, and Australian identity. The crowd lapped it up.
Tim MinchinMinchin and QuiltyMinchin and QuiltyCrowd for Quilty and Minchin
These are some photographs from tonight, as well as a short video piece featuring a very amusing and topical piece, with words by Ben, and performance and music by Tim.
As we touched down at about a quarter past ten local time in Brisbane, there was already a bit of an excitement in the air for passengers on our aircraft.
I probably wasn’t the only one who was booked on a Qantas flight, but who needed to find an alternative, as Qantas management chose this weekend to shut down all of their operations.
The plan, without precedent according to the trade union movement, was designed by Qantas management to force the unions to stop their industrial action. Still, as I watched television throughout the day, it seemed as though a lot of people thought it was the union taking industrial action, not a move by Qantas management.
Anyway, moving on, I was feeling pretty happy to have secured a flight to Brisbane, thanks to quick action when I heard the news of the shutdown on Saturday. Nonetheless, it was a late flight, and by about 9.45 Sydney time when I boarded the Jetstar flight, I was already beginning to feel tired.
When we arrived at Brisbane, however, we were told we were unable to leave the aircraft due to a rather heavy thunderstorm which was passing over Brisbane Airport, and which prevented any of the ground staff from coming across the tarmac.
In all, we had to stay on the aircraft about ninety minutes. Most people were pretty good humoured about it all, thanks largely to the way the bloke in charge of cabin crew handled things. He was firm, fair and honest in all of his dealings, and I thanked him on the way out. He also showed good humour when he announced we would receive a complimentary drink or meal… but not alcohol… sorry…
A lot of people passed the time by reading and using Facebook, while I chatted briefly to the Swedish woman sitting in the window seat. “Ar ni Svensk?”, I asked her pointing to the admittedly crap-looking Swedish pulp fiction on her lap.
Things got a little worse when we got off the aircraft only to discover there were no cabs at Brisbane airport. Yes seriously. A few phone calls, and about thirty minutes later a few cabs started to turn up. At first, we saw maxi-taxis who were just taking one passenger at a time. Finally, someone had the common sense to begin a cab-sharing system.
I finally made it to bed at about 1.15am. I slept like a log.
It’s funny, isn’t it, what images you remember from your childhood? Ask me what I did yesterday and I have to check my diary to remember. Ask me to describe my bedroom as a 10 year old and I can do that in detail.
Even now, I can still vividly remember the “Cetificate of Appreciation from the Municipality of Bombala” that used to hang in a picture frame in my childhood home. Along with the certificate there were also medal ribbons, though I don’t recall ever having seen the medals attached to them. The certificate and ribbons, along with a photograph in one of the bedrooms were the only physical manifestations of my grandfather I knew, as he died many years before I was born.
And so I thought on Anzac Day, 2008, I’d tell you a little about my grandfather, and his involvement in World War I, based on some of the research I’ve done over the last few years…
Charles Henry Dunn was born in 1890 at Rosemeath, a small village near Bombala, NSW (south of Canberra). Aged 24 years and 8 months, he enlisted in the Australian Imperial Force (AIF) on October 19, 1916 at Goulburn, NSW.
The enlistment papers record he was just 5 feet 3.5 inches tall, weighed 122lbs and had a chest measurement of 31-34 inches. They also record he had a dark complexion, grey eyes, brown fair and a scar on the right side of his jaw.
After enlistment at Goulburn, he was transferred to the 55th Battalion and then to the 12/30th Battalion at Liverpool, Sydney. He left Sydney on November 25, 1916 on the the “Beltana”, a troop vessell which took him to Plymouth England.
After arrival in England, he was with the 8th Battalion, and was given some basic training. After a short period of time in hospital, on May 3, 1917 he left Folkstone, Kent for service in France. As a member of the Fifth Division he was marched out for service in Etaples on the coast of France a few days later.
On October 12, 1917, he was shot in the left leg and spent much of the next few months in the field hospital in Buchez, France. He then returned to his battalion and on December 12, 1917 was transferred to the 15th Australian Field Artillery.
His record for 1918 contains little detail, except that between January 29, 1919 and February 28, 1919, Charles was seriously ill in hospital with influenza.
He left Le Havre, France on May 12, 1919 and arrived at Weymouth, England the following day.
He disembarked on May 7, 1919 and on the voyage back to Australia, became sick with Celulitis, a diffuse suppurative bacterial inflammation of the subcutaneous tissue.
He arrived back in Australia at the Port of Melbourne on August 20, 1919. The Bombala Times of Friday September 5, 1919 reported simply…
Pte Charles Dunn, son of Mr John Dunn, returned home this week after doing duty with the A.I.F. on the battlefields of Europe.
Two weeks later, major celebrations were held in Bombala recognising the efforts of local servicemen. On Friday, September 26, 1919, The Bombala Times reported…
Both Halls were utilised for dancing and suppers, and they were both taxed to the utomost to provide dancing room and supper accommodation for the great crowd. To give an idea of the number of people assembled, it is estimated that 700 people were fed at the two Halls, and still there was food over. Nothing bigger than this has ever been known in Bombala.
Charles Dunn’s war record shows he was eligible for three medals, the Star Medal and the British War Medal (No. 65786) and the Victory Medal (63400).
The re-integration of World War I veterans back into society can’t have been easy. According to “A Brief History of RSL in Bombala”
When local diggers…arrived home they soon found that they had come home to no bed of roses, the economic situation wasn’t good, and the returning heroes found what jobs were available were already filled, and the Government re-establishment promises were mostly promises, so the bulk of them were unemployed. A fund called the Provisional Trustees Returned Soldiers Fund had been formed to help returned soldiers get re-established. The fund wasn’t enough, so it was soon decided that each riding of the Shire and the Bombala Municipality would provide work and each man would have to work for what he got out of the fund. However The 50-pound grant given to soldiers who had resided in Australia for 14-years prior to the outbreak of the War ceased on October 31, 1921 In 1921.
At the age of twenty eight, and working as a labourer in Bombala, Charles married Bertha Ellen Rixon, an eighteen year old woman born at Pambula, currently in domestic duties at Bombala. Their marriage on January 19, 1921 (1921/002992) at St Matthias’ Church of England, Bombala took place with the permission of her young mother, Ellen Rixon. They were married by D.D. Curthous in the presence of Ellen Rixon and J.P. Dunn. Their first child, Bertha Ann Dunn (my mum), arrived in February the following year.
After their marriage, Charles obtained work as a linesman for the Post-Master General, the precursor to Telstra. His work took him to a number of locations around NSW, finally settling in Lismore in the mid 1930s.
Charles Dunn died at Lismore Base Hospital on Saturday, July 24, 1943 due to heart and lung disease. A simple obituary appeared in “The Northern Star” a few days later…
MR C.H. DUNN – Mr Charles Henry Dunn, a returned soldier, of 13 Union street, South Lismore who died in Lismore on Saturday night, was buried yesterday afternoon in the Roman Catholic portion of the Lismore cemetery. The remains were conveyed to our Lady Help of Christians Roman Catholic Church at South Lismore, where a service was conducted by the Rev. Father Daniel McGrath, who also officiated at the graveside. The casket was draped with the Union Jack and at the conclusion of the graveside service Mr. Elwyn Roberts sounded the “Last Post”. The pall bearers were Lieut H.C. Nott (Secretary), and Messrs R. Stoker (Returned Soldiers’ League), W. Rutley, J. O’Brien, L. Winkler and E. Eggins. The wreaths were carried by Messrs T. G. Lovett (RSS and AILA) and TD Cleary. Messrs Will Riley and Son conducted the funeral arerangements.
From what I can see there was nothing extraordinary about my grandfather’s war record. I don’t even know why he enlisted. But in doing some research, and in sharing this story, I hope it goes some way to helping me getting to know him a little better.
Twelve months ago, today, I was attending Stockholm Pride in Sweden. A bit like Mardi Gras in Sydney, they have a big parade throughout the city leading towards Pride Park.
Interestingly and co-incidentally enough, there was a Same Sex Marriage Rally in Sydney today, so I headed along to Town Hall at around lunchtime. I listened to a few of the speeches which were interesting enough. The only reference that made me cringe a little was when one of the speakers referred to a “Commitment Ceremony at Byron Bay” which seemed a little too North Coast PC for my liking. “Oh my goodness”, I thought to myself, “I’ll bet they were naked on the beach too”.
Anyway… just as I was about to leave and head home, I ran into a friend, Greig, who I last saw last weekend at a party he hosted. As we chatted, we observed very few of our friends were probably that motivated to come along. For some it’s an issue that doesn’t bother them all that much. For others, it’s something they’re actively opposed to for a variety of reasons. If push came to shove, and I was lucky enough to find myself in a relationship, I probably wouldn’t be all that interested in participating in a marriage ceremony, but you never know.
Marching down George Street, Sydney in the Same Sex Marriage Rally
So just when I thought I might head off home, I thought I might as well stick around and Greig and I could keep each other company. So, we decided join the walk to the protest rally outside ALP National Conference. It was a good fun thing to be part of an estimated crowd of say 2-3,000 people, as we walked down George Street towards Darling Harbour.
Rev Karl Hand from MCC and lots of cameras.Same Sex Marriage Rally in Sydney 2009Marriage Equality Rally – Source Unknown
As a number of people noted, there was a time not so long ago when there was a ban on inter-racial marriages. I suspect it’s just a matter of time until the laws are changed in regards to same-sex marriages, also.
A few weeks ago, when it was first suggested Sweden was favourite to win this year’s Eurovision Song Contest I wrote my boss an email saying, “If Sweden wins I’ll be wanting to take some extended leave next year”. By the time I wrote the email, I already had a pretty clear travel plan in the back of my mind to travel to Sweden for Melodifestivalen, spend some time there, pop over to New York for a while, spend some time in Paris, go to the International ABBA Day in The Netherlands, and then return to Sweden for the Eurovision Song Contest. The first thing I did, after bidding my friends farewell tonight, after watching Eurovision, was write another email to my boss, saying, “I am now confirming I wish to take some leave next year”.
How good is it that Sweden has won this year’s Eurovision Song Contest? Although lots of the other songs were good this year, “Euphoria” by Loreen was very, very good. It’s a song I’ve been listening to for the last two months and have yet to get sick of. It’s a song that remains stuck in my head, even if I don’t really know all the words. “Euophoria… daddah dadaah dah dah dah” is about the best I can manage when trying to recall the lyric. Loreen’s performance tonight may not have been as good as it was in Melodifestivalen, the Swedish finals for Eurovision, but it was still very bloody good.
As good as it was, there were lots of other songs which I enjoyed very much. Lithuania was a surprise favourite of mine, and not just because the singer was bloody cute. I never did visit Lithuania when I travelled to Europe in 2008, and now I’m beginning to wonder why. I’m thinking the same about Ukraine. Was that a gay anthem or what? Jedward from Ireland? I would like them to appear every year, they’re such fun.
Blue and Yellow flowers next to the television, of course
Thanks to Mr Internet, my friends and I watched this year’s Eurovision Song Contest a couple of hours before most Australians. Put simply, we’re all getting far too old to have to stay up late on a Sunday night to watch the show. And so this year, for the first time, we turned to Mr Internet, and in particular, Mr Spanish Internet who allowed us to watch the show a little bit earlier, allow me time to do some late night clothes washing, and allow my friends to travel home by public transport at a decent hour. It was quite civilised, actually.
It was interesting to watch the show with Spanish commentary. Even though the bloke was translating a lot of what was said, it never seemed to interfere with what was being said. I guess it’s because you put the sound you don’t understand out of your terms of reference. Tonight my friends and I discussed whether or not the time had arrived, thanks to the internet, for SBS to show it live in the morning and then replay it later at night. It’s getting too hard to enforce a media blackout in the days of social media, we all agreed.
Unlike many Australians who watch Eurovision with an “English sensibility” – thinking it’s cheap, trashy, crap and camp – we all really like the show as a musical contest. Unlike a lot of people, we don’t look “down” on pop music that isn’t from England or America. We all LOVED the fact that so many artists this year sang in their own languages instead of English, the so-called “international language” of pop music. We love how the diversity of European culture is celebrated in this way.
And of course, I love that next year’s contest will be held in Sweden, cos I will SO BE THERE.
PS…
This is my favourite performance by Loreen from this year’s Gay Gala in Sweden. It’s the song she entered in the Swedish finals for Eurovision last year. I love it because it’s such an energetic performance and I love how the audience enjoys it.
I’m currently in Norrköping, about 75 minutes south-west of Stockholm (via the fast train). It was never one of those towns I really wanted to see like Kiruna or Narvik (on my last trip). I came here on a bit of a whim: to see Helen Sjöholm live in concert.
Helen is a Swedish singer who has worked extensively with Bjorn and Benny in their musicals, with Benny in his BAO, and as a performer on stage and screen. In fact, she is probably best “unknown” from her role in the film, “Sa som I himlen” (“as it is in heaven”) which screened for two or three years at a cinema in Sydney. She’s the woman who lives with domestic violence.
So, a bit of a whim, but why not?
After a good night’s sleep I woke early this morning. Although I was tempted to go out last night to check out the nightlife of Stockholm, the lure of central heating kept me rugged up in my hotel room. I watched some television, including a Swedish dancing program called, “Let’s Dance” which was reasonably easy to follow.
And there was a Norwegian chat show which featured, amongst others, Al Gore as a special guest. As a language exercise it was quite interesting, since the program was conducted in English, Swedish and Norwegian, often simultaneously. The bits in Norwegian and English were both subtitled in Swedish which was good practice for me. I find that I can read better than I can listen, so if only the people of Stockholm could walk around with Swedish subtitles, and I’d be very happy.
I actually skim-read a newspaper this morning, concentrating on the bits that interested me most, such as tonight’s Melodifestivalen.
I also noticed a new subset of guests had arrived at the hotel, members of the Centre Party (which I think is a bit like The Democrats were, though I could be wrong).
With a wonderful late check out at The Clarion – midday – I wandered in to town to purchase my train ticket to Norrköping. I also spent some time walking around Djurgarden which looks absolutely stunning with all the snow. And in such contrast to the last time I was here when there were boats sailing up and down the water and the grass was lush enough to have a good afternoon sleep on. You couldn’t do that now.
And yet, in the midst of the sub-zero temperatures I’m starting to feel quite okay. It must be the sun which is genuinely warm on your face. Don’t be surprised if I come home with a tan. For the last two days I’ve been feeling a little “rugged up” with my many layers of clothing. But today, as I walked about wearing a shirt, a scarf, a jumper and my puffer jacket, I suddenly didn’t feel so fat anymore. Well, not fat looking anyway.
The river on the right, the path and the gardens of Djurgarden
Everywhere you go people are wearing much the same clothing. People seem to express their individuality in both their scarves and their headgear. I wasn’t going to say anything before this, in case I was being culturally insensitive about traditional Sami (indigenous people of Sweden) headgear, but these Swedes wear some crazy things on their heads during winter.
I’ve seen a lot of hand-knitted by mormor (grandma) beanies and far too many “Daniel Boone” hats. And, although I understand the cultural background associated with full-length fur coats, I note that it’s “crazy looking older women” who wear them, not the stylish young things of today.
This afternoon I caught the train to Norrköping. Along the way we passed through endless fields of snow which, to be honest, looks a little bit the same after a while. I wonder if this is how Swedes feel when they catch trains in Australia passing through endless hours of gum trees? Australians of course, can see the difference between different types of bushlands, and I’m sure the Swedes can see more variety in the snow than I can.
The arrival in Norrköping was a bit of a surprise. It shouldn’t have been, but it was. But after the last few days in Stockholm, I was quickly reminded I had arrived in a country town. In home terms, I’m guessing it’s a Newcastle or a Hobart. It’s not a village, but it’s also not a huge city either. It’s large enough to have an arts scene and a university, but it’s still small enough for a weekend afternoon to include “doing a blockie”. And thus on a Saturday afternoon, the streets were reasonably empty, although there was a lot of activity around the service station and the railway station.
Having eventually found a tourist map, I found my hotel. It’s not as glamorous as The Clarion, but it’s quite nice, nonetheless. Although it’s a hotel – Hotel Drott – it has the feeling of a bed and breakfast. The room is large enough for one, although the television is large enough for five. It’s huge.
A late afternoon beer followed at The Bishops Arms which was near perfect aside from awful music they played on the public address system.
It was bland reggae influenced cover versions of songs by, amongst others, The Beatles and Bob Dylan. Can you imagine? By the way, later tonight I went into another pub, and they were playing awful reggae as well. And that was at another English-style pub. It must be this towns thing.
One of the things which struck me immediately on arrival was the cultural diversity of the place. There were, seemingly, lots of faces from the Middle East and Southern Europe. I think I read somewhere that Norrköping has been home to many, many migrants. And you can see it reasonably instantly when you arrive in town. You can also see it in the churches in town, as there’s both a synagogue and a Methodist church not far from where I’m staying.
After my beer, I came home briefly and then headed quickly to the concert hall where the show was being held.
By the time I arrived – twenty minutes before the show – the place was already packed with gays and greys. It was like going out for a night of theatre in Sydney (or Wagga, for that matter).
Although I’d booked the ticket a few months ago, I hadn’t looked closer at the detail, aside from the show featuring Helen Sjoholm, the Norrköpings Symfoniorkester and Fredrik Lycke. I was both pleased and disappointed that it was a tribute to Stephen Sondheim. I love Sondheim, but I also hoped Helen might do a few of her other hits. But that wasn’t to be, although there was a joke earlier in the show when Helen began to sing her bit hit song from Kristina, and then stopped saying “not tonight”.
It was a terrific show, featuring some of my favourite Sondheim numbers including, “Losing My Mind” (sung by Fredrik) and “Another Hundred People” (sung by Helen). I would have LOVED Helen to have sung, “Ladies Who Lunch” but that wasn’t to be. It was fascinating to hear some of the songs sung in Swedish and some of them sung in English. Helen, of course, sang beautifully, though if push came to shove, I’d admit a preference for when she sings in Swedish. She sounds so much more dramatic in Swedish, which I guess is partly because she softens her consonant sounds when she sings in English.
I also learned a few interesting cultural things tonight about concert going in a Swedish country town tonight, such as the intermission snack, with many people having pre-ordered a table and meal, and the cloak room. Let me tell you, the queue to get out of a concert where EVERYONE has handed in something into the cloak-room rivals Sydney airport check-in on a really bad day.
Helen Sjoholm on stage in Norrkoping
After the show I wandered out behind the concert hall and noticed a few of Helen’s fans standing by the concert door. I’d noticed them earlier in the night as a group of four women sitting in the front row. At the end of the show they all brought out large cameras and snapped a few photographs which, interestingly, Helen acknowledged on stage with a smile and a pose.
Seeing the women lining up, I thought to myself, “why not wait around and check her out in person also”. She came out reasonably quickly, smiled, chatted and signed some photographs. As I didn’t have anything on me, I asked simply, “Helen, may I please take a photograph” which she happily said yes to. The rest of the crowd moved slightly aside, Helen struck a pose, and I got my photograph. I said, “thankyou” and moved on.