Intrigued By What Inspires - a review of the 10 x Ten Play Fest

Last Saturday night I was at a performance of the Wagga Wagga School of Arts (SoACT)’s 2023 Ten X 10 Play Fest.  It is an annual event where SoACT invites playwrights from across the country to submit previously unproduced 10 minute dramas to a committee and selects 10 of them to stage.  It is made possible by a series of local sponsors, most prominently Riverina Water. I've been to the Play Fest twice before (disclaimer - my daughter was in one of the dramas the first time I went). This year's theme, Intrigue and Inspiration, was reflected in some of the selected works but was essentially a hook on which to hang their marketing.

Promotional poster

The bill opened with Therese Edmond’s clever, compelling The Return of Sherlock Homes, a two hander premised on Conan Doyle trying to get the detective monkey off his back and write about spiritualism only to be faced with the bitter pill (appropriately enough for a trained physician) that Sherlock would be his legacy no matter what ‘silly’ or ‘very silly’ subjects he tried to tackle later in is writing career. Ian Wright and Felix Hadler acquitted themselves very well and co-directors Urzy Hadler and Cat May used the Playhouse’s stage and limited props (most impressively a flamboyant feather quill) very effectively.

Amanda Ley’s Hitman Wanted followed setting a mood of dark comedy that permeated several of the night’s offerings. Ley pushes the joke of regretting a drunken post into sinister territory when one of her characters realises she has summoned an eastern European hitman to ‘take out’ her ex fiancée. Craig Dixon did a nice comic turn as the multi-talented assassin Sergei and the line about Air Tasker providing him with better leads than Gumtree was one of the best quips of the evening.

Diggin (sic) Up The Past  introduced us to a rather posh, glam blonde motel proprietor who narrated and commented on the action - a tale of two scoundrels hoping to find proceeds of crime where they had secreted them some years before. Julian Smith’s and Adrian Hallam’s more naturalistic delivery and comic timing deserve commendation but overall the play was too episodic in structure and for me at least the denouement was telegraphed from the outset.

Robyn Horwell’s Daze and Vi was an exercise in gently humorous dialogue delivered by the eponymous elderly women. They scoured the newspaper obituaries and riffed on acquaintances they’d sent off and how they’d like their own exits to be conducted revealing their contrasting characters and attitudes to mortality as they did so.  The play’s ending – when the discussion became less theoretical – was a touch heavy handed.

The next play, The Authoress, was the disappointment of the night for me. The program notes state that playwright Seth Freeman has an impressive career as a writer and is active in ‘the empowerment of women and human rights’. Why then he would pen this confused and trivialising drama about gender roles and giving voice to the marginalised is anyone’s guess. The charismatic Imogen Rubi was underutilized and obliged to deliver absurdly inconsistent lines and casting Eddie Pratt as a cross dressing wannabe expert on lesbian relationships with no reference to his beard obliterated even the slimmest chance that an audience member could suspend disbelief.

At interval one of the SoACT members whispered to me that the best was yet to come and Suzy Wilds’ A Perfect Fit kicked off the second half of the program (and some stylish footwear) quite strongly. It was well-structured with strongly drawn characters and tackled themes of poverty and domestic violence with assurance even if Bob Hitchens’ homeless character was perhaps a little too well-groomed and insightful to ring completely true.

A Criminal Mind was intent on packing its ten minutes‘ duration with a maximum number of plot twists and titillating ideas. Paula Armstrong’s script  gave us accountancy jokes, marital  intervention,  potential  S&M antics and gallows humour all enacted by Balin Willis and Tamara Dixon with commendable energy while the hostage characters had little to do but look frightened and impatient. Less would have been more with this plot and more balanced contribution across the cast would have worked better too.  

Jeffrey Barnes’ Free Kill bamboozled me. Was it a satire on commuting, an homage to Sharon and Kim, or a warning not to dabble in or underestimate the dark arts?  Maybe all of the above. Cleverly staged but with a distractingly overwrought characterization from Bec Huxtable, this play’s ideas could have been streamlined and refined further. There was so much comic potential in creating the characters of annoying train passengers that wasn’t really exploited.

The next offering Second Guessing was an attempt to depict the predicament and dynamics of the disciples in the immediate aftermath of Christ’s crucifixion and apparent rising in a modern context. It had plenty of tension and some of the most unfussy, convincing acting of the night. Adrian Hallam is to be congratulated for the tempo and mood he and his cast created. However, apart from the feat of transposition it was unclear what playwright Glen Hunting was trying to say.

Above left: Therese Edmonds and right: Suzy Wilds

Finally another two hander, The Octopus Pot, Louise Hopewell’s expose of the true nature a seemingly likeable bloke via the device of his widow composing his eulogy. A clever idea and it worked to some extent.  Shaun Perry struck the right balance with his characterisation, coercion, menace and eventually violence erupting plausibly. Jo-Anne Strader had the unenviable task of convincing the audience that she had been controlled and abused until a few days prior but was now bursting with chutzpah and verve at the chance to dish the dirt on Harry. Not 100% convincing and at risk of trivializing real life domestic violence scenarios. 

And then we were done (to paraphrase the title of SoACT’s next production)*…

As Fay Walters and Margaret Bannister say in their program notes, the 10 by Ten Play Fest has been ‘bringing writers, directors and actors (I would add audiences) into a vibrant annual theatre event’   for fourteen years now and the recency of the works selected and performed means there is a ‘freshness to the topics and the way they are handled’.  Wagga Wagga should be proud that our community provides this yearly opportunity for emerging dramatists to practice and hone their craft.

The Riverina Playhouse, venue for 10 by Ten

* Agatha Christie’s And Then there Were None opens on 6 August

ACROSTICS

Today at Claire Baker's fortnightly Word Play workshop we tried our hands at acrostics. Here are mine.

Etiquette of the Water

 

A poem about my recent boating excursion with a friend...

Rebecca bought a shiny boat

and invited Jan aboard

attracted to a jaunt afloat

Jan still felt untoward

Rebecca’s skills were surely great

her vessel water tight

but at going anywhere by eight

Jan’s inner sloth took fright

they compromised on half past nine

for their lakeside rendezvous

the temperature was just sublime

the water looked nice too

to get the boat set up to launch

with all its parts secured

they employed ev’ry kind of wrench

in Bec’s substantial hoard

Lastly a fiddly hood-like thing

the bimini they erected

to ensure that from the sun and wind

they would be protected

As the vessel edged towards the wet

it occurred to Jan

that neither had joined the boat club yet

but to use their ramp they planned

Rebecca said she’d made a call

but the club sounded elitist

joining their ranks she thought she’d stall

and maybe completely resist -

If questioned they agreed to assume

an air of nonchalance

say they intended to join soon

but wished to try it once

The craft began its slow descent

into the muddy swell

when a lean young tousle-haired gent

was maneuvering his as well

he gently nudged their boat aside

with a slight cocking of his head

Bec turned to Jan and softly said

‘that’s water etiquette’

before they commenced across the lake

they hovered on the jetty

pondering what  steps to take

to board and keep things steady

With one sure hand Bec held the boat

with the other she helped Jan

their sandalled feet were duly soaked

as they hatched their launching plan

This boat, as small boats are wont,

had one bench seat for two

of course the pilot faced the front

but the passenger, (who knew?)

must face away, to aft

Back to back they’d lean

so while the pilot steered the craft 

Jan could see where they’d been!

The lake now clear of floating traffic

Bec turned the ignition key

but the craft  remained quite static

what had caused this little hitch?

and how could it be mended?

Bec had just to flick a switch

the propeller then descended

They were off and cut a frothy path

speeding on their ride

their feet received another bath

as did much else inside

Bouncing in no direction particular

the bimini poles a-shakin’

in her quest to stay perpendicular

a tight hold of them Jan was takin’  

she surprised herself by realising that

she'd  had the presence of mind

to secure her mobile phone and hat

firmly beneath her behind

Communication between the friends was tough

with their reverse bookend posture

at first the trip was loud and rough

life jackets’ a further imposture

'How fast do you think we’re going?'  asked Bec

her words almost lost in the breeze

Jan in fact had no way to check

nor could she guess it with ease

next she thought she heard Bec say

‘I think 4 is the limit’

‘Knots?’ she pondered, anyway 

 she was sure they’d reached it

Bec indicated boats some metres away

implying they should be steering clear

not capsize them or drench them in spray

more water etiquette it would appear

Then Bec brought the boat around

smoothly, with lesser velocity

for their next two laps Jan found

her pole grasp could cease its ferocity

philosophical now re. her sodden feet

and enjoying the ride with her chum

well-adjusted too to her backward seat

and her phone’s imprint on her bum

At about this point Bec needed a break

and turned the boat t’ward the shore

their pace by now, steady and sedate

Jan would not have said ’no’ to some more

If getting into the vessel

had proved quite a challenge

getting out was more of a hassle 

that Jan doubted she’d easily manage

Twixt the side of the boat and the jetty’s edge

like a human concertina

she shuffled and got temporarily wedged

and hoped no other boat owners had seen her

Rebecca helped her to the shore

this time getting a soaking

but in seconds they were once more

on terra firma and joking

Later over coffee, Rebecca still fairly soggy

said: ‘I am taking the boat out Sunday noon

to acclimatise Cliffy and Maggie, my doggies

to the experience soon…

Her remark occasioned Jan’s speculation

would the pups behave as they oughta?

what would be their seating orientation?

would they respect the etiquette of the water?

Looking back on the track...

Twice before I have blogged about the year that was - events past & lessons learnt. My most recent post The Ballad of Beryl was the culmination of shared conversations and emails and a tribute to an extraordinary woman. Since then, I have been considering what to write. Nothing specific came to me with the same sense of urgency or purpose. Of the various ideas and themes I had jotted down throughout the year I had only been inspired to develop a few. Then, earlier this week I trawled though a year’s worth of diary entries and photographs taken during 2022 to see what stood out.

I found much worth recalling …

January

Day trip to Adelong with my sister in searing heat. Looked at the falls and gold works.  Photographed them and a mural in town depicting youths clambering across Kurrajong Hill personified as the head and face of a (presumably) Aboriginal man, and up the edge of a conveniently placed air conditioner vent.  The imposing Royal Hotel with its Victorian leadlight and cedar staircase, cream and terracotta woodwork and wrap around balcony wasn’t serving lunch. With few other choices we opted for the Adelong Services and Citizens Club. The club’s exterior is a marriage of Edwardian bank and early 20^thC cinema architecture but the 1970s wood paneling and formica of its interior welcome you in to try its ‘Chinese & Australian Meals’. We had fish and chips and a Thai beef & prawn salad.  Just outside the club stands a lone digger statue and roll call of the fallen. A war memorial is, as Peter Sculthorpe so poignantly evoked in his autobiographical composition, at the heart of almost all small country towns.

The Adelong mural subtly incorporating elements of the built environment

In 2021 our writers’ group was approached by a media company as a source of articles about items of local interest. I produced a piece about Janine Middlemost and the charming quirky clothes she designs, makes and sells in her eponymous shop. The company rejected it as being an ‘advertorial’ so I expanded it and posted it to this blog as Material Comforts on 3 January 2022

My daughter and I went to see a local production of Mama Mia and were hugely impressed with its quality. One of the nurses from the blood bank we’re friendly with was in the chorus, eschewing her usual dancing roles pending a hip replacement.

Our dog Stella had 2.5 kg tumour successfully removed from her abdomen.

February

Animatronic dinosaurs came to the Wagga Showground. I was more than compensated for an un- scintillating hour of my time by parlaying the experience into a poem that went over very well at the open mic.

March

Visited Canberra to see the Jeffrey Smart exhibition and stayed with husband’s friend-since-high-school and his partner. Their new poodle pups Yin & Yang and our ageing greyhound X got along famously. They gifted her their latex squeaking pig on our departure. Wagga celebrated its second Mardi Gras unhampered by the district’s grasshopper plague (perhaps grasshoppers don’t like platform shoes and lycra).  My husband and Stella rode on the SES float and our daughter performed hula hoop routines in the parade. I felt very proud. Junee Museum held an open day with blacksmithing demonstrations and country music covers. The museum is located in the Broadway Hotel (built 1914) whose interior boasts art nouveau pressed metal ceilings and walls of gleaming green tiles interspersed with floral and garlanded decorative ones. We bumped into retired school teacher Brian Beazley whose wood working skills, ukulele playing and bush ballad renditions are renowned throughout the Riverina.

Decorative elements of The Broadway Hotel, Junee

April

Already a veteran of standup comedy with her own hula hooping coaching and performing business, our daughter, Hooly Dooly made one of her occasional forays into legit theatre portraying a fairy in Midnight Dream, local impresario Stephen Roots' country and western flavored adaptation of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Another theatre highlight was Geoffrey Atherden’s Black Cockatoo at the Civic, a compelling account of how a group of activists restores the story of First Nations cricketer Johnny Mullagh to the national consciousness.

Our son visited Wagga and I drove back to Sydney with him. During my visit we took the ferry to Wendy Whiteley’s Secret Garden which lived up to its reputation and enjoyed a late Lavender Bay lunch.  My knowledge of and capacity to tolerate Sydney roads has dwindled and I got lost several times driving out to meet friends for dinner at Sydney Rowing Club. It was a public holiday and the place was quiet but the staff still didn’t seem inclined to wipe down the bar. Consulting the wine list it seemed that any choice we made would be a ’sticky’!

Determined to keep up my aquatic regimen I went for a swim at the Victoria Park pool. Its cold water and dilapidated change rooms made me grateful for Wagga’s Oasis; however I acknowledge that Sydney Council has considerably more recreation facilities to maintain than Wagga does. I guess THE place for regional visitors to take a dip is the North Sydney Pool (just ask Bridget McKenzie).

The Secret Garden

May

The month began with news of the unexpected death of my wonderful former colleague and, in recent years, Facebook friend, Chris Bonney. His funeral was in Adelaide on the 6^th and thanks to the widespread practice of streaming such events I was able to see and hear his send off.  If ever a man was loved and celebrated…

Mona, not the gallery, the ‘community-focused magazine for women who live in regional, rural and remote communities in Australia’ launched its second edition in nearby Narrandera. I had submitted pieces which weren’t used in the print edition but which have since appeared on their blog. It was a catered, feel-good event that served as good promotion for Books On East and East Street Café. On our return to Wagga, the sat nav decided to take the back way and we drove for over an hour and a half on unlit country roads but happily free of encounters with kangaroos.

On 15 May Scott Morrison and his cronies were roundly defeated by the ALP and my faith in Australian democracy was restored.

June

Visited a client in Coleambally (est. 1968 pop. 1,331). We met at the only café in town with no chance of privacy or anonymity. Notable facts about Coleambally: all the streets are named for birds, the water tower is called ‘The Wine Glass’   and is surrounded by a mosaic depicting the town’s short history, giving due prominence to the Ruston Bucyrus Erie excavator.

Self referential art at the base of the 'Wine Glass', Coleambally.  Can you spot the Ruston Bucyrus Erie excavator?

Also for work, I got a tour of the Defence Shed and Pro Patria Centre.  The latter is a former convent with an impressive chapel featuring amazing stained glass including a window depicting Indigenous themes. The facility is being adapted to provide a centre for reflection and treatment for local veterans. I was going to write a post about the centre but got stalled so instead wrote a letter to the Daily Advertiser in support of the project.

Claire Baker, a colleague from Booranga Writers whose poems I much admire was a featured reader at the June meeting of the Perth poetry group. As their meetings are streamed I was able to join in. Claire shared the bill with WA poet Gabrielle Everall whose singsong delivery of her graphic and gender disrupting works featuring Severin, a character from Leopold von Sacher-Masoch's novella Venus in Furs, I am still processing. Claire’s work was polished and poignant.

July

There are possums nesting in the roof cavity above our en suite. They poke out their little pink paws through a hole in the ceiling some times.  Visited Aurora, a laser light show in the Albury Botanic Gardens. Photographed buildings and streetscapes prior. The round trip was tiring – I don’t know how my boss does it twice a week. Also botanical and lepidopterological, was the exhibition Transformations - Art of the Scott Sisters at the Museum of the Riverina in the old council chambers. I hadn’t heard of these 19^thC artists before and loved their work.

Attended performance of Bell Shakespeare’s Comedy of Errors so disappointing I devoted an entire blog post to it (13 July 2022).  I participated (by video – I was not well and couldn’t attend in person) a reading of works inspired by Helen Grace’s short films. Mine related to The Immortals.  I have dabbled in ekphrasis exercises in conjunction with the gallery a few times now. I love that I can combine my appreciation of visual art forms with the act of writing

August

Sydney’s Griffin Theatre ran playwright workshops for aspiring local writers under 30 in conjunction with the Civic Theatre. Participants, who included our daughter, did a read through of the finished product. So much talent! It seems the collaboration will continue in some shape or form this year. The Wagga Monumental Cemetery has always been a favourite dog walking destination. On a quest to find the unmarked resting place of my husband’s great great grandfather  (see post 2 October 2022) I was delighted to locate remnant stone work from the Turvey vault, a once impressive edifice in a suburb of Wagga Wagga moved to the cemetery when a road was widened. The panel, sans the dog sculptures which used to guard it, looks remarkably modern for something carved in 1885.

All that remains of the once opulent Turvey family vault

As the suburb becomes more built up it is less usual to see wildlife in the grounds around our house. Kangaroos and blue tongues were frequent visitors when we first moved here. In August a beautiful barn owl alighted on our front balcony and stayed there for hours in broad daylight. A real treat.  August was also when we slavishly practiced the ABC classic choir carol Yerbil With Clarence and videoed ourselves to meet the deadline of month’s end.  Unfortunately we were pressed for time and sent in raw footage containing more than one expletive (uttered when we stuffed up). The radio station, which released the composite video in December, chose not use us in the finished product. I think we need to learn our limitations. Nothing can compete with the nurturing and sustained rehearsal we got singing in Jonathan Welch’s massed community choir in 2016.

Our visitor

September

At the Forum Cinema we saw of Jodi Comer’s tour de force performance in the National Theatre’s production of Prima Facie captured on film. Booranga Writers hosted a workshop by poet Nathan Curnow. Nathan told us that rather than a poem being all about the writer conveying a message, it ‘sets up the scaffolding for the reader to have an experience’ and warned us to ‘beware adverbs’.

Made a pilgrimage to Newcastle to see Peter our artist friend of 25 years plus who was about to celebrate his 85th birthday, to catch up with two friends we have known almost as long (since my early public service days) and to see  my first cousin once removed, Beryl, in respite care. We booked dog friendly accommodation in Merewether and took Stella with us. With her we walked on the beach, visited the Honeysuckle waterfront area and several cafes and pubs. Our landlords kindly looked after her when we went out for dinner.  At the Lock Up gallery we saw eclectic high energy work by Deborah Kelly and at Peter’s lock up (storage unit) we saw his latest work and he gave us a painting of his we’d admired since the days we all resided in Glebe in the 1970s. We came home via Cowra where dogs are welcome in the Japanese gardens. This is the last picture of the three of us together.

Last trip with Stella

October

After several unsuccessful attempts to cultivate nasturtiums from nursey stock we grew them from seed this spring and by October they rioted across the terraces of our garden in glorious saffron and crimson shades and copious fleshy green umbrella leaves. Their profusion framed the area where we laid our beloved Stella to rest when she died suddenly and unexpectedly on the 12^th, a few days shy of her 13^th birthday. We planted Stella Bella day lilies and a tea tree on her grave – they are flourishing.

At the Civic we saw Sunshine Supergirl, Yvonne Goolagong’s life dramatized. If anyone had told me that plays about Indigenous sporting legends would be amongst my favourite theatre in 2022 I would have been skeptical but this and Black Cockatoo were amazing.  Arts journalist/curator Julie Ewington delivered ‘We Need To Talk About Art’ at the gallery. She is a huge advocate of jargon-free unpretentious captioning and artists’ statements.  At The Curious Rabbit our daughter was one of 7 performers shimmying and lip syncing with a satanic edge in Hallowed Queens, a drag show for Halloween. Almost as camp and tremendous fun were David Hobson and Colin Lane pretending to be ignorant of each other’s milieus and then wowing us with the duet from the Pearl Fishers in Men In Tails at the Civic.

November

I turned 66 in November and more than any other gift I wanted a dog back in my life. The day after my birthday we drove to Bethungra to check out a Kelpie X puppy at a refuge called Iron Dogs. Of course we were unable to resist Reilly (now Sheila O’Reilly) and she has joined our household.

Sheila & friend

I sensed that seeing my cousin Beryl in September would be our last encounter. She died on 13th November. Karen James, a Wagga-based fellow family historian and correspondent of Beryl‘s was kind enough to accompany me to Lake Macquarie for the funeral. I could not have asked for a more good-humoured companion and despite the sadness of the occasion we had some lovely outings not least to the beautifully situated local art gallery which was showing the finalists in the Lake Art Prize.

More drag and burlesque were in store at Cabaret Schmabaert conceived by Leeton hoop and flow performer Dizzy Dilemma. The hilarious and sophisticated acts featured deserve a regular showcase. The Civic Theatre turns 40 in 2023 so its season launch was more flamboyant than usual. Jonathan Welch gets his second mention in this post for tricking us into a vulgar spoonerism and getting us to sing nursery rhymes at the top of our voices.

Braddon Snape's Allusive Object winner of 2022 Lake Art Prize

December

Another poet colleague, Joan Cahill, launched her latest collection. I got the all clear after a skin check for melanoma. We made an abortive attempt to see an exhibition at CSU’s HR Gallop Gallery. In the middle of the day the doors were unlocked but the gallery was in darkness and we were unable to find a light switch (I suspect the lights were on a timer and because adjacent class rooms were not in use no-one considered the gallery might attract visitors). What we could discern in the gloom of Donna Caffrey’s, Sam Bowker’s  and others’ work  looked wonderful. I hope we have another chance to see it. Then there was Christmas/New Year with a just manageable amount of food preparation and excessive consumption of the results, lots of cooling off in the pool and, for the first time in 3 years, completion of the ritual 1000 piece jigsaw.

Peter's painting 

So much more I could have included but this has turned into an epic. Happy New Year everyone!

The Ballad of Beryl

In memory of Beryl Whatson (nee Pittard)

 1933 - 2022

In 1930s Auburn

Pittard’s Produce Store

sold coal and groceries

and offered

homemade scones

in the afternoons

to perk up the working man

My great aunt Armandine

was serving at the counter

when a larrikin sign writer

named Aubrey Paul

dropped by

and seduced her

over the strawberry jam

Armandine and her parents

grew flowers and veggies

on the double block

surrounding their Victorian house

and kept a pony and trap

for deliveries.

Aubrey and Armandine

lied to Maud and Fred

that they were wed.

Aubrey and his elegant sideboard

moved in 

The Pittards gathered

and gave them a nuptial party

and all was bliss

until a woman knocked on the door

one day

insisting her husband come home.

Maud threw Aubrey

and his sideboard out.

A few months later

on the coldest Sydney morning ever

Beryl was born

and given Maud as her middle name

in appreciation

Maud senior set herself as gate keeper

to keep both Armandine and Beryl

safe from the pernicious adulterer

who didn’t dare darken their doorstep again

As she grew Beryl

gleaned a few scant facts

about her father

by eavesdropping

on family exchanges

it seemed she had his height and thick wavy hair

During the week

to be near her work

in Sydney’s rag trade

Armandine boarded out

leaving Beryl to Maud’s offices

Maud kept her close

chiding her for exuberance,

and more than once

resorting to the strap

Fred indulged her though

and Beryl adored him

treasuring and keeping

his drawings even

his plan

for a chicken brooder

all her life.

Beryl wondered later

if the neighbours knew and judged

her origins 

like her nasty Auntie Joyce

who dubbed her ‘Illegitimate Beryl’

as if it were

a latinate name.

She was a lonely child

her nearest namesake friend

went off to a different school

and Beryl made four chimneys

she could see from her window

into fantasy playmates

she called Semy, Commy, Kivey and Co 

When she was thirteen

her uncle Clarrie bought her a bicycle

and her world expanded

She was allowed to

catch the train to town 

to meet her mother

after work to see a show

Once walking from the station

she didn’t recognise Armandine

and pondered who this woman was

sporting a perm and set

whose dress fabric seemed familiar

talking to a tall man with wavy hair.

Living in Narrabeen

with Fred and Maud

city schools were deemed too far away

and Beryl was sent to Manly Domestic High

her academic gifts sequestered

for now

She left at fifteen

to bring a few pounds to the family coffers

working at a belt and buckle factory

which she hated.

Later she became a machinist

making children’s clothes

for fashionable Marjory Daw

‘before all children’s clothes were made in Asia’

as she once said  in an email to me

By age eighteen Beryl had lost

Fred and Maud and Armandine

and lived with feckless bicycle buyer

Uncle Clarrie

but he had married Josephine

his second of four brides

who used green Estapol

on the Pittard heirloom clock

and made Beryl feel unwelcome

so she took a room in a city boarding house,

forming friendships and sharing interests

with fellow boarders.

On a bushwalk she met and liked

George and Alan Whatson

especially George

They married in 1957

at St Thomas’s, Enfield

Funds were short and kind neighbours

furnished the cake and wedding breakfast.

George and Beryl moved to Glenbrook

in the Mountains

Beryl had to quit work

to adopt their three kids

so turned her sewing skills

to outfitting her girls and boy

and her energies to

being an attentive parent.

Taking her eldest

to a youth camp in the 70s

she heard the name ‘Pittard’

and got to know my Mum

her cousin’s wife

as it turned out.

Beryl applied

her brain and tenacity

to family research

and discovered

Swiss forebears

with engineering prowess

a damp and dingy

Lambeth address

measles aboard an immigrant ship

more single motherhood

and seamstress skills

a forger in the ranks

and acquired gentility

that denied

much of the above.

When our paths crossed

in 2015

seeking grandfather Fred’s

first drowned love

and adding more flesh

to Aubrey Paul’s bones

became our holy grails.

Beryl had photographs

of a woman in white

resting her hand on Fred’s shoulder

and of the sailing boat

he purportedly sold

after her death.

We traded reports

of Aubrey’s early

criminal capers

and surmised

who the mystery fiancée

might have been.

We stitched together

Aubrey Paul’s story,

mugshot and all,

but Fred’s first love

eluded our grasp.

Our last meeting was

in a nursing home

in Cooranbong

in COVID days

I shared my latest find

a transcript of another errant ancestor's

sympathy-seeking confession

Beryl showed mild interest

but her mind was on the indignities

of respite care

and the fate of her papers

of great significance to her

but of little to her adopted children

she thought.

Her funeral was last month.

The sun shone on neat lawns

and shiny cars

and her heavily pregnant granddaughter

read Mary Frye’s

Do not stand at my grave and weep

though we did.

I was and am the vessel

of your blood

and memories,

Beryl

Your eighty nine years and

four generations

leave their traces

in your papers,

in my computer files

and on this page.