A Relaxing Weekend.

We had miserable wet weather all week. Come the weekend and it turned the bend. Today was a glorious sunny autumn day. Bright and sunny, not a cloud in the sky and not a breath of a breeze.

Melbourne is famed for wet dreary winters so we made the most of the weather while it lasts.

Once again we stayed close to home and headed to another spot in Plenty Gorge Park. With the whole family in tow we arrived at this picnic area. We’ve been there a couple of times before and for some unfathomable reason it is always virtually empty.
We parked ourselves for a BBQ lunch.

One of the locals an Australian magpie (Cracticus tibicen) came panhandling. The second half of their scientific name means “flute-player”. They have a lovely warbling song.

From the picnic area you can see down into the gorge which cuts through Melbourne’s northern suburbs.The park is very different from places like Fitzroy Gardens. These are all native trees, mostly Eucalyptus species with a smattering of wattles (acacia) and others scattered through.

Because most Oz trees are evergreen there is no autumn flush of colour like the one I posted last weekend.Many eucalypts shed their bark rather than their leaves.Some of the smooth barked species end up with lovely mottled patterns as the bark comes away.It was amazingly still; I shot this rather ordinary looking pond to show how glassy it was.In fact the water was so still it was reflecting like a mirror.

I captured another local, a small honey eater called a Noisy Miner (Manorina melanocephala). They really are noisy; they live in family groups and gather together to noisily confront threats in an attempt to drive them off. We used to have a cat that was terrified of them. They should not be confused with Indian Myna birds which are an introduced pest in Oz.(Indian Myna image from Wikipedia)

In a damp spot some little fungiAnd soft green pillows of moss.Now to my WIP extract for the week.
Last week Valentina, Penelope and Natasha were “taken for a ride” by Stepan.
I have made you wait and indulged my sadistic side long enough. So here we go…


Valentina Mescova
Berlin 1948
A surreal conversation I half heard over my sobbing breath.
Stepan’s voice, ‘So your name is Natasha?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m Stepan. I used to be a friend of your mummy,’
‘Valentina isn’t really my mummy.’
‘No I suppose she isn’t. But you do love her don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Are you a brave girl Natasha?’
‘Yes.’
‘Even better. Now listen carefully, I am playing a trick on my men, will you help me?’
‘I don’t like them.’
‘I don’t like them either. Now I am going to take these hoods off Valentina and her friend. Then I am going to untie them. You have to help me look after them, but I am going to make some very loud noises with my gun. It is very important you stay very quiet. Can you do that for me?’
‘Yes.’

A spatter of loose earth as he knelt down next to me, his voice in my ear. ‘Be quiet…’ Hands on my wrists, the manacles coming away. Hands on my shoulders, helping me to a sitting position. ‘I am going to take this hood off, keep your eyes and mouth closed so they don’t get full of dust.’

Light, and air. ‘No don’t wipe your eyes you’re going to get more dirt in them.’
Little hands pushing my hair away from my face. I grabbed my little girl and hugged her tight.
‘Natasha block your ears I am going to make the first noise.’
I sat stupidly as Stepan pulled his gun from its holster. Once, twice he pulled the trigger. The bullets kicking up fountains of dirt as they slammed harmlessly into the side of the hole that might have been my grave. He looked intensely at me ‘Now you’re dead, so no noise!’
He turned to Natasha, ‘Well done, but you still need to keep quiet, okay?’
She nodded solemnly.
He stepped across to Penelope.

He was rougher than he had been with me, as Stepan hauled off the hood Penelope’s. face was streaked with mud as the dust stuck to her tears. He rolled her on to her side. As he began undoing her manacles he urgently whispered to her in English. ‘As you can see no one is dead, but I have to make a fiction for my men. Pretend I am raping you and scream.’
She shook her head as if to clear it, ‘What?’
‘Scream like I am hurting you.’
Her scream was shrill, ‘Noooo!’
Stepan looked exasperated, ‘Not nearly real enough.’
He flung aside the manacles. Then Penelope really did scream. ‘Stop! You’re hurting me!’

He frowned as he twisted two of her fingers the wrong way back toward her wrist. She screamed again. He dropped her hand, she held it with her other softly moaning he smiled, ‘Much better, much more real.’
‘You bastard.’ She hissed
He smiled, ‘Play with the big boys English girl and you see what you get.’
He turned back to us, ‘Almost over, Natasha block your ears.’
She obediently stuck her fingers in her ears. His gun barked again.

Holstering the gun he squatted next to me. His eyes were intense, ‘I’m sorry for scaring the shit out of you.’ He jerked his thumb at Penelope, ‘but once she came on the scene I had no time to come up with anything better.’
‘Why this.’
‘You had been noticed which is bad enough. She made it impossible. You would have ended up in Siberia at best. It’s kinder to shoot someone.’
‘What happens now?’
He pointed, ‘You walk through those trees, straight ahead, due west two kilometres and you are in the US Zone. Patrols don’t often come here, they know we use this patch.’
‘What about you?’
‘Me? I fill in your grave and go back to my job. About your friend.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t tell her my family name. It will be dangerous for me if she knows it. She’ll get me what she nearly got you. And for heavens sake don’t let her do any field work in Berlin. Or anywhere, she stands out, far too pretty, far too noticeable for field work.’
‘Stepan come with us.’
‘What would I do with all those capitalists?’
‘Stepan…’
‘Go! Now!’
Firmly holding Natasha’s hand I looked back before the trees hid him from me. He was pushing soil back into the empty graves.
His eyes caught mine and he smiled.
Another step and he was gone from view.

The Inner Sadist

I sometimes wonder at the twisted workings of my subconscious. Those of you who have followed my blog for a while will know I work for a charity running a couple of programs that provide direct support to the homeless of Melbourne. Seems like I could be quite a nice guy.

But as an author it seems I have another persona entirely. Putting it simply I am a bloodthirsty sadist.
At least when it comes to things that happen to my characters. Those of you who have read my book Veiled in Shadows will know that during its course some really nasty things happen to some really nice people. To be sure things don't come out too badly for some of my characters but the things that happen to some of them along the way... well you just wouldn't want them happening to your worst enemy. Shootings, beatings, loss of loved ones, grief, fear, breakdown and death are the sorts of things my poor characters have to contend with.

Now sometimes it seems like I am channelling their stories and they don't come from me at all. But maybe that is just a cop out so I can avoid looking at just what a sick twisted cookie I am?

I mean as a perfect example of how nasty I can be look at what is happening to poor Valentina in the extracts I have posted from my WIP. From the bits you have read you could have gathered: Valentina has been persecuted for falling in love with a man from another country; She has survived four years on the front-line of the worst war in history; she has been wounded and scarred physically and emotionally; she has lost her dearest friends; and she has come within an ace of suicide. To be sure there was a lifeline in the form of love from Natasha an innocent little girl.

But was Al content with leaving it there?

No he was not as since then Valentina has suffered a concussion through the actions of a woman she thought was a friend. Then she had an old dear friend come back into her life, but he is a secret police officer and arrests her.

Poor Valentina what did she ever do to deserve all this?

Are you questioning the sanity of Al yet?

Well if it isn't bad enough to show my nasty streak to my characters what about my treatment of you my poor readers?

I lure you here with nice piccies

of beautiful birdsof spectacular sceneryof gentle wild lifeand cascading waterfalls
But it is all a ploy, I tell you stories that leave a brave resourceful young woman fearing for her life and for the life of her loved one. And I make you wait a week to find out what comes next.

So if you find yourself in blog-land tonight be careful there could be lurking authors!

Cue wicked laughter.

Wet Wet Wet

It seems that our wet and flooding summer has turned into a wet and flooding autumn.

Much of Oz was cursed by floods through the summer as we ended a long period of drought. The wet continues.

Yesterday we had our wettest April day in 35 years. Yet strangely even with all this water around, Melbourne still arguably has a water shortage.

Oz has a climate that typically swings from periods of wet to periods of dry. A few pictures to illustrate.

About 18 months ago we had a picnic at one of Melbourne’s medium sized water storages Sugarloaf Reservoir and I snapped these piccies.

As you can see the water was low.In fact because of over a decade of drought the reservoir (and Melbourne’s overall water supply) was down to under 30% of capacity. Had rainfall continued at that rate we would have run out of water in another two years. This former island went back to being a hill.Regional Oz towns have run out of water in the past, in fact one of the towns we lived in some years ago got so low (below 5% capacity) that they actually went to water rationing, even basics like bathing were limited. Not fun.

Melbourne like most of Oz has huge storage capacity because of this kind of risk.

Things are a bit different now. With all the wet Sugarloaf has changed, these piccies taken a couple of weeks ago show how much water has flowed in with our flood weather.The island is an island again.Melbourne Water has taken advantage of flooding in the Yarra Valley and pumped water to Sugarloaf reservoir which is now at 87% capacity.Yet despite this Melbourne’s water supply is still only at 53% capacity.

So poor sun loving Al has to say bring on the rain :-(

Autumn is Here.

The weather has turned cold. I hasten to add, that is by our standards.
My brother lives in the UK. I was talking to him last night, he was saying it was a lovely sunny day and beautifully warm.
I was grumbling because it was cold and wet. When we compared temperatures we were both talking about 20ºC (68ºF). I guess things are relative.

Anyway this afternoon the clouds broke up and the sun came out for a while. So Deb and I decided to go for a walk.
We stayed fairly close to home and went to a spot called The Plenty Gorge Park.
As you can see from these trees autumn is starting to bite.In the Park is an old farm the LePage homestead.
The original farmhouse was built in the 1850s. Then it was rebuilt in the 1870s. Unlike the Georgian buildings I photographed in Tasmania this building shows the hallmark of Aussie bush homes verandas most of the way around. They keep a house cooler in summer and if you get really desperate you could sleep on the veranda on hot nights.

I would guess this old bluestone barn is one of the older buildings on the property.
Around the corner you can see down to the pond below.As you can see the garden is planted in a cottage garden style.And one last shot a rose budding in the shade.Now to the extract from my WIP.

Last week if you remember Valentina was stopped by Stepan on her way home. Things are about to get a whole lot worse…

Valentina Meshcova
Berlin 1948
'Get in the car Tina’, Stepan jerked his head at one of the men, ‘Put the child in the front vehicle.'
One of the thugs picked Natasha up, not roughly, but not gently either. Her eyes were huge in her little face, her eyes desperately clung to me until she disappeared into the car.
With a sinking feeling I slid in next to Stepan. It was a huge black car, not German I thought, maybe American.
It was a limousine really, with a huge amount of space between the driver’s seat and the rear bench seat. Half lying, half sitting on the floor against the far corner is a woman’s form. A black hood pulled down over her face. With a frightened intake of breath I recognised the clothes.

It was Penelope.

'Hands behind your back Tina.’ Stepan’s voice strained impatient, ‘No! Facing away from me!'
The cold of metal against my wrists, with a clicking noise my hands were cuffed tight. 'Now face me.'
I turned to face him. 'What is going to happen?'
He was white and shaking, 'I warned you Tina. I warned what would happen if you didn't watch yourself.'
He slid across toward the far door pushing Penelope’s body further into the corner with the callous thrust of a boot. A muffled moan from under the hood.
‘Tina, into the middle.’
One of the men climbed in next to me.
With a lurch the car moved off, 'Where are we going?'
For the first time Stepan smiled as if to a private joke, 'As the Americans would say "we are going for a ride".'
'Stepan, please.'
'You have forfeited any right to ask favours of me. There is nothing I can do. Consorting with an enemy of the people,' he jabbed Penelope with his toe, 'means you are an enemy as well. Hood her!'
The world went black as a bag was pulled over my head.

Time drags when you are frightened. A second becomes a minute and a minute like a day. Not being able to see only made it worse, the trip seemed to go on forever.
Towards the end the vehicle bounced and swayed from side to side.
When we finally came to a halt everything went quiet for a moment.
In the hood sounds were muffled and magnified at the same time. Disembodied men’s voices, the sound of the door opening. Someone seized me by the arms and pulled.

With my arms still pinioned I was half dragged and half fell out of the car. Not onto cobbles but onto soft ground. I was dragged maybe another metre or two and dropped on my face. The smell of grass and leaf litter.

More words, the creak of the car’s springs. The thump of something heavy hitting the ground next to me. A moan, half pain half fear came from the body that had fallen against me. ‘Penelope?’
Her voice muffled by the hood, ‘Val? I’m sorry, I cocked it all up.’
‘Shut up!’, man’s voice bawling in Russian.
Noises, a regular thumping, then a rhythmic muffled metallic sound. A sound of, of what? I puzzled for a moment. Someone swinging a pick, another digging with spade.

Someone digging a grave.

Penelope must have realised what was happening almost as soon as I did. She half sobbed, two choked sobs. Then low, so low I could barely hear although I was against her she began to mutter. ‘Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done…’ again and again she chanted.
‘I said shut up!’ The hollow sound of a blow.
Then silence. Silence except for the rhythmic sound of digging.

I have been under fire many times in the war and had been very close to death many times. I had always been terrified, often so frightened I could barely move.
This time was different, my death was absolutely certain. Strangely I felt no fear, none. Instead I felt a terrible grief that my life was over, with so much wasted opportunity. But then, an appalling fear gripped me not for me, but what would happen to little Natasha. Was the other car here too? Surely they wouldn’t hurt her?

Inevitably the digging stopped. Then more hands grabbed me, some by the shoulders and some by the feet. I was carried a short distance, but suddenly shouting, a tirade of shouting. Surely it was Stepan’s voice but I couldn’t be sure. I was dropped again an involuntary ‘whoosh’ of air was driven from my lungs as I hit a pile of soft powdery dirt.

Grumbling voices, the noises of car doors opening and the slamming. The engines started, revved and began to move away. They faded but before they vanished entirely away they stopped as if they had been turned off.
Silence, then voices. A little girl, and Stepan? I screamed aloud, my voice muffled in the hood. ‘Not Natasha, Stepan please anything! Please not Natasha!’

A Long Week and a Short Post

I had intended to post before tonight. But…

My computer has been down with a virus. Nothing I haven’t been able to deal with but with thousands upon thousands of large photo files on my hard drive scanning for problems takes for ever. It seems to be all fixed now. But it has taken what little posting/commenting time I would have had.

Also I have had a verrrrrry long week at work. I sooooo know why I am looking for another job.

My job hunting is still going on. As I said I had an interview earlier in the week.
I don’t think it was great, unlike the others I have had I did not come away with the feeling that I particularly impressed them.

I also have some mixed good/bad news on other jobs. If you have been following my job hunting you will remember I had an interview for a Public Service job back in March. I came away from that interview feeling I’d blitzed it then one of the panel phoned me the same afternoon and asked me to apply for another job.

Well I still haven’t heard about the other job. However, the head of the first interview panel phoned me yesterday and said they had unfortunately decided not to give me the first job.
But there was good news too, she said the person who they just gave it to ahead of me is a really experienced senior public servant and they felt she just edged me out. What she said was that they were very impressed with me, and while she couldn’t promise anything if something came up in her unit she would ask me to apply. She is a senior, very no-nonsense person and unless I have totally misread her she was very serious.
The fact that she chose to ring me, rather than the usual thanks but no thanks email also convinces me I came very close.

So we will see.
Now I am just home at 8:30pm so that is it for me for tonight.

I will try to do a proper post tomorrow, but failing that I’ll post the next extract featuring Valentina on Sunday.

Tassie Trip Wrap Up

For those of you who think I have killed my expose of Tassie to death this is the last instalment.

Still on our way north from Hobart to Launceston we pulled off again at the village of Ross.

Once again the village is old by Aussie standards. Much of it is still the original sandstone buildings from the 19th century.Ross is full of lovely buildings like this house. I loved this church.
Ross was a British Army garrison town and the original barracks are one of the oldest buildings there.The sign at one end gives a touch of its history (as with all of my piccies click to enlarge). But I have to say the Bridge was my favourite structure in Ross.Built in 1836 the bridge is the third oldest in Oz.
I loved the detailed carvings.
Another detail that caught my eye were the iron brackets holding the parapet stones together. The arrow stamp is an old sign indicating government property.

One last look at the bridge from the other side of the river.
And that was it our Tasmania trip was over.


On a totally unrelated matter I have another job interview tomorrow. Wish me luck!

Fitzroy Gardens and Valentina

Yesterday started grey and gloomy but the afternoon showed promise of being sunny. So Deb and I packed ourselves a picnic lunch and headed to Fitzroy Gardens in the heart of Melbourne. We were starving by the time we arrived so we parked ourselves in this classically inspired pavilion to picnic. I snapped this avenue of elms from my seat. Autumn has yet to really bite and most have not yet begun to turn.Looking into the park you would forget you’re in the middle of Melbourne.

Down between the tree trunks we could see another classical folly.After eating we went for a stroll along a profusion of tree lined paths.If you lift your head you get a reminder of the city that surrounds you.Near the bottom of the garden is “Captain Cook’s Cottage” The cottage was constructed in 1755 in the English village of Great Ayton, North Yorkshire, by the parents of Captain James Cook. Cook had been in the Merchant Navy for years by that point and joined the Royal Navy that year, but almost certainly he visited his parents at the house.
The cottage was brought to Melbourne and rebuilt in the 1930s in a fit of Oz (and Empire) patriotism.
I find it very odd. Cook never got nearer to Melbourne than Tasmania and he died 56 years before Melbourne was settled.
Ah well it gives the tourists from overseas something to be photographed in front of.

I thought this cottage built in 1866 and used as the head gardener’s residence until 1990 is much more interesting. By the way the banana trees in this piccie indicate that Melbourne is not so very far from the tropics. Remind me of that when I am grumbling about the cold this winter.

Just in case you don’t believe in fairies, quite a number live in Melbourne.

Heading back up the hill we came on a familiar sight. We’d finished our circuit of the park.

Now to an extract of my WIP for the week.
Last week Valentina caught up with Stepan an old and dear friend. This week Penelope is back on the scene…


Valentina Meshcova
Berlin 1948
By the weekend I was feeling well enough to give in to Natasha's pestering and take her to the lake. It was not really warm enough, but I relented because autumn was around the corner and that would mean months mostly confined inside.

I also needed to get out. I didn't know what I would do after my personal disaster with Ronnie. But whatever lay ahead I was not going to be despondent. If grief was what faced me I would cry for a time and then heal. Natasha showed me again and again that what matters is enjoying the moment, not dwelling on what might have been.

In that spirit I promised myself I would enjoy the day. So, I sat on the sand and watched Natasha frolic at the water’s edge.

'Hello.'
My insides turned over, 'I was not expecting you.'
Penelope knealt down on the sand beside me, 'I wanted to apologise for my part in the cock up last week.'
My resolution of moments before vanished, 'Apologise? What a bourgeois notion. Do you think a few words will mend my opinion of you?'
She flushed red, she looked even more like Ronnie when she was angry. 'I don't know. Before you were frightened I thought a great deal of you. Enough to continue taking this risk. Enough to make debasing myself seem worthwhile. Now I don't know!'
'Before?'
'Before you got frightened. But frightened of what?'
'The NKVD...'
'NKVD, NKVD I have heard enough of that. With Ronnie you could have had a future away from that. For that matter even without Ronnie. You can walk away. Walk straight into the American or British sector and you would be welcomed as a defector.'
'I am Russian...'
'Yes you are Russian. But the tyrant who drives all the terror is not. And you can't believe that he is a Communist with the people at heart. Walk away, there is nothing stopping you. No wall imprisoning you except in your head!'
'What would I do over there?'
'That is fear speaking. You would do anything you chose to do. And what of Natasha?'
'Natasha?'
'Do you want her to grow up in a society where she has to watch what she says, what she thinks? A place where she is always looking over her shoulder?'
'You are trying to manipulate me.'
She laughed, a harsh sound with no hint of humour. 'Yes I am. In spite of everything I think of you as my friend. I give more than a fig for what happens to you. And there is Ronnie.'
'What about Ronnie?'
Her anger faded away, spent, gone.

A sigh from deep within her, and a single tear trickled down her cheek. 'I grieve everyday for my husband. His name was Danny, did I ever tell you that?’
‘No.’
‘For six years I have grieved, never whole, never serene.’
She scooped a handful of sand and let it trickle through her fingers. I watched it fall through a mist of tears. ‘Ronnie has grieved for you. For years now. What ever happens I will always carry my loss. My darling boy lies in a grave, he will never come back to me.’
Her grey eyes transfixed me, ‘I can't bear to think of Ronnie going through what I have any longer. The only thing that prevents his happiness, and yours for that matter, is your fear.'

I could not entirely hide my tears from Natasha as we packed our beach things. 'What's wrong Valentina?'
'Nothing.'
'Why are you crying?'
'Penelope said something that reminded me about someone I lost in the war.'
‘Penelope?’
‘She was here, she’s gone.’
Natasha wrapped her wet little body around me and patted my shoulder, 'It's alright, I'll look after you.'

I took her hand, as we left the beach 'You know I think we might have some bratwurst at home, just for a certain person.'
'Yummy!'

As we walked home I tried very hard to recapture the hint of optimism I had felt only a few hours before. The cold grey streets of Berlin did not help.
A city block from our apartment with racing motors two big black cars pulled up beside us.
Two uniformed men jumped out of the front car and blocked our path. 'Hello Tina.'
I spun to face the voice, Stepan was not smiling this time.