INTRODUCTION

LANDSCAPES

Poems -
Trust Properties

The Old Umbrella Shop

It must have rained a lot
in olde Launceston Town
bucketed down in George Street
where Robert Shott started up his emporium
his 100 year empire
protecting hats and heads from deluge.
For three generations
the place to go was R. Shott and Son
and still it stands
the Old Umbrella Shop
the same today as it was
when a Shott shut up shop
closed the last umbrella
shook out the rain
and stepped away.

Lining the walls are umbrellas
a kaleidoscope of colour
of flamingos butterflies birds
flowers patterns polka dots
handles of different types
straight round or shaped.
A streetful of these would brighten up
any rainy afternoon in winter.

An old till still rings up
pennies and pounds.
Blackwood carvings on display
were made in the back room over years
pens ashtrays serviette rings
a barometer vase egg cup
popular presents were these
post-war civic leaders did not escape town
without one.

Robert Walter Shott should be proud
his legacy lives on
the doors still open from 9 to 5
umbrellas are still for sale
and it still rains in Launceston
a little
from time to time.

12 August 09

Franklin House

We must have been smelly
you and I
only bathing once a week
but why challenge the servants
with those stairs
when we’ll be sitting on horses
or tucked up on mattresses
shaken out only once a year?
And the smell of the roasts
lingering for days!

Not built for royalty
this gentleman’s house is finely made
crafted in red cedar and brick
a statement of arrival and survival
a convict’s journey’s end
I am here
I made it
I survived
I prospered
look at me now!

But Britton Jones moved on
used convicts to build the house
and alcohol to build a business.
So the house became a school
the school became a home
standing proud in Franklin Village
a muddy track ride from Launceston Town.
Owners and occupiers are buried hereabouts
the house providing the full stop
to lives well lived.

Somehow diminished in a busy street now
Franklin House reminds of other times
when servants and stable boys
gardeners nannies and governesses
bustled about the hallways and stairwells
filled the buckets
lit the fires
polished the silver
thumped the laundry
saddled the horses
roasted the meats
picked the fruit
planted the vegetables
cleaned the windows
and tended to the whims and wishes
of those upstairs.
A portal to those less democratic days
Franklin House is a marker
in time
of times
and about time.

16 August 09

Emma Cameron’s Fountain

You must have thought a lot of your Dad
Emma Cameron.
Your fountain speaks of love
and respect, memories too.
How did he appear in your mind’s eye
when you watched the water gushing
from beneath those swans and herons
or bubbling out over the bowl at the top?
Did it bring a smile
to your face
or sadness
to your eyes?
Fathers can be tricky things
either invisible
or over-the-top
sometimes daughters can’t find the balance
between love and adoration
and the need to escape
from that particular form of male bondage.

So you’ve done well
Emma Cameron.
Visitors gaze at your monument
and think for a moment
of their own dads
or their own daughters
and whether either would be worthy
of so bold a statement
in these more suspicious days.

I like your fountain standing there.
I loved my Dad it says.
He was a good man.
Worthy of celebration
and a special place
forever his
in the landscape.

18 July 09

Clarendon In Winter

I came late to Clarendon on a cold windy afternoon
only the ghosts were there.
Like a stadium after a game the emptiness echoed
and filled up the spaces where people should be.
This grand old house is an intimate place
its nooks and crannies needing a human touch
the scampering of small feet
laughter in the trees
foot falls on the stone steps
saturday afternoon parties on the lawns
a garden well tended
fires in the hearth
lights in the rooms.

Sitting squat between winter-bare oak trees
this Clarendon seemed cold and alone
but perhaps it is just sleeping
waiting for sun and summer
to bring life to its corridors again.

21 August 09

Clarendon Musing

What happens when it all falls down?
When it comes to an end?
When nobody has the money anymore
or the interest?
When the world that built this edifice
is over, gone, finished?
When we’ve all moved on
out of wood into stone
out of stone into brick
out of brick into concrete
out of concrete into steel
out of steel into glass.
What happens when the world turns
and makes redundant what was ‘in’
what was trendy
what was fashion
what was cool
what was hip or now or yeah or right on?

Should we let it go
let it be history
let it be memory
let it be a phase we were going through?
Should we be wistful for those days
or glad they are done
the wealth and class and style of those times
democratised down to a common denominator
of mass consumption
at least available to us all?
Were those times so good
for all the folk downstairs
running and scurrying
to the whims and wishes of a ruling class
with wealth and power and privilege?

The democratic me says good riddance
I can afford a new car too
and I don’t have to bow and scrape
and serve any master.
But the romantic me says
wouldn’t it be grand to lie in that 4-poster bed
have someone make my meals
light my fire
saddle my horse
clean my plates
polish my silver?

Wouldn’t it be fine to have a butler
a maid, a cook, a housekeeper
a gardener, a stable hand
and maybe if I were boss
a little bit on the side downstairs?
Wouldn’t it be splendid
to own a vast estate
control a vast fortune
run a vast house
make a vast life
by using a vast army of assistants
focussed on me and my immediate needs?

There are ghosts and shadows
stalking these chambers now
and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Maybe both.
Be sad I am not upstairs
glad I am not downstairs
but content, here, looking, somewhere in between.

10 October 09

Democratic Views

They say Clarendon House was
a more democratic place
servants’ windows looking up and over
the lawns and drives and gardens.
Downstairs was not hidden away
servants were not hush hush
like secret women’s business
a whispered reality an understanding
but not proper to see.
Not so here.

Servant girls and scullery maids
could eye-ball the guests
butlers and coachmen peer up dresses
from below-stairs windows.
And they, in turn, could be seen
shadows at the windows of picnics
toothy smiles spied through croquet hoops.

Come and work at Clarendon –
democratic as a coachman’s mirror –
if you can see me
I can certainly see you.

24 October 09

From Windows

Gnarly oak limbs waving leaves
edges of portico columns
jigsaw bits joined at the joints
walled gardens enclosing lawns
hawthorn hedges clipped
shrubs edgy
the driveway gravel-crunch
spinning around a circular flowerbed
rock and brick walls seeping water
the river draining and slipping by
outbuildings white and watchful
farmland far off in a haze of heat
stone steps up and down
light bright light
wood framed through 34 windows
ideas dreams
a hint of road
and other worlds.

24 October 09

The Ugliest Doll

Please don’t just dress me in finery
and put me on a shelf up there.
Don’t use a bonnet to hide my face
and cover my cold glassy stare.

I know I have a dark pinched mouth
and cold white china skin
but my cheeks are really quite rosy
and my body attractively thin.

I try to look sweet and appealing
and I know it’s not easy for you
with so many others to play with
and so many things to do.

You’ve got your bears and your blocks and your puzzles
you can rock far away on your horse
and play cards and do jigsaws and paintings
and sing and play music of course.

But please don’t just dress me in finery
a duty of belonging to you
can’t you find it in your heart to want me
and maybe, please, love me, too?

24 October 09

Clarendon Dozen - Haiku Series

Surrounded by oak
an imposing entrance
crunch of gravel

James Cox and Mary
plus James Cox and Eliza
nineteen children

Child number eight
one push now it’s coming
two coffins and hearse

Country gentleman
life of hunting and shooting
servants downstairs

Sinking foundations
remove the six columns
renovation now

Walled gardens surround
self-sufficient lifestyle
bush rangers’ threat

A convict workforce
no industrial disputation
wage restraint

Kitchen heat and noise
dinner party for royalty
white gloved butler

Washing day routine
line of white starched sheets
flap in the sunlight

Upstairs and downstairs
bed pans full from a party
frayed carpet trip

Inspecting the estate
daughters riding side-saddle
stableboy’s muscles

Flowers and lawns
fruit trees vegetable gardens
English country house

Room With A Four-Poster Bed

I dreamed of you
on a four-poster bed
sprawled naked on white linen
sunlight throwing shadows
and silhouettes of suggestion.
You came to me on creaky stairs
each step quickening my blood.

Within that room
within that bed
within my limbs
you found me
entered my soul
breathed living nights to me
held me fast against the four-poster bed
and made me yours.
And days and days and days of taking
left me stretched
in the room with a four poster bed
where sunlight caught dust
falling on the whispers of our love.

13 October 09

Bars At My Window

Looking up at bars
window-framed
vertical striped
solid raindrops of iron
set in for the duration.

I am caged
incarcerated
banged up
gaoled
door slammed shut and bolted
imprisoned.
If I done wrong, fair cop.
If not, this is cheap lodgings
for the night.

If I could reach the bars
I would hold them
like a monkey in a zoo.
Put my face there, and squeal.

22 November 09

Latrobe Courthouse and Museum Half-Dozen - Haiku Series

The dock stands empty
no villains to try today
emergency exit

Photos line the walls
memories of times gone by
Latrobe history

Reddish leather chairs
sat on by judges and clerks
records archived now

A red velvet suit
one Percival Victor Hicks
his grandfather’s pipe

Witness stand still there
we have seen it all before
he dun it guvna

Bars on the windows
bolts and padlocks on the doors
accused to stand trial

The Boy In The Red Velvet Suit

Boyhood begins
with a red velvet suit
a welcome replacement
for cross-dressing skirts
and androgynous baby bonnets.
The ringlets had to go too
victim to short back and sides
and a four year old grin.

Percy Hicks tips his top hat
a jaunty smile
pipe
walking stick
beer bottle and glass
breeching convention
conforming to conventional symbols
of manhood.

Baby to boy
through grandmother’s stitches
and grandfather’s pipe.

27 November 09

What A Housewife Ought To Know

Mice have a great dislike to the smell of peppermint If a chimney be on fire throw on common salt and close doors and windows Never fill a kettle in the morning with water from a lead or iron pipe it is likely to be unwholesome Vinegar and brown paper is an old fashioned remedy for bruises Custards should be cooked gently in a very hot oven or they become watery Greasy baths maybe made perfectly clean by scouring with a wet flannel dipped in salt It is a mistake to disbelieve a child give him the benefit of the doubt but if caught punish him severely A very hot iron should never be used for flannels or woollens Fresh raw meat is the best bait for mouse traps Watercress is an excellent blood purifier Keep tea or coffee in glass or china jars not tin canisters by doing so the flavour will be greatly improved Iron the silk fronts of embroidered stockings with a warm iron to make them bright and shiny Adding a sprinkle of powdered sage gives a good flavour to pork whether it be roast chops or tenderloin When you have cooked onions fill up the pan with boiling water and drop a hot cinder into it this will prevent it smelling When soot falls upon a carpet it may be removed by sprinkling on plenty of finely powdered salt and sweeping it off in the direction of the fireplace Black underwear stockings or black yarn should be boiled for a few minutes in milk the dye will not then stain the skin.

25 November 09

Runnymede

Come with me on a journey
and I’ll take you across the fives Cs
to Runnymede
through the 150 year history of this place.

The first C stands for Court.
Meet Mr Robert Pitcairn, Scottish lawyer,
builder in 1840 of Cairn Lodge.
Nice spot on the riverbank,
views, water supply, fresh air,
a retreat from the harsh convict community
of early Hobart Town.

The second C comes 10 years later, Church,
bought by Bishop Francis Nixon
renamed Bishopstowe in his own honour,
a reminder of the importance of deity
to the godless rampagings of colonial life.
Art, music, photography,
some civility and sophistication
in this home on the riverbank.

C3 is Commerce, business on the high seas,
30 years of whaling with the Bayleys,
ships, harpoons, blubber, storms,
shipwrecks and wealth.
And Runnymede, quiet and peaceful,
a safe haven from
the ebbs and flows of business life.

A reply-paid envelope brings the fourth C,
Correspondence,
Runnymede owned by Postmaster General Henry Bayly
his wife Harriet and seven children.
This family moved around like postage stamps,
alternating ownership and occupation
through a 70 year family line
ending when Emma licked and sealed
their last Runnymede envelope in 1963.

And finally, the fifth ‘C’ is Community,
Runnymede safe and secure in the clutches
of the National Trust,
organized preserved opened and displayed,
Hobart history tucked away
for inquisitive generations
to discover and uncover a sense of the past
and lives lived across time
through the five Cs of Runnymede.

22 November 09

Finger In The Hole

Here’s a tale that’s well worth telling
and it has a moral too
about a man and his wife and his finger
where to put it, and what to do.

It concerns a hole and a sperm and some danger
how to make it right though the night
so listen closely, you lads, and you’ll learn things
about how to treat your missus right.

His name was Charles Bayley, Sea Captain,
of Fortitude, whale ship of size,
who went to the south isle of New Zealand
hunting sperm whale, the ultimate prize.

His wife, Eliza, went with him,
not uncommon in those far off days,
she would look after the Captain’s well-being
in her usual feminine ways.

But one night things all went a bit pear-shaped
when the men were out in the boat
the whale was large and excited
they were having trouble staying afloat.

Disaster struck all of a sudden
the whale leapt high in the sky
and crashed down right next to the whaleboat
the men all thought they would die.

A huge wave swamped the boat and crewmen
they were all thrown into the sea
the boat capsized and turned turtle
for a whaler the worst sight to see.

Cold and wet and in danger
some men found their way to the boat
and clung on for grim death knowing
it was the only way they could stay afloat.

Back on the Fortitude things were chaotic
their Captain seemed lost to the sea,
the night was darkening quickly
they didn’t know where he might be.

But Eliza insisted they sail by,
staying near where the whale had gone
she felt sure her husband would make it
and not leave her bereft and alone.

In the water men started drowning
unable to hold on for long,
they slipped quietly away into the darkness
life reserved only for the strong.

But Charles was a man of invention
you don’t become a Captain by chance,
he had no intention of joining
Davey Jones in his locker for a dance.

He pushed his finger into a bung hole
he locked it there in pain
and overnight it swelled to twice its size
so it couldn’t come out again.

He was attached to the boat by his finger
so he floated the whole night through
til morning light brought Fortitude
to save what was left of the crew.

The Captain by this time was unconscious
he had shivered all night in the sea,
but Eliza his wife was undaunted
not today a widow she’d be.

Charles’s finger was still stuck fast in the bunghole
it saved him but wouldn’t let him free
so they split the plank with blows from an axe
and unlocked his finger like a key.

In later years Charles would be asked
what was the secret to his success
he’d smile and whisper about fingers and holes
that’s as much as he’d be willing to confess.

Charles lived on for another 30 years
with Eliza always by his side,
they still tell this tale in Hobart Town
down by the harbour side.

There’s a song, or a ditty, you’ll hear
when men get together to drink
you might find the story compelling
it might make you sit up and think.

The moral is clear boys, no joking,
you must find a place in your life
to keep happy and balanced and joyful
and make sure you look after your wife.

Here’s the message, the point of this story,
one that you should take to heart,
it’s the one that Charles would tell you
it’s the one from which he made a start....

Always keep your finger in the hole, lad,
always keep your finger in the hole,
you won’t sink or drown or die lad,
if you always keep your finger in the hole.

22 November 09

Runnymede Dozen – Haiku Series

Regency villa
colonial Tasmanian life
elegant sandstone

Charlie the gardener
seven decades at Runnymede
bowler hat and vest

Wallpaper in rooms
flowers birds rural idyll scenes
covers up the cracks

Watercolour art
Francis and Anna Nixon
Tasmanian landscapes

Whales across the bay
thar she blows is the outcry
flensing knives sharpened

Whale tooth artistry
scrimshandering fills in time
present for my wife

Runnymede Lufra
Fortitude Flying Childers
Bayley’s whaleships sail

Ladylike pursuits
needlework embroidery
dreams of gardeners

Flagstones in kitchen
to stop spills slips trips and fires
easy for cleaning

After dinner time
Drawing Room for ladies to chat
men coffee port cigars

Wooden steps to bed
second step hides a commode
step lightly with care

Cairn Lodge it began
then Bishopstowe it became
Runnymede is now

22 November 09

Your Last Breath

My ships are becalmed
there is no wind to fill the sails
you have taken all the breath in the world
and swallowed it.

Jane Mary
I watched you fight that filthy disease
muster the sun and the stars
draw up the moon-tide
hold your mother-hand for strength.
No father should watch his daughter die.

When it is time
I will listen to your whispers
telling me why
and what I am supposed to do now.

Until then I will leave the whales in peace
let them call you
and take your last breath
from me.

22 November 09

Gallows

The screaming doesn’t last long
but piercing
or like a huge sea roar
crashing on the cliffs
the trapdoor
taught rope
kicking kicking kicking
air expelled
constricted
just a small drop to oblivion
knots around hands and ankles
just one limb allowed
but extended with the weight.

I was guilty, but.

2 December 09