Daily Archives: December 3, 2014

The past twelve months — 5 — February 2014

Posted on by

February saw me discovering The Soldier’s Return by Alan Monaghan. I went on to read the whole trilogy. See also Recent reading: Thomas Keneally, Alan Monaghan, John O’Connell.

Then:

60 years ago today…

Posted on February 16, 2014 by Neil

Yes, apparently so!

1954

On 19 February: Food and Pyne’s piffle.

The food is interesting.

P2180509

What I cooked for myself last night, as posted to Facebook. “Not bad tonight for my cuisine! Woolworths Moroccan style lamb sausages with Kipfler potatoes and roasted pumpkin and quinoa salad — also Woolies. But hey, I’m not a chef! Philip Costello just may recognise the plate!” He did.

The piffle comes from the usual source. I borrow Alex Ellinghausen’s excellent photo from the Herald. It looks appropriately deranged…

Do you know what movie this is?

See More great things from Wollongong Library.

21 February saw the removal of the Port Kembla stack, which I describe. There is also reference to an excellent piece by Waleed Aly on asylum seekers and Scott Morrison (see also Triumph of the Chins.) And you really must read Philip Larkin 1922-1985.

Indirectly, as often happens, I found myself passing from a rather good blog post by J R Benjamin — What Kipling’s “Recessional” Means for Today – to the poems of Philip Larkin. I had not looked at Larkin’s work all that often since memorably teaching it to the Class of 1986 at Sydney Boys High – memorably for me as well as for them. Hence the cryptic remarks on the card accompanying the bottle of Veuve Clicquot that wonderful class gave me at the end of 1986…

23 February: I’m my own grandpa — not literally.

The song came to mind when I looked at photos of my brother taken in Tasmania, where he now lives, in the past few weeks. My niece Christine and my grandniece Lauren have been visiting him. Now I was not  for a moment suggesting a family history like the one in the song, even if my brother lives in Tasmania. Winking smile And I don’t have to look beyond myself in this webcam shot taken just now – also honouring Souths’ win yesterday. Though I had better keep that quiet when next I visit the Steelers Club.

Of course the Rabbitohs went on winning, didn’t they?

Tragedy on 24 February: my lovely eMachine failed to fire up at all! Not a sausage! This post (4 December) comes on Baby HP!

One of my best photos:

Belvoir Street, Surry Hills – just up from where I used to live. See my 27 February post In memoriam — for some greats of Surry Hills.

Up there not far from the Belvoir theatre lived the drama critic James Waites. I never met him, I am sorry to say, though we did have some blogging interaction – quite a lot at one stage – and some communication via Facebook where a couple of weeks ago I read about his illness. But I hadn’t checked since.

So I was shocked to open the Herald this morning to see James Waites: Theatre critic whose life became the drama…

The past twelve months — 4 — February 2014

Posted on by

I see that at the end of the month I reposted Where I am right now… from the end of February 2011. And how time continues to move on!

At the beginning of the month I celebrated Diggers, which continues to be a place of food and conversation.

In case you are not from Oz, that means this is originally a club for ex-military types, and the tradition carries on – though these days, despite the fact that the local RSL Sub Branch is housed here, the club is a very multicultural place really, though we pensioners do dominate at least during the day. But you will hear all kinds of languages being spoken by members and visitors – Macedonian, Serbian, Chinese, even German – which is quite a tasty irony in a way.

P1310481

Last Friday the conversation I was engaged in was so fascinating we talked right through“The Ode” – a daily ritual – 4pm in Wollongong — that may seem odd but which I respect. This Friday we made sure not to repeat the gaffe. My friend is a retired Port Kembla wharf labourer originally from Liverpool on the Mersey, born the same year as John Lennon – and yes as a young man he frequented the original Cavern, though for the jazz rather than the Beatles.  Of such things were we talking when “The Ode” came on Friday last.

The next entry Back with eBooks is still worth reading, though I must confess I use them less than I did. Mind you “To an Athlete Dying Young” in this morning’s post came from my Calibre collection.

Dougie Baldwin, star of The Nowhere Boys

That is from And on ABC3… (3 February). The new series is now playing. On 4 February I posted Timely reading, the travails of a club, and a virtual Greek holiday, mainly about the Hellenic Club. I still miss Sophie’s cooking.

On 6 February came The swimmer.

When I saw the following image on the Rumi page on Facebook the other day I couldn’t help but think of Ian Thorpe.

1795710_10152262182388185_944434596_n

I am sure we all wish him well.

I don’t know Ian Thorpe, but I have known people who do know him and I have posted about him over the years…

That went on to talk about my late cousin, Beverley Whitfield.

Then came a run of photo posts, including this shot of the Crown Street Mall Friday markets.

Completely different and political is Triumph of the chins. I still feel that way, maybe more so. Then came A very mixed bag.

11 February’s Recycle time included some of my best images from February 2009 to February 2012. And I do like Talking through my hat. And Closing the gap!  Halfway through February I wrote This blog is now one year old.

Dear me! I managed in the last 2014 retrospect to do January in one post! But here we are only half through February and this post is filled. I must have been in really good form back then!

Smart lad, to slip betimes away

Posted on by

The Sydney Morning Herald today quotes A E Housman’s “To an Athlete Dying Young”.

To an Athlete Dying Young

The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.

To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:

Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.

So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.

And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl’s.

Today is the funeral of cricketer Phillip Hughes (1988-2014).

Update

Yes, I watched it on ABC News 24, and I was very moved by it.

PC031047