CONVERSATIONS WITH FLOWERS

 CONVERSATIONS WITH FLOWERS

It is a well known fact that our plants respond to conversation and even music.  I did read a book about this subject and freaked out when it was stated that carrots shriek when pulled up - I guess l would shriek too 'don't eat me - don't eat me'.

Brian has been having unusual conversations as we travel - 'what do you think sheep are thinking while munching grass'.  

My answer 'here comes the truck - run - run fast!!!'  To his delight a new add on TV was about what flies were saying.  I can't wait to hear the next installment to this conversation when we head off into NSW and Victoria at the end of this month for two weeks to do some book signings - I will post details later.

Meanwhile enjoy this read as l recover from a day trip to Floriade in Canberra - thankyou Anglicare and Ray our bushfire chaplain for organising this and picking me up at 6am then dropping me off around 10.30 in the evening after a wonderful day.  The above photo was taken there and l will add others after the story showing that many people were there to talk to the flowers.

People must think l’m batty but l talk to flowers.

The thing l miss most while travelling is a garden.  My contact with plants is pretty minimal.  I’m at the appreciation stage – the final step in my love of growing things.

As a child I was surrounded by gardeners.

My Dutch grandfather grew a hillside of vegetables, fruit and nut trees.  On my mother’s side of the family Grandma Sarah grew pretty much everything.  On Woodmans Hill just outside Ballarat she had a huge orchard, extensive vegetable garden, hothouses for fragile plants and propagation, and a rambling English cottage garden.

The Secret Garden and all the Limberlost books by Gene Stratton Porter were my favourite reads, losing myself in the beauty of walled gardens and the everglades.

My mother loved camellias and peony roses.  Her passion for growing asparagus was almost manic. Death threats were issued if we dared to approach her beds of green emerging spears.  

Dad followed his father’s lead and planted a paddock of vegetables.   As kids we weren’t encouraged to experiment ourselves, merely allowed to help out with a little weeding.

At primary school we had our own little flower patches growing plants from seed – magical!

Later in life l discovered Australian native plants and created gardens filled with nectar-bearing plants to tempt birds and insects.  At one stage l had two building blocks landscaped with a stream and ponds. Pathways meandered through stands of trees, shrubs and patches of native orchids.  Gang gang cockatoos fed at eye level on seed pods while echidnas swam across the ponds with their little beaks above the water like periscopes.

I even devoted most of the backyard to vegetables filling our freezer with home grown produce.  The soil originally was buckshot gravel but after much preparation with bags of gypsum, compost and mulch it produced bumper crops of juicy tomatoes, corn, broad beans and thousands of zucchini.

Now, garden-less, I use my camera to capture the beauty of the bush and flowers.  I lie on my tummy on bush tracks trying to photograph orchids.

At Christmas l was loitering outside the hardware store when l spotted a trolley overflowing with multi-coloured hibiscus plants.  One almost yelled out to me.  I just had to have it.

I decided to give it to the park owners as a gift.  I was really keen to have this plant nearby. 

“Yes – just plant it near the amenities” Bucky suggested “it won’t get into the spouting there or cause any trouble.”

Each day that stunning hibiscus presents a new flower.  Every day l, and all the campers, tenderly touch it and praise the plant for giving us so much joy.

Then Bucky told me to “remove all the flowers so it can grow faster.”

I cried as l pinched off the flowers apologising profusely.  I rebelled, leaving a flower bud on each branch while still feeling like a murderer.

Planted deep inside my being is a garden of love for growing things!

 

Coming Home

Wonboyn has had its ups and downs in the short 10 or so years we have been here.  We have seen the horror of the recent bush fires and this photo will give you an indication of how close it came to us with our mate Wayne losing all his possessions and his annual site right next to us.  But now Wonboyn has recovered - with the bush regenerated and life goes on!                                                                Coming Home

Last year, forever on the move, I began to wonder when l would ever get back home to the special place that pulls at my heart.  I feel a little lost when I leave – very lonely when away – and at great peace when I return.

Wonboyn Lake works that magic on me.

It was my husband’s decision to come here. 

He identified that heart pull long before l felt any connection – his love of fishing prompted the move.  This greatly surprised me as his traditional fishing meccas were the Edwards, Murray and Darling rivers – all inland waters.

Now, it seems, salt water runs in his veins.

Very uncertainly l agreed to come here – then had to admit he was right.

At Wonboyn Lake lush forest meets the sea in breathtaking vistas of natural beauty.   All day a medley of bird-calls provide music.  Wildlife here is intriguing and the bush-garden of spring flowering native plants sends my senses reeling.

The pull of my family almost took me away from here, then, after much soul-searching, Wonboyn won out – I simply cried my way home.  The thought of being away much longer was just too much it almost tore me apart. 

I’ve noticed how, as a nation, we now move about changing homes like hermit crabs.  As we outgrow the first home we instantly look for another – and rarely look back.

In my mother’s family the home on Woodman’s hill was a constant – her parents lived there almost till their death.  My father’s family migrated from Holland after the war and fell in love with Australia making Clunes their home.

 Times have changed quite radically.  For us in our big bus, home is where-ever we park it.

For some time it’s been parked at Wonboyn Lake.  We do our exploring in the small “book mobile” van with its bed in the back and a few cupboards for our gear.  So simple – but it works.

When I’m on the road promoting new books l travel in the little van – much like a moon orbiting around a home planet – the gravitational pull of Wonboyn Lake brings me back each time.

We’ve seen this lovely place change with the seasons, draped in a variety of dramatic personas.  We’ve been flooded in many times as the river and creek on Wonboyn road runs high with water flowing off surrounding hills rushing in haste to the sea.

Sitting on our little deck we’ve watched lightning bolts slash and illuminate the night.  Recently the smoke-filled sky glowed red from bushfires edging closer.  We’ve woken to mornings white with frost followed by nights of hooting boobook owls, howls from the dingo packs and screaming greater gliders calling to starry skies.  Day and night we hear the surf pound on the beach at Disaster Bay just three kilometres away.        

At first light bird-scream is my alarm-clock.  I wake to bell minors, kookaburras, lyre-birds and their feathered mates suggesting l greet the new Wonboyn day – natural perfection!

And now as we head into Eden for the next cruise ship - setting up our book stall at the Tourist Centre we start to prepare for a book signing trip into NSW and Victoria for two weeks at the end of October and into November - always coming and going and returning back to Wonboyn to regroup and enjoy the beauty of our special home base.

The book of bush fire stories is still waiting on funding which we hope will eventuate.

 

Catch Of the Day

 Catch of the Day - first published on the ABC Open website it was a story that showed how you never know what you might catch on the beaches of Disaster Bay - Greenglades just a few kilometers from Wonboyn.

           

Beach fishing is not my forte.

I don’t use one of those huge rods, or cast out for miles.  So it’s hardly surprising that my catch of the day is a little unorthodox.

 Down on the beach at Green Glades in the Nadgee Nature Reserve it’s common to see the footprints of dingoes out foraging through the sea wrack above the breaking waves.  Oyster Catchers strut importantly about in and out of the surf as migrating whales cruise by.

 Arriving at the beach before the turn of the tide around dusk one evening we noticed a sea kayak pulled up on the sand.  We set up our rods nearby hoping to hook a big salmon for dinner.   A young chap approached us after visiting all the anglers along the beach.  “Are you heading into Eden,” he asked hopefully.

 My husband chatted to him for a while as l struggled to bring in what l thought was a huge fish. Both men laughed when l dragged in a pumpkin firmly hooked but a little worse for wear.  “Catch of the day,” they quipped grinning.   The bites were few and far between so we packed up and offered to drive Richard to town.

 He left his kayak carefully hidden in the bush then, with a little prompting, filled us in on his travels.  He and a mate had just paddled across Bass Strait from Devonport to Lakes Entrance.   The next leg of the journey to Bermagui was a solo effort.  A recent spate of rough weather had worn the young fella out. 

 Years ago l read a book by Patsy Adam-Smith about her years working as a radio operator on a ship sailing across Bass Strait.  She recorded instances of ships going down in wild storms.  Why on earth would anyone want to cross the Strait in a little kayak?

 Strangely Richard thought this was pretty tame stuff.  One of his mates almost paddled from Australia to New Zealand – l say almost – as he lost his life not far from making shore.  I suppose four or five meter swells near Gabo Island, where Richard decided to look for a rest spot, were hardly worth a mention. 

 The very fact that he decided to have a dip with the seals before the weather cut up rough was also no big deal.  I asked him if huge sharks, who also love those seals enough to give them top billing on their dinner menu, were a consideration.He smiled and said – “no.”

Before heading into Eden we took him back to the bus for a fortifying cuppa and chook sandwich.   We marveled at his fearlessness and quest for adventure and often think of him when down at Green Glades.  Perhaps we’ll see him on the news – smiling as he breaks a paddling record crossing miles of churning ocean.

 My husband now claims Richard as his “catch of the day” – and l must admit he’s a hard one to beat!

Richard returned to his medical practice in the Blue Mountains and we wonder what his next adventure will be.

 

 

 

 

CALLING THEM HOME

 

Where would we be without the volunteers who man some of the most valuable services in our communities.

Meals on Wheels, local museums, service groups like Apex and in our lovely coastal town of Eden, Marine Rescue.

Jenny Drenkhahn had a foot in many of these camps and her family of brothers are also very active supporting the town and it's community.  

The are the gold in a field of chaff - not often obvious or putting themselves in the lime light but so valuable that when they have to step back the loss is deeply felt far and wide.

Jenny is disabled though still living at home.  She continues to help out where she can.

AT HOME ON THE WAVES

 

People who live in small country towns are often spread like vegemite around communities - giving their time, expertise and energy to a myriad of causes and organizations.

Welcome to Jenny Drenkhahn’s world – that of a valued, well-trained volunteer.

 l met Jenny – one of the movers and shakers of the Eden Killer Whale Museum – when volunteering to write “Soundings”, the museum newsletter – previously one of Jenny’s tasks.

This freed her up to complete an eight month project, transferring 244 records of marine surveys by Captain Dick Jolly onto the museum data base, providing information for researchers and historians.

Jenny joined her brother and aunt and volunteered at the Killer Whale Museum in 1978. She is often found giving a guided tour, chairing a meeting, or stepping up to the mike to MC a museum function. As a life member of the museum, and currently secretary of the executive panel, she is also involved with SEHGI – the museums of our South East area.

 I was pleasantly surprised to hear Jenny’s voice on our local community radio station, presenting her program – “The Waterfront Report” – a goldmine of local information with a strongly nautical flavor. I sensed that she was very comfortable sitting behind a microphone, and noted how she chose each word she spoke with care.

 Then I discovered she’d followed in her mother’s footsteps, working four hour shifts as a radio operator with the Marine Rescue and Coastal Patrol, her voice a lifeline to seafarers, guiding those in danger on the seas to a safe haven.

 Jenny is very calm in the face of crisis. Her no nonsense approach and attention to detail makes her a wonderful listener with the ability to react quickly, passing on essential information in firm measured tones.

 Eden Coastal Patrol maintains a data base of 1,060 vessel names, registration and mobile numbers, constantly changing as boats are sold and vessel names changed. Updating and maintaining this system is a huge undertaking. Jenny’s meticulous eye for detail is invaluable in this work.

 While sitting in the hot-seat at the microphone, logging on details provided by vessels in the area, Jenny monitors three band widths with seven radios operating along with the fax and computer. It’s a lot to comprehend and keep track of, while providing each vessel with updated weather forecasts and warnings of storms and big blows.

 Jenny told me of a kayaker heading down the coast who ran into a big South Easter, the wind creating huge seas. She lost communication with him and became concerned. With his mobile phone out of range, and the weather worsening, she notified the water police. The kayak capsized losing all the communication gear.  The bloke swam for the coast towing his kayak.  He managed to make land at Bittangabee Bay where the police found him.

 Opening her home to stranded yachties during wild Sydney to Hobart races, is for Jenny, just another way she can help out those in distress.

 She’s our Eden behind-the-scenes hero! 

 

 

 

 

CAUGHT ANY LATELY MATE

 I really didn't get fishing for quite some time.  I got eating the catch.  But all that time sitting and waiting for a bite - nah!  

Being the eternal two year old, needing constant entertainment, the waiting game was not my scene.  Then things changed and the fishing comp was on.  Most of my fishing stories were gathered from my patient husband Brian - I will add these in for your enjoyment.

This one is set at Jew Fish Beach on Wonboyn Lake NSW where we still live and work from.  Since the bush fires the boardwalk across the swamp behind the beach has not been re-built so bring your waders if you want to visit this pretty spot where the kangaroos feed at the water side.

CAUGHT ANY LATELY MATE?

 

My husband – the born to fish bloke, enjoys his meditation while waiting for the elusive bite.

His lakeside reverie at Wonboyn is often joined by Eastern Grey Kangaroos.

While he sits on his seat – a tall white lidded bucket, the kangaroos start to close in.

 

Blokie rarely misses anything.  His senses are tuned to the sounds and sights around him.  He’s always been a solitary soul finding his time at the lake, or the beach, his way of turning off his over active brain. He calmly watches the world go about its business.

 I sometimes join him bringing my camera, along with an assortment of books, crosswords and a notepad with pens in my amusement backpack.  While l read l blissfully ignore my rod, bouncing merrily with bites.

  Soft swishes and gentle thuds alert him to the kangaroos approaching.  “Kangaroos behind you,” he calls, softly.  In the mounds of tussocks, just behind the lakeside beach, a female kangaroo and her youngster pop up inquisitive heads, taking a breather from their meal. 

 They blend so beautifully with their surroundings and hardly seem to mind the intrusion of a couple of fishermen.  Grabbing my camera l gather some lovely shots, finally becoming a little more aware of my surroundings.

 Above us three curious Wedge-tailed Eagles circle, keeping an eye on us and the kangaroos, barely flapping a feather as they soar on the thermals.  They move off towards the surf beach in just a lift of a wingtip.

 

A ripple along the water alerts us to a school of bait fish on the move in a mad rush to escape a predatory tailor.  Every fish seems to be frantically escaping becoming dinner for a larger swimming, eating machine.  The living food chain evolves before us in an endless wave of motion.

Down the beach a rod jerks and bends.

 The kangaroos stop munching, ears twitching they watch as the fisherman races to his rod.   A tussle begins as line sings along the surface of the lake and a silvery fish jumps, heading for freedom.   With a swift jerk it’s hooked and the battle commences.  As the fisherman works his fish, the fish keeps trying to find release. 

 It pulls with all it’s might in resistance.  It jumps trying to free the hook.   Then in a sulk it finally gives in and admits defeat.  When it’s landed on the beach the fisherman becomes quite excited.  It’s bigger than even he expected.  Often the really large fish are returned to the water to continue breeding.   He has set up his own catch and release rules allowing for the recovery of fish species.

 This one, however, is dinner.  It will be marinated in soy sauce and sugar, smoked to retain the sweetness of its flesh and eaten with relish.   A fine and fitting celebration of a day’s fishing.

 The kangaroos, heads down, are again feeding.

The entertainment of the day has come to an end.

 

 

 

 

AS GOOD AS GOLD

 

    It w.as a chance meeting when l was working for McKay Macleod as a travelling rep selling the products they produced in their Ballarat factory into corner stores and pubs and motels.  

I was in Daylesford enjoying the spring weather when an old bloke turned up on his rusty old bike.  He strolled into the milk bar where l had just had a good sale and he had a sack over his shoulder which he loaded up with some  groceries.

Over the following months we gradually got to know each other. 

It was AS GOOD AS GOLD

 

I first met Jack Frost in Daylesford on a sunny spring afternoon.

I’d just finished a call at a milk bar on the outskirts of town.

He was picking up a few supplies – a packet of tea, a tin of condensed milk and some sweet biscuits.

I rather loved the twinkle in his faded blue eyes, the length of baler twine holding up his go-to-town strides, and his whiskery chin.

He was impressed to meet a lady sales rep.   We became formally introduced via the shop keeper.

“Do you like daffodils love?” Jack enquired, tilting back his trilby.

“Sure do Jack.  My Gran has those fancy big ones in her garden.”

“I grow a few flowers,” Jack added.  “Would you like to come out for a look around?”

I must admit I was totally charmed, and keen to visit his “flower farm”, picturing a tangled garden next to a run-down weatherboard cottage.  He gave me directions and we set a date for the following Saturday.

I waved goodbye as he mounted his rickety old pushbike and pedalled up the hill.  He certainly was a fit old stick.   The ten mile round trip from his property into town didn’t seem to daunt him one iota.

 

That evening my husband gave me the third degree.

“So this is the first time you’ve met this old bloke?

”Yep.”

“And you plan to visit him on Saturday?”

“Yep.”

“Might be safer if you took your mate Penny along,” he advised.

I snorted, rolled my eyes and dropped the subject.

 

On Saturday afternoon, following Jack’s directions, Penny and l pulled up at his front gate.  The two paddocks flanking his long gravel driveway were crammed with beds of daffodils in full flower.  A sea of golden heads waved gently in the breeze as they worshipped the sun.

Jack wandered out of his neat little home, a wide two-toothed grin lighting up his face like a beacon.  We were welcomed like princesses – then he introduced us to his flowers.

“This one ere’s a double, ere’s a miniature, do you like Johnnies?”, and on went Jack, picking two of each variety, our arms overflowing with blooms as we walked the rows.   The colours and forms delighted us – so many types – pinks, apricots, whites, yellows, orange and red-orange hues in a myriad of combinations.  The large golden trumpets standing in buckets outside florist shops now seemed mundane.

Driving home the car filled with a blend of floral perfume.   Both Penny and l agreed we had never before had such an enjoyable day.  Jack had obviously had a great time too.  We arranged to meet every time l visited Daylesford.

 

On one visit Jack handed over a heavy sack. 

“Here ya go love.  You’ll find five of each of me beauties in there – all named,” he added with his signature grin.

“You’ll never be short of a quid growing flowers!”

He watched as tears welled up in my eyes.

Jack had just provided me with a golden inheritance.

Tags – Jack Frost, daffodils, Daylesford, Susie Sarah

 

There was nothing cold about Jack Frost – he had a heart of gold!

Every spring when the daffodils bloomed in my Halls Gap garden and then multiplied sharing forest floor space with a myriad of native orchids l remembered Jack who had long ago passed away.  Like that quiet but lovely gentleman they continued to give me a sense of all the good qualities blokes of his generation had - salt of the earth chaps happy to give and share what he had built up over scores of years.

 

ALWAYS EAT EVERYTHING ON YOUR PLATE

 

We were always told to 'Eat Everything on Your Plate' 

I have wondered if almost starving during the occupation of Holland in WW11 influenced my father to make us eat everything on our plates as kids.

He, like my Opa, had a magnificent veggie garden so there were no food shortages in our family.

In fact l think we fed our neighbourhood throughout our childhood.  We also had chooks so there were plenty of fresh eggs to satisfy mum's need to bake lots of cakes.

Is it any wonder l look like a beachball and had issues with my weight as a child through into adulthood as do most of my sisters.

The following story illustrates this stricture of no wastage which many will remember - can any of you remember that phrase 'The starving kids overseas would appreciate all this food' we often offered to post parcels of left overs.

                                                   Always eat everything on your plate

My mum was a plain meat and three veg cook when we were little.  Dad grew the veggies, she cooked the meals.  We had chooks and rabbits a lot, these meats both easy to grab or trap.  Woe betide any one of us who refused to eat every scrap on our plates.

When mum returned to the work force dad cooked the odd meal.  One memorable evening meal still sticks in my throat.

Dad had grown big green string beans that year.  I took notice of these as there was an invasion of nasty soldier beetles swarming over the crop.  I am normally very interested in bugs but there were far too many of these beetles, and they horrified me.

The night dad cooked beans, spuds, carrots and burnt chops was a doozy.  In a rush to head off to the pub he neglected to string the beans before chopping them up and did his best to boil them to mushy oblivion. 

The rope-like strings held the beans together but were pretty much indigestible.  For some reason he loaded my plate with them and stood over me as l struggled to swallow them.  The other kids gulped their small portions down and scurried off leaving me to battle on alone.

In my mind l saw platoons of soldier beetles marching up and down the bean strings. It made the meal even more unappetising.  Dad threatened me with the strap – his thick heavy belt.  I cried till l was a sobbing, hiccupping mess.  He roared and ranted then in frustration put my plate in the fridge.

“Don’t think you’ll get away with this.  It’s beans for breakfast for you.”

When Mum returned from work she sussed out the situation and tasted the cold tough stringy mess.  “You can’t expect a child to eat this” she yelled throwing them onto the compost heap.

My reprieve was very unusual in our home where every plate had to be almost licked clean.  Mum had a special catch cry about left overs “children in China would be glad to have this” she’d roar.

“Let ‘em have it then” we replied, offering to package up the revolting burnt offerings and post them away to China after school. 

Meanwhile my aversion to beans prompted her to buy seasoned canned beans which were really nice.  I rather enjoyed this classy tucker.

Thankfully now l rather relish fresh green beans and always carefully remove their strings before adding them to stir-frys – which are lovely when the veggies are a little crunchy. 

Happily, years later, Mum started to watch a host of cooking programs and her meals became almost gourmet delights.  Her grandchildren reaped the benefit of her new skills when she visited my sisters in turn.

The “eat everything on your plate” advice – or threat – did have more adverse effects than a hatred of beans.  Most of my sisters and I all struggle with obesity – we’ve been programmed to love food too much.

The photo of a very strange parsnip was taken at a friend's place - Don was a great veggie grower too!

 

 

A NEW STORY EACH WEEK - A LITTLE WATER GOES A LONG WAY

 

                   

A LITTLE WATER GOES A LONG WAY

I am still a great fan of the late Graham Pizzey - an ornithologist, natural history author, publisher of bird field guides and extremely talented bird photographer.

When l lived on Mt Abrupt in the Grampians, Victoria, Graham and his wife Sue became our closest neighbours and a source of knowledge for me in particular.

Graham had a great gift of understanding the interaction of animals, plants, insects in the environment around him.  His books make intriguing reading and transport the reader to places of wonder.  He was so much in touch with the natural world that a walk down a bush track with him was filled with new experiences and insights into the lives of the creatures around us.  I hope this simple story tempts you to find a water bowl then watch the birds and animals coming in for a drink and a bath.`

A LITTLE WATER GOES A LONG WAY

 

Many people spend a fortune on fancy bird seed to attract native birds.

At our place a bowl of water does the trick.

 

When I lived in the Grampians decades ago my neighbor, ornithologist, photographer and journalist Graham Pizzey swore by his fancy bird-pudding recipe for attracting birds. He proudly listed all the species he had lined up for a feed at his door.

 

In honour of his memory I recently mixed some up – a good dollop of lard, grated tasty cheese, bird seed, grated apple and honey – melted it together – set it in the fridge – and served it up to our Wonboyn birds.

I was amazed to see them reject it. Couldn’t even get a bower-bird interested – and we all know they eat pretty well anything!

 

Later on a massive, elderly, eastern grey kangaroo ambled over drooling in anticipation and happily polished most of it off. He must have been pretty impressed as later that evening he invited one of his girl-friends to dine at our place and became quite huffy when I told him it was off the menu.

 

That basic ceramic bowl of water I mentioned earlier is still by far the best attractor bringing in birds, animals and reptiles too.

Old-man goanna – all eight feet of him – tried to come inside recently. Perhaps he’d had too much to drink!

 

Most of the birds like a bath – especially on hot days. With our lack of rain I notice there is quite a queue and pecking order around the bowl. I monitor the water levels and top it up when needed.

 

Thuggish rainbow lorikeets, as usual, rule the roost. They happily bathe together – and it’s quite a squeeze at times. Magpies barely fit in the bowl and empty it out pretty quickly. Little red-browed fire-tailed finches line up around the rim taking turns, having a drink while they wait and Mr. Whippy our flamboyant whip-bird jumps in feet first. Inside the bus I hear him land with a clunk – and was just fortunate enough to snap a revealing bath-room shot.

 

The grey shrike thrush drinks first then bathes later, leaving a trail of silvery song behind. Bowerbirds are sneaky – they pop in for a quick dip when no-one is looking – then fly inside the bus for forage around if the door is open. Scrub wrens introduce their peeping babies, teaching them that cleanliness is a good trait – they also come inside to do a little house cleaning. Mr. Superb, the blue wren, brings along his bevy of females then stares at his beautiful reflection in the clear, still water. He once bought along a shiny yellow petal from a ground-creeping bush-flower to display to his harem – show-off!

 

The lyre-birds don’t have time to drink at the bowl – they prefer to play chasey around the pittosporum trees behind the bus then a paddle in the creek and have a karaoke contest at the bottom of the hill, where the acoustics are the best.

 

And just after dark the night-shift clocks on!

Stories - Stories - Stories

 

SMOKE ACROSS THE WATER UPDATE

With all our travels around in different states since the border restrictions for Covid have lifted this book is still hovering overhead waiting to be finally published.

Funding dried up and I then tried to source some grants through our wonderful Community Centre but with no luck.

Rev Ray wearing one of his many hats finally helped me to let go of this and give it to the Wonboyn Community as it is after all theirs.

It will be interesting to see how the project goes from here and when the book finally gets printed l know all those who love Wonboyn will support it as the funds go back into the community for projects which will lift them out of the horrors of the fire and its destruction.

Rev Ray is a Bushfire Recovery Counsellor through the church and still helps those who have lost everything and are still trying to rebuild their lives.  He recently travelled hundreds of miles to Jack Mountain where a man in his 70's is living in very basic accommodation while he tries to rebuild his home.  The shire doesn't recognise him as a resident and he has no rubbish collection and has to drive to the Eden tip once a month - such basic needs that we assume will be met but are not.

So just to keep this fresh in your minds here is a story about a lovely couple who had an annual site at the Wonboyn Caravan Park and were unable to return to their home further north as it was threatened by fire - they both had lung damage by the smoke of the fires and now Gerry Newman

has passed away while helping out by painting a home - he fell from a ladder and had very extreme brain injury which in the end took his life.  After reading this story you will see how much they did for others in that terrible time.

                                                  Evacuation Angels

 

11/2/2020 Deborah Jenkins and Gerry Newman were caught between a rock and a hard place.  Their home at Tallinga up near Tuross Head, and their caravan and annex at Wonboyn Lake, were both under threat, their northern home from the fires near Bateman’s Bay, and their home-away-from-home at Wonboyn from the Border Fire. 

They had no choice but to join the throngs of tourists and locals at the evacuation centres.  It was at these places that they showed their true colours, where they were given name tags that read ‘evacuation angel Deborah’ and ‘evacuation angel Gerry’, from the Red Cross.

 

Deborah - We’ve been coming to Wonboyn Lake for around ten years we started camping with our caravan then we acquired this onsite van and boat.  Four years we’ve had this site and we don’t use it regularly.   That’s the downside of having something like this.   We house-sit around Australia, and we have our own caravan so we travel a lot.  Our house which is at Turlinjah near Tuross, we have friends staying there at the moment and they are in the process of building a house, but in the next three weeks our daughter will be moving in who’s marriage didn’t work out and she has two little ones and was paying $360 a week rent for an absolute hovel, so that will help her get on her feet.  We’ll be off again soon but have a few things to sort out before we go.  We’ll be back to doing our old life again.

Gerry – I tag along with Deborah I’m retired Navy so I’ve travelled a lot – we both enjoy travelling.

Deborah – All our family that once lived down here have gone north, so they’ve all deserted the sinking ship and gone north, so Christmas time we’ve had to join the family there.  This year is the first year we’ve been here for Christmas for probably in 3 years. 

We left Tuross where we were house-sitting on the 28^th of November and we arrived down on the highway where Scrubby Creek was.  Gerry said ‘Wow look at that three great big plumes of smoke.’   There were absolutely gale force winds that day.  The wind was rocking the car it was so strong.   By the time we got to Wonboyn corner there was a low loader with a big bull dozer and about three fire trucks.  Someone had lit three fires on the corner.  If they hadn’t got onto that with the force of that wind Wonboyn would have gone that day the whole atmosphere coming down the coast, it looked like the whole south coast could blow up at any time – just the dryness the thickness of the scrub.   You couldn’t see what was on the ground it just looked like this is a disaster waiting to happen. 

Gerry – With the border fires, we have no TV or radio reception here and relied on the likes of Brian and Susie to tell us what was happening.  That’s when we first picked it up.  We didn’t watch TV until we were at Club Sapphire. 

Deborah – We really didn’t know what was going on except that morning the 31^st the atmosphere was different.  Before that it was families and Christmas as usual.  All the families were here doing the normal Christmas routine, sort of catching up, it’s like a family here at Christmas and Easter.  It was like coming home and we miss Robby and Bucky terribly, you know the old owners of the park, because we were part of their family and everyone had been coming here since they were babies.   Their grandparents came here so the stories here were amazing.  We were all just there talking that morning the next thing it came over dark and we saw a big plume of smoke go up in the air over the left there, and no one really knew what that was about.

  All our phones started dinging with the message ‘it’s time that you left Wonboyn’ so that was about 10am maybe earlier.  So that was it, everyone just went grabbed what they could, totally not prepared for this.  If we’d thought about it, or there’d been a meeting that this could happen, ‘we suggest you could get a case ready because tomorrow you may need to go’, none of that, and people were throwing things together randomly.  We left all our food, like I would have easily $500 of worth food, ‘cause that’s what you do when you come here you don’t go shopping out if possible. 

The next thing it was on and it was just lovely the way everyone left.  We all met up in Eden at various cafés but the cafés were all closing down.   Nobody had masks, we had nothing.  And then we heard to go to the club, who said it l don’t know, so we headed up to the Fisherman’s Club.   There were a few sausage rolls on the table, which was very nice the kids who thought it was wonderful, tomato sauce and chips.  So that night 17 or 18 of us all went for a Chinese meal.  By the time we got to the club there was no room at the inn, it was completely packed that night.   You couldn’t put your back against the wall and lay on the floor or stay that night.   No room   Someone said go down to a centre at the high school – they had nothing.   Eden was quite disorganised for this, then someone said go over to the church so we went over to the church hall where the garden is.

Gerry - Where the Saturday market is held.

Deborah - They went to the church and got the mattresses the seats from the pews and brought them over. Georgia and Garry and Gerry and l all stayed there.   They couldn’t make us more welcome.   There were people coming in there all night with nowhere to go, they had nowhere to go.

 Georgia and l were looking after two old ladies that had been left there by family because they didn’t want them in the club.   One used to be a minister there, her husband – no her fellow, they were getting married two weeks later and they were in their 60’s these people they were absolutely gorgeous.

The next day we came back here to Wonboyn to get a bit more organised, and everyone was leaving from here and going back to Victoria.   They said (the Police) ‘wherever you’re from, leave we don’t want you here, best to leave now, and get home’ so they took that good advice, most of the people, and it was a Police order. 

It was 13 hours via Canberra l think, just only to get to the outskirts of Victoria the way they had to go. They were checking that they had full tanks of petrol or diesel before they allowed them on the Brown Mountain or Imlay or anywhere.   They didn’t want anyone breaking down because they wouldn’t have been able to handle it.  We were stuck trying to get fuel in Eden.

So the next day the club was deserted.  There was nobody, except for this family that we know from here, and they didn’t go to Victoria.   They had three young children and there was Gerry and l.   And then they said to go to Club Merimbula.  The club in Eden was closed. there was no one there anyway.   Most everybody had gone by that stage.  Then when we got to Merimbula it was a complete different kettle of fish.  They were so organised.  There was Anglicare, there was the Red Cross, the Disaster team, all these different agencies. You had to register, and then we went upstairs and got a mattress, and then that day and that night there were just people wandering in from everywhere. 

The food, everything was so organised.  I’ve been in catering all my life and l have never seen such a well-oiled machine in all my life.  And we were there for about seven days.   For three days you were ordering off the menu, all this beautiful food.   By the fourth day it was pie and chips, bringing them out boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, don’t like that get back up the end of the queue.   By the time you got there it might have been fish and chips again, we didn’t know.  It was fabulous absolutely fabulous.

They picked Gerry and l to be people that were a bit organised and they made us Voluntary Angels.  If anyone needed medication, or any little job we could do, they’d say ‘are you right to do this or that old man needs to do that’ l had a couple of old men l was looking after.  I fed them lollies mainly.  I used to go to Woolies and buy big bags of lollies, and cheese and biscuits.   Old people like to be eating all the time.  Gerry picked up medication and prescriptions.  It was a fantastic atmosphere, really fantastic.   People didn’t want to go home.   Everything was so well organised it was amazing to watch.  If they could have stayed there they would have.

Gerry – You wanted for nothing.  I noticed that if there was something for me to be doing that needed doing you’d do it, you didn’t make a song and dance about it.  You’d see others doing the same thing, co-operation.  Not putting my hand up to say look at me.

Deborah – Then we arrived back at the Club one day after we’d gone to Woolworths or somewhere, next thing the clubs closed down and everyone was going, leaving this that and the other.   And l said to this lady ‘we’re at Wonboyn’ and she said ‘Yes, yes, yes, just go.   Wonboyn’s open off you go.’   I had a feeling, no it’s not open.

Gerry – This was an emergency worker telling us that was open, every thing’s fine.   The road to Wonboyn was closed.   There was no power, no water, no sewerage no nothing. 

Deborah – I thought there’s no use talking to this lady she’s misinformation.  So l found someone else and just explained that we needed to get into Wonboyn down Wonboyn road.  ‘Only two days ago this absolute disaster happened in Wonboyn are you absolutely sure Wonboyn Road is open’ and she said ‘no it’s not it’s definitely not open’ so they gave us seven days accommodation in a motel.  In the meantime, I’d got very, very sick and I’ve got saturated lungs from the smoke, so I’ve been on antibiotics and steroids and seeing doctor after doctor.   It’s been going on now for about five weeks.  I’m seeing one again for a blood test and am very, very sick.

We came back to Wonboyn for four days and I’d got even sicker and l was coughing and coughing and called my insurance company and had no air (also Gerry is an asthmatic).  Our insurance company said ‘your van is toxic and you have to be out of there ’and they gave us two weeks accommodation at Sapphire Valley in a cabin at Merimbula.  Apia Insurance are absolutely amazing, they had cleaners out here and l think the cleaner said ‘look it’s going to cost an absolute fortune to take everything out of here and clean the van’ so they wrote off our van.  We’re in the process of pulling everything down, so we’ve taken everything out of here and we’re going to remove it off site.   We’ve given the park notice and will be leaving in another month or two.

Tell us more about the evacuation centres –

Deborah – Every solitary thing was provided for evacuees.  There were towels and other goods in the evacuation centre.  We all felt like we weren’t victims.  They said ‘you are, yes you are, yes you are take anything you want’.  We went over to Vinnies on the Monday they asked if we needed money or clothes.  We said we didn’t need anything– the amount of stuff that was outside Vinnies.  You couldn’t get in the doorway where people were donating goods.  We could see that as an ongoing thing, when we were staying at the cabin, those businesses were all suffering and still today everyone is suffering– it’s not just in Eden it’s so widespread no one is going back into the areas. 

We had a few reports that the caravan park, everything, all of Wonboyn had gone.  They were even showing footage from the resort looking this way with Baycliff on fire just on Facebook.  Wonboyn and our areas didn’t get much of a mention on that 24hr news you were very lucky to hear anything. 

Gerry – We got word through from people up where we lived, all the areas in the Eurobodalla.   There were about five fires the RFS said and they wouldn’t protect any of those villages.  They were just going to let them burn. 

Deborah – They had to designate so many places that they wouldn’t actually save, but they would stop it going any further.  But they turned around at the end and said ‘oops we can’t do that.’   But everyplace that they said has actually burned down, and at our place in Turlinjah the fires were 5kms away, and we live right on the lake.  And there were three planes coming, one after the other, scooping water out of the lake, taking it five kilometres and going around the whole village.   And that went on all day.

Gerry – It came within to 1 k and was on three fronts and they’d done that three times.

Deborah – And all of our neighbours and our family that were left in the area they were evacuated four weeks running.  We lived at Nerrigundah for a while and Cadgee and out of 35 houses 25 of them were burnt to the ground, so we knew those people

Gerry – We knew which way the fire was going to go.

Deborah – Before the fires our visitors came from Nerrigundah, and it was about four days before this all had actually happened, and one of our visitors had put their van up there. They were late ‘You’re a bit late what had happened?’  They’d had a big fire meeting at the fire shed and he turned around and it was four days before on the 27^th of November no December no it wasn’t before Christmas it was after and he said ‘we’ve just been told it’s not if it happens it’s when, it was going to happen every man for himself’ and all the families had to leave.  Their husbands stayed to fight the fires.   I’ve got footage of them in the fire shed holding the doors closed, all of them, to stop what they called the dragon from coming in and taking them.  It was our friends, and they’d lost all their animals their dogs and their cats they’d lost everything.

We’re going home on Thursday to visit all of our family and friends.  But this is the first time.   We have had no phones, no nothing, and no one was able to contact us.  What do you expect with no communications.    It gives you a big learning curve on what could happen.  I was getting more calls from overseas and on messenger, also Susie said about messages coming from Holland.   The people that were contacting, it’s really weird, all your family overseas, and there’s millions of them, all know what was happening and were thinking of us.   It’s yeah, it’s amazing really.

Gerry – With the breakdown in communication, because it was such a massive catastrophe l suppose, a massive area of disaster is developing and there’s bound to be conflicting information coming in.   And what information was released to the media had to come through central in Sydney or Canberra or wherever they were conducting it from.   Then information was getting out there via Facebook to family and friend, and as you pass it on the truth sometimes gets twisted a bit

Deborah – There was a lot of truth that we were seeing and the stuff l’ve got on my tablet that we did get was the truth.  Just from Messenger, just all our friends from Nerrigundah.  Their journey in the car at three o’clock in the morning, leaving with little kids in the car and driving into this big ball of fire.  But they had to go.   Some of the footage we saw and the stories.   And l thought ‘oh no!’   It was just like being told that Wonboyn had burnt out.   To us it was gospel that Wonboyn had gone and we thought that was what had actually happened. And we were thinking of all the families.

I was worried about all those little animals.  We’ve all got pet kangaroos and wallabies.  Do you know those animals, I reckon a month before the fires the mothers were throwing their babies out of the pouch.  The mums left some, went away and died, it what was weird what was happening.  We had two little kangaroos, l called them the twins, their mum left them for three days.   She’d come back and they’d have a little feed, then she was gone another four days, she’d come back again and then she was gone.  Susie’s old kangaroo died right on her doorstep.   She chose to die.   And our duck – mother duck, it was sad saying goodbye to the animals.  They chose to die before the fires. 

I didn’t think l had anything to say. It’s nice to look back with fondness than look back with horror.

Gerry – But with that communication thing, people in the cities have no idea about what it was like here and –  

Deborah – They don’t want to know.  They really don’t want to know what is happening down here on the coast.

Gerry - My son in Brisbane sent through information.  People coming into the evacuation centre looked shell shocked.  There was a lot of waste and yelling out – we saw the best and the worst of society.  I can still see the older people reading to the kids.

 

Deborah and Gerry were unable to leave when the Corona 19 virus prevented travel.  Again they were in isolation unable to be with family and waiting for repairs to their caravan being completed.  Now they have removed their onsite van and annex passing it on to friends who are still waiting for their burnt-out home to be cleaned up – giving those homeless people a temporary home.  We wish our evacuation angels all the best when they are able to travel again.