It’s always nice…

…when an editor likes your writing.

The Ilford Review is a new literary journal coming out of England. The editor is a joy to work with, respectful of writers and everything he said he’d do panned out exactly as I expected. Oh, and they pay!

You can read The Lion of 81 Upper Orange Street and seven other interesting stories from around the world in the first edition, here https://www.ilfordreview.com/

Emoh Ruo, Linga Longa or Gloria Soame?

Last week, I booked a half-hour slot with our council’s local studies librarian to find out whether our house, one of several in the suburb built during the Edwardian era, has been known as anything other than number 3 during its lifetime.

The architecture of these houses is similar to that of the Victorian and Queen Anne revival periods in Britain, its Antipodean identity forged in the addition of balconies, native flora and fauna motifs – think terracotta kangaroos on roof tops – leadlight windows and doors, and decorative elements such as ceiling roses, fireplace surrounds and timber fretwork.

When we bought the place 30 years ago, it came with a marble fireplace in the lounge room and a timber one in the interleading dining room. We weren’t great fans of the latter, an unwieldy structure that was out of scale with other features in the room. We found a stone mason who could make a marble fire surround to the exact specifications of the one in the lounge room. I remember the moment when the wooden fire surround was pulled from the wall to reveal sheets of an old newspaper tacked to its rear. The date of publication was obscured but an article referred to the 1906-1907 fishing season, giving us an idea as to the age of the house. I still kick myself for having thrown those sheets out.

The librarian confirmed that the house was built in 1908 and that for the next 50 years it was called ‘Yamba’, a common name in our suburb at the time, and probably assigned by the builder. Why Yamba, better known as a coastal town in Northern New South Wales, she didn’t know.

Perhaps there’s a clue in the Aboriginal meanings of the word. This throws up three options, two of which can be eliminated straight away: our house is not on a headland and there is no edible shellfish on the property. The third interpretation – carpet snake – is a distinct possibility. Diamond pythons, a form of carpet snake, are regularly spotted in the nearby bushland areas and a giant specimen washed up on the beach four years ago, parking itself against a wall where we deposit our belongings before going for a swim. While we’ve not had one slither into the garden, they may have inhabited the area prior to subdivision.

One of the things I’ve admired most about Federation houses is their stained glass front doors. When we moved into number 3 – Yamba – all that remained of the original features were the two leadlight ‘eyes’ above the centre pane and most of the flannel flower glass panes above and adjacent to the door. The centre pane had been replaced with stippled white glass and the large pane next to the door with bright orange, both equally undistinguished.

When a friend mentioned he had a spare sheet of white flannel flower glass we decided to give the front door a facelift. We found a glazier who took a rubbing from the small lead lights to guide his design. Few people who visit the house know that the centre pane is not original.

The boys decided that they could instal the flannel flower glass themselves. After measuring up a piece at one end of the sheet, the friend started cutting. I remember the excitement at seeing the outline of the new panel take shape before watching it shatter into a heap of shards. Round two was no more successful. We were all very quiet as the third and final cut was made.

The librarian sent me away with pointers on further research, most of which can be done online. While I sense a project in the making, I’m also trying to think what the hook would be for readers. Is it the small bell next to the original fire surround in the lounge room? M complains endlessly to newbies that no-one comes when he presses it. The board to which it was once linked hung at a jaunty angle in the old pantry before we renovated the back of the house. I wish I’d kept that as well.

Random post

It’s Sunday morning in Sydney. My weather app tells me there’s only a one per cent chance of rain today which, considering that much of Australia is still in the grip of a La Nina cycle, I guess I should be thankful for.

I have an almost pathological dislike of winter, not helped by living in a Federation house. These turn-of-the-century-era dwellings are the earliest manifestation of a vernacular Australian architecture, and they are quite distinctive. Ours has full-brick walls and high ceilings. It is wonderfully cool in summer, requiring little by way of artificial cooling. In winter, it turns into a fridge. We’ve done what we can to draught proof the place and, apart from layering up, we rely on an electric heater, throw rugs and blankets for warmth. We negotiate access to these lifesaving devices with our two cats.

I use a few mind tricks to get me through winter.

The first is to count down the days to the winter solstice: 16 as of today, woo hoo! From then on, I tell myself, the days will get longer. It doesn’t matter that they’ll get colder before they get warmer, the important thing is that summer is coming. Eventually.

Navel oranges. Compared to valencias, navels are juicy and sweet, and free of pips. We go through mountains of them in winter.

Red wine. Maybe it’s that reds work better with hearty food. Whatever it is, red wine always tastes better in winter. Lots of it.

Guavas and lemons. Since the felling of the neighbour’s 15-metre ‘weed’ whose canopy covered most of our back garden, our fruit trees have produced bountifully. There is nothing like the flavour imparted by a home-grown lemon stuffed inside the cavity of roast chicken. I can’t remember when last I priced a commercially available guava, but it wasn’t under a dollar a pop at the time. We have an informal agreement with the pests (birds, fruit fly) whereby they agree to focus on the fruit that we can’t get to, leaving the rest to us. We’re still finessing this agreement.

Truffles. During last year’s lockdown, we bought two of these black nuggets. Over the next 14 days, we had truffles with home-made pasta, truffles with boiled and scrambled eggs, truffles with lobster tails, truffles in risotto, you name it. You can never, ever get tired of truffles, trust me on this. With the local season only just having started, I’m holding off buying until the end of the month when the best will start coming through.

Travel. Now that Australian borders are open, I can leave whenever I wish. And what better time to go to Fiji than in July? Can’t wait!