The Tiger Painting

The Tiger Painting

In 2002 we were living in Singapore on an expat posting with DH's (Dearest Husband) company. DH was always travelling so was rarely at home, Number One son was doing HSC at the Australian School, Number Two son was in Year 9 and a lump of teenage misery and  I was trying to hold the whole ship together. Don't get me wrong, I was having a perfectly wonderful time but it did have its moments...the ones they never tell you about in the "Expat life is wonderful" articles.


In May of that year I bought DH a beautiful painting of a tiger that I found in an obscure little Art Gallery in Holland Village. DH was suitably pleased with the purchase and we hung it in the dining room of our apartment. Our apartment was one of  the older style apartments, spacious, airy and multi level. The dining area was at the top of the highest level and we placed the painting on the wall facing down the stairs, effectively in the most dominant place in the apartment. This is IMPORTANT!

The Dining area of our apartment - Tiger looked straight down the stairs!

We started to experience a period of "general domestic unrest". DH was told that he may be posted elsewhere...could be back home, could be somewhere else or we could be remaining in Singapore. We began to quarrel in a way we had never done before - or since (one famous quarrel resulted in me offloading DH on the side of a road).  #1 son was going through the "HSC blues" and #2 son as well as being a general lump of misery, seemed to be continually unwell. It felt like our little ship was beginning to founder.


"Feng Shui" tours of Singapore are very popular and a group of us embarked on one of these tours. As the bus circumnavigated the popular haunts of the island, the Feng Shui master who was hosting us, went to great pains to explain the power of "tigers" and "dragons". Tigers he said were the most powerful images and if you had one in your house you had to be very careful where it was placed or the power of the tiger could overwhelm the household. I stared at him! The tiger painting...I had placed it in the MOST DOMINANT place in the whole apartment. I had upset the balance of our home and we were being overwhelmed by the tiger.


On the way home I gloomily considered whether art galleries in Singapore would take returns on the basis of bad feng shui. Stopping for coffee in one of the malls we were joined by a newcomer to the school mothers' group who, she told us, just happened to be a geomancer (from Sydney). I related the sad story of my beautiful tiger painting and she laughed (well who wouldn't!). The problem was easily fixed, she said. Just move the painting to a left hand wall (relative to your front door) and make sure it is facing a blank wall and then balance it with a dragon image on the other side of the room.

The $5 resin dragon

My first stop was one of the cheap touristy curio shops where I purchased a small, resin dragon for the huge sum of $5 , I then hurried home and moved the painting just as the geomancer had instructed to a benign wall in our living room, carefully placing the dragon opposite.


An hour later #1 son slumped in from school. In answer to my tentative "How was school?", he replied with a quizzical look on his face. "Good. Half way through the afternoon, it suddenly felt OK again.". I gave the tiger a wink.


Next morning, I received a phone call from DH. "Just had a meeting with the boss. Sorry, Al, but I am being posted back to Melbourne." Job uncertainty resolved, I gave the tiger a thorough dusting.


The following day, #2 son's grumbling appendix threatened to burst and he was whipped into hospital. OK, not a great outcome for him but at least it explained the ongoing ill health! At this point I felt I should be lighting joss sticks in front of the tiger.


Over lunch with some friends a few days later, I related the story of the Tiger Painting and one of my friends went pale. She had just purchased a large Tibetan chest, painted with the faces of six tigers. She promptly went out and bought a multi branched dragon candelabra (figuring so many tigers needed something more substantial than a $5 resin dragon) and had her sceptical teenager moving the chest into less dominant positions. Too late - the next day her husband's appendix burst and he was whipped into hospital with peritonitis - a week before they were due to be posted back to Melbourne. (I have often wondered if there was such a thing as contagious appendicitis as we had hosted a BBQ only a week earlier and 3 people from that day came down with appendicitis!).


So you can see, I am a staunch believer in the power of the elements and the principles of Feng Shui. The wealth corner of our property is the far left hand corner of DH's garage which is so cluttered and disorganised you can't even get to it. Knowing this was likely to happen if you dig through the junk, you will find a frog with a coin in its mouth. I can't change DH but I can do what little I can to influence the qi!


Tiger still lives with us, I couldn't find a non-dominant left wall for him, but he has his back to the front door and across the room is his little friend the dragon. Peace and harmony rules.

Tiger and the Dragon - in harmony

(If you find yourself in Singapore and you have exhausted the joys of Orchard Road, why not take a Feng Shui tour? You never know what you will discover!)

Dust and a Dose of Feng Shui

My grandmother used to say, "Darling, we all have our own standards of slovenliness and are faintly appalled by everyone else's.". My grandmother, I hasten to add, was not the best of housekeepers. When she died, my mother and I spent days painstakingly washing her incredible collection of valuable antique china all of which had a thick yellow patina from years of being confined in the same room as a smoker. And as the true colours of the beautiful pieces came through the smoke haze I felt an incredible sense of wonder and satisfaction (and moral superiority over my darling but distracted grandmother) . 

Just before Christmas I became "differently employed" - the choice was not entirely mine but finding myself at home (and now devoted to a full time writing career), I began to NOTICE that my own standard of slovenliness had definitely declined in the years I had been working. I have a wonderful cleaning lady who comes once a fortnight and manages in her 3 short hours to at least keep the house sanitary but the dust had accumulated on my collection of antique china (inherited from my grandmother) and under the furniture I did not have so much dust bunnies as dust elephants. I had simply stopped noticing.


In a pre-Christmas frenzy I spring-cleaned the living room (apparently a must before erecting the Christmas tree) and discussed the "need for clean" with friends on Facebook and why it particularly afflicts some of us (I will happily concede there are people out there to whom this will mean nothing) around the New Year. My Scottish friend claims "means you'll never be able to keep your house clean for the next year" and it got me thinking back to my time in Singapore.


The same frenetic "need to clean" afflicted my Chinese friends as Chinese New Year approached. A dirty house before New Year meant that the negative qi would stay around and make your life a misery for the rest of the year and I am sure if you were to scratch the surface of any culture you will find the urge to "spring clean" occurs at some point in the year. 


Of course in the northern European culture, spring cleaning was a necessity. One can only imagine what state ye olde castle was in after a winter. Those nice fresh summer rushes laid down in autumn would be rank - man and beast were indiscriminate about where they relieved themselves, throw in rotting food among the rotting rushes and it makes my dust elephants look positively benign.


But I do think the Chinese are on to something - they call it 'feng shui' (the ancient Chinese laws of aesthetics). For a very good reason (a long story to do with a painting of a tiger) which I should make the subject of another blog, I am a FIRM BELIEVER in the principles of feng shui and among them is the belief in the negative energies generated by clutter (and dust). So whether you are Scottish or Chinese, the principle is the same, at some point in the year (whether it is the start of a new year or spring) the negative energies that have accumulated in the corners of your home need to be expelled in order for you to have a prosperous year. (For some handy home hints on on dealing with your troublesome negative qi click here)


Well I'm not sure this year will be too prosperous (owing to a lack of a job) but I know I am feeling better for the slow (room by room) cleansing my poor neglected home is getting. Then there are the cupboards and book shelves... and quite frankly, when did I ever have time to work? Is this what they mean by a "woman's work is never done"?


What are your thoughts...?


(PS...When I typed "medieval househeeping" into Google, I got a gazillion sites on medieval torture!)

A trip back to childhood with an old friend...

I recently had cause to buy a young niece a birthday present and lacking both time and imagination, I gave in and decided to buy some "clothes" for her large collection of Barbies. I had fond memories of my own childhood companion, Sindy and thought the many Barbies could probably do with a change of outfit or two. I was horrified to find the choice on sale was extremely limited and basically came down to "sexy nurse Barbie" or "hooker Barbie". I opted for the latter - very short glittery skirts and tops and high heels - and had a delighted niece.

Sindy in her "country walk" outfit"

It gave me a moment of nostalgia for my own beloved Sindy, her boyfriend Paul and little sister Patch, who still reside in a box at the top of my cupboard. My Sindy had endless outfits of great respectability - including a tweed skirt and suede jacket and sensible lace up shoes - for "country walks", a proper nurses outfit (yes Sindy was the nurse, Paul was the doctor - this was the 1960s), riding jodphurs with a hacking jacket (alas despite many hints Santa never provided the horse!), a puffy ski jacket with down trim...and so on. Her party outfit, a pink mini dress with kitten heel shoes was the sexiest poor Sindy got.

In an endeavour to procrastinate while studying for an exam on Corporate Finance, I found myself trawling the web in search of Sindy. (All I can say is I am grateful the internet did not exist when I had to do exams seriously! My diversion in those days were endless games of patience - played with ACTUAL cards. Yes Virginia...that's what we used to in the old days.)

I discovered a world of Sindy collectors out there in internet land and from their comprehensive web pages, I learned that my beloved auburn haired Sindy with her striped "matelot" jumper and jeans and red "Alice" band must have been one of the early models - certainly between 1963 and 1968 (when she grew her hair). Poor Sindy wasn't terribly robust and did not survive all the clothes she was routinely changed in and out of and her head broke off. Mum dutifully elastoplasted it back on again and the repair still survives - just as well as it would now cost over $250 to find the same model in mint condition. Patch also lost her head. Paul managed to keep his but I suspect he was not played with quite as much.

It got me thinking what a microsom of history my Sindy was with her tweed skirt and her pink party dress. Mum (God bless her!) added to her wardrobe with delicate hand made outfits - all so wonderfully 1960s! My grandmother had a lovely wax doll from her childhood called "Priscilla" with whom I was allowed to play on very special occasions. She had beautiful hand stitched clothes and sheets for her turned wooden bed. I wonder if I ever a grand daughter I will produce Sindy or if the new generation will turn up their noses at such silly, dated toys.

Just a couple of the Sindy sites:
http://www.oursindymuseum.com/1963sindy.htm
http://sindyourpedigreegirlofthe60s.piczo.com/?g=1&cr=6

Do you have a special toy from your childhood that still lives with you? Any other Sindy girls out there?

Back in Print!

"We have the technology..." Do you remember those famous words from the 1970s "Bionic Man"? 


In 40 years even the makers of that series could not have envisaged the technology available to us today. Publishing is one of those industries that is still coming to terms with technological advances and for years e-publishing has been struggling to make its mark on the world. Now we have KINDLE and IPAD (I am irrationally hankering after one of those machines - so shiny...so many apps...) and it looks like the e-book may finally have come home.


At least I hope so! My two books, BY THE SWORD and THE KING'S MAN went out of print early last year, ironically just as they were starting to make a bit of a market for themselves and for eighteen months I have been making apologetic noises about the unavailability of my books, particularly following the recent "showcasing" of THE KING'S MAN on the ABC. Attempts to find new publishers for them have been unsuccessful, even with the promise of a previously unpublished sequel so I made a decision to go it alone. I figure I own the electronic and print rights to both books, they've both been published so it's not as if it is a "vanity" publishing. Publishing as we know it is changing!


Originally I thought I would just make up a couple of .pdf files and make them available through my website then a friend put me on to Smashwords, a site run by Mark Coker. 
"Smashwords is an ebook publishing and distribution platform for ebook authors, publishers and readers. We offer multi-format, DRM-free ebooks, ready for immediate sampling and purchase, and readable on any e-reading device. 

At Smashwords, our authors and publishers have complete control over the sampling, pricing and marketing of their written works.It's free to publish and distribute with Smashwords.

For readers, Smashwords provides an opportunity to discover new voices in all categories and genres of the written word. Once you register, the site offers useful tools for search, discovery and personal library-building, and each week we add new features based on feedback from members."

Why not! The process of re-editing the books myself (the original publisher did a shocking job), getting spiffy new covers designed and getting the books up has been time consuming but I'm really pleased with the result and I hope the readers are too.Thank you to everyone who helped me along the way.

For those of you familiar with THE KING'S MAN, I have taken a  liberty. THE KING'S MAN was originally intended to have a sequel close on its heels but with the termination of my contract the sequel never happened. As a result the book ends on a cliff hanger - unforgiveable as every book should be complete in itself. So call it "Director's cut" but I have tied off the loose end I left at the end of the book and will be happy to share the new last chapter with anyone who has been  teetering on the edge of that cliff!

I have also been working with one of Smashwords affiliates, WordClay, to get a print (POD) edition of BY THE SWORD available at a reasonable cost. It should be available in a couple of weeks.

All in all, an educational experience and I certainly don't expect to be giving up full time work just yet.  I am just happy that my books are "back in print".

TO BUY:

BY THE SWORD click HERE

THE KING'S MAN click HERE

My Secret Arts Life

Andy Warhol once said we are all entitled to our 15 minutes of fame but I don't think I quite understood what I had let myself in for when I was approached by the producer of "My Secret Arts Life", a segment of ABC Arts Nation, to see if I would be interested in appearing. He explained that the segment was looking at people with busy full time jobs who had secret passions for artistic pursuits. For example an eye surgeon who did ballet...and, yes, a senior executive (in a fire service) who wrote romantic fiction would be perfect!

It could have been awful. Writers of romantic fiction are used to being held up to ridicule as latter day Barbara Cartlands or bored housewifes in fluffy slippers. It is one thing to bear that burden in your writerly guise but quite another to carry it over into the real world where, yes I am, a senior executive in a very male industry! I should have had more confidence in my work mates, after all the first question I was asked when I went for my interview was where my books were available. Still...

I tried very hard not to think about it and put off the dread date till as late as I could possibly make it, only to have it brought forward on me. They would need at least a couple of hours at my workplace and would then film me at home. As luck would have it, the date and time we chose for the filming at work coincided with a rally by our friendly neighbourhood union which would culminate in a noisy gathering outside my window. The last thing we needed was a film crew pushing its way through ranks of annoyed workers! It was agreed to delay the filming session to the afternoon.

I had envisaged a discreet hand held camera and maybe one other person, not a film crew consisting of the producer, the camera man and the sound man, all hoisting huge amounts of gear! All very disruptive to a work place. So under the bright lights, I held imaginary conversations with my PA (who was choking with laughter in the outer office), checked files and stared intently into the computer screen (OK - my job really isn't that interesting!). Bemused work colleagues got dragged into my office for instanteous meetings, one of my fellow Directors had to quickly don a uniform for a one on one interview (which sadly wasn't used) and the afternoon receptionist had to bid me good morning (no less than 3 takes). It all culminated in a visit to the Fire Station (downstairs - I work above the shop!). Two charming, but  amused young firefighters were commissioned to show me over the Mk5 pumper truck (I do love those big red trucks).

It was with some relief we adjourned to home (thankfully the cleaning lady had been!), for the interview, the book reading and more filming of me typing on my computer. My dear friend, Anne Gracie, came along for moral support and DH arrived home in the middle of it all. Having declared he wanted no part of it, he found himself dragged into the filming and acquitted himself with all the aplomb of a true hero. Admittedly he did announce on national television that while I am a romantic person who loves flowers, he himself would never buy me flowers because he'd hate to think he was manipulating my emotions. Any wonder I write romance???

I was told the piece would go to air on May 9 and would include a re-enactment of part of the first chapter of THE KING'S MAN. While we all long to see our work on film, I cringed inwardly at that prospect.

Last weekend we went camping with friends and just by sheer chance I checked my telephone to see a SMS from the producer telling me it would be going to air that afternoon at 5.30pm! Stupidly we had forgotten to pack a TV but our friends came to the rescue. Their new car, they told me, had TV reception so at 5.30pm 8 of us crowded into the car to watch ARTS NATION.  The five hours of filming had been reduced to 5 minutes and the result was respectful of both myself as a writer but also of romantic fiction. Even the re-enactment worked (and can I please have the actor for Kit in the full screen version???).

Unfortunately while it is available on the internet, for copyright reasons (apparently) it is not viewable outside Australia, so my vain hope of the snippet being picked up by some bored Hollywood producer anxiously searching for new ideas, has been scotched and I have had my few minutes of Andy Warhol fame!

Watching Arts Nation on a 6" TV screen while camping!

BREAKING NEWS:  Both THE KING'S MAN and BY THE SWORD will be re-released shortly as electronic books only. Watch this space....

WHAT A COINCIDENCE!

How often have you read a book or watched a film where the plot has turned on a coincidence? I bet your lip curled at the use of such a trite plot device and the credibility of the author sunk to an all time low?

Any writer worth their salt will do ANYTHING to avoid the use of coincidence in their writing and yet coincidence occurs in real life all the time.

This was brought home to me over the last weekend.

Sometime before Christmas, DH and I had booked what is now quaintly referred to as a "mini break" to our nation's capital to take in a travelling exhibition of Impressionists from the Musee D'Orsay. As the year sprinted through January and hurled itself into February our weekend away was upon us.

COINCIDENCE NUMBER 1
On the Thursday before we left, DH rang his brother in Sydney to discuss some family matters. At the conclusion of the conversation the talk turned to the weekend plans.
"We're flying up to Canberra for the weekend," DH imparted.
Pause. ""Oh, so are we! We're driving down Saturday morning with some friends."
DH:  "Great! We must catch up for dinner on Saturday night. Where are you staying?"
His brother named the same hotel where we were booked. They had only made the decision to go to Canberra the week before!

COINCIDENCE NUMBER 2
(A tip for visitors to our National Gallery, it is worth every cent to pay for "preview" tickets - no queue and we were in the front door at 9.00 am).
As we left the exhibition, the queue now stretched the full length of the hall, out the front door and down into the car park. We heard our names called out and scanned the waiting line of people to see right before us, some old friends from our Singapore days who, although they live in Melbourne, we probably only see once a year. Like us they had flown up for the weekend with some friends.

COINCIDENCE NUMBER 3
That evening, we gathered for dinner with DH's brother, wife and their Sydney friends. We chose a random restaurant (among the many) in Manuka and settled in for a pleasant evening. Just as our meals were served, DH leaned across and said "Look at the table behind you." I turned around to see an old colleague from my Army days with his wife and their Melbourne friends (I'm not sure if the whole of Melbourne had decamped to Canberrra for the weekend but it was beginning to feel like it!). We had not seen each other for well over 10 years and enjoyed a wonderful catch up over lunch the next day.

So - coincidence? Once maybe, twice but three times in two days? Imagine if those encounters had occurred in the book you are reading? You would probably have hurled it at the wall!

Strange coincidences in your life? Fact being stranger than fiction, I would love to share your stories with you.

A Seventeenth Century Christmas tale (and recipe)

Christmas is coming and the goose etc, etc...I should be downstairs up to my elbows in Christmas cake, marzipan and mince pies but instead I am footling away on my computer, doing a very unseventeenth century Christmas blog for the Hoydens and Firebrands so I thought I would share a Christmas blog and one of my favourite Christmas recipes!

Of all the heinous offences laid at the feet of the puritans, the banning of Christmas raises the most interest. Oliver Cromwell is generally credited with this crime but the fact is that the abolition of Christmas (or “Christ’s Mass”) as a feast day and holiday predated Cromwell’s rise to power and was the outcome of the puritan domination of Parliament in the 1640s.


Christmas had always been celebrated in England with traditions predating Christianity itself eg the “holly and the ivy” goes well back into pagan times. The traditions of wassailing, carols, feasting, mummers, plays and general drunkenness, general frivolity and idleness were not looked on favourably by the puritans who believed that not only was it pagan but also resounded with Roman Catholic undertones. The puritans believed in a pure (hence the name) form of worship and devotion, based on the scriptures and felt that even the reformation had not gone far enough. ( I am sure we will hear more about the puritans as this blog grows!)

In 1645, a “Directory of Public Worship” was produced in Westminster to replace the prayer book (for more information see http://www.covenanter.org/Westminster/directoryforpublicworship.htm ) and in 1647 the parliament passed an ordinance abolishing the feasts of Christmas, Whitsun and Easter and in the 1650s this was taken further with a specific ordinance ordering shops and businesses to remain open on 25th December .

Despite the ordinances and the threat of penalties (that included fining and being placed in the stocks, many people continued to covertly celebrate Christmas behind closed doors. For an account of one family’s perilous decision to continue the practice of Christmas, see the diaries of William Winstanley. Winstanley was an Essex farmer who “believed it was the duty of all Christians to celebrate the birth of their Saviour, with joyous festivity and open-handed generosity towards friends, relations and more especially the poor." (Alison Barnes author of William Winstanley: The Man Who Saved Christmas available here http://www.poppyland.co.uk/products.php?s=latest ).

In 1660 the monarchy was restored and the Christmas ban was lifted, although, not surprisingly, after 18 years it took some time for it to return to its familiar time of carousing and good cheer.

As we contemplate the “stress” of Christmas, is there, perhaps a pause for consideration that perhaps the puritans were not all that wrong and that a purer form of worship and remembrance of Christ’s nativity should have a place in modern society? I would love to hear your thoughts…and in the meantime I would like to share a genuine seventeenth century recipe wit h you.

“LIBBY’S” CHRISTMAS PUDDING

250g flour,  1 tsp nutmeg, 250g suet 1 tsp cinnamon, 250g dark (Barbados) sugar, 250g each of sultanas, raisins, currants and mixed peel
250g grated new carrot, 100 slivered blanched almonds, 250g grated raw potato, 1 large wineglass of brandy or sherry, 3 or 4 tsp mixed spice

1. Mix all ingredients thoroughly and put in greased basins, covered with greaseproof paper and a cloth.
2. Steam for 8 hours.
3. Cool and change cloth.
4. Re-steam for 3 hours and serve with brandy butter, custard etc.
Notes: can be made not too long in advance and it can be frozen. It makes one large and one small wonderful, dark, very rich pudding!

(This blog was originally posted to the Hoydens and Firebrands blog in December 2008)

A very happy Christmas.

The Welcome at the end of the World

As I straightened from tying my boot laces, I glanced out of the window and caught a spray of foam on the still ocean. Not quite believing what I had seen, I looked out in time to see a juvenile Southern Right Whale rising from the ocean and then crashing, back arched into the water. I pressed my hands to the glass of the window, trying to bring myself closer to this amazing animal, conscious of the privilege he afforded me in sharing this moment of utter joy in being young and alive.

Hastily picking up my pack, my husband fumbling for the binoculars, we ran outside in time to see the young whale disappear around the point of the lighthouse rock. We caught up with him again. Like a synchronised swimmer he poised nose down in the water, that beautiful white tail slapping at the water with the joy of a child banging on a saucepan, before he slid away under the water and out of sight.

A walk of 19kms had brought us to the old lighthouse at Wilsons Promontory, the most southern point of the Australian mainland. Although the "Prom" itself has been a National Park for many years, the lighthouse remained Commonwealth property, shut off from the hundreds of bushwalkers until very recently when it was reopened to offer accommodation in the old light house keepers cottages to the not-so-intrepid bushwalkers who like a little comfort at the end of a long day's hike, a sort of remote bed and breakfast (providing you bring your own bed and breakfast).

Built as one of a string constructed in the 1850s to protect the passage from Europe to Sydney through Bass Strait. It is hard to even begin to imagine the lives of those early lighthouse keepers and their families. Even today the lighthouse on the Prom is an isolated place, only accessible by foot - a walk of some 19kms from Tidal River which in turn is some 50kms from the nearest town. One such family, the Musgraves lived at the light in the late nineteenth century. There Mrs. Musgrave bore 7 children and buried 2. Their 12 year old son would take the only horse and ride the 100 miles to the old Yanakie homestead for mail and mutton. Supplies came in by boat once every 3 months. And yet, despite the isolation, the children's memories of their lives in these isolated light houses (and Wilson's Promonotory was not the most isolated!), is one of happy times and it was a life that continued right up until the lights became automated in the early 1980s.

We were met by Ailsa Richter who, with her husband, Chris, still 'man' the lighthouse as they did for years before autmoation. They raised their children in this isolated place and so deeply ingrained did their love of the sea and the Prom become that they returned as Rangers and together have built up a history of the Prom, its families and the life they led. Chris took us on a tour of the lighthouse and as he spoke of the old building and the work he did to keep the light blazing shone from him like the beacon that kept the shipping safe for all those years.

From the balcony on the lighthouse, we watched as a rain squall blew in from the west and retreated to the warmth of the old house as the wind shook the foundations. We now understand the meaning of those weather forecasts that promise "gales east of the Prom". We marvelled at man's ability to tame the wilderness, snuggling down in our sleeping bags, completely exhausted and at peace with the world.

Our return loop took us to Waterloo Bay where we stopped for lunch, alone on this completely by ourselves, on the beach at Waterlooo bay to once more see this spirited youngster rejoicing in the freedom of his world. All our wordly worries and cares vanished like the foam his frolicking created. A precious moment in time, impressed on us both.

What is it about Heyer?

I have only recently started to read Georgette Heyers wonderful Regency romances and it is quite a stable to work my way through!

So far I have read THE TALISMAN RING and A CIVIL CONTRACT (a book that is no doubt historically accurate but somewhat bleak!). However on the strong recommendations of Heyer fans I launched myself into the 18th century Alastair family trilogy THESE OLD SHADES (the book cover pictured here is clearly historically inaccurate as it must be set in the 1750s/60s not the regency), THE DEVIL’S CUB and THE INFAMOUS ARMY. I confess to reading the last one first, more out of my own interest in the Battle of Waterloo (did you know that until recently Sandhurst used this book as a textbook of the most definitive description of the battle?). So having encountered the Lady Barbara Childe, I turned to her family story beginning with her great grandfather Justin (THESE OLD SHADES) and her grandfather (THE DEVIL’S CUB).
Coming to both these books with 21st century eyes, I have to confess I really wondered what on earth I was getting into with them. When we first meet Justin Alastair he is mincing down a street in Paris wearing high heels and a purple coat. He then proceeds to buy a young boy to use as his page. Hmmm….? As for Dominic, by the end of the first few chapters we have met an immature homicidal maniac with a mother fixation. One of my reading rules is I have to fall in love with my hero… and there is nothing immediately lovable about either Justin or Dominic. So why did I read on? Why couldn’t I put these books down?
I think Heyer’s strength is in her writing. She has a wry , witty style that gives humanity to her characters, particularly her heroines and somehow these truly despicable heroes, who put the BAD into 'mad, bad and dangerous to know', are redeemed. (An example of the wonderful repartee that had me in stitches is found in the scene in THE DEVILS CUB where the truly awful Mrs. Challoner visits Lady Fanny and Lady Fanny gets it into her head that Mary Challoner is some by blow of the Duke of Avon).

I know many of you are Heyerites of much greater devotion than me, so I would love to know what is it about Heyer that not only makes me want to read to the end but makes these heroes worthy of my devotion?

Vale Marysville

The world has watched in shocked horror, the devestation wrought by the terrible bushfires that have burnt through some of the lovliest parts of Victoria over the last week. At times like this it makes us realise that Melbourne is a small town and the rules of six degrees of separation dictate that no one remains completely untouched. Although I know two people who lost their lives defending their home and others who escaped, only to lose everything, in some ways it is the loss of the little town of Marysville that has become emblamatic of the fires. Five hundred people lived in the town - barely a dozen buildings are left standing and it is estimated the death toll may rise to one hundred - a fifth of the town's population.

I am not alone when I say Marysville always held a very special place in my heart. We arrived in Melbourne in 1968 and in July 1969 we took our first holiday - to Marysville. Mum booked us in to a slightly ramshackle old guest house called, at that time, Mt. Kitchener Lodge. We shared a large room with three beds with saggy matresses and chenille bedspreads that had seen better days. Meals were taken in the communal dining room and in the evenings, the hosts organised different sorts of entertainment. I can still recall a game that involved a blindfolded tour of 'Lord Nelson's life' - where a chewed up minty passed for his eye and the child had to insert a finger into an orange for his eye socket. Gruesome but great fun!

It was in Marysville that I met my first Aussie BBQ. On a day of pouring rain (yes, it used to rain in those days, Virginia!) all the guests tramped down to the football ground and we huddled under the shelter, watching the rain, the smell of cooking sausages and onions mingling with the scent of the wet gum trees, eating sausages wrapped in white bread with onions and tomato sauce. I thought I had never tasted anything so wonderful in my life.

We went back every year for the next 4 years. Sometimes in winter (my favourite time of year) and sometimes in summer. The ownership changed and the lodge was rechristened "Mountain Lodge". A swimming pool was built (luxury!), we played croquet, I learned the rules of "21" (played with matches) and I read my way through the entire works of Agatha Christie (the local store had an unending supply!). I rode horses, hired from the hacking stables in those happy days before insurance and compulsory head gear (see photo age 11 - the horse was called 'Cisco'). We walked the ferny gullys and climbed to Keppels lookout and stuffed ourselves on Devonshire teas (another new taste sensation for me) at the Fruit Salad Farm.

Our last holiday to Marysville was in September 1973 when I was fourteen. Who would be 14 again? Gawky, socially inept and terminally embarrassed by my parents. The photo says it all really - the compulsory Saturday evening entertainment - a bunch of equally miserable teenagers entertaining the guests with "Rocky Racoon" (that's me on on the far left). It all belongs to a far off, more innocent time.

I have been back to Marysville many, many times and more recently twice in the last six months. I had forgotten how pretty it was and in a moment of impulse, I grabbed the brochure for the local real estate agent. I had it pinned to my fridge until last week. Ironically my husband and I had walked the firebreak to the north of the town and talked about how this resilient little town had survived Black Friday of 1939 and the Ash Wednesday Fires of 1983. It seems third time unlucky.

I know the strength of the community will rebuild it again but the old guest houses are gone now and it will never be quite the same again.