The reason for the visit was to do what we used to do before COVID hit. Take a break from our blessed country life, take in what’s new at the movies and generally revel in a city life of convenience for a night. We wandered the streets around our old haunts including Chinatown but most of our old faves were boarded up. It sent chills up my spine to the point where we decided our evening meal was going to be back in the hotel and even the movies were off the menu.

Speaking of menus, up here in the Central Highlands or certainly here at TL HQ we don’t get much in the way of delivery. A pizza is a 20-kilometre round-trip so, for me, some of the excitement of the city is the fact you can call on a company like Menulog to deliver to your door. Snoop Dogg is a rapper and the front man for Menulog. If you haven’t seen his adverts, which are just about on every advert cycle on the TV, you must be living under a rock. But for those rock-dwellers, let me paint a picture, or as the “Dogg” would say, “let me break it down for you like a fraction”.
Think of a bunch of over-privileged rap artists flying around in a plane, which has no seats, just an oversized round bed draped in furs and doe-eyed women. The convenience of Menulog is further endorsed by a guy on a hang-glider dropping off some fried rice into the plane. The point? “We will deliver anywhere”. Fast-forward to my experience. Snuggled in my trackie-daks, in my luxe apartment with my wife of 25 years. Sort of like the Snoop Dogg scene…same, same but different.
Anyway, I ordered my pre-pandemic favourite food – crispy-skin chicken along with some vegetables in oyster sauce and another chicken dish for the missus that had something to do with a pineapple and a couple of other anaemic vegetables.
An hour after hitting the app and 30 minutes after Menulog’s delivery guestimation, I got a call from the driver. He was down on the street and could not get a park so asked if I would waddle down to collect my food. Sure, just a change of clothes, trying to find the key to the hotel, a facemask and sanitiser for the lift.
This was definitely not a Snoop Dogg experience. I finally made it back to my room only to open the bag to find one of the dishes had leaked – and all were icy cold. WTH?
Mind you, I heard that there are logistics troubles with the new COVID vaccine because it had to be delivered at super-cold temperatures. Simple solution? Give it to a Menulog driver – they would ensure super-chilled delivery.
I wish someone hadn’t said Menulog, rant over…

THE mask thing is strange now. Yes, you have to wear them in places like large shopping centres and supermarkets but not in smaller shops, unless you can’t socially distance.
And shop owners don’t have to wear them either now, or hospitality workers. But some still do, and some don’t. I get the don’t ones – I find it hard enough to wear a mask for an hour or so – waiting time at the doctor’s etc – so I have no idea how people wear them all day.
Personally though, I like the ones that still do but I am happy to be served by people not wearing a mask because I will probably keep my own on for a while longer. Call me paranoid but it’s my first pandemic and I err on the side of caution.

It’s also because, despite almost a year, some people still have no idea what one and a half metres looks like. Basically if you can touch the other person, you are too close. And in that situation, and it happens quite often, if you are following the rules you need to be masked up.
But I get that it’s really hard and people are over it and if you judged what was happening from watching the media, you would think it is all over. But we have been burned in Victoria with the quarantine hotel debacle and we need a few more weeks taking back overseas travellers before I think we can say it’s done and dusted.
Meanwhile, my relatives in other states are living COVID-free lives and have pretty much done that all year. My sister-in-law lives in New South Wales and can’t understand what all the fuss is about. “We hug our friends all the time,” she said. “There is no COVID here.”
Up in Queensland, my brother and his wife have been back at dancing lessons, and we are talking latin dancing, since May. Yes, they started off only dancing with each other but quickly moved on to other dance partners. “There is no COVID here,” they said.
So it’s really been a year of the states and no matter how often it was advertised, we were never “all in this together”. The state leaders finally discovered their powers, took over and pretty much sidelined Scotty from Marketing. Finally, people not only knew who they were but could pronounce Annastacia Palaszczuk and Gladys Berejiklian. Luckily for Victorians, and all those journos out there typing it every day, we just had Dan Andrews.
Anyway, if you see me out and about, with a mask, that is just my preference for a bit longer. And let’s face it, I bought so many I really need to get my money’s worth.
And maybe I will donate the leftover N95s to a hospital somewhere. They might be the duck’s nuts of masks but they are hard work to breathe through and, if you read the fashion pages, don’t really match Summer clothing. Just sayin’…

For Megan Gale – Australian mum, businesswoman, model, actress and brand ambassador, it’s all of the above and a little bit more.

“Shaun (Hampson) and I first came here in June 2013; this was before we were parents. We have always frequented the area because of how beautiful it is, the relaxing, slow-paced energy and being so close to nature. It definitely allows us to unwind that little bit more and absorb ourselves in just ‘being’ with our kids and taking in everything Daylesford and the surrounding areas have to offer,” she said.
So, when Megan and Shaun, parents to son River and daughter, Rosie, found out their favourite Daylesford holiday rental was on the market they jumped at the chance to buy it.

“It was such a beautiful bit of serendipity when Dollywood came on the market. It had become quite special to us over the past couple of years. We have stayed there a lot with our children and our mums and created some really beautiful memories there,” she said.
“When the previous owners (who we’d built up a bit of a rapport with) told us it was going on the market, we took it as a sign. It was a house we loved personally, already had a bit of a cult following, a ready-made brand that was beautifully curated and that we genuinely loved and wanted to keep alive.
“We respect so much about the house’s origins that there isn’t a lot that we will change. We are mainly freshening things up with some new art pieces and little décor touches here and there. I am a big believer of ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,’” she said.
For some, highlighting the fact that a well-known (let’s be serious – international supermodel) might seem a tad hypocritical considering many choose the area to escape, Megan graciously accepted the invitation to share her story because of an underlying hope.
“I can’t stress enough how important it is for all of us to visit our local regions and support them, not just after COVID but after the bushfires as well,” she said.

“I know and understand why people are itching to get overseas again, I am too. However, I think we really do need to support each other at the moment and help boost our economy here in Australia and we can do that by visiting communities like Daylesford. Holiday at home, buy local when you’re there and it will have a wonderful, flow-on effect. And plus, it feels damn good to know you’re helping to support a smaller community, so why wouldn’t you?” she said.
Like many women who live in and visit Daylesford, there is something grounding, peaceful and calming for Megan. Some believe it was a sacred indigenous site for women, others believe it is a combination of that and the natural springs.
For Megan, she certainly understands that feeling so many women experience.
“I absolutely do. Daylesford, Hepburn Springs and its surrounds has an energy about it that truly gives me a sense of peace and calm, resulting in groundedness. I really love walking around Lake Daylesford, it just feeds my soul. When I had to choose a location to shoot a campaign for my previous business Mindful Life, I immediately thought of and chose Daylesford. I wanted to have that calming, pure, lightness come through in the images and I knew that I would achieve that in this area,” she said.
While Megan and her family look to Daylesford as their private retreat from the fast-paced pressure of life and parenthood, Megan was happy to share her family’s favourite places as a shout-out to the businesses and locals who make Daylesford what it is.

“We always make at least one visit to the Mill Markets. The kids love exploring it and both Shaun and I share a love of vintage markets…the scones there are also out of this world. Date night at Sault Restaurant is always special and always a beautiful meal, as is lunch or dinner at The Lakehouse. Breakfast at Koukla, coffee at Larder and I do enjoy having a browse up and down Vincent Street shops,” she said.
“Shaun and I were just saying the other day that what’s even more exciting is that we know we haven’t even started to scratch the surface in terms of exploring the area and we cannot wait to experience as much of it as possible.”

Words: Narelle Groenhout | Images: Contributed

THE new councillor for Holcombe Ward is Juliet Simpson, and her connections to the area go back to the late 19th century. Her great-great grandfather, William Stanbridge, settled in the district before the gold rush four generations ago and became a sheep farmer.

Cr Simpson talks to me about visiting the family farm in the district as she was growing up, with her great aunt, grandmother, father, and stepmother all living in the area, and about the connection she has felt for the land in Holcombe Ward where she has been farming cattle since 2002.
Cr Simpson worked previously as a director of a pastoral company, Nowranie, for 20 years in New South Wales and at the ANZ Bank in Berrigan in the Riverina. Her children went to school in a small country town called Oaklands, where she was on the school council for 10 years and coached junior netball for six years. Her CV also includes working as a Regency Club concierge at the former Hyatt on Collins in Melbourne, looking after VIPs such as Bob Hawke.
Cr Simpson tells me why she stood as councillor. “I feel honoured to have been entrusted with this challenging position. I felt the best way that I could be of service to this community was to seek election as the representative on the Holcombe Ward.

“I’m also reviving a family tradition, with my great-great-grandfather the mayor of the Borough of Daylesford in the late 19th century.
“In my fours years I want to do the best I can as a shire councillor, in consultation with the community, and in collaboration with my colleagues. I want to arrive at fair and reasonable decisions, after consideration of advice from council officers and without fear or favour.
“I want to ensure the highest standards of governance by our council and achieve the best possible performance with the human and financial resources available to us. It’s important for me to recognise my responsibility to the shire as a whole, but to also speak up for Holcombe Ward and ensure it receives its fair share of resources, works and services.”
When I ask Cr Simpson how she would like to see our Shire recover from the pandemic, she tells me: “The Hepburn Shire Council is proud of its response to the pandemic, there have only been two cases in the shire since the beginning of the pandemic.
“The shire will continue to follow instructions from the State Government as restrictions ease. The barriers in Vincent Street will come down sooner than expected. It would be great to see as many people as possible returning to work or finding a job.
“There’s a lot of social consequences as a result of the pandemic. One thing we desperately need is affordable housing for people such as women escaping domestic violence. As much as I’d like to see the shire address it, homelessness and housing is a State Government responsibility.”
When we discussed Community Voice, a lobby group in the shire which has come together due to dissatisfaction with aspects of the previous council, and whose charter has been signed by four of the new councillors, Cr Simpson says she is not a member.
“I did not seek their endorsement. I want to make it clear I am truly independent – not beholden to any political party or external pressure group. Yes, I also believe in community consultation, but will make my own mind up on the merits of every issue that comes before council.”

With six of the seven councillors recently elected to the Hepburn Shire being new to the game, a sense of optimism and hope exists for more positive interactions between community and council. This weekly series by Sandy Scheltema explores the councillors’ hopes and wishes for the shire.

Dash to Turkey

Lockdown lifted on June 21 in La Linea, Spain. We discussed the situation with our Australian buddies on Boomerang. Should we stay or go? We decided to go to Turkey because it is one of the few countries you can get a resident visa while there.
We left on the morning of August 2. We both had an extra crew member for the overnight passages. We took a young Spanish fellow. He’d done his Yachtmaster but had little experience, knew everything and hated washing up.

After a great passage overnight we anchored 30 miles from Cartagena. Just about to drop the anchor only to find it wasn’t working. We rafted up to our buddy while we found the tripped fuse and went off to anchor. Then our solar panels started overheating. We had them fixed in Cartegena. Overnight to Formentara in the Balearics, this passage included a loss of steering at 2am when a cable unscrewed itself. Ibiza was the next stop, anchoring in the bay where the series White Lines was filmed.
Mallorca, then Menorca where we left for the 31-hour sail to Carloforte, Sardinia. A COVID test to enter Italy was required, all negative. There was only one more overnighter to Sicily and then we could offload our Spanish lazyboy.
Guillermo disembarked in Trapani and we continued on to Palermo. Palermo is a beautiful city with a tarnished reputation of being the home of the mafia. We treated ourselves to dinner at a hatted restaurant near the marina, exceptional even if it meant we would be living on very little for a few weeks.

Next stop Cefalu, where we anchored in front of the old city, a spectacular backdrop. Then Ocabo d’Orlando to jump to the islands of Lipari and Stromboli. Stromboli was a visual treat, the black sliding slope contrasting with the green mountainside and smoke in wisps escaping from the summit.
The Messina Strait was next. We timed it for a good tide and current to traverse. Radioing ahead we requested permission to enter. The Messina Strait demands respect but as we entered we wondered what all the fuss was about. Half an hour later we knew why. It was rough. Never have I been happier to leave a stretch of water, until we rounded the corner of the toe of Italy. It was even rougher.
We stopped at Porto Bolaro. This could be the smallest marina in the world. Boomerang backed in wedged next to a monohull. We went bow first and tied up side on, the marina was full. The season had finished so we got takeaway pizza and sat in the deserted outdoor restaurant.
We were a bit of a novelty; the owner poured us a glass of the local drink, Liquore alla Liquirizia, and told us about the area. I wish we had more time to spend in that region. Calabria is known for its simple pastoral-based cuisine relying heavily on vegetables.
Roccella Ionica was the next anchorage, on the instep of Italy; from there we cross the Golfo di Squillace to the heel.

Next morning was perfect, flat conditions with a nice breeze on the beam. Two hours later it turned into a churning mess. Waves were breaking over the side and Shelley thought we had a water problem but it was a large wave breaking on the starboard hull. I slowed to 3-knots to stop the roller coaster. This means it will take us longer to get there but will be slightly more comfortable.
La Costello, the anchorage has a castle but to be totally honest I am very much over castles and churches, boats and travelling. Next stop Cretone. We pull into Cretone Marina after another rough passage.
Should we cross to the heel of Italy or just make a run to Corfu? The boat that joined us a week ago decided to go to direct to Agostoli, further south, and got caught in a medicane (Mediterranean hurricane).
We decide to cross from Cretone to Corfu, it is 152 nautical miles, which means we need another crew member. The only person available was a delivery captain. It was expensive but he took charge of the boat and I had a rest.

Corfu, I love you, but not Greek paperwork. We spent two nights in Mandraki Marina, situated at the base of the 15th century Venetian fortress and a short walk into the town. Here are beautiful pastel-coloured Venetian buildings and narrow cobblestone streets where you could wander for hours.
The Lefkas Canal runs about 3.5 miles through the low-lying land at the northeast end of the island of Lefkas, dividing it from the mainland. The bridge opens on the hour and we just made it.
The experience was amazing and emerging at the other end we were confronted with the most beautiful scenery. Another anchorage, not the one we had planned but a tiny one that took just our two boats, you could have been the only people in Greece.
Morning saw us in the Corinth sea on our way to the Rion-Antirion Bridge, one of the longest span bridges in the world. Approaching, we radio bridge control giving our air draft, they advise which span to go under.
The wind was picking up, the waves were building but it was a following sea so not uncomfortable. It was early so we decided to do the canal.
The Corinth Canal connects the Gulf of Corinth in the Ionian Sea with the Saronic Gulf in the Aegean Sea. Started by Emperor Nero but wasn’t finished until the mid 1800s.
You tie up and pay at the end. All set to come aside, Shelley throws the line around the bollard but fails to hold onto the end. Panic ensues. Someone grabs the line and throws it back but I can’t keep the boat in position. We get blown off; I miss hitting our buddy boat by inches. I am now blocking the entrance. I do a 360 and approach again. I hear on the VHF the canal authority telling the boats entering to wait (for us to move). This time our two friends are waiting for the lines and we tie up. We pay our €270 for 4 miles and leave. We anchor around the corner. We don’t talk, we are too traumatised.
Korfos, Epihadros then Kythnos where we received a warning on the phone that it was a COVID hotspot. We stay on the boat like just about every other stop.
The beautiful island of Paros was the next. Nothing has changed since our visit 13 years ago.
The beautiful islands of Amorgos then Astipalea, the gorgeous butterfly-shaped island with only a few goats wandering round and water so clear you could see the sand in 10-feet. Tilos was the last island before Rhodes.
Rhodes is an island steeped in ancient history. It was here that we had to check out of the Schengen Zone. There is no travel between Greece and Turkey, not only has COVID stopped it but the constant arguments between them keep the border closed. We have heard that they will not let us leave if we are going to Turkey.
The immigration officer is eating lunch. She puts it aside, sighs and flicks through our passports. She looks at us and asks where we have been; I burst into an explanation about not being able to go home and the pandemic and how far we had come and how our government is awful.
She looks at me and throws her arms up and says “OK but you cannot come back for 90 days”. She also asks where we are going. Cyprus. We head to the customs and then the port police. It had taken three hours but we can leave in the morning, we go straight and sneak across to Turkey.
We motored into Fethiye, around weekend sailors and the tourist gulets. A boat drifts in 100 metres of water with two old blokes naked jumping off the back. We altered course to avoid them and their wobbly bits.
Fethiye was an absolute treasure. There was a beautiful bay with plenty of spots to anchor. Next morning we motor over to the Coast Guard dock to check in. All went well and they allowed us two hours to race to the Turkcell shop to organise SIM cards.
We had dinner with sailing friends that we have corresponded with but have never met. It was lovely to meet them and they took us to a small family restaurant. The fish, prawns and calamari come from the shop next door, the mother and father cooked and it was delicious.
The last stop before our Winter home was Kas. This will be remembered for the great Deva (our Bengal cat) leap. After a little celebratory dinner we went back to the boat and let Deva out. It was dark. There was a loud splash.
Shelley grabbed the net and I grabbed the torch. We walked around the boat shining the torch onto the water. No sign of her. I jumped onto the pontoon, Shelley follows. I move towards the boat next door and call her, this is the time I am grateful that she has a very loud howl. We scooped her out and take her in for a warm fresh water rinse.
We warmed towels in the microwave and wrap her up to dry her and stop the shivering. An hour later she has totally recovered and is not the least bit grateful.
October 24 we arrived in Finike and it was time to tie up for Winter. Eighty-three days, 2180nm, four countries, one COVID test, many masks, 45 days anchoring, 38 days in marinas. Many lessons learned, many mistakes made and a global pandemic. And now another lockdown.

• Jill de Vos – SV Eucalyptus

Small world

We look at the world once, in childhood
The rest is memory
– Louise Gluck

Primary school seemed so HUGE then. How can you be sure anything is EVER its real size?
– David Mitchell

Bailed up by the quick-fire barks
of a black and white dog
bursting towards me
bouncing with hostility
I struggle to clamber up the back doorstep
– the only available refuge
so high
Its up-ness all that matters

Panning back
inside this memory frame
the unpaved yard appears
– the chooks somewhere near
the concrete step
dwarfing the boy
unable to reach
the door knob
even if standing were possible

At the time no frame
just present tense

Stuff just happens
to you and around you
when you are small
The dog episode
just retrievable enough
to form a slim anecdote
and a lifetime’s phobia

• Bill Wootton

• Louise Gluck won the Nobel Prize for Literature this year. Bill lives in Hepburn Springs where dogs don’t run free.

Local Lines are mostly written by a group of local poets but if you would like a poem considered for publication, contact Bill Wootton – cottlesbreedge@gmail.com

The book is for sale for $20 with proceeds going to the Redesdale and District Association. To buy a copy of the book email kathhall32@gmail.com The quilt is now on exhibition at the Redesdale Gallery.

Pictured above, from left, Kathy Hall, Gloria Pocock, Wendy Hulls and Ruth Booker

Obviously popular in her electorate with the farmers and townsfolk she tells me what motivated her to stand as a councillor for Cameron Ward, and what she hopes to achieve in her four-year term.
Cr Halliday moved to Clunes almost 10 years ago from the city after missing the sense of community a small town can bring, after growing up in Warrandyte. She tells me she’s never been happier since living in Clunes on her small property where she breeds Suffolk sheep. Speaking about her background she says “my academic background is science, as a kid I wanted to be an entomologist, but the majority of my career has been in the building industry working in construction administration”.

“I gained experience in planning through my administration role and five years ago I launched my own planning consultancy business.”
Cr Halliday tells me of the many volunteering roles she’s been involved with. “The first committee I joined was the Clunes and District Agricultural Society and I was the sponsorship coordinator for five years. I started the Clunes Open House Dinners in 2014 because I wanted there to be an affordable, healthy food option for people in our community. I didn’t anticipate the benefits for people who live alone to come together for a meal once a week and the connections and friendships formed, which made this such a valuable event.
“I started the Clunes Makers Market, a women’s wellbeing group, LGBTIQA+ dinner and film nights and volunteered for Clunes Landcare and Waterways Group, Clunes Farmers Market, the Clunes Tourism and Development Association, and was a member of the Clunes Artists’ group, and the choir. I’m currently president of ChillOut, and as a proud bisexual woman I will be a voice for my LGBTIQA+ constituents.

“I get a lot of pleasure helping people, giving back, and trying to make the world a better place. I’d like to strengthen local community and maybe one day branch out in the wider world.
“I decided to nominate for councillor because I was frustrated with the disconnect between council and community. I felt like the best way for me to bring about change was to step up, take that leadership role and be a proactive community representative.
“I’m excited that as new councillors we’re involved in drafting the new community engagement policy, to be implemented next March. The top three issues I feel need addressing in the shire are community engagement, a thorough planning scheme review, and COVID recovery.
“It’s important we help business recover as well as support our community members who are out of work and struggling to meet their financial obligations. Council has passed a motion to develop a social housing policy but currently we don’t have funding. It will be our role to help council officers source funding and follow through with the previous councillors’ vision.
“I am very passionate about strategic planning and implementation of a thorough planning scheme amendment that will protect our heritage, lifestyle and allow for carefully planned growth.
“I’m excited to be part of the positive change in our local council and look forward to getting to know my community even better through my work as councillor.”

With six of the seven councillors recently elected to the Hepburn Shire being new to the game, a sense of optimism and hope exists for more positive interactions between community and council. This weekly series by Sandy Scheltema explores the councillors’ hopes and wishes for the shire.

“Harrietville was a wonderful introduction to Australia. It was late. I was sitting out on the deck of the cabin where we were staying, playing guitar by myself. Stacy walked out of the woods with her fiddle and then a few other people came in, even a cello player, and we had a big jam. That single moment convinced me to move down here.”
There is no doubt that relocating to regional Victoria was a big change for this musician, but he was ready for a change. And while Daylesford may seem like a long way from anywhere when it comes to live music, it is a great base while Steve and Stacy are off touring. Unfortunately 2020 put a brake on all that.

Steve was born in Birmingham, Alabama, his mother was a teacher, his father an engineer working for US Steel and his first guitar was a Silvertone from Sears Department store. By the time he started college in the late 1970s he was in his first working band. His base was Richmond, Virginia where there was a huge punk music subculture with dozens of venues – Daylesford in contrast, has none. It was a complete do-it-yourself scene where you didn’t need attention from any major record labels to make a living and Steve was hooked.
“We had every band you have ever heard of come through there. Because it was really a tight small community, bands spawned bands and within a year I was playing in five and doing two or three shows a night every weekend.”

One of those outfits was Death Piggy which Steve started with his good friend, the late Dave Brockie and the nucleus for GWAR. GWAR, with a constantly changing line-up, continue performing to this day and in the global metal scene retain a huge cult following. They have released 13 studio albums, two live albums and numerous singles, and have sold more than 820,000 records in the US alone. They last toured Australia in 2014 when they upset some conservatives with their controversial beheading of an effigy of then Prime Minister Tony Abbott.

It was 1985 when Steve and Dave met artists Hunter Jackson and Chuck Varga who had created a range of home-made and very crude props and costumes for a movie project called Scumdogs of the Universe.
“We saw the costumes and said: ‘Hey guys, we have a show tonight, can we wear those costumes?’” says Steve. “They said ‘OK’ and so we went home and wrote about 10 songs in an afternoon and called the resultant performance group GWAR.”
The mid-80s was a period when hair metal was huge and GWAR evolved as a way to make fun of those major label commercial acts. The first shows were rough and raucous but they gradually developed the characters as escaped barbaric interplanetary warriors from a crashed spaceship in Antarctica.
These characters included Flattus Maximus, Beefcake the Mighty, Nippleus Erectus and Slymenstra Hymen. Steve Douglas performed as Balsac the Jaws of Death. Their shows featured lots of fake blood, gore and beheadings of effigies of public figures and anybody was fair game, from politicians and celebrities to religious leaders. Basically anything or anyone that presumed they were important. GWAR tore it all down at full volume in 4/4 double time.
Steve played guitar on GWAR’s first album Hell-O and stayed with the band for around four years. It was a wild time but not something he wanted to make a lifetime career out of.
Eventually he shifted into acoustic punk, alt country and bluegrass which led to a stint with The James King Band and that appearance at Harrietville in 2004.
Today Steve and Stacy are the driving force behind the Resignators, a seven-piece ska punk group. It has not been a good year for doing anything public so they have been at home producing music instead, including their latest single Blue Bird Tattoo, which is all about Sharpies falling in love. (Sharpies were a Melbourne-centric youth subculture during the 1970s).
It’s a long way from the mayhem of GWAR but that same do-it-yourself ethos permeates everything they do. In fact, it’s the only way to survive if you want to make a career out of music, especially over the last nine months.
“The Resignators has been a great fulfilling band,” says Steve. “It’s always evolving and we have drawn more and more local talent over the years. Hopefully we can get out and tour and to be honest we are really missing that because we have friends all over the world. We will certainly be looking forward to 2021.”

Above, The Resignators, left to right, Steve Douglas, Stacy Kilpatrick, Francis Harrison, Jeremy Meaden, Rich Holland and Nick Ross
Image: Peter James Photography

Middle: GWAR during Steve’s tenure, from left, Mike Bishop, Dewey Rowell, Mike Bonner (kneeling), Steve Douglas and Dave Brockie
Image: supplied

Below: Steve in GWAR

Words: Tony Sawrey

She had spent a number of months in Berlin captivated by the monuments that silently but powerfully highlighted the history of the holocaust. A history that can’t be changed but could be better understood.
When she came back to Australia to undertake her PhD studies in the field of public and socially engaged art – her work responds to politics and social issues – she was inspired to devote her work to the little known, often misunderstood and misrepresented story behind Hanging Rock.
“Hanging Rock’s colonial history and significance to Aboriginal people are little known compared to what it has become best known for – missing white schoolgirls made famous by a book and a movie of the same name. I wanted to explore why we were thinking obsessively about white women going missing and not facing our own history of colonial violence and destruction,” she said.

“We actively ignore the real Aboriginal losses of lives, land and culture that actually took place at Hanging Rock. Most people confuse the truth, preferring to believe in the myth propagated by the fictional story Picnic at Hanging Rock.
“Clearly I’m not the first person to observe this. I wanted to understand this important historical site and settlement’s destructive impact on Aboriginal people. It is important to understand that Aboriginal people living in the area were severely affected by outbreaks of smallpox or were murdered or removed to missions when Europeans settled the area,” she said.
As part of the artistic outcome to her extensive three-year body of research, Amy launched the Miranda Must Go campaign in January 2017. As an artist, Amy wanted to imagine and produce an image of a political movement where settlers took responsibility for their ignorance about the true history of Hanging Rock. However, the day she launched the artistic campaign on social media something extraordinary and unexpected happened. It went viral and within hours she was being contacted by news outlets across the country.

“The campaign had hit a nerve. It was such an unexpected outcome,” she said.
“Not everyone in the media was supportive and after Miranda Must Go went viral, I received a lot of backlash on social media.”
This was something else Amy wasn’t expecting but her response was nothing short of inspirational, despite the vicious nature of some of the comments.
“Every time the likes of Lidia Thorpe (the first Aboriginal Senator for Victoria) talk about invasion day or indigenous issues that many in the public don’t agree with she gets hate mail, death threats and the trolling continues. I was getting a lot of backlash which was very uncomfortable but I was happy to stand up and take it if it meant a little bit of pressure was being taken away from those who fight constantly to have our indigenous history acknowledged. I was a white settler artist. It was the least I could do.”
“The original custodians of Hanging Rock were the Wurundjeri, Taungurung and Dja Dja Wurrung people. I created the campaign to start a conversation and to honour the traditional custodians and to get people thinking about the past and to tell the real story behind Hanging Rock.”
While Amy’s campaign has ended in theory, in practice it is still active and a few years on people are still engaged with the campaign.
“My aim was for the campaign to help us become more honest about our shared history with Aboriginal people. To make people think about how obsessively we retell the story of Picnic at Hanging Rock, which is essentially a fiction of vanished white schoolgirls. Even if there was a slight change in people’s views and understanding, then that was in stark contrast to how it was remembered before.”

Words: Narelle Groenhout

In late September, 40 people met virtually to hear from Peter Cox, who was key in starting up the very successful Bendigo social enterprise, the Eaglehawk Recycle Shop. Started in 1994, the enterprise continues to thrive today, operating self-sufficiently and profitably with over $1 million in revenue each year.

It provides 12 permanent jobs, minimises the waste that ends up in landfill – diverting more than 10,000 tonnes each year, and saves the council, and therefore the community, tens of thousands of dollars each year in waste management costs.
One of the organisers, Sebastian Klein said it was inspiring when a community came together and successfully contributed to creating the kind of world they want to be a part of.
“So, if the vision of waste reduction and reuse resonates for you, be a part of it here, where you live,” Sebastian said.
“The currently small group is inviting you to participate, as much or as little as you want. We’re keen to have diverse representation from the community because there’s many ways the community could continue on a reduce/reuse path, and we also know there’s many talented people with great ideas and lots of great initiatives already happening in our community.”
To get involved email sebastianjohnklein@gmail.com or helen@helentobias.com

Visiting the Eaglehawk Recycle Shop, from left, Ian MacBean, Sebastian Klein, Sophie Guerin, Tim Drylie, Peter Watt, Janet Mullenger-Barnard, Ross Ullman and Helen Tobias

It’s almost that time of year again. Amidst the coloured lights and tinsel, in pride of place and laden with the usual baubles and beads there stands the ubiquitous Christmas tree – all unfolded and preened from its hibernation in the spare room wardrobe.
Attractive and convenient as these synthetic trees might be, to me they somehow lack the charm and character of real trees. The other alternative, and one I remember fondly from my childhood, the cut tree, has even more problems. Sure it’s real, and even smells like Christmas, but by the time New Year comes around, all you can think of is cleaning up fallen needles and getting rid of the denuded carcass, with promises of “never again”. So, don’t settle for second best – grow your own perpetual Christmas tree.
If you choose to “go traditional” with a pine tree, there are a range of beautiful conifers available from nurseries and garden centres each year, all eminently suited for the task. Amongst these are varieties of cedars, including cedrus deodara and atlantica, also picea abies – the Norway spruce and abies douglasii – the Douglas fir.

All have the symmetrical branches and needles of the traditional European Christmas tree in the manner that the manufacturers try to emulate.
Actually, there are no written rules that decree all Christmas trees should slavishly follow the strict symmetrical, horizontally branched, needle-leafed configuration of Europe.
This came about purely through the ancient Nordic tribes’ inclusion in their religious celebrations…hence the yule log and Yuletide. And the most predominant trees were conifers.
If I wished to follow that ingrained tradition, my absolute winning choice would be our own Norfolk Island pine – araucaria heterophylla (pictured). Not only do they have the perfect formation for the job, beautiful symmetrically-shaped and horizontal branches laden with lush green needles, like the other conifers they thrive outdoors as a container-grown plant, but will survive indoors for several weeks. Also, like the others araucaria are reasonably slow growing so will serve for many Christmases before they need the service of a forklift to bring them indoors.
Although Norfolk pines obviously can’t claim the traditional history of their European counterparts I like to think their familial connection with our famed prehistoric wollemi pine gives them an overall head start.
From the time of our earliest settlers who had to make do in almost every facet of survival with whatever was at hand, I’m positive that even celebrating Christmas Day, let alone finding a suitable tree was certainly far from mind when they initially set up home in our wide brown land. But being quite ingenious in making do once settled, come Christmas, family homes everywhere would have sprouted a branch or two from the nearest gum or wattle tree, bearing bits of ribbon and maybe small tokens for the children. I can recall several, early, wartime Christmas mornings opening my gifts under a spreading red gum branch.
In later years, with the whole family nursery at our disposal, the choice was from a multitude of large potted trees, at times instead of a conifer a spreading acacia or eucalyptus would spend the festive season in our lounge room.

Now with the plethora of large, container-grown trees and shrubs at our disposal, the choice is endless. One of my favourites, native of course, is the dwarf lilly pilly, acmena smithii var. minor, which features shiny, bronze-coloured when young foliage, and fluffy white flowers.
The greatest feature of a living Christmas tree is that it can bring joy and pleasure to the children for many years and can become their own special project to nurture and protect from year to year.

Got a gardening query? Email glenzgarden@gmail.com

Mostly I was surprised because it didn’t come from an official channel, just from a mate who was in the know.
But I didn’t want to be the one popping something up on social media like “The Local believes…” or “Rumours are rife…” It would be a hard one to pull down if it was all wrong and, anyway, surely facts are the most important thing right now?
(Oh, sorry, just saw this in the Ballarat Courier’s reporting from last Thursday: “The Courier understands that due to Hepburn Shire’s almost near-absence of the virus – there were two cases attributed to residents from the shire in early August – the traces were more likely to be from a visitor to Daylesford.” That’s helpful. Just exactly who understands? Do visitors do different poo to locals? What the?)

Anyway, I started my calls. Hepburn Shire first, but as the very nice receptionist explained, as all three people I asked for were unavailable, “it is lunchtime”. Next was newly-annointed mayor Lesley Hewitt. Voicemail. Then Central Highlands Water but the recording told me there could be a wait for a staff member to answer. I tried the mobile of a contact but nothing. Then Daylesford Macedon Tourism CEO Steve Wroe, voicemail. Then Birch Ward Cr Jen Bray, who did answer but said she could not confirm or deny, but would look into it for me.
I then tried the Department of Health and Human Services’ coronavirus media hotline. That worked. Someone picked up the phone and mumbled at me. “Are you media liaison?” I asked. “Yes,” he said. “Sorry, I just took a bite of my lunch.”
Anyway, Lachlan could not confirm or deny either but said if anything was happening it would be on that mid-afternoon’s media release. “Email and I’ll make sure you get the release,” he promised.
Then I got an email from the council’s PR who said to talk to Central Highlands Rural Health and I did. Communications manager Helen Edwards finally confirmed what I knew was true, and just simply said people should stick to the health guidelines and get tested if they had any symptoms. Easy. No stress, no fake news, just “yes, true” and good advice.
I still don’t know why the run-around. COVID-19 is pretty much here until the vaccine kicks in and we have to be aware but not alarmed. I would have thought that starts with communication. (Why did it take three days for the announcement?)
To those who got back to me, many thanks. Hepburn Shire Mayor Lesley Hewitt, Cr Jen Bray and communications manager Maria Abate and Central Highland Water’s Peter Blackburn. Oh, and I did get that DHHS release – after I emailed again when I saw it on other papers’ social media and complained. Just sayin’…

I speak of the ships that look like ships, stately affairs with minimal kids’ activities – after all little folk should be seen but not heard or not seen as well. Particularly when I have just dropped a rather large hunk of “Cyril Ash” on the trip of a lifetime.
So, it is was with bated breath and trepidation that I convinced my better half to raise the $500 deposit for a trip around the Mediterranean for 2022. The last trip was booked for May this year around Japan and we all know how that turned out. But back to my love of cruising.

Part of my infatuation stems from the fact that you never have to worry about what’s for dinner or doing the dreaded Coles shuffle at 5.30 each night trying to come up with some culinary masterplan. Onboard there is always half a dozen prepaid restaurants welcoming you, not those horrible petri-dish buffets, I am talking about good quality menus that change every day and service with a smile.
The last cruise I was on a few years back started and stopped in Amsterdam after heading up the Baltic Sea and visited quite a few Eastern Block countries with their names ending in “stan” or “ainia”. I must admit it was a huge history lesson sprinkled with a bit of horrific genocide, but that is a story for another day. On this particular boating holiday, I was secretly hoping the Baltic would live up to its name as a ferocious stretch of water that would have us heaving up and down with 60-metre northern swells.

But alas, my reputation of Captain Calmweather followed us. This was the name my counterparts, a lifetime ago, gave me on the sail training ships I used to ply as first mate around New Zealand. We would always go out of the harbour on a 10-day voyage hoping for some extreme conditions to stretch the vessel’s capabilities and most times come back disappointed.
But back to my Baltic adventure. After copious amounts of grog and five kilos heavier in the bow, we came back into Amsterdam to do the final tour of the agenda. It was the windmill tour and looking outside it was going to be a ripper as the wind, for the first time on the journey, was howling. Unfortunately the rest of my travel party had had enough of tours and convinced me to skip the tour and head into the hotel for a quiet, restful afternoon.
We checked into the 16th floor of the boring-est hotel by the airport and it was shaking with the windspeeds over 100 kilometres per hour. Some of the building’s façades were crashing around on the outside of the hotel, making for a racket in the room, so I requested to be moved to the leeward side of the hotel. One of the staff made it to my door and handed over the key to the next room and after raiding the minibar (jokes) I packed up my bag and went to check out the new room.
I threw open the door to my new chamber and the door quickly locked behind me. But my attention was quickly fixated on a giant construction crane spinning around outside. It had broken free from its bonds and its trajectory was very clearly my room. I backed up against the door and just a few seconds later the arm of the crane missed the corner of my room by a little under a metre. It was as if the windmill tour had come to me, a kind of Muhammad and the mountain scenario.
Another change of rooms (and another minibar raid – jokes again) and it was time for a restful afternoon.
I love travelling rant over…

But for some former residents it’s been a different year. Some better, some worse. “Out of the frying pan…into ???. In the third of our series, former Wheatsheaf resident Jeff Glorfeld talks about COVID life in California, with his wife Carol, under a Trump presidency.

I was talking to a friend in Melbourne recently and mentioned that I felt a sense of pride in the way Victorians had made such sacrifices in order to smack down COVID-19, and now they were reaping the benefits.
From our home in California we followed developments closely, through online news reports and by staying in touch with our friends and former neighbours. The United States, for all its size and power, is incredibly insular – people here show little interest in events taking place outside their borders. Even so, Victoria’s success in controlling the virus was mentioned in several news reports.
Victoria has a population of almost 7 million people. According to an ABC News report from November 16, “Melbourne and the Mitchell Shire were put under stage 3 restrictions on July 9, a day of 143 new cases and 772 active infections — numbers which continued to grow”.
Here in the US, the states are broken up into counties, rather than shires. My wife Carol and I live in Shasta County, in northern California. It’s mostly rural, much of it harsh and rugged, with a population of about 180,000. The county seat, where we live, is the town of Redding; more than 92,000 people live here. County-wide we are seeing more than 100 new cases of COVID-19 each day, almost 900 a week, a 28 per cent surge. There have been 47 COVID-related deaths since the outbreak began.

When Dan Andrews announced strict virus control measures, there was complaining and arguing, but to us it looked like most Victorians saw sense in what he was trying to achieve and went along with the plan. But because some people will always push against authority, included in the strategy were rules for enforcement. Face coverings were to be worn. People were to stay home as much as possible. Travel was to be kept to a minimum. Do this or pay a price.
It was hard, it was harsh, people suffered, but as of now, it appears to have worked.
Meanwhile, in the US in March, California was a leader in issuing guidelines for halting the spread of COVID-19. There were no rules, no punishments, just a “directive” that included suggestions about hand washing and self-controlled restrictions on gatherings.

And how did that work? Well, as of now, California has more than 1,170,000 cases of COVID-19 and rising; and more than 19,000 deaths.
Recently, as the number of new COVID cases surged unchecked, the state’s Governor, Gavin Newsom, declared a 10pm-5am curfew. Asked by a reporter in the state capital, Sacramento, if they thought it might help, one man said: “We like our freedom. We are not going to listen to someone tell us we can’t see grandma, or our brother, or our family and friends. It’s not going to work.”
Said another: “Absolutely not, absolutely not. I think it is just a bunch of tomfoolery. Getting shut down early or staying open later, what does it matter?”
The key to all this is that the Governor issued directives, without mandating enforcement. Left to their own discretion, sheriff departments throughout the state have chosen to ignore them.
Here in Shasta County, our sheriff has publicly declared that directives to wear masks will not be enforced, and the newly proclaimed curfew will be rejected. This means a store manager can post a sign saying customers are required to wear face coverings, but it is up to them to enforce it.
There is a restaurant in our area that has taken this rejection of authority to extremes – the owner actively discourages the wearing of masks by staff and customers.
Redding has at least a dozen big grocery stores – what us oldtimers used to call supermarkets – and yet recently a woman decided to stage a protest rally outside one that was trying to enforce its policy of requiring customers to wear face coverings, proclaiming loudly that it was an egregious violation of her constitutional rights.
Comments attached to local online media reports about COVID are heavily weighted towards people who believe it’s nothing more than a jumped-up flu or cold; or worse, that it’s all a media-driven hoax. Shasta County is a deeply conservative area full of people who believe in and support our thankfully soon-to-be-former President Trump. This means mask wearing was made into a political issue and was never widespread – although recently there has been improvement in this regard.
I recently had an online chat with a person who believed that anyone who was going to refrain from travelling during the Thanksgiving holiday, and advocated the wearing of masks, had been “brainwashed”. We argued back and forth for a while and then finally she admitted that her anger stemmed from eight months of COVID-related bad news, restrictions, and the changes that had been forced upon her life. I told her that if Californians had been as tough and smart as Australians, they could have controlled this thing in eight weeks. Instead, we’re still dreaming of a day when we can walk into a pub and have a drink with our mates, secure in the knowledge that it won’t be our last.
Pictured above, Carol and Jeff Glorfeld with pooch Scout