By Donna Kelly

What an extraordinary thing Ros Pyers has done. Generously donated to not just one but four organisations.

And that is after a lifetime of already donating her time as a volunteer to even more groups – and working as an educator, surely one of the most important roles in our community.

So it is no wonder the beneficiaries of her generosity are Hepburn Primary School and Daylesford Primary School along with the Daylesford Community Brass Band (pictured above) – her love of music shining through, and Daylesford and District Historical Society – another love, history.

As Hepburn Shire Mayor Cr Brian Hood, who attended a small celebration of the donations last week said, the impact of Ros’s generosity and compassion will be felt for many years to come.

“This is such a wonderful gesture and one that will make an incredible difference to our children and the wider community.”

Now I don’t know the Pyers couple very well – although in recent times I have spent a bit of time, in his role with the Daylesford Highland Gathering, with Ros’s husband of 67 years Keith.

I also know Keith as the go-to Justice of the Peace, who during those dark days of Covid, continued to offer his services with a desk and a couple of chairs on the verandah of the couple’s home. That is commitment and kindness, which is what Keith and Ros seem to be all about.

Keith was also a teacher and involved as a volunteer in many organisations – and has spent a lot of time and effort ensuring Ros’s donations came to fruition.

Congratulations to you both, and thank you from myself and your community. It would be wonderful if your actions encourage others to do something similar. It certainly has me thinking. Oh, and a very happy 90th to you both!

I would also like to thank our journo Narelle Groenhout for writing the story, on page 3 if you skipped past, with such love and kindness. I would have loved to have gone along myself but was away – and just knew this had Narelle’s name all over it.

You might remember Narelle writing about the terrible accident in Daylesford last year – she was there when it happened and felt compelled to share her feelings, again, all about love and compassion. And just between us, she and her husband Pat, did amazing, although they would never tell you that.

Finally, I really have enjoyed putting this edition together. Sometimes, to be honest, it’s work but this time it was just fantastic to see so many stories, and advertising, coming through. Like we are really back.

We started off with 28 pages and then more stories arrived, so I bumped it up to 32 pages and then more stories arrived so I made the decision on Friday to go up to 36 pages. Hopefully it will stay there, because I am running out of steam now.

But it’s a great edition and nice to get back into after our break in Japan. We had a great time, and our grand-nephew loved it too. He really “got” Japan which not every one does.

And here is a final Japan pic I just had to share. We found ourselves in a bar, strange that, and as I chatted to the manager in Japanese, he said he had a surprise for us. He disappeared and returned with a geisha. True story.

But Kyle was just a little too enamoured. Just sayin’…

Japan is a country of juxtapositions. A Fuji photo booth sitting next to a plethora of vending machines offering porn magazines, smokes and booze in the middle of a rice paddy with a handful of workers and nobody else around sums it up for me.

My first interaction with the Japanese folk was as a wee boy of four out to sea with my dad and we happened upon a box-netting vessel just off the northern coast of New Zealand.

This led to some high seas swapsies with knives, food and ice. And when we arrived home Mum had to try to interpret how to cook a “Boil in the Bag” meal. This technology hadn’t made its way to NZ in the early seventies and we marvelled as she tipped the hot noodles on the plate. I must admit it was probably my first encounter with a noodle.

My next rendezvous with the culture was during the late eighties, this time as skipper selling to the Japanese market, making a killing and entertaining a bunch of Japanese for a weekend.

These fellas came over to see how we caught the fish and instruct us on how they liked to receive the fish. But the lessons were short and we mainly showed them the intricate secrets of the inside of the Houhora Tavern.

When I met Donna, a declared Japanophile, in the nineties, I went to the travel agent to enquire and pique my interest on the Land of the Rising Sun, but they had nothing, not even a brochure to give me.

So, I did my first of 10 or so trips to Japan in 2003 and it was a different country then. I stood head and shoulders above the crowd and one little fella yelled to his mother while pointing at me “nan da are”, which loosely translated means “WTF is that”.

She hurried him away from the foreigner.

At first I was too afraid to go anywhere without Donna as it all looked the same, and in those times they spoke very little English. My language skills were also limited – I spoke enough Japanese to order a beer and then a few pints later, find the toilet.

But the further into the sake we got the more we connected with the locals, coupled with a riveting karaoke rendition of Danny Boy which somehow bought a bit of praise and respect.

In that short amount of time since 2003 things have changed, Google Translate ensures a relatively smooth interaction. Not like when I asked a rather surprised massage therapist to be my wife for an hour. All I wanted was to send my wife down in an hour – for a massage.

The kids have grown a lot taller on average and it seems that half the population of Australia is over there at any one time, so foreigners aren’t such a mystery. But it is still a special place in my heart.

We leave the big cities to the tourists and head to the country where not a lot of foreigners have found our little city of Matsuyama.

The culture certainly hasn’t changed a lot, the bars are still a fabulous way of engaging with the locals. I have even found one bar that only allows one patron in at a time – a fair dinkum cardboard and wood box that the dude sets up every night.

And cherry blossom viewing is amazing. If you were to place 100,000 people into a park, ply them with alcohol for an entire day in Australia there would be trouble.

But over there, no worries. There is no disrespect or fighting and harmony is all around as you look for the perfect blossom.

I am now a Japanophile rant over…

Fun fact. Kara means empty and oke is short for orchestra. So karaoke is empty music, or music without words. Te means hand. Karate. Lesson over.

By Donna Kelly

A long, long time ago, just after the dinosaurs disappeared and the wheel was invented, I lived in Japan.

It was a very different world. There was no internet, well there probably was but I didn’t know about it, no Facebook, no Snapchat, no email, no Instagram.

We communicated by writing aerogrammes, filling every tiny piece of the very light, and light blue, paper to make sure we got our money’s worth. You could also make a phone call but they were incredibly expensive so you wrote everything down you were going to say so there were no blank bits or ummms and ahhhs.

Anyway, I had been to uni and got a BA or Bachelor of Arts, which my Dad also called Bugger All. I like to think he was joking and it was the days when the government paid for the degree. But still not sure. He was an engineer after all.

And then I found work at a newspaper as a cadet journalist in Rosebud on the Mornington Peninsula. My career was going well and over the next two years I moved to Frankston and then to the Mornington Leader where I was the editor.

Yep, at the grand old age of 22 I was chatting with MP Peter Reith as part of my role.

And then Mum found a newspaper advertisement. The Ministry of Education, or Mombusho, in Japan were looking for teachers of English. You needed a degree but no Japanese. I applied and missed out.

But about a month later I had a call from the Ministry saying a position had come up, about an hour out of Tokyo, and would I like it?

The next minute, or so it seemed, I had said farewell to a boyfriend of six years, told Mum to come and visit and I was on a plane to Narita Airport.

I was picked up after a nine-hour flight by four, very stern looking, Japanese men, none of whom spoke English, and we spent the next couple of hours sitting awkwardly in a limo before I was dropped off at my apartment in the smallish town of Ome.

They told me, in a sort of mime, they would pick me up the next morning at 7.30am and take me to the Board of Education, and promptly left.

I think I was pretty much in a state of shock. I had never lived away from home, spoke no Japanese and had left a fun journo job for the unknown of Japan.

I looked out the balcony at the snow covered mountain over the road, turned on the television, watched as Arnie sold some products in halting Japanese, turned it off, and looked around the two rooms which were my new home.

My new employees had already pulled out a futon mattress from the cupboard, and popped sheets and a duvet on top, and I think they left me a loaf of bread, being a foreigner and all, for a breakfast of toast.

Luckily I had a Western-style toilet and there was a lovely deep bath.

The next morning I got up early and was ready and waiting for my ride. We went straight to the office, no sight-seeing going on, and I met all the managers and took part in my first all Japanese meeting. It only went for three hours.

If you think Australian office meetings can be dull, try it in a language you don’t understand.

I also asked for the bathroom and nearly cried when I saw the Asian-style squat toilets. I decided to hold on until something better turned up but after a few days realised I could do some internal damage if I only peed at home.

The next day I started at my first junior high school where the students spoke no English and neither did the English teachers. It was a bit of a struggle at times, especially when the students asked if I was a virgin.

“Yes or no,” the English teacher prompted. Hmmm. I said “no” but I am from Franganistan, where a woman in her 30s is generally the grandmother. Only Frankston people can make these jokes.

What’s a woman in a white tracksuit? The bride. But I digress.

Japan turned out to be the biggest, most fun adventure of my life. I stayed for three years, made loads of friends, learnt the language and ended up being a tour guide back home in Cairns and on the Gold Coast.

I have so many fantastic memories and until Covid hit pretty much found my way back there almost every year, dragging Kyle along after we met in the 90s. And he loves it just as much as me, although you do need to visit to really “get” the place.

It’s all odd and fun and exciting at the same time. And sometimes scary. I was followed home a few times by strange men, had a few others on trains doing things under newspapers that are quite illegal, and worked for a friend in a “hostess” bar where I thought I was just serving drinks but some of the patrons had other ideas.

Mum loved it too. Kept turning up every few months to outstay her welcome – she didn’t care. The last time we went together was when she turned 80.

She had been really crook, almost gone, and then pretty miraculously recovered. We went during cherry blossom season, rented a tatami mat and sat on the ground drinking Asahi beers.

Mum laid down on her back and sighed. I asked if she was OK and she said she was just enjoying the sky and the trees.

I am in Japan this week and missing her so much. She would have loved one more visit. Love you Mum. Just sayin’…

Japan must be one of the most popular destinations for Australians, if the newspaper and magazine advertising is anything to go by. And for good reason.

It’s affordable, the people are lovely and there are myriad different spots to head to whether you love the hustle of the big cities like Tokyo and Osaka, the culture of Kyoto, the temples everywhere or the most remote areas like Shikoku or Hokkaido.

You can stick to the main tourist thoroughfares or head to places off the beaten track where the locals will be happy to say hello or practice their English.

It’s just important to remember the temples are real places of worship, not just tourist attractions, and no one likes a loud tourist.

Cherry blossom season is happening now and while people do flock to take photos of the flowers, it’s also an important time of the year for new employees to start work and students to head back to school. A time of renewal.

If you do find yourself in Japan during cherry blossom or ohanami – which translates as watching the flowers – find a local vendor for a tatami mat, grab a spot to sit and also pick up some food and drink.

There’s plenty of bento boxes or food on sticks to choose from, and there’s sake and beer everywhere on offer. If you don’t drink, the Japanese respect that too – they are a healthy bunch.

And if you want to try and few different foods, head to the department stores under most train stations. They often have food samples and are only to happy to give the foreigners a chance to try something different

At the moment, the yen is pretty much 100 to the Australian dollar, so really easy to work out as you shop.

Oh, accommodation. There are plenty of hotels you book online or perhaps try a couple of nights at a old style inn. You might find yourself on a futon on the floor, and with an Asian style squat toilet, but it’s all part of the experience – and you will definitely find old fashioned hospitality.

Transport is pretty easy. The trains run on time and the shinkansens are fantastic for their speed and convenience. Not to mention the lovely wait staff wandering along their aisles offering food and drink.

If you do step off at a station to grab a bento box make sure you watch the clock, the bullet trains wait for no one.

O tanoshimi kudasai! Please enjoy!

Words & images: Donna Kelly