THE MOTHER LODE…A MOTHER’S LOAD OF LOVE

Mother's Day Cards given by my brother and me to our Mum when we were very young

Nana at 18 years

Mum at Yeppoon Beach and at Rockhampton Circa late 1930s-early 1940s

Kirbys' Staff Party...Circa late 1930s...my mother at rear slight to right of wall plaque..pen-marked on her neck to point her out...probably done by her!

A letter of thanks from Kirby & Co. to my mother for one of the fashion parades

Letter of Reference for Elma, my mother

             

Mum Circa 1966

                                                                         

Nana, Easter 1967

                     

My mother, Elma...at 18 years of age

                                                                                                                                                         

                                                 A mother’s enchantment at baby’s first cry
                                                 Is a thrill no lavish amount of money can buy
                                                 Contentment absolute as it suckles her breast
                                                 Its grasp of her hand as she gently lays it to rest
                                                To experience baby’s smiles; its tremulous steps
                                                Indescribable exhilaration at baby’s first word 
                                                Excitement trying to decipher what was heard
                                                Gentle caresses while wiping away tears shed
                                                Anticipation of the future; of what lies ahead
                                                A mother’s love is complete and unconditional
                                                'Tis a love never-ending; love so inspirational
                                                                           (Poem written by me)

Songs are composed; portraits painted and poems written in praise of mothers; and deservedly so. 

My mother with her blue eyes, fiery auburn hair and quick temper to match was a character in every way.  Her Scots-Irish heritage didn’t let her down. Her deep-rooted Celtic ancestry served her admirably in times of adversity; as it did her mother. 

Nana (“Nana” with a single “n” in the appropriate spot is of Scottish-Gaelic origin) was never one to be taken lightly, either. Those so lacking in judgment to be fooled by Nana’s quiet, soothing manner quickly learned if they stepped out of line they faced a formidable foe. Nana’s calm demeanour once stirred by wrongdoing or misbehaviour flared in reaction. She was a loyal supporter of her daughter and of we children. However, she was never so blinded by her love for us not to reprimand when needed.  The values taught by Nana and Mum have lasted long through the years; no “use-by date” applies. Good manners and respect were instilled from an early age.

My older brother and I were raised by our mother and our grandmother.  An early example of “same-sex-parenting” one could say.  Our mother and father separated before I was born.  

I’m writing in honour of my mother and grandmother…for Mother’s Day….this is for Ivy, my Nana.... and her daughter, my mother....Elma.

There was no money to spare or to waste in our humble childhood home, but there was little we did without; if there was anything, we probably didn’t need it in the first place. We certainly didn’t sit around pining and groaning. 

Mum and Nana never tried “to keep up with the Joneses”; nor did they covet or envy what others had. I doubt they had a materialistic bone between them; more smart lessons for children to learn.

Independent individuals, Mum and Nana were generally self-sustaining.  They were each other’s best friend; their bond was unbreakable. Whatever life tossed at them they faced head on, together. They dealt with their own problems conquering each hurdle that hindered their way.

For only the briefest time in their lives were they ever apart. They stuck by each other through thick and thin; through the good times and the bad.  Nana’s strength of purpose helped her daughter, our mother, conquer some of the darkest, bleakest episodes in her life.  Nana, like a lioness, protected her family…her pride of whom she was very proud.

Nana and Mum minded their own business, never the business of others. Rarely did either whinge or moan; when they did it’d be about trivial matters of no import. Figuring it was a pointless waste of time they just got on with it believing there were enough complainers in the world already without them joining the mob. Complaining wasn’t in their vocabulary; neither was blindly following the deeds or thoughts of others.

They had their disagreements; it would have been abnormal not to have had opposing opinions on different matters; but they soon got over whatever stirred the pot; and life continued on; sometimes not as before once the air had been cleared.

I argued with Mum; but never with Nana.  I probably knew better than to step over Nana's line! 

The arguments I had with my mother never lasted for long; and our verbal stoushes were never nasty. We didn’t carry things on. Our disagreements were over and done with quickly, and we moved forward, putting whatever caused the angst behind us.  

Perhaps the words oft repeated by Nana stuck with us – “to never let the sun go down on your anger”.   

My older brother Graham and I were more fearful of Nana’s ire, than our mother’s.  We knew immediately just from “the look” on Nana’s face we’d gone too far; we quickly learned to pull our heads in, back off and start behaving ourselves before it was too late.  Surrender was the best course of action!

In our childish ignorance we thought we were clever enough to get away with more when around Mum, than with Nana.  We probably weren’t! Our mother just had a different way of dealing with us. 

I can’t remember ever being slapped by either Mum or Nana.  I remember the threats; the promises. They were enough for me.  I believed being hit wouldn’t be much fun. It didn't take me long to recognise where the demarcation lines were.

Mum’s pastimes when not working were gardening, fishing and crabbing.

She always looked her best when going out; whether to work or for pleasure - except when going fishing, of course!  

Graham and I frequently teased Mum about how long it took her to get ready to go out.  Her vibrant shoulder-length hair was always immaculately styled by her own hands. She always wore it up in a style befitting what was in vogue at the time. I can’t remember her ever going to a hairdresser.  She was adept at creating her individual styles. Her long fingernails were carefully manicured and polished; and her clothes always stylish, freshly-ironed and worn with grace.

My mother was born in Gympie, but when she was a toddler the family moved to Rockhampton; and it was there my brother and I were born years later.  A few years after our entrance into the world our small family unit moved back to Gympie. I was three years old and my brother, six years of age.

After leaving school Elma, my mother, worked for A.W.  Kirby & Co., Pty. Ltd., a fashion store in Rockhampton for a number of years.  She commenced in their employ on 28^th July, 1933; and the date her employment ceased with Kirbys was 22^nd April, 1941.  The reason she left was because the company retired from business.

Mum was also one of the company’s in-store mannequins, modelling the new season’s clothes in the fashion parades. Kirby’s was a major business in Rockhampton in those years.

Decades later, well into the Sixties, members of the Kirby family were still in contact with our mother at different intervals. Obviously, they held her in high regard.

Nana was the story-teller in our home.  My brother and I loved hearing her stories, over and over again. When we were young we would urge her night after night to tell us her stories of “the olden days”.  It never mattered how many times we heard those wonderful stories, they never ceased to delight us.

Nana was born at an area in Gympie called “The Dawn”. Shortly thereafter, Nana, her siblings and their parents moved to Goomboorian, 20ks (12 miles) outside of Gympie where they spent their childhood and teenage years. My grandmother's father, my great-grandfather worked at the Scottish Gold Mine, at Monkland, Gympie.  In 1918 he was killed in an accident at that mine.  (In a previous post I wrote in some detail about this part of my history/heritage/ancestry).

Our grandmother had a wealth of stories from Gympie’s early days; and of the areas surrounding Gympie. As there is only me left...my grandmother, mother and brother have passed away...I'm the only one left who knows these stories.  My late brother's adult children don't appear to be interested in learning about their forefathers/mothers, which, in my opinion, is sad....but that's their loss and a loss for their children. 

In awed astonishment we'd sit in silence listening to Nana tell the story of how fastidious our mother was about her appearance when she was a young, stylish girl-about-town working at Kirbys.   My brother, Graham and I listened intently to all of Nana's tales, interrupting only to ask questions here and there.

The headstrong young woman who later became our mother would go home during her lunch hour to change into a second outfit for the afternoon; and always, after taking an already ironed dress, blouse or skirt from her wardrobe would iron the garment again before donning it! 

Thankfully, I never inherited that trait from her.  I hate ironing!  Having to iron an item once is more than enough!  

When we were children often Nana proudly told my brother and me how our mother was the first young woman in Queensland to model the first two-piece bathing suit. If that was entirely true or not I really don’t know; perhaps she was the first young woman in Rockhampton to model such a bathing suit.  Nana wasn’t prone to lying or exaggeration so the former could very well have been the case.  Elma, our mother, was tall, slim and very attractive; she carried herself well.

In Gympie when Graham and I were attending primary school, Mum modelled in the local fashion parades on behalf of various local dress salons.

Home-body Nana enjoyed cooking. “Love” might be an over-statement; maybe she liked it more than loved it. However, preparing our meals never appeared to be a chore for her. I learned so much about cooking from my Nana.

Both Mum and Nana sewed; making their own clothes and mine; and sometimes shirts for Graham when he was younger.  Our sturdy Singer treadle sewing machine rattled along busily and often. 

It’s the simple things I miss most with my mother and grandmother no longer in my life.

I miss the “in-family” jokes. Our fooling around about nonsensical things others would have had no appreciation or understanding of; our silliness was unique to us; to our sense of craziness.

Mum was quick to take the bait; much to the delight of my brother and me. We loved to tease her. Mum bit quicker than our dog; or any of the fish she caught!

Often over the washing and drying up of the evening dinner dishes Nana and I played a game wherein we’d adopt personas; we’d put on false voices and accents.  Our silly, over-the-top conversations allowed our imaginations to run free. I think at times we almost believed we where the characters we were playing.. Both of us would end up in stitches; it was always such fun.

Of one thing I’m certain - Mum and Nana loved Graham and I very much; and we loved them equally in return.  Love costs nothing; but love is everything.

Happy Mother’s Day to Mums and Nanas.  It’s Mum’s day to take the load off – her day to be treated royally…

Cinnamon Oatmeal Pancakes: Combine 2c rolled oats and 500ml buttermilk. Set aside an hour or so until liquid is absorbed and oats are soft; overnight even. Stir together 1/2c whole wheat flour or oat flour, 1tsp each baking powder and bicarb soda, 1/4tsp each cinnamon and salt; add to softened rolled oats; add 1/2c buttermilk along with 2 eggs, 1/4c canola oil and 1tbs honey or maple syrup. Stir with rubber spatula just until well combined. Heat large, heavy pan over med-high heat; spray with oil. Cook 1/2c batter at a time; spread out to about 10cm in diameter; turn heat to med-low; cook until edges appear dry and bubbles begin to break on surface; flip; cook until golden; repeat with remaining batter. Serve with berries or bananas and honey or maple syrup.

Crab Benedict: Muffins: Whisk together 150g plain flour, 100ml each warm milk and warm water, 25g melted butter, 1tsp salt and 1x7g sachet of yeast; cover; leave in warm place, 1hr. Grease 8cm rings with butter; place in pan; spoon in muffin mix; cook gently on both sides, 3-4mins. Hollandaise: whisk 2 egg yolks with 50ml white wine vinegar in bowl over simmering water; slowly add 250g melted clarified butter or ghee; whisk continuously; then add a squeeze of lemon juice; keep warm. Have 800g cooked spinach handy. Mix 400g crab meat with 1tbs crème fraiche and a little lemon juice. Split and toast muffins; top each with some crab; then some spinach; and another lot of crab; top with hollandaise; sprinkle with chopped chives.

Nana & Mum’s Lemon Bars: Preheat oven 175C. Grease a 9-inch baking pan. Whisk togeterh 1-1/4c plain flour and 1/4c icing sugar; cut in 1/2c butter with 2 flat-bladed knives, your fingers or pastry blender to make coarse crumbs. Press into prepared pan. Bake 18-22 minutes until crust is light brown. Meanwhile, whisk together 2 large eggs, 1c white sugar, 2tbs plain flour, 1/2tsp baking powder, 1/2c fresh lemon juice and 1tbs lemon zest.  Pour filling over crust as soon as it comes out of oven (don’t wait for crust to cool). Return to oven; bake 20-25mins or until lemon bar is set.  Remove from oven; cool 5mins; dust with icing sugar.

Strawberry-Rhubarb “Mumosa”: Combine 1/3c each sugar and water, 1/2c each diced rhubarb and strawberries and 2tsp freshly-chopped ginger in saucepan; bring to boil; simmer 10-15mins; cool. Place in processor; add 1tbs lime juice; if too thick, add 1tbs hot water. Process until smooth; strain; pour 1tbs into champagne flutes; top with champers; garnish with strawberries.  

MILK OF HUMAN KINDNESS - LET'S SHAKE IT UP A BIT!

Cardwell by the Sea...Hinchinbrook Island in the background

Main Street of Cardwell...which is actually the Bruce Highway...businesses on one side; ocean on the other.\

W.C. Fields once said: “Never cry over spilled milk, it might’ve been poisoned.” 

Later, after he came back (or it could’ve been before he left) Arnold Schwarzenegger grunted: “Milk is for babies; when you grow up you have to drink beer!”

Advice I sometimes follow; and many other times, not.  I don’t drink a lot of beer, but there’s nothing quite like an icy-cold beer to quench one thirst in the heat of summer.  The beer industry would go broke if it depended on my ingestion of the amber ale or lager, though.  I’ve not had a beer since Christmas.  When I do infrequently succumb, it’s always lager.

I don’t spill a lot of milk, but I do drink my fair share of it; and always full cream.  I like milk; I enjoy drinking it.

When I was a child growing up in Gympie in the Fifties there were nine or ten (or more) cafés along Mary Street, Gympie’s main street, alone - Condie’s; Wards; Brown Jug, Tobin’s; Patrick’s, Choy’s and Comino’s to name but a few; I can’t remember all the names at this moment.

Each one prepared and served milkshakes and malted milks in the authentic fluted, frosted metal drink containers of old while us children with our eyes sparkling in eager anticipation watched on. The containers froze our little fingers, but not enough to be a deterrent. Only the shortage of pocket money would stop us from indulging; but I must admit I mostly preferred the painfully-cold orange drinks; and probably, overall, had more of them than I did milk shakes.  As a child I wasn’t a big lover of ice cream, as strange as that sounds.

Sometimes the rich milky treats were served in the paneled soda fountain glasses mostly reserved for chilled orange juice or ice cream sodas. 

At this very moment the roof of my mouth is going out in sympathy just from the memories flooding back of the pain suffered, but endured!

Those days are long gone, aren’t they, of the old-style cafés/milk bars?  Are there any similar outlets around the ridges today where these drinks are sold? 

(As an aside…there were as many pubs in Gympie’s main street back in those days, too.)

Most of the cafés/milk bars in Gympie back in those days of yore were owned and operated by Greek families; at a guess, more than 95% of them.

Condie’s Café on the opposite corner to Webster’s Corner Store at the Five-Ways was very popular with the movie-going crowd because the Olympia Picture Theatre was only a hop, skip and jump away.  The picture theatre also had a small milk bar snuggled up close and personal to it on either side, enough to keep everyone happy.

Patrick’s Café halfway along Mary Street became a popular meeting place for lunch after I started working.

Tobin’s Café a little further along Mary Street, frequented often by the wives of farmers when they came to town was lined in stained dark wood/ and it’s glass-encased shelves and display counters held many tempting cakes. 

Back in the Fifties the farm/country ladies only came to town once a month; perhaps at most once a fortnight.  And they always dressed in their very best - equal to their Sunday best - for their day’s outing in town; and fashionable hats were almost always worn.

My first job when I left school in the early Sixties was as a legal secretary at Tozer & Jeffery, a local law firm. The newest junior member of staff, into which mould I fitted at one stage, had a very important chore to do each morning.  That chore was to walk down to Tobin’s Café daily clasping a glass jug in one's hand to purchase the milk for our morning teas.  The hardest part of this chore was to arrive back to the office with a still-full jug of milk. Our success rate was very low.  A trail of spilled milk was left behind.

The office didn’t have a fridge to store milk.  In fact, we didn’t have any “mod-cons”.  The most modern piece of equipment we had in our “staff room” was an electric jug.  And, our “staff room” was, in fact, nicknamed the “dungeon” by us staff.

It was an underground area; below street level. It housed an old, unused strong room, a bench, a few chairs, some old bookcases filled with ancient ledgers and journals, lots of dust, and that’s about it!  We walked down stairs to enter the area; and there was a mottled-glass, solid window set into the concrete wall at footpath level.  The glass was thick and strong; it was unable to be opened. Shadowy forms of the ankles and feet of the passing parade of people could be just made out.  Actually, it was rather more like “the few people walking along the footpath at any given time”, than “the passing parade”.

You might note I wrote “walk down” – and this is what we had to do.  Gympie is a very hilly town.  The office in which I worked was up one end of the Mary Street; and the main shopping area of the street where all the cafes were…was downhill…in what originally had been a gully…Nash’s Gully.  In 1867 prospector James Nash discovered gold in Gympie; thereby saving Queensland's bacon and putting Gympie on the map! 

But back to the important issue of the moment - the last time I came across a milkshake/malted milk-making machine was when I moved to Cardwell from Collinsville in the mid-Nineties.

Before I took on a position as manager of a motel on the highway in Cardwell I worked for a brief period at a service station, where, in the evenings, I operated the little restaurant attached to the servo. During the day I did a daylight shift serving behind the counter in the shop wherein my duties included the selling of all manner of items, along with the preparation of burgers, fish, chips, steak sandwiches, sandwiches etc., as well as making milkshakes and malted milks.

I felt taken back in time while I whizzed and whirred milkshakes and malted milks using all the old-time equipment. It was the first (and last) time I’d ever done so. Even then I thought it an ancient and rare practice; but a fun one.

Another indulgence of the lost days of my tender years of innocence was the ice cream sundae.  We even prepared sundaes, every day including Sundays at the Cardwell Service Station.

Again, when I was a little girl, I didn’t indulge in ice cream sundaes often because of my not being overly partial to ice cream. I probably could count on one hand how many times I’ve eaten sundaes.  My brother, Graham and our friends loved them, however. They made up for my shortcomings; and I do eat ice cream now – so all is well and at peace in the world.

Perhaps franchises like Gloria Jean, Baskin-Robbins and similar are keeping the practices of milkshake, malted milk and ice cream sundae-making alive and kicking.

I don’t frequent such places.  I live such a sheltered life! I should get out more, I hear you say.  On with my deerstalker hat, I’m grabbing my magnifying glass to go in search of an old-fashioned milk bar. 

Banana Split: Slice banana in half, lengthwise; place banana on side of long sundae dish. Using strawberry, chocolate and vanilla ice cream, scoop one of each flavour and place into the dish between the banana slices. Top ice cream with whipped cream; place a maraschino cherry on top of each scoop; drizzle with chocolate and strawberry syrups; sprinkle with chopped nuts, if desired.

Peaches & Cream Sundae: Using strawberry, chocolate and vanilla ice cream, place a scoop of each into sundae dish. Put drained, canned peach slices on sides; top ice cream with whipped cream.  Place 1/2tsp crushed canned pineapple on top of ice cream scoops; decorate with cherries with stems; drizzle with strawberry syrup.

Never On a Sundae: Place a big scoop of vanilla ice cream in bottom of chilled, glass dessert dishes; add a layer of sliced strawberries; drizzle with dark chocolate sauce. Add another scoop of ice cream; then a layer of blueberries; drizzle with chocolate sauce. Top with whipped cream; drizzle with chocolate sauce; garnish with a whole strawberry.

Brandied Berry Milk Shake: Place 2c vanilla ice cream, 1/2c each blackberries, blueberries and strawberries, 1/2c milk and 1/4c brandy into blender; process until smooth.

Piña Colada Shake: Place 1-1/2c frozen, fresh pineapple cubes, 1-1/2c vanilla ice cream, 1/2c coconut extract and 3/4c frozen sliced banana into blender; process until smooth. You could add Malibu instead of the coconut extract if you wanted one with a kick – or not!

R-Rated Shake: Place 1 scoop ice cream, 1 scoop crushed ice, 1/4c cream, 1/2tsp vanilla, ½ banana, 1 liqueur glass of Baileys in blender; process until smooth. Top with whipped cream and choc sprinkles. 

MAKING DOUGH AND BREAKING BREAD - JUST THE CATS' WHISKERS!

Looking at their soft place to land

Shama smiling: "Would I do such a thing?"

"No!  I wouldn 't do such a thing, either!" Said Remy

Socksie and Me...I was 3 years old

Besser Block

I’m having one of  "those" days today.  Firstly, I didn’t want to get out of bed, feeling I could stay in there, snuggled up away from the rest of the world and its inhabitants for eternity. 

In fact, for a while, it was impossible for me to move, anyway, even if I wanted to do so. I was pinned down.  No - not by George Clooney!  Don’t be silly – he’s run off with another, much younger woman despite my many previous pleas of “Pick me! Pick me!”  However, instead of shedding tears over his abandonment (lack of acknowledgement), I wish he and his new lady love all the best.  I think they’re a most suited couple; and I hope they have a happy ending…or start and continuation of their life together….but that’s all by the way…and is not of major (or minor) importance in my life.

Back to the reality of today and my inability to leap out of bed earlier this morning; and to the subject of pinning (not pining); and who the “pinner” or “pinners”, I should say, were.  

Remy, my male cat and his sister Shama were the “pinners-downers”! 

I have two cats, Remy and his sister, Shama (pronounced “Sharma” – my derivative of  “Shaman”. Remy’s full title is “Remy Martin”. I named him after the cognac) both are 11 years old.  Like me, they are Scorpios.  They’ll be12 this coming November.  I’ll be turning a little older, but I shan’t go into details at this stage.  Both of my little mates were three days off turning six weeks old when I adopted them.  It was not only their lucky day, but mine, too.

Remy is no lightweight, I can assure you.  When he was a kitten he looked like a fur-coated besser block!  He still does; just a larger block!

Remy, whose dead weight must be close to a tonne, loves to lay full length on top of me for whatever reason known only to him.  Shama often chooses to get into the act, too; although she is of a more petite build.  This morning was one of those times.

Both use me as their launching and landing pad to and from the window sill above my head, behind my bed.  They also think its great fun to utilise me similarly to leap to and from the top of a tall, cane bookcase over to the side of my bed. 

I have a king-size mattress.  There is more than enough room to land elsewhere other than upon me, but that would be no fun for my furry friends.  There is also room enough on my mattress for the three of us, without me having to hang on for dear life; with only two inches between me and the floor! 

It would be bad manners for me to complain. I dare not disturb these two furry, four-legged rascals!  Oh! No!  That wouldn’t do!  Living on the edge can be so much fun, in more ways than one!

Shama, in particular, gets immense pleasure out of landing on me from the greater height of the cane hutch/bookcase off to the right of “my” bed. 

I see the mischievous glint of satisfaction in her eyes seconds before she leaps (the rare times I do receive some forewarning, or when I accidentally notice what is in store for me).  That same glint is playing in her eyes and body language after she’s almost winded me.  With a flick of her tail, she tosses me a grin and proceeds to wash herself as if nothing untoward has occurred.

Am I nothing but a doormat for my cats?

Eventually this morning I disturbed “those who must be obeyed” and managed to drag myself out of bed. Grumbling, they followed.  Actually, the three of us were grumbling; but, unlike me, they’ve aleady snuggled up and gone back to sleep in their chosen spots for the day.   

An evil thought is playing around in my mind – I should go and jump on them…just as pay-back!  I can just imagine the reaction!  It is best I don’t!

They know they’re loved; they know they are spoiled.  They know who the bosses are.  Please note - “bosses” – I’m out-numbered in this household! 

 I would have it no other way; and I know I’m loved in return by them.  They show it every day in so many ways.

I've had a cat or cats in my life since I was a very young child.  "Socksie" was my first cat.  I've written Socksie's story previously.

As the day has progressed I am feeling more sprightly and brighter than my previous introduction earlier this morning.  Perhaps a soothing hot shower will completely turn the tide of feelings and motivation.

In the words of John Denver, “some days are diamonds, some are days are stones”. 

I think what I need is to make some dough and spread the bread around.

  

Olive Bread: Mix together 750g plain flour, 5g salt, 10g dried yeast, 150g black olives, pitted and sliced, 10g chopped garlic and 25g butter, gently rubbing in the butter a little.  Add 450mls warm water. Knead dough until smooth and elastic. Cover bowl and leave in warm place for 30min. Knead again for a couple of minutes. Shape and place onto a lightly oiled baking sheet. Leave for 1 hour, and then place in preheated 190C oven for 35-40mins.

 Sun-Dried Tomato Bread: Pour 1/4c lukewarm water in a small bowl; mix in 1tspn sugar. Sprinkle 2-1/2tspn dry yeast on top. Set aside to activate. In small saucepan, heat 1c water to 120 degrees.  Add 1tspn salt and 1/2c oil from bottled sun-dried tomatoes. Remove from heat. Add 1-1/2c unbleached flour to the warm water. Stir in yeast mixture with wooden spoon. Continue to stir until dough becomes smooth. Add 1/2c chopped, drained sun-dried tomatoes, 1 large beaten egg, 2tbls chopped chives (and/or basil/oregano), 2 garlic cloves, minced and 2tbl freshly chopped coriander. Place dough on lightly-floured surface; knead for 6-8mins. Add more flour, just enough to make a stiff dough. Place dough into oiled bowl. Cover till doubled. Punch down and let double again. Punch down again.  Place dough on lightly-floured surface. Cut dough in half; allow to rest for 10mins. Shape into 2 round loaves.  Place loaves on greased baking sheet. Cover again until doubled.  Place into preheated 190C oven for 40-45mins. 
 
Molasses Bread: In a bowl combine 1/2c lukewarm orange juice, 2 eggs, 2tbls honey, 2tbls molasses, 1/2c soy flour and a half cup of whole wheat flour. Sprinkle 1 packet yeast on top; stir . Allow to sit for 15 minutes. Pour out onto a floured surface and add the 1/2c cornmeal and 1tsp salt. Mix together. Slowly add 1c whole wheat flour. Continue to mix in the flour till the dough is slightly sticky. Knead the dough for 5 minutes. Place dough into a greased loaf pan and let rise for 1 hour. Bake at 175C for 45 - 50 minutes.

Goat Cheese Dill Bread: Pour 1/4c lukewarm water into a bowl; add a pinch of sugar, sprinkle 7-8g yeast on top; set aside. In a saucepan, heat 1c soft goat cheese on low until lukewarm. In a bowl, combine the cheese, 2tbls sugar, 1tbl melted butter, 1tsp salt, 2tsp dill seeds, 1tbl grated onion and 1 egg; beat everything together till well mixed. Add in the yeast, 2-1/2c plain flour, 1/4tspn baking soda; continue to mix. Knead the dough for 6 minutes. Place into a greased bowl; cover; stand for 1 hour. Shape the dough; place into a large greased pan. Cover; allow to rise again for 40 minutes. Place bread into a preheated 175C oven for 40 - 45 minutes.

AND THE BAND PLAYED “WALTZING MATILDA”…..

Hospital Barge...Gallipoli

Gallipoli Landing

Fromelles

Villers-Bretonneux

Tyne Cot Cemetry - Belgium

Gallipoli-Anzac Cigarette Card

Abraham Lincoln reportedly said: “I destroy my enemy when I make him my friend”.

Obviously, Lincoln, too, was a dreamer. It would be a better world by far if enemies became friends.

I believed in fairytales when I was a child. I believed in happy endings.  I may no longer believe in fairytales or happy endings, but dreams can be anything you wish them to be.  Reality - that’s another thing entirely, unfortunately.

Anzac Day is Friday, 25^th April; the day set aside in honour of our fallen. Anzac Day commemorates Ausies and our Kiwi mates who served and died, side by side, in various conflicts and peacekeeping campaigns throughout the world, throughout the years.

Originally Anzac Day was to honour our Diggers who fought at Gallipoli in April, 1915.  Australia had only just become a nation 14 years before that disastrous landing.

At the time, Winston Churchill was the War Minister.  His plan to send in Allied forces to capture the Gallipoli Peninsula backfired dramatically and tragically.  What was originally meant to be a bold, quick strike against the Ottoman Army dragged on for eight, long months.

Sadly, the landing at Gallipoli, which was a major event in World War 1, was also a major military defeat for our Aussie and Kiwi troops, so many of whom were just young lads.

On 20^th December, 1915, eight months after our Diggers landed on what is now known as “Anzac Cove”, our war-weary, defeated troops were evacuated.

From the moment they set foot on the narrow stretch of beach, with its impenetrable, rugged, unforgiving cliffs, our Australians and the New Zealanders were outnumbered; like sheep they were led to the slaughter.

Young Turks killing young Aussies and young Kiwis. It wasn't a game; it wasn't an adventure..it was a tragedy beyond belief....

Far too many young Australian and New Zealand lives were lost, wasted; too many young men were injured, doomed to carry the physical and mental scars for the rest of their lives.

7,594 Australian soldiers and 2,701 New Zealand soldiers lost their lives at Gallipoli. The figures are approximates.  Around 60,000 Aussies and 18,000 Kiwis were part of the larger force.

After the retreat from Gallipoli most of those who survived that bloody campaign went on to fight in the trenches on the Western Front.

The battles fought at the Western Front in France and Belgium – at Fromelles, the Somme, Bullecourt, Messines, Passchendaele and Villers-Bretonneux are remembered to this day, not only here in Australia, but by the French and the Belgians.  The Aussies and the Kiwis are still regarded highly by the people in those areas.  Our courageous, legendary soldiers have not been forgotten.

More than 295,000 Aussie served in that theatre of war; 46,000 lost their lives; 132,000 were wounded.  It may sound fictional…but, unfortunately, it is true…it is a tragic reality.

Sadly, the battles didn’t end at Gallipoli or the Western Front. Battlefields, unfortunately, are still a constant in our lives. Will the world forever be haunted by wars?

Lessons are never learned; wars continue.  Humans are very slow, inept learners. In fact, humans are incapable of learning from their actions; their mistakes.

It is true, and it is very important - we must never forget those who fought and lost their lives at the various war fronts.  However, we  must never forget those who have returned home from fighting on foreign soil, either.

We must never forget our brave men and women who have witnessed despicable atrocities; those who return home only to then have to face another almighty battle. Faced with an intangible war wherein the battle continues to rage uncontrollably as they fight inner demons visible only to them; relentless, covert tormenters obsessively pervading night and day, allowing them no respite; no peace.  Confused and helpless, loved ones look on; in too many instances knowing not what to do.

We should never discount the damage done. We must do everything within our power to help these brave, tortured souls be well again.

When there are some in this world who are so ignorant and insensitive to deny the Holocaust ever happened, what chance does peace have?

And that’s only one example! In a perfect world not even one example would exist.

Dorothy looked quizzically at her Aunt Em when she was told by her aunt to find a place where she, Dorothy wouldn’t get into any trouble. 

With Toto at her side, Dorothy asked ever-loyal Toto if there was such a place -

"Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high, there’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby; somewhere over the rainbow skies are blue, and the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.” 

Man’s inhumanity to man goes on; it’s never-ending. Nothing changes; it just relocates from one area to another, taking with it its baggage of hate, prejudice and stupidity. In the meanwhile, lives are lost; others wrecked forever. Loved ones are left behind to grieve; children left without a parent.

Churchill (yes – the one and the same - he of the unworkable plan back in 1915) mused:

“If the human race wishes to have a prolonged and indefinite period of material prosperity they have only got to behave in a peaceful and helpful way toward one another”.

I dare to add my version:

“If the human race wishes to have a prolonged and indefinite period of material, emotional, moral, honorable prosperity etc;  a society, a world free of hate and prejudice… may humans one day have the courage to sit and listen, rather than stand and fight; may they take time to listen to the words of others; to hear and understand the words, rather than be fascinated by the sound of their own voices.”

ANZAC Day does not glorify war in anyway. 

ANZAC Day reminds us of the horrors of war; of the never-ending folly of man.

ANZAC Day honours the memory of our men and women of the Armed Forces….past and present.

ANZAC Day is in respect of those who gave their all....

Imagine if one day in the future…the near future…it was the past only that we gave honour to……

Lest We Forget….


 A toast to the Aussies and the Kiwis….

Aussie Meat Pie: Cook 500g lean beef mince and 1 finely-chopped onion until well-browned; add 1c beef stock, 1/4c tom sauce, 1tbs tom paste, 2tsp Worcestershire, pepper, 1/2tsp ground oregano, pinch of nutmeg; bring to boil; cover; simmer 20mins. Blend 3tbs plain flour with a little water to make smooth paste; add to meat; bring to boil, stir constantly approx 7mins; cool. Line lightly-greased pie plate with shortcrust pastry; add cool meat; moisten pastry edges with a little water; top with 1 thawed puff pastry sheet; press down to seal edges; glaze with beaten egg; bake in very hot oven, 15mins; reduce heat to mod-hot; cook approx 25mins.

Paleo Anzac Bikkies: Combine 1c almond meal, 1c flaked almonds and 1c organic desiccated coconut. Combine 1/4c honey and 1/4c macadamia nut oil in small pot; heat gently. Mix 1/2tsp bicarb soda with 1tbs water; pour into honey; mix until it starts to froth; pour into dry ingredients; combine; add a little water if needed; form into 22 biscuits. Bake in preheated 120C oven, 30mins.

Kiwifruit Pavlova: Preheat oven 120C. Line baking tray with baking paper; mark 22cm circle on paper. Beat 6 room-temp egg whites until stiff peaks form; add 1-1/2c caster sugar; beat 10mins or until sugar has dissolved; add 1tbs cornflour, 1tsp white vinegar and 1tsp vanilla; beat 1min. Spoon onto circle; shape into circle with high sides. Bake 75mins; cool completely in oven with door slightly ajar. Beat 300m thickened cream and 1tbs icing sugar until softly peaked; spread pavlova with cream; top with a pile of kiwifruit slices, some blueberries and passionfruit pulp.

Kiwifruit Margarita: Blend 60ml tequila, 60ml cointreau and 120ml fresh lime juice with a dash of sugar syrup; add 4 kiwifruit; blend until just combined; add a little ice; blend again; pour into margarita glasses; garnish with kiwifruit.