.
The book fits in my hand like a slim paperback. Its black cardboard cover creased in a web of lines like old skin. On the inside cover written in a firm even script is his first entry
Geelong Police
1926 Phone Number
Just below this is a faded lemon 1 penny stamp and midway down the page is an inscription in my mother's own handwriting .
Thomas Joseph Bowden a police man from 1915 until 1939.
The first page is in pencil and though the lead has faded I can make out the names of Alfred Edward Bush from Rupanyup and James Ross from Greens Creek who must produce their licences to Police within seven days.
My grandfather keeps a record of Seized Goods from around this time beginning with J R Hutchings on 28/12/28
1 Buick Car
1 Heater
6 Draught Horses
I turn the pages and find longer lists of property items that tell stories of their own:
One race horse (known as Cashil)
one Bay horse 1 Black Pony
one Chestnut one Grey
Two Draughts one Dray
Three Cows one Single Furrow Plough
40 Head Cattle one Harrows
one Writing Desk
one Lounge suite one Table
1 Carpet Square 1 Gramaphone
1 Apollo Phone
one Book Case one D.R. Table
1 Side Board 1 Tea Waggon
one Carpet square 1 Wash Stand
1 Dressing Table one carpet
1 oak Wardrobe one dressing table
one Carpet
T Lindsay seized 4/9/29
Good seized at Grassmede on 24/7/29
1 Case of Gordon's Gin 1 Doz
1 Case of Black and White Whisky 2 1/4 Doz
4 Bots of Robinsons Yellow Label whisky
1 Case of Fosters Lager 4 Doz.
2 Cases of S..... Wine 8 Doz
2 Cases of Lawries Whisky 2 Doz
1 Case Snowy 4 Doz
2 Boxes Capstan Cigarettes 100 pkts
1 Box County Life Cigarettes
1 1/2 Doz Flasks Brandy Le Beaumont
210 ozs Doz Flasks Johnnie Walker
8 12 Doz Moonbeam Cocktail
7 Chairs 1 Piano 2 couches
1 Table 1 Wireless set 7 chairs
3 Tables 1 Over Mirror
Carpets Cocoanut Matting
1 Piano one Specimen Case
3 Lounge Chairs 5 Chairs
one mirror one clock
1 Walnut Bed Suit 20 Carpet Squares
1 Wardrobe 5 Chairs
2 Tables 1 Side board
1 Dressing Table
Mr Thomas Lindsay
Woolsthorpe
Seized in connection with County Court Warrant
on 24.7.29
One Hudson car
No. 747444
======================
Will fix it as soon as
possible possibly on
Saturday
=====================
One report is only 4 lines long
Ian Sharpley
13 years of age on October last
driving Car up Selby St Stawell
on 15.1.29 at 12.20 pm
I hope to put more of my grandfather's notes on this blog.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
june 22nd..
I'm just about to finish the day at school and all I want to say is I've thought of my sister a lot throughout this the 22nd June, her special day.
She had the gift of being able to praise you when you needed it .
I loved her sense of fun.
I loved her ability to see things plainly and simply "you know what you know" would so often be the words I'd take away after we'd hung up the phone..
She had the gift of being able to praise you when you needed it .
She had so much good in her-
A great spark in her being
Happy Birthday Michele wherever you are on this day
Loveyou...
x
Thursday, June 17, 2010
on the page again..
so here I am at the desk.. back at the tree to be precise. the apple tree beyond the sunroom window... for company today I have two blackbirds -male and female- hopping on a couple of branches that are higher than the ceiling of this room.. now they're resting in the leaves.. above the greenery a nest of blue sky..
******
I've been reading a series called My Hero in The Guardian.. Nick Clegg, the leader of the New Democrats considers Samuel Beckett his hero. Why? He admires the fact that the Irish author asked dangerous questions... Doing so came naturally to him..It was just his particular way of thinking I suppose.. Anyway like many others, I regard this as a refreshing insight into the mind of a politician..
Thinking about Clegg's choice prompted me to look back and see which heroes others had nominated.
Gordon Brown whom one of his party's candidates recently called " the worst Labor Prime Minister the country's ever had" was more predictable in his choice. Nelson Mandela. According to Brown, Mandela is a man "whose generosity of spirit and capacity for forgiveness make him a true hero for our times."
Aside from those politicians, I was actually more interested in the selections Irish writers Colm Toibin and John Banville had made.
Jack Yeats, the painter and younger brother of the famous WB was Toibin's choice. Apparently the artist spent much of his life trying to understand and capture in his work the light of the Irish landscape. The play of light that he saw in the sky, in city streets and as it fell on the faces of people going about their daily lives. This is what most fascinated him. Painting with the right kind of light was the thing he tried to do - over and over and over. Toibin says that Yeats left no record of himself other than his paintings and "it seems there is no evidence he ever in his life discussed anything that was of great private concern to him"
Could this be really true?
Banville writes about a labrador named Ben. Not a word is wasted. I take the liberty of quoting the final paragraphs of his piece.
Though Ben was a handsome fellow he was not overly bright, as is the way with labradors. He could be annoying, was often smelly, insisted on what he considered to be his rights – good grub and plenty of it and two walks a day – and could lick himself with noisy relish in places the equivalent of which in a human being are not even visible to the person's unaided eye. Yet he cared for us, kept us exercised, tolerated our children and even, when the occasion required, guarded them; and, a gift above all gifts, he made us laugh.
Nietzsche writes: "I fear animals regard man as a creature of their own kind which has in a highly dangerous fashion lost its healthy animal reason – as the mad animal, as the laughing animal, as the weeping animal, as the unhappy animal." Ben, I am certain, recognised our terrible, human, predicament and tried to help us as best he could along our hard road. We were, however, a constant mystery to him, and it was in his brave, unwearying, dogged efforts to understand us that his heroism lay. Good dog, Ben.
******
I've been reading a series called My Hero in The Guardian.. Nick Clegg, the leader of the New Democrats considers Samuel Beckett his hero. Why? He admires the fact that the Irish author asked dangerous questions... Doing so came naturally to him..It was just his particular way of thinking I suppose.. Anyway like many others, I regard this as a refreshing insight into the mind of a politician..
Thinking about Clegg's choice prompted me to look back and see which heroes others had nominated.
Gordon Brown whom one of his party's candidates recently called " the worst Labor Prime Minister the country's ever had" was more predictable in his choice. Nelson Mandela. According to Brown, Mandela is a man "whose generosity of spirit and capacity for forgiveness make him a true hero for our times."
Aside from those politicians, I was actually more interested in the selections Irish writers Colm Toibin and John Banville had made.
Jack Yeats, the painter and younger brother of the famous WB was Toibin's choice. Apparently the artist spent much of his life trying to understand and capture in his work the light of the Irish landscape. The play of light that he saw in the sky, in city streets and as it fell on the faces of people going about their daily lives. This is what most fascinated him. Painting with the right kind of light was the thing he tried to do - over and over and over. Toibin says that Yeats left no record of himself other than his paintings and "it seems there is no evidence he ever in his life discussed anything that was of great private concern to him"
Could this be really true?
Banville writes about a labrador named Ben. Not a word is wasted. I take the liberty of quoting the final paragraphs of his piece.
Though Ben was a handsome fellow he was not overly bright, as is the way with labradors. He could be annoying, was often smelly, insisted on what he considered to be his rights – good grub and plenty of it and two walks a day – and could lick himself with noisy relish in places the equivalent of which in a human being are not even visible to the person's unaided eye. Yet he cared for us, kept us exercised, tolerated our children and even, when the occasion required, guarded them; and, a gift above all gifts, he made us laugh.
Nietzsche writes: "I fear animals regard man as a creature of their own kind which has in a highly dangerous fashion lost its healthy animal reason – as the mad animal, as the laughing animal, as the weeping animal, as the unhappy animal." Ben, I am certain, recognised our terrible, human, predicament and tried to help us as best he could along our hard road. We were, however, a constant mystery to him, and it was in his brave, unwearying, dogged efforts to understand us that his heroism lay. Good dog, Ben.
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