Confirmation

Nadia de Luca was a popular girl at school – among the teaching staff. She was popular among a certain circle of students as well, of course, but Nadia seemed to take school, and everything associated with it very seriously and her teachers appreciated that. She performed probably at the top of her year group academically, she was reliable when she said she would do things – and she got things done ahead of time if at all possible.

For Nadia, everything about school was exciting. There were plenty of opportunities for her to make people notice her, not least for her natural leadership ability. She was elected School Councillor at her first opportunity in Year 4 and had remained in that role ever since. She had no fear of public speaking which was required of the role, and even went so far as to check out the debating club – but most of the others were Year 11 and 12 students and they didn’t like the upstart Year 8 student wanting to join.

Her classes were a joy too, it seemed. There was so much to learn about and she wanted to learn it. Unlike many of her peers, Nadia wanted to be the best. She was indeed very competitive, and did her very best to keep all the demands that were placed on her at school.

Her great passion was the natural and physical sciences. As a little girl she loved to be out in the garden or walking along the beach. No detail was too small to escape her attention, it seemed. She was fascinated by the living world of plants and animals, but she was equally fascinated by the landscape and all the forces that were at work in shaping it.

When she was nine, she decided to create a miniature farm at home. All the farm creatures were alive, but they were not your regular beasts. She had a fenced off area filled with snails – cozens of them. She created a fly wire cage in which she kept all the white cabbage moths she could catch, feeding them with flowers and sweetened water and providing lots of green leaves for them to lay their eggs on. She wanted to see how long it would be for the caterpillars to come out. She had a collection of tiny minnows from the river in a large bowl that she sank into the ground, making a pond, and she tilled a small patch of ground and sewed it with tiny millet seeds. Everything was an experiment to see how things would work out.

Nadia also loved Religion. Being in a Catholic school, of course, they had religion classes every day. Most of the kids thought it was all boring, but Nadia loved the stories that the nuns would tell them. Her favourite was the story of Mary MacKillop – she started the Sisters of St Joseph. She was a strong lady even though she got sick, and she cared about people, not just what you believe. Stories of saints, especially the women ones, like Joan of Arc and Clare of Assisi, filled Nadia with dreams of adventure and changing the world.

So it wasn’t surprising that when her classes gave their attention to the sacraments of Reconciliation and First Holy Communion, Nadia’s hand was the one most often in the air answering questions that had been asked or asking Mother Superior or Fr Tam all the questions that flooded into her mind when they were taking these classes.

And Nadia loved it when the classes went into church for chapel services. The smell of the incense seemed to lift her above everything around her. The sun would sparkle through the coloured glass of the stained glass at the front and in all the side windows. For as long as she could remember, she wanted to be an acolyte. The idea of being dressed up and going into the holy space where others could not go was especially exciting. Straight after her First Holy Communion she asked Fr Tam when she could become an Acolyte – she joined the team that year.

“Mama, how old were you when you did your Confirmation?”

“I was the same age as you, darling. I only went to a small parish school so Fr Paulo would come and take our classes. Then we had a wonderful party – that is all I remember. My Mama dressed me up in a long white dress – I thought it was like being a bride. And afterwards, we had a feast at home. All my aunties and uncles, and my cousins, they all came. St Joseph’s College is much bigger. What are they doing for you?”

“Well Mama, Mother Superior comes and takes some of our classes which is really good, because she usually only teaches in upper school. But just lately Fr Tam has been coming and he wants to make sure we know the Creed. Fr Tam thinks that if more people believed the Creed then the world would be much better. What do you think, Mama?”

“Maybe Fr Tam is right. What do you think?”

“Well, I think that the 10 Commandments which we learned in Catechism, and the Creed help people know how to be good, and if more people knew it and were good, then the world would be a better place, but I’m not sure if it is knowing the Creed or being good that makes the difference.”

“Doesn’t being good follow on from knowing the Creed? That’s what you said.”

“I know I said that, but some people can be good without knowing the 10 Commandments and the Creed. Alex Brankovic says she doesn’t believe any of that stuff – but she is good.”

“I guess that there are a lot of people who are good but who do not believe in anything.”

“But Mama, that’s not fair, really. If you go to heaven because you’re good, and you don’t have to keep the rules to be good, then why should they get the same as me when I am not just good, but I keep all the rules.”

Eula was always amazed at teenage philosophy and the convoluted pathways young people could create to make sense of their world. But she also loved the innocent passion of her daughter. While she knew many of her own friends from school had given up on the church when they became adults, Nadia had retained a deep and gentle faith that ensured her family was well acquainted with the local church – St Michael of All Angel’s – which had a convent of Josephite Sisters attached to it as well as a small household of Franciscan Friars Minor.

Fr Tam was young compared to the other friars and so he did most of the work in St Joseph’s College. The kids loved him, because even though he was a priest he was cool. He would wear jeans and tee shirts and join in the school plays and he knew everybody. Eula liked him, too, but for her, church was never better than when Fr Bob, the oldest friar in the household, took the service. He was gentle and lilting with the words. They felt like they came from his heart. And when it was time for the homily, he always seemed to find a very down to earth that would make sense to her.

For her, the mass was a mystery. She didn’t believe the so called ‘truth’ that the Host and wine were the actual body and blood of Jesus. But that did not diminish the power for her in that moment when she received those holy things. She had no words to describe it but she knew instinctively almost that it was more than bread and wine.

Eula was more religious than Alfeo, but he understood it. He didn’t get it just like she did, but he never refused to go with her and never said anything negative about Eula’s pleasure in it. They usually took the children and so they all would go together. Alfeo had even been known go by himself to mass if Eula was ill.

From such a nursery it was not surprising that Nadia grew up with such an ease, even passion for her religion. Eula’s response to her daughter’s philosophical conundrum was to encourage her to stick with it.

“Maybe it is possible to be a good Catholic and a good person and they look just the same to God. Fr Tam is right to say you have to believe the Creed to be a good Catholic. In your class that is the important thing. How long is it now till the Confirmation Mass?”

“It’s only three weeks, Mama. Fr Tam said it was on the most special day before Advent – Christ the King, he called it – and he said this was a very good day to get confirmed on. I hope you have sent the invitations to our friends.”

“I certainly did. Soon you won’t be my bambino any more, you are growing up so fast. I was just forgetting when it really was. Is the Bishop coming or will it just be Fr Tam?”

“Fr Tam said the Bishop will come for this. He gets to wear much fancier clothes than Fr Tam. He has a bit pointy hat like the Pope and he wears a funny pink little thing on his head – like Jewish boys do. And his black dress has pink buttons and edges. And he even wears a funny pink sash around his waist.”

“It should be a wonderful occasion. It is a pity your Nona can’t be here.”

When Alfeo and Eula migrated to Australia they were travelling a well-worn pathway beaten by generations of their countrymen so they did not feel entirely bereft of the feel of Italy when they got here. They met fellow migrants all over the place. Others, like them, had set up typically Italian businesses – not just Trattoria. But they had no close family members who had come here before them. So they were without any relatives, not a single zio or zia, no cugini. All they had were new friends. Some of these new friends became close friends and they were like relatives because they shared birthdays and Christmas. These were the people who had to be invited to the confirmation.

When

Mornings were preferably slow affairs for Ellie, despite the necessity of haste during term time. When she was on school holidays in the middle of the year she would sleep late, eat breakfast slowly so that it sometimes finished when others were anticipating their lunch and she would spend all day in her pyjamas, or ‘home uniform’ as she described it to her mum.

This gap year job, if it lasted, was going to require a little bit of the haste necessary during term time, but certainly it held the opportunity to start each day somewhat more slowly than she was accustomed to. Ellie really liked the lull of quietness after Mum and Dad had both left for work at about 7.30. Her own alarm was set for 7 and she listened to the radio as her energy levels gradually rose sufficiently for her mind to think about getting out of bed. She stumbled into the kitchen to set up the coffee plunger just as her Mum and Dad were hurrying through their final routines before leaving – then quiet. While her head was in this fuzzy in between state it was enough to have Triple J radio echoing faintly down the hallway from her bedroom. She did not need it on in the kitchen – not yet.

As she let the infusion of caffeine soak into her bloodstream Ellie began wondering what clothes would be ‘right’ to wear to work. She supposed that jeans and tee would be too casual, but she didn’t think she needed the full clobber of ‘dressed up.’ The warmish weather persuaded her that a summer skirt and top with her red flat-heeled shoes would be about right. Mr Horden would tell her if she needed to dress up more.

Then Ellie began wondering just what kind of jobs Mr Horden would want her to do. It all sounded a bit vague to her. As she was thinking about this she remembered some of the books she noticed on the shelves in the short time she was there. In English Lit she had studied Shakespeare, of course, and she thought she remembered an old leather bound folio book with gilt lettering on the back that clearly said Shakespeare. She wondered if this was a really old one, or just a modern copy.

In year 11 her class had gone to a Festival Production of Twelfth Night. Some theatre company from Perth did a country tour and with some effort managed to stage it in the Town Hall. The sets and the costuming were an inspiration for Ellie and it she thought it was amazing to see actors bring the words to life on a stage. When they re-read the play in class afterwards, it made so much more sense because she could visualise the actors and the scenery.

When she started work, perhaps Mr Horden would just get her to do stuff for him, like make him coffee when he wanted one, and collect the post, and clean up after him. That might not be much fun.

But she would be able to have her lunch at the same time as Candy or Aaron and that would be something good to look forward to each day.

With all these thoughts buzzing around in her head, Ellie finished off her breakfast, showered and dressed and then wandered down the end of the street to wait for the 9.30 bus that should be passing by somewhere akin to that time – one always had to be 10 minutes early, just in case. It was, in fact, 5 minutes later than scheduled but still arrived in the main street terminus at 9.45 leaving Ellie 15 minutes to have another coffee at the Tratt. Eula was quick and never burnt the coffee.

As Ellie opened the door of Horden House Antiquarian Books, the Town Hall clock chimed the hour – ten o’clock. Good. Right on time. Ellie liked to be punctual. She always resented those kids at school who came in any time within ten minutes after the class was supposed to start.

“Hello,” she called. “Mr Horden? Are you there?”

“Oh, it’s you. Hello. Hello. I obviously didn’t scare you off yesterday.” It was clear from his tone that he was exaggerating and joking in that last comment and it helped Ellie relax a bit.

She giggled a bit, then said “I take a bit more scaring than that!” and GG laughed. This was getting off to a good start. “You said for me to come at 10 and here I am.”

“Yes, yes. That’s right, and here you are.” He paused for a moment as if he wasn’t sure what to do next.

“Well then? Are you going to show me around and tell me what my job is going to be?” While she knew that this sounded a bit like she was taking charge, it didn’t feel impertinent. Mr Horden was really the one in charge, but he might just need a few hints from time to time.

“Right, you are, then. Right you are. First of all let me show you around the shop – where everything is and goes. Now all around the edges of the shop I have my general books. Second hand books is a funny business – what one person buys and then discards because they don’t like it, someone else will snaffle up because it is half the price of a new book. Maybe some people clear up their bookshelves every now and then to make room for the next lot of new books they will buy. They bring their clear outs to me and ask me to buy them off them. I always feel awful offering so little, but if they are going to stay on my shelves here for a while it takes me a while to get my money back.”

“The shelves go so high. How do people get up to see what you have got?”

“I had to buy this special step ladder with wheels on the back so that you can move it around easily. Most people are happy using it. Otherwise I go up and tell what is there. You might have to do that for some customers.

“Now these books are the bread and butter of the business. I couldn’t afford to do what I really love if I didn’t put up with this.’

“You mean you don’t really like all this?”

“Well, not really. Most of those books are rubbish writing anyway, and the publishers used rubbish stock to print them on. In a hundred years’ time, most of them will have been lost and shredded – gone forever. Just like the movie, which I didn’t really like – PULP FICTION.

“The real books are on these shelves here – in the middle. You don’t have to reach up to see these. Buying and selling these is what I really love doing. Look at that leather binding. See how it wraps firmly round the spine of the book. Those pages are never going to come apart. Books like these are real works of art. You could almost say each one was unique.”

“I do like the colours they make the leather and the gold lettering. It really makes it look special.” Ellie’s hand was gently caressing the spines of a row of books.

“Now you know, don’t you, that you have to be very careful how you handle these books. People will generally want to look at them. Using the table is the safest way for them to do that. Dropping a book, even from a relatively low height can be disastrous for the spine.”

“How do you get so many books like this, Mr Horden?”

“Oh please, Ellie, call me GG. I don’t think I could get used to being called Mr Horden – ever! Everyone calls me GG so you might as well, too.”

“But I always call grown-ups Mr or Mrs – at least until I get to know them better. It might take me a while to feel okay about that, … GG”

“It doesn’t matter, really. It doesn’t matter. I suppose we will work it out soon enough. Now, the truth about my books is that mostly I buy them from catalogues. Sometimes I buy something I know a customer wants. Sometimes I buy because I want to see it. Sometimes I buy to keep myself. I get some books locally – usually when someone dies and their children clear out the house. But that is not very often.”

“And do you sell many of these special books?”

“Not really, I suppose. I just like having them on the shelf. Someone will come in one day and find something they have been looking for.”

“So which one is your favourite? Have you got a favourite?”

“Well the most extraordinary one I have at the moment is a facsimile edition of Shakespeare’s First Folio Edition. All 36 plays are in it and it has over 900 pages. Even though it is a facsimile it is over a hundred years old – here it is, just over here. Lift it out carefully and put it on the table.”

“Wow! It’s so heavy. We did a Shakespeare play last year – Twelfth Night – after we saw the Festival Performance of it. I find Shakespeare is much harder to read than listen to. When people say the lines well it makes so much more sense than when you try and read the words on a page.”

“I have never thought about it like that, but you are right, Ellie. If you look carefully at this you can see corrections that have been made to the text. When the printers set it up originally they made lots of mistakes, but it was too expensive to just make the whole page again, so they corrected the words in the margins. I know this is really a copy, but it is amazing to think that someone actually wrote those words on it to make it right.

“We have some other treasures here as well, but you can gradually get to know them. The other part of the job for you will be to help me out the back here when deliveries of books come in. We have some set things we have to do with each book – checking it for any blemishes or damage and then writing it in the catalogue, so that if people ask we can tell straight away if we have something.”

“Do you use a computer for that?” asked Ellie.

“Oh no, dear. Oh no. We haven’t done anything like that. I have both a big book with everything in and a card index – like the ones they have in libraries.”

“Like they used to have in libraries, Mr Horden. I remember when they changed our primary school library from cards to a computer. It is so much easier than cards.”

“Yes, but when the power goes off, what do you do then, eh?”

“But that hardly happens, even here in Quarabup. I could help you with a computer if you got one. I have one of my own at home. You wouldn’t need a fancy big one, I am sure.” Ellie was liking the look of this job. It seemed to get better with every new aspect of it.

“You’ll have to let me think about that for a bit, Ellie. When I get around to it, I am sure you will be a great help.”

The Best Laid Plans

“Mr President, are you able to advise Councillors on which occasions you have had meetings with representative of Spandos International, who those representatives were, and what was the main topic of conversation at those meeting?”

The Quarabup Shire Council was made up of seven members, six ward representatives and a Shire President. Sam Malone was Shire President and had held that office for six years now, following three successive election victories.

The three Wards of the Shire were represented by two Councillors, one elected each year for two years. In the early history of the Shire, Councillors generally were local farmers who wanted to have a say in how rates and other government funding might be spent on local roads and highways. These days most Councillors are on a political journey with the ultimate goal of candidacy for one of the major parties at a state or federal election. Local Government was a place to learn the skills of working the community and effective political influence.

Sam Malone was an operator.

Not only was he involved in every property and business deal that was going down in this small village, he had the charisma to get others in alongside of him, sharing some of the glory perhaps, but also sharing some of the blame if things went a bit pear-shaped. But they rarely did – go pear-shaped that is.

Spandos International came into the village a few years ago and started buying up any riverside properties as they came up, significantly inflating the prices so as to secure the sale, but also effectively scaring off would-be contenders for the properties. They weren’t locals, but the came in with flashy cars, stayed at the one resort Motel in the village for a few days, and then left until the next property came up for sale. No-one was quite sure how they knew when to call by, but it did not pass unnoticed that shortly after their first visit, Sam Malone upgraded his Holden Caprice for a black BMW.

Increasingly nervous residents of the riverfront watched as block after block around them was bought up and left to decay – no tenants, no renovation and not even any demolitions. They knew something was up, but had no idea what.

Then Spandos called a press conference in the Town Hall. They had architectural models and multi-coloured Planning Scheme type maps of the whole riverfront which was completely transformed into a gated canal estate with every block backing onto water with its own private landing. At the heart of the estate was an eleven story block of luxury apartments and short-stay hotel suites.

Country TV and the National broadcaster were there of course as was the crusty editor of the South Coast Tribune, Tony (Clark Kent) Cassidy. Cassidy had a nose for a good story, and when Spandos flagged the Press Conference he knew he had to be there. He brought a young cadet report with him – Sophie Jones. “Watch and learn,” he said to her as the announcements started. He noted with some interest that Sam Malone was hovering around the sidelines of this event with a really smug look on his face, and occasionally whispering into the delicate ears of crisply suited men from Spandos. Spandos had lodged formal applications for the Planning Approvals necessary to allow the proposed development, and wanted to assure the general public of Quarabup that the Development would provide a wide range of positive outcomes for the village – work, tourism and improved property values – and promised that if the proposal was approved by the Shire there would be additional benefits for the whole community at Spandos’ expense.

Inevitably, the next issue of The Tribune had a front page story voicing outrage at the proposal as completely out of character with the village. He even very carefully drew attention to the presence of the Shire President at the Press Conference, hinting at possible impropriety without crossing the line that would expose him and the paper to a defamation suit.

This was enough to fire up three of the Councillors who took it upon themselves to comb through the application paperwork that was in the hands of Council officials to see if there were any tangible links to the Shire President or Riverland Realty.

So it was, that at the end of the Public Question time allowed at the beginning of each Council meeting, Councillor Quartermaine asked leave of the Chair to suspend so much of Standing Orders as would allow the Council to consider a matter of public importance. The Councillors opposite Cr Quartermaine were usually allies of Cr Malone but they were sufficiently alarmed by the reports they had seen and were prepared to hear what was said. If it came to a crunch they could combine with Malone to defeat any action proposed.

There was some muttering in the Visitor’s Gallery of local residents as the Chair put the question. Slowly he reported “I think the ayes have it. Cr Quartermaine.”

Councillor began by dancing carefully around the events of the past week and the disclosure that a big international development corporation had plans to redevelop the riverfront land of Quarabup into a facility that was completely out of character with the town. Then he dropped his bombshell.

“Mr President, are you able to advise Councillors on which occasions you have had meetings with representative of Spandos International, who those representatives were, and what was the main topic of conversation at those meeting?”

Sam Malone had been prepared to defend the proposal in terms of the benefits it would bring to “Sleepy Hollow” as he sometimes condescendingly referred to Quarabup when he wanted to have a go at any who wanted to resist the development of the town. This question caught him somewhat off guard. He hesitated as he shuffled some of the papers in front of him, as if looking for a script to refer to. He looked up as if trawling through the recesses of his memory for a minute detail.

“Cr Quartermaine, I may have had a meeting some time ago, I can’t be more precise without my diary, but I am sure that if I did it would have been in the context of my business rather than as Shire President.”

There were audible gasps from the Visitor’s Gallery. Cr Muldoon interjected “That would be a conflict of interest, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, yes, Councillor, it would be if a motion about the proposal was on the table, and should my business dealings with Spandos International become more substantial than mere questions of advice about property matters in this quiet village, such as asking me to act on their behalf in property matters, then I would be more than happy to declare that Interest should such a motion be brought before this Council.” As Cr Malone progressed through this statement his confidence grew. It was clear his mind had identified the pathway he would follow to navigate through this and come out unscathed, as he always did.

But Cr Quartermaine could sense the undercurrent of fear in his voice, despite that persona of confidence. He wanted an early wounding here, in what he knew would become a prolonged battle, for the Planning Committee was notoriously circumlocutory in the way they dealt with Applications. “So, Mr President, are you sure you only ‘may have had a meeting’ with representatives of Spandos. Sources I have tracked down have seen your car parked with out-of-towners, perhaps representatives of Spandos, on numerous occasions at the riverfront. Or is this just a coincidence?”

“Cr Quartermaine! You must understand that I deal with confidential enquiries from potential clients every day. Their business is not your business. Nor is it the business of all the members of the public who are gathered in the Visitor’s Gallery tonight. I can assure all Councillors that if and when the nature of my business relationship with Spandos reaches a point at which my Interest needs to be Declared, you can rely on me to do so.”

Someone in the Visitor’s Gallery called out “Answer the question, Malone!”

Sam Malone was in full combat mode now. “I would remind members of the public that it is a privilege to sit in the Gallery and observe the proceedings of this Council, but you are not entitled to participate in the proceedings. Any further outbursts like that will result in Council Officers being asked to accompany you outside and leave the meeting.” As he said this, he noticed for the first time Springtime Kestrel, leader of the cluster of ‘ferals’ that have occupied five old timber mill cottages on the western edge of the town. The mill relocated across town years ago, and Cannons abandoned the practice of providing housing for staff. They all had dreadies, coloured their hair green or purple, decorated their verandahs with strings of coloured Tibetan prayer flags and spent far too long lounging around smoking stuff that probably was illegal, but somehow never seemed to be.

Sam reckoned they were professional protesters – any environmental issue anywhere would see a busload of them drive off into the sunset for the next little challenge to the establishment. Whatever the establishment did had to be opposed by them, it seemed. No consideration of the public good of these proposals. No consistent ideology other than oppose everything that is modern. Sam had even speculated that they did not inoculate their kids like everyone else did and would prefer to take so-called ‘natural remedies’ from the bush than medicines that have been trialled and proven that they make you better.

The muttering in the Visitor’s Gallery gradually died down. Cr Quartermaine was not finished. “With respect, Mr President, the member of the public is dead right in asking that you answer the question. Your reassurances are all very well, but you have not answered my question.”

Sam stopped for a few seconds, as if he was deciding which way to jump. After what seemed like an eternity, he said, “As I go over this matter again in my mind, Cr Quartmaine, remembering that I do not have my calendar of appointments for work with me tonight, I would say that I might have had two perhaps three meetings with representatives of Spandos International which, although they were very informal, did ask general kinds of questions about the state of the property market in Quarabup, something I would remind Councillors that I have some professional expertise in, and seeking informal indications or opinions from me about the kinds of developments I thought, not as Shire President, would be likely to succeed and provide benefits to the whole town.”

This man will make a great politician one day given his ability to beat around the bush for so long and really give away very little – just enough to get the hounds off is back. At least that was what Sam was thinking to himself as the words rolled off his tongue.

“Thank you, Mr President,” responded Cr Quartermaine. “In view of your response, I wonder if you would tell me and other Councillors, then, exactly what you were doing in the Town Hall during the recent Press Conference called by Spandos International.”

Sam was hoping to avoid this. How was he going to make this look as innocent as possible? He knew he was treading a fine line between his role as a business man and as a Councillor.

“Councillor, I think at this point in time, in consideration of POSSIBLE commercial on confidence matters, it would not be appropriate for me to answer that question precisely. All I am prepared to say is that in the near future, when decisions are to be made by this Council concerning the development proposals being made by Spandos International, I expect that I will be required to declare an interest in the matter and abstain from the discussion of them. Beyond that speculative possibility, I am not prepared to make any comment.”

One of Sam’s allies sensed that it was time to set him free. “Mr President, I move that Cr Quartermaine be no longer heard.”

“Thank you Councillor. All those in favour? Against? Crs Knight, Robertson and Stewart being in favour, and Crs Quartermaine, Italiano and Muldoon being against, the Chair uses his casting vote to resolve the question in favour of the Ayes.

“The next item on the agenda…”

Hard Lessons

“Why aren’t you at school Greg?”

Eula knew that there was something significant behind his sullen look. It was not his usual adolescent pout.

“Reverend Mother suspended me, and I didn’t do nuthin’.”

School is full of ambiguities when you’re 15. Greg like the daily gathering with his mates, but apart for his practical classes and Prevo, from which he hoped to secure an apprenticeship as a motor mechanic, everything else about school was irrelevant.

“If you didn’t do anything, how come you got suspended?”

“The year 12s are getting ready for “Muck Up Day” next week. We wanted to join in a bit, and Matty had an idea. But I didn’t think he would bring some weed to school. Anyway, he got busted and we all got suspended.”

“I always thought Matty would come to no good one day. You have to be careful about who you have as friends.”

“Mum, Matty’s okay. He’s stupid sometimes, but he’s okay.”

“Except, now he’s in trouble with the cops, right?”

“Yeh, well …”

“So how long are you banned from school?”

“A week.”

“Well, there’s plenty of work for you to be doing at home. Don’t think you’re getting a holiday from school out of this.”

“Mum!? It wasn’t my fault.”

“I think I’ll trust Mother Superior’s judgement about that. Now you have a choice. You can help around here today or you can catch the bus home and get started in the garden.”

“I’ll catch the bus. Got some money for the fare?”

“If you’re going home, you can start working around the tomatoes. Tie up the sagging branches, refresh the mulch and pull of the dead leaves to put in the rubbish. That should keep you out of trouble for the rest of the day.”

Eula gave him $5. The dark cloud was almost visible over his head as he stormed off to the bus stop and waited. Life is not fair when you are 15. Grown ups expect you to do stuff on your own, and then when you do, you cop it.

When Greg got home it was 11.30, so he thought he would game for a while, then have some lunch and then do the work. The work wouldn’t take long, really.

His current obsession was Batman Arkham City. He bought the previous Batman game Arkham Asylum but he got this for his birthday.

What he liked about Arkham City was that he could go wherever he liked in the City, not just where the game wanted him to go. At every turn there seemed to be a challenge or a challenger. He especially liked the underground stuff – tunnels, sewers, all sorts of crazy places.

The combat in Batman Arkham City is addictive and a lot of fun. Greg could even provoke fights just to build up his combat score, even though they were not part of the mission. Greg loved the adrenalin rush of the game and when he was playing he lost all sense of time.

Not surprisingly, he emerged from his room at 3.30 realising he had not stopped for lunch and he still had the work to do in the garden.

He quickly cut what could only be described as a hunk of bread, plastered it with peanut butter and honey, and got a bottle of Coke. This was as good as any lunch a 15 year old could want – yet there was so much pressure to eat other things. He sat on the back verandah to eat this while he got his head out of the game and into a plan to make it look like he had been working all afternoon.

There were at least 50 tomato plants in a patch 15 metres square. They were grown in rows along fence-like trellises and his job was to tie them up so that the lower fruit would get the sun, and remove the dead leaves and put them away for burning. He had been doing this job since he started school. He could almost do it with his eyes close. But he would have less than 5 minutes per plant before Mum and Dad came home from the shop. And he had to tease up the mulch so make it look like had fixed it. He could do it!

It was actually a glorious day to be outdoors – clear skies and warm air, but not so much sting in the sun as to make it uncomfortable. By the time he was onto his third plant, Greg had taken off his tee shirt. Even though this was a punishment, something about working with his hands rather than his head was very satisfying for Greg. He decided that he would do each plant and the ground around it all in one go, rather than doing the tying up and stripping of old leaves and then do the mulch – he felt like he could just keep on moving that way.

By the time he heard his parent’s car crackle up the gravel driveway he had just five plants to go. He had become quite grubby from the work, his hair was sodden with sweat, and he gave all the impressions of having started as soon as he got home on the bus at 11.30. Despite his sense of satisfaction, Greg, maintained something of his hostility over the so called punishment. It could be valuable later.

Alfeo had only heard about the problem at school second hand so he wanted to get to the bottom of it. When Greg finished and came in to wash up, he was standing in the kitchen preparing the side dishes for dinner. “When you have cleaned up, come and help me finish this,” he said as Greg ambled by, snatching another Coke from the fridge.

Eula was making some small pizzas for primo tonight. Her favourite was Margherita – simple clean flavours and colour. Five years ago a local farmer had started a herd of water-buffalo with a view to providing the restaurant trade with genuine mozzarella cheese. These gave the whitest of white cheese for the Margherita. Homemade tomato sauce as the base and torn basil leaves completed this classic from their home town, Naples. For secondo there would be a rabbit alla cacciatora. The rabbit and its tomato sauce had been gently cooking in a crock all day.

By the time Greg returned, Alfeo had finished a salad of finely slice fennel and Spanish onion topped with balsamic and extra virgin olive oil. He had some yellow and green peppers. Greg could slice these while they talked. “What happened at school today, mate?”

It’s amazing how much a good workout in the garden can clear the head after the adrenalin had been pumped up so much by getting suspended from school – even when you’re fifteen. “It all started out okay, Dad, and if we had stuck to our first plans, none of this would have happened. But Matty really wanted to get Mr Walters. He reckoned he could plant something in his office that would really embarrass him – we thought he meant he would leave a note or something – but he brought some dope to school and said he could plant it in his desk.”

“It’s one thing to be nasty, but that was illegal. Didn’t he think of that?”

“When he showed us the stuff, we all thought it was pretty cool, but then Jarrod and me got pretty worried about if we got caught. So I guess we all looked pretty guilty when we were seen heading for Mr Walter’s office. Matty went in to plant the stuff and then Mr Walters came round the corner. We couldn’t warn him, and then it was obvious that we were all in it together.
“We all got hauled down to Mother Superior’s office. They took Matty in first, and we had to wait for ages. Next thing a copper came into reception and went into Mother Superior’s office. Then Matty’s Mum came and went in too.

“Then Mother Superior came out on her own and told us to go with Mrs Johnson who would talk to us one by one. I didn’t know what to say. I started to make stuff up, but it only made it worse in my head, trying to work it all out, so I told exactly what had happened. It didn’t help much. Matty got expelled and we all got suspended for a week.”

“Sounds to me like you had a lucky escape, mate. What if Matty had made you all take some of the dope? You’d have been in the lock-up till I came and got you.”

“I know Dad. I guess it was pretty stupid and I suppose a week is a fair cop.”

That seemed to be the end of it. Alfeo knew that Greg had learnt a big lesson. He didn’t need to drive it home. It was time to enjoy dinner together.

Come Through

As Ellie left the bookshop she noticed Mr Horden follow her to the door and take down the scrap of paper he had taped to the glass seeking help in the shop. She wandered over to Justine’s to see if Aaron and Candy were busy. They had all been a bit of a gang at school but Candy left school at the end of year 10 and after a stint punching the cash-register at the IGA Store near the War Memorial, she persuaded Justine to take her on doing nails. Aaron had left a year ago, before he finished Year 11, but he had a real job to go for – an apprenticeship as a hairdresser.

It was probably a good thing for Aaron to get away from school. It can be tough in school when you’re different, and Aaron was different. He didn’t do sport. He wasn’t all that blokey, really, and the boys really gave him a hard time. The school had policies about bullying and homophobia, but that didn’t stop Aaron copping it. His move into the worker world had put an end to most of all that.

“Hi guys” said Ellie as she poked her head in the door to see what was going down.

“Hi Ellie,” called out Justine, her hands entangled in a customer’s hair as she washed it. “What have you been up to?”

“I just got a job, I think.”

“What do you mean ‘I think’?”

“Well, I saw a sign in the bookshop window and when Mr Horden came out he told me it was easy and that I could have the job. Just like that! He didn’t even ask my name.”

“Well goon on you, Sweetie. Any job’s a good job in this town. When does he want you to start?”

“I could have started right now, but I thought I had better think about it a bit and talk to Mum and Dad about it. So I said I had a few things to do and asked if I could start tomorrow. He was great about it.”

“That’ll be great” squealed Candy. “We can do lunch together and have coffees. What are the hours going to be?”

“Mr Horden suggested I start at 10. How good is that? I always dreaded my first job having to get up with the birds every morning, just like school. This will be so much better. I might even be awake when I have to start work. And I get to knock off at 4 – plenty of time to muck around after work during the holidays.”

Justine mused “Sounds like it is just what you need for your Gap Year. I hope it works really well for you.”

Justine had established her first salon 20 years ago. She had worked for a salon during her apprenticeship and for four years after that during which time she got married and had her first child. When her second came along she stopped work for four or five years and then started a small salon in the southern burbs of Perth. She really liked it and had a good business.

Her husband, Mike, lost his job with a big firm and they decided to sell up and move to a quieter place and Quarabup fitted the bill. Houses were much cheaper than in Perth, there was plenty of farm-related handyman work for Mike – didn’t pay well, but he enjoyed it – and Justine got a good price for her salon and was able to buy in to one in Quarabup. When the previous owner retired and sold out her share, Justine renamed the business as her own. In 15 years in the village she had given a dozen kids their apprenticeships in hair dressing. Because there was no TAFE College in town she did much more of the hands-on training of them, which they liked. The kids could bus to nearby Williamstown twice a term for a week of TAFE classes. That got them through.

“Are you going to The Rock on Friday?” Candice wouldn’t miss the weekly grind at the local night club – The Eagle Rock – affectionately referred to as “The Rock”. Four or five local garage bands seemed to rotate the weekends to keep the club going in between occasional visits from city bands. Most of the parents of kids at the high school remember the time Billy Thorpe came to town with the Aztecs to headline the “Hoadley’s Battle of the Sounds” heats for the Great Southern. The Eagle Rock has been trying to reach those heights again, but the best they can do is a national band once every couple of years.

Ellie wanted to go, but she checked “Who’s going?” If Casey Hargreaves and her mates were there, she would probably give it a miss.

Candice thought for a bit. “I reckon Trent and Amy will be there as well as our usual mob. I don’t know about Hargreaves. We can just ignore her.”

“Okay, then. Are you coming Aaron?”

“Yep! That’d be good.”

“See you then.”

Ellie wheeled round and made her way back into the arcade, wandering off in the direction of the bus stop. Ellie was a bit of a surf bunny in summer – no particular boy in mind – but she did enjoy a bit of eye-candy on the back beach, if the surf was cooking.

“I hope you guys keep away from that Sanderson gang at The Rock. They’re not good company.” Justine was not their mother. They were not her children. But she cared about them, and didn’t want them to complicate their lives by mixing with the wrong crowd. Drugs are nobody’s friend – and the stupid fighting that often went with it was so mindless.

“Everyone keeps out of their way,” said Aaron. “Well not everyone, ‘cos they have to sell the stuff to someone. But it’s not worth it. Once you buy one lot of stuff from them they keep at you to buy more. One of the guys in our street got caught up with them and he just went from bad to worse after that, and now he’s in juvie. And none of them ever seem to get busted! But everyone knows what they do. I don’t know why the coppers don’t just close them down; a least that’s what my dad says.”

“Good for you Aaron. I know it seems like its only fun, sometimes, to take risks like that but there’s nearly always consequences – consequences you don’t want.” Justine turned her attention to the head of hair in front of her and began cutting.

Tash started late on Thursdays and covered the late-night shopping crowd till 9. She always breezed in with a take-way coffee. It didn’t matter if it was the early starts on the other days of the week or on Thursdays – the start of work was always acknowledged with an infusion of caffeine.

As she came in today she found her first client waiting already, even though Tash was 15 minutes early. “I’ll be with you in a minute,” she said as she breezed by, heading for the staff alcove at the rear. Tash liked her Thursday “lates” because it gave her half a day without the kids. Her three little kids demanded her constant attention when they were not at school. They were on a cruise of a life-time (theirs) and Mum was the Entertainment Officer. So on Thursdays, she could usher them off to school, and often just laze about a bit till it was time to go to work. Sometimes she did some shopping, sometimes she even got the sewing machine out and made a new top.

After sipping the best half of her coffee she breezed out of the little nook saying “Come through!” Her client rose from her chair, Marie Claire magazine in hand, and came over to the chair. “What are we having today?”

“The colour is growing out. Can you do the roots for me? And then just a trim.” A straightforward job, then, thought Tash. She went to the file for her colour details and collected the things she would need. She mixed the potions together and started to clip up her hair to get started.

“I hear the Shire is wanting to change the zoning out your way to make way for that canal development.” Tash’s client was a third generation resident of the village and lived in what had been the family’s big house down by the river. Their original ten acres had been split in half years ago, but the access to the canal development was proposed to go right between the two blocks.

“Spandos International reckons their developments will treble the value of our place and we oughta be grateful. Huh! What do they know? What good is that if we don’t want to sell? And we don’t want those canals filled with stink boats.”

Well that was nailing her colours to the mast.

While Quarabup was affectionately referred to as “Sleepy Hollow” the recent visitation of big-business developers had livened up the local politics. Most locals did not trust these outsiders. They wanted to come in and change everything without any respect. And they would do whatever it took to get their way.

Sam Malone had welcomed them with open arms. He dined them at the best restaurants with the best local wines and all on the ratepayer’s ticket. He walked around town with such a wide smile these days that everyone believed he had been made offers he could not refuse to ensure the shire made the amendments to the planning scheme that were necessary. What a conflict of interest he had, but no-one on Council dared to challenge him – not yet, anyway. There he was Shire President, Principal of the leading Real Estate firm in the Village and getting up close and pally with the big boys from out of town. The local newspaper had never had it so easy to get good copy from Council Meetings.

Tash kept on dabbing the fresh colour in with her brush.

Time for a Coffee

The street was busy. Everyone seemed to be out enjoying the early warm air. The long, cold winter was giving way to the first delights of spring. Before she had opened the shop, Eula had been down to the fish-market on the estuary and bought her daily supply of fish and other seafood for the 40 or so lunches she would probably have to make today. The “Catch of the Day”, today, was some good sized yellow-tailed trevally. She bought some King George Whiting as well for the few regular customers who thought there was no fish better than this local delicacy. She also bought some local mussels and clams which would make a fantastic marinara.

GG Horden had been in earlier than usual for his first shot – double shot long black – now that was the real way to drink coffee. He liked to sit at a sidewalk table if the wind was not too sharp. His old dog Bruiser, a staffy that enjoys his food too much, would curl up around the legs of the table and watch the passers-by, tongue lolling gently from the side of his mouth which was in a perpetual smile. Gently, he cupped his coffee in both hands as he sipped away at the inky brew and with every sip his face grew more lively and his cheeks more ruddy.

A little while after GG had left, three young school girls ordered coffees – all lattes and undoubtedly with three sugars added at the table. They seemed happy, chattering away to each other, obviously getting into the holiday mood that would soon descend on the whole village as it filled up with summer-holiday visitors. When they got up to leave, two crossed the road shrieking in response to a loud wolf-whistle from the passenger of a black ute cruising down the street. The other girl ambled into the arcade rather aimlessly.

It was then that Eula noticed a woman in classy clothing checking out her display of traditional Italian sweets. She delighted in making as much of this producer herself as she could, but some delicacies were bought in. She bought in her biscotti – Mattei and Artusi – but she made the best Crumiri, Brutti ma Buoni and Pasticciotti Casalinghi for miles around – all traditional recipes. A friend in the city supplied her with an amazing range of marzipan fruits – exquisitely accurate in every detail. But the centre-piece of her window display was always the gelatine slice she made. Today it was a Budino alla Vaniglia dressed up with a layer of Gelatina di Mirtinilli, or in common parlance, a vanilla pudding with blueberry sauce. This was cut up into neat squares, and if she was lucky it would run out just towards the end of the lunch period.

"Buon Giorno, " said Eula as the lady approached the counter.

"What kind of coffee do you have?" she asked.

"We have the very best from Italy, and we make the usual kinds - latte, cappuccino. But if you want something special we can make it for you."

"Oh, no, no. I think I will have a latte. Can you do that with skim milk? And can I have some of that Mattei biscotti? That would be nice."

“You have good taste, madam. I will bring them to your table. Please sit down.”

Eula hurried about her business of making the coffee and selecting the biscotti ready to take to her customer. As she brought them to the table she said “It’s a lovely day. Are you here on holiday already?”

“Oh no. I was married last month and I have just moved into town. My husband owns the Real Estate shop just there. My name is Nicolette, but you can call me Nicky.” Eula had to work hard to prevent her eyes from swelling obviously at the realisation that this was the “bimbo” Sam Malone had thrown everything away for. She seemed very nice, but she couldn’t be more than two years older than his oldest son.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Nicky. I’m Eula. My husband Alfeo and I have been here in the village for 15 years now and we love it. I hope you will grow to love it, too.”

She excused herself and wandered back into the shop. Alfeo was in the kitchen preparing the basics for lunches today. It was always good to get a head start on some of the preparation. He had found that the trevally could be treated like sea-bass that he was familiar with in Italy and so as a special for the day he prepared these by rubbing them with a rough mixture of fine salt and fragrant herbs – rosemary, sage, marjoram and thyme, all grown in his kitchen garden at home. He also prepared some fresh artichokes for light steaming when the order came. Yes, each of these dishes would take 15 minutes to prepare, but that gives time to prepare the creamy garlic and parsley sauce that will dress the baked fish.

Today the King George Whiting would be baked in a buttery sauce and served with steamed vegetables over which ground fresh herbs would be sprinkled. Alfeo tried to vary the ways he prepared this delightfully sweet fish as well as the accoutrements he laid beside them on the plate.

He preferred to work with fresh pasta, rather than dried because it always produced a better result, and more quickly. Some of his morning was taken up in preparing some fresh fettuccini for the day. This will be served with his marinara of clams and mussels, in a rich tomato, chilli and garlic sauce.

Eula came into the kitchen, now free to raise her eyebrows in a way that caught Alfeo’s attention. “I just met Mrs Sam Malone,” she whispered. Alfeo looked confused. “His new wife,” she explained.

“Ah! What’s she like?”

“She’s a sweet young thing, I think, but still young. I wonder what the town will make of this now that it has come out in the open.”

“I suppose they will get over it, like everything else.” Alfeo had seen a number of scandals come and go within the village. There was usually an initial response of outrage but once they realised that the interloper was here to stay, the outrage subsided and before long they were just part of the tapestry of town life. Alfeo couldn’t understand the casual attitude Australian’s had to their marriage. Even his parents who had their marriage arranged for them stayed married for life. His father wouldn’t have dreamed of throwing one woman away and getting a newer model.

It seemed to Alfeo that there was a lot of trouble in our communities because men and women were not committed to making their marriage work – the kids, the single parent families. The only winner it seemed to him was the marriage celebrants who got to do the same people three and sometimes even four times; and the reception places. People seemed to throw money at a wedding thinking it will make it last even longer, and yet his observation was that the more money they spent, the more likely they were to split up.

Eula was never more happy than when she was at home with her family. Their children had been born in Australia, but they wanted them to still have Italian names. They chose names that could very easily become Aussie names, so their first child was Gregorio - his mates just call him Greg – that’s easy. He was born during their first summer in Quarabup and is now 15. Then came Nadia which nobody thinks is a foreign name, but it was Eula’s mother’s name and she wanted to carry that name on. Nadia began high school this year and was 13 years old (going on 30 sometimes).

The de Luca family lived on a large block about 5km out of the village. Ten thousand square metres gives lots of space for crop rotations of all sorts of veges. They even have enough room for a half-dozen Sabel Saanen goats from which they can obtain enough milk to maintain a steady supply of traditional cheeses and ricotta for the Trattoria.

They grew a large patch of cold-climate tomatoes – not the best really, but enough to make their own tomato sauces for the year. There was a large clump of artichokes that could supplement their supplies of pickled ones when the season was in, and the corner of asparagus produced the fattest and sweetest spears in the world.

Olive trees served as a hedging border to the block and were now producing enough fruit to supply local restaurants for miles around. They were preserved in a variety of ways – in brine, in oil, marinaded with spices and herbs, dried and made into tapenade. A small trellis of grapes served to keep the home table in three varieties of grapes, each ripening after the other over a three month period.

Intensive domestic agriculture is a concept foreign to most Aussies but everyone in the village had the highest regard for the quality of the produce Alfeo and Eula used in their Trattoria because they knew they had grown it with their own hands.

Just as Eula was clearing up the table after Nicky Malone had finished, Gregorio came round the corner with a worried look on his face.

The Gap Year

Ellie finished her coffee, wondering what she would do next. School had finished and the long warm summer days beckoned, but she wasn’t ready to settle into any summer routine of beach, surf and sand with her mates. She wanted to get some work – holidays are no fun without readies. But she was planning more than just a holiday. She wanted a job that she could do for a year before going to uni – a break from school and study, get some money behind her, and hopefully become eligible for Austudy when she eventually does get to uni.

She wandered aimlessly into the arcade behind the coffee shop. She had been here hundreds of times before – she always got her hair done at Justine’s – and she thought they might be good for a chat if they weren’t too busy.

As she passed the old bookshop she noticed a scrappy piece of paper taped to the glass near the door. “HELP WANTED” it read. Underneath the heading in smaller writing it read: “Part-time or full-time. General duties.” Well, there’s not much to go on there, but something about it attracted Ellie.

She poked her head in through the door. Immediately the smell of dusty books hit her, yet there was a certain homeliness about that. The perimeter walls had floor to ceiling bookcases, well-stocked with second-hand books. The space in between was occupied by smaller double stack book cases that were set up in such a way as to create a space in which a table and chairs provided a suitable place for carefully inspecting the treasures that had been found on the shelves.

A first impression of the place could easily have been of chaos – yet as the eyes got used to the dance of light and colour created by myriads of book spine sizes and colours, one could sense that all of this was carefully set out so as to ensure once could find what they were looking for.

Ellie couldn’t see anyone – no one at the till; no one at the shelves. “Hello” she called somewhat tentatively. “Hello!” at which there was a rustle of movement from inside a back room.

“Yes, yes. Just a moment, I’ll be there in a minute.” After a few more rustles and dull thumps a strange looking but somewhat familiar face appeared at the doorway. “Can’t find what you’re looking for?” he asked.

He was 50-something with short but uncontrollable hair, a bristly moustache beneath a nose well acquainted with whisky. He was wearing an old friend of a jacket with a hound’s-tooth pattern, brown corduroy trousers over soft loafers. His Celtic complexion was ruddy at the cheek and his bright blue eyes welcomed everyone they saw.

“No. I’m not looking for a book. I saw your sign. I wondered if I could do your job.”

“Well it’s not much of a job, really, but I just need someone around to help with anything that needs doing, and answer the phone when I am out and things like that. I don’t know how much to pay but if you want the job, you look like you could do it.”

“What about the hours? When would you want me to start?”

“Oh, I don’t know. What do you think? Maybe 10 till 4 each day. Does that sound good?” Her eyes lit up with assent, a gentle start to the day “Gentleman’s hours” as her Granddad used to say. “You could start today, if you wanted, or you could wait until tomorrow, I don’t mind.”

Ellie wondered if this could really be true, if it was this easy to get your first real job. “I’ve got some things planned for the day, so how about I start tomorrow.” And thus Ellie’s Gap Year began.

Ellie had enjoyed school, unlike some of her friends who seemed to be perpetually grumpy with almost everything that happened in daylight hours. It seemed like the only time they were happy during the daytime was when, over lunch, they were gossiping together with their friends, sharing Facebook stuff on their phones, and sadly, sending nasty texts or making mean posts about girls they did not like. Ellie was not one of these girls, and was thankful that she had never had to bear the brunt of their nastiness.

Ellie loved writing. At school she excelled in both her English and English Lit classes and also had a penchant for the politics of Modern History. She also participated in any extra-curricular activities that related to the performing arts – particular the annual production that involved both the Music and Art departments of school. Earlier this year they had put on the Andrew Lloyd-Webber show, “Joseph and his Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat”. She was in the Chorus but had a small speaking/singing part as Potiphar’s wife. The previous year they had done “The Mikado” in which she was one of the three little maids – quite a demanding role.

In both her writing and acting, Ellie enjoyed being lost in another character. She enjoyed creating new worlds and thinking of fantastic things that could happen in them. She really wanted to study nothing more than creative writing at Curtin University, as Tim Winton had done, and dreamed of becoming a writer, herself. But her parents, while they were not opposed to the idea, wanted her to consider the creative writing as a side line to her life in which she would have a real job. So the big question for her as she embarked on this gap year was “What might that alternative be?”

As she wandered away from the old bookshop, she realised that she had not even told the man her name, nor had she discovered his. She turned to go back and read on the shop window, Horden House Antiquarian Books, G.G.Horden Esq., Proprietor. She opened the door again and called out “Mr Horden. “ His smiling face reappeared at the rear door. “I didn’t even tell you my name. I’m Ellie. Ellie Johnson. See you tomorrow.”

Gilbert George Horden Esq., GG to his friends, was a third generation resident of Quarabup, a small coastal village on a river mouth that gave onto a deep and well protect harbour. The shipping activity that grew up because of the harbour, both fishing and commercial, had never managed to grow to such a scale as to have the port dominate the village. When it celebrated the sesquicentenary of European settlement some years ago, much was made of its early designation “Sleepy Hollow” and the feeling that even now it still felt like it.

As GG put it, “That is the whole charm of Quarabup. Settled enough to have what you want. Not so big that you feel like it is an extension of suburbia.” GG saw little or no reason to move away from this place. It was good enough for his father and grandfather. It was good enough for him. His grandfather , George Greenway Horden, the original GG Horden, had come in 1898 after making a big find on the goldfields and bought up a large plot for farming as well as a town block to build a mansion on.

After being ripped off by a Stock & Station Agent in the late 1920s old George set up his own Stock & Station Agency with a rival firm and left GG’s father, Albert Andrew Horden, to run the farm. GG grew up on that farm. He was intimately acquainted with the annual breeding cycle of the beef cattle, and could judge a great bull from 50 yards. He also understood the intricacies of building a stack of hay that would neither collapse nor succumb to spontaneous combustion. But GG’s heart was not in the farm.

Even though he was needed, somewhat, on the farm over the summer, his greatest joy was to spend the summer holidays in town with his grandparents where he would help out in the shop and read lots of books. His parents judged that there was a delicacy about GG that meant that farm work was probably not for him, so they determined to manage without him and allow him this summer luxury.

His grandfather taught him how to keep business books, the old fashioned way, and out of this came a very natural inclination towards self-employment in a small business. When his grandfather died, he carried on the Stock & Station Agency so that his Grandmother would continue to be supported. When she died, his parents decided it was time for them to retire from the farm, but with GG not being inclined to take it over, they sold up, and while half remained a farm for beef cattle, the rest had been broken up into smaller allotments and sold for vineyards and strawberry farms. These latter land-uses were now all the go in the region.

GG’s parents moving into the big house in town, and when GG decided he wanted to be free from the Stock & Station Agency, that, too, was sold up and he set up his small antiquarian book shop in The Wildflower Arcade. The wonder of his circumstances were that the assets from the sale of the farm and the Stock & Station Agency were considerable enough for both GG and his Parents to live very comfortably, even if the book business didn’t make its way.

In this carefree context, GG established himself as the president of the G & S Society through which more than half a century of self-made entertainment had been brought to the village. And as the years passed by, in some ways he seemed to take on the personas of various G & S characters in his swagger about town and his manner of speech.