Under The Mallee Bough

  The Pilgrims Progress. The Pilgrims progress. No..this isn’t a review of John Bunyan’s classic book, nor is it a reference to a John Wayne B-grade Hollywood cowboy flick, as in; “John Wayne famously said, “Whoa, take ‘er easy there, Pilgrim” in the 1962 film The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance.” (thank you Wiki’)…No, this is about you and me and our journey through the country of ageing. Recently, I had my second cataract removal operation, that makes both eyes fixed..a relief from that common, old age affliction. Many of my acquaintances of a similar age (I am now 74 yrs) suffer from or have been medically treated for a variety of major or minor health conditions so that they are inclined, along with yours T, to declaim that “Getting old sucks!”..and I am inclined to accept that this is the majority opinion of those “pilgrims” travelling this route. So I have decided to do an internal forensic discussion into this situation, concentrating NO...

  Something old, something new, something borrowed . . . Augustus John. Dear Readers. Myself and my “partner in crime”; Helen Tuxford, are considering opening a blog site dedicated to our magazine; “The Scriveners Review” so that we can reach a reading audience more diverse than our local hard-copy recipients. This will involve having people like you reading and subscribing to the blog…and at the moment we are asking ourselves; “Is it worth it? Below is our ideology. *** I invite you to immerse yourselves in a revitalised arts movement we are attempting to create with our humble little magazine called ; “The Scriveners Review”. It can be called ; “The Romantic Movement Reborn”..yes, reborn into the twenty- first century, reborn into a cynical and materialist age where creative arts and crafts are only considered for their “bottom-line value”, ie; what is it worth and is there a market for it? We believe art has a social ...

  The Kitchen Dresser. When I was young, there was one of these dressers in so many homes. It was the centre go-to cupboard in the kitchen, and if the family was called upon to change address, it inevitably went with them. My Irish grandmother had one and it was painted “Irish green” and it went everywhere with them when they moved residences, which was quite often given the gypsy inclinations of that side of the family and the necessity of seeking employment in those years of depression and war. I resurrected this one out of the back shed with the intention of “doing it up” as a servery and conversation piece for our outdoor dining experience on the back verandah, and I am now trying to remember what was kept in each compartment and drawer. If I start at the top with the glass doors, I can recall crockery, cups/mugs and glasses being kept there. Dinner plates (just individual plates, NOT sets) of willow pattern or flowers etc, side-plates and...

  Songs of the Murray Mallee. Chapt’ 4..part #3.. The passing of Wagga. It had been a cold winter, a cold but dry winter, so the cold bit right into the bone. Wagga suffered in this now old age from the long-term consequences of his living quarters and lifestyle. His long time companion cat, Satan, had died some three months previous and Wagga buried him nearby on the sloping bank of the river. Wagga placed a large rock over the site as both memorial stone and to protect the site from disturbance. This night, Wagga slipped into a soft, gentle coma, from which he would not wake. In his depth of unconsciousness, he started to dream… “Come, Satan” he called “We have work to do.” Wagga dreamed he launched his old skiff, which in reality was in no condition any longer to be used as a flotation boat, being partially submerged on the edge of the river until only its once brave name showed above the waterline.. The “Buona Fortuna”, lay dormant for the...

  Annunciation. “The Afternoon Meal”…by Evert Pieters. Annunciation. ’Twas once a given, that righteous annunciation from time immemorial be, Women, if they wish, child bearers would be , men provide for their security, Such is the scheme of the natural world, that no man nor woman ought despoil, But there comes this middle-class of opportunists that demand change, Calling for women to abandon their right of prioritise children born, Instead embrace that class’s command, to make career first-childbirth forlorn. Who gave permission to that class to dictate personal opinion, As if it was from some “divine” diction ordained upon middle-class instruction, Just to enable some to capitalise on a cheap labour option, Such speculators to swindle the working families with promise of “riches”, From such employment to guarantee wages equal to Croesus’ treasures, Earned by doing overtime as checkout chick or domestic cleaners. This is the only promise those li...