Hello my dear bloggy followers. You've probably noticed I haven't been posting very much recently. I'm struggling a little with the demands of single motherhood, the emotional rollercoaster of a relationship breakdown and all the every day stuff (work, finances, commitments, etc.) I don't want to give up the blog but at the moment its a struggle to post anything that requires major brain thought. So please bear with me while I'm trying to pull myself together :)
Love, Eloise
Showing posts with label Random Adventures. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Random Adventures. Show all posts
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Friday, November 25, 2011
A Tragic End to a Wonderful Story
If you live in Australia, you have probably heard about the bushfires raging across the beautiful coastline of Margaret River in WA. So far over 30 homes have been destroyed. Although I live in Melbourne now I spent a big portion of my life in and around that area. My sister and her family and my dad and step mum still live there but thankfully they are about 15 minutes further south.
I have been following the news closely from Melbourne and was absolutely shattered to hear that despite the efforts of firefighters and water helicopters, the terrible winds flaming the fire caused it to jump the Margaret River and they were unable to save historic Wallcliffe House.
Wallcliffe House, a picturesque homestead built in 1865 by the pioneering Bussell family, was perched on a small ridge overlooking the mouth of the Margaret River. Whenever I would drive down Wallcliffe Road towards the beach I would always look out for its chimneys and shingled roof. I remember my mum taking my sisters and I to visit the house and being amazed at the steepness and skinniness of its staircases. I always wondered how the Bussell women had managed to climb up and down those staircases in their long Victorian dresses.
Wallcliffe House, a picturesque homestead built in 1865 by the pioneering Bussell family, was perched on a small ridge overlooking the mouth of the Margaret River. Whenever I would drive down Wallcliffe Road towards the beach I would always look out for its chimneys and shingled roof. I remember my mum taking my sisters and I to visit the house and being amazed at the steepness and skinniness of its staircases. I always wondered how the Bussell women had managed to climb up and down those staircases in their long Victorian dresses.
Aside from its character and charm, one of the most interesting things about Wallcliffe House was its association with a famous episode of courage and heroism which generations of Australian school children were taught.
On 1 December 1876, the ship, Georgette, was grounded on rocks at Calgardup Bay just south of Wallcliffe House and began to break up.
The pitiful scene was witnessed by a 30 year old Aboriginal stockman, Sam Yebble Isaacs, who immediately rode to the homestead at Wallcliffe House to get help. The only person at home was Grace Bussell, then just 16 years old. Grace rode her horse to the bay with Isaacs where they met a scene of utter misery with women and children from the boat being thrown into the surf. Without hesitation, Grace Bussell plunged into the surf on her horse.
Over the course of four hours, Grace and Sam Isaacs fought the waves on horseback and saved the passengers from certain death. Almost all the passengers were saved and taken back to Wallcliffe House to recover. Grace and Sam were later awarded the medal of the Royal Humane Society.
There are two interesting endings to this story….
The bravery of 16 year old Grace Bussell made her internationally famous. A young man from a well known Perth family, Frederick Drake-Brockman, read of Grace’s exploits in the paper and rode 300 kilometres on horseback just to meet her. They fell in love and were later married. Grace lived to the ripe old age of 75 and the little house owned by Frederick and Grace in Guildford is only a few doors away from my mum's house.
Sam Yebble Isaacs, the son of a Native American Indian whaler who had absconded from his ship in the 1830’s and an Aboriginal woman from the Wardandie tribe near Augusta, was granted a 100 acre block of land of his selection for his heroism. He chose a spot on the Margaret River not far from Wallcliffe House and raised a large family there. Sam Isaacs died in 1920 at the age of 75 (he was tragically killed when a sulky he was travelling in overturned) and is buried in the Busselton Pioneer Cemetery. His descendents still live in the area.
It saddens me to think that Grace Bussell's family home is no more. It's a terrible loss for the generations of families that have lived in the home and especially for its current owners, the Chaney family, who have put so much work into the property and gardens. And it's a terrible loss of history for the wider community. I will always have fond memories of Wallcliffe House.
Friday, November 11, 2011
11/11/11 Who are we remembering?
On the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918, the Armistice to end the First World War was officially signed between the Allies and the Germans in a railway carriage near the Compiegne Forest in France.
In 1919, King George V dedicated the 11th of November as a special Remembrance Day for the members of the armed forces who were killed in World War I.
The war ended 93 years ago and, for many Australians, relates only to the distant but valiant story of Gallipoli.
So who are we to remember?
Here are just a few stories of ordinary young Australian men who never came home.
Alfred Victor Momphlait was a 28 year old clerk from Port Adelaide in South Australia. He enlisted on 17 July 1915 in the 32nd Battalion and was killed 1 year and 3 days later on 20 July 1916 in the Battle of Fromelles (sometimes known as the Battle of Fleurbaix).
Fromelles was the first major battle the Australians took part in on the Western Front. It was a terrible annihilation with over 5,533 Australian casualties. Two battalions, including Alfred's were effectively destroyed. Out of 887 soldiers in the 60th Battalion, only one officer and 106 men survived.
The area where the battle took place was retaken by the Germans almost immediately and the Australian dead were buried in mass graves behind German lines. Some of these pits were discovered in the 1920's and the remains re-buried in a war cemetery nearby as unidentified soldiers.
In 2007 an Australian school teacher, Lamis Englezos located a new burial pit near the village of Fromelles. The remains were exhumed in 2009 and 250 bodies were recovered, 203 of these Australian. Alfred Victor Momphlait was identified by DNA testing.
RIP.
Rowland Joseph Hill and Alfred John Hill
Rowland and Alfred Hill were born in Echuca Victoria but the family later moved to Perth. The brothers enlisted in the Army in 1915. Alfred, a dentist, enlisted in June, and was sent to Gallipoli. Following the retreat from Gallipoli in December 1915 he was sent to France in March 1916 as part of the reinforcements for the 28th Battalion, joining his brother Rowland. Rowland, a railway employee, enlisted in September and was sent directly to France as part of the 28th Battalion.
The 28th Battalion was engaged on the Somme in the Western Front, near the village of Pozieres, the scene of the worst conditions and worst fighting in all of the war.
Alfred, who had survived Gallipoli, was killed in action on July 29th, 1916. His brother Rowland was killed in action 2 weeks later on August 14th, 1916. The bodies of both boys were recovered but they are buried in separate cemeteries. Their poor mother on receiving the telegrams so close together.
RIP
Felix George Buck (known as Sonny) and Alexander Percy Buck
Sonny Buck was 22 years old when he enlisted in Western Australia in late 1915. Sonny joined the 12th Battalion in France and in August 1916 was severely wounded. Sonny was shot by a machine gun numerous times in the back and was then buried alive after a shell exploded nearly. After 5 days fighting for his life he was evacuated to England. Sonny was permanently discharged from the Army in 1917, before the end of the war, suffering from shell shock.
In 1920, Sonny died from a gunshot wound while out hunting near his home in WA. It is not known if this injury was self inflicted. He was 27 years old.
Alexander Buck was 21 years old when he enlisted in Western Australia in 1916. He was sent directly to France. In January 1917 he was wounded in action and sent to hospital in England. He returned to France in July 1917. Three months later, in October 1917 he suffered gunshot wounds to the head and a compound fracture to the skull. He was evacuated to England and sent back to Australia on a hospital ship in May 1918 before the end of the war.
In 1923, he died from his war injuries at home in Bunbury. H was 27 years old.
Although these two brothers survived the war, their physical and mental wounds ended up taking both their short lives.
RIP
William Henry Bowman, known as Bill
William Henry Bowman is my great uncle, my grandfather's oldest brother. He enlisted in the AIF in July 1915 at the age of 18 and was sent to France as part of the 52nd Battalion. Bill enlisted because his father and grandmother were German settlers from South Australia. This was not looked upon with favour by the small country town in which he lived and so he enlisted to serve in the Army as soon as he was able to, being the only son old enough to fight.
The 52nd Battalion were fighting near the village of Pozieres, where Rowland and Alfred Hill were also killed. On September 3rd, 1916, the 52nd took part in the Battle of Mouquet Farm. Bill and over 300 men from his Battalion were killed on that day, he was 19 years old.
As the Germans took over this ground, Bill's body was never recovered. No one who saw him that day survived the battle and therefore nothing is known of how and when he fell, or where.
His mother never recovered from the shock of losing her firstborn child in such terrible and unknown circumstances.
RIP dear Bill.
These are just some of the stories of the soldiers we remember on this day but there are so many more.
In WWI, Australia had a population of less than 5 million people. Over 416,000 men (almost all between the ages of 18 and 40) enlisted to serve in WWI. 60,000 were killed in action and 56,000 were wounded, gassed or taken prisoner.
My great uncle Bill came from a little farming hamlet in WA. Of the 27 men who enlisted to fight, only 18 came home. One third of the young men never returned.
This is why we should remember.
In 1919, King George V dedicated the 11th of November as a special Remembrance Day for the members of the armed forces who were killed in World War I.
The war ended 93 years ago and, for many Australians, relates only to the distant but valiant story of Gallipoli.
So who are we to remember?
Here are just a few stories of ordinary young Australian men who never came home.
Alfred Victor Momphlait was a 28 year old clerk from Port Adelaide in South Australia. He enlisted on 17 July 1915 in the 32nd Battalion and was killed 1 year and 3 days later on 20 July 1916 in the Battle of Fromelles (sometimes known as the Battle of Fleurbaix).
Fromelles was the first major battle the Australians took part in on the Western Front. It was a terrible annihilation with over 5,533 Australian casualties. Two battalions, including Alfred's were effectively destroyed. Out of 887 soldiers in the 60th Battalion, only one officer and 106 men survived.
The area where the battle took place was retaken by the Germans almost immediately and the Australian dead were buried in mass graves behind German lines. Some of these pits were discovered in the 1920's and the remains re-buried in a war cemetery nearby as unidentified soldiers.
In 2007 an Australian school teacher, Lamis Englezos located a new burial pit near the village of Fromelles. The remains were exhumed in 2009 and 250 bodies were recovered, 203 of these Australian. Alfred Victor Momphlait was identified by DNA testing.
RIP.
Rowland Joseph Hill and Alfred John Hill
Rowland and Alfred Hill were born in Echuca Victoria but the family later moved to Perth. The brothers enlisted in the Army in 1915. Alfred, a dentist, enlisted in June, and was sent to Gallipoli. Following the retreat from Gallipoli in December 1915 he was sent to France in March 1916 as part of the reinforcements for the 28th Battalion, joining his brother Rowland. Rowland, a railway employee, enlisted in September and was sent directly to France as part of the 28th Battalion.
The 28th Battalion was engaged on the Somme in the Western Front, near the village of Pozieres, the scene of the worst conditions and worst fighting in all of the war.
Alfred, who had survived Gallipoli, was killed in action on July 29th, 1916. His brother Rowland was killed in action 2 weeks later on August 14th, 1916. The bodies of both boys were recovered but they are buried in separate cemeteries. Their poor mother on receiving the telegrams so close together.
RIP
Felix George Buck (known as Sonny) and Alexander Percy Buck
Sonny Buck was 22 years old when he enlisted in Western Australia in late 1915. Sonny joined the 12th Battalion in France and in August 1916 was severely wounded. Sonny was shot by a machine gun numerous times in the back and was then buried alive after a shell exploded nearly. After 5 days fighting for his life he was evacuated to England. Sonny was permanently discharged from the Army in 1917, before the end of the war, suffering from shell shock.
In 1920, Sonny died from a gunshot wound while out hunting near his home in WA. It is not known if this injury was self inflicted. He was 27 years old.
Alexander Buck was 21 years old when he enlisted in Western Australia in 1916. He was sent directly to France. In January 1917 he was wounded in action and sent to hospital in England. He returned to France in July 1917. Three months later, in October 1917 he suffered gunshot wounds to the head and a compound fracture to the skull. He was evacuated to England and sent back to Australia on a hospital ship in May 1918 before the end of the war.
In 1923, he died from his war injuries at home in Bunbury. H was 27 years old.
Although these two brothers survived the war, their physical and mental wounds ended up taking both their short lives.
RIP
William Henry Bowman, known as Bill
William Henry Bowman is my great uncle, my grandfather's oldest brother. He enlisted in the AIF in July 1915 at the age of 18 and was sent to France as part of the 52nd Battalion. Bill enlisted because his father and grandmother were German settlers from South Australia. This was not looked upon with favour by the small country town in which he lived and so he enlisted to serve in the Army as soon as he was able to, being the only son old enough to fight.
The 52nd Battalion were fighting near the village of Pozieres, where Rowland and Alfred Hill were also killed. On September 3rd, 1916, the 52nd took part in the Battle of Mouquet Farm. Bill and over 300 men from his Battalion were killed on that day, he was 19 years old.
As the Germans took over this ground, Bill's body was never recovered. No one who saw him that day survived the battle and therefore nothing is known of how and when he fell, or where.
His mother never recovered from the shock of losing her firstborn child in such terrible and unknown circumstances.
RIP dear Bill.
These are just some of the stories of the soldiers we remember on this day but there are so many more.
In WWI, Australia had a population of less than 5 million people. Over 416,000 men (almost all between the ages of 18 and 40) enlisted to serve in WWI. 60,000 were killed in action and 56,000 were wounded, gassed or taken prisoner.
My great uncle Bill came from a little farming hamlet in WA. Of the 27 men who enlisted to fight, only 18 came home. One third of the young men never returned.
This is why we should remember.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
I'm a Winner!
I normally have to tell myself the above as some kind of positive reinforcement, but this week I have been awarded not just one, but TWO, Versatile Blogging Awards!!!
Not exactly up there with winning an Oscar, but still, its some kind of recognition that out there in Blogland someone else thinks I'm pretty cool - and totally versatile too :)
I'm not 100% sure what the criteria for winning a Versatile Blogging Award is but I've checked out 'versatile' in the dictionary and the official definition is -
1. capable of doing many things competently, and
2. changeable, inconstant
As far as 1) goes I'm somehow managing to raise 4 kids on my own, work 30 hours a week, scrape by with the housework, write a novel, keep up with my blogging, rehearse and perform in a choir and have some form of social life.....whether I am doing any of those things competently is another story!
As far as 2) goes, under the definition for inconstant is a picture of me. I've always been a will-o-the-wisp, blowing wherever the wind takes me. I make crazy, rash, spontaneous decisions and I am liable to completely change my mind in a nano second! This makes me interesting but incredibly difficult to live with :)
So taking the above criteria into consideration, I think I deserve to place my two Versatile Blogging Awards on my virtual mantelpiece to be virtually dusted by my virtual housekeeper :)
Now the rules of the Versatile Blogging Award are -
- Thank the person who gave you this award. That’s common courtesy.
- Include a link to their blog. That’s also common courtesy — if you can figure out how to do it.
- Next, select 15 blogs/bloggers that you’ve recently discovered or follow regularly.
- Nominate those 15 bloggers for the Versatile Blogger Award — you might include a link to this site.
- Finally, tell the person who nominated you 7 things about yourself
In line with the rules, in my epic, long winded and later-to-be-regretted acceptance speech, I'd like to thank the lovely Lillie from Lillie McFerrin Writes and the scintillating Sarah from People Don't Eat Enough Fudge. Thank you darlings!
The rules do say to nominate 15 others but I like to do things in 7's so here are the lucky 7 -
- The brilliant B from B Being Cool
- The wonderful Wendy from Wendy's World
- The radical Rebecca from Musings of a Mother
- The clever Kristy from House of Prowse
- The gorgeous Gil from Ink, Paper, Pen
- The splendiferous Sif from At the Bottom of the Garden
- The naughty but very nice Naomi from Naomi Hart (who thinks the same way about trifle as I do and Im sure will find this award completely without point hahahaha)
Now for the 7 Things About Me.....
I spend quite a lot of time congratulating myself on the fact I have blue eyes - if they had been any other colour I would have been disappointed. I secretly suspect that blue eyed people are much better at finding things than anyone else :)
Like 11% of the population, I am left handed. I can write in cursive with both hands but don't ask me to use a can opener - its impossible! Those things are not designed for left handed people!
As a girl I hated my name and wished I had another one (Sybilla was my favourite for a long time) but now I quite like it. Apart from those awkward and cringeworthy moments when people from my parent's generation decide to burst into song with the epic rock ballad 'Eloise' which was a big hit the year before I was born. In those moments, I wish my name was Sybilla :)
When I was 12, I had a spiky punk haircut which I dyed red and a long rats tail which I dyed purple....I would ride my bike through our small country town with my rats tail flying out behind me and thought I was soooo different. It turns out I'm not that different at all :)
I spend a great deal of my time reading war books and watching war documentaries. My great uncle was killed in WWI in circumstances which are mostly unknown and I have spent the last 5 years or so researching his battalion to find out what happened to him and where he is. I'm also writing a novel about WWI and have written a bunch of short stories and poems about the war....obsessed much?
When I was on holiday in England in 2000 I had a strange experience there that changed my mind about reincarnation.
If I could live anywhere in the world, I would choose Prague - not just because my brother lives there but because its the most beautiful bohemian city filled with books and music and art and I will be in love with Prague forever!
Thanks for my award Lillie and Sarah!
Monday, October 24, 2011
Marie Antoinette - Magnifique!
I have always been drawn to the story of Marie Antoinette. There is something both beautiful and tragic about her life and death. This post is a pictorial look at her life and legacy.....
"Maria Antonia Josepha Johanna" was not French. She was born in Austria in 1755, the youngest daughter of the Francis I, Holy Roman Emperor and Maria Theresa, Queen of Hungary and Bohemia. She was generally addressed as 'Madame Antoine' at the Austrian court.
Marie Antoinette came to France in 1770 as a 15 year old to marry the Dauphin of France, Louis-Auguste, later known as Louis XVI of France. Louis-Auguste was unable to consummate the marriage for 7 years.
Marie Antoinette lived at Versaille, the centre of the French court, also the centre of fashion, music, wit, intrigue and scandal. Back then, everything was big....the hair, the hats and the dresses....
One of the best biographies I have read about the life of Marie Antoinette is 'Marie Antoinette, The Journey' by Antonia Fraser. It gives a fascinating insight into her marriage, her romances and court life at Versailles.
One of my favourite movies ever is Sofia Coppola's 2006 movie, "Marie Antoinette", starring Kirsten Dunst. The decadence, lavishness and at times, silliness, of the period are perfectly captured by the sets and costumes in the movie. It's a visual feast for the eyes with a modern twist to the telling.
"Maria Antonia Josepha Johanna" was not French. She was born in Austria in 1755, the youngest daughter of the Francis I, Holy Roman Emperor and Maria Theresa, Queen of Hungary and Bohemia. She was generally addressed as 'Madame Antoine' at the Austrian court.
Marie Antoinette came to France in 1770 as a 15 year old to marry the Dauphin of France, Louis-Auguste, later known as Louis XVI of France. Louis-Auguste was unable to consummate the marriage for 7 years.
Marie Antoinette lived at Versaille, the centre of the French court, also the centre of fashion, music, wit, intrigue and scandal. Back then, everything was big....the hair, the hats and the dresses....
Marie Antoinette was executed by guillotine in October 1793, two weeks before her 38th birthday. On the morning of her execution her hair was cut and she was dressed in a simple white muslin dress to be paraded through the streets of Paris. The only words spoken at her execution were 'Monsieur, I beg your pardon' as she apologised to the executioner for stepping on his foot.
One of the best biographies I have read about the life of Marie Antoinette is 'Marie Antoinette, The Journey' by Antonia Fraser. It gives a fascinating insight into her marriage, her romances and court life at Versailles.
Marie Antoinette died 5 years after the First Fleet arrived in Australia. It's fair to imagine that the ships travelling between England and Botany Bay carried the news of her arrest and execution and it would have been talked about and discussed even here in the new colony.
Over 200 years later, the life of Marie Antoinette and the fashions of the court of Versaille, are still inspiring art and fashion today. Vive` Marie!
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Thankful Thursdays: One Life
What am I thankful for?
I am thankful to be alive. I am thankful for this hard, crazy, higgledy piggledy, emotional, uphill climb and downhill run that is my life. I am thankful for all the experiences I've had - even the horrible ones.
I am thankful for all the times I've laughed, all the times I've kissed my children, all the times I've looked out the window and smiled because its sunny.
I am thankful for the all the times I've cried in the shower, or sat with my head in my hands or been so angry I could cry with frustration (no-one ever got stronger by being happy all the time).
I am thankful for all the beautiful things and all the ugly things that are beautiful in their own way.
Life is the strangest thing. There is nothing quite like it to find out what kind of a person you are - your strengths, your weaknesses, your motives, your belief systems, the lessons you've learned along the way.
I am thankful for every second of this life and when I am old and grey I will look back and think to myself 'wow! that was one hell of a ride!'
I am thankful to be alive. I am thankful for this hard, crazy, higgledy piggledy, emotional, uphill climb and downhill run that is my life. I am thankful for all the experiences I've had - even the horrible ones.
I am thankful for all the times I've laughed, all the times I've kissed my children, all the times I've looked out the window and smiled because its sunny.
I am thankful for the all the times I've cried in the shower, or sat with my head in my hands or been so angry I could cry with frustration (no-one ever got stronger by being happy all the time).
I am thankful for all the beautiful things and all the ugly things that are beautiful in their own way.
Life is the strangest thing. There is nothing quite like it to find out what kind of a person you are - your strengths, your weaknesses, your motives, your belief systems, the lessons you've learned along the way.
I am thankful for every second of this life and when I am old and grey I will look back and think to myself 'wow! that was one hell of a ride!'
I'm joining Thankful Thursday with Kate Says Stuff.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Owls and Omens
Human beings are very strange creatures. One of the reasons we are so different to the other species inhabiting our planet is our persistence in prescribing reason or motives to things which don't necessarily have a reason or motive.
People have been doing this for thousands of years. Take the Aztecs for example - the crops are failing, why are the crops failing? the gods must be unhappy with us, oh dear, perhaps if we sacrificed a virgin....? Or maybe, just maybe, the crops are failing because there's been a drought or a plague of locusts or whatever. You know, sometimes shit just happens. There's no reason for it, it's just is the way it is.
Now even though I know this to be true, last night I saw a large white owl sitting on the street sign across the road from me. It was a very large, very white, Harry Potterish type of owl. Not the kind of owl you would see every day (if indeed, you are even lucky enough to see owls every day). It sat on the street sign, facing me, blinking slowly.
It had been a particularly traumatic and nasty day on top of a particularly traumatic and nasty weekend. As I sat outside after the kids had gone to bed and saw this owl blinking at me, I thought to myself "Hmmm, maybe this owl is an omen? Maybe this owl is a sign that things are going to better or change or something?"
Why do human beings look for signs and omens in things? Do we really believe the universe is trying to tell us something? Why, if I see a white owl sitting on a street sign, would I have any reason to think it means anything at all?
Perhaps it's because I've been pre-conditioned to think that way about owls....
According to this very interesting website -
'Since the time of the ancient Greeks owls have been hailed as symbols of intelligence, yet they also have been feared and seen as signs of evil or death' The idea of "wise old owls" and owl messengers can be found in ancient Greece. Athena was firstly the goddess of darkness and later of wisdom, arts and sciences. The owl was sacred and associated with her. The association of owls with witches is centuries old - dating to at least the medieval period (about 500 to 1500 CE). In those days, people believed that the owls and other animals associated with witches were evil spirits in disguise.'
I come from a very traditional Celtic background with strong roots in England, Scotland and Ireland. Places where those kinds of beliefs and legends about owls are strongly perpetuated.
Even the literature I have read has reinforced the belief that owls are somehow 'supernatural' or 'messengers/omen bearers'.
As a child I read Alan Garner's folk-lore books 'The Wierdstone of Brisingamen' and 'The Moon of Gomrath' which feature owls as messengers. Garner's fourth book 'The Owl Service' is based on the legend of the mythical Welsh figure of Blodeuwedd, a woman who is created from flowers by a Welsh wizard. She betrays her husband Lleu, in favour of another, Gronw, and is turned into an owl as punishment for inducing Gronw to kill Lleu. I have not read this book but it's obvious Alan Garner has a thing for owls.
Another 'owl' book which I have NEVER been able to get out of my mind is 'I Heard the Owl Call My Name' by Margaret Craven. If you have not read this book, do yourself a favour and get hold of a copy.
In the story, a young Anglican priest who is dying (but unaware that he has not long to live) is sent to a Native Indian settlement in British Columbia as a missionary. The native people believe that if you hear an owl call your name, death is imminent. It is a simple but life changing story about life, death and mortality. Again, in this book, the owl is the messenger.
And then we have JK Rowling's owls (Hedwig & co.), who act as a kind of postal service in the Harry Potter books. JK Rowling studied both ancient Greek and Roman literature and no doubt this influenced her to make owls the messengers of wizards.
So there you have it, through literature I have been pre-conditioned to think of owls as messengers or bearers of tidings. And not only that, I've been pre-conditioned to think owls as being wise, wiser somehow than all the other birds. Wise enough to hang out with wizards. Owls are in the know, obviously.
Not only am I pre-conditioned to think of owls as messengers, I am also pre-conditioned to think of WHITE owls in that way. If I had seen a brown owl sitting on the street sign, I probably would have thought 'wow, there's an owl.' But this was a big white owl.
For centuries, people have believed that albino or pure white animals held special powers - take the unicorn for example. Pure white or albino animals are much rarer than non-albino animals. And this makes them seem special. But the reality is, genetically, an albino owl is pretty much the same as a brown one. It thinks the same, it eats the same, it flies the same, its just a different colour. It cannot do magic and it certainly doesn't deliver cute little envelopes with nice messages from wizards.
In the end, I think human beings look for omens and signs as a means of hope....and as a method of abdicating responsibility......
Why hope? Well, when we badly want things to change for the better, we sometimes imagine or believe we see omens and signs that are a 'secret message' from the universe that things ARE going to be better and its just around the corner....this gives us hope that things will actually change.
Why abdicating responsibility? Well, believing the universe is conspiring to turn events to our favour is really leaving it in someone else's hands, rather than creating our own fortune.....people can either sit around waiting for the universe to deal them a better hand (I've been guilty of this myself) or get up and deal our own hand.
I suppose I would secretly like to think the owl was some kind of sign.....that sort of druidic, supernatural, 'message from the universe' thing appeals to my whimsical nature. But, my logical mind tells me it was just a white owl sitting on a sign post with no rhyme or reason other than to eat big juicy moths under the street light.
What do you think? I'd love to know.
People have been doing this for thousands of years. Take the Aztecs for example - the crops are failing, why are the crops failing? the gods must be unhappy with us, oh dear, perhaps if we sacrificed a virgin....? Or maybe, just maybe, the crops are failing because there's been a drought or a plague of locusts or whatever. You know, sometimes shit just happens. There's no reason for it, it's just is the way it is.
Now even though I know this to be true, last night I saw a large white owl sitting on the street sign across the road from me. It was a very large, very white, Harry Potterish type of owl. Not the kind of owl you would see every day (if indeed, you are even lucky enough to see owls every day). It sat on the street sign, facing me, blinking slowly.
Why do human beings look for signs and omens in things? Do we really believe the universe is trying to tell us something? Why, if I see a white owl sitting on a street sign, would I have any reason to think it means anything at all?
Perhaps it's because I've been pre-conditioned to think that way about owls....
According to this very interesting website -
'Since the time of the ancient Greeks owls have been hailed as symbols of intelligence, yet they also have been feared and seen as signs of evil or death' The idea of "wise old owls" and owl messengers can be found in ancient Greece. Athena was firstly the goddess of darkness and later of wisdom, arts and sciences. The owl was sacred and associated with her. The association of owls with witches is centuries old - dating to at least the medieval period (about 500 to 1500 CE). In those days, people believed that the owls and other animals associated with witches were evil spirits in disguise.'
I come from a very traditional Celtic background with strong roots in England, Scotland and Ireland. Places where those kinds of beliefs and legends about owls are strongly perpetuated.
Even the literature I have read has reinforced the belief that owls are somehow 'supernatural' or 'messengers/omen bearers'.
As a child I read Alan Garner's folk-lore books 'The Wierdstone of Brisingamen' and 'The Moon of Gomrath' which feature owls as messengers. Garner's fourth book 'The Owl Service' is based on the legend of the mythical Welsh figure of Blodeuwedd, a woman who is created from flowers by a Welsh wizard. She betrays her husband Lleu, in favour of another, Gronw, and is turned into an owl as punishment for inducing Gronw to kill Lleu. I have not read this book but it's obvious Alan Garner has a thing for owls.
Another 'owl' book which I have NEVER been able to get out of my mind is 'I Heard the Owl Call My Name' by Margaret Craven. If you have not read this book, do yourself a favour and get hold of a copy.
In the story, a young Anglican priest who is dying (but unaware that he has not long to live) is sent to a Native Indian settlement in British Columbia as a missionary. The native people believe that if you hear an owl call your name, death is imminent. It is a simple but life changing story about life, death and mortality. Again, in this book, the owl is the messenger.
And then we have JK Rowling's owls (Hedwig & co.), who act as a kind of postal service in the Harry Potter books. JK Rowling studied both ancient Greek and Roman literature and no doubt this influenced her to make owls the messengers of wizards.
So there you have it, through literature I have been pre-conditioned to think of owls as messengers or bearers of tidings. And not only that, I've been pre-conditioned to think owls as being wise, wiser somehow than all the other birds. Wise enough to hang out with wizards. Owls are in the know, obviously.
For centuries, people have believed that albino or pure white animals held special powers - take the unicorn for example. Pure white or albino animals are much rarer than non-albino animals. And this makes them seem special. But the reality is, genetically, an albino owl is pretty much the same as a brown one. It thinks the same, it eats the same, it flies the same, its just a different colour. It cannot do magic and it certainly doesn't deliver cute little envelopes with nice messages from wizards.
In the end, I think human beings look for omens and signs as a means of hope....and as a method of abdicating responsibility......
Why hope? Well, when we badly want things to change for the better, we sometimes imagine or believe we see omens and signs that are a 'secret message' from the universe that things ARE going to be better and its just around the corner....this gives us hope that things will actually change.
Why abdicating responsibility? Well, believing the universe is conspiring to turn events to our favour is really leaving it in someone else's hands, rather than creating our own fortune.....people can either sit around waiting for the universe to deal them a better hand (I've been guilty of this myself) or get up and deal our own hand.
I suppose I would secretly like to think the owl was some kind of sign.....that sort of druidic, supernatural, 'message from the universe' thing appeals to my whimsical nature. But, my logical mind tells me it was just a white owl sitting on a sign post with no rhyme or reason other than to eat big juicy moths under the street light.
What do you think? I'd love to know.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Its a man's world...
How far we have come....or have we?
So the other night I watched a documentary about Internet Dating (yes, my life is this exciting). In between interviewing a selection of people who were slightly more on the side of 'deluded' than not, random statistics would display. One of these was....
- 80% of women involved in Internet Dating were concerned about meeting a serial killer.
- 80% of men involved in Internet Dating were concerned about meeting someone fat.
This statistic highlights to me not only the general differences between men and women (the Mars vs. Venus thing), but more importantly, the difference in 'levels of fear' between men and women.
It is a fact of life that a man in suburban Australia could walk out of his house at dusk and jog down a bike path, alone, with his headphones on and not have a single concern about his safety.
But the majority of women in suburban Australian would probably choose to not jog at dusk, or not jog where they may be isolated or hidden from view or would choose to jog with a friend.
A couple of years ago while on holiday in Adelaide, I decided to talk a walk from my hotel in North Adelaide towards the city along the river. The Adelaide River flowed in a deep cleft with the footpath running parallel alongside it and steep banks on either side. It was early afternoon during the middle of the week. The scenery was lovely but I couldn't help feeling vulnerable as I was out of sight and earshot for a lot of the walk.
I didn't see any other women during my walk but passed 2 or 3 men coming in the opposite direction. I remember thinking to myself that as they approached they are probably summing me up in terms of physical appearance e.g. nice boobs, too fat, middle aged, etc. whereas as I approached I was summing them up in terms of how much they looked like a sex attacker as opposed to a normal jogger :)
So are our fears founded?
A recent media release from the Australian Bureau of Statistics contained the following figures -
- In 2010, there were 17,757 recorded cases of sexual assault (thats 48 cases a day). But most experts agree only 18% of sexual assault cases are ever reported.
- 85% of these were against women.
- Disturbingly, 25% of these (1 in 4 cases) were against girls between the age of 10 to 14 years.
- In comparison, men were more likely to be victims of homicide (62% to 38%) and robbery (65% to 35%).
I don't think it's too far a stretch to say that men, as a gender, are more violent and sexually predatory than women. Other factors, such as lower socio economic status/lower education status also play a significant part in sexual assault cases.
These statistics are disturbing, but for many women, is it really a case of 'fearing the fear'?
For example, I follow a great blog from Greg @ Hiking Fiasco who takes all types of interesting walks and hikes around Victoria. I've read quite a few of his 'hiking fiascos' and thought to myself, oh that sounds like a good walk, I wouldn't mind doing that one....but none of my friends are really the hiking type (well, not that I know of) so I would probably have to go on my own.
The first question that comes to my mind is 'how safe would I be walking on my own?' and I'm not talking about falling down a ravine. Realistically, what would be the chances of being either attacked or sexually assaulted while hiking down a walking path?
I think we can probably assume that 99.99% of the people also out hiking on any given day are doing so because they like to hike. We can also probably assume that 99.99% of those aren't prone to spontaneous sex attacks (although Greg has come across amorous hiking couples /potential naturists before!). So what does that leave me with....a 0.01% chance that a demented sex attacker is walking on the same trail that I am. So should I be concerned or not.....or am I in fear of 'the fear' of being attacked/sexually assaulted/killed and buried in a shallow grave.
In any event, sometimes I wish I could be a man for just one day to get some sort of sense of the psyche and drive behind them. And I really wish every man could be a woman for just one day to get a sense of how it feels to be vulnerable (it would be excellent if this body/mind swapping could also occur during my PMS days hahaha).
I'd be interested to know how you feel about this topic. Do you feel vulnerable/fearful in certain situations or do you think we fear the fear itself?
Thursday, September 22, 2011
September 11, through the eyes of an 8 year old
My 8 year old son was not even a twinkle in my eye when September 11 happened. At that time, I lived in Perth, WA and because of the time difference was still up watching TV when the first plane crashed into the World Trade Center. I watched the second plane fly into the other tower, and the collapse of both buildings, live on television.
Even though I lived on the other side of the world, I felt the world changed that day. I was fearful, and I hadn't felt fearful before. I hated what happened on September 11. But I hated what happened afterwards too. I did not agree with the invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan, or Australia's involvement with them, and as time has gone on, I agree with them even less.
My son wants to be an airforce pilot. He's been a plane freak since before he could talk and likes to watch videos of planes and airports and fighter jets on the computer. One day, after seeing a clip on You Tube, he came to me and said 'mum, did you know there was these tall buildings in America and some planes crashed into them and they exploded.'
I was a little taken aback. I had forgotten there is whole generation born after September 11 who hasn't been touched by the fear and uncertainty of that day. They don't remember the shock and suspicion and paranoia and craziness of that time. They don't understand the reason for taking your shoes off at an airport security checkpoint or why we have advertisements on TV asking us to call a special number if we think our neighbour is buying too much fertiliser. They are innocent and I would like it to stay that way.....but I don't hold out much hope.
We talk about war quite alot in our house. I am an amateur WWI historian so its a subject that comes up frequently and there are probably more books about war in this house than any other type. My 8 year old is familiar with Gallipoli, France, Germany and the fighting on the Western Front. He knows about Hitler, the Nazis and the Holocaust. But we have never really touched on the wars that are going on now. To him, war is something that happened a long time ago when my great uncle fought and died in France and pilots flew in B52 bombers....
This week, on our ride home from school, he looked at me and said in an accusing tone 'mum, is there a war going on in a place called Afkazban right now?' (I suspect he was a little confused between Afghanistan and his favourite Harry Potter movie, the Prisoner of Azkaban)
'Yes, there is. Its in Afghanistan, which is kind of underneath Russia and above India' (I think I need to brush up on my geography...)
'What is there a war for?'
*Big sigh*. How do you explain the war in Afghanistan to an 8 year old?
The conversation went something like this.
'Well, remember when you came and asked me about the planes that crashed into those buildings in America. Some bad people were flying those planes and they killed a lot of people. They were terrorists. Do you know what a terrorist is?'
'No.'
'Terrorists are people who believe in something and if you don't believe the same thing, they don't like you and they try to scare you.' (I believe this is not the official version of what a terrorist is, but it will have to do....)
'Didn't they like America?'
'No.'
'Why didn't they like them? Did they think they were rich and horrible?' (meet my son, the budding communist)
'Something like that'. (In my head I'm hearing a cartoon-like Arabic voice shouting 'capitalist pigs!')
'So then what happened?'
'Well, the terrorist group that flew those planes was hiding out in the desert in a country called Afghanistan. They weren't really from Afghanistan but they were hiding out there. America said to Afghanistan 'how come you are letting these baddies hide in your country' and so they decided to invade Afghanistan. They thought the war would be over very quick because America is a big strong country and Afghanistan is nothing but desert but its been going on for a very long time now and it hasn't got any better and they aren't winning the war.'
And in a slightly terse voice.....'and even Australian soldiers have had to go there and some have been killed.'
'Why is Australia in the war?'
'I don't know, but I don't think we should have got involved' (my own personal belief that John Howard is George Bush's ass-licker is probably not an appropriate answer here).
'Well, maybe we are helping them out because they helped us out in World War 1.' he says.
Slight pause from me.....this sounds like an incredibly rational argument from an 8 year old. And flies straight in the face of my 'anti-Iraq/Afghanistan involvement' policy. Hmmmm. Is that a good enough reason to go to war? I've written about the spurious start of World War I before, whereby a handful of treaties and alliances led to a horrifying disaster that lasted for 4 years and wiped out a generation of young men.
Is it really as simple as 'well, our countries are buddies, so if you go to war, we'll go too.' What if the country going to war in the first place doesn't have a legitimate enough reason? Is retaliation against a whole country for the act of one terrorist group a good enough reason? What if they give you a reason - Iraq is amassing weapons of mass destruction - and then that reason turns out to be completely false.
I don't know the answers to these questions. I don't know if anyone knows the answers to these questions. But it seems like a simple enough scenario to my son.
My son wants to be airforce pilot. Will we still be at war in Afghanistan when my son is old enough to fly a plane? This war is now the longest conflict the United States has ever been involved in, having recently overtaken the Vietnam War.
2,996 people lost their lives in the September 11 attacks. Its a horrible number, but it pales in comparison to the 6,225 U.S. soldiers that have been killed in Iraq and Afghanistan so far and the death of over 30,000 Afghani civilians.
I thought my son was protected from the events of September 11 but now I'm not so sure. And as a mother, I'm not even sure there will ever be a reason good enough for my son to go to war.
Even though I lived on the other side of the world, I felt the world changed that day. I was fearful, and I hadn't felt fearful before. I hated what happened on September 11. But I hated what happened afterwards too. I did not agree with the invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan, or Australia's involvement with them, and as time has gone on, I agree with them even less.
This week, on our ride home from school, he looked at me and said in an accusing tone 'mum, is there a war going on in a place called Afkazban right now?' (I suspect he was a little confused between Afghanistan and his favourite Harry Potter movie, the Prisoner of Azkaban)
'Yes, there is. Its in Afghanistan, which is kind of underneath Russia and above India' (I think I need to brush up on my geography...)
'What is there a war for?'
*Big sigh*. How do you explain the war in Afghanistan to an 8 year old?
The conversation went something like this.
'Well, remember when you came and asked me about the planes that crashed into those buildings in America. Some bad people were flying those planes and they killed a lot of people. They were terrorists. Do you know what a terrorist is?'
'No.'
'Terrorists are people who believe in something and if you don't believe the same thing, they don't like you and they try to scare you.' (I believe this is not the official version of what a terrorist is, but it will have to do....)
'Didn't they like America?'
'No.'
'Why didn't they like them? Did they think they were rich and horrible?' (meet my son, the budding communist)
'Something like that'. (In my head I'm hearing a cartoon-like Arabic voice shouting 'capitalist pigs!')
'So then what happened?'
'Well, the terrorist group that flew those planes was hiding out in the desert in a country called Afghanistan. They weren't really from Afghanistan but they were hiding out there. America said to Afghanistan 'how come you are letting these baddies hide in your country' and so they decided to invade Afghanistan. They thought the war would be over very quick because America is a big strong country and Afghanistan is nothing but desert but its been going on for a very long time now and it hasn't got any better and they aren't winning the war.'
And in a slightly terse voice.....'and even Australian soldiers have had to go there and some have been killed.'
'Why is Australia in the war?'
'I don't know, but I don't think we should have got involved' (my own personal belief that John Howard is George Bush's ass-licker is probably not an appropriate answer here).
'Well, maybe we are helping them out because they helped us out in World War 1.' he says.
Slight pause from me.....this sounds like an incredibly rational argument from an 8 year old. And flies straight in the face of my 'anti-Iraq/Afghanistan involvement' policy. Hmmmm. Is that a good enough reason to go to war? I've written about the spurious start of World War I before, whereby a handful of treaties and alliances led to a horrifying disaster that lasted for 4 years and wiped out a generation of young men.
I don't know the answers to these questions. I don't know if anyone knows the answers to these questions. But it seems like a simple enough scenario to my son.
My son wants to be airforce pilot. Will we still be at war in Afghanistan when my son is old enough to fly a plane? This war is now the longest conflict the United States has ever been involved in, having recently overtaken the Vietnam War.
I thought my son was protected from the events of September 11 but now I'm not so sure. And as a mother, I'm not even sure there will ever be a reason good enough for my son to go to war.
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