Category: Now and then

Linking events of today with those of yesteryear. Comparrisons drawn and observations made.

Albertha From Alberta

On By Renee Lou Dallow ( Bourgeoise Bloomers )In Festive frivolities, Now and then

!930s Christmas- 'Renee'-jpg

Albertha walked briskly through the thickening snow. Icicles hung from the mountain tops like fine lace on a white wedding gown. It was Christmas Eve in the small town of Jasper Alberta and there was only one store that would remain open that day. She must hurry before it  too was closed. Her mother was sick with a virus and was running a terrible fever. She needed medicine. Cough elixir and vapour rub.  Her father, a  Canadian Mounty, had been called away on duty and wouldn’t be home for hours. Because her family actually lived in a bungalow inside Jasper National Park the township was actually quite some distance. On the way, she would have to pass the house of one Myrna Larcombe, the most popular girl in school and a bully. For years Myrna had bullied Albertha mercilessly. Not only on account of her name, which had been chosen because her father had wanted a boy named Albert and her mother wanted a berth on the next ship out of Alberta, but because Albertha also had rather a large nose. The bulb tip of her nose would go very red in the cold and this was, of course, a major embarrassment to an otherwise very pretty girl.  It was red now in fact. Oh God how she hoped Myrna would not be looking out of the front window as she passed by her house on the hill.cropped-xmas-claire-trevor1.jpg

Picking up the pace with her breath creating pockets of steam in the thick snowy mists, Albertha tried to duck down as she went past Myrna’s big sophisticated mountain mansion. But it was too late. Myrna , who had been putting lights on the Christmas tree on the front verandah with her friends, had noticed something moving behind her front fence.

Albertha’s brown woolly coat was mistaken for a bear. Myrna screamed. An unearthly, blood curdling type of scream.  Poor Albertha lost her balance and fell over. As Myra and the others tentatively approached, Albertha picked herself up, brushed off the snow, and started to run.  Realising who she was they all ran after her taunting her with… “Hey Bertha Big nose where you going? Come back Bertha Beak maybe you could light up our tree with your shiny red nose bulb?”

central park in snow

Albertha kept running and they kept running after her until the brightly lit main street of Jasper came into view. Whew! thought  Albertha. “I see it. Its  still open. I can make it.” She virtually stumbled toward the doorstep of the chemist /gift shop which was still open for business.

Just as she did so there was a huge grumbling sound and everything began to shake.  It was an avalanche.  Myrna and her friends turned back in the nick of time and ran  back the way they had come, but Albertha froze to the spot. She couldn’t turn back. The avalanche had blocked the road and had barely missed demolishing the store. Thank goodness it had only been a small one.

The owners and their two staff members busily checked for damage and were too frantic to notice that a frightened deer had wandered inside looking for some place safe to hide. The poor thing was limping. Albertha, who had a way with animals, wandered in after it.  The deer saw her and ran straight back out onto the road. A car was driving toward it. Headlights beaming.  The deer stared straight into the headlights and stopped. The driver put on the brakes just in time.  A man with a very red nose got out of the car.

It was Albertha’s father. He’d stopped to see if he had hit the poor animal which was now shaking beyond control. Imagine his surprise in finding Albertha there. He and Albertha together ran toward it and Albertha knelt down,  cradling it in her arms, while her father fetched a blanket from the car.

“You wrap this blanket around it and wait here whilst I go in and get the medicine,” Her father said. “We’ll have to go home the long way round.”

Albertha did as he said and tried to calm the poor creature.

“Don’t worry little one. My father will know exactly what to do.You’re safe with us. Oh my goodness you are so cold.” she said, and rubbed its ears. As she did this its nose began to change colour from black to brown.

By the time her father returned with the medicine the deer’s nose was a dull purple. Was it frost bite, hypothermia or did the deer also have the flu?

Together they picked up the deer and carried it to the car.

“Home we go.” said Albertha’s dad as he put the key in the ignition.  There was no sound. He tried again. No sound. The engine had died.

“What’ll we do?” Albertha asked. “Mother is so sick and this poor little deer is still shaking.”

“I’ll call the station. There must be someone on duty.”

Just then at that very moment there was the sound of bells.  Lots of bells becoming louder and louder coming straight toward them. The deer nuzzled Albertha and shook off the blanket. Its nose was red. Bright red.  Albertha looked out of the rear window and there flying over the mountain tops was Santa in his sleigh with five reign deer.

1930s Santa and reindeer

“Somehow dad I don’t think that will be necessary.”

They watched in awe as Santa swerved toward them and landed his sleigh right in front of them. Alberta’s father put on the brakes suddenly. Santa came toward them. His eyes focused on the reindeer in Albertha’s arms.

“Rudolph I’ve been searching all over for you.Where on earth have you been?”

Albertha released the reindeer and Rudolph went straight to Santa who hugged him with glee.

Securing Rudolph to his rightful place at the front of the sleigh, Santa motioned for Albertha and her father to climb in and off they went over the roofs of the little shops, over the snow capped mountain peaks, over the deep valleys, over Myrna Larcomb’s mountain mansion and over Albertha’s own front gate landing on the lawn.

Myrna and her friends had gone straight to Albertha’s house to wait for her return hoping that Santa would be there too. In fact Myrna was so excited when the sleigh landed that she nearly wet her pants. Albertha was surprised too for Myrna and her little gang had never bothered to visit before.  Suddenly Myrna raced over to her as she got out of the sleigh and gave her a great big hug as if they had been friends for years. Albertha pulled away first.

Santa noticed. Santa noticed everything. He got out of his sleigh and walked toward them with his sack of presents over his shoulder.

” Tell me Myrna Larcombe. Have you been naughty or nice this year?”

“I’ve been very nice. Always. I’m always nice.” She replied.

Santa looked into his sack and then winked at Albertha.

“Nope. Nothing here with your name on it.” Santa replied. “Maybe next year.”

With that he hopped back into the sleigh pulled on the reigns, jingled all the little bells, and off he went high into the sky and disappeared once more into the clouds.

Albertha’s mother came out onto the front porch and her father followed her back into the house.

“Coming Albertha? ”

Albertha smiled and followed. Myrna and the others started for the gate.

Just before reaching the front door Albertha turned back and took off her warm woolly scarf.

” This is for you Myrna. Merry Christmas.”

Myrna accepted the scarf and wore it all the way home.

To this very day Myrna still wears the scarf and shares tea and Christmas cake with her oldest friend Albertha in her great big mountain mansion on the hill.

By Renee Dallow.

The Face Of Woman Kind

On By Renee Lou Dallow ( Bourgeoise Bloomers )In Now and then

I am the face of Woman Kind

I wear my makeup well

I smile and gently nod my head

As I twirl my parasol.

I hear your words of wisdom

As I listen with my eyes

I shift my feet from side to side

Have you fathomed my disguise?

My cover has been carefully groomed

You think you see through me

The struggle of my everyday

My service expected for free.

Daily chores and endless drudgery

Generally hidden from view

Serve to diminish my right to be

A person separate from you.

I am the face of woman kind

I understand you well

I pay for my appearance

Carefully perfume my soul

Become who you think I should be

So we can exist as one.

But when I grow old and change

My dimples disappear in folds

To you I am no longer a face

That deserves to be looked upon.

For I am no longer the one

The one you knew and wanted

To you I am some other

Old and finished and done.

But really never you mind

For I am still

The face

Of woman kind.

——————————————————————————————————————————–

Poem by Renee Dallow ( copyright. )

From ‘The Song Of Cicada Wings’

Paintings ( Australian ) include … A Beautiful Day In Beaut Royal ( Rupert Bunny ), A Holiday In Mentone, ( John Condore ), Art Students 1895 ( Emanuel Phillips- Fox )

( Loaned to Florence Richardson on behalf of Mary Gardiner-Kerr. )

Florence Richardson, in my novel ‘The Song Of Cicada Wings’, is a suffragette and Mary Gardiner-Kerr was in fact a real writer of suffragette poetry and stories. Unfortunately Mary Gardiner-Kerr’s work no longer exists anywhere and so I tried to imagine the kind of poem she might have written. Its amazing to me that so little remains of the suffragette writings. Why Mary Gardiner-Kerr, in particular? Because she married Albert Vincent Richardson. Florence’s older brother and my great great uncle.

LET’S Kill Agatha Christie

On By Renee Lou Dallow ( Bourgeoise Bloomers )In Now and then

Genesian Theatre Sydney

A smooth realisation of a very clever play. Let’s Kill Agatha Christie, is very like one of those murder mystery games that people like to play at parties. A glamorous murder mystery writer, Prudence Sykes, Caitlin Clancy, not unlike the great Agatha Christie in appearance but certainly not her equal in talent, yearns for the same recognition. Just as Agatha Christie did, Prudence, decides to stage her own disappearance in order to gain attention from the press. Enter three guests. Each invited to spend the night. Each with a grudge against Prudence. What a perfect mystery it would be if one of them should take the blame for her sudden departure. In truth Prudence doesn’t like her guests anymore than they like her. Sir Frederick Belting, Theo Hatzistergos, is a pompous millionaire, John Hartley-Miles,Bryan Smith, is the kind of film star women swoon over, even though his career is in decline, and Marjorie Fielding, Natalie Reid, is a journalist who also has literary ambitions. All have had issues with Prudence Sykes in the past.

Played to the gallery, the characters could have added more supplementary actions and more asides, giving more dimension to their roles. Played for laughs the production seemed at times quite stilted. For example, an old manuscript subtly left out  by Prudence for her guests to read, is picked up by Marjorie, who crosses the stage to open it. Just as she opens it she finds reference to Inspector Murray who has just entered. It would have been less contrived had she browsed the script earlier. 

Still, despite these minor criticisms, Let’s Kill Agatha Christie, is a charming production. Gregory George has directed a very well paced play. Timing and little pieces of business, such as the constant tripping on the stairs, add to the fun. Overall, however, it is the servants who steal the show.  Tombs and Gladys, in particular, played by  Peter. J. Donnelly and Andrea Blight, light up the stage with their droll humour and dedication to Prudence Sykes, to each other and to cleaning up. Quite literally. Could it be that they too are in on the plot? Lots of clever lighting and sound effects give this production a touch of the classic horror mood. Tombs entrances and exits are remarkable. Harry Lewis as P.C. Crockett adds light comic relief with his refreshingly clueless young police officer. A contrast to the calculated actions of all the other characters. Who knows, maybe, Prudence Sykes really can give Agatha Christie a run for her money?

By Renee Lou Dallow

Bourgeoise Reviews And Banter

The Song Of Cicada Wings

On By Renee Lou Dallow ( Bourgeoise Bloomers )In Now and then

Background To The Novel

The song of Cicada Wings is my latest novel. It’s a work of biographical fiction and is the story of an opera singing family based in Brisbane Queensland at the turn of the century. I wanted to immerse the lives of each member of the family in the wider history of Australia whilst telling their individual stories. The Richardsons are actually my family and William Albert Richardson, alias Alberto Ricardi, was my great, great, grandfather.

Whilst sitting in my flat with my little dog, Lester, a terrible storm was raging outside. I was on my computer doing some research and came across my family history quite by accident. I think I was looking up my grandmother and found her name on a website by a man called Rex Sinnott. Apparently his great, great uncle had married Sarah Jane Richardson, who was the sister of William Richardson, the father of my great ,great, grandfather William Albert Richardson. Ver y complicated but there you have it. Sarah Jane and her brother had come to Port Phillip Bay Melbourne, from Huddersfield Yorkshire England, with their father who was after work in the goldfields. Their father was a well known watchmaker by trade. Anyway while their story is a great one that’s going too far back.

My story has begun with the next generation of Richardsons. The all singing Richardsons. While Sarah Jane married the dashing Captain Sinnott thirty years her senior, her brother, William Albert Richardson married Mathilde Mackarethe, a pianist. Mathilde was Scottish and a Presbyterian, while William Albert Richardson, was Catholic. They had met through the great William Saurin Lyster who had brought an opera company from Boston New York To Melbourne Australia. William Saurin was Irish. Mathilde played piano in his company and her husband sang all the great roles for baritone. They had eight children. Four of them became well known opera singers.

Imagine my absolute euphoria on that stormy day. At last I had pieced together my family tree. At least on the Richardson side. I was most excited to trace my family back to Yorkshire. There it was. The history of Colonialism, of settlers, of Federation, of suffragettes and priests and education and segregation. So much to explore! There was my family right at the centre of it all. It is amazing to me how little Austalians know of their own history. I learned so much writing this book. We are so much more than dirt roads and convict toil. If you think this is just another tale of downtrodden convicts then think again. Australia has always embraced the arts. Yet we have been portrayed as uncultured too often. Probably due to our propensity for sports over everything else.

The Richardsons lived in Melbourne and Adelaide but finally settled in Queensland. They travelled to England and back too. New Zealand also plays a big part in this novel as William Albert sang there many times and Edith, the eldest daughter, married and lived there. My great grandfather was Harold, one of the middle children in this novel. His son, my grandfather, Cyril, moved to New Zealand to marry my grandmother, Moira Dallow. As they say, the rest is history. The photo above is the Richardson family in the 1880s in front of their house in Vulture Street Brisbane, Queensland.

Cicadas take years to rise up from the earth and sing their little hearts out. Yet when they do they certainly make up for lost time. They can drown out everything with their song. Just as those great Australian touring opera companies long ago.