“As I get older, I admit to becoming a bit set in my ways and my cup of tea made with rainwater is one of life’s little joys.”

WE NAMED him Moses because we’d rescued the scraggy scrap of fur and bones from a drain before his eyes had even opened. He quickly won us over, and quite frankly, my daughter Sandy and I were completely besotted.

Moses had become accustomed to being fed on demand during my holidays. And now, with me back at work and having spent his very first day alone, he was obviously hungry and extremely irate judging by his noisy protestations which I could hear as I fumbled for the door key. Then the door opened I watched Moses totter towards me on shaky legs which barely supported him. But he was beginning to fill out – thankfully!

***

In our entrance hall Sandy has put up a whiteboard. Both she and I are shift workers and we are sometimes like ships in the night. We use the whiteboard to leave messages for one another. It also gets used for grocery lists. So as my eyes scanned through the couple of grocery items to the bottom of the board, there in considerably smaller writing than is her usual, (as if she hoped I wouldn’t see it), I read Sandy’s message to me. “PS” it said, “Sorry, no time to get water.” And I felt my irritation climb a trifle.

Our small-town water supply is foul-tasting but thankfully we have a water tank and we both prefer to use that water, especially for tea and coffee. The tank is not plumbed to the house and is quite awkward to get to and as I have a dicky knee, Sandy knows her first priority is to ensure that there is always enough tank water in the plastic bucket which we keep just inside the back door. Covered with a piece of netting it sits there and is quite easily accessible. This is the water Sandy was referring to on the whiteboard.

***

So once Moses was fed and happy I was looking forward to a nice cup of tea and irritation bristled again remembering Sandy’s message. As I get older, I admit to becoming a bit set in my ways and my cup of tea made with rainwater is one of life’s little joys. But with Sandy not expected for the next ten hours or so, I would have to use the town water till she came home and that meant a few foul cups of tea.

And so it was that, with a less-than-acceptable cup of tea and Moses contentedly asleep on my lap, I switched the TV on and reached for my knitting, mentally giving Sandy another piece of my mind.

***

The following evening Sandy’s bus pulled into our stop just behind mine and as I walked towards our home her footsteps hastened to catch me up. With the foul tea taste instantly resurrected, my spirits dived to a similar level and I turned on her.

“Thanks a lot,” I pouted without even saying hello.

Sandy’s face was a large question mark. “For what?” she asked, visibly bruised.

“Most of all for not filling the water bucket,” I returned frostily.

“Sorry Mum,” she offered, spreading her hands in a gesture of profound repentance, “I was really in a hurry.”

I quickly cooled down as I always do, but just hadtogetitoffmy chest, and as I opened the front door I turned to Sandy with a mocking, sarcastic smile.

“So why don’t you get some fresh water and we’ll have a nice cup of tea.”

As Sandy chuckled and meandered off towards the back door I was aware of Moses’ mewing but he was nowhere to be seen and then Sandy’s voice reached me.

“Mum, come here,” she called. And as I approached she stood with hands parked resolutely on her hips, her expression priceless.

Grinning wryly she reached down into the empty bucket, plucked out a loudly protesting Moses, his tiny claws hopelessly snarled up in the netting, and dangled him aloft.

“I think you should be really pleased that I didn’t get around to fetching water,” she chortled smugly.

By Carole Caley of Witta

The devastated city of Saigon has become a booming free-wheeling metropolis powered by the God, Honda. A romantic interlude engulfs Conway in a cocktail of violence and murder fuelled by deception, the clash of cultures and the undercurrents of hatred still festering in the minds of some combatants from both sides of the Vietnam conflict.

Pullinger’s knowledge of the language and customs is a masterful blend of travel odyssey and explosive action with a surprise ending.

John Pullinger is a former travel writer, English teacher and hotelier. He was born and educated in Brisbane, and has worked in and out of Southeast Asia for over twenty years. He currently lives and writes on the Hinterland of the Sunshine Coast.

The Last Cyclo to Thanh Da is available from : Rosetta’s Book Shop Maple Street Maleny or via: www.vividpublishing.com.au/lastcyclo

REVIEW BY JACK WILCOX

The book reveals Jim’s deep environmental concerns about the Australia-wide mass killing of our fauna, and the reality of extinction for some common animals. But Jim’s whacky sense of humour saves the day. This is not a book that preaches or blames. His engaging illustrations, unlikely tall tales and simple messages, all point to a deep under- standing of how children think. Adults will enjoy it too.

The Book of Krumple retails for $15 and can be purchased locally at Barung Landcare in the Riverside Centre, Maleny; at ‘Artists on the Green’ every 3rd sunday of the month on the Montville Village Green; at Rosetta Books, Maleny and The Bowerbird in Montville.

Also order from Jim at: cox_maegdefrau@hotmail.com

Favel Parrett is a Victorian writer who loves to surf in the Southern Ocean. Her short stories have been published in journals such as Wet Ink and Island, and her first novel, Past the Shallows, was published in May 2011 by Hachette Australia. For those looking for the varied tastes of stimulating short stories from Australian writers, this fascinating collection in the Griffith Review Fiction Edition is well worth buying.

It was the best part of the day when Mr Peters read to us. He was reading a book that he had written and it was about some kids that had found a portal through time. I don’t remember what it was called or the names of the characters now, but I remember that I was captivated by it then. I listened to the story – to the words spoken in his soft, low, rolling voice. I looked out of the window and I watched the sky, watched the clouds moving. I saw my brother’s class walk out across the lawn, all of them. The whole class.

Most of them were holding hands.

Their teacher was Mrs Davison and she was tall and had long blond hair and she was very beautiful, I thought. I knew that my brother really loved her. I think all of her students loved her. And she was like a shepherd standing among her flock. She looked like a shepherd – the children gathered to her, gathered close under the old chestnut tree where kids played conkers at recess.

Mrs Davison had papers in her hands.

My brother just sat on the floor in his school uniform, one grey sock pulled up to his knee, the other scrunched down around his ankle, when Mum came in and burst into tears and told us about James Tomanek. About how he had been hit by a car on the way home from school.

About how he was dead. And he didn’t cry, my brother. I didn’t see him cry. I only saw his body shake – just a shudder, like something very small had collapsed inside his bones.

The accident was on the news. Flashing lights reflecting off a fallen school bag, the emblem of a Waratah with the

Latin words that meant No man is an island shining out in the dark. And the man on the TV got it wrong because he said it was a high school boy that had been hit by a car and died from his injuries on the way to the hospital. But it wasn’t a high school boy. It was a small boy.

A boy just as small as my brother.

James Tomanek had come to my brother’s birthday party three days before and he was like an angel then with his white hair and blue eyes – his skin so pale. Not see-through like mine, just creamy and pale. He gave my brother a huge pencil case. It was all the bright colours in stripes and my brother carried it around with him for a long time after the party, after everyone had gone. He put all of his pencils and pens carefully inside and put it in his school bag ready for school the next day.

Monday. Then there was Tuesday and then there was Wednesday.

I was on the bus and I had seen James and my brother walking out of the school gate together. My brother got on the bus and he waved to James and James waved back – his hair bright against the grey sky and the grey of his uniform.

It started to rain as the bus pulled away.

Mr Peters stopped reading. He put the book away but I kept looking out of the window. Even when other kids were busy working on projects, I just sat looking out of the window. And my brother’s class stayed out there under that old chestnut tree all day.

They had lunch together, and in the late afternoon they walked back to their classroom with Mrs Davidson leading the way. They were all still holding hands.

This is an extract from

Griffith REVIEW 34:

The Annual Fiction Edition

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droppings on your shoes. I was always a city man, loving the action, the hustle, the deals, the dives, the doing.

My two sons and daughter run the businesses now. I suspect they might be moving out of the graft and corruption side of things and becoming more respectable. Anyway I don’t want to know, they pay me a comfortable allowance and I’m happy. I have a cottage, on a rise, at the end of a lonely road, and I can see whomever is coming.

I sit at the large, front window quite a lot these days; I even caught myself watching birds recently. My housekeeper comes once a week to keep things tidy and I ask for a gardener occasionally – I might even watch what he does and give it a go myself one day, I know nothing about that nature stuff.

I’m spending a lot of my time thinking, thinking about this and that, about times gone by, the what ifs: … whilst I sit I let my mind float free.

Anatolia drifts in and out of my mind’s eye. I thought I had forgotten her, well, eliminated her from my head. Hindsight is hollow wisdom, but how could I have done what I did to such a decent person? I suppose the arrogance of ignorance in youth makes you think you are invincible and you’ll get away with it.

All the subsequent years with my good and faithful wife and lovely children: I made sure I was a decent, true husband and father.

Now my memory has, unbidden, brought back the images of Anatolia when she found I was unfaithful and deceitful – that look that pierced me to the core. She was so dignified: no tantrums, abuse, accusations. I didn’t see her again.

Now she has come to me in stylised visions: running, carefree, in a meadow, hair flying, skirt billowing, laughing. She intimates all is forgiven, she is returning.

Of course it’s all in my head, but I think I ought to stay here by the window, watching, just in case.

His previous books are Vietnam: The Australian War (2007) and Kokoda (2004). ‘Vietnam’ won the NSW Premier’s Prize for Australian History and was shortlisted for the Prime Minister’s Prize for Non-Fiction (2008), Since 1998, Paul has been the Australia correspondent for The London

Sunday Times, covering politics, business and current affairs. He has a Masters degree in Economic History from the London School of Economic, and lives in Sydney with his wife, Marie, and son, Oliver.

Paul Ham will talk about his new book at the Maleny RSL Hall on Thursday 3rd, November – 5.30pm for 6pm. Bookings- Rosetta Books 30 Maple St Maleny.

Alex lives with his wife in the old gold-mining town of Castlemaine and in keeping with recent Outspoken guests, Steven assures us that Alex is a fabulous raconteur.

Steven will also introduce poet and musician Geoffrey Datson and his author wife, Annette. Then, and Then: a Memoir is Geoffrey’s major work – a collection of spoken word poetry and song from the past ten years. Geoffrey and Annette will talk about the work and perform songs from it.

Outspoken is at the Maleny Community Centre. Proceedings start at 6pm with an open bar and complimentary cheese and biscuits. The conversation with Alex Miller begins at 6.30pm.

Bookings – Maleny Bookshop, Shop 2, 41 Maple St, Maleny. Telephone: 5494 3666

Know Where to Walk, by Palmwoods author Julie Doonan, is due out in late September and details interesting walking routes you wouldn’t know about unless you were local to that area.

An avid walker, author Julie Doonan has stumbled across many hidden backstreet treasures on her walks, from parks and playgrounds to little known pathways, intriguing boardwalks and fairytale footbridges, and compiled them into her book.

“I am very excited to share these secret pedestrian passages I have discovered across the Sunshine Coast,” says Julie. “These unique suburban walking circuits have been cleverly designed connecting pathways, easements, boardwalks and footbridges.

“For once, as a pedestrian, you can feel you have the right of way, accessing places only walkers can. You’ll know, at a glance, exactly what terrain you can expect, what level of endurance you would require and what fun there is to have along the way.”

The accompanying sketches are by local illustrator, Marcus Blackman, who says, “I wanted to compliment the local perspective, giving people a look into the unique character of each suburb and its walk.”

Of great benefit to the Sunshine Coast is the access these circuits open up to people of all levels of mobility interconnecting the coast’s paved pathway networks. If you are one of the many families wanting to increase your children’s step count, you’ll have some great weekend outings using this directory of 40 fun walks. Many of the circuits make walking with children more realistic with pathways for them to scooter or ride along by your side.

Julie refers to a scene we are all familiar with. “You know how you see locals striding out in their suburb on their daily walks? It seems many of us have the know-how on keeping fit and healthy. This guide gives you the ‘know- where’ on these great walking circuits across the coast.”

Julie is presenting her ‘five senses virtual walk’ at libraries across the Sunshine Coast throughout October.

Know Where to Walk is a home-grown product, born, bred and bound on the Sunshine Coast.

For more information call Julie on 0412 765 255 or visit www.knowwheretowalk.com.au

Christopher has now branched out into fiction. His first novel, The Chase, is released by MacMillan this month. It is set in the doubtful world of horse racing in post-war Australia.

The evening will commence with a short reading from local playwright and poet Kevin Smith.

In September Outspoken brings you an evening with Ann Patchett, (in association with Brisbane Writers Festival) author of seven novels, including Bel Canto, winner of the Orange Prize for Fiction. Her new novel, State of Wonder, is garnering fantastic reviews.

Maleny Community Centre – $12 – 6.00pm. Wed August 17 Bookings essential. Maleny Bookshop 5494 3666.

This dramatic political novel features a cast of rogues, opportunists and idealists set against a background of corruption, strikes and union bashing in Queensland. This was in the 1920s and Jack O’Leary — socialist, railway worker and fiery unionist — befriends Fred Paterson, a young lawyer who has joined the newly-formed Communist Party of Australia.

The tensions of the novel revolve around the conflict between the ALP’s socialist agenda and the newly-formed Communist party, as well as the political aspirations of its leading characters.

Dale Jacobson wrote this book after months of detailed research into the grandfather she never knew. She says her novel is intended for those interested in Australian political and working-class history. Whilst the manuscript takes the form of an historical novel, it is thoroughly researched and factually correct and could reliably be used as a reference source.

“This is not meant to be a definitive history of the Labor Party,” says Dale, “nor the Australian Railways Union. It is a story of the personal cost to a man who lived by his principles.”

Maleny- based Dale is an award-winning freelance writer., she is also a contract researcher and writer for Queensland Parks and Wildlife Service and editor of The Queensland Journal of Labour History.

Hinterland author, Steven Lang will launch Dale Jacobsen’s new novel, Union Jack at Maleny’s Rosetta Books on Friday August 26 at 5.30pm for 6pm. $10 incl. drinks & nibbles. Bookings essential Tel: 54352134 or email: reading@rosettabooks.com.au