Regular readers of my drivel will know that I am more than a little partial to the sweet things in life: cake, muffins and scones. I don’t tend to eat many biscuits as I am the sort of person who, when offered one, will scoff the packet or plate. But I do have moments when I can’t resist. I went through serious withdrawal a few years back when the National Gallery Members’ Lounge ceased serving my favourite chocolate afghan cookie and when we had coffee at the Hyatt one Sunday recently I went feral swiping from my friends’ plates when they served Christmas star shortbread as part of their Christmas in July. As far as I am concerned, if you have to have a biscuit, home made is definitely best and when I fail to resist temptation totally, I will make either Anzac biscuits or rock cakes. No matter how tempted, I generally avoid shop bought because of the nasties contained within. But recently, I was able to eat shop bought to my heart’s or stomach’s content.
I managed to pick up a nasty tummy bug (AKA full blown food poisoning) and after a night which I hope will not be repeated in a hurry, I was feeling mighty delicate. David rushed out for the glucozade, whitest bread possible and a pack of plain biscuits. After a night where I got to know the porcelain a little more intimately than I would have liked, there was nothing better than toast and vegemite with butter (without gives me indigestion and butter IS better as long as you don’t eat too much) on white bread, weak tea and a nice plain biscuit. Or four, or five. Packet two disappeared almost as quickly as packet one. Three days later I was still feeling delicate (well, that is what I told David and he believed me) and still the bikkies disappeared into my tummy! I finally admitted that perhaps I was better (as we fronted up to curry for lunch) and no more malts have been seen since. Shame. I thoroughly enjoyed my re-acquaintance with shop bought bikkies but am left musing.... when you were a kid, did your biscuit dissolve so quickly when you dunked it? Time and again I delicately dunked and time and again I either wore the mush as it splotched on my jumper or tried to spoon it out of the bottom of the cup. There is nothing elegant about a dodgy tummy and the aftermath!
With the final talk regarding Jack Davenport at the Australian War Memorial now over and done with, I now feel as if there is a real ending to that phase of my life. (The talk, by the way, went really well – not that I am biased – and I was thrilled to see some of you there, as well as the son of one of Jack Davenport’s pilots who had travelled from Orange to attend.) Jack consumed me for the last four years and it was a joy discovering his life and then writing about it. But now, it is time to turn to my new project, which I have mentioned in these missives before. Writing about Jack was a challenge but writing about the Australian fighter pilots in the Battle of Britain will be even more of a challenge as some of them just seem to have faded from the collective consciousness. The information is all out there, I just have to find it. This morning I had a fine old time scrolling through the resources of the National Library of Australia’s Australian Newspapers On-line project http://ndpbeta.nla.gov.au/ndp/del/home It is still far from complete but is well worth a look if you are searching for something or someone that might have hit the newspapers. One of the fighter pilots was Canberran and either he or his family was mentioned at least 34 times during the 1920s-40s. (Don’t get me wrong, this chap has not faded from the collective consciousness: I just not found those yet who still remember him.) I have a bit of info re his RAF career but little on his personal life but it is amazing the personal information you can glean from what was then a small town paper: he had a talent for music (as had his parents) and was doing well in his private music lessons as indicated by the published results, enjoyed aussie rules and rugby league, was an average sort of student, and was a messenger in the public service before he went to Point Cook. His family had a wide circle of friends, his mother was involved with the Methodist church and charitable affairs and his father, a plasterer, worked on the construction of Parliament House (perhaps that is the reason the family moved from Sydney, but who knows). It was a fun morning, discovering just a little of the background of the boys. Now all I need to do is find someone who knew of him in his boyhood and young adulthood. A bit of an ask I know but you never know! So, if any of you knew Flight Lieutenant (later Group Captain in the post-war RAF) Desmond Frederick Burt Sheen DFC of the Causeway/Kingston and attendee of Telopea Park School, older brother of Gordon and son of W E Sheen, please let me know!
Today is a very exciting day. We have been up since 5 am in preparation for the fencing blokes who will be finishing off our green colour bond with a gate. It may not sound exciting but, believe me, it is. Having a gate, which can be closed, which ranges from but a bare millimetre from the ground to the metric equivalent of 6 feet high, means that our little cat Misty can range free in the ‘garden’ unsupervised and protected from marauding feline visitors. Up until now, she has only been allowed outside supervised as she is still a bit unsure of what to do in the great outdoors (prior to coming to us she had spent 10 years indoors, never setting delicate brown paw onto grass or sniffing the fresh breeze). A very exciting day. Guess I had better get on with it, then!
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