Graffiti Artists of the Bush

 

Dispersed throughout the bushland that hugs Callala Beach, are the most beautiful smooth-barked white gum trees that stand like pointers to an ancient world. During the day, their ethereal forms captivate and at night they stand conspicuously amongst their brothers and sisters of the bushland world.

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One of a variety of Scribbly Gums

 

The Scribbly Gum is in complete contrast to the rough, scraggly limbs of the revered Old Man Banksia. They stand shorter and slimmer than the robust Swamp Mahogany. The Scribbly holds out its limbs, smooth and glossy and often forms ‘wrinkles’ where the boughs meet.  Each of these beautiful trees are an essential contributor to the endangered Bangalay Sand Forest.

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Wrinkles

 

There are a few types of eucalyptus trees fondly named Scribbly Gums and they each received their title thanks to the Scribbly Gum Moth. These trees are constantly shedding their bark to not only reveal the smoothest of ‘skin’ but the signatures of a moth larva.

So how does this graffiti artist tag the bark of these magnificent trees? The eggs of the moth are laid between the old and new season’s bark. The moth’s larvae tunnel in loops and zigzags just below the bark’s surface. The tree sends out scar tissue which the caterpillars love to devour. They reach maturity quickly, growing legs before turning around to eat their way back out. Next, they leave the tree to form a cocoon and pupate. Not long after this the gum tree sheds its bark to reveal the secret signatures that make the Scribbly iconic.

Scribbly Gum Moth

The Ogmograptis scribula is rarely seen in
its moth form

 

These scribbles have been recorded by the first botanists that visited Australia’s shores as well as artists and writers. The graffiti artists of the bush have found a place in Australia’s culture.

Judith Wright’s poem called Scribbly Gum reveals an ancient language:

I peeled its splitting bark
and found the written track
of a life I could not read

Late Blue Mountains poet, Graham Alcorn wrote a poem: The Scribblygum Moth

Some chew up and some chew down,

This the philosophers might explain,

But the thing that causes me to frown,

The thing I’d dearly love to learn

Is what makes every Ogmo turn?

Off to the left, then to the right,

Another about turn, very tight,

Chomping a track, Forward and back,

On various species of gum tree.

 

And who didn’t love Snugglepot and Cuddlepie as a child? Their little gum-leaf banners were inspired by the secretive scrawls of the artist.

Snuggle Pot and Cuddle Pie

Snugglepot & Cuddlepie’s  Scribbled Banners

 

A few years ago, a young school girl named Julia Cooke was obviously captivated with the scribbles on the bark in the bush. With a little help she discovered there were very different dialects amongst these scribblers and other researchers took up the chase! As a result, eleven new Scribbly Gum Moths were discovered, with three of them having an ancestor with a species that lived on the ancient supercontinent Gondwana.

All of this goes to show there truly is so much more to discover out there in that beautiful bush we are fortunate to have surround the coastal villages of Callala Beach and Myola.

What Makes People Happy?

In the last week, I have read about two studies that delve into the subject of what makes people happy. The first study involved over thirty thousand participants and was conducted in Canada. It found that people living on streets with numerous trees (more than ten) felt better both mentally and physically than those who didn’t live under a canopy of green. The ‘tree people’ tended to live seven years longer and suffered less health problems such as diabetes, heart disease and obesity. Another benefit of living on a tree-lined street was that it made one feel as though they had received a salary rise of up to twenty thousand dollars! In other words, you will feel rich when there are trees surrounding you that act like huge lungs absorbing not only the carbon dioxide and pollution humans create but all that negative energy that can intrude on one’s life.

I thought about my street in Myola, lined with immense eucalyptus trees. How I can walk, feeling protected and nurtured, under this shelter of shade on my short journey to Callala Beach. The word ‘eucalyptus’ comes from the combination of two Greek words, meaning well-covered. Surely, all this extra foliage must add years to the lives of my fellow Myolians. Seriously though, one reason why I moved to this area was because the community are a very content and cheerful bunch. Perhaps it has to do with all the trees that surround these towns.

Catherine Street, Myola

Catherine Street, Myola

The second study, conducted in Melbourne, reported that people who live in towns smaller than one thousand were significantly happier than those in big cities. The combined total of Callala beach and Myola is less than one thousand. Bingo! The reasons for this increased life satisfaction can be numerous. You will never come across a traffic light, and rarely will you see traffic congestion on your drive through Myola or Callala Beach. Crime in cities by far outweighs what you will find in these small towns. In small communities, people look out for one another. They stop, talk and listen. This sense of community is not very forthcoming in large cities.

I would like to add another ingredient to this recipe for happiness and that is living on the shores of Jervis Bay. Being able to walk the five kilometre stretch of Callala Beach every day enriches my life. Being able to take my dog on these walks makes it even better. In addition, pet owners are supposed to enjoy a greater sense of well-being.

Mali Jumping for Joy on Callala Beach

Mali Jumping for Joy on Callala Beach

The ‘Happiness Generator’ is on high at Callala Beach no matter what season of the year. Even if it’s a cold Winter’s afternoon, the tide is high and storms have turned the bay into a fierce creature that swells and surges towards the shores. When the frothing tongues of the sea come biting at your feet and you laugh racing towards the higher dunes to escape.

Storm

When on a Summer’s morning, your breath is taken away because you are forced to turn to the sound of a dolphin’s exhalation. And a pod swims past.

Resident Pod of Dolphins at Callala Beach

Resident Pod of Dolphins at Callala Beach

The exhilaration I feel when I step outside the front door and see a kangaroo on the lawn.

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Or if am walking down the street and find an echidna rummaging for ants.

Ernie the Echidna

Ernie the Echidna

In each of these moments, I feel such an extraordinary sense of delight. I feel like I belong to this place. I want to give back twofold what it gives to me. Big hugs to the trees, the nature and the other nine hundred and ninety nine residents in my small beach-side community. Together, we can feel so lucky. So privileged. So grateful. And of course, extremely happy!

Research: The Trocadero Sydney 1930s and 1940s

The Trocadero 1930s and 1940s

I am currently spending many hours researching for a historical fiction novel that I am writing. It is set in Sydney and spans the decades, starting in the 1930s. My father often reminisced about dancing in the 1950s at The Trocadero or as the locals called it, The Troc. It was referred to as a dance palace and restaurant, not a dance hall or club. The classy ‘Palais de Dance’ on George Street (now the site of the Hoyts Cinema) was the place to go to for a good night out. I really wanted this iconic piece of Sydney’s history to feature in my novel.

Troc 40s

My main character loves to dance and listen to music. She is a seamstress and makes beautiful clothing, when she can afford the fabric. So I needed to find out if The Trocadero opened before the fifties and if so what it was like during the forties and WW2. I discovered that it was built during the hard-hitting times of the 1930s. It’s astounding to think that in the midst of The Great Depression, at a cost of £150,000, a man named Jim Bendrodt opened its grand Art Deco doors on 3rd April, 1936. I can only imagine what it would have been like to wait for friends outside its unmistakable 1930’s facade. Walking into the foyer with its marble floors and polished granite walls would have instantly cast you into the world of modern grandeur. Large relief murals of famous dancers and fleur- de-lis carpet. Colours of scarlet and gold, all typical of the Art Deco style.

My research also revealed that The Trocadero was alive and well in the wartime years of the 1940s, catering to those in search of a good night as well as all the American servicemen who came to protect our shores. This was the era of swing and jazz. In the forties, this was the place to do the jitterbug, made so popular by those handsome yanks. It was where patrons could pay a small entry fee for hours of entertainment. Big names such as Artie Shaw appeared in 1943 with his American Navy Band. This was the time of the Big Bands and here you would swing to its very own, the All Girl Trocadero Band led by Frank Coughlin. (Take a look at the Australian Women’s History Forum blog post that describes one of the band members, Hilda Tansey: http://womenshistory.net.au/2006/02/15/hilda-tansey/)

In my novel, I have my main character ‘swinging’ with a man she just meets who later becomes her husband. She walks into The Trocadero with her two girlfriends, and is literally swept off her feet by Billy:

She listens to the music. One hand finds her lower back, the other flicks her out. The rhythms tell her what to do, how to move. Nellie follows his eyes, he angles in towards her and she leans in too. A little skip on the spot and the two of them clap in time, spin again before facing each other, clasping hands. Her hips swing and her fluted skirt swirls above her knees. His smile broadens. They gravitate towards the centre of the dance floor. Around she goes, hips in tempo with the music. He releases her hand completely and she twirls through the space around them. There are cheers from the gathering crowds. For those harmonious moments there is no war and Nellie feels like a star.

 ***

After all that swinging, jiving and jitterbugging it was time for a refreshment. There wasn’t  any alcohol served at The Trocadero until the sixties. Instead there was a milk bar and two refreshment bars selling non-alcoholic beverages and specialty sundaes!

The Trocadero’s history is an interesting and colourful one and I hope to take you there again, to  the fifties and sixties. But that’s another blog post. In the meantime, back to the forties and writing that novel.