The Broken Book

 

 

Neglect is a relative term. Charmian Clift is a good example. In the U.S., she gained slight notice for her two books about life on a Greek island back in the 1950s, disappeared after that, and is utterly unknown today. However, in Australia, she and her husband, the novelist George Johnston are major figures in the country’s cultural history.

I wrote elsewhere about the Johnston family — see "In the footsteps of the Johnston family" — and always thought I had read everything ever written by or about George Johnston and Charmian Clift since my years in Greece during which I visited their old home on the island of Hydra.

 

 

Imagine my surprise and delight when, during some aimless 'googling' today, I came across "The Broken Book" which is a fictionalisation of Charmian Clift's life. And it is available on ebay both as a paperbook and audiobook. Of course, I ordered both, even though I could not help myself already dipping into the online book at www.archive.org.

 

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Pondering the problems of the world

 

 

Sitting on the jetty and pondering the problems of the world, I suddenly realise that, at my age, I don't really give a rat's ass anymore. I mean, if walking is good for your health, the postman would be immortal. A whale swims all day, only eats fish, and drinks water, but is still fat. A rabbit runs, and hops, and only lives fifteen years; a tortoise doesn't run, and does mostly nothing, yet it lives for 150 years. And they tell us to exercise? I don't think so.

Now that I'm older, here's what I've discovered:

• I started out with nothing, and I still have most of it.
• My wild oats are mostly enjoyed with prunes and all-bran.
• Funny, I don't remember being absent-minded.
• Funny, I don't remember being absent-minded.
• If all is not lost, then where the heck is it?
• It was a whole lot easier to get older than it was to get wiser.
• Some days, you're the top dog, some days you're the hydrant.
• I wish the buck really did stop here; I sure could use a few of them.
• Kids in the back seat cause accidents.
• Accidents in the back seat cause kids.
• It is hard to make a comeback when you haven't been anywhere.
• The world only beats a path to your door when you're in the bathroom.
• If God wanted me to touch my toes, he'd have put them on my knees.
• When I'm finally holding all the right cards, everyone wants to play chess.
• It is not hard to meet expenses ... they're everywhere.
• The only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth..
• Funny, I don't remember being absent-minded.

Have I sent this message to you before? Or did I get it from you?

 

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We used to call him "The Colonel"

 

 

And what variety of people I met, and what interesting friends I made! Some of the names I still remember are ... the retired dotty surveyor, known as "The Colonel", who spoke to no-one and always walked about with his own cutlery in his pockets. In the mornings he would stand outside the communal shower cubicles and rap his walking-stick on the door if anyone dared to stand under the shower beyond what he considered was a reasonable time." [Extract from "Welcome to BARTON HOUSE!"]

 

 

There, I mentioned him one more and perhaps not for the last time: "The Colonel". His real name was Ernest John Dowling, and his final rank had been Private. He worked as an assistant surveyor in Canberra from at least 1910 and lived at Acton, until he enlisted with the 3rd Division Pioneers on 7 October 1916 in Melbourne. He arrived in France in March 1918 and was admitted to hospital in December with tuberculosis. He returned to Australia in June 1919 and was discharged on 27 July 1919.

 

Back row on right

 

He again worked in Canberra after the war, and when I ran into him in 1965 - it was always a run-in, never a meeting - he was a very cranky seventy-four-year-old living in retirement at Barton House in Canberra, if putting up with a couple of hundred young Bank Johnnies and public servants who were at least half a century younger than him could be called 'retirement'. I had just turned twenty myself and was as callous and uncaring as the rest of them, and it is only in my own retirement, after I have grown as old as he was then, that I feel slightly ashamed of how I and the rest of us used to make a figure of fun of an old man who had served in both wars, had always done his duty and, by choice or through circumstance, lived out the rest of his life in a boarding-house.

 

 

Born in Geelong on 20 March 1891, he died, alone and without a next of kin, on 13 August 1971. He is buried in Woden Cemetery in Canberra.

 

Mount Dowling. Photo courtesy of John Evans

 

Still, "The Colonel", old and dotty as he may have been, seems to have the last laugh because today there is in the Australian Capital Territory a mountain that bears his name and a trig station is also named after him.

 

Trig station on top of Mount Dowling. Photo courtesy of John Evans

 

Im sure that's more immortality than most of us could ever hope for.

 

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I wrote this story on this day 23 years ago

 

 

We were spending Padma's birthday at Moruya where we had an enjoyable midday lunch in the beergarden of the "Adelaide Hotel" overlooking the Moruya River when a man on a pushbike pulled up for a rest. He had a tiny Maltese puppy in his backpack which made us talk to him. He turned out to be an Austrian by the name of Robert Krenn who was pedalling from Melbourne to Sydney (a distance close to 1000 km) and who had ridden his bike all over the world with many stories to tell.

We invited Rob to stay with us at Riverbend and he turned up late that same afternoon to overnight in our guest cottage. We talked and talked and became very good friends. And his little Maltese puppy and our dog Malty became very good friends as well! So much so that when it was time for him to leave next day late in the afternoon, we suggested to him that if he ever needed a good home for his little puppy, we would be very happy to take care of him!

Late that same evening, Rob called us from Burrill Lake, some fifty kilometres north of Batemans Bay, to ask if we had been serious about wanting to take care of his little puppy as he felt we would give him a much better home than he ever could. Of course, we had been serious with our offer! So we got into our car and drove north to meet Rob at his campsite where we drank hot tea, walked along the beach and gazed at the stars, and talked some more. We returned home well after midnight with the new member of our family whom we have called "Rover" as he has already travelled so much!

Malty and Rover are now very good friends and the house is a very lively place with Rover exploring his new home. At night he sleeps on our bed between the two pillows, usually on his back with his four legs spread out in all directions. He is a dear little fellow and is a great addition to the family!"

And that's how the Riverbend Trio became a Quartet! Both Malty and Rover have since gone to Dog Heaven but their memory still lives on!

 

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Just saying ...

 

 

A lot of work is going on across the backfence on our neighbours' acreage where they are planting trees, moving earth, sinking septic tanks, installing toilets, building sheds, and erecting a huge marquee for their commercial venture, "Orange Grove Farm Weddings".

I wish them well but in view of our local demographics, wouldn't funerals be a better business? They could've even pencilled me in.

Just saying ...

 

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