Two Marches in March

Today I found myself at the March in March. It was amazing to see so many people out on the streets of Melbourne, all with different complaints and concerns. The effectiveness of social media networking to bring people together and advertise events is quite mindblowing.


On Twitter later today I found out that there was another march, on the wonderful Sydney Road. In fact earlier today I had been near the Sydney Road Baptist Church, from where the march started. Tri Nguyen, who had arrived in Australia after a horrendous boat trip from Vietnam and shocking experiences in a refugee camp in a third country, is setting out on a 35 day walk from Brunswick to Canberra, hauling a wooden replica of the boat which carried them through the monsoon. The boat had "thank you" written on the side, thanking the Australian community for the kindness and welcome he and his family had received.

What a wonderful odyssey, back up the trapdoor to Melbourne, to the seat of power in Canberra, via those small towns which are perhaps not as multicultural as Brunswick but with a great diversity of opinions and personalities. I will be following his journey, and gaining inspiration from it.

Teatro do fin do ano

As usual we spent New Year’s Eve quietly, however it was wonderful to be able to see quite a lot of the Melbourne midnight fireworks from the window of the front room. Vince always laughs at me when I say the Brunswick flat has “city views” but indeed we could see most of the pyrotechnics that were set off from the tops of buildings.

A few years ago I was lucky enough to resume an old connection with my childhood penfriend, Rosario, in Portugal. When we were schoolgirls and later students, we carried on a long friendship by correspondence. It was one of those legendary exchanges of letters that went on for years, accompanied by the sense of excitement when one opens a letter that has travelled through time and space half way across the world.

The time of lilacs

 

There are some flowers that only appear for a short time. Lilacs are an example. The pale lilac variety only blooms for a few weeks in October and then they go brown and quickly fade away. The white and dark purple variants extend the season a bit.

Autumn in Brunswick

 Yin and Yang. The black bluestone blocks of the kerb and the paperthin leaves coming to rest, piling up in ever shifting mounds on the streetside. The blocks hewn once and for all from deep gorges in the ground along the banks of Merri Creek, the leaves only one season old and already cast adrift.

This afternoon the radio played “Autumn Leaves” sung by Nat King Cole. As I drove home I thought of songs and poetry inspired by autumn. Although yesterday was the first of May , when spring explodes in Europe (Karel Hynek Macha’s famous lines always linger in my mind when this day comes along or when I hear the date said: Byl prvni Maj, byl lasky cas –the first of May, the time of love… ), here in the southern hemisphere it is the time of the shortening days, the oblique rays, the melancholy shadows and timid light.

Even my students, compelled to learn poems about the heavy fruits, the dying leaves and the clattering of the flags, must have got an insight... perhaps.

Rear Window

I recently watched this Alfred Hitchcock movie on afternoon television. Of course the highlight was Grace Kelly’s dresses, including her very 1950s negligee (who remembers the crucial line in adult movies when the lady says to the male visitor “let me just slip into something more comfortable”), but what amazed me even more was the very idea of apartment windows opening onto an interior courtyard.

Graffiti and signage

Where to start? In this densely built-up environment, there is visual communication, in the form of writing or pictures, everywhere. Recently I read the book: “Characters: Cultural stories revealed through typography” by Stephen Banham, who I believe is also a Brunswick resident. (There is a great article on the book and part of an interview at this link to TheDesign Files blog.) Reading Banham’s book and admiring the photographs reinforced my view that it is not only what is written, but how it is written, that is fascinating and revelatory.

Often, the revelations are just in the eye of the beholder. Where one finds a scribble, a sign. What one has been thinking about, what one is looking for. Here are some examples:

Bohemian Brunswick: of course it did not take me long to discover this piece of commissioned graffiti art in a laneway along Sydney Road.

Nicholson Street

It is Christmas Day Mass in Our Lady Help of Christians church on Nicholson Street. This church celebrated its centenary earlier in 2011, and its story is very interesting and you can read about it on their website. The most striking feature of the church is certainly the golden statue on top of the church tower, of Our Lady holding her child. She faces East, towards the sunrise and looks down over busy Nicholson Street, which, along with Sydney Road, is one of the grand routes leading into the city of Melbourne.

I have a recollection of being told that my father lived in a room of a house somewhere on Nicholson Street. That was in 1948, when he and my mother arrived in Australia from Czechoslovakia as displaced persons. After a short time in the Bathurst migrant reception centre, they were brought to Melbourne to work off their 2 year bond to the Chifley government which had opened its doors to this wave of Europe’s “tired”, its “huddled masses”.

Brunswick Road

A man is fixing up his house. The dimensions of the dwelling seem to be about three metres across and from what I can see of the roof line, not much more deep. It is almost like an oversized cubby house. He is stripping paint on the front porch, and the wooden plank juts out over the pavement. The front door is less than a metre away from the black bitumen of the footpath. Not far away, however, behind the row of houses that front onto Brunswick road, there is a large slate roof, and two tall palm trees. I have not been able to find an alley way which leads to this house. I am curious about what it looks like. It must be one of the oldest dwellings around here, and all the other jumble of buildings have grown up around it.

The laneways between Brunswick Road and the linear park which forms the southern boundary of the City of Moreland, exist in a dimension of their own. Unlike the long back lanes of Carlton, where the view is channelled onto the city skyscrapers in the distance, these small lanes lead you past a series of gates, doors and fences in unexpected twists and turns. A morning glory creeper covers an old chimney. A fig tree breaks through palings and a passionfruit vine trails over a wall. Walking down the bluestone cobbles, turning the corner, I get the same feeling as in the medieval alleys of Prague. Except that all of a sudden you come across a weatherboard house that, were it in the Australian bush, would scream “rural poverty”. But it is probably worth a small fortune.