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thewardlowcollection · 5 years

Note

Hello Librarians! Many people do not like the rain but as I live in Southern California it is a precious commodity with our never ending drought. Can you recommend fins that involve water? Beaches, baths, showers, rain—even a garden hose! I love reading the wardlow collection!

Water, Water, Everywhere

Oh Anonymous, what a great ask. Despite living mostly in more rain prone regions of the world, we librarians love fics that involve getting our beloved characters wet. In fact, we still hope for a scene like this in the MFMM movie:

It’s unlikely given the location, but one can still hope.

It seems that the writers love this theme too. You will find a lot of shower/bath or similar scenes in longer fics or drabble compilations. In fact, there are too many to mention all. So we decided to give you only fics in which water plays a main role or which features scenes that we love dearly.

Rain

Speechless (2016) by @promisesarepiecrust Phryne and Jack get caught out in the rain and need to stand very close to keep dry. They can’t talk because of the thunder, whatever are they supposed to do?

It’s raining men (2018) by @deverewinterton A car breaks down in the middle of a thunderstorm, the mobile phone is not invented yet, what can you do? If you are DI Jack Robinson of City South you will knock on Miss Fisher’s door with the intention to call for a mechanic, but end up in front of the fireplace getting warmed by the lady of the house.

Something Wild (2013) by ijemanja On the hunt for a fugitive Phryne and Jack get stranded in the mountains and need a place to keep safe and warm. Conveniently they stumble upon a small cabin with only one bed to share.

T.G.I.Phrack Chapter 5: Warm (2016) Dispatch22705 Here you kill two birds with one stone. A rain soaked Phryne knocks on Jack’s door. He is trying to get her warm in the shower.

Sweltering (2014) by @jeneenp (CollingwoodGirl) Melbourne is in the grip of a heat wave while the sexual tension between Phryne and Jack grows. The relief for both comes with a thunderstorm, rain and hailstorm.

Pandora’s Box (2016) by @heavyheadedgal A London reunion fic, which is very light on the rain but the image of a rain soaked Jack standing in front of Phryne’s door made our hearts skip a beat.

Home (2017) by @firesign23 Even though our favorite Detectives stay dry in this one, the rain is doing what it should do, keeping them where they should be…in the bedroom

Ocean and Beach

Wave of Laughter (2018) by @edeainfj (deedeeinfj) A little Phrack at the beach never hurt nobody.

If I Could Be With You (One Hour Tonight) (2014) by @misspamela The Queenscliff case goes horribly wrong before Phrack emerges even stronger.

A Night in Queenscliff (2017) by @whopooh Another wonderful version of the Queenscliff episode. Which not only deals with the truth about shenanigans on the beach, but also gives us a glimpse into the following episodes.

Diving In (2017) by @221aubrina The Queenscliff diving scene before it went to the cutting room. We really were robbed.

Drink the Wild Air (2018) by @omgimsarahtoo Phryne and Jack are on a beach and are remembering the Queenscliff case

Life Saver (2018) by @jeneenp (CollingwoodGirl) Phryne returns to Melbourne from London just to find Jack undercover as a lifeguard. Yes, you heard right, Miss Fisher goes Baywatch. Sadly the fic is not finished yet, so please @jeneenp if you can find your muse again we would love to read some new chapters.

Paradise (2018) by @ollyjayonline Jack is enjoying his vacation on a sunny beach, what could possibly go wrong?

what the water gave me (2015) by missrainydays A sad but at the same time beautiful introspective fic. The Ocean is only metaphorical but it does work really well.

Pools

Gone for a Swim (2015) by PlayfulMay Phryne finds Jack swimming in Aunt P’s pool and they both get playful until Aunt P is cockblocking (again). This is the first part of the 3 part series The Tease. Make sure to read the other two fics too.

Varying States of Muscular Undress (2015) by @gaslightgallows Five times Phryne gets some or all of Jack’s clothes off, and one time he does it himself. The fic is a collection of “extended Scene” for different episodes of the show. The scene for the tennis episode is the one that includes skinny dipping.

Terra Nova (2016) by @aljohnsonwrites Part 3 of the YACI universe - a wonderful modern AU - (We recommend you check out all the other fics in that series. They are delightful.) This one has not only the Firemen’s and Policemen’s Ball but also Aunt P’s annual “Welcome to Spring BBQ” and a pool.

If the Choice were Mine (2015) by @flashofthefuse Phryne and Jack try to navigate their new relationship and go swimming after the tennis episode.

Tubs and Showers

Creatures of Stillness (2016) by @gaslightgallows Jack turns up on Phryne’s door in London a little worse for wear but Phryne is here to help. Cleaning up can be so much fun.

Muscular Distress (2015) by @gaslightgallows This is a missing scene from the above mentioned Varying States of Muscular Undress. During the shenanigans in VSoMD Jack is in desperate need of a shower.

You Asked For It Chapter 104: Foolscap (2015) by @gaslightgallows After a hard case, Phryne takes a bath. This is a follow up scene for the Beyond the Sea AU. This one works even if you haven’t read Beyond the Sea, but we do recommend to read it, as it is a wonderful fic.

The Female Gaze (2016) by @omgimsarahtoo Five different “Jack is in the shower” scenes. And yes, there’s an abundance of female gazing!

Coming Clean (2015) by @omgimsarahtoo Jack and Phryne make perfect use of their bathrooms. This is the start of the Fantasy and Reality series, which is also highly recommended.

Lakes and other waters

The Swimming Hole (2017) by @ollyjayonline Phrack is taking a little break from their journey. This is a follow up to Lost in Vegas but works very well as a standalone too.

500 Words You Should Know: #500 (2015) by @afterdinnerminx A very pregnant Dot, a stunned Hugh and a lovely secluded pond makes a great day out and a lovely fic.

A Man in Need (2014) by @jeneenp (CollingwoodGirl) This is a long fic dealing with the aftermath of Unnatural Habits. It focuses on the building relationship between Phryne and Jack and is not water centered, but there is a wonderful scene with Phryne and Jack at a very secluded pond in the forest.

Adrenaline and Aftermath (2017) by @omgimsarahtoo Phryne and Jack are caught in a life threatening situation. An avalanche, a cabin and a bear rug are involved. (Snow is just frozen water, right?)

I hope you enjoy our selection and have a great time reading – preferably while raindrops falling on your roof. Happy reading!

#the wardlow collection #mfmm fanfic #water #rain #miss fisher murder mysteries #mfmm #phrack #labassa librarians #3.1: ask the librarians #water water everywhere

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smilerforyou · 6 years

Text

Stitched by the Hand

A/N: I’m back bitches! It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written fic! Enjoy!

Stitched by the Hand (Gale/Madge) (Victorian Era, London)

East London was the called the “darkest London” for a reason. Poverty raged everywhere one looked because of the increase in population in London since the Industrial Age begun and slums thrived off the poor. Smoke billows out of chimneys of sweatshops, black and dirty with grim and the smell of dirty sweat perspiring off the workers inside. A boy with short, black hair, long limbs, and handsome face works diligently with his right hand as he wipes the sea of sweat off his forehead. He makes neat stitches into the thick, glossy fabric of silk and pinches the fabric together with the other hand. He thanks god – if there is a god – that the fabric is dark and none of the rich posh Londoners would see the sweat stains lingering along the inseam. His stitches are precise and quick, every fourth stitch doubled. He’s required to make 12 pairs of pants per hour, which gives him exactly five minutes per pair, two and half minutes per leg.

He wipes sweat from his hairline again and finds his forehead warmer than usual. Although sweatshop’s temperatures run high with the bodies so closely packed together, his body feel weighted down and his face warmer than he’d like. Cholera is going around like wild fire through the slums and sweatshops, burning through people like crazy. He worries he’s caught the disease. His stomach drops and his visions goes unsteady for a moment as furnace puffs out another wavy of hot air.

“Gale!” someone shouts across the room. He turns around in his seat to look at the man – the owner in his slim cut suit and newly polished shoes – waves him over. Gale’s heart speeds up a little in his chest as he sets his fabric down on the crowded table, shoving the needle through the inseam so he doesn’t lose it before getting up. He pushes passed people sitting on the floor sewing dresses, not even bothering to say excuse me, only watching carefully where he places his feet so he doesn’t step on a dress. He hurries as fast as he can to the owner, who Gale didn’t even bother learning his name, but the man’s foot just taps faster and faster the longer it takes Gale to rush through the crowd. “This way,” the man says once Gale has arrived by his side. He doesn’t even offer a good morning or afternoon – Gale had no way of knowing what time it is because there isn’t any clocks around – before pushing passed the doors that lead to the stairwell.

The stairwell of made of rusted metal and squeaked every time someone stepped foot on it. Gale tries his best to make his footsteps from sounding so harsh, but it was nearly impossible to do such a thing. His boss walks up the stairs, never once looking back to see if Gale was following him, tapping his cane twice on every step. It wasn’t that the man needed the cane. He was physically fit and almost nearing middle aged. Gale believed that the man just liked the sound of noise he produced and why not add the sharp click of a cane on the ground. Also – although Gale had no proof of this – he could use it as a weapon against workers who didn’t do what they were supposed to. That’s why Gale’s heart pounds now. He fears the man knows he’s sick or is unhappy that Gale only produces 12 pairs of pants every hour instead of more. Although the pay is shit, Gale needs this job.

“Have a seat.” The man says as they enter an office. One wooden stool sits in the middle of the room and velvet couches line the walls. Gale knows without asking that he should not sit on the velvet couches. Velvet is for rich people, not invisible people like himself. He sits down slowly on the stool, testing its durability. When it stays standing he places his full weight on the chair. He doesn’t say anything and neither does his boss. He keeps his eyes downcast and listens to the only clock in the room tick, tick, tickthe seconds away. He holds his breath and counts off the seconds gone that pushes him further behind on his count of 12. If he spends 15 minutes in this office, he’ll have three pairs of pants that need sown and sown well, done in nonexistent time. He’s screwed. Especially since the rule was if you don’t met quota, you don’t get paid for a week. His family had already gone a week without food, they couldn’t go another week. Damn it, he is so screwed.

A knock resonates through the room and Gale whips his head up to look at who it is. His stomach drops than tightens instantly when he sees a man in a white lab coat with a red bag in his hand. A medic. If Gale could run away, he’d do it down. But he can’t.

“Gale, this is Dr. Melbourne, Dr. Melbourne, this is him.” The boss introduces.

“Ah, he’s the one you were talking about.” His boss nods, “Well, son, strip down.”

“What?” Gale squeaks out. His voice doesn’t even sound like his own, it sounds like a long distance voice that could belong to a female, not himself. Definitively not himself.

“Strip down, like naked.” The doctor says, looking amused. The doctor waves Gale’s boss out of the room and gestures for Gale to begin stripping. He closes the door behind him and sets his bag down on the desk. Gale folds his clothes neatly at his feet and waits as Dr. Melbourne examines him and moves his limbs different ways. A fine line of sweat beads form on his forehead again. Dr. Melbourne offers him a handkerchief. Gale accepts it and dabs at his forehead.

“Well,” Dr. Melbourne speaks as he picks up Gale’s raggedly thin clothes and hands them back to him, “You don’t have measles or mumps, but I’m going to have to take your temperature. Please get dressed and sit on the stool.” Gale does as he’s told and sits patiently as Dr. Melbourne goes through his bag. He places a tool Gale has no idea the name of against his chest, over his heart and listens. “Are you nervous, or does your heart always pound this hard.” Gale says nothing, his tongue is too thick in his mouth. Dr. Melbourne pulls back and looks Gale deeply in his eyes. The doctor’s blue eyes remind Gale of ocean water, and Gale’s eyes remind the doctor of the dirty water floating through the Thames River, “That’s a serious question…Gale.” He says as he reads the name off Gale’s report.

“Nerves,” Gale whispers out.

Melbourne nods and marks something on the paper. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Oh, but there is. Gale has no idea why he’s here and what will come of it, but if the doctor finds anything at all, Gale’s done for. He can’t pay any sort of bill, let alone a hospital bill, and he can’t lose his job because he’s already behind in payments on everything.

“Have you been experiencing diarrhea or dehydration?” Gale shakes his head no, but he’s lying. He knows those are symptoms of cholera. “Well, you have a fever and I know you’re lying.”

“I’m fine, sir.” Gale croaks out.

“Oh you wish you were fine!” the doctor says. “If this isn’t treated, Gale, you could infect the whole business, or worse…it could kill you.”

“I’m fine.” Gale says again. He can’t lose his job. He can’t lose his job.

The man jabs a finger into Gale’s abdomen lightly and Gale tries not to wince, but he can’t. It hurts badly. Another symptom: abdominal pain.

“You have cholera.”

“No I don’t.” Gale says, but the doctor only pushes harder against Gale’s stomach. His entire body stiffens and the seconds later a metal trashcan in placed between his knees, seconds before the vomit comes up.

“Yes. You do,” the doctor says, and Gale can’t do anything about it. A fourth symptom: vomiting. Gale continues to puke into the bucket as the doctor leaves. Tears spring to his eyes because he knows exactly what this means…they have to fire him. He sobs into the bucket and vomits every few minutes. He finds he’s been doing this a lot lately…puking. Once he starts, he doesn’t stop for a while.

His boss comes in and places a hand on Gale’s shoulders, mindful not to touch the skin where the large shirt moved off his shoulder. “I’m going to have to let you go, Hawthorne. Best of luck. You can stay as long as you need the trashcan for” Then he leaves. Gale wishes he never had to leave this trashcan.

“Treatment options include –“ But Gale doesn’t let him finish.

“I don’t have money. Can’t you tell?”

“Then I can’t help you if you can’t spare a dime.”

“I’d buy food faster than medical care.”

“Best of luck to you; you’re going to need it.” And then he leaves too. And Gale let’s go and cries and pukes into a trash for an hour. He’s so damn screwed.

Madge’s mother, Victoria’s, booming voice commanded the hallway outside of Madge’s door. The Prime Minister is in for a short visit, something Madge would usually listen in on, but not today. All Madge can focus on is the dirty, awful smell wafting in through the air vents. Madge’s mother may be the Queen of England during what is considered one of England’s greatest eras, but even she can’t get control the way the city smells. It’s horrible and it’s constantly being filtered through every home and business, and the country can’t escape the smell of death and gross, trashy smell.

As the Industrial Age further booms, the Thames’ clean water diminishes to sewage backup. The streets are littered with garbage and sickly homeless people who haven’t had a clean shower in weeks. They smell like the river does, because that’s the source of water big enough for them to wash themselves off in, only they’re washing themselves in contaminated water. Madge’s mother tells her to stay away from the slums because of cholera and she does as much as possible.

Madge wrinkles her nose and tries to block out the smell as she applies makeup onto her neck and chest. The skin colored powder dusts her skin lightly and covers the series of freckles littering her chest. She makes the mistakes of taking a deep breath, instantly regretting it.

A knock clicks harshly into her bedroom and in walks her brother, elegant as ever. He’s wearing a dark blue suit with brown leather shoes and a striped tie. He looks dashing, but he always does. It’s something that Madge as always envied of her brother. He is complete perfection with his chiseled cheekbones and jaw, slender but strong frame, ocean blue eyes, and his porcelain skin. Madge is slender like him, but she appears just small; and her eyes are ordinary blue, and her skin is littered with sparely scattered freckles.

“Walk with me, sister?” he asks in his deep London accent. She nods and gathers her things.

They walk aimlessly towards nowhere, but Madge knows exactly where this “nowhere” will lead. The slums. There’s a girl with glossy black hair and gray eyes that her brother is infatuated with as of recently and every time they go for a “walk” it’s just to see her, even if she doesn’t notice them. Her brother, Daine, insists that the girl notices them, but poor old Daine doesn’t realize it’s just because Royals are walking around the other side of town. It definitely isn’t because the girl is infatuated with her brother. But it isn’t Madge’s job to break his spirit; the universe would do that soon enough.

“There she is!” he whispers loudly. He points excitedly toward her. She glances their way, worry blazing in her eyes, before she returns to the conversation she’s having with a girl a few years younger than her. Madge nods and pushes her brother a little further away from the pair to give the girl space, but she doesn’t look away. Especially when a boy with bright red cheeks and the back of his hand pressed firmly against his forehead stops at the command of the girl’s hand. They share a glance at the Royals before the grow deep into a conversation that the boy seems to want nothing to do with. He tugs lightly against the restraint provided by the girl’s arms.

“Maybe you should go talk to her?” Madge suggests the second the boy disappears behind a building. She doesn’t look at her brother when she says it, but he follows her line of sight.

“Oh, Madgie, do you have a crush on the boy?” he smiles wickedly.

“No!”

“Maybe you should get involved with him, they are quite lovely people once you get to know them.”

“Mom told us to stay away from them, remember? We aren’t even supposed to be here.”

“Go.” He whispers in her ear as he pushes her toward the building the boy disappeared behind. Once Madge’s feet start going they don’t stop until she finds him. He’s farther up the alley, leaning – more like sagging like a wilted flower – against the wall. His breathing is heavy and from his body she can tell he’s distressed.

She lightly touches his tricep and is surprised to find it lined with hard, beautiful muscle. He jumps back, his eyes wide. “I didn’t steal anything, I swear!” Immediately, it springs off his lips.

“I know you didn’t.” she says softly, lifting her own hands to her face. “Are you alright?”

“Am Ialright?” his expression is nothing short of bewilderment. And when she nods, he looks utterly shocked and taken aback. “No,” he says simply and harshly, no elaboration or explanation, but a sharp no. She waits a few moments for him to say something. Most people don’t say no unless they want to continue. His expression hardens like molten lava, “Do you really think I’d tell you?”

“You don’t have too.” She’s trying to be kind, but curiosity burns in her veins. Her mother always told her that was one of her downfalls.

“But you expect me too.”

“You don’t have too,” she says again.

He sags against the wall and leans his head down pitifully. “I’m dead.”

Madge huffs out air, “You don’t look very dead.”

“I might as well be.” He grumbles. He grips his head in that moment, a moment full of pure distress. Despite the dirty ground, Madge kneels beside him.

“Let me help you.”

“You can’t!” he nearly yells. His eyes check both sides of the street again before looking back at her. She notices the boy’s eyes are a wonderful shade of gray and it nearly takes her breath away looking at them.

They are so close together that Madge barely breathes, “Why not?” she asks and she swears she can feel his hot breath spread across her lips.

“It can’t be fixed.”

“Nothing is ever truly broken.”

“No,” he says, “but sometimes it cannot be used again.”

She looks at him then, reallylooks at him. His cheeks are rosy and his gray eyes – despite beautiful – are dull and lifeless. His body sags against the wall and his hands rest uncomfortably against his stomach. It’s like a pregnant woman holding her stomach, but he holds it like it hurts. Then it clicks, he’s sick. He has cholera.

“You are sick.”

“Thanks for stating the obvious.”

“Come with me,” she whispers, her lace gloved hand briefly touches his wrist.

He whips his head around so fast she fears she’ll get whiplash from just watching it. “Trust me or I’ll make it an executive order.”

He follows, even though his mind screams no. His heart…his heart, maybe just a little, says yes.

“Madge! You cannot be serious!” her brother nearly screeches at her in the back room of the kitchen. “You brought him here!”

“Yes! Now will you quiet down a little before the chefs hear you! I cannothave mom finding out!”

Her brother’s eyes bulge out of his head and he gives her the have-you-lost-your-mindlook. “Please!” she nearly begs him, “Just…Just keep it quiet! It’s just for a few days!”

“Madge!” he says again.

“Daine!” she takes his arms in his hands, “You told me to interact with them.”

He shakes his head, “I didn’t mean bring them home with you! What’s next, you going to invite him into your bed?”

She glares so hard at her brother, “Don’t be silly. What do you think I am? A prostitute?” He says nothing and that’s more hurtful than if he just said yes. Tear spring to her eyes and shakes her head. “I can’t believe you, I just cannot believeyou.” She says.

“Madge, you know I didn’t mean it.” He tries to mend his angry notion, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“If it’s not, don’t think mom won’t know about your black haired beauty within minutes.”

“You’ll be staying here, for the time being. I’m sorry it’s not the best place, but it’s the only place I know the palace staff won’t go.”

If they were going off Gale’s opinion, his room is a palace within the palace. It is sparsely furnished, with only a bed, a small dresser, a washing bucket, and chair. The bed doesn’t even have sheets on it yet. The stone walls emit a cool air that chills his fevered body to the bone. A chill runs up his back. They both pretend they don’t see it.

“I will go get you bedding and clothing and be down as soon as possible.”

It’s silent for a long while. Gale stares at her. Her dress has crystals sown into the silk fabric, and it was clearly sown by a machine, not by worn out hands like Gale’s. She stares at the ground and smoothens out her dress, and he feels like he should say something, but the words won’t reach his tongue.

“Well I should go before mother starts questioning Daine about my whereabouts.”

He nods and watches her walk out. He tries to force any word from his mouth but nothing comes. It isn’t until she’s probably forgotten him that he whispers, “Thank you.”

Madge grips her hair as she sits on her bedroom floor, her dress fanned out around her. What does she have that a boy could plausible wear? And she sure as hell knows Daine won’t let her borrow any of his clothes.

“Think, Madge, think.”

“M’am?” her servant, Primrose, says as she enters the room, “Are you alright? Should I fetch a royal doctor?”

Madge drops her hands. “Oh goodness, no. I’m quite alright. I’m just at a loss of ideas.”

“Anything I can help with, m’am?”

“Unless you can find me a pair of trousers and loose shirt, I don’t believe you can.” she laughs under her breath.

Prim stands there in silence for a moment, studying the frenzied princess. She kneels before the princess. “I could always borrow clothes from my sister’s best friend and bring them to you.”

Madge snaps her head up, “You would do that?”

“Anything for you, your highness.” They stare at each other for a moment. “Are you planning on going out in disguise as a boy?”

“Something like that.” Madge winks. “I can’t involve you too much.”

Gale takes a deep breath. If he can keep the vomit done, it will save him a lot of time and energy. He’s already puked more than he wanted to today and the wash basin is already three-fourths of the way full from just this afternoon. He holds his stomach tightly as sweat rolls off his whole body into the thin mattress.

If he wasn’t in so much pain, he would have left the palace already. He doesn’t know what he was thinking in the first place! He has a familyat home that must be wondering where he is! And he lost out on another week’s pay. How was his family supposed to survive? How were they going to buy food to feed the children? His mother’s seamstress work wasn’t very fruitful right now and they really relied on Gale’s measly paycheck to pay rent and buy a few days rations.

His vision blurs as his stomach rolls again. His heart races in his chest to the point of being painful. He feels like he’s been cast out to sea in the middle of the rainstorm. The waters are so turbulent they roll viciously through the open space, and the rain is so heavy that nothing is visibly, and he’s soaking wet and cold.

He rolls to his side and releases the turbulent waves from his stomach, not even checking to see if he made it in the bucket. His body racks as his dispels the disease from his body. His vision is nearly black, with heavy spots moving before his eyes. He feels like his soul is leaving his body.

His stomach collapses in on itself, nothing left but phlegm and stomach acid to throw up. Every muscle in his body seizes with vigor. His can hear his labored breath heavy in his ears but he can’t feel his body heaving for air. And he feels a weight settle first in his chest, slowing spreading throughout his whole body until it feels like hot stones sitting on him. He eyelids are like iron, dropping shut and so very heavy to open again. The coals burn his skin even more and the paths the sweat beats leave on his skin ignites a firework of pain.

And he still can’t see.

And every moment the blackness consume him even more.

And every second that passes his wishes to see the Princess’ full lips and almond shaped eyes framed with the longest lashes he had ever seen again.

“Stay here,” Madge orders Prim. Madge had changed out of her dress into a simple loose white nightgown while Prim hurried back to the Seam to gather her sister’s friend’s clothes. “I’ll be back. If anyone asks for me, tell them I’m bathing and must not be disturb.”

“Yes, m’am. Would you like help changing?”

“No.”

Madge slips through the nearest service staircase, hidden by secret doors all over the palace. She races down the stairs, her bare feet slapping on the pavement like raindrops on the cobblestone in a rainstorm. She slips through the corridors with ease, her feet remembering every twist and turn from all the times her and Daine played hide-and-seek as children.

One last corner and her hands slam against the door. The wooden door break practically rattles out it’s weak frame, shaking open. She slips in and closes it softly behind her.

“I’m ba–“ she stops short. Hanging half off of the bed in a puddle of his own vomit was the boy. He was mumbling under his breath some nonsense and his pupils, she could see as she approached him, are dilated. The black pupil almost completely covering the gray.

Her knees slam against the stone floor, not even feeling the cold seeping into her bones.

Against her better judgement, her grabs his sweaty face, pulling his delusional eyes toward her.

“Hey, hey, are you okay?” God, why is she even asking him that?

He moans a response.

Her heart beats rapidly in her chest. She can’t move. All she can do is stare into his soulless eyes and cry. Her heart sinking in her chest.

What was she supposed to do now?

She was all alone with a sick boy she didn’t know how to save.

White and gold swims in front of his eyes and a sweet melodic voice sings in his ear. His knows it’s her voice, even though his vision is still blurry. This time his heart beats faster for other reasons than the cholera raging in his body. Her fingers are smooth against his rough skin. They feel like silk.

He can’t hear what she’s saying, but he tries to tell her, but only a moan slips passed his lips. He tries to focus on her face, but his eyes are miles and miles away from where his body lies.

Raindrops touch his skin, soft and slow at first, until it turns into a drizzle. How amazing is it that it rains inside the palace.

It isn’t until one splashes against his lips and he tastes the salt that he realizes sometimes raindrops can be tears falling from someone else’s clouds.

She drags his body back on the bed. His slick skin almost slipping pass her hands several times. She feels like time is an empty thing. It only fills the void when there’s nothing else. It only runs out of sand too quickly when time is the most precious.

Time is indiscriminate.

Time does not care if there is a boy dying in the basement of the palace in the Princess’ arms.

Time does not care if he lives or dies, or whether her heart breaks in two or not.

Time only gives you an unknown amount of seconds to do somethings with.

And Madge’s allotted time to save him is so miniscule she could blink and it would have slipped between her fingers.

She can’t blind. Not now. Not when she risked so much to bring him here, to save him.

She pushes his body against the wall and rushes from the room. She runs into the walls and falls up the stairs in her attempt to make it to anyone, to someone who could help. She knows she can’t say anything, but she doesn’t have a choice. She can’t let him slip through her fingers.

“Prim!” she screams, “Prim!”

Her bedroom door opens before she’s even halfway down the hallway. Prim’s eyes are wide with fear and alarm, her hair tangled like she fell asleep.

“Prim, I need your help!”

Daine’s door open across from Prim. He stumbles out, rubbing his eyes. “What is happening?”

“Come! Come! He’s dying!”

Prim starts, her face slackening in despair, “Who?”

“Oh the sick boy from the slums she decided to bring home.” Daine grumbles as they follow Madge down the hallway.

“He’s not infected with cholera, is he?” Daine shoots her a look, “Oh dear,” she whispers, “Let me grab supplies.”

In and out. His vision wanes on blackness so dark his body shivers in fear.

In and out.

In and out. He can hear his exaggerated breathing shallow in his ears.

In and out.

He feels death approaching. The blackness is starting to take over his body. His skin feels cold, his tongue dry as a bone, his mind dull and void of thought, and the weight of his own bones are becoming too much.

In and out.

“Oh dear,” Dane whispers the second Madge pushes open the door. “Oh dear, god.”

Tears stream down Madge’s face. “Daine…” she whispers, “Daine…how do we save him?”

She watches him stare at the dying boy in the corner of the room. “I don’t know if we can.”

Madge creeps over to the bed and sits on it, gently reaching out for the boy’s hand. Her thumbs rubs softly against his hand. She hopes he can feel her skin against his. If they really cannot save him, she wants him to know he did not pass alone, that he will not pass unknown like so many others who died in alleyways and river beds.

“What is his name? Did you ever find out?” Daine whispers, still hovering on the threshold, his hand covering his mouth.

“Gale,” Prim says as she enters the room. “Oh my god, Gale,” she whales.

She drops the medical supplies and bedding on the ground and rushes over to him. Her hands instantly go to his face, sliding down to his chest where she grips his soaking wet shirt. Her body bows over his. Seconds later, her body racks with sobs.

Madge and Daine look at each other.

“Gale?” Madge whispers, her hand tangling in Prim’s locks.

Prims shifts to lean against Madge. She wipes at her eyes and nose before mustering up the finest of whispers, “I went to get his clothes from my sister tonight. She had said he didn’t come home tonight. She never mentioned that he’s infected,” she sniffles, “What will his family do without him? They won’t survive.”

Madge’s heart sinks in her chest. Here laid a boy that meant his family’s survival. And he was dying.

The world was unfair.

Madge swallowed hard. “What do we do to cure him.”

Prim sobbed harder. “This is no cure. Rarely do they live after the infection sets in.”

“He’s too far gone, isn’t he?” Daine whispers? His skin is so ghostly white, he appears as if he might faint.

“More than likely, yes.”

“No! No!” Everyone looks at Madge, “No, we must try. He cannot die.”

“Madge…” Daine starts.

“Water…” Prim cuts him off, “Cholera rapidly dehydrates the body to the point of shock. Our only change is to rehydrate him as fast as possible. I also stole the antibiotics from the medical ward.”

“Do you think it will work?”

“No,” she sniffles, “But we must try.”

Daine leaves the room to get pails of water and a glass. Prim goes with him to help, which leaves Madge to undress him and change his clothes.

For a lady of her standing, she is slightly scandalized to be removing a boy’s clothes, especially in such a state. What if he does not want her to see his naked body? What if she had impure thoughts upon seeing his body? This was so unladylike.

He won’t live if you don’t, Madge.

So she tenderly went to work at his clothing, starting with his shirt. She slowly undoes the threading at the time to make neck wider and easier to pull over his head. Next she tugs at the bottom of the shirt, near his start of his pants, to untuck it from his trousers. Slowly, his skin begins to appear. His skin is darker than hers, tan as far as tan goes in London’s cloudy atmosphere. Oh goodness, he has faint tan lines!

She could only imagine him in his backyard, wearing nothing from a skimpy undershirt. She could only imagine his looking up to the sun and wiping his brow as his skin soaked up the rays from the sunshine.

She gulps and eases the shirt over his head, using one arm to hug his body to her chest so his shoulders and head wouldn’t get caught around the shirt. His head lolled back against her wrist, and she watches as his eyelashes brush against his cheekbones.

Next she undoes his shoes, throwing them careless onto the floor. She’s surprised to find that he does adorn socks. And next his trousers. Her face heats as her fingers flick open the button. She moves quickly to his ankles, trying to tug them off as far away from his hips as possible, but it’s all in vain. She has to roll his trousers down over his hips and around his butt before she can easily tug them off.

She stops short of pulling off his underwear. The white cotton is almost clear with sweat. Madge looks over to the pile of clothing Prim gave her earlier, on top laid a pair of underwear.

She takes a deep breath, clothes her eyes and tugs them off, she stares at his ankles as she rolls the new ones on. She lets out the breath she held and looks at the door. Oh how unladylike that just was. A Princess undressing a semiconscious man.

He groans and she nearly jumps from her spot on the bed.

Prim and Daine comes back with pails of water moments later and slowly but surely they pour water into his mouth. At first he throws up everything for hours and Madge’s heart sinks in her chest. Eventually, he begins to hold it down, and Madge’s finally starts slowing.

It seems like the solid black covering his eyes slowly turns to a dusting of gray spots blinding him. He feels the thin mattress under his body again and the coldness of the room seeping into his warm body. And he can hear the faint voices of three different whispers.

He opens his eyes to a dim, candle lit room. It takes a moment for his eyes to settle and when they do they land on the Princess. Her hand lays on his bare chest, but she’s not looking at him. He grunts as he moves to sit up and she startles, a deep rose blush painting her cheeks.

“Oh goodness, I’m so sorry.” She whispers.

Gale doesn’t say anything. He just stares at her. Her blonde waves are flat against her face, and her dull blue eyes look even duller with exhaustion. But what surprises him the most is her attire. She wears a simple white shirt and a pair of dark brown trousers with something off about them.

She looks simple and poor in her outfit. It is built for someone like him, not someone as important as her. Yet, she wears the clothing like she shouldn’t be in anythingbut that.

She sits down hurriedly when he reaches for his face. Her fingertips absentmindedly touching his cheeks, featherlight. Her blue eyes bore into his. “Are you alright? Are you feeling any better?”

He’s too afraid to speak in fear that she’ll remove her hands from his face. His skin tingles gloriously underneath her light touch. Eventually, he nods.

Her shoulders release their tension in relief and her hands drop to his collarbones. “I didn’t think you would make it,” she whispers.

She moves her hands to her lap, her fingers running over each other. He can feel her gaze on him, but he keeps his on her hands. She had long pianist hands that small marks like papercuts littering them. She wore a small silver ring in the shape of a star on her middle finger. His eyes trail up her arm, following the stitches in the trousers as he went.

That’s when he spots it. The double stitch on every fourth stitch.

“I made those pants.” He looks up at her. Her nose wrinkles slightly as her hands spread along the stitching.

“What?” she whispers.

He grabs her hand and traces her fingers along the stitching, pausing at every fourth stitch.

“The stitching is mine. The fourth stitch identified me. It’s how they knew my count at the end of the day.”

How did his pants end up in the royal household?

“I guess you were just supposed to be a part of my story, stitched together by the hand of fate.”

He looks up, his hand still in hers. He feels her intertwine their hands together.

“Maybe so,” he whispers, their faces so close together that their noses almost touch.

And there, in the basement of Buckingham Palace, two fates intertwine once and for all.

A/N: FFN, Gadge: the Mini Stories, Ch31: Stitch of by Hand

Feel free to jump over to FFN and drop a comment or leave a reply here!

#gadge #hunger games #fanfiction #stitched by hand #chapter 31 #gadge: the mini stories #writing #thg #gale hawthorne #madge undersee #I'm back bitches!

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mariequitecontrarie · 6 years

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People Will Talk: Part 1

Summary: Atticus Gold and relative newcomer Belle French have developed a relationship no one in Storybrooke approves of, and people make their opinion known in small-minded, small-town fashion: he’s too old for her, and the pretty young librarian needs to find friends her own age. When Gold ends the relationship to protect Belle’s reputation, the town turns on him again. To make matters worse, his friends and family are mad at him, too. But as we all know, love wins in the end. Rating / Word Count: T / 2700 A/N: This is the Marie’s Three-Year Writing Anniversary Rumor/Assumed Fake Dating/Family AU that no one asked for. There’s a Snowing rescue, Alice Jones, Wish!Hook Killian Jones, Curious Archer, even a little Nealfire because this is my AU and I can if I want to. It’s my thank you gift for your support and friendship for these three years. Hope you enjoy! A/N 2: Written for the May @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: Fake dating/arranged marriage AU Thanks to @maplesyrupao3 for your beta awesomeness!

ON AO3

“Is that egg?”

“Miss French!” Gold jumped, dropping the sponge he was using to scrub his front door. Soapy, slimy water dribbled down the front of his charcoal pinstripe suit.

Belle bit her lip and frowned. She’d been Belle just last night when they were cuddling on the sofa in his den. She had even kissed him before she went home, a brief brush of his deliciously rough cheek with her lips, hovering as close to his mouth as she dared to come.

“I’m sorry!” She touched his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“No matter.” He shrugged and dabbed at the wet spots on his chest with his pocket square, as though having his house egged and washing the door in his finest apparel was an everyday occurrence.

Belle recognized the cut and sheen of his three-piece ensemble. Brioni, and tailored to fit him like a glove. When he’d been alive, her father had an entire walk-in closet filled with dozens like it and Italian hand-stitched shoes so shiny she could see her reflection in the gleaming leather.

“Here, let me.” She plucked the pocket square from Gold’s fingers and began patting it down the front of his suit, frowning at the orange-yellow streaks of egg yolk, half-cooked in the sizzling 90-degree heat. It was on the tip of her tongue to offer to buy him a new one, but a proud, self-made man like Gold would never accept or understand the gesture.

She drifted closer, swallowing a noise of delight as she ran the silk over the lean muscles of his chest. In the stifling summer heat, his alluring scent of tobacco, vanilla, and warm male skin wafted toward her. He stiffened when she reached his ribs, his posture rigid, his eyes looking straight ahead. When she snaked a trail downward toward his stomach, he closed his fingers around her wrist, stopping her from continuing. Sweat beaded on the stubble above his lips, and she had the crazy urge to rise on her tiptoes to lick it away. His thumb pressed into her wrist, and she wondered if he could feel the hammering of her pulse.

Breathless, Belle lifted her chin to meet his gaze; his honey brown irises wide and troubled. Like a spring, he released her and jerked away as though he’d been burned.

She stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest, confused by his sudden withdrawal. “This is crazy,” she said, looking at the stained house. “We’re nowhere near Halloween. It’s not even October.” Outraged at the idea of someone egging Gold’s house, she gestured into the late July sunshine with a frown.

“Pranks know no season in Storybrooke,” he muttered with another shrug.

She sighed. She’d moved halfway across the world from Melbourne to Storybrooke about eight months ago and was still learning all the quirks of life in small-town America. Lord knew her parents tried to shield her from the worst of it, but her family’s high-profile shipping empire had made them the target of ridicule and speculation all her life. When Papa had been alive, the Australian tabloid paparazzi followed him everywhere. With her father’s death came the end of their interest in the life of Belle French. But here in a small town, everyone was famous, and news traveled around faster than lightning bugs in the wood.

Belle wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt and painted on a brave smile. The least she could do was help Gold clean up the mess. “Do you have another sponge?”

He gave her a passing glance, then went back to scrubbing the door. The sticky viscous substance had dried on the leaded glass pane in the oppressive heat, making the consistency as tacky as dried glue.

When her stomach rumbled, she pulled out her mobile phone. “If you’re not going to accept my help, I’m calling for takeout. Does Thai sound good, or would you prefer pizza? I wouldn’t say no to a garlic butter crust.”

There was a long moment of silence and he continued to rub at a stubborn spot beside the door knocker. “You needn’t have troubled yourself by stopping by,” he said at last.

Her empty stomach did an uncomfortable flip at his brusqueness. “But it’s Thursday,” she said with a teasing smile, trying to push past his formal tone. “And even if it wasn’t, it would be weird for me not to stop, especially when I see you outside. You’re on my way home. Now come on, I’m hungry.”

Belle owned a rambling Victorian only two blocks away from Gold’s, and the walk between her home and the library meant she passed his house twice a day, five to six days a week. The day they met he was standing on the porch cursing at knotted strands of Christmas lights. The decorations were a surprise for his son Neal. He lived in New York City and had made the last-minute decision to spend his the holidays at home instead of in Boston with friends. She’d stopped and offered to help Gold untangle the strings, and they’d struck up a conversation about Charles Dickens.

“You’re better with books than with people, Belle,” her father would say, patting her on the head with a laugh. Like the dutiful daughter she was, she took the advice to heart and learned to talk to people about books.

Unfortunately, no matter what she said today, Gold was doing an excellent job of impersonating a mime.

An uncomfortable cord of silence stretched taut between them. Belle’s hands started to tremble and sweat dripped down her back. Disappointed, she eased her phone back into her handbag. They always met up for carryout dinner on Thursday evenings, sometimes at her house, but mostly at his. Once in a while, they ventured out, but the best times were when they curled up on the couch barefoot for food and conversation. It was so simple and normal; a stark contrast to the silent, chef-prepared meals at the long dining room table she’d grown up with where you had to hike a mile down the table to pass the green beans.

The company was the best part. Gold was witty, charming, and handsome and always had a funny anecdote to share about a tenant or a pawnshop customer. Given the choice, she would have spent every evening for the rest of her life talking and laughing with him.

But he hadn’t invited her.

“Gold.” She touched his shoulder again. “Talk to me. Do you have any idea who did this, or why?”

He tossed the sponge onto the porch next to the bucket, his shoulders slumped. “I’ve told you before, Miss French, I’m not well liked.”

Determined to banish the dark clouds gathering over them, she forced a smile. “The name’s Belle, remember? And I like you just fine.”

“All right. I’m not well liked, Belle. People don’t want to see us together. It’s a shock to the senses, or so I’ve been told.”

Her mouth opened in surprise. “Atticus, what—”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. If we’re walking down the street side-by-side or having a bite to eat? Nasty stares? Concerned whispers? It’s always the same story: Gold the cradle robber, taking advantage of sweet, innocent Miss French.”

Belle balked. “I’m twenty-eight, not in nappies.”

“You know what I mean.” His small, ironic smile made her heart hurt.

Belle chewed her lip, thinking back over the past few months of their friendship. The truth was, no, she didn’t. She didn’t have the first clue what he meant. Being with Gold was like reading one of her favorite books: when they were together, she was too captivated by the man at her side to notice anything or anyone else. The way his hair glinted in the sunshine, the way his dimples bracketed his hard-won smiles, and how sweat beaded on his upper lip when he was warm and agitated.

“Jefferson’s aunt came into the shop to compliment me on my beautiful daughter.” He sighed. “Last week when we were at Granny’s and I took the liberty of ordering your cocktail while you were in the restroom, Ashley Boyd asked me if you were old enough for a drink.”

“Who cares what they think?” she retorted, hands on hips.

An ugly laugh spilled from his mouth. “You’ll care a lot when you’re denied library funding by the town council, or people cross the street to walk on the opposite side so they don’t have to walk past you. Maybe they’ll throw eggs at your bedroom window on account of your reckless decision to spend time with the town pariah.”

“Bullshit.”

His jaw dropped in surprise. Good; she'd gotten his attention.

She wanted to boast that she could buy and sell twenty libraries one hundred times over without making a dent in her bank account. But she couldn’t say that, any more than she could admit she wrote anonymous donation checks to the library once a month, or confess she acquired new children’s and art history selections last week because she was bored. People believed she was eeking by on a meager associate librarian’s salary when in reality she accepted the paycheck to keep up appearances and be polite. Her position at the library was about sharing her passion for reading, not making money.

Money she had plenty of, but what of friendship and love? Those came at a premium she couldn’t pay for.

“I mean it. I call bullshit.” Her fingers dug into her hips. “Why are you pushing me away?”

“More like hurrying nature to take its course.” He waved her concerns away with a hand. “Look at me. I’m nineteen years older than you. My hair is graying, my wrinkles are multiplying, and my leg aches worse today than it did yesterday.”

“I am looking at you. And I like both what I see, and the man I know. Very much.”

He shook his head as though he hadn’t heard her. “You don’t have to trouble yourself, sw...Belle.” He gestured at the door. “Over this or me.”

The compassionate words were at odds with his cold, hard tone, as though he was chipping ice off a block. His face, usually so open to her, had hardened into an impenetrable mask. Many times she’d seen him look at others with the same cool appraisal, but she never figured on being on the receiving end of his bitter stare.

At a loss, she shivered in spite of the sweltering evening heat and wrapped her arms around herself. Gold was her friend, her best friend in town, really. She didn’t want to lose their relationship over the say-so of some silly busybodies.

“What about your other friends?” he asked, still scrubbing away at the stupid door.

Belle chewed her lower lip, considering. There was Ruby, and Mulan, and Ariel. Mary Margaret and David Nolan were kind. She liked them all, but her connection with Gold was special. At least she thought so.

Still, he continued to scrub, all his attention on the now spotless mahogany door. The sponge scraped against the door in a maddening rhythm that matched the sick pound of her heart. She grabbed his wrist, wrestling the sponge away from him. “You’re my best friend.”

“You should stop coming here.” He swallowed. Forcing himself to send Belle away was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Even more difficult than facing his ex-wife’s midnight departure from his and their son’s life almost twenty-five years ago. “Before people get any more wrong ideas.”

Belle squeezed the sponge, wringing it out between her small white fingers. “You don’t want to be around me?”

“No! Yes. I mean no!” Frustrated, he ground his back teeth. She wasn’t understanding. The problem was him, not her. It was always him, couldn’t she see? “That’s the furthest thing from the truth. You shouldn’t want this. Not with me.”

Quips from Jefferson’s sweet maiden aunt and snide remarks from the likes of Ashley Boyd weren’t the worst of it. More than one well-meaning town denizen had taken him aside at great risk to their rental agreements to explain how disgusting and improper a relationship between two people so far apart in age was. How it would be better for everyone if he left the young librarian to herself and allowed her to make some real friends. Phrases like “old enough to be her father” and “sugar daddy” peppered the one-sided conversations. In each case, he’d told them to mind their own bloody business, pretending to be unaffected, but the interactions left him feeling shaken and sick.

Yesterday when he came to collect rent, the Widow Lucas had stared him square in the eye and handed him a stack of bills. “You’re closer to my age than you are to hers, Gold. And making a fool of yourself. As long as she’s associated with you, she’ll never have a chance with anyone else.”

Never have a chance.

Gold was furious, but even his legendary temper couldn’t rival the pain of knowing Granny was right. They all were. They were playing upon his trust issues, exploiting his greatest fear: Belle was humoring him until someone younger and more attractive captured her time and attention. And he was falling for it.

“Surely you’re tired of playing games with an old man,” he said, bitterness leaking into the words.

He watched the blood drain from her face, nausea rolling through his gut. He grappled for the cane he’d leaned against the porch railing to steady himself.

“People talk.” She jerked her chin, whispering the words through barely parted lips. “Let them say what they want. I don’t care.”

“I see. You think this is only about you.” Ruthlessly, he hammered another nail in the coffin of their relationship. Dizzy, he looked down at the porch, watching an army of ants carry a crumb towards a crack. Anything was preferable to acknowledging the tremble of her jaw, those striking blue eyes brimming with tears and wreathed with dark circles of pain.

“Why...” she seemed to curl up on herself as she spoke, her voice becoming small as well as her body, and his heart shriveled even further. “What about...what about what we want? You can’t help who you like spending time with, can you?”

God above, he was a bastard. A sick, sadistic part of him was actually enjoying her reaction. She really did care about him, and he didn’t deserve to spend another moment in her company. Not as her friend or as anything else he might desire.

“I’m too old for you, Belle.” He winced the moment the trite excuse left his lips. He thought of their trip to the beach last week, and how she’d coaxed him to take his shirt off for the first time in ten years. How he hadn't even minded the way her warm gaze roamed over his skinny white chest. “The last several months have been...pleasant...but it’s time to move on.”

“I thought we were friends.” Her voice was raw, and she twisted the sponge.

He shook his head, aghast that she still believed the problem to be on her end. “No, sweetheart. It’s me, not you. I’m sure there are some younger people who would be better suited...” he made a helpless gesture.

“I can’t believe this.” She was pulverizing the sponge now, choking it, probably imagining it was his neck.

He pushed on, driving her further away. “Talking about me is one thing; I’m used to it. Talking about you because of me...well, that’s another matter entirely. It’s no longer only one person’s reputation at stake. I can’t bear it, Belle. Us not seeing each other anymore...it’s the only way I can protect your reputation.”

He turned around and faced the door again. There was a long, tense silence, and he could feel the sad weight of her stare.

“Protect yourself, you mean, don’t you?” she retorted, her voice choked with tears.

He heard the splash of the sponge in the bucket and he hung his head in shame. He’d gotten what he wanted, though. She was leaving.

The only sound he could remember for the rest of the evening was the clatter of her heels down the steps and out of his life.

###

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #a monthly rumbelling #mr. gold x belle french #rumor fic #mr. gold #belle french #rumbelle angst #people will talk #mqc writes #maries 3-year fic-a-versary

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partyhelpgroup · 2 months

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architectnews · 3 years

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Kyneton House, Macedon Ranges Region

Kyneton House, Macedon Ranges Region Home, Victoria Luxury Real Estate, Australian Modern Architecture, Images

Kyneton House in the Macedon Ranges region

22 Jun 2021

Kyneton House

Architecture: MRTN Architects

Location: Macedon Ranges region, Victoria, Australia

Kyneton House is an addition to a seventies brick home located on an elevated acre site with established gardens and mature exotic trees. Simply described the addition is a main bedroom suite with associated deck for entertaining with a cover carport and workshop under. The ambition for the design however was more complex than merely the usable spaces created.

The owners were looking to adapt the existing home so that they could age in place, a strategy that would provide peace of mind as they continue their stewardship of the house and significant gardens for years to come. They are deeply appreciative of the spatial and material characteristics of the original seventies house and sought to compliment rather than imitate the existing home.

As keen art collectors and artists in their own right they were also interested in approaching the design as an opportunity for a sculptural relationship of the addition and to reference the to both the existing house and also to the steeply sloping site and the surrounding mature trees. Internally they desired natural materials and a rich material immersion that evoked a gallery experience to provide a dramatic backdrop to their art collection.

Our response was to propose an elongated black rectangular form that cantilevers beyond the landscape and reaching out the surrounding tree canopies. The simple black bar evoking the metal sculptures of Tony Smith and Anthony Caro, the black cladding providing a recessive backdrop to the surrounding greenery. The cantilevered from creates a undercover carport that leads to a new entry into the home and an elevator that carries you up to the main living level of the existing house and also the new bedroom suite, eliminating the need to stairs.

Internally the new spaces have a rich material presence creating a connection from external to internal materiality while also satisfying the clients brief for a minimum of painted surfaces. The separation of the new spaces and connection to the existing home is intentionally blurred with screened deck leading to bedroom leading to dressing room and gallery without clear delineation.

Kyneton House explores two design objectives that are seemingly opposite ends of the spectrum, an aging in place strategy for the owners and a request for sculptural response to landscape and garden. The design responds to the context of the original home and significant gardens while ensuring that the owners can continue to enjoy them for many years to come.

Who lives there? Adrian and Carl are the owners of the home, they are professionals who work in the realm of film and design respectively. This is their permanent home and also their passion.

What did this house look like and what condition was it in prior to this project? The house and grounds are very much loved by the clients, they have spent a lot of effort in making the most of the original 1977 home and as they are both very keen gardeners have really taken on the substantial gardens as an on-going project that they continue to work on and improve. Their affection for their home really was the genesis of the project as they wanted to create an addition that also ensured their long term enjoyment of the house well into the future. In simple terms the addition is a main bedroom suite with attached deck and a covered carport. However in reality it is much more than that. By enclosing a small residential elevator adjacent to the carport we created a solution to maintaining access into the original home without reliance on stairs.

Do you have any information about the original property’s history?

Information about the original house provided to the current owners by the previous owners:

“Brocklebank was designed by then Kyneton based architect Ken Robinson in 1977.

Ken later moved to Queensland, and the practice is now headed by Ken’s son Jolyon: Robinson Architects – Eumundie.

Building was in the manner of an American Barn Raising with family and friends, particularly the Kyneton Apex Club, all involved.

Bricks came from the demolition of an old dwelling on the Kyneton Showgrounds corner [now units] and shedding at what was then Turner Bros timber yard in Market Street, and also from the floors of chook sheds in Carisbrook. All were cleaned under the two gum trees the remains of which I think still carry your clothes line. Jan was sure Ben would be born with a dent in his head from her carrying and cleaning bricks.

Roofing slate was sourced from Melbourne, but the slates used in the floors were a chance find at a Begg Street clearing sale for $40.00.

Lining boards in the ceilings were from a house demolished in High Street in Lancefield, soaked in a metho bath to soften the shellac so it could be jexed to an even colour.

We moved in early/mid 1979. Initially both interior and exterior were exposed bricks, with bagging of the interior and rendering of the exterior much later.

The original garage was designed for us by Dan Flynn of Flynn Silver, who had worked with Ken Robinson while studying architecture. Again exposed brick but with a steel deck roof.

The garage was converted into a furniture studio around 1990 and was used for that purpose until 2000.The conversion was designed by Marcus O’Reilly who also did the small shed down the driveway at that time.

Marcus also designed the extension to the south of the original building, then used as bedroom/dressing and bathroom. Marcus still has a practice in Elwood, and designed our current house in Wedge Street which incorporates many of the design elements of his Brocklebank extension.

Some timber used was also sourced locally. The original bedroom/bathroom doors upstairs were from Elm milled from trees that fell at the Kyneton Mineral Springs, but it proved to be unstable and the only bit remaining may be the cookbook shelves beside the former kitchen window. The replacement doors upstairs are from Cedar of Lebanon from the Kyneton Gardens, as are the laminated covers to the steel main beams. The stairs and kitchen/living room steps are blackwood from a storm fall Blackwood from Straw’s Lame in Newham.

Were there any major inspirations or references that influenced the design? There were two main aims with the design of this project: the first was to create an addition that complimented the original 1977 home that didn’t detract from it and without being mimetic. The second was to create an extension that fit within the established landscaped garden and the very mature and beautiful tree specimens that date back to the early 1900’s. In the design we referenced abstract expressionist sculptors to propose an elevated black box that contained the additional bedroom suite but also created a carport under the cantilevered section.

What was the most challenging aspect of this project and how did you overcome this? The resulting design seamlessly ties together the original home with the addition however this required a careful and nuanced response to the what was there and a reimagining of the pathways through the home. What was an elevated front door and porch becomes an art lined corridor that links old and new.

What are your favourite parts of the finished project? The finished home has a very satisfying relationship with the garden, the garden and built form read together beautifully and the black addition becomes a wonderful backdrop to the various foliage types. However I think my favorite part of the project is the rich materiality of the interior. The extensive use of timber panels creates a calming and dramatic interior as a backdrop for the lives of the owners.

Kyneton House in the Macedon Ranges Region, Victoria – Building Information

Architect: MRTN Architects

Completion date: 2020 Building levels: 2

Photography: Dave Kulesza

Kyneton House, Macedon Ranges Region images / information received 220621

Location: Kyneton, Macedon Ranges Region, Victoria, Australia

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jeremystrele · 5 years

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The 10 Most Marvellous Modernist Homes Of The Year

Architecture

by Amelia Barnes

The Fender House in Mount Martha, with renovations from Whelan Project. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

‘We love our kitchen, it’s so big and spacious and chunky. Cabinet maker Roman rebuilt all the cabinetry as it was rotting and about to fall through the floors. He skilfully managed to match the wood stain to the original wood panels.’ On the bench is the 1970s Le Creuset pot, and vintage orange bowl. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

There are stairs and split levels everywhere in this house. These stairs lead from the sun-room to the music room then up another level to the kitchen. You can also see the original porthole lights in the ceilings and the very uniquely designed light boxes, which Katie and Ian re-furbished. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

A Lovingly Restored Mid-Century Marvel In Mount Martha

This circa 1973 home may look straight out of Palm Springs, but it’s actually located just outside Melbourne in Mount Martha.

Originally designed by Karl Fender (now one half of Fender Katsalidis), owner Katie Brannaghan and her husband Ian purchased the property in 2017 and have since returned the house to its former glory.

We shared this spectacular home back in October, and it’s already one of the popular mid-century homes we’ve published to date!

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An elegant corner in the mid-century home. Photo – Sean Fennessy. Styling – Studio Esteta.

The wood and stone tones reflecting the colour palette of the surrounding environment. Photo – Sean Fennessy. Styling – Studio Esteta.

The Portsea Beach House by Studio Esteta. Photo – Sean Fennessey. Styling – Studio Esteta.

Avoiding The Coastal Cliché, With Mid Century Flair

This home on Victoria’s Mornington Peninsula is the ultimate combination of beach house, mid-century, and sophisticated modern design.

Studio Esteta recently updated the hilltop home to accommodate six bedrooms, without stripping it of modernist character. Among stunning features are the crazy interior paving and rich marbled surfaces, complemented by original mid-century furniture and decor.

Revisit the original story here

Looking stately, in Studley park. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

1950s windows, meet a contemporary couch. Photo – Derek Swalwell.

Enhancing The Past In Studley Park

Our Instagram went crazy upon posting the facade image of this home located on Studley Park, a tightly held pocket of Melbourne’s Kew!

The mid-century home was originally designed by influential Russian-born Australian architect Anatol Kagan, who was committed to designing buildings that had a positive impact on society.

Most recently, the 1950s home has been sympathetically renovated by Kennedy Nolan, who refreshed the architectural beauty of the property, and re-zoned the layout to reflect a more contemporary way of living.

Revisit the original story here

This original Robin Boyd-designed house in Warrandyte is now the family home of writer, strategist and podcast host Emma Clark Grattan, furniture maker Lee Grattan, and their children Archer and Jethro. The original house on the block burned down in 1962, and the owners commissioned Robin Boyd to design this new house in 1963. The house is clad with steel, which is quite unusual for the celebrated architect, but part of the brief was that the house was fire-resistant. Landscaping by Emma and Lee. Photo – Caitlin Mills. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Original wall light and Tasmanian Oak flooring. The couple painted the pantry door to break up the timber in the house. Baskets collected over the years now hide the kids’ sports and winter clothing. Artwork next to the fridge was a gift from friends Ace Wagstaff and Sam George. Steel and timber stools made by Lee. Photo – Caitlin Mills. Styling – Annie Portelli.

‘Lee got the desk from Great Dane, but it was broken and in pieces so they were going to throw it out. He managed to restore it and we’ve dragged it from house to house’. Lamp is an original Planet lamp bought for a dollar from a church sale in Warrandyte. Clock from IKEA. Geo dresser made by Lee. Photo – Caitlin Mills. Styling – Annie Portelli.

This Rare Robin Boyd Original Makes An Extraordinary Family Home

Among the many beautiful mid-century homes in Melbourne’s Warrandyte is this 1963 one designed by iconic Australian architect, Robin Boyd.

This home is owned by content strategist and writer Emma Clark Gratton, and her furniture making husband, Lee Gratton, who moved here in search of extra space for their young family.

The seasoned renovators couple have redone the kitchen, added new cabinetry and tiling, renovated the master bedroom, and installed solar panels among many other small tweaks.

We love the spectacular views appreciated via through floor-to-ceiling windows in every room, alongside the beautifully designed interiors full of Gratton furniture and retro finds.

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Perfect Portsea living. Photo – Michael Kai.

The new home is filled with light. Photo – Michael Kai.

A 1960s Portsea Shack Gets A Contemporary Revamp

Pleysier Perkins recently transformed this ‘tired beige’ ‘60s shack in Portsea, Victoria into a light and bright getaway that balances mid-century charm with modern family life.

The architects updated the kitchen, dining, and living area in the process to improve spatial flow, added a new playroom, and gave the interiors minor facelift.

Full-height doors at both ends of the new addition connect the space with the outdoors. The boundaries between these spaces are blurred with the use of crazy pavers that gently extend from the interiors to the grassy outdoor areas.

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Modernising A Mid-Century Stunner

This mid-century home in St Lucia, Brisbane, features light and airy spaces to make the most of its subtropical climate.

The property was renovated by Lucy Jeffries as one of the first projects since establishing her own studio. Prior to this, she had been honing her skills with award winning residential architectural practices Vokes and Peters and Shaun Lockyer.

This home was all about paring back and returning the home to its essential form, with a few carefully considered contemporary updates.

Revisit the original story here

Photo – courtesy of Ouwens Casserly Real Estate.

A Corner-Block Mid-Century Classic

Our columnists over at Modernist Australia introduced this 1958 home in Klemzig, Adelaide, to us when it was on the market earlier in the year. It’s since been snapped up, and it’s not hard to see why!

The home has been sympathetically updated by its previous owners, who lived there since 1968. Many original features were retained over the decades, including a glassy window wall looking into the living room, and the wonderfully pink bathroom!

Revisit the original story here

The new century vibe! Artwork by Wilma Tabacco from Gallerysmith.hoto – Shannon McGrath. Styling – Swee Lim.

Clean mid-century lines, re-imagined for now. Photo – Shannon McGrath. Styling – Swee Lim.

The exterior maintains its strong 1960s facade. Photo – Shannon McGrath. Styling – Swee Lim.

Mid Century Meets Modern, In This Thoughtfully Renovated 1960s Home

This ‘60s home is pure mid-century from the street, but step inside and you’ll find some seriously glamorous interiors!

Bower Architecture and Interiors were responsible for recently updating this Caulfield property. The brief was to rediscover and celebrate the home’s original features, and create additional spaces with ‘hints of whimsy and glamour (but not glitz).’

Revisit the original story here

Photo – Prue Ruscoe.

An Amazing Mid-Century Home Gets A High-Tech Makeover!

A dreamy waterfront site meets classic mid-century in Sydney’s Middle Cove.

The house was originally designed by architect Glynn Nicholls (son of Eric Nicholls – Walter Burley Griffin’s Australian business partner) in 1959, but was recently extended by 8 Squared.

The interior design by Studio Gorman is just as impressive, combining ‘50s elements alongside the latest technology to take this home into the 21st century and beyond.

Revisit the original post here

A Bohemian Blue Mountains Modernist Beauty

Trish from Modernist Australia recently shared with us this incredible find – a breathtaking Blue Mountains home, with Australian modern flavour, and a touch of bohemian flair.

Revisit the original post here

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localcleaning · 6 years

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haroldaujohnson-blog · 6 years

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learnwhatshotmail-blog · 5 years

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zoedart-blog · 5 years

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Gran’s Story

Grans Story

I was born in Kensington, Melbourne on 5-1-1923. My family lived near the Flemington Racecourse. My mother Agnes Grey McKissock and father- Joseph Purcell Brown had a lolly shop next door to the theatre. My mother came to south Australia by sailing ship- My grandfather George McKissock was 6ft1in, He came from Paisley, Scotland and had lovely snowy white hair and beard and a beautiful accent, he was a sailor on sailing ships. Stephen has a couple of signing off certificates in his possession. They came to live in Port Melbourne where his wife Kate Lavina Grey rented a double fronted house and the front rooms were turned into a midwifery hospital. Kate took on women who wanted nursing whilst having babies. My grandfather eventually got a job on the wharves. My father’s mother and father apparently had over time a few country inns around St. Leonards and Sussex Way. He was a sailor in the British Navy, I think he left the navy in Sydney and joined the A.I.F his number was 206. I remember living behind a lolly shop next door to a theatre in Racecourse Road, Flemington. I can remember at the age of 3 kneeling on a chair in front of an ice cream can digging ice-cream out with a spoon at theatre intervals. My sister Betty Ellan was born there and not long after we shifted to Ascot Vale to a delicatessen shop where my mother did ALL the cooking- (pies which we had for lunch every school day) fish, cold meats etc etc.

The Depression was on and sadly people owed them a lot of money, the shop was situated in an area where there were a lot of horse trainers, jockeys where they used to tick up everything, so once again we shifted. To Brunswick where I went to school, I was about 6 years old. We had to wait till our house was ready in Merlynston, North Coburg. We had enough money for a deposit on a three-bedroom weatherboard house at 39 Orvieto Street Merlynston, eight hundred pounds and my mother paid 1 pound a week till they paid it off.

My brother Donald George Harry was born here, and we were all so happy. My father at that time was employed on two ships going back and forth to Tasmania, hit his war wounds were a big problem and he eventually received the TPI pension. We bought a car, at least my dad did and each weekend in the spring and summer we ALL mum, dad and 3 kids, uncle and aunts etc would go to Seaford. The car had a big front seat and two dicky seats on the back of it and a big back seat. So, held quite a few bodies. We also went to Hanging Rock for New Years Day and picnics in the autumn a wonderful time for us kids.

It was such a sad time for my mother and father, our long-awaited brother wasn’t doing to well and it was found he had double cataracts in both eyes and some double mastoids in both ears. My mother had measles whilst carrying him for so many years he had to have many operations, the result was vision- 16 inches and partly spastic. My poor mum had to do so much for Don and my Father, taking Don to a private school 3 days a week. My dad was also in and out of hospital.

At the age of 58 years my mum collapsed and died.

The doctors said, “there was nothing they could do for her, she was worn out”. My dad went on to be manager of the Masonic Club dining room in Flinders Street, all voluntary and he died at 72. During all that time mu aunt Kate looked after Don and Dad. She died at 64 in 1963 and then Allen and I took over the care of Don, looking after him. He was living in a cottage environment for many years he had spent 5 years with us. He was 18 when he came to live with us.

So much for my family.

My sister and I went to church 4 times a week each Sunday, 10am Christian Endeavour, Church, Sunday School and church again at night. My dear grandfather would give us threepence every Sunday if we had been good, many a time I would only get a penny. Bet seemed to manage a threepence. We sang in the choir in the Methodist church in our street and each summer and winter we’d get a new dress only to be worn on a Sunday or for something special. I was also a Sunday school teacher until I got ticked off for wearing lipstick at 16 years old.

My life at home- I always had to clean the brass. Perhaps that was how I got to love it so much. I can remember 4 brass candlesticks they had been given to my mother as a wedding present, I had them dated 17th century. I have them here and Tina’s put her name on them, Brass taps, plates etc. We would as kids have to set the table, always a white cloth and a vase of flowers in the centre, a big oval table and then we had to wash up after tea. In those days no dishwasher, only children. As we did that, we would sing our heads off until dad told us to shut up. I also had to mow the lawns, with a hand mower of course and that took hours. For pocket money on Saturdays we’d get sixpence to go to the local pictures and threepence to spend. If we bought our lunch on Friday whilst attending Merlynston Primary school another threepence- one penny for a pie. 1 penny for a luscious family ice block and a lolly. Bliss. I made many long-life friends at that school, 23 of us met in Melbourne 1st Monday in December. The girls who live in Melbourne met monthly, but there is always the phone, not short cats, they’re lovely long ones. Of the 23 girls present last December only three were under 80 (only just). We met at school, friends through teens, dances, shows, weddings and babies. We all knew each other’s families, husbands, some children until we all went off to different places but now, we are mainly widowed, sad really. Some of the girl’s names- Val Creighton, Lil Westwood, Peg Woods, Clarice Roberts and Norma Joyce the only one of us to marry a yank and head odd to the USA but came back here eventually Olive Stubbs, Peggy Cash, Lorna Watts. We played cherry bobs, basketball, have school reports, concerts exams. My dad gave me my first watch when I passed my merit certificate at 13 1/2 , I could leave school then. My first job was at Allen’s music shop, at the information desk, a bit boring, seven shillings and sixpence a week.

Then I got a position at the posh end of Collins street to learn Millinery at Thommy Harrisons. It was the most exclusive salon in Melbourne where I learnt to make hats and sell them. Only people with lots of money could afford to shop there.

My girlfriends told me that first night after I said after I had a few dances with him “hands off he’s mine” and he was. We had a wonderful time together dancing, dinners at lovely places, theatres etc until he went overseas. We got engaged before he went to Manus Island with the 79th Spitfire Squadron on active service. Allen’s brother Jim was in the Navy, he served in some dangerous countries for 37 years, his brother George was in the 6th Division Middle East, Greece and was captured in Crete and was a POW in Germany and came home safely after the war. Arthur was also in 6th Division and was sent to Malaysia, was captured and died on the Burma Railway. Four sons in the forces, his poor mother she has such a lot to bear. Allen came back to Australia to pick up more spitfires and was given leave to come home from Oakey, Queensland. Two days to get home, three days here and two days back there a week and they let him come home again. We married on the 31st of January 1945 at St Linus Church of England in Merlynston at 5pm, I arranged the wedding in 3 days and we had 4 days honeymoon- I don’t know why my granddaughters had to take 12 months or more. We had the reception at the Federal Hotel in Collins Street, and I wore a lace dress with a train and a veil borrowed from a Catholic Convent. The nuns made them and lent them out to all who would like them. They asked what time we were to be married so they could pray for our future happiness. I thought it was a lovely thought perhaps that is why Allen and I had such a long (58 years) wonderfully happy life together. Everyone has their ups and downs and to succeed one must give and take and look after one another in sickness and health. Then whatever setbacks one can always get above them if there is plenty of love about. We had part of our honeymoon at the Hotel, room 21 with a bathroom, very posh and then had two days at the Georgian Inn. So, we had seven days of married life then Allen went off again to Moratie and several other islands. The war ended in August 1945 and Allen was discharged in Bairnsdale 1945.

I went up there to live and keep house for two months. I couldn’t cook much, but I soon learnt, not like you girls- we weren’t allowed in the kitchen, perhaps because of food rationing. I don’t quite know why as my mother was a lovely cook. We had three honeymoons altogether and between postings it was at Bairnsdale I learnt I was pregnant, thrilled to bits we were. When Allen left the air force, he went to Tech school at night to brush up on his carpentering. We lived with mum and dad in Merlynston. Ian was born 19th of August 1946 and by then we had bought a block of land for 55 pounds at 14 Edward St, Fawkner and were planning our home. Materials were very hard to get, and one had to go on a list to buy things. We gad enough money to build the back of our house, one bedroom, nursery, big kitchen, sunroom, laundry and bathroom combined. Allen worked very hard to get it ready for when Stephen arrived on the 17th of October 1948. We shifted in when Stephen was three weeks old, we furnished our house very comfortable with bits and pieces relations gave us and were quite happy to do that. Later on, we built on a bedroom, hallway, bathroom, and lovely big loungeroom. In 1950 Allen decided to join the police force, he did very well in all his studies often coming 1st or 2nd. He was the only married bloke in No.5 squad and lived out. The single fellows lived in barracks, he even learnt to swim. Allen’s first police station was in Brunswick and by then we decided we’d like a little girl. Ian was at Lynch Road School and Stephen had just started, Stephen and Ian shifted into the middle room, us in the front one (even had a walk-in robe!) The nursery was empty, Robbie John arrived on the 11th of May 1955, and so we gave up the idea of trying for a girl. Allen’s mum had 9 boys and two girls; the girls arrived last. Allen finished off our house and we even had a road made by then, he was doing very well in the police force. Allen was promoted to uniform to plain-clothes detective and went to Airlie College and came out 4th of 36. It was very hard demanding work, all shifts life was a struggle in those days, but we managed to buy a car, a Morris for 100 pounds then in 1952 an A model ford for 50pounds, Allen’s pride and joy. What fun we had picnics, rabbiting, mushrooming, wood gathering. A picnic consisted of a cooked leg of lamb, jar of beetroot, pickles, loaf of bread, butter, tomatoes, white onions and fruitcake- wonderful. Pop and Gran Mumford lived 5 minutes away across the paddocks, we all used to go to Sunday school night tea. Geoff, Dorrie, Jean were home enough to have a footy or a cricket team, great times.

Then, Allen was talked into trying for a country station, Wedderburn the first, what excitement, had to rent out my lovely family house everything just right. Garden was lovely- we shifted just after Christmas 1958. Allen had the Ford all done up as he had to use it for the Police work and away we went with the trailer on the back, on board more incidentals plus bikes, dog, dog kennel, 4 bantams on eggs, 1 possum and I imagine a lot of pot plants. I was his unpaid offsider, After Wedderburn we went to Violet Town the Yarra Junction, each town provided for all us new experiences. Wedderburn was a small town, 3000 people all very friendly, a lovely big old house and an office looking out onto a village green where cricket was played in the summer. Stephen went down to the local milk bar, he was breathless when he got back, the man said we could have a loan of a cow and he had two and not enough feed as we had a Lucerne paddock we accepted. Me on the condition I did not have to milk her. Flossie, A jersey cow. I did learn how to milk later as Allen would sometimes be caught up with work and the boys would be playing sports etc. I also had a piglet given to me for Mother’s Day, when sold 5 months later $79 came my way. I mothered in the first 6 months, 5 baby lambs, a clucky hen who sat on 10 duck eggs, rosella parrots and galas on my combustion stove hearth who all had to be hand fed. We had a possum who ate roses, fruit and chocolate. I even made my own butter, separated the milk and supplied everyone who called in with jars of cream and homemade jams. My town friends could hardly believe but it’s all true.

Our inspector came once a month for lunch and this day Allen had Fred, a simple lad in the lock up. He was caught flashing himself off to school girls. I had to give him lunch also, so inspector said “what are you going to give Fred for lunch?”, same as you I said, but I put a bit more bacon on yours” and the inspector said “are you going to put it on a plate with a fork and knife?”. “yes” I replied. “well” said the inspector “He could break the plate, cut his throat, stab himself with knife and four times with the fork” so, Fred’s lunch was on an enamel plate with an enamel cup and a spoon, one soon learns. Another time, a runaway boy who I had already made him a great heap of sandwiches, Allen came in and said “he was still hungry”, we had, had a flower show and cooking competition, I won the lamington prize and I bought the prize fruit cake, I don’t know if Allen told him what he was about to eat but he never left any.

Next stop Violet Town- Allen’s mother and father were born at Boho and Warrenbain in time we found we were related to half the town. We’d have weekends when Allen’s parents would come up and have open house and all wonderful stories these relations would tell. The Hume Highway was very bad for accidents, dreadful ones- trucks-many times I’d have injured people to look after and feed till their relatives would come and pick them up. Once, Allen and the shire engineer (he said he would help) a truck with milk powder and a truck with 250 sheep collided, what a mess. Both trucks caught fire and by the time Allen got there the sheep were running up and down the highway with their wool on fire. All the sheep had to be destroyed, nothing much left of the two truckies but the shire engineer never offered to go with Allen again.

Next Stop- over the mountains to Yarra Junction. What a difference. Mountains. Huge gumtrees. Ferns and a house on the side of a mountain and facing Bencairn near Donna Buang. Within 3 days it was all on fire. I didn’t see Allen for four days and then I saw him on the TV. Allen and a ranger tried to get two boys and their grandparents to leave their house as it was in a valley surrounded by trees, but they said “they would stay” so Allen couldn’t do much about it. After the fire they went back to find them. They had all perished on the way out in a ute. The house was still standing, so very sad. The fires were over by Wednesday and Dianna Trask’s wedding was on the Saturday. Allen in one car containing a policeman, his wife, myself, 3 boys and two girls in the back of our station wagon, we were the crowd control.

People came from everywhere to Warburton it really was a circus, church windows full of faces, the brides father had his wallet pinched out of his pocket, after all that Allen had to make way for the bride and grooms car to the reception with a green Holden station wagon with all of us in it and one of the kids yells out “look they’re kidding!” what fun we all had. After the fires the ferns grass and trees were all starting to shoot after 10 days. Plenty of snow in the winter to play in.

After two years Allen and our family had to shift back to Melbourne to Seaford to take up a promotion what a shock to our systems, the people were so rude, always in a hurry and didn’t care about one another. After a while I was a bit lost after having been so busy for several years. I was lucky to meet with Winifred Moss a well-known dressmaker for the wealthy, also did beautiful society weddings, entered the gown of the year 7 times and won 3. Winifred wanted someone to do beading and bridal headgear. I started at 3 ½ days a week and ended up doing full time. I was offered a position at Haileybury College looking after 700 boys and masters in sickbay. I loved it, I also had to show overseas visitors over the school and do flowers and decorate the reception rooms when needed.

Allen was not at all well and became very ill and was discharged on medical grounds, as a family his boys and I were very proud of our policeman and the wonderful life he had provided. I retired from Haileybury and we bought an old house on a big treed block near the beach in Rye. We spent many happy years renovating and creating a lovely garden. My garden was featured in Home Beautiful as the best CWA garden on the peninsula.

We decided six months after finishing the house to move to warmer climes, to Maroochydore where we had, looking back 5 ½ years of holidays. But we returned to Victoria as our granddaughters were growing up without us around.

Ian, Heather and four granddaughters in Tinamba

Stephen and June and two granddaughters in Canberra

Rob and Sue in Lakes Entrance

We settled in eagle point and the mozzies made us move to rosebud, where the traffic made us move to Maffra, just the right type of place we were looking for. Lovely little town, very caring people, loving friends and I hope I have many more years among you all.

Sadly, Allen passed away in April 2003, a brave man.

We now have 6 granddaughters and seven great granddaughters, and hopefully someday maybe a great grandson.

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