The following are excerpts from stories I have written based on real life people and events. If you are interested in reading further, please contact me via email.
Umbrella Ribs and Silk
It was an oppressive mid-summer night with storm clouds brewing across the south east of Australia. My grandfather, Captain Harold Shelton, checked the instruments again. He had no real visibility outside the aircraft so he was relying on flying instruments alone: blind instrument flying. He instructed his co-pilot, First Officer Joseph Webb, to radio Mangalore aerodrome for a report on cloud base and wind direction but the radio signal was dropping in and out, as were the lights of the Mangalore aerodrome. The altimeter indicated that they were at 1000 feet, which was ideal for preparing to land as they were only a few miles from the runway. That didn’t explain why the lights of the aerodrome kept dropping in and out of visibility.
Blue Angel and the Wild Love Triangle
DOOF! DOOF!Doof!Doof! The noise fades off as they stagger out of The Exchange Hotel, being bumped from side to side, trying to hold on to each other’s hands so as not to get lost in the crowd. Finally stumbling out on to Oxford Street. As they move further away from the hotel the words of the song become clearer for a while…
Who’s Gus? A man who loves colour
In a little weatherboard turn-of-the-twentieth century cottage beside a rambling creek in Castlemaine lives an artist called Gus Cohen. His humble home is full of the essence of ‘Gus-ness’. This is his unique sense of colour and the collision of order and disorder. From the outside, at first it looks like any other house of it’s era until you see the flash of red on the ledge below the lead light glass of the front door with the red continued on to the architrave, then next to the door is a brightly coloured, circular, wood construction and pale blue veranda posts–evidence of a colourist at heart.
A place for colour: Gus Cohen’s Obsessions
I feel a sense of guilty pleasure writing about Castlemaine artist Gus Cohen–and it’s not due to nepotism; he’s a lifetime family friend. It’s because I love his modernist artwork. In an age where we are debating if Postmodernism is a suitable way of ‘framing’ art discourse; where artists of the younger generation such as Carl Scrase and his Social Engineering Research Initiative are toying with the idea of finding another term for what it is we do; I wonder if there is a new taboo in giving credibility to an artist who expresses modernist concerns.
Mr Lady Long Leather
The Lieutenant is sitting in his temporary digs, looking somewhat like an over-grown school boy in his immaculate, white, Navy shorts and long socks. The sun is only just rising, so the air conditioner is turned off and he has the back door of the motel style room open so the slight breeze can waft in from across the bay. A hint of overripe and rotting mango sullies the air, as thousands of them fall to the ground and lie around the city of Darwin. There is just enough time to peruse dating web sites on the internet before starting his morning shift.
He is tossing up between the Alma Park beat or checking out Robe Street. Too bloody cold for cruising the park. Best to head for Robe Street, he thinks. He has heard a whisper of a new boy. Something new could just be the thing to lift his mood.
It’s a beautiful autumn night and the sun is just going down. The leaves on the trees are just changing colour into a beautiful array of rusts and golden hues.
The first ambulance arrives, pulling up in the driveway of Warren Bridge’s Altona, yellow-brick veneer unit. Two paramedics get out and immediately start getting the trolley and their equipment out of the van. One of the police sergeants greets them urgently and directs them towards the front door.