Why does the night play tricks?

sometimes I’m not really here
like the sky is in my head
when I want to be friends with you
wandering home with empty arms
wondering what is wrong with me this time
why does the night play tricks?


Molly #33

“Wake up girls, I need your help. Get your clothes on.” It was Ellen’s father, dressed in his heavy work boots and dirty jeans.

I was still half asleep as we stumbled outside, following a torch beam across the dark paddock. The night air was chilly and a light frost sparkled in the torchlight. We seemed to be wandering aimlessly and I thought Mr Lees was going to take us to the haunted house.

I was shivering from the cold when suddenly an old ewe appeared in the circle of light. She was having trouble and Mr Lees bent down to assist her, gently drawing out a little lamb and depositing him on the grass. As he made contact with the cold ground his limbs twitched and I could see his ribs heaving.

The ewe seemed to be just as thrilled as I was as she pushed her nose at the new arrival. We did this a number of times through the night until eventually I found myself back in my warm bed, thinking about all those little lambs and how gentle Mr Lees had been with them.

Warm sunshine greeted us the next morning as Ellen and I raced outside to count the number of new lambs that were frolicking around the paddock. We rescued about half a dozen little lambs that had been abandoned by their mothers during the night and carried them one by one up to the house.

Mrs Lees set up a little nursery for the lambs on the back verandah that she made from an old child’s playpen with some blankets on the floor for warmth. Ellen and I followed her into the laundry where she showed us how to put a scoop of powdered milk into a bucket of warm water and mix it around until there were no more lumpy bits.

I filled a baby feeding bottle with the powdered milk mixture and Mrs Lees showed me how to teach the little lambs to suck the teats. I sat on the verandah with my legs crossed and held a soft little lamb in my arms as it squirmed and wriggled on my lap. It took me a few goes to get my lamb drinking because every time I poked the teat in its mouth it would push the teat away with its little tongue and then start wriggling a bit more until I nearly dropped it. Eventually my lamb got the idea and I clung tightly to its warm body as it sucked noisily at the teat.

After all the lambs had been fed, we put them back in their pen and they snuggled together in the corner and fell asleep. Every now and then I would look in the pen and smile at the lamb that I had fed. I had decided that I would call him ‘Woolly’ and sometimes he would lift his head when he saw me looking and make the tiniest little baa because he knew that I was the one that cared for him.

Ellen and I spent the whole morning playing on the verandah and watching the little lambs in their pen. They were nothing like the lambs I had seen in my picture books because they looked so skinny and wrinkly, but they were really lively and noisy. Their wool was so much softer than anything I could ever have imagined and I wished that I could keep one as a pet. Ellen said we weren’t allowed to keep them as pets, though, and as soon as they were big enough they would have to be put back out in the paddock with all the other lambs.

Mrs Lees brought lunch out to the verandah for us, but she told us that we should leave the lambs in peace for a while and go and play in the yard instead. Ellen said it was too boring to play in the yard, so we wandered around the shearing shed looking for something to do.

There were some old doors leaning against the wall in a corner of the shed, and Ellen suddenly had an idea that we could use one to make a raft. It was really heavy and it took ages to drag it down to the dam, but we eventually made it, even though I thought my arms were going to get pulled out of their sockets.

Ellen found an old coke bottle in the dirt and smashed it against the side of the raft to christen it. She said that it was what people did when they launched new ships. We pushed the raft into the water and quickly climbed on board. It leaned precariously to one side as we floated out into the middle of the dam, and every time one of us moved the raft would bob up and down in the water until we were both wet and giggling.

I felt like the whole weekend had been a dream from a story book. “We are just like Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn,” I said with a smile.

“Who are they?” asked Ellen. She was lying on her back with her arms behind her head and her feet were dangling in the water.

“Oh, they’re from a book that Grandma gave me for Christmas last year.” I started to tell her about all the things that Tom Sawyer had gotten up to, how he was always being naughty and getting into mischief. Ellen said she knew exactly what that was like.

After a while I started to get cold from being wet, so Ellen suggested we hop off the raft and start catching yabbies. We ran up to the house and Ellen took some meat out of the fridge, before running back down to the dam. She found a piece of twine near the fence and tied the lump of raw meat to one end, before throwing the line out into the water with the other end tied to a stick on the bank. We then waited in the warm sunshine while I continued to tell her about how Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry went to live on an island and pretended they were pirates.

Eventually the line started to move slowly and with a very delicate touch Ellen drew the twine in until the goggling eyes of a yabby began to appear. She leant forward and scooped the yabby out of the water with her hand and I screamed loudly as it suddenly started waving its claws around and crawled backwards towards the dam. Ellen bravely picked it up behind the head and dropped it in a bucket. When I looked in the bucket I could see the yabby’s eyes looking back at me and it waved its claws around wildly. Ellen asked if I wanted to have a go, but I was happy just watching her catching them.

As she threw the raw meat back into the dam, I moved a little further back up the bank. I decided that I didn’t want to live on an island and be a pirate after all, but I wasn’t game to tell Ellen that.

Molly #32

It was early morning when I woke the next day and I lay in bed and watched the curtain moving slightly in the breeze coming through the open window. Outside the window I could see the sun had started to paint the sky with pink and orange. The colours were reflecting on the bedroom wall, shimmering like fairy lights.  I looked across at Ellen’s sleeping face where it was bathed in a soft pink fairy light that made her look so beautiful.

Somewhere in the distance a dog was barking and I could hear sheep baaing just outside the bedroom window. The smell of bacon and eggs came drifting through the doorway and it made my tummy start to grumble.

Eventually Ellen woke up and we climbed out of bed and walked out to the kitchen together to find Mrs Lees standing over a frypan cooking breakfast.

“Good morning girls, I hope you slept well.” Her eyes looked red and there seemed to be a mark on the side of her pale face. Ellen gave her mother a hug and I thought I saw a tear forming in Mrs Lees’ eye. “Breakfast won’t be long,” she said briskly, as she wiped the back of her hand across her eyes.

Ellen and I climbed onto the stools at the kitchen bench and we were soon munching on a huge plateful of bacon and eggs. No-one talked as we ate so I just watched Mrs Lees moving around the kitchen. She didn’t seem so bright and sparkly as she had yesterday afternoon.

After breakfast, we set off to explore around the farm. Ellen’s world seemed to be really huge to me as we walked from paddock to paddock. She chatted away as we walked and pointed to all the different parts of the farm. She told me the front paddock that we had walked through yesterday was sown to wheat over the winter. I could just see the green shoots starting to appear from the clods of dirt. Over the summer months, she said, sheep would graze the stubble after the crop was harvested.

At the bottom of the paddock was an old house that Ellen said was haunted. It looked really spooky and I didn’t want to go near it, but Ellen insisted on having a look through the window. I stood nervously on the edge of the verandah while she stood on her tippy toes and peered through the dusty window. She said it was too dirty to see inside so she was going to try the door.

“No Ellen,” I said quickly. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Aw, c’mon Molly. I’ll just be a minute.”

I could hear the door creak as she pushed it open. I squeezed my legs together in agony. The inside of the house was dark but I could see a dusty old arm chair facing the doorway, like it was waiting for its owner to return. Ellen stuck her head inside for a moment before changing her mind.

“Maybe we should do this another time,” she decided. Suddenly there was a noise inside, like the sound of something being knocked over and hitting the floor. I’m not sure who was first to run but we were both tearing across the paddock as fast as we could. My gumboots were flopping against my legs as I ran, stumbling across clods of ploughed dirt. I was sure there was a monster after us and I could hear Ellen breathing heavily beside me. It was only after we reached the other side of the gate that we stopped and looked back. The ginger cat that had been in the kitchen yesterday was watching us from the open door of the haunted house. He opened his mouth and yawned.

I looked at Ellen and her brown eyes were laughing. “It was only the cat. Why did you run?” she laughed.

“You ran too,” I said and giggled.

“That’s because you started running.”

We laughed at ourselves and walked off holding hands towards some sheds that were just over a rise. One of the sheds was really high and had an open front. Ellen said it was the tractor shed and it was where the tractor and some other machines lived to keep them out of the weather.

Near the side of the tractor shed we found a few poles made from cypress pine saplings and it was Ellen’s idea that we should make a teepee from them. We dragged the poles all the way down to the backyard and set them up to make a frame. Mrs Lees gave us an old sheet to wrap around the poles and soon we had the perfect cubby house for a couple of girls to sit and talk or read books. We planned to spend the night in our cubby house, just like Wombat, Mouse and Tabby Cat from Ruth Park’s books.

Mrs Lees made sandwiches for lunch and we took them outside and sat in our teepee to eat. “We could live out here, you know,” said Ellen, “And nobody would ever be able to bother us.”

“It might get a bit cold at night,” I said.

“Nah, we would just have lots of blankets to snuggle under.”

I started to think of Mr and Mrs Bear and wondered if they would enjoy sleeping in a teepee all the time.

After we finished eating lunch, we starting exploring again until we saw Ellen’s father walking across a paddock hunting for rabbits with his ferrets and dogs. We sat hidden in the long grass and watched him from a distance. Ellen explained how the ferrets were sent down the rabbit burrows and the dogs caught the rabbits as they shot out the other end. I watched as one cute and furry grey creature launched out of a burrow.

“Oh my gosh, there’s one,” I pointed excitedly. Suddenly one of the dogs pounced on it and brought the rabbit to Mr Lees. He took it from the dog’s mouth and I was horrified when he broke the poor thing’s neck and put it in a bag. One moment it was so full of life and activity, and the next its body was slumped like a piece of old rag. I felt so sad for the little rabbit and wished it had gotten away. All I could think about was the bruise on the side of Mrs Lees’ face.

Still in shock, I let Ellen lead me away to a smaller paddock in front of the house where her mother’s car was parked. “Hey, I’ve got an idea,” she said as she climbed into the car. I thought we were going to pretend that we were driving but Ellen was able to start the car by turning the key.

“Can you drive?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said. “Watch this”.

We drove around and around the paddock a couple of times; Ellen was laughing her head off, but I was a little scared. Suddenly we slid to a stop. Ellen revved the engine but we didn’t move as the car bogged in the freshly ploughed dirt.

Everyone was quiet that night as we waited for Ellen’s father to come home. After dinner I was sent to have a bath, but I could hear yelling and the sound of someone being smacked carrying through the thin walls of the bathroom.

We didn’t talk much at bedtime that night. Ellen said she was too tired.

“Are you okay, Ellen?” I asked cautiously.

She didn’t answer but I could hear her sniffling in the darkness. I climbed out of my bed and slid under the blankets with her. “I love you Ellen,” I said, as I wrapped my arms around her warm body. We fell asleep that way until I was woken from a deep dream when the bedroom light suddenly turned on.


she takes off her clothes
wrapped around her love
lips upon honeysuckle breasts…
teenage boys grind their dreams

Molly #31

Gradually the chilly winter winds began to ease and I started to notice a hint of spring on the breeze as the days grew warmer and new blossoms began to appear on the trees lining the streets. As the bright pink and white flowers bloomed, their perfume filled the air while I rode my bike to school without gloves for the first time in months.

Ellen and I had developed into best friends and we started doing everything together at school. Although we were both the same size, she was outgoing and talkative where I was shy and quiet. She lived on a farm and once I was allowed to spend the whole weekend with her.

I caught the school bus home with Ellen on Friday after school. It was really noisy on the bus with all of the children talking and squealing loudly all the way. Ellen and I sat together and she pointed out all the landmarks along the road and we talked about how much fun we were going to have on the farm. Every few minutes the bus would stop along the road and a couple of children would climb off, before the doors shut and we would start off again with a jerk.

All of the stopping and starting had made me feel car sick, but eventually the bus pulled up in front of a dusty gate on the side of the road and Ellen and I climbed off. The bus took off again, leaving us standing there in a cloud of dust and diesel smoke. We threw our school bags over the gate and then climbed over, before walking all the way up the hill from the main road. By the time we had made it to the house my legs were really tired and I couldn’t wait to sit down.

“Mum, we’re home,” Ellen shouted as we walked through the back door, the screen slamming shut behind us. The kitchen was bright and sunny and the late afternoon light that was shining through the window made the bowls on the bench sparkle. It was the cleanest kitchen I had ever seen, with everything neatly in its place. Beside the kitchen bench there was a large grey tabby cat that was curled up on the floor sound asleep. A ginger cat sat beside Mrs Lees’ legs, looking up and watching her moving around at the kitchen sink, and Ellen’s baby brother was sitting in a high chair and waving a plastic spoon around.

“Hi sweetheart. Hello Molly. You girls can put your bags in the bedroom then come out and have some afternoon tea.” Ellen led the way down the hall to her bedroom and we put our bags down on the floor then ran back to the kitchen. Mrs Lees had left a slice of orange cake and a glass of milk on the kitchen bench for each of us and I was glad to climb onto a stool and rest my legs while I ate.

“Okay girls,” said Ellen’s mother, “When you are finished you need to fetch the eggs and then wash up before dinner.”

I watched Mrs Lees moving around the kitchen as I ate my afternoon tea. It was the first time I had met her. She had long brown hair that was tied back in a pony tail. It made her look quite young and pretty. Her skin was smooth and tanned and her mouth looked kind. She was clearly Ellen’s mother because the same pair of brown eyes smiled gently at me across the kitchen bench that I was used to seeing in the school playground.

She was stirring something in a bowl and the ginger cat stood up and rubbed his face against her leg before he walked over to the bench and rubbed himself against my foot. I bent down and patted him on the head and he closed his eyes and purred. Ellen’s baby brother made gurgling noises as well as he waved the spoon around and smiled at me.

“Come on Molly, let’s go,” said Ellen as she put her glass down on the sink. I hopped off the stool and put my glass carefully beside hers and followed her outside. The screen door banged shut behind me as I raced to catch up with Ellen.

The chicken coop was at the back of the yard and its smell reminded me of the chicken shed I had seen at the show. Some of the chickens squawked loudly as Ellen opened the gate, and when she took a handful of oats from a bag and spread them around on the ground they all flapped around her and made a big fuss. “Here, chook chook chook,” she called, as she threw the little seeds on the ground. As the chickens were busy scrabbling after the grain, Ellen and I searched amongst the straw for the smooth brown eggs. She showed me how to carry the eggs by holding up the skirt of my school dress to make a little basket. I placed three eggs in my skirt basket and walked very carefully back to the house, making sure I didn’t drop any on the way.

It was dark by the time Ellen’s father came into the house and Ellen and I had already been in the bath and changed into our pyjamas. The baby had been put to sleep in his cot and the rest of us sat at the dining table and ate dinner in silence. I couldn’t help thinking how different it was to dinnertime at home where the television was always on in the background and the girls were talking all the time. We sat at a large wooden table covered with a lace tablecloth and there was a nice warm log fire crackling in the background.

I was a little scared of Mr Lees as I watched him slicing the roast beef. He had dark curly hair and eyes that looked at me from under thick black eyebrows. Every now and then I could hear his heavy boots shuffle around on the wooden floor. I looked down at his dirty trousers and thought about how they contrasted with the clean white lace of the table cloth.

“How did you go at school today, girls?” Mr Lees asked in a stern voice.

“It was okay,” Ellen replied calmly. She picked up the sauce jug and tipped some gravy onto her roast.

“What about you, Molly?”

“Oh, it was fine.” I spoke very quietly. My heart was beating fast and I was afraid to look at him.

“Sorry, what was that? You’ll have to speak up,” he said. His voice sounded very gruff and when I lifted my head I couldn’t take my eyes off his boney looking fingernails.

“She said it was okay,” said Ellen, spearing a potato with her fork.

“I was talking to Molly.” He didn’t take his eyes off me and his hands were still holding the carving knife.

I tried to speak again but my tongue felt as thick as a sausage and I had a sick feeling in my stomach. He kept staring at me, waiting for an answer, until suddenly the telephone rang and broke the silence. Mr Lees put the knife down and went to answer the phone. He was gone for a few minutes and when he came back and sat down he complained loudly to Mrs Lees about the high price of something. “How are we meant to make money when it costs twice as much as what we get for the crop?” he growled. He seemed to have forgotten all about me and as soon as we finished eating, Ellen and I were excused from the table.

We raced down the hallway to Ellen’s bedroom and sat on our beds talking until Mrs Lees came in and told us it was time to go to sleep. Ellen’s bedroom was long and skinny, with a bed on either side. At one end of the room there was a bookcase and a small desk while the other end had a dressing table covered with dolls. We lay in our beds and smiled at each other and kept talking in whispers, even after Mrs Lees had come back and turned the light out. It was amazing how our conversations could start with one thing and then float around like a butterfly going from flower to flower. Every now and then we would stop and try to work out how the conversation had flowed before giggling quietly from under our blankets.

We eventually stopped talking and I had drifted off to sleep, when I was suddenly woken by a loud voice coming through the bedroom wall. I couldn’t understand what the voices were saying but I could hear that Mr Lees sounded angry about something and his voice rattled the walls like a bass drum. Mrs Lees was harder to hear with her desperate soprano. Soon there was a loud bang and then silence. I looked across at Ellen but she had her back to me and seemed to be sleeping so I just lay there in the darkness and watched her breathing body moving up and down under the blanket until my eyes started to get heavy.


Neruda’s words move softly over my skin,
cooing to me like a dove
before his tongue circles infinity
between my thighs I feel him
the touch of a master poet
reaching deep within my secret thoughts
here I lie, on my bed,
lips parted, body a-quiver
as the poet meets my desire
and I turn the page

Historic Parramatta

When I checked into the motel I felt like it was kind of familiar. Like I’d been here before. The buildings were shaped like barns and laid out around a paved courtyard. I guessed this was a nod to the Rose Hill racecourse that was just on the other side of the busy highway.

It was a Thursday night and the air was humid, thick with the smell of the city, petrol fumes, burning rubber, hot concrete. The sounds of traffic were blocked out when I shut down the door of the motel room and breathed in the airconditioned coolness. My dress was stuck to my back and the first thing I wanted to do was have a cool shower before dinner.

After dinner I went for a stroll around Parramatta. The evening was still humid but not as stifling as the afternoon heat.

Most of the suburb is an unappealing mix of apartment buildings, old houses and light industrial development. Then I stumbled across some real gems that had somehow survived the transformation of the landscape from a beautiful valley, to an early colonial town to what I found today. Despite the changes, Parramatta River still flows through the middle of the valley and there are glimpses of the original bushland along the banks.

The suburb of Rose Hill was the first European township inland from Sydney Cove. The name of Parramatta was later taken for the district, a corruption of the original name for the area Burramattagal by the traditional custodians of the land. Small farms were carved out of the bush.

The buildings in the photos were on land granted to Captain John Macarthur, later famous for starting the Australian wool industry with his wife, Elizabeth. They were built in the early 1800s and gradually over the next 200 years turned into suburbia.

From the rise in front of the cottage it is still possible to look down toward the Parramatta River despite these changes but I can see change is still going on. The older houses are gradually disappearing in favour of more and more apartment buildings. Most of the people in the area are from India or Middle Eastern countries. Change continues – I wonder what it will look like in another 100 years.

Book review – The Language of Thorns by Leigh Bardugo

In the year that summer stayed too long, the heat lay upon the prairie with the weight of a corpse.’

The Language of Thorns by Leigh Bardugo is a book of fairy tales as they should always have been told. Leigh strips away the fairy tale endings and searches for the real meaning behind the typical fairy tales we all know. They are terrifying, funny and heart warming. And the messages are even more real than those handed down to us over the centuries. Her use of language and understanding of the fairy tale medium is amazing. I was spellbound by each one. Disenchantment is a key theme in fairy tales, but most of Leigh Bardugo’s will surprise you – the disenchantment often comes from the least expected places. Fairy tales were originally meant for adults before somehow becoming children’s stories. The Language of Thorn’s is something of a return to more grownup story telling.

The first trap the fox escaped was his mother’s jaws.’

Not all the characters in The Language of Thorns are beautiful or handsome and waiting to be rescued. Some of the characters are not even likeable. But for all that I think they are more real than a typical fairy tale character. There are more reflections of our own character flaws and bad behaviour than we would like to acknowledge and this makes them so much more relatable.

‘There was a time when the woods near Duva ate girls.’

One of the purposes of fairy tales has always been to serve a warning to children, disguised as a seemingly simple story. Leigh Bardugo is not afraid to rework these stories to get at the heart of the message. We all grew up knowing we should be afraid of strangers – usually men – but the reality is that it’s people that are closest to us that are likely to cause the most harm, either physically or mentally.

It is dangerous to travel the northern road with a troubled heart.’

Fairy tales often involve a set of challenges that the protagonist must face in order to grow as a person. Sometimes these come in the form of a journey. Along the way they will face perilous situations, dangerous people, temptations, and all manner of sins that help them learn. Sometimes the purpose of such a journey is to challenge long held beliefs. A common theme in fairy tales often involves a ‘beast’, with whom the protagonist eventually falls in love. Some believe the purpose of such a theme reflects the change from childhood to adult and attitudes toward sex as the female character has to overcome her fear of sex before she can fall in love.

In the end, the clocksmith was to blame.’

In the world of Language of Thorns there is not always a happy ending, as in life. Endings come and new beginnings, but we don’t all end up as beautiful princesses. Sometimes awful people are just that, awful people. Finding meaning in fairy tales is the main challenge for the reader and it is much better that these meanings are more real than spreading the Disney belief in happy ever after.

You wish to strike a bargain, and so you come north, until the land ends, and you can go no further.’

The final story in Language of Thorns is a retelling of the backstory of a well known fairy tale and Disney movie. It shows us the humanity and emotions that drive even the most villanous characters. It is a shock when we find out who the protagonist really is, but I think the most important message is how society attacks women for not conforming to patriarchal expectations.

There is so much in Language of Thorns. It is beautifully written in the style of fairy tales and I can appreciate what sort of skill and effort that requires. These are stories to revisit on a cold, dark, lonely night. Just don’t expect a prince to come to your rescue.

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