Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 11, 2012 - Page 17www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

The Mekong in yesteryear style

Full flavoured, soft, comforting

ObserverMelbourne

Travellers’ Good Buys

ObserverMelbourne Wines & Liqueurs

withDavidEllis

withDavidEllis

■ We recently ran into a colleaguewe worked with many, many moonsago at ABC News, returning to hernow-home on the Isle of Pines after aweek cruising the mighty Mekongaboard the replica colonial riversteamer, Indochina Pandaw.

And so intrigued were we withwhat our friend Hilary Roots told us,that we asked her to share with ourreaders she and partner AlbertThoma’s week aboard.

Here’s her account: We rode in oxcarts and ‘cyclos,’ visited cat-fishfarms and floating markets, sampledsnake wine and exotic fruits, caught arare, lithesome gibbon swinging fromrafters above our heads, held handswith and gave school books to villagechildren who tugged at our heartstrings, all the while gently cruisingdown the Mekong.

No television, radio, piped musicor internet, just the swirl of the mightyriver, its banks sometimes closeenough to touch, sometimes akilometre apart, a 4,000 kilometre ar-tery feeding, watering and housingmillions along its route through South-East Asia from Tibet.

The muddy colour belies its in-tense richness. Every year from Juneto November melting Himalayansnows swell it so much that the tribu-tary from Tonle Sap lake (Asia’s larg-est) halts, then goes backwards,gorged with tonnes of fresh water.Such dramatic changes bring new fish,

■ Withsales of Merlot boomingacross Australia – its now our third-most popular red after Shiraz andCabernet Sauvignon – there’s cer-tainly no lack of choice on bottle-shopshelves.

And one label that’s doing particu-larly well, not only here but in coun-tries as far-flung as Japan, Norway,Vietnam, Canada, Finland and HongKong, is Weemala from Mudgee inNSW, whose Merlot is always full-flavoured while retaining a nice vari-etal softness.

Their just-released 2010 is one tokeep an eye on as its even richer andfuller than the 2009, a wine that’s al-ready done exceptionally well on theshow circuit. Maker Peter Logansums-up the 2010 as having “a deep,dark side to its character while stillbeing soft and comforting.” Nice darkchocolate, blackberry and blueberryflavours are to the fore and its onethat’s not dominated by oak.

It also somewhat over-delivers at$18 and makes for a delightful win-ter-time companion with beef stewsor oven-baked lamb chops and roastvegetables.

●●●●● Ship Indochina Pandaw on Mekong in Cambodia

flood rice and corn fields with richalluvial sands and silt

Not the sort who enjoy organisedtours, we’d been enticed by an articletorn from a magazine a few yearsback and put with the proverbial‘bucket list.’

Or was it purely the photo of theship? A replica of wooden craft theBritish once used to ply the Irrawaddyin the 19th and first part of the 20thcenturies.

An olde-worlde vessel, only threedecks above water level, thirty pas-senger cabins – the whole outfitted inteak and brass.

Run by Pandaw Cruises, she wasmore like home from the moment westepped aboard. Our cabin cosy, easyto live in, wood panelling, white andnavy blue linen, highlighted by thefiner touches of fresh flowers and silkbathrobes.

Such details were enhanced by theyoung crew, ever devoted to makingour seven-day stay comfortable andmemorable.

A mix of Cambodian, Vietnameseand Burmese, they reflected the ves-sel – discreet, attentive, innovative.

Refined dining of a quality and va-riety to match the best anywhere,whether sampling Asian dishes orenjoying those appealing to Westernpalates.

Intrepid excursions to explore mar-kets and fields, temples and villages,often scrambling up the bank wherethe ship had drawn alongside, tyingup to the nearest tree … guides brim-ming with history, facts and figuresand their own personal accounts ofgrowing up through recent tumultu-ous decades in Cambodia and Viet-nam.

While Indochina Pandaw can take60 passengers, we were only 22,coddled by 26 crew. Early June isconsidered the low season, the waterlevel just starting to rise.

And it can rain every day, but wewere lucky: only one afternoon didthe wind whip up, the skies darkenand the rain pelt down for an hour.

The rest of the week it was warmand humid. Exploring was fun, but itwas always with a welcome sigh wereturned to the cool and respite of theship.

Our fellow voyagers were allwidely travelled, mainly retired, butwith the mental and physical verve ofpeople interested in extending theirexperiences and horizons.

The canopied sun deck bar and sa-lon, and no set-seating for diningmeant we made new acquaintances,swapped many a travel tale.

All dressed simply yet correctly,with no pretentiousness. Interestinglyall were Australian, except us: I’m aKiwi, Albert is Swiss.

And the pivot point, the person whomade the cruise zing, who had an eyeon everything from technical detailsto visas, from orphan children per-forming a magical concert with theirown hand-made costumes, to a crew/guest farewell party the last evening,was Rosie – a Cambodian universitygraduate, officially the purser, butmore like cruise director, confidante,coordinator for all aboard.

Her vivacity and contagious laughmake her precious to Pandaw, and willecho with us for a long time to come.It could well be we’ll meet again onthe waterway to Mandalay.

Details of Indochina Pandaw fromSiem Reap to Ho Chi Minh City:www.pandaw.com

- David Ellis

One For Lunch■ Pinot Gris is Italy’s most-popu-lar white wine being sold there asPinot Grigio, and here local ver-sions are enjoying an amazinglyfast-growing army of Aussie fans.

Banjo’s Run in NSW’s South-ern Highlands has a very moreish2011 Pinot Gris from its cool-cli-mate vineyard at Exeter, this onehaving rich pear and tropical fruitflavours and a slight citrus zest..

A luscious and full-flavouredwine with Asian seafood as a matchat the table written all over it, it isavailable through the cellar door at$32 a bottle or $352 a case (pay foreleven, get twelve, during July) plusfreight. Give proprietor Bill Hall aring on 0408 228 724 to order of goonto www.banjosrun.com.au

Pictured

■ Try this one with oven-bakedlamb chops and roast vegetables.

■ Lusciousand full-flavoured coolclimate Pinot Gris to enjoy withAsian seafoods.

Page 18 - Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 11, 2012 www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

Les Misérables by Victor HugoObserver Classic Books

BONUS

SECTION

Observer

www.MelbourneObserver.com.au Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 11, 2012 - Page 19

climbed over the wooden fence resolutely, andfound himself in the garden. He approached thehut; its door consisted of a very low and narrowaperture, and it resembled those buildings whichroad-laborers construct for themselves along theroads. He thought without doubt, that it was, infact, the dwelling of a road-laborer; he was suf-fering from cold and hunger, but this was, atleast, a shelter from the cold. This sort of dwell-ing is not usually occupied at night. He threwhimself flat on his face, and crawled into thehut. It was warm there, and he found a tolerablygood bed of straw. He lay, for a moment,stretched out on this bed, without the power tomake a movement, so fatigued was he. Then,as the knapsack on his back was in his way, andas it furnished, moreover, a pillow ready to hishand, he set about unbuckling one of the straps.At that moment, a ferocious growl became au-dible. He raised his eyes. The head of an enor-mous dog was outlined in the darkness at theentrance of the hut.It was a dog’s kennel.He was himself vigorous and formidable; hearmed himself with his staff, made a shield ofhis knapsack, and made his way out of the ken-nel in the best way he could, not without enlarg-ing the rents in his rags.He left the garden in the same manner, but back-wards, being obliged, in order to keep the dogrespectful, to have recourse to that manoeuvrewith his stick which masters in that sort of fenc-ing designate as la rose couverte.When he had, not without difficulty, repassedthe fence, and found himself once more in thestreet, alone, without refuge, without shelter,without a roof over his head, chased even fromthat bed of straw and from that miserable ken-nel, he dropped rather than seated himself on astone, and it appears that a passer-by heard himexclaim, “I am not even a dog!”He soon rose again and resumed his march. Hewent out of the town, hoping to find some tree orhaystack in the fields which would afford himshelter.

“Bah! Impossible. This is neither a fair nor amarket day. Have you been to Labarre?”“Yes.”“Well?”The traveller replied with embarrassment: “I donot know. He did not receive me.”“Have you been to What’s-his-name’s, in theRue Chaffaut?”The stranger’s embarrassment increased; hestammered, “He did not receive me either.”The peasant’s countenance assumed an expres-sion of distrust; he surveyed the newcomer fromhead to feet, and suddenly exclaimed, with asort of shudder:—“Are you the man?—”He cast a fresh glance upon the stranger, tookthree steps backwards, placed the lamp on thetable, and took his gun down from the wall.Meanwhile, at the words, Are you the man? thewoman had risen, had clasped her two childrenin her arms, and had taken refuge precipitatelybehind her husband, staring in terror at thestranger, with her bosom uncovered, and withfrightened eyes, as she murmured in a low tone,“Tso-maraude.”11 Patois of the French Alps: chat de maraude,rascally marauder.All this took place in less time than it requires topicture it to one’s self. After having scrutinizedthe man for several moments, as one scruti-nizes a viper, the master of the house returnedto the door and said:—“Clear out!”“For pity’s sake, a glass of water,” said the man.“A shot from my gun!” said the peasant.Then he closed the door violently, and the manheard him shoot two large bolts. A moment later,the window-shutter was closed, and the soundof a bar of iron which was placed against it wasaudible outside.Night continued to fall. A cold wind from theAlps was blowing. By the light of the expiringday the stranger perceived, in one of the gar-dens which bordered the street, a sort of hut,which seemed to him to be built of sods. He

BOOK SECOND. CHAPTER ITHE EVENING OF A DAYOF WALKING - Continued

“I was sent away from the other inn.”“And you are to be turned out of this one.”“Where would you have me go?”“Elsewhere.”The man took his stick and his knapsack anddeparted.As he went out, some children who had fol-lowed him from the Cross of Colbas, and whoseemed to be lying in wait for him, threw stonesat him. He retraced his steps in anger, and threat-ened them with his stick: the children dispersedlike a flock of birds.To Be Continued Next IssueHe passed before the prison. At the door hungan iron chain attached to a bell. He rang.The wicket opened.“Turnkey,” said he, removing his cap politely,“will you have the kindness to admit me, andgive me a lodging for the night?”A voice replied:—“The prison is not an inn. Get yourself arrested,and you will be admitted.”The wicket closed again.He entered a little street in which there weremany gardens. Some of them are enclosed onlyby hedges, which lends a cheerful aspect to thestreet. In the midst of these gardens and hedgeshe caught sight of a small house of a single story,the window of which was lighted up. He peeredthrough the pane as he had done at the publichouse. Within was a large whitewashed room,with a bed draped in printed cotton stuff, and acradle in one corner, a few wooden chairs, anda double-barrelled gun hanging on the wall. Atable was spread in the centre of the room. Acopper lamp illuminated the tablecloth of coarsewhite linen, the pewter jug shining like silver,and filled with wine, and the brown, smokingsoup-tureen. At this table sat a man of aboutforty, with a merry and open countenance, whowas dandling a little child on his knees. Close bya very young woman was nursing another child.The father was laughing, the child was laugh-ing, the mother was smiling.The stranger paused a moment in revery beforethis tender and calming spectacle. What wastaking place within him? He alone could havetold. It is probable that he thought that this joy-ous house would be hospitable, and that, in aplace where he beheld so much happiness, hewould find perhaps a little pity.He tapped on the pane with a very small andfeeble knock.They did not hear him.He tapped again.He heard the woman say, “It seems to me, hus-band, that some one is knocking.”“No,” replied the husband.He tapped a third time.The husband rose, took the lamp, and went tothe door, which he opened.He was a man of lofty stature, half peasant, halfartisan. He wore a huge leather apron, whichreached to his left shoulder, and which a ham-mer, a red handkerchief, a powder-horn, and allsorts of objects which were upheld by the girdle,as in a pocket, caused to bulge out. He carriedhis head thrown backwards; his shirt, widelyopened and turned back, displayed his bull neck,white and bare. He had thick eyelashes, enor-mous black whiskers, prominent eyes, the lowerpart of his face like a snout; and besides all this,that air of being on his own ground, which isindescribable.“Pardon me, sir,” said the wayfarer, “Could you,in consideration of payment, give me a plate ofsoup and a corner of that shed yonder in thegarden, in which to sleep? Tell me; can you?For money?”“Who are you?” demanded the master of thehouse.The man replied: “I have just come from Puy–Moisson. I have walked all day long. I havetravelled twelve leagues. Can you?— if I pay?”“I would not refuse,” said the peasant, “to lodgeany respectable man who would pay me. Butwhy do you not go to the inn?”“There is no room.”

He walked thus for some time, with his headstill drooping. When he felt himself far fromevery human habitation, he raised his eyes andgazed searchingly about him. He was in a field.Before him was one of those low hills coveredwith close-cut stubble, which, after the harvest,resemble shaved heads.The horizon was perfectly black. This was notalone the obscurity of night; it was caused byvery low-hanging clouds which seemed to restupon the hill itself, and which were mountingand filling the whole sky. Meanwhile, as themoon was about to rise, and as there was stillfloating in the zenith a remnant of the brightnessof twilight, these clouds formed at the summitof the sky a sort of whitish arch, whence a gleamof light fell upon the earth.The earth was thus better lighted than the sky,which produces a particularly sinister effect, andthe hill, whose contour was poor and mean, wasoutlined vague and wan against the gloomy ho-rizon. The whole effect was hideous, petty, lu-gubrious, and narrow.There was nothing in the field or on the hill ex-cept a deformed tree, which writhed and shiv-ered a few paces distant from the wayfarer.This man was evidently very far from havingthose delicate habits of intelligence and spiritwhich render one sensible to the mysterious as-pects of things; nevertheless, there was some-thing in that sky, in that hill, in that plain, in thattree, which was so profoundly desolate, that af-ter a moment of immobility and revery he turnedback abruptly. There are instants when natureseems hostile.He retraced his steps; the gates of D—— wereclosed. D——, which had sustained sieges dur-ing the wars of religion, was still surrounded in1815 by ancient walls flanked by square towerswhich have been demolished since. He passedthrough a breach and entered the town again.It might have been eight o’clock in the evening.As he was not acquainted with the streets, herecommenced his walk at random.In this way he came to the prefecture, then tothe seminary. As he passed through the Cathe-dral Square, he shook his fist at the church.At the corner of this square there is a printingestablishment. It is there that the proclamationsof the Emperor and of the Imperial Guard to thearmy, brought from the Island of Elba and dic-tated by Napoleon himself, were printed for thefirst time.Worn out with fatigue, and no longer entertain-ing any hope, he lay down on a stone benchwhich stands at the doorway of this printing of-fice.At that moment an old woman came out of thechurch. She saw the man stretched out in theshadow. “What are you doing there, my friend?”said she.He answered harshly and angrily: “As you see,my good woman, I am sleeping.” The goodwoman, who was well worthy the name, in fact,was the Marquise de R——“On this bench?” she went on.“I have had a mattress of wood for nineteenyears,” said the man; “today I have a mattressof stone.”“You have been a soldier?”“Yes, my good woman, a soldier.”“Why do you not go to the inn?”“Because I have no money.”“Alas!” said Madame de R——, “I have onlyfour sous in my purse.”“Give it to me all the same.”The man took the four sous. Madame de R——continued: “You cannot obtain lodgings in aninn for so small a sum. But have you tried? It isimpossible for you to pass the night thus. Youare cold and hungry, no doubt. Some one mighthave given you a lodging out of charity.”“I have knocked at all doors.”“Well?”“I have been driven away everywhere.”The “good woman” touched the man’s arm, andpointed out to him on the other side of the streeta small, low house, which stood beside theBishop’s palace.“You have knocked at all doors?”“Yes.”“Have you knocked at that one?”“No.”“Knock there.”

Continued on Page 20

●●●●● Victor Hugo

Observer Classic BooksFrom Page 19 tity. Nature had made her a lamb, religion had

made her an angel. Poor sainted virgin! Sweetmemory which has vanished!Mademoiselle Baptistine has so often narratedwhat passed at the episcopal residence thatevening, that there are many people now livingwho still recall the most minute details.At the moment when the Bishop entered, Ma-dame Magloire was talking with considerablevivacity. She was haranguing MademoiselleBaptistine on a subject which was familiar toher and to which the Bishop was also accus-tomed. The question concerned the lock uponthe entrance door.It appears that while procuring some provisionsfor supper, Madame Magloire had heard thingsin divers places. People had spoken of a prowlerof evil appearance; a suspicious vagabond hadarrived who must be somewhere about the town,and those who should take it into their heads toreturn home late that night might be subjected tounpleasant encounters. The police was verybadly organized, moreover, because there wasno love lost between the Prefect and the Mayor,who sought to injure each other by making thingshappen. It behooved wise people to play the partof their own police, and to guard themselveswell, and care must be taken to duly close, barand barricade their houses, and to fasten thedoors well.Madame Magloire emphasized these last words;but the Bishop had just come from his room,where it was rather cold. He seated himself infront of the fire, and warmed himself, and thenfell to thinking of other things. He did not take upthe remark dropped with design by MadameMagloire. She repeated it. Then MademoiselleBaptistine, desirous of satisfying MadameMagloire without displeasing her brother, ven-tured to say timidly:—“Did you hear what Madame Magloire is say-ing, brother?”“I have heard something of it in a vague way,”replied the Bishop. Then half-turning in his chair,placing his hands on his knees, and raising to-wards the old servant woman his cordial face,which so easily grew joyous, and which wasilluminated from below by the firelight,—“Come, what is the matter? What is the matter?Are we in any great danger?”Then Madame Magloire began the whole storyafresh, exaggerating it a little without beingaware of the fact. It appeared that a Bohemian,a bare-footed vagabond, a sort of dangerousmendicant, was at that moment in the town. Hehad presented himself at Jacquin Labarre’s toobtain lodgings, but the latter had not been will-ing to take him in. He had been seen to arrive bythe way of the boulevard Gassendi and roamabout the streets in the gloaming. A gallows-birdwith a terrible face.“Really!” said the Bishop.This willingness to interrogate encouraged Ma-dame Magloire; it seemed to her to indicate thatthe Bishop was on the point of becomingalarmed; she pursued triumphantly:—“Yes, Monseigneur. That is how it is. There willbe some sort of catastrophe in this town to-night.Every one says so. And withal, the police is sobadly regulated” (a useful repetition). “The ideaof living in a mountainous country, and not evenhaving lights in the streets at night! One goesout. Black as ovens, indeed! And I say,Monseigneur, and Mademoiselle there says withme —”“I,” interrupted his sister, “say nothing. Whatmy brother does is well done.”Madame Magloire continued as though therehad been no protest:—“We say that this house is not safe at all; that ifMonseigneur will permit, I will go and tell PaulinMusebois, the locksmith, to come and replacethe ancient locks on the doors; we have them,and it is only the work of a moment; for I saythat nothing is more terrible than a door whichcan be opened from the outside with a latch bythe first passer-by; and I say that we need bolts,Monseigneur, if only for this night; moreover,Monseigneur has the habit of always saying‘come in’; and besides, even in the middle ofthe night, O mon Dieu! there is no need to askpermission.”At that moment there came a tolerably violentknock on the door.“Come in,” said the Bishop.

The door opened.It opened wide with a rapid movement, as thoughsome one had given it an energetic and resolutepush.A man entered.We already know the man. It was the wayfarerwhom we have seen wandering about in searchof shelter.He entered, advanced a step, and halted, leav-ing the door open behind him. He had his knap-sack on his shoulders, his cudgel in his hand, arough, audacious, weary, and violent expressionin his eyes. The fire on the hearth lighted himup. He was hideous. It was a sinister apparition.Madame Magloire had not even the strength toutter a cry. She trembled, and stood with hermouth wide open.Mademoiselle Baptistine turned round, beheldthe man entering, and half started up in terror;then, turning her head by degrees towards thefireplace again, she began to observe herbrother, and her face became once more pro-foundly calm and serene.The Bishop fixed a tranquil eye on the man.As he opened his mouth, doubtless to ask thenew-comer what he desired, the man rested bothhands on his staff, directed his gaze at the oldman and the two women, and without waitingfor the Bishop to speak, he said, in a loudvoice:—“See here. My name is Jean Valjean. I am aconvict from the galleys. I have passed nine-teen years in the galleys. I was liberated fourdays ago, and am on my way to Pontarlier, whichis my destination. I have been walking for fourdays since I left Toulon. I have travelled a dozenleagues today on foot. This evening, when I ar-rived in these parts, I went to an inn, and theyturned me out, because of my yellow passport,which I had shown at the town-hall. I had to doit. I went to an inn. They said to me, ‘Be off,’ atboth places. No one would take me. I went tothe prison; the jailer would not admit me. I wentinto a dog’s kennel; the dog bit me and chasedme off, as though he had been a man. One wouldhave said that he knew who I was. I went intothe fields, intending to sleep in the open air, be-neath the stars. There were no stars. I thought itwas going to rain, and I re-entered the town, toseek the recess of a doorway. Yonder, in thesquare, I meant to sleep on a stone bench. Agood woman pointed out your house to me, andsaid to me, ‘Knock there!’ I have knocked. Whatis this place? Do you keep an inn? I have money— savings. One hundred and nine francs fifteensous, which I earned in the galleys by my labor,in the course of nineteen years. I will pay. Whatis that to me? I have money. I am very weary;twelve leagues on foot; I am very hungry. Areyou willing that I should remain?”“Madame Magloire,” said the Bishop, “you willset another place.”The man advanced three paces, and ap-proached the lamp which was on the table.“Stop,” he resumed, as though he had not quiteunderstood; “that’s not it. Did you hear? I am agalley-slave; a convict. I come from the gal-leys.” He drew from his pocket a large sheet ofyellow paper, which he unfolded. “Here’s mypassport. Yellow, as you see. This serves to ex-pel me from every place where I go. Will youread it? I know how to read. I learned in thegalleys. There is a school there for those whochoose to learn. Hold, this is what they put onthis passport: ‘Jean Valjean, discharged convict,native of’— that is nothing to you —‘has beennineteen years in the galleys: five years forhouse-breaking and burglary; fourteen years forhaving attempted to escape on four occasions.He is a very dangerous man.’ There! Every onehas cast me out. Are you willing to receive me?Is this an inn? Will you give me something toeat and a bed? Have you a stable?”“Madame Magloire,” said the Bishop, “you willput white sheets on the bed in the alcove.” Wehave already explained the character of the twowomen’s obedience.Madame Magloire retired to execute these or-ders.The Bishop turned to the man.“Sit down, sir, and warm yourself. We are goingto sup in a few moments, and your bed will beprepared while you are supping.”At this point the man suddenly comprehended.The expression of his face, up to that time som-

bre and harsh, bore the imprint of stupefaction,of doubt, of joy, and became extraordinary. Hebegan stammering like a crazy man:—“Really? What! You will keep me? You do notdrive me forth? A convict! You call me sir! Youdo not address me as thou? ‘Get out of here, youdog!’ is what people always say to me. I feltsure that you would expel me, so I told you atonce who I am. Oh, what a good woman thatwas who directed me hither! I am going to sup!A bed with a mattress and sheets, like the rest ofthe world! a bed! It is nineteen years since Ihave slept in a bed! You actually do not wantme to go! You are good people. Besides, I havemoney. I will pay well. Pardon me, monsieurthe inn-keeper, but what is your name? I willpay anything you ask. You are a fine man. Youare an inn-keeper, are you not?”“I am,” replied the Bishop, “a priest who liveshere.”“A priest!” said the man. “Oh, what a fine priest!Then you are not going to demand any moneyof me? You are the cure, are you not? the cureof this big church? Well! I am a fool, truly! I hadnot perceived your skull-cap.”As he spoke, he deposited his knapsack and hiscudgel in a corner, replaced his passport in hispocket, and seated himself. MademoiselleBaptistine gazed mildly at him. He continued:“You are humane, Monsieur le Cure; you havenot scorned me. A good priest is a very goodthing. Then you do not require me to pay?”“No,” said the Bishop; “keep your money. Howmuch have you? Did you not tell me one hun-dred and nine francs?”“And fifteen sous,” added the man.“One hundred and nine francs fifteen sous. Andhow long did it take you to earn that?”“Nineteen years.”“Nineteen years!”The Bishop sighed deeply.The man continued: “I have still the whole ofmy money. In four days I have spent only twenty-five sous, which I earned by helping unloadsome wagons at Grasse. Since you are an abbe,I will tell you that we had a chaplain in the gal-leys. And one day I saw a bishop there.Monseigneur is what they call him. He was theBishop of Majore at Marseilles. He is the curewho rules over the other cures, you understand.Pardon me, I say that very badly; but it is such afar-off thing to me! You understand what weare! He said mass in the middle of the galleys,on an altar. He had a pointed thing, made ofgold, on his head; it glittered in the bright light ofmidday. We were all ranged in lines on the threesides, with cannons with lighted matches facingus. We could not see very well. He spoke; buthe was too far off, and we did not hear. That iswhat a bishop is like.”While he was speaking, the Bishop had goneand shut the door, which had remained wideopen.Madame Magloire returned. She brought a sil-ver fork and spoon, which she placed on thetable.“Madame Magloire,” said the Bishop, “placethose things as near the fire as possible.” Andturning to his guest: “The night wind is harsh onthe Alps. You must be cold, sir.”Each time that he uttered the word sir, in hisvoice which was so gently grave and polished,the man’s face lighted up. Monsieur to a convictis like a glass of water to one of the shipwreckedof the Medusa. Ignominy thirsts for consider-ation.“This lamp gives a very bad light,” said theBishop.Madame Magloire understood him, and went toget the two silver candlesticks from the chim-ney-piece in Monseigneur’s bed-chamber, andplaced them, lighted, on the table.“Monsieur le Cure,” said the man, “you aregood; you do not despise me. You receive meinto your house. You light your candles for me.Yet I have not concealed from you whence Icome and that I am an unfortunate man.”The Bishop, who was sitting close to him, gen-tly touched his hand. “You could not help tellingme who you were. This is not my house; it is thehouse of Jesus Christ. This door does not de-mand of him who enters whether he has a name,but whether he has a grief. You suffer, you arehungry and thirsty; you are welcome. And donot thank me; do not say that I receive you in myhouse. No one is at home here, except the manwho needs a refuge. I say to you, who are pass-ing by, that you are much more at home herethan I am myself. Everything here is yours. What

- Continued on Page 29

BOOK SECOND. CHAPTER IIPRUDENCE COUNSELLED

TO WISDOM

Page 20 - Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 11, 2012 www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

That evening, the Bishop of D——, after hispromenade through the town, remained shut uprather late in his room. He was busy over a greatwork on Duties, which was never completed,unfortunately. He was carefully compiling ev-erything that the Fathers and the doctors havesaid on this important subject. His book was di-vided into two parts: firstly, the duties of all; sec-ondly, the duties of each individual, accordingto the class to which he belongs. The duties ofall are the great duties. There are four of these.Saint Matthew points them out: duties towardsGod (Matt. vi.); duties towards one’s self (Matt.v. 29, 30); duties towards one’s neighbor (Matt.vii. 12); duties towards animals (Matt. vi. 20,25). As for the other duties the Bishop foundthem pointed out and prescribed elsewhere: tosovereigns and subjects, in the Epistle to theRomans; to magistrates, to wives, to mothers, toyoung men, by Saint Peter; to husbands, fathers,children and servants, in the Epistle to theEphesians; to the faithful, in the Epistle to theHebrews; to virgins, in the Epistle to theCorinthians. Out of these precepts he was labo-riously constructing a harmonious whole, whichhe desired to present to souls.At eight o’clock he was still at work, writingwith a good deal of inconvenience upon littlesquares of paper, with a big book open on hisknees, when Madame Magloire entered, ac-cording to her wont, to get the silver-ware fromthe cupboard near his bed. A moment later, theBishop, knowing that the table was set, and thathis sister was probably waiting for him, shut hisbook, rose from his table, and entered the din-ing-room.The dining-room was an oblong apartment, witha fireplace, which had a door opening on thestreet (as we have said), and a window openingon the garden.Madame Magloire was, in fact, just putting thelast touches to the table.As she performed this service, she was con-versing with Mademoiselle Baptistine.A lamp stood on the table; the table was near thefireplace. A wood fire was burning there.One can easily picture to one’s self these twowomen, both of whom were over sixty years ofage. Madame Magloire small, plump, vivacious;Mademoiselle Baptistine gentle, slender, frail,somewhat taller than her brother, dressed in agown of puce-colored silk, of the fashion of 1806,which she had purchased at that date in Paris,and which had lasted ever since. To borrow vul-gar phrases, which possess the merit of givingutterance in a single word to an idea which awhole page would hardly suffice to express,Madame Magloire had the air of a peasant, andMademoiselle Baptistine that of a lady. MadameMagloire wore a white quilted cap, a goldJeannette cross on a velvet ribbon upon herneck, the only bit of feminine jewelry that therewas in the house, a very white fichu puffing outfrom a gown of coarse black woollen stuff, withlarge, short sleeves, an apron of cotton cloth inred and green checks, knotted round the waistwith a green ribbon, with a stomacher of thesame attached by two pins at the upper corners,coarse shoes on her feet, and yellow stockings,like the women of Marseilles. MademoiselleBaptistine’s gown was cut on the patterns of 1806,with a short waist, a narrow, sheath-like skirt,puffed sleeves, with flaps and buttons. She con-cealed her gray hair under a frizzed wig knownas the baby wig. Madame Magloire had an in-telligent, vivacious, and kindly air; the two cor-ners of her mouth unequally raised, and her up-per lip, which was larger than the lower, im-parted to her a rather crabbed and imperiouslook. So long as Monseigneur held his peace,she talked to him resolutely with a mixture ofrespect and freedom; but as soon as Monseigneurbegan to speak, as we have seen, she obeyedpassively like her mistress. MademoiselleBaptistine did not even speak. She confined her-self to obeying and pleasing him. She had neverbeen pretty, even when she was young; she hadlarge, blue, prominent eyes, and a long archednose; but her whole visage, her whole person,breathed forth an ineffable goodness, as westated in the beginning. She had always beenpredestined to gentleness; but faith, charity, hope,those three virtues which mildly warm the soul,had gradually elevated that gentleness to sanc-

CHAPTER IIITHE HEROISM OF

PASSIVE OBEDIENCE

Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 11, 2012 - Page 21www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

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RUFFY(From Our Correspondent)

Mr J. W. Leckie addrssced a meeting of farm-ers in the Ruffy Hall, on Saturday last, but owingto the wet afternoon and a nuinber being away ata funeral, there was not a great many present.However. the speaker clearly placed his viewsbefore the audience, and was well received.

Tenders have been called for the supply ofpoles for the telephlone line to connect Ruffywith Yarck.

Mr Holmes, the local Presbyterian clergy-man, was presented with a purse of sovereignsby the congregation, on Wednesday last. MrHolmes, who was held in high esteem, has beentransferred to Natimuk.

JUST AS PLEASEDA commercial traveller the othe day called, onbusiness, upon a tradesman, and after booking agood order, invited his customer to have a drinkat the public-houso .across the way.

"No, no," said the tradesman. "I won't have adrlnk; but Just tell me how much it would costyou in' case I accepted your offer." "Oh! per-haps a shilling," replied the man of the road.

"Very well, then," continued the keen trades-man; "give me the 'bob,' asI'll be just as pleasedas if I had had a drink with you.”

ALARM FOR PUNCTURED TYRESA device has beeu introduced to give warningwhen a motorcar tyre is punctured, and the carrunning on whole or partly inflated tyres. Thearrangement is a bell and plunger attachmentfastened to a spoke of the wheel. The momentthe tyre begins to go soft the plunger strikes theground at every revolution of the wheel and sorings the bell. It is a simple matter for a driver torun a long distance on a uninflated tyre withoutknowing

100 Years AgoThe Alexandra and Yea Standard

Friday, July 12, 1912

■ How did a fool and his money get together inthe first place?

■ Yarborough (n) - A hard of cards containingno card above a nine.

■ Which is the only US state not to have astraight line in its border?

Cooking Time30 minutesIngredients (serves 6)Vegetable oil, to grease100g (1/2 cup) caster sugar1 x 75g pkt toasted slivered almonds1 x 350g pkt double unfilled round sponge cake125ml (1/2 cup) fresh espresso coffee80ml (1/3 cup) marsala45g (1/4 cup, lightly packed) brown sugar2 x 250g ctns mascarpone45g (1/4 cup) icing sugar mixture1 tsp vanilla essenceCocoa powder, to dustMethodBrush a large baking tray with oil to lightly grease.Place the sugar in a large saucepan over high heat andcook, stirring, for 5-7 minutes or until sugarcaramelises. Remove from heat. Add the almonds andstir to coat. Pour over the prepared tray and set asidefor 10 minutes to set.Meanwhile, use a large serrated knife to split eachsponge cake in half horizontally. Combine the coffee,marsala and brown sugar in a medium bowl. Place themascarpone, icing sugar and vanilla in a medium bowland stir until well combined and mixture thickensslightly.Place 1 sponge-cake layer, cut-side up, on a cake standor serving plate. Brush the cut surface lightly withcoffee mixture. Spread one-sixth of the mascarponemixture evenly over the sponge cake.Brush the cut surface of another sponge-cake layer withcoffee mixture and place, cut-side down, on themascarpone mixture. Brush the top lightly with cof-fee mixture. Continue layering with half the remain-ing mascarpone mixture and the remaining spongecake and coffee mixture. Spread the top and side of thecake with the remaining mascarpone mixture.Finely chop the almond praline and press evenly overthe side of the cake. Dust the top with cocoa powderand cut into slices to serve.

■ Yesterday (Tues., July 10). Belated birthdaygreetings to the mighty Anthony Healey.■ Wednesday, July 11. Stasia Raft celebratesa special day today (see Page 6): happy birth-day! Observer readers Brenda and Arthur cel-ebrate their wedding anniversary. ComedianMick Molloy is 46. Actress Rachael Taylor wasborn in Launceston, 28 years ago (1984).■ Thursday, July 12. Writer Philip Adams wasborn in Maryborough, 73 years ago (1939). Weremember the late Edward ‘Weary’ Dunlop,born in Wangaratta in 1907, and who died aged85 in 1993.■ Friday, July 13. Happy birthday to SueMcPhee. The late ‘Big Kev’ (McQuay) was bornin Seymour (Vic.) in 1949; he died aged 56 in2005. Actress Penny Cook is 55; she was bornin Melbourne in 1957. Football identities TimWatson (51) and Mark Neeld (41) celebrate to-day.■ Saturday, July 14. Actor John Wood (66).■ Sunday, July 15. Media man John Black-man is 65 today; best wishes JB.■ Monday, July 16. Daniel Long is 29; cheers!Birthday honours to Observer reader BarbaraMacFarlane of Preston.■ Tuesday, July 17. Catherine Sercia Kourosand Kate Neilson share a birthday today. GregKennedy of Warrandyte blows out the candlestoday.

■ Cheerio to Darryl Cotton, in hospital.■ A big cheerio to Observer advertiser JohnGilmour who has undergone surgery on his eye.■ Bon voyage to Philip Brady.

■ Thanks to Ken Henderson, formerly ofBentleigh, who sent an Arthur Lake phototoObserver columnist Kevin Trask.■ Observer reader June Warren of NorthCroydon, sent a ‘thank you’ card after winninga Golden Memories DC from Golden Days Ra-dio. We haven’t even posted the prizes yet!■ Observer reader Betty Jeffrey of Glenburntells us that her ‘Treacle Tart’ recipe has beenposted on the Weekly Times website.

www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

Aries (Mar 21 - Apr 20)The strength which you have shown recently has not gone unnoticed, so don't feeldespondent. Conversations you have this week will prove this to you. Power dress forsuccess today. It can change your future.Taurus (Apr 21 - May 21)Home matters are highlighted and stressful but you can sort everything out to youradvantage if you would deal with the issue and not the many minor matters related toit. Venus boosts self esteem in love.Gemini (May 22 - June 21)A good time to perfect your abilities and to think about taking up a course of study toenhance your career. Don't tell lies in love. They're going to come back on you if youdo.Cancer (June 22 - July 23)You don't want to intentionally hurt anyone's feelings but you may not be able to helpdoing so if they don't stop pressurising you. Contracts to do with the home prove luckynow.Leo (July 24 - Aug 23)You may have to make do today rather than getting exactly what you want. Don'tworry though Leo as your actions and sacrifices are sure to be noted by those who canhelp your future.Virgo (Aug 24 - Sept 23)Minor arguments must not be allowed to get out of control or you'll regret it. Otherpressures are mounting and so it's time to prioritize and deal with the most importantfirst.Libra (Sept 24 - Oct 23)Happiness can be found by following your own heart and advice and not that of others.After all it's you who must live with your choices Libra. Overtime pays dividendsfinancially and professionally.Scorpio (Oct 24 - Nov 22)Forced changes are set to be a blessing in disguise. What you think is a promise froma colleague could turn out to be just a suggestion so have a back up plan in place.Sagittarius (Nov 23 - Dec 21)Don't fall out with family over issues which you know you will never see eye to eyeabout. We can't all always agree with everything and if you can show you are thegrown up, respect is sure to be offered.Capricorn (Dec 22 - Jan 20)Arguments are likely to spiral out of control if you are not careful. Rein in youremotions or you'll end up regretting what you say and do. An old friendship is re-ignited. Much to your joy.Aquarius (Jan 21 - Feb 19)Telling your family how you feel can do much to bring you closer together. In fact,current trends suggest that all relationships in your life gain strength and clarity. Wearblue for luck in financial affairs.Pisces (Feb 20 - March 20)Impromptu invites should be accepted as they're sure to lead to a night to remember.ÂYounger faces can benefit from your time and energy. You have the experience theyare lacking.

Your Stars with Christina La Cross

●●●●● Philip Brady, Gill Andrew and PaulCronin were at Misty’s Diner, Prahran,for a joint birthday celebration.

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www.MelbourneObserver.com.au Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 11, 2012 - Page 23

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Buying Guide

Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 11, 2012 - Page 25www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

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Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 11, 2012 - Page 27www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

Victoria Pictorial Historic Photo Collection

●●●●● Queen Street, Melbourne. 1906. ●●●●● Indian Elephant, Melbourne Zoological Gardens. 1906.

●●●●● Tea House. Botanic Gardens. 1904 ●●●●● View from Gem Pier, Wiliamstown. 1906.

●●●●● Railway Station, Sandringham. 1911. ●●●●● River Yarra and Hawthorn Bridge. 1906.

●●●●● Town Hall, Northcote. 1909. ●●●●● Mordialloc Creek. 1907.

Page 28 - Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 11, 2012 www.MelbourneObserver.com.au

Observer Classic Books

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From Page 30need have I to know your name? Besides, be-fore you told me you had one which I knew.”The man opened his eyes in astonishment.“Really? You knew what I was called?”“Yes,” replied the Bishop, “you are called mybrother.”“Stop, Monsieur le Cure,” exclaimed the man.“I was very hungry when I entered here; but youare so good, that I no longer know what hashappened to me.”The Bishop looked at him, and said,—“You have suffered much?”“Oh, the red coat, the ball on the ankle, a plankto sleep on, heat, cold, toil, the convicts, thethrashings, the double chain for nothing, the cellfor one word; even sick and in bed, still the chain!Dogs, dogs are happier! Nineteen years! I amforty-six. Now there is the yellow passport. Thatis what it is like.”“Yes,” resumed the Bishop, “you have comefrom a very sad place. Listen. There will bemore joy in heaven over the tear-bathed face ofa repentant sinner than over the white robes of ahundred just men. If you emerge from that sadplace with thoughts of hatred and of wrathagainst mankind, you are deserving of pity; ifyou emerge with thoughts of good-will and ofpeace, you are more worthy than any one ofus.”In the meantime, Madame Magloire had servedsupper: soup, made with water, oil, bread, andsalt; a little bacon, a bit of mutton, figs, a freshcheese, and a large loaf of rye bread. She had,of her own accord, added to the Bishop’s ordi-nary fare a bottle of his old Mauves wine.The Bishop’s face at once assumed that expres-sion of gayety which is peculiar to hospitablenatures. “To table!” he cried vivaciously. As washis custom when a stranger supped with him, hemade the man sit on his right. MademoiselleBaptistine, perfectly peaceable and natural, tookher seat at his left.The Bishop asked a blessing; then helped thesoup himself, according to his custom. The manbegan to eat with avidity.All at once the Bishop said: “It strikes me thereis something missing on this table.”Madame Magloire had, in fact, only placed thethree sets of forks and spoons which were abso-lutely necessary. Now, it was the usage of the

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Observer Crossword Solution No 32

his with which you are acquainted, interspers-ing his words with graceful attentions to me. Herecurred frequently to that comfortable trade ofgrurin, as though he wished the man to under-stand, without advising him directly and harshly,that this would afford him a refuge. One thingstruck me. This man was what I have told you.Well, neither during supper, nor during the en-tire evening, did my brother utter a single word,with the exception of a few words about Jesuswhen he entered, which could remind the manof what he was, nor of what my brother was. Toall appearances, it was an occasion for preach-ing him a little sermon, and of impressing theBishop on the convict, so that a mark of thepassage might remain behind. This might haveappeared to any one else who had this, unfortu-nate man in his hands to afford a chance to nour-ish his soul as well as his body, and to bestowupon him some reproach, seasoned with moral-izing and advice, or a little commiseration, withan exhortation to conduct himself better in thefuture. My brother did not even ask him fromwhat country he came, nor what was his history.For in his history there is a fault, and my brotherseemed to avoid everything which could remindhim of it. To such a point did he carry it, that atone time, when my brother was speaking of themountaineers of Pontarlier, who exercise agentle labor near heaven, and who, he added,are happy because they are innocent, he stoppedshort, fearing lest in this remark there might haveescaped him something which might wound theman. By dint of reflection, I think I have com-prehended what was passing in my brother’sheart. He was thinking, no doubt, that this man,whose name is Jean Valjean, had his misfor-tune only too vividly present in his mind; that thebest thing was to divert him from it, and to makehim believe, if only momentarily, that he was aperson like any other, by treating him just in hisordinary way. Is not this indeed, to understandcharity well? Is there not, dear Madame, some-thing truly evangelical in this delicacy whichabstains from sermon, from moralizing, fromallusions? and is not the truest pity, when a manhas a sore point, not to touch it at all? It hasseemed to me that this might have been mybrother’s private thought. In any case, what Ican say is that, if he entertained all these ideas,he gave no sign of them; from beginning to end,even to me he was the same as he is everyevening, and he supped with this Jean Valjeanwith the same air and in the same manner inwhich he would have supped with M. Gedeon leProvost, or with the curate of the parish.

To Be Continued Next Issue

house, when the Bishop had any one to supper,to lay out the whole six sets of silver on thetable-cloth — an innocent ostentation. Thisgraceful semblance of luxury was a kind ofchild’s play, which was full of charm in that gentleand severe household, which raised poverty intodignity.Madame Magloire understood the remark, wentout without saying a word, and a moment laterthe three sets of silver forks and spoons de-manded by the Bishop were glittering upon thecloth, symmetrically arranged before the threepersons seated at the table.

“‘You are going to a good country,’ said mybrother. ‘During the Revolution my family wasruined. I took refuge in Franche–Comte at first,and there I lived for some time by the toil of myhands. My will was good. I found plenty to oc-cupy me. One has only to choose. There arepaper mills, tanneries, distilleries, oil factories,watch factories on a large scale, steel mills,copper works, twenty iron foundries at least, fourof which, situated at Lods, at Chatillon, atAudincourt, and at Beure, are tolerably large.’“I think I am not mistaken in saying that thoseare the names which my brother mentioned.Then he interrupted himself and addressedme:—“‘Have we not some relatives in those parts, mydear sister?’“I replied,—“‘We did have some; among others, M. deLucenet, who was captain of the gates atPontarlier under the old regime.’“‘Yes,’ resumed my brother; ‘but in ‘93, onehad no longer any relatives, one had only one’sarms. I worked. They have, in the country ofPontarlier, whither you are going, MonsieurValjean, a truly patriarchal and truly charmingindustry, my sister. It is their cheese-dairies,which they call fruitieres.’“Then my brother, while urging the man to eat,explained to him, with great minuteness, whatthese fruitieres of Pontarlier were; that they weredivided into two classes: the big barns whichbelong to the rich, and where there are forty orfifty cows which produce from seven to eightthousand cheeses each summer, and the asso-ciated fruitieres, which belong to the poor; theseare the peasants of mid-mountain, who hold theircows in common, and share the proceeds. ‘Theyengage the services of a cheese-maker, whomthey call the grurin; the grurin receives the milkof the associates three times a day, and marksthe quantity on a double tally. It is towards theend of April that the work of the cheese-dairiesbegins; it is towards the middle of June that thecheese-makers drive their cows to the moun-tains.’“The man recovered his animation as he ate.My brother made him drink that good Mauveswine, which he does not drink himself, becausehe says that wine is expensive. My brother im-parted all these details with that easy gayety of

Melbourne Observer - Wednesday, July 11, 2012 - Page 29

CHAPTER IVDETAILS CONCERNING THE CHEESE-

DAIRIES OF PONTARLIER

Now, in order to convey an idea of what passedat that table, we cannot do better than to tran-scribe here a passage from one of Mademoi-selle Baptistine’s letters to MadameBoischevron, wherein the conversation betweenthe convict and the Bishop is described with in-genious minuteness.“... This man paid no attention to any one. Heate with the voracity of a starving man. How-ever, after supper he said:“‘Monsieur le Cure of the good God, all this isfar too good for me; but I must say that the cart-ers who would not allow me to eat with themkeep a better table than you do.’“Between ourselves, the remark rather shockedme. My brother replied:—“‘They are more fatigued than I.’“‘No,’ returned the man, ‘they have more money.You are poor; I see that plainly. You cannot beeven a curate. Are you really a cure? Ah, if thegood God were but just, you certainly ought tobe a cure!’“‘The good God is more than just,’ said mybrother.“A moment later he added:—“‘Monsieur Jean Valjean, is it to Pontarlier thatyou are going?’“‘With my road marked out for me.’“I think that is what the man said. Then he wenton:—“‘I must be on my way by daybreak tomorrow.Travelling is hard. If the nights are cold, thedays are hot.’

S M A N A G E R I A L C A L L S I N R E G U L A T I O N C

S P A R O R D L I E A I O L E A L N O V A L

O H E A D A C H E A L W G E A D E C L I N E D R

T Y H V N M E L A N C H O L I C G I S U A

V O I D M I L I T I A W R T E E N A G E L I F E

I N T E R N E T I S A T A N M A R E S T A W A K E N E D

B E U L A Y O F F R R A B A T S B R O N T E E E U

R O M P E D T P Y R A M I D S R E S P R A Y S O M Y O P I C

A I O E T U Y S T E A D Y B L R U T A

T O S S M I S U S A G E S I U E S O L O I S T S K N O T

I I M E N N A S P R E A D I N G O C Y E A E O

O W N E R N I C K E L S A S E T U N C L E A R M I S E R

N A G S O L N E C A T A R R H L R A A Y S A S

T F C A T E P E E N U N C L E X N A S

C L A V E N D E R I M I R A G E S E M E E K N E S S T

T H R O W N A Y E A Y E G E A R N E D I A S I A N

F R E S C U E R M U N D E R P A S S U E P I S T L E F

F U S E D E S L I P U P E A I U N D O N E E E M I R S

L N P T P F A M E D N E N B I

B L O C H A I R S T Y L I S T S S I D E S T R E E T S L A C K

L Y R E S L I R E P T E R T W P E C A N

O D M E A N T E A S T R O N O M E R S O R E A R S H I

O B E S E B D W A R F O L W M A R O M A D A L I V E

M R L E A V E S T A N T A L I S I N G P T I D A L E V

E L E C T M C O L R T E E I L M O V I E

D O D O M A D O N N A L I L Y C U N W A R R A N T E D B E L L

N M R C A O D O U R P I G S L

A G R E E C P H O T O S B N S O R D E A L D M E D I C

W D E L O U S E E E A S Y C H A I R E B Y L I N E S T

C I V I L M M O D E S T L S T A R V E S I S L E S

N E S C A P I S M X R E B U I L T L A L C A P O N E R

D S N N I D A H O D A V A I L A E S A

M E T A C M T L C A M E R O N R I M N E P T O

I D O L S H E A D S E T I A U B M A D N E S S M I L E R

S U H O E T V S T I C K S O U T T O E A U A C

N I C E A S B E S T O S Y A T L M O U R N E R S U T A H

O H R U I K M F R A I L A N E X I I E

M O I N E S S P E E K A B O O E A G L E E Y E P S A U T E S

E E R M I S S U S X R O A S T M D A F T E R G U T

R E S T R A I N R M I L A N T E X A S S D O G O O D E R

S I T E R E P R O V E G S I N H E R I T L E N A

G M G S P N E C E S S I T A T E M T V D W

H P R E S S U R E T U A D C S A B D I C A T E R

S T Y E E E A H U B G E M A T K O N S L A V

Y R E S I S T A N C E S E A L A N E A S S I G N M E N T P

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THE McNEIL PROJECT

Local TheatreWith Cheryl Threadgold Observer

Melbourne

PIRATES OF PENZANCE JUNIOR

SHOWS

AUDITIONS

Cheryl Threadgold on 3AW■ Non-Pro Theatre columnist Cheryl Threadgold is heardweekly on 3AW Melbourne Overnight program hosted byAndrew McLaren. Cheryl presents a segment with the lat-est community theatre news at 12.45am Wednesdays.

■ The harsh, often corrupt , prison system in New South Wales,famously exposed by the Bathurst riots of 1974, is legendary.

That Jim McNeil, violent criminal, could survive years in thesystem is testament not only to his cunning and his quick thinking,but also to his uncanny ability to absorb language and use it tokeep his brain churning through his many frustrations .

From his initiation into debating at Parramatta , McNeil movedon to characterizsing the arguments, having his first play, TheChocolate Frog, performed in jail and finally professionally bothin Sydney and Melbourne.

The legal and artistic world were at his feet in the 70s, and hisdesire to improve his style and expose life’s harsh complexitiesvia his content became his raison d’etre.

These two plays are firmly embedded within the 70s andChocolate Frog suffers a little from over wieldy dialogue, butmenacingly reflects the prison code of conduct .

The Old Familiar Juice works more successfully, again cap-turing prison language successfully, but gaining a lot in sophisti-cation of tension and intimacy.

Malcolm Robertson’s direction loses a little in not opting forprison uniforms, but the stark set of steel bunks and bare lightingcontains the harsh reality of watchfulness and fear of inmates.

45 Downstairs backdrop of windows with bars is used welltoo.

The main protagonists Luke McKenzie and Cain Thompsonteam well with Will Ewing and Richard Bligh to project the some-times brilliantly witty writing of this tragic Parramatta inmate.

The McNeil Project can be seen at fortyfivedownstairs, 45Flinders Lane, Melbourne until July 29.

Tickets: $44 Full price, $36 Concession.Bookings: 9662 9966

_ - Maggie Morrison

ObserverShowbizObserverShowbiz

■ Williamstown Little Theatre: God of Carnage (by YasminaReza) Until July 14 at 2-4 Albert St., Williamstown. Director:Bruce Akers. Tickets: $25/$22.Bookings: 9885 9678 orwww.wlt.org.au■ Mordialloc Theatre Company: Life and Beth (by AlanAyckbourn) Until July 14 at the Shirley Burke Theatre, 64 ParkersRd., Parkdale. Director: Martin Gibbs. Bookings:www.mordialloctheatre.com■ Altona City Theatre: The Boy From Oz Until July 28 atAltona Theatre, 115 Civic Pde., Altona. Director: Narelle Bonniciand Samantha Heskett; Musical Director: Daniel Heskett; Cho-reographer: Narelle Bonnici and Samantha Heskett. Tickets: $30/$27. Bookings: www.altonacitytheatre.com.au■ Peoples Playhouse: The Wizard of Oz Until July 14 at theCranbourne Community Theatre, Cranbourne Secondary Col-lege, Brunt St., Cranbourne. Director: Lucy Nicolson. Bookings:0402 196 390 www.peoplesplayhouse.asn.au■ Arc Theatre: Jekyll and Hyde the Musical Until July 14 at theBanyule Theatre, Buckingham Drive, Heidelberg. Director: Ja-

■ Heidelberg Theatre Company: Summer of the Seven-teenth Doll (by Ray Lawler) July 15 at 6.30pm and July 16 at2.00pm at 36 Turnham Ave., Rosanna. Director: Paul King.Email the director for an audition booking:kzso58@yahoo.com■ Williamstown Musical Theatre Company: Next to Nor-mal July 22 from 1.00pm and July 23 from 7.30pm at MDXStudios, Unit 2/1 Akuna Drive, Williamstown (Melways 55H6). Director: Shaun Kingma; Musical Director: Tyson Legg;Movement: Nadia Gianinotti. Audition bookings: 1300 881545www.wmtc.org.au■ Eltham Little Theatre: The Hero of Queenstown - Mu-sic Hall (written by Reg Evans, with the kind permission ofClaire Austin) July 28 at 3.00pm and July 30 at 7.30pm at theEltham Performing Arts Centre, 1603 Main Road, Research.Director: Lisa Inman. Email: inman_lisa@hotmail.com

●●●●● The cast and crew of Eltham Little Theatre’s production of Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Pirates of PenzanceJunior take a break from rehearsals before opening night on July 12. Directed by John Leahy, the show will rununtil July 22 at the Eltham Performing Arts Centre, 1603 Main Rd, Research. Tickets: $20/$16. Bookings:www.elthamlittletheatre.org.au Photo: Rebecca Bramwell

SHOWS

■ Heidelberg Theatre Company: The Importance of BeingEarnest (Oscar Wilde) July 12 - 28 at 36 Turnham Ave.,Rosanna. Director: Wendy Drowley. Tickets: $25/$22 (notSeniors) Bookings: 9457 4117 or htc.org.au■ Eltham Little Theatre: The Pirates of Penzance Junior(by Gilbert and Sullivan) July 12 - 22 at the Eltham Perform-ing Arts Centre, 1603 Main Rd., Research. Tickets: $20/$16.Bookings: www.elthamlittletheatre.org.au■ Frankston Theatre Group: The Mousetrap (by AgathaChristie) July 13 - 21 at the George Jenkins Theatre, MonashUniversity, McMahons Rd., Frankston. Tickets: $26.50 fullprice; $24.50 PSSU. Bookings: 1300 665 377 or 9905 1111.■ Leongatha Lyric Theatre: Rent July 13 - 28 at MesleyHall, Leongatha Secondary College, Nerrena Rd., Leongatha.Bookings: 5662 3940 www.lyrictheatre.net.au■ PLOS Musical Theatre: Hairspray July 27 - August 4 atthe Frankston Arts Centre. Director: Danny Ginsberg; Musi-cal Director: Sue Fletcher: Choreographer: Steven Rostron.Tickets: $43 full price, $38 concession. Bookings:www.plos.asn.au■ Sherbrooke Theatre Company: Rabbit Hole (by DavidLindsay Abaire) July 27 - August 11 at the Doncaster Play-house, 679 Doncaster Rd., Doncaster. Director: Horrie Leek.Tickets: $25/$23. Bookings: 1300 650 209.■ Aspect Inc.: The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas August10 (Gala Night), 11, 16, 17, 18 at 8.00pm, August 11, 18 at2.00pm and August 12 at 5.00pm at the Shirley Burke The-atre, 64 Parkers Rd., Parkdale. Tickets: $30/$25/$20 (GalaNight $35/$30/$25). Bookings: www.aspecttheatre.com or9580 8415 during business No hours.■ Lilydale Athenaeum Theatre Company: Woman In Black(by Stephen Malatratt, based on the novel by Susan Hill),August 22 - September 8 at 8.15pm, 2.00pm matinees onAugust 26, September 2 at the Athenaeum Theatre, 39-41Castella St., Lilydale. Director: Loretta Bishop. Tickets: $25/$22. Bookings: 9735 1777. www.lilydaleatc.com

INDEPENDENT THEATRE

son Vikse; Musical Director: Simon D'Aquino; Movement: EmilyAltis. Bookings: www.arc-theatre.com■ Hartwell Players: A Season of One Act Plays July 13, 14 at8.00pm and July 14 at 2.00pm at the Ashwood Performing ArtsCentre, Ashwood College, Vannam Drive, Ashwood (off HighStreet Road). Ham's Hideaway (by Alison Knight), directed byGordon Bedlow; Holding the Flowers (by Maree Gutterson), di-rected by Julian Camara; Just Act Normal (written by MirandaHart), directed by Marcus Ingleby; Supersnout (by JaneCafarella), directed by Joanne Watt. Tickets: $18 full price, $12concession, $40 family. Cash sales only at door, no credit cardfacilities. Bookings: http://www.trybooking.com/26942, or emailbookings@hartwellplayers.

INDEPENDENT THEATRE

●●●●● Cain Thompson, Luke McKenzie, Will Ewing, and Ri-chard Bligh feature in The McNeil Project being pre-sented at fortyfivedownstairs until July 29.

Photo: Jai Robertson

■ The Arts House Meat Market Studio B in NorthMelbourne is the venue for the world premiere of ShiftingGround, a new performance and installation work being pre-sented from July 19 – 22.

The show draws parallels between geological transforma-tions and those found within the human race.

Media artist and performer Zoe Scoglio unites gesturalchoreography, object manipulation, physicalised sounds andprojection mapping in a journey from the cosmic to the con-crete.

Developed in discussion with experts, including a climatescientist, a human ecologist, an anthropologist, a flood map-per and a geologist – Zoe Scoglio and her collaborators havecombined their skills to develop a work that bring to life therocks upon which we live.

Shifting Ground explores the transformations that occurin geological periods of time and reveals that, even thoughthese environmental elements appear most fixed and depend-able, they are still in a constant state of flux.

In a society defined by its seemingly solid and indestruc-tible cities, Shifting Ground is a reminder of the imperma-nent and fleeting nature of time on this earth and the symbi-otic relationship with the elements that form it.

Venue : Arts House, Meat Market, 5 Blackwood Street,North Melbourne

Season: Thursday, July 19 – Sunday, July 22Time: 6.30pm and 8.30pm. 45 minutes no interval.Tickets: $15 Bookings: artshouse.com.au or 9322 3713

- Cheryl Threadgold

■ Australia’s leading international disability arts festival,The Other Film Festival, to benefit from $186,700 fundingfrom the Australian Government in a joint announcementfrom Arts Minister Simon Crean and Parliamentary Secre-tary for Disabilities and Carers, Senator Jan McLucas.

The Other Film Festival will be held from September 19-23 at Arts House, North Melbourne Town Hall.