What a position for a house in Benalla! I could walk across to the shops in ten minutes, enjoying birds, trees and glimpses of the lake along the way.
 
But having completed the lovely walk, where was the coffee at the end of it? The nearest block included six cafes.
 
Covid was rife at the time, so I chose a small one, a few doors around the corner – ‘The Cake-Maker’s Daughter’. Not having a phone in my pocket, I gave my details according to the Covid rules and sat outside. The waitress bringing the coffee asked if my name was Carmyl. I said it was. She laughed and said that they had written down Camel! So that was a good start at becoming known.
 
Mak, who made the coffee, was the friendliest person and made me feel very much at home, as did Nichole. It took me more than a year to realise that they were daughter and mother, and that Nichole was indeed The Cake-Maker.
 
My son, Michael, visited and quietly gave Mak $100 as my birthday present. Brilliant! I’d walk in, get my coffee card, hand it over and sit down, no payment required! I might mention that when the money ran out, it was quietly renewed.
 
At Christmas, I gave them a card telling them they had been some of my first friends in Benalla and what a difference they had made to my new town.
 
I took friends and family there for lunch – some of the best lunches I’ve ever come across. I popped in occasionally for a coffee by myself. I took grand-daughters there. But the one constant was Tuesday morning coffee at 10 with a friend.
 
The shop was relatively small with only seven or eight indoor tables, so I often rang early on Tuesday to book a table. One table had two very comfortable basket weave chairs and that was often where we ended up.
 
Bev, who I had got to know through coffee there, would look over at our table as she came through the door and shake her fist with a grin; our church friend, Val, would meet half a dozen mates at the next table; a couple who did morning lake walks would give a wave, Karen from Tomorrow Today would be there to collect coffee for the staff. It was a Tuesday community.
 
We heard about Mak or Nichole’s holidays, we chatted about our doings, birthdays, news items. It made Tuesdays special.
 
Then one Tuesday, I arrived to find Mak in a very agitated state on the phone. I helped her bring in the tables and chairs that had only been out for a brief time.
 
Something was clearly very wrong. I gave her a hug. A sign went up on the door, ‘Due to personal reasons, the shop will be closed until further notice.’
 
And The Cake-Maker’s Daughter never opened again.
 
I can only say that the three years of friendship and coffee those women gave me and so many others, was something I will never forget.

I have had two moves in Northeast Victoria – from Melbourne to Winton and from Winton to Benalla – both caused by major changes in my life, resulting in starting over again, and both that meant new friends and new homes, both the result of break downs in my personal health.
 
Moving from Melbourne to Winton was the result of not being able to find work after returning from Queensland, following caring for my parents for two months.  The ‘bottom’ had dropped out of the employment market for older, experienced females, however I landed a position at Winton.  Then the move from Winton to Benalla some 23½ years later, to a new home in a town that I had only visited to do shopping, where I knew very few people and had to commence a new life all over again.
 
At Winton I was fortunate to find a position, living the dream for many years, working at my hobby of motor racing.   I was fortunate to be able to live in the caretaker’s house located at the race circuit, work at events, watch the development of young drivers from go karts to Supercars and Formula 1.   I experienced the joy of organising events, looking after the operation of the kiosks, organising Corporate Hospitality at major events as well as hospitality for organisations who hired the circuit.   I made new acquaintances with users of the facility, local media and the like.    I watched the circuit develop into an international facility which was capable of running events such as Supercars, Trucks, and other major events.   
 
I was part of the Administration team at the facility with oversaw the development of the actual facility in the extension of the track from 2.03km to 3.0km, worked with Government departments in relation to the rezoning of the area to cater for motor events such as cars, bikes and rally vehicles. I was a committee member for many years, achieving a Life Membership for my work.
 
My move from Winton to Benalla was not planned, but due to animosity caused by takeover manoeuvre’s following the sudden death of Winton Raceway’s long-time CEO by those people who forgot the organisation and facility was owned by Benalla Car Club, causing me another bout of ill health.
 
I purchased a home at the Haven Lifestyle Village (as it is now known), moved in, and as I knew very few people in Benalla and realised that I had to start my life over, once again.    I had to get to know my new neighbours, had to find new things to do to fill in my day.   I joined the local croquet club, formed the Homeowners group at the Village to try and get everyone to participate in activities and not sit and watch TV.  I took on the cause of getting an extension to the existing bus route to stop at the Village, for use by Homeowners, campers at the Tourist Park and Ryan and McNulty employees, which was successful after 6 years of lobbying the State Government.   I joined U3A, becoming involved in a number of their groups, became a member of the Aged Friendly in Benalla Reference Group, joined Probus and gradually made a new life for myself and met many people with such a varying array of interests.   
 
Life is good.  I now have contentment I have not had previously, am in control of my own life, can do what I want, when I want and how I want.  I have learnt some very difficult lessons over the years, but can sit back and enjoy the many years that I have to live.
 
 
Heather Wallace
February 2023

My life has been somewhat nomadic so I have been new in town so often it has become “the norm”. My father was badly affected by his experiences in the war so could not resume his apprenticeship. He and Mum moved frequently before embarking on the biggest move yet, to Australia from the UK, in search of a better life.
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After a stay in the migrant camp, which was a series of old Nissan huts and a communal food hall, we arrived at his new place of employment, Bunnings Mills.  Bunnings had saw mills in several locations around W.A. This one was in Nyamup surrounded by natural bushland. The company actually constructed little communities in which the employees and their families could live. The road through town was gravel and the mill houses were timber with little front verandahs. They were basic but comfortable, we had beds and a couple of donated pieces of furniture but managed with wooden crates for dining chairs, and a larger timber crate as a table. We had a wood burning cooking stove, there was a huge rainwater tank outback of the house which we had to rely on for our water supply and of course, right down the end of the backyard was the essential little timber structure. For a small child, this was a big adventure but I’m not sure my poor mother saw it the same way. In the UK she had been used to an electric stove, running water and indoor loo.  It didn’t help when, the first time she used the backyard facility she had a small visitor sitting next to her, watching. It was a goanna!!!  I confess I was a bit scared of them till I got used to them.

I commenced Primary school and was happily travelling from the mill into town on an old school bus, meeting new friends and swapping stories of where we came from. (90% of the school were children of immigrants from many locations). Dad was enjoying his new job and making friends but poor Mum was having a much harder time getting used to the facilities. I don’t think she shared our enthusiasm for the new life at that point.

Our first Christmas was the hardest. Being away from family, we had been invited to the Community hall for a Bunnings Christmas. Children were given gifts by the company and happily played, the men chatted. It was fun. Unfortunately, the invitation said, “bring a plate”, so my parents, being their first year, brought a plate each plus a cup and cutlery, thinking the mill may be short on those too. No one advised them that there was supposed to be food on the plate to share. An embarrassing introduction to the Aussie tradition of “bring a plate”. Everyone was very nice about it and it became a source of good-natured humor. We got it right the second year, hahahahahaha …

The move to Australia was the best idea my parent ever had. They eventually got to own their own home, with indoor plumbing, plus they got a car.  My sisters and I got an education and made our lives here. We have been very happy. 


Heather Hartland
February 2023

Who knows what it is like to be new in town?

What is it like to be placed in a completely new environment. New streets. New buildings. New house. New school.

To be surrounded by new people. To be suddenly aware that you are the new person in the room. Surrounded by people you do not know. Not seeing any sympathetic faces. No friends.

We have all experienced this to a smaller or greater extent. We all know that uneasy feeling of feeling shy. Of being very aware that no one knows us. That we are alone in a large group. Where we feel the group is hostile. Where we wish we had a friend we could be with.

But some of us have it easier than others. To be new in town can be very intimidating. Especially if you come from another country. Especially if you are a different ethnic group.

In the 1950’s Australia had an immigration programme. This policy was instituted by the government because Australia had a need for labour. Between the wars all immigrants had come from Great Britain and immigration was self funded. The new policy of assisted migration still brought many migrants from Great Britain but also migrants were brought from war torn Europe and given the official name of New Australians. This policy was considered radical and was not totally popular with the public. People had a set idea of what an Australian was and these New Australians did not always comply with the accepted norm.

I went to several schools during the 50’s. I came into contact with several migrant children. None of them had an easy time. Boys especially. I know this because I was there.

I knew one child who had several black marks against him. Not only did he have a thick accent but he had a single mother as a parent. Also he came to the school in the middle of the term. Also he was poor. If you saw him on weekends at something like the Wangaratta Show he was still wearing his school uniform. He did not have any proper clothes. Early on he tried to join the kick to kick group playing football, but he had little talent and no one would give him the ball so he could have a kick. He was small and his skin was very white. We learned that his mother was a cleaner at the Woollen Mills. Worse, we learned that she worked shift work. I once had a conversation with him and he told me that he listened to the radio every Sunday night when his mother was working. He was always home alone. He knew the serials that were on the ABC. His accent meant that the teacher had trouble understanding him, so he did not get much opportunity to speak in class. He was made fun of by other students at every opportunity.

I knew another boy who told us he came from Poland. He also had a mother as a single parent. She worked at one of the hotels. He lived with her in the Hotel. This surprisingly had some kudos because sometimes adults who frequented the hotel befriended him. Once a star footballer came to our school, recognised him nd made a big fuss of him. Called him out to the front of the class. Called him My Friend Edvard. This was impressive to us children. And Edvard had aspirations to being the class clown. He sometimes got the English wrong which made the clownish behavior more funny.

I never wanted to swap places with immigrant boys.

I always thought that immigrant girls had it easier. They were always good looking. They always had good looking clothes. They always seemed to be sophisticated. They seemed to have a background that protected them from being teased. Where their parents got the money to buy their nice clothes I cannot say. They also were never seemed to be required to speak in public by the teacher. There were always two or more of them and they stuck together in the schoolyard. They did not hesitate to speak in a foreign language and laugh at you. I can never remember any of them being teased by boys. Sometimes girls tried, but it never seemed to affect any of the migrant girls. Australian girls, yes. Every day one girl or another seemed to be crying at the back of the class because she was being picked on.

It was always easier being a girl. It wasn't until I became an adult that I was told this was not the case.

Neville Gibb
​April 2021

“I’m a bird! “I'm a bird!’ My friend is screaming in delight and frantically flapping his arms as high as they can reach. He is spinning around and I’m afraid he will fall, but no--the young do have better balance than I give them credit for.  

My young friend is new in town. New in the world in fact. He is two and a half years old and was born in Africa. He’s lived in Benalla for one and a half of those years so he is still very new in town. One of those years was lived almost totally in lockdown for the Covid-19 pandemic and we didn’t get to explore much of his brave new world but we did get to know each other. Now we are making up for the time lost. 

Yesterday our adventure was to the Grandstand at the Benalla Showgrounds. This imposing old red and white structure with a curved roof was built in 1918 and seats around 800 people. The Grandstand is ‘architecturally important to the State of Victoria as a rare example of a surviving timber- framed grandstand, with a barrel roof and ornate timber cast iron lace frieze’ and it is Heritage listed. (quote -- the Victorian Heritage Database).

After a climb--well sort of a laboured scramble on both our parts-- up the dozen or so steps to the front of the building  an area juts out and this was used as a bandstand in times past. Here my young friend just stood in total absorption and gazed, entranced, at the view from between the railings. Then, several times, he slowly thrust out his arms sideways then brought them back in to try and encompass what must have seemed a view of vast perspective to him and capture another dimension.  And the first time ever he had stood at such a height above ground. He clapped. The cockies flew overhead, some landed on the oval and he was thrilled ---flapping and clapping and dancing around yelling “bird bird--- I am a bird”.

My heart truly leapt with joy to share his moments of revelation and wonder. How great that a tiny person at the start of his life and a building of such an age can come together to provide such an epiphany for us both.

Too often it seems we forget those first precious moments of a child.

Judy Perry
​April 2021

Being the new person in town can be intimidating, but as a person who has moved on several occasions, both interstate and internationally, I developed different approaches depending on my age.  Changing schools as a child can be difficult, but when one reaches retirement the onus is on oneself to make friends and feel at home.
 
In 2012 my husband and I moved from Tatong to Portarlington on the Bellarine Peninsula.  I was the driver of this move as I had always wanted to live on the coast.  We had no family living nearby, knew nobody there, so we were starting from scratch.  At that time, the town had a lot of holiday homes.  The resident population was spread far and wide, with many houses occupied only on weekends and holidays.
 
I checked out the various activities available and initially joined an exercise class which was held in the local Senior Citizens building.  The ladies were very welcoming, so after a few weeks I started to feel at home.  I had not been swimming for years, but with the beach on my doorstep, I ventured back.  Swimming is not really a social sport however I found a swimming pool near our house.  I joined, became a regular morning swimmer, and further extended my circle of acquaintances.  I then discovered that the local Neighbourhood House held various activities and joined the Family History group.  Initially I was not really interested in Family History but joined to extend my social circle.  However, as anyone who has an interest in their history will tell you, it can become an addiction!
 
My husband and I decided to try our hand at bowls.  After five compulsory lessons we were invited to join the members for a social day.  Unfortunately, the weather was lousy.  Although we played several games I ended up with a flu-like infection which seemed to put an end to that venture.
 
One weekend we had a visit from a Benalla couple.  During the weekend the lady, Betty, persuaded me to have a hit of tennis.  This was another sport that I had mothballed about twenty years previously.  I enjoyed playing again and, as a result, I joined the Veterans at Port Lonsdale and played twice a week.
 
As a Vinnie’s Volunteer in Benalla, I sought out the nearest Vinnie’s and offered my services.  This was located at Queenscliff, both extending my knowledge of the area and introducing me to a different group of people.
 
As you can see, I spread my net far and wide.  This is the only option if one moves to a new place in one’s senior years. 
 
I thoroughly enjoyed my time on the Bellarine Peninsular, however realised there were many downsides to living there, particularly as one ages.
 
Our decision to return to Benalla to live was made easier by the fact that we already knew people here.  We would not be ‘New in Town’ once more.
 
 
Margaret McCrohan
March 2021

​My father warned me that we could be buying into a ghost town.  It was a bit ram shackle and a couple of the original houses needed to be demolished.  

Seeing that we couldn’t afford to live out in the bush where I would have the peace and quiet that I craved, Goorambat was the next best thing.

For three years we had enjoyed lived in the farm cottage by the banks of the Broken River.  In 1973 with the sale of the family property it was time to move on.

Don was a high-level quadriplegic from a diving accident in years past, so he couldn’t help with the move. The people we were buying the house from were in the same boat. The husband was recovering in a Melbourne hospital after open heart surgery, so we were two women managing the best we could.

It was evening when we moved into Main St Goorambat. Gwen still had open topped boxes in the living room, so I put my boxes alongside. I was tired so just threw my purse into one of them. Don also tossed his wallet into one of the boxes without looking.

“What’s for tea?”  I told him I had only brought enough food for a light tea and breakfast, and I would shop in the morning.

The night was almost consumed with juggling furniture around. After midnight the ancient Queen Anne bed was still on the floor in pieces. Don said, “Go and get Ray from next door to help you.”  “No, I’m new in town and I’m not going to be a nuisance.”

At three a.m. I was looking forward to a nice hot bath with water that wasn’t straight from the Broken River. Horror, this was worse, it was dark brown with mud from the Broken Creek!

At 5 am we were woken by an unholy racket; it was the twice a week goods train stopping opposite the house to unload supplies and barrels for the Pub.
 
In our tired state we had no idea which boxes contained the money.  At lunch time Don said, “Just go to the store and ask for credit.” “No, I’m not going to have anyone think that we’re going to be a nuisance in this town.”

The sun was setting when we found the wallet.  I still remember the intense joy of that moment. We said, “Let’s go to the Royal for tea to celebrate, we can pick up the cat from the cottage on the way back.”

We got used to the early goods train and the grain trucks being loaded from the silos at three in the morning, with the slamming of lids and the crash of each rail trucks buffers colliding as they careered down the track after being filled.

Most people in the district were related and were proud of their family connections. I soon found that the quickest way to be accepted was to have knowledge of the extended family trees.

With the early 1970’s drought, farmer’s sons were moving away for other employment. The small mixed farms surrounding Goorambat were about to be swallowed up by larger acreages. Small towns were struggling, but social division of the sexes was still alive and well.  In the town there was men’s work and women’s work, and no one crossed the line. But the winds of change were blowing.

Victory Park was looked after by the local members of the R.S.L. who were mostly farmers. When Don returned home with a request from the men for me to cut the grass in the Park, as they were busy with the harvest, I knew there would be trouble.  It nearly caused a revolt from the town’s women who wanted to know why I was doing the men’s work.

When Don passed away, I inherited his position as Goorambat Football Club Treasurer. When I also became the Secretary, there was another bunch of very indignant women to deal with and I found the first nails placed under my car’s tyres!

At the Presentation Night I was awarded the Best Clubman trophy.  When it was asked if it should be ‘Club Person’, the men said “No, she belongs to the men’s committee” and I got more nails in my tyres.

I treasure my Clubman of the Year trophy.  There was no ‘person’ nonsense then. I was appreciated and it was not long before I was considered a local.
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Times and attitudes have changed.  It doesn’t matter if you are a newcomer or whether you are male or female. Now we all work together for the good of the community. 
 
Bev Morton
March 2021

Thursday the 15th of March 2018 was the day, the day we finally moved from Mt Eliza to Benalla. I say finally, because we had purchased 10 Benson Street in the November of the year before. We had opted out of moving quickly because of my medical procedures that had to happen over the January and February period of 2018, but move we did!!

The day before, we had loaded our belongings into two furniture trucks for the journey North.  The procedure had, however, taken much longer than anticipated.  The trucks bivouacked over night at the company’s yard, but we ventured forth and stayed overnight at “Benson Lodge”, our home away from home in Benalla.  Ray and Liz Gallagher had become friends - we had stayed with them quite a few times whilst searching for the perfect new home in Benalla.

Why Benalla, you may well ask?   Well, the horrendous traffic down on the Mornington Peninsula had finally taken its toll.   We just had to move to a more traffic civilized area.  Benalla ticked all the boxes!  Excellent medical services, a vibrant community, and the essential rail connection to Melbourne.

Benalla was not a foreign town to me by any means, for I have often visited it over my lifetime.   As well as having a third cousin living here, so does my adopted sister of some sixty-five to seventy years, Jill Ross, nee Hartridge and her brother John.  My family and the Hartridge’s have had family connections for nearly a century and now we have cemented that relationship once again!

My first action after coming to town was to transfer my Lions Membership from the Lions club of Mount Eliza to the Benalla club. I had been a Lion for twenty-four years at that time, in six clubs and two Lions Districts, as well as being the two thousand and eleven/twelve District Governor of District V2. This I did and promptly found myself as the club secretary, a position I held for two years.  I also joined the Benalla Sub-Branch of the RSL and Rose City Probus.

My hobbies include coin collecting.  I have a complete collection of Australian decimal coins, up to 2021, as well as a few unusual non circulated ones. I also have quite a few “spares”, so if any coin collector wants to make up a collection, just give me a call.

My other passions are my classic cars.  My 1997 Mercedes Benz 320 started off as the PM John Howard’s chauffeur driven vehicle, purchased when PM Kevin Rudd sold off the Australian government’s prestige car fleet in 2009.   I also have a 2000 Jaguar XJ8, which I drive on long trips.  I belong to two Car Clubs, the Grampians Vintage and Veteran Car Club, based in Ararat/Stawell and the Northern Peninsula Classic Car Club.

Both my wife Cheryle and I have now ventured into the world of the Benalla U3A. 
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My life has become quite active in my new-found home!
 
David Lowing
March 2021

​I have been “new in town” on several occasions.  I wrote about these in 2020 but left out the most recent move.  Perhaps it is time to write about that move – the move to Benalla.
First a quick recap of the earlier moves.

There was a move from Melbourne to Canberra.  We had a one-year-old son, no way of meeting people and I was very lonely.  Eleven months later we moved back to Melbourne but only for only 14 months.  I knew with our move to Adelaide it was up to me to meet people, not wait for them to find me.

Later moves were easier – Adelaide-Melbourne, Melbourne-Adelaide, Adelaide-Canberra.  Both our children were at school and I was back working.  This meant I had opportunities for meeting people.

One last move – children grown and no longer at home, now retired and without the work environment as an established network.  It is possibly our last move.

Being retired, I was back in the position of our first move – no job giving a built-in way for meeting people, no children at school to meet up with parents.  Again I had to make the effort to meet people.

Well, maybe not quite the same.  We had a reason for moving to Benalla – the Gliding Club.  That helped my husband.  He knew some of the people and had a way of meeting others.  But I was not a pilot.

We had bought our new home in a short court (well, titled ‘Place’).  Just seven houses.  But before we knew what was happening, we had met most of the neighbours.  It was just before Christmas.  A group of the neighbours got together for a Christmas dinner at one of the restaurants.  We were invited.  We met more neighbours in the street at the end of the court.

I found out about “Rhyme Time” at the library.  They needed a volunteer for a few months.  From there I became involved in “Mother Goose”, an activity encouraging interaction between parent and child developed in Canada.  This is no longer run in Benalla, but a similar program is run by Tomorrow Today, called PEEP developed in the UK.

New opportunities opened up.  I spent part of the summer season helping in the Gliding Club Office.  My husband and I spent a couple of years helping with Meals on Wheels.  Then we found a new area for volunteering – with BPACC.  I still usher there one or two times a week.

The biggest change was finding out about U3A.  So many opportunities for learning new things and meeting people!  I have found new friends, and friends of friends.  I am always busy, either attending classes, preparing for classes, or preparing classes that I convene.

What have I learnt about being new in town?  That it is up to me to find what is going on.  That it is up to me to make the effort to join in what I have found.


Joy Shirley
March 2021

​We all heard the gate shut behind us.  I swear I heard the latch catch. It had that clicking sound that can only mean the gate was shut.
 
But we all had our back to it.  Mummy was herding us towards the car.  We were late for church and she hated to be late.  We needed to make a good impression.  We were new in town.
 
We were late because Mummy had spent an awful long time getting dressed.  She couldn’t make up her mind.  She was always like this.  Mummy always wanted to make a good impression.  We two girls had been dressed for hours and we had had to sit for hours doing nothing.  Angus had mussed up his best clothes and was in big trouble with Mummy.  She sat him beside her in the front seat and made him undo his tie and put it on again properly.  He had to take off his coat and brush it. S he took out her hanky and wiped his hair into place with her spit when she was driving.  Mummy had a new outfit which was causing her trouble and she was not in a good mood.  She had new patent leather court shoes which weren’t good for driving.  Her new suit was heavily lined and she didn’t think it showed off her figure properly.  When you touched it all of her skirt moved.  Her jacket didn’t fit her properly.  She didn’t know if she had the right broach for the jacket.  She worried her new suit would crease in the car.
 
We were given a big lecture on how to behave all the way to church.  We had to kneel and pray without looking at each other.  No giggling.  We had to sing properly.  If we didn’t know the hymn don’t sing anything.  Mouth the words.  We had to make a good impression.  We were new in town.
 
Thankfully the service was over quickly but of course Mummy had to stay talking to people after church.  We had to stand quietly and wait patiently.  We had to keep our gloves on and hold our prayer books like we had been told to do.  Angus had it easy. An old man talked to Angus like he knew him.  No one spoke to us.  We had to stand and wait and say nothing.  Finally I could tell mummy was ready to leave because she started brushing her hand down her front as if she was brushing dust off her.  She always did this.  I walked up to her and put my hand in hers.  Thankfully she took the opportunity to say she should be heading home to the lady she was talking to.  I think the lady was relieved.
 
Angus made me sit in the front on the way home.  Mummy still found fault with me.  I should have spoken nicely to the lady she was talking to.  I said I didn’t know her name.  Doesn’t matter said Mummy.  You should always want to make a good impression.  After all we were new in town.
 
We knew this so well by now we almost said it out loud with her.
 
But when we got home the gate was open and Angus’s pet rabbit had escaped. The gate had not shut even though I thought I heard the latch take. We looked everywhere but we never found it. Angus said he wished he had shot it when he had the chance. Mummy said not to worry about it.
 
It would find a new home. She said like us it was new in town. We said we knew. She didn’t have to keep telling us.
 
Uncle Clarrie made the same comment when he heard what happened. He thought he was comforting us. No one cared about the rabbit though. Least of all Angus.
 
Uncle Clarrie thought he was being funny making a joke about being new in town. We didn’t think it was funny. He kept on about it though still thinking it was funny.
 
We had heard it all before. We were new in town. We were sick of hearing it.
 
 
 
Neville Gibb,
February 2017

​We had the Shirts, we had the Hats and Jumpers.  We had even changed our car for a Holden Rodeo so we could put the shiny new ladders on the roof for use in our new roles as 'Broulee Window Cleaners'.  Yes, we were forsaking Victoria for a new start on the south coast of NSW as the local window cleaners.  This was our way of starting afresh in a new village and state.

We letter boxed the Village and waited for the phone calls.  These were slow in coming, but come they did - the one thing that is constant in a village by the sea is the need to clean the windows of sand and salt. We also replied to advertisements in the local Bateman's Bay paper for cleaners for weekenders and holiday homes.   Now this work was not to make a fortune, but it meant meeting people and starting to learn the culture of NSW by the sea.  This all revolved around the surf club and possibly the local school.

In between all this activity we bought the only beach cottage we could afford with the intention of doing it up for our new home.  This exercise introduced a range of characters among the permanent residents.

Having always been interested in how communities tick, we discovered a local community group which met once a month, but didn't seem to have any agenda to watch over the community.  It didn't take long before we joined like minded community members and over drinks plotted a takeover of the community group, with the promise of more action on behalf of the village.  This led to the development of such things as markets by the beach and action to ban jet-skis in our bay.  All this entailed presentations to the Local Council and submissions for small grants for such items as a community notice board which Godfrey, with the aid of local members, built.

Conservation of the local area was also close to our hearts,  With the support and wisdom from others around us, we started a conservation group called "Nature Coast Marine Group". This often meant morning gatherings in wet suits to count fish and send off reports to the University of Tasmania which was coordinating the data.  Godfrey enjoyed this activity while I stayed home to make soup and scones for the returning heroes.

We didn't make a fortune with our window cleaning, but we did finish the house which we delighted in.  

All in all, we had a wonderful time at Broulee, but family ties called us back to Benalla where our grandchildren were growing up fast. It also gave us the chance to wallow once again in Victorian culture, which we had missed.


Carole Marple
February 2017

One of the hardest decisions to make as an aged person was to sell my home and move to another place.  Having lived in one place for some for some 50 years!  However the large garden and the hilly nature of the area was the impetus. Having made the decision, I then asked myself two questions:

To where do I move?

How can I maintain my independence?

My thoughts were that I would move near to one of my three siblings in Queensland, New South Wales or Victoria, but remain independent.

Victoria won and I moved to the country town of Benalla.

One consideration in choosing Benalla was that it was only 2 hours approximately from the city.  I could maintain contact with old friends and also could access the medical specialists who had treated me. 

A further consideration was that I was able to maintain my indepence by living in an independent unit a Retirement village where my sibling lived.  The Village also caters for ongoing Low and High Care needs if required at a later stage.

This Village is populated by people who come from the town intself or the surrounding areas.  They all knew each other before coming to the Village.  I was unknown to all but my brother.  Has this been a problem?  No.  There were advantages.  

They passed on knowledge about Benalla.  Where to shop for the best products and deals in the town, or which nearby town may be better for certain items.  They encouraged me to join groups such as Probus or the Evergreens, sporting clubs, theatre offerings, learn to fly or take an interest in horse racing.

I have become involved in a number of ways:

• Volunteering to operate the Kiosk each Monday at the main building
• Becoming a member of the Independent Living Units Committee
• Organizing the many activities carried out at the Hub with another member on a rotational basis.

I have been accepted and settled well.


Mardi Scharp
​February 2017

​The descent into Spain’s Badajoz Airport was the most turbulent I have experienced.  The tipsy English football players on board thought so too, holding hands with me as we awaited almost certain death!

Somehow the pilot landed safely.  I passed through customs, emerging to see Hugh, the charming director of studies at the English language school I was to teach at, waiting for me.  He’d arranged accommodation in an hostal in the historic area of Madrid for a few weeks until I found a place to stay.   The conserje, carrying a large bunch of keys, greeted us, opening up beautiful ornate wrought iron courtyard gates and ascensor/lift doors leading to the room I would share with two other new teachers until I could find accommodation.  Relieved, I thanked Hugh, promising to find my way to ‘La Casa Inglesa’, in La Plaza de Salamanca, the next day for orientation.

‘Nuevo en la ciudad’, my first weeks were spent with other teachers being oriented to my new job and seeking accommodation.  I learnt take the Metro to La Casa Inglesa, leaving after the afternoon siesta to teach classes of young professionals keen to learn English to advance their careers.  After classes I found inexpensive restaurants with menus del dia and gradually became a regular at one or two.

Rents were exhorbitant and it seemed I would never be able to find a place of my own.  I became unwell.  Hugh became so concerned about my cough he offered me the little servant’s room which opened up into the internal light well in his apartment -- on the proviso that I didn’t have guests to stay.  He’d had his fill of backpacking friends of friends lying all over his apartment!

After moving to Hugh’s piso in Calle Padilla, I began to establish an expat life of the English Language teacher in Madrid.  Prior to that, living in the tourist precinct, eating out and not having to shop, make beds or do housework, was only the entrée.  I made my tiny room a retreat, adding food supplies to the shared fridge.  I attended Spanish classes and bought a radio for my room to improve my Spanish.  I enjoyed waking up listening to the maids from the other pisos chatting to each other across the internal light well each morning.
 
I began to know my neighbourhood.   Only two blocks away from La Casa Inglesa, there were at least 15 tapas bars, each specialising in a ‘tapas’ speciality, between home and work.  The customary afternoon ‘chateo’,  or walk from one tapas bar to another with friends, became part of my life.  The barmen at nearby ‘Bar Stop’, where English teachers from all over Madrid congregated on a Friday evening, began to know me by name.  Even old ‘Don Fernando’, whose tiny ‘keyhole’ bar sold wonderful coffee, became quite friendly.  He was rumoured to have been a Franquista sympathiser, possibly even a retired general.  It was 1976, only a year after General Franco’s death and a referendum on the establishment of democracy was being planned. 

The streets of Madrid and routes out of Madrid to beautiful towns such as Toledo and Segovia became increasingly familiar as did the main metro routes and bus routes.  I became a frequent customer at colourful, vibrant markets, learning new names for the huge varieties of colourfully displayed verduras, legumes, carne and pescado.   I still ate out a lot, as Madrilenos often do, often returning to the little restaurant in the old part of town where a warm welcome and the menu del dia awaited, served by Jesus, the tiny toreadorer waiter who always enjoyed practising his English with me.   

I began to know Madrid more intimately, found the best paella, suckling pig, garlic mushrooms and music, and was always happy to be a tour guide when friends came to town.  The head waiter of the classy flamenco restaurant ‘Corral de Moreira’ (Paddock of the Moors), Justino, became a friend and always welcomed me and my coterie of visitors to Madrid.  I’d had a letter of introduction to Justino from Tony Lopez, a cleaner at Elwood High School, my last school before travelling overseas.  I learned to take visiting friends to the later and more intimate second tableau flamenco.  The dancers and singers would often interact and flirt with the audience, which of course my friends loved!

Often ‘new in town’ as a teacher, I came to understand the value of focusing on meeting ‘Food’, ‘Shelter’ and ‘Transport’ needs (have you heard about Maslow’s ‘Basic Needs’?) first.  Finding and setting up a nest, however small; getting to know the neighbourhood, foods, cafes and or bars, markets and supermarkets, traffic routes to favourite places; and services; developing a network of people who provide regular support  such as doctors; mechanics; gardeners and hairdressers,  all help to develop the comfort zone key to successfully negotiating being ‘nueva del ciudad’.

It’s the same in Benalla - it is having David as my maintenance man and gardener; another David as my mechanic; Jack as my hairdresser; Michael for the lawns.  It’s the  people who smile at me when I go to Hides Bakery and other cafes in Benalla.  I’d have to say that even after eighteen years in Benalla I still haven’t quite sorted out my own doctor, but I’m at least on the books and know some of the doctors at the Carrier Street Clinic.  I’ve achieved Maslow’s basic needs of shelter and security and although I do get lonely, U3A plays an important role in meeting my belonging, self esteem and even self actualization needs.   And one thing I know, if  ever new in town again I would certainly seek out U3A, which I’ve discovered also has a presence in Spain!  
 

Bev Lee
​
This story was originally shared in February 2017 - It's not eighteen years now, it's going on to twenty seven years.  Although time has passed, it still resonates with me, so I've decided to add it to the 'program' and share it in February 2025!

​In February 1950, as a 17 year old, just left school, my uncle had got me a job as a clerk with Victorian Producers Co-Op (VPC) in Benalla, a place I had never heard of, and only discovered that it was in north-eastern Victoria, far from my home of Swanwater, in the Wimmera.
 
Uncle Tom, or Toby as he was known, and Aunty Kath, decided to drive me to Benalla.  It was the longest drive I had ever experienced.  My only memory of it is the many trees on the side of the road between Mooroopna and Shepparton.
 
We arrived at Benalla in the late afternoon and booked into the now extinct Broken River Hotel.  After tea we located the office of the VPC in the main street, where the barber David, now operates Warehouse Cuts.  It had grey shaded windows with a little peep hole in the front section.  There was a light on.  We peeped through the window but saw very little.
 
Next morning the three of us went to the office and met the manager, Mr John Gilbert Short, and the other two staff members, Charlie Hancock, and Ed Lewis, whose position I was taking.
 
I was told that Mr. Short had arranged accommodation for me with Mr Devine, the publican, at the Broken River Hotel (not very appropriate for a 17 year old) and that my wages would be 3 pounds and 5 shillings per week, with 2 shillings and 6 pence to be taken out for tax.  I was later to discover that my board would cost 2 pounds 10 shillings per week and I had to do my own washing.  That left me with 12s.6d. per week pocket money.  The office provided me with a bike.  I had been used to riding horses, and a bike was a relatively new experience. 
 
I was given a rough description of what my duties would be, with the result that there was much I just had to pick up for myself.
 
After I’d been introduced  to the Catholic Priest and Uncle Tom and Aunty Kath had left I settled into my accommodation, only to discover that Mr. Devine had put me up as a favour to Mr. Short, and my presence was really regarded by him, as an imposition.  My room was at the very back of the building above the boiler room, so it was very hot in the summer month of February.
 
I located a commercial laundry and when I could afford it, had my shirts laundered.
 
My job at VPC involed working with the farming community, attending sheep and cattle markets, handling farm chemicals, woolpacks and other merchandise, and doing all the bookwork.  It also involved phoning farmers, advising them of their wool and stock prices.  This phoning occurred after the evening meal in order to accommodate farmers who generally were in the paddocks all day.  Consequently I had a lot of contact with the telephone exchange girls, with whom I became very friendly.
 
I also became friendly with a number of youths who I met at the church, and there were frequent dances at St. Joseph’s hall.  I also attended the Saturday night dances at the Memorial Hall.
 
There were a young couple (Frank and Jean) with a young daughter, staying at the hotel and they had just moved to Benalla for a change of lifestyle. They were looking for work.  Eventually Frank obtained a job at Harrison’s Hardware and Jean was employed as a waitress at the Hotel.
 
They were also looking for accommodation, and through their efforts, after some months, I obtained private board with Mrs McFarlane and her daughter in Charles Street.  One of the greatest assets here was the fact that Mrs. McFarlane did my washing.
 
I joined the C.Y.M.S. (the Catholic Young Mens’ Society) and enjoyed going to their dances and playing table tennis, which I had never played before.  As a clerk, I was soon roped into the job of being the society’s secretary.  We used to go to the other towns C.Y.M.S. dances regularly.  The president didn’t go to the dances, so at every dance I was expected to give a speech.  This was a good learning curve.
 
After some 12 months or so Mrs. McFarlane became ill and I had to seek other accommodation.  This I found in George Street at the home of Frank and Eileen Elliot, the parents of (now) Trish McCabe.  They were fantastic people and when I turned 21 they put on a surprise 21st birthday party for me in St. Joseph’s Hall, with so many of my friends attending.
 
I became friendly with Kevin Hernan who boarded near the Elliot’s.  He came around frequently to the Elliot’s and each week-end I would go out to his parent’s home in Winton.  He had six brothers and sisters and I fitted into his family, playing Santa Claus at every Christmas Dinner and proposing the toast at all of their 21st birthdays.  The Hernans gave me the home that I had never before known.  I then started to play football with the Winton Football Club.
 
I left Benalla in 1955 and returned in 1963.  It is my real home town. 
 
 
Ray O’Shannessy
February 2017