​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