Magic Does Happen in Midland.

Midland is a microcosm of change over a lengthy period of time. The area had been occupied from the early 1830s, though no real development occurred until the establishment of the Midland Railway Company in 1886.  The township of Midland Junction was proclaimed in 1891, briefly changed its name to Helena Vale, before reverting to its original name in 1901.

With the establishment of the Midland Railway Workshops, the Army's ordnance store and the State Abattoirs, Midland Junction became a workers' town. During the Second World War, part of the Railway Workshops were seconded for both repairs and production.

After 1961, the "Junction" part of the name was dropped and the acquisition of the Midland Railway Company by the Western Australian Government Railways led to changes. A bus and train transit centre was constructed, along with the new Centrepoint Shopping Centre. Midland was further urbanised with a new police station, a new courthouse, Midland Gate Shopping Precinct and considerable recreation venues during the 1980s.

The Midland Railway Workshops closed in 1994 with a considerable impact on the entire community. Eventually, the Midland Redevelopment Authority was launched in 2000 and since then, Midland has had an explosion of new housing. This would be partly due to the excellent transport services, its proximity to the airport and the relative ease of travel to the city and elsewhere.

Midland has endured being given a bad rap at times. Michael remembers the area very well as both a Perth Hills boy and as an apprentice at the Railway Workshops. Over fifty years, he had been witness to major change and upheaval. The Midland railway station was relocated further west many years ago. Now with the new hospital needing to be serviced by public transport, another railway station is needed - in the same spot as the previously moved one. A lack of forward planning?

The drive-in is long gone. The streets are changing. There has been major beautification works undertaken, but there are still original workers' cottages to be found, some of them in a state of disrepair. Somehow, they can still appear more attractive than the endless repetitive blocks of medium density townhouses and units.

Midland is also a multicultural and socio-economic patchwork. People from all over the globe rub shoulders. There are lovely open spaces and public artwork. There is a sense of comfortable affluence about Midland. Yet, thrown into the mix are also the poor, the disadvantaged and the homeless. Which in some ways is a more realistic vision of a community than other parts of Perth.

I like Midland. We live about a hundred kilometres from its centre. I can shop in the large familiar supermarket, buy both practical and attractive home wares, manchester and clothes, plunge into the giant hardware conglomerate that is Bunnings and most importantly, visit the hairdressers.

I have been attending Salon Express for sometime. Salon Express Midland is a tiny piece of Ireland on the other side of the world. There are numerous Irish accents floating around and one day, I fully expect to be greeted by a leprechaun.

My first Irish hair cutter there Gronia, sadly moved elsewhere. Her younger sister Tara enthusiastically took over my complicated head of hair. Then I met Sharon - also from Ireland. I was instantly smitten. Sharon is, I think, in her early forties, and currently sticks her hair in a bun. She is considering a more radical style at present. And she cuts beautifully. She understands me and she understands my hair. I actually feel pretty when she is finished with me. That does not occur very often.

Sue, manager on reception, is cheerful, attentive and efficient. Tuesday, when I attended, started with a cup of tea provided by Sue and hair colour and cut by Sharon. Washing and rinsing and massaging my scalp was performed by another Irish lass. I was in heaven.

After nearly three hours, I emerged back into the outside world, feeling like a million dollars. My last task for that day was sourcing frames for a number of prints, including one particularly special poster for Michael's birthday.

Ruby, at Midland Gate Pharmacy, runs the photography section. She was incredibly helpful in her assistance. Four frames were fitted with pictures and a custom frame was ordered for the Birthday Boy's present. I could not have asked for better service.

So, Midland remains close to my heart. This eastern suburb can be gritty, no nonsense, raw and at the same time surprisingly fashionable and hip.

Midland has something for everyone.

My bad hair day...

After being taken in hand by Sharon...

Sharon's job description.

Memories of Midland -

Wall dedicated  to all the workers at the Midland Workshops...

Midland Town Hall...

Reinvention of Midland...

Midland Gate pharmacy, where the fabulous Ruby works in their photography section.

Midland - forever evolving.

Old Friends, New Friends

Last Saturday was one of those fabulous red-letter days. When the unexpected and extraordinary crash into each other in a spectacular way.

We'd had quite a busy day welcoming guests to the Gallery. I was looking forward to dinner at the pub. Mid-afternoon a new visitor entered the Gallery for a browse. She was instantly familiar, but I was having difficulty placing her in my former life. Then, a flash of memory.

I know you! You have twin daughters. You are from my Karrinyup days. And you haven't changed a bit!

She came straight back. You're Kate Hawes.

Not anymore. I'm now Kate Sofoulis, married to the love of my life.

As soon as she announced her name, Jacquie Thomson, images came flooding into my mind. Jacquie and her husband Peter had produced two divine red-headed daughters, Alex and Beth. They were in the same class with my autistic superstar Alex. They were wonderfully hospitable people, though Jacquie always seemed ferociously organised. I remember admiring her as well as  enjoying her company. She and Peter were my ideal of a happy marriage, whilst mine was disintegrating.

A phone call from one of her girls interrupted our reverie. I nearly collapsed with laughter listening in on their conversation. The girls must have been about ten years old when I last saw them. All grown up now, Jacquie's daughter asked if I'd finally rid myself of my first husband. Like so many others, she was not entirely complimentary about him. Out of the mouths of babes...

A very happy hour or so ensued. The vino was opened, Peter and Jacquie wandered about the Gallery, Michael rapidly caught up and joined in our animated conversation.

Jacquie kept commenting on my happiness. All those years ago, I had been caught in a fog of chronic unhappiness as I struggled to please my then husband and have a life. In the end, I realised my efforts were futile and after three attempts, I finally ended that phase of my life. Now, after eight years with my beloved Michael and orchestrating the running of our Gallery, I am truly alive.

Our reunion was coming to an end. However, they had become besotted with one of Michael's "Flowers in my Garden". And they bought his sculpture. To say we were touched and delighted does not even come close.

We were thrilled to receive photos of "Flowers" in her new setting. And Peter and Jacquie have come back into my life and entered Michael's as well.

How old friends become new friends.

A very happy ending.

PS Jacquie, I can't find the photos you sent! Could you please resend them? I am such a Luddite...

 As old friends become new friends -

"Flowers in My Garden 1"

"Flowers in My Garden" 2 (centre left on plinth) - now resident @ Peter and Jacquie's home.

Or before hopefully!

A Chance Encounter with Darr(en) and Dave.

Thursday was my first day back in the East End Gallery. After nearly four weeks of anything but the Gallery, I was very rusty in my role as front-of-house. Fortunately, Vanessa had opened and was her usual brisk and professional self.

We were just engaged in a "catch-up" of events and sales when a new guest came through the door. Not a local, he was casually but smartly dressed with an infectious smile and an easy, open and energetic manner. He introduced himself as Dave. He and work colleagues were lunching on fish and chips across the road in the "Country Kitchen" and he had spotted the East End Gallery. He announced he had come for a look whilst his meal was being prepared.

Shortly afterwards, Dave revealed he was actually the State Minister for Local Government, the Arts and Heritage. He and his fellow Honourable, Darren West, were on a fact-finding safari, meeting with Shires throughout the Central Wheatbelt. They had come to Beverley for a meeting with our Shire, CEO Steve Gollan and Shire President Dee Ridgeway.

David Templeman, Member for Mandurah,  is the first, I repeat, first politician of any persuasion to cross the front door of our Gallery. And show enthusiastic interest. And commend us for what Michael and I have worked at for over five years. He farewelled us to return to his lunch. He promised he and Darren would pop in after they had finished eating.

About this time, I nearly fell off my chair for a second time.

The Goomalling number plates on the parked 4WD had sparked my interest. Darren West has been my Facebook buddy for some time and had a farm in the Goomalling Shire. As Member for the Agricultural Region, he is responsible for a smallish electorate of about 260 000 square kilometres. Although I had never clapped eyes on Darren in person, my intuition had told me he was a man of honesty and integrity. Finally meeting him, I also discovered he is very tall.

They blasted into the Gallery like a couple of whirling dervishes. Dave's staffer was attempting to keep up with them. We talked rapidly about ourselves, our passions and our hopes. They listened.

We asked who to talk to about our ongoing issues with the Water Corporation. "Me" was Darren's immediate response. Just like that. Then, as a parting gesture, we were invited to their "Pint with Pollies" at the Duke's Inn in Northam that evening. With that invitation, they hurtled out the door to their next meeting.

We went. The gathering was not too big which allowed us to network and meet other guests. Ross Beckett, the Chair of Country Arts WA was present, minus a melanoma on his foot and plus crutches. We had a really interesting discussion. Another Facebook friend, Cathryn Backer was also at the evening with her husband Rene. I recognised her by her glasses. A delicious buffet and drinks were also provided for our enjoyment.

I chatted with Lesley, Darren's wife and supporter and a wholly independent person in her own right. Working three days a week in finance, Lesley is also the anchor at their farm as well as keeping tabs on their now adult children. From talking to both Darren and Lesley, they are a closely knit family.

I believe we met two of that rare breed - Darren and David entered politics with a genuine desire to be useful and helpful and work for and with their electorates. And as a voter who expects far more from pollies than ego and the party line, these two deserve their places. May they maintain the energy required to do their jobs as they are currently doing.

Other politicians - take note of Darren and Dave.

David Templeman - looking fetching in Balingup -

and in mufti, just before March's state election -

and with his wife, Donna, and their children.

Darren West, with wife Lesley and his family -

the tall geezer on the far left -

Back to work.

Facebook buddy Cathryn with her husband Rene.

Ross Becker, Chair of Performing Arts, Country Arts WA. He is also very tall...

A Long Kiss Goodbye.

Last day on the road. Last day in Far North Queensland. Our time in Cooktown had been hectic, eye-opening, joyful, wistful and quick. Suddenly, I was ready to go home to Station House and hug, in order, Vanessa, the Three Stooges, and Madame Cat. The Pirate Parrot would get a raspberry.

Leaving my brother Mike, his daughter Rebekah and her little tribe was quite difficult. We vowed to return when we could. The entire family received an open invitation to come to the Wild West. We left Cooktown behind for the drive back to Cairns.

First the familiar. Lakeland, Palmer River (excellent roadhouse built of local stone and delicious toasties), Mt Carbine and into Mt Molloy. Michael photographed the old boilers and other paraphernalia embedded in the remains of a brick wall from every angle. I was more concerned about long scaly creatures lurking in the thick grass. (I am currently reading a journalist's memoirs of Africa).

Mt Molloy gave no hint that we were only thirty kilometres from the coast. We were still in savannah country. We turned Lily eastwards. Julatten was a quaint little village less than ten kilometres along the road. Already, the vegetation was changing. Thicker, greener and sugar cane emerging again. All signs of higher rainfall. Down the mountains. Michael was driving. In true FNQ style, we witnessed the good, the bad and the ugly. Drivers careering past us when they were able (or unable). Fantastic views. Steep, narrow and tightly curved. I shall neither consider Greenmount more than a doodle ever again.

All of a sudden, Lily blasted onto the flats. We continued to Mossman. Briefly, we considered stopping at the Gorge. However, at two o'clock on a Sunday afternoon, the car park was absolutely jammed with tourists. Michael shuddered and turned Lily around. We set off for Port Douglas.

The scenery adjacent to the Captain Cook Highway was truly spectacular. The Pacific Ocean on our left. High rainforest on our right. Heavy traffic kept Michael on his toes. With relief, we peeled off to stop at Port Douglas.

The town was originally founded as a port for the inland mining industry. Now, it has morphed into a super-sized string of resorts and every other imaginable type of accommodation. The main drag transported me to Noosa. After all our other reasonably low-key destinations, the bustle and the noise assaulted my senses. We turned towards the shoreline and miraculously found a spare car space. The familiar look of the river mouth with the comforting mangroves reduced my anxiety. The pretty little church, set amongst palm trees, slowed the pace of my brain to a far more relaxed speed. Next door to the church was the local Sunday market.

Even though the stalls were starting to pack up, I plunged in for a squizz. There was not that much to interest me. Until I spotted the Frock Shop. Pam, creator and proprietor of Pamena Fashions, based in Cairns, was featuring exactly the kind of clothes I love. Middle aged herself, Pam's motto was "real clothes for real women". Hence a short, somewhat rotund girl like me was able to find two pretty frocks that fitted nicely and didn't make me feel like Ten Tonne Tessie in drag.

After a restorative lemon, lime and bitters at one of the many bars, we left Port Douglas for the final leg to Cairns. I had been enchanted by the low-key elements of the town. The main drag I could leave for the deadly serious tourists.

Cairns, Leigh and his unit welcomed us with open arms. After the trauma of Fawlty Towers, I demanded a Frock-up, a "nice" restaurant and a cocktail. The local Rydges fitted the bill. We shouted Leigh for his generosity towards us. And I was incredibly touched when a single chap like Leigh and a career smoker quietly began puffing outside his unit, rather than inside, in deference to me. Leigh Doust, you are the Man!

Monday was all about travel. We waved goodbye to Cairns. We flew over the most amazing country and landed in Alice Springs for a brief stopover. A Central Australian gift for Ailsa and Mark to thank them for babysitting Kermit the 4WD. We hoped he hadn't lowered the tone of their very nice neighbourhood too much.

Onward to Perth. An outrageously expensive taxi ride to pick up Kermit. No wonder Uber is booming. Out of the Big Smoke. Home after twelve hours.

Station House, Vanessa, the dogs, cat and bird were all delighted to see us. We retired gratefully to our beautifully comfortable bed. Sometimes there is no place like home.

Between Cairns and Mt Molloy -

Back on the flats -

Port Douglas' peaceful outlook -

Towards Cairns -

A slight danger of falling rock(s)!

Two boys out to dinner -

Goodbye Cairns -

And hello outback -

Transit in Alice Springs -

A Colourful (Albeit Too Brief) Snapshot of Cooktown.

Leaving Cairns with both reluctance and excitement, we made our way north towards Cooktown. Choosing the the Savannah route through Kuranda, Mareeba, Mt Molloy, Mt Carbine, Palmer River, Lakeland and into Cooktown was longer but breathtaking. We had considered that parts of the drive would be similar to the Port Hedland-Broome section. There were a few less than jaw-dropping glimpses, but the majority of the drive was loaded with natural beauty.

We drove through and around mountains. Real mountains that appear to touch the sky. Fantastic views from lookouts. Close to our destination was the Black Mountain National Park. The steep sides were layered in a helter-skelter fashion with gigantic granite boulders of all sizes and shapes. Cooling magma had caused this amazing effect. Their colour was the result of blue-green algae habitation along with the residue of iron and manganese. Words and photos don't do Black Mountain appropriate justice.

We arrived in the FNQ (Far North Queensland) frontier town mid-afternoon. Our accommodation unit, which my brother had booked and where he also lived, was easy to locate and will henceforth be known as Fawlty Towers. Proprietor Sybil was spasmodic in her presence for the entirety of our stay. As a Lady about Town, she was much better at being seen at the Botanic Gardens or the Markets or Anywhere Else.

More about "the Asylum" and Sybil later. Brother Michael was overjoyed to see us. We took him to dinner at the local top spot - the Sovereign Resort. The food was sensational and sitting outdoors on a warm evening was sublime. All was well in our world.

Up relatively bright and early the next morning. We were introduced to Rebekah, Michael's youngest daughter, and her younger children -  Tyler, a stocky little dynamo aged nearly two and baby Rachel, who had just turned seven months. Kate aged nine was at school. Becca is a stunning young woman, bright, articulate, intelligent and obviously adores her children. Although a Mum at a very early age, she has the patience of a saint and a fabulous sense of humour, which serves her well in any situation.

We visited Finch Bay to begin our exploration of Cooktown. Once again, the views were indescribably beautiful. We played and explored and walked and danced in the shallows of the Pacific Oceans. So different from anywhere else we'd ever seen.

Cooktown Botanic Gardens were a real treat. I discovered that Joseph Banks was not the only botanist aboard the "Endeavour" when James Cook and his crew beached the ship for the forty-eight days that were necessary to repair the gaping hole in her hull. Daniel Solander was also on board and his name was everywhere, along with Banks, throughout the entire Gardens. Yet, I had never heard of him before coming to Cooktown.

We enjoyed a riotous lunch with Becca and the children at the cafe. Tyler provided the comic relief. A sturdy and plucky toddler, he wandered on the gravel paths, barefoot and totally oblivious to any discomfort. With his blond curls and cheeky little grin, he was engaging and irresistible. And exceptionally busy.

Becca left us, with high hopes of her children falling asleep in the car. The Bobsie Twins decided to retire for a beer under the mango tree after dropping me at the James Cook Museum. We agreed that they would pick me up in an hour to meet Kate as school ended for the day.

Housed in the former school and convent established by the Sisters of Mercy in the 1880s, the museum further widened my already wide eyes. The building itself was saved from demolition in 1969 and a rapid restoration allowed its opening by Queen Elizabeth in April 1970. A Victorian Gothic building, situated high to catch the breeze - apparently the Sisters would pray for any zephyr - and surrounded by tropical gardens all named by Banks and Solander, I was mesmerised. Cooktown was so much more than James Cook.

The museum told the story of Country, of Cook's arrival and departure, of relative peace until gold was discovered on the Palmer River and the creation of Cooktown as a port to service the mining industry. And like many Goldfields towns, Cooktown's boom was followed by bust. Declining from the 1890s, Cairns eclipsed Cooktown as a major port. The convent and school moved lock, stock and barrel to Herberton in the Tablelands. Cyclones and fires and the First World War decimated the population. There was a brief revival for the building during the Second World War when American servicemen used it for a variety of purposes. Offered back to the Sisters of Mercy after the war, the building deteriorated further through lack of use.

Finally, after road access was finished between Cairns and Cooktown in 1950, the population steadied. The rise of tourism led to the re-awakening of the town. And the saving of the building allowed for its establishment as the museum. The Centenary of Federation injected fortunate funding to carry on restoration work and house the "Endeavour" anchor and cannon, jettisoned on 10 June 1770, during frantic efforts to lighten the damaged ship.

After an hour or so, I staggered out of the building, my brain reeling with new information. I was picked up by B1 and B2 and introduced to Kate, my great niece, and a lovely well-behaved child. Later, after consultation with Gran (the delightful and resourceful Jenny), another member of our burgeoning extended family, all agreed Kate would have a sleepover with us.

Dinner at Jacky Jacky's Herbs and Spices Thai Restaurant. Great food, great company and a doggy bag for Michael to boot. Kate was an additional treat and her behaviour was flawless.

Markets next morning. Kate and I left the male version of Sleeping Beauty in a horizontal position. I bought her breakfast at the excellent Capers cafe. Within five minutes, we had added Kate's friend Mary to our little party. After picking up Michael, who had graduated to a vertical position, we returned to the Markets and plunged into a sea of colour, laughter, and activity. Two pairs of boardies for Michael and a shirt for me. We parted company with the family and left to explore the historical museum and the local Gallery. Both were exceptional experiences. We could have stayed there much longer but our feet were tired and Michael was hungry.

After a fortifying sit down back at the Sovereign and enjoying a couple of mid-afternoon drinks, we were ready for our final evening.

Journeying to Michael and Jenny's property on the banks of the Endeavour River was a twenty-five-minute drive. The house commands a high position above the river. Jenny lives there with their eldest son Chris. Through a series of sadly unresolved circumstances, Michael is a resident at Fawlty Towers. Becca also currently lives at the house but is a frequent visitor to town.

Jenny herself is a woman of grit, integrity, and skill. She manages the garden centre at the Cooktown Hardware. When at home, she prefers her garden to the house. A large established veggie patch, fruit trees, her beloved tropical plants, chickens and a goat keep her very active. Added to the mix are the family dog and two cats. Jenny's life is packed. We enjoyed her company immensely and the BBQ dinner feat was excellent.

We were sad to farewell Jenny. We were sadder when we left Michael, Becca and her children and the town the next morning. We were not sad to leave Fawlty Towers.

I have chosen not to name this establishment as I suspect the Health Department would close the place in five seconds. People like my brother and "Nutty" would then have nowhere to live. The main building is decrepit and dingy. My brother's room is not pleasant. We were given the disabled unit, which I suspect is the best room. Sybil floated in on our last afternoon inquiring if all was satisfactory. All was not satisfactory but maintenance was not a priority and I could see no point complaining. The bathroom basin leaked, the shower shrieked, the exhaust fan growled, the ceiling fan thumped out very bad dance music all night, the bed creaked alarmingly and the screen door could not be locked. Our fellow guests were either indigenous people on their way to Somewhere Else or tourists who discovered the enormity of their mistake and left promptly the next morning. Fawlty Towers is frequently less than fully occupied and we know why.

Which was an incredible shame as Cooktown itself was a wonderful stopover. The chance to meet family and discover the depth of Cooktown's past was fantastic. And there were so many surrounding places we could not visit due to time constraints.

Cooktown has grown to a population of nearly two and a half thousand residents, most of whom seem to be school aged children. The town supports the local region, has a thriving tourism industry and a renewal of surrounding mining. This is a fascinating place and we will return.

Just not to Fawlty Towers.

Cairns to Cooktown vistas -

Black Mountain -

Cooktown foreshore - miners' tribute

B1 and B2

The mouth of the Endeavour River -

Fishing fleet -

Retired member of the fishing fleet -

Feeding the Gropers - 

Good morning to our new family!

Mangroves on the path to Finch Bay -

Finch Bay -

There are unfortunately creatures and plants that wish to kill you in FNQ -

Friendly lizard in Botanic Gardens

James Cook Museum - 

 GOLD!

The Sisters of Mercy convent and school -

The Chinese joined the Gold Rush and 22,000 of them settled in Cooktown -

Stories of Country - 

And other lives - 

Markets with Kate -

and breakfast with Kate. 

At the Historical Museum - 

Back at the Sovereign - 

The property on the Endeavour River - 

Look what B1 found on the property - a telegraph pole -

B2 and pole -

Chooks -

and weird FNQ flowers in Jenny's garden.