COVERFINAL
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Cover
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Back1
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DIORAMAWOMANCURTAIN
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FRONTBACK
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cemetary2
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MURRAYS

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In 1967 the town was declared a site of historical significance and The National Parks and Wildlife Service took over its management, preserving the forty or so remaining buildings. These are rented on heritage leases. Two of the cottages are made available to artists who, like Donald Friend and Russell Drysdale before them, come to the town to find inspiration.

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Throughout the town Park’s has erected plaques with photographs taken by Beaufoy Merlin and his assistant Charles Bayliss in 1872 showing the town and its inhabitants at the peak of the Gold Rush.  

Positioned in front of the houses or empty lots, the images are both insightful and disturbing proving an understanding of what once was, but at the same time illustrating that there will always be a time when what once was is gone.

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The artists move through the town taking photographs of the

BOOK

In the cottage the artists found books documenting the history of the town.
Harry Hodge, who was born in Hill End, describes the town in 1872.
People swarmed into the town and Clarke Street became a major artery along which flowed a cosmopolitan crowd of miners, promoters, agents, speculators, showmen and businessmen. The permanent townspeople were rather dazed with it all. Every hotel in town was full and others were going up as fast as they could be built. The best the landlords could do for travellers was to allow them to sit by the fire all night. Every available centimetre of ground was taken up. New shops and dwellings sprang up with astonishing rapidity, and the whole of Clarke Street changed from bark to trim weatherboard. Cornish miners rubbed shoulders with Germans, Poles, Frenchmen, Greeks, Americans and a host of other nationalities.
Hodge, H 1986. The Hill End Story, Hill End Publications
After 1872 the town endured a steady decline due largely to dwindleing gold deposits.
“The breweries closed down, the lemonade factory became a private house, the bush encroached and overran the houses and humpies, whote strees fell into decay, and suburbs became padlocks and orchards,

One year later a very different news item appears.
The new year will find us with a considerably reduced population. There is a dearth in the labour market and there are many idle claims and deserted houses. Only 400 miners are employed. There is a great difference to the vast size of the town eighteen months ago.
Sydney Morning Herald, December 1873

WOMAN GHOST

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Woman and boy – girl in corner, faint outline of the husband.
In the corner of the room there is a dark patch.  In it the artist feels the outline of a woman, weeping for the things her husband has done.  There is a boy in her arms, staring at the tears that line her cheeks, not knowing how to comprehend the extent of sadness.  For the boy, sadness is loosing his marbles to the taller boy at school.  It is a small round puddle, sometimes cool and sometimes only partly cool, and partly warm with laughter.
But the woman knows sadness.  Her sadness is a lake, a mountain, a dark black hole in the ground that her lover went into in search of gold.
The artist wishes she could get closer to the woman, clutch her back and press her cheek against her chest.  But there is time and distance between them, and if she crosses to the other side she will live in a body that is not her own.  They will try to smother her, try to make her believe that there is no way back.  Even if she told her that her husband was right there beside her, standing in the same dark shadow, the same deep hole, she still would not believe.  Even the time taken between two deaths is cruel enough to part the dead from the dead.  
ARRIVAL
They arrived at the cottage late in the night.  It was dark and cold.  They were used to the city, but here there were no lights to guide them and give them a sense of their surroundings.   
They went outside, feeling the cool night dive in underneath their jackets.  They clutched each other, aware of the darkeness, of the presence of a woman whose dress seemed to shake behind them.  They both knew she was there but neither of them was game to say it.  Somehow they knew that if they spoke of her, it would only make her stronger.

TIMESLIP
One morning when washing up at the kitchen sink, one of the artists she felt her body time-slip.  She sat in a carriage, in a dark blue dress. It was dark.  She felt stiff silk fabric against her skin.  The coach door opened and a man hidden in shadow held out his hand.
The man beside him yelled out then, to the pale, dark haired woman who was stepped out of the sulky and turned to the Great Western Store.  It was a crooked yell, filled with lust and heat that the boy couldn’t quite understand.

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the royal hotel
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the mine
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(Leeds, Mrs. John Margaret July  23, 1872 of pneumonia just one week following the death of her husband of the same disease.) 

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Now that we have the visual framework for each diorama, we have agreed that we need to give the visuals context with narrative content that has links across all of the scenes.  As a starting point for the work we have decided to sketch out each scene, noting the characters and major narrative elements.  We have also gone through the storyblog and cut and pasted different elements of the story into the scenes where these elements will appear.   

SCENES:

Workers cottage

Characters:  All four family members (Dianna, Noah, the boy, the girl).  The woman’s brother arrives part way through the narrative. 

Major narrative elements:   

-        Dianna feeling uncomfortable in the room.  She feels like she is being watched.  Her husband doesn’t come home.

-        Boy having a vision of his father dying in the mine.  He hears his mother weeping.

-        Woman’s brother arrives unexpectedly, holding a box of chocolates in his hand. 

Sub plots: 

-        Narrative about food (boy killing neighbours goat to feed his brothers and sisters).

-        story about two old folk – nobody in the village knew anything about them except that the man used to collect photographs.

-        Narrative about the house being cold. 

TEXT BEING USED:

***

She left the light on for him, so he would find his way back.

Royal Hotel

CHARACTERS IN THIS SCENE:  The brother, the boy, miners, women who entertain at the hotel.  (I might further develop a particular character of a miner who might be friends with the father). 

MAJOR NARRATIVE ELEMENTS:

-        The boy meeting the woman’s brother at the front of the hotel.

-        The woman’s brother drinking at the hotel and reflecting on his life.

-        The woman’s brother going to the hotel to escape his sadness

-        The boy going to the hotel and getting drunk when he should not have. 

Sub plots/ historical facts – to be developed. 

FRAGMENTS OF TEXT TO BE CONSIDERED, RE-WRITTEN OR DELETED. 

***

Her son - the boy, too cold and hungry to go to the school and be beaten for the work that he had not done, was across the road from his mother’s house at the (mining office, ) * change to Royal Hotel waiting for the newcomers to offer him the scraps of salted meat they kept in their pockets.  They always had bright eyes when they first arrived, and their skin was clearer and had more colour than the ones who had been there since it had all started.  Seeing how skinny and pale faced that he was they would give him the meat and he would eat half of it and then smuggle the other half home to give to his favourite sister, the older of the two. 

It was Wednesday, the day the coach came that carried twenty.  It let them off down the road in between the General Store and the Royal Hotel, and he would sit at the front of (the office,) change to Hotel looking to the left as they walked toward him.  On this particular day he noticed a tall man, with chapped lips and tanned skin.  He was thin and no more than 27, two years older than his mother. 

***

The man had a deep voice.  Husky, like he smoked too many cigarettes and drank too much Rum.  It was a hard voice and it made him fearful.  It was the sort of voice you could not say no to. 

***

The man’s clothes were much dirtier than his father’s clothes, and the boy could not help but think that the man must not have a woman like his mother to wash up after him and to cook his dinner. 

***

He stared at the man and the man stared back, glance thick, as if he was trying to remind the boy that they knew each other well.  The boy looked at his long, narrow face.  He stopped at the lips, thinking about how much they were shaped like his mothers, noticing the small slug like scar that split his bottom lip in two.  The stayed that way for a moment, standing still and staring, neither one wanting to be the first to break their concentration. 

***  I’m thinking that this text could be changed from the point of view of the brother, who could be reflecting on his life while he has a drink inside the Royal Hotel. 

She (He) remembered:

 (His sister) (Her brother) pink and fleshy crying as her sister slapped his legs.  sHUSHshhhh

Dried flowers hanging in the kitchen

The curious spicy burn of (her) his  father’s snuff

A young girl with a crisp white bonnet offering (her) him  pale red berries

***  (change the ‘shes’ to ‘hes’ here)

When she remembered these things, she felt herself slip inside where she could watch the threads unravel into pictures.  She looked down and saw her hands were those of an old women.  Coarse and blemished with thick blue veins.

Becomes: 

When he remembered these things, he felt himself slip inside where he could watch the threads unravel into pictures. He looked down and saw his hands were those of an old man’s.  Coarse and blemished with thick blue veins.

***

(change the ‘shes’ to ‘hes’ here)

She remembered her brother’s hands: smooth and pale.

Then the sound of her mother’s footsteps, muffled by her skirt running along the floor. 

Becomes: 

He remembered his sister’s hands: smooth and pale.

***

The angry boy went to the hotel that his Uncle often frequented.  A dirty man outside who smoked tobacco and drank whisky gestured for him to come and sit down.  He recognised that he was a friend of his fathers.  The man smelt of manure. 

***

The stench of manure and alcohol put him off and he hesitated momentarily before taking a seat next to the man.  The man pushed his glass over the boy.  It was covered in a thick film of sweat or grease, but the dark amber liquid inside smelled sweet and inviting.

***

‘Want to have a drink of this then’ the man said, gesturing the glass toward the boy.  The boy said know, slightly uncomfortable with the thought of sitting next to him. 

The mans world slurred from his lips, but he was not as far gone as the boy had sometimes seen his father when he was drinking. 

‘I could of sworn I heard yr father’s voice the other day you know, in the mine, under the sound of my pick as it tapped against the wall’ 

The boy stared at him deeply then, trying to see inside his mind, trying to hear what he had heard.  Perhaps it was the voice of his father, risen from the dead. 

***

The boy did not know it then, but his father was standing behind, watching him quietly, thinking of how he could find a way to touch him, to bring him close again. 

But the father had no skin and could not find a way to breathe in.  He just felt like breath all over:  like floating particles that drifted upward and got lost inside air. 

***

He did not want to talk about his father.  The thought of him filled him with helplessness - worry about his family. Since his father had died, everything seemed to fall apart.  He clenched his fists and tried not to think of his father (and death.death. death. death. death. death.) , but he could not… his mind was full of images.

***

The man offered the boy his glass again.  This time he did not resist, but took it gladly and felt the liquid burn as it went down, sending at first a shudder, then a warm glow through his body.  The taste was strange and he could not help but cough a little after taking the swig.

***

The man watched the boy, and let him take a second mouthful of his liquor before he gently pulled it from his hand.

***

The boy heard voices then, of two men talking of gold, how they had gone underground and foudn a nugget that would feed their families for more then ten years.  He wondered if he should become a miner like his father.  He wondered if the drunk man would help him. 

Mine

Characters to appear in this scene:

Father and other miners.  The mother and children may also appear in the father’s visions.

Major narrative elements: 

-        A context of the mine might be provided (ie, narrative that sheds light on what it may have been like being a miner at the time).

-        The father dies in this scene.

Sub plots:

Research into mining can provide historical facts/ sub plots in this scene. 

FRAGMENTS OF TEXT THAT MIGHT BE USED:

*** In the morning the ground was covered in frost and the towship was enveloped in thick white fog.  

*** I think that this text could be shuffled around a little, so that it comes from the voice of the father (the man who died) rather than the mother). 

The emptiness was closing in. 

***  His hands were on her face but she could not feel them.  Everything had gone lightweight and cold.   (This could be changed to) He felt his body leaving the black hole, going to her.  His hands were on her face but she could not feel them.  He sensed everything as lightweight and cold. 

***

She remembered his warm hands.  Hands that grew coarse over time.  When he touched her in those last days it was like sandpaper scaping against her skin.  He had cupped her face and told her that he loved her.  (This could be changed to).  He remembered her warm skin, and the way that the feeling of it had changed as his hands grew coarse over time.  He wondered if when he touched her skin during those last few days it felt like sandpaper scraping against her skin.  Last night he had cupped her face and told her that he loved her. 

***  She remembered a time when he was young, when his lips were chapped and his skin was warm.  She was with her mother and father, walking along a dirt street in Richmond, head turned away from him to guard herself from the cold.  He was playing folk music on the mandolin, singing about freedom.  Back then he dreamed of finding gold not far from there in Ballarat, but the wind got strong and sent him elsewhere, past Sydney, past Lithgow, past Bathurst - days of travelling on horses on a hard dirt road.  (The ‘shes’ here could be changed to ‘he’

Then it was just the two of them, young, thin, pinked skin - thinking they could take on the world.  But the world got big and heavy, and the weather in the place they were going was colder and the men in the mines were harder and they dug deeper and darker holes. 

***

The town was filled with wandering spirits, trapped by the quartz deposits that ran like veins through the land. 

***

Sometimes both love and death felt like an opening, and sometimes it felt like a hole

***

Not wanting to get angry at the boy again, he went to the tavern on German-town lane, where one was invited to lick the breasts of whores for even the smallest amounts of gold or silver. He went inside, to drink as much as anything else, when he noticed a woman in the corner who looked a lot like his sister.  For all of his agitated and off beat moods, he realised then that it was his sister who he was here for, and that the very reason he had come was because of the sense he had that she was calling, that she needed him to be here to stop her bad memories and dreams.  And it was she who had the most right to be cold and agitated, for she was paled from the loss of a man who she had known and loved well, and who had been taken from her so unexpectedly. 

And he knew, even before he had come or heard the news that her lover was to be taken.  He had always know, from the moment the two of them met

General Store

CHARACTERS TO APPEAR IN THIS SCENE:

Mother, other women who shop in the village, new woman who arrives in town.  The boy, girl and brother can also come into the shop if required.

MAJOR NARRATIVE ELEMENTS:

-        New woman arrives in town.

-        Woman (mother) steals something from the shop but does not get caught

-        Something else with dramatic tension but I’m not sure what else?

SUB PLOTS/ MINOR NARRATIVE ELEMENTS:

-        We could talk about how many shops there were in the village at that time.

-        What sort of things that the shop would have sold. 

FRAGMENTS OF NARRATIVE THAT MAY BE USED. 

***  (If we use the following perhaps there can be some visuals looking out the window of the shop). 

She walked down the main street of the village, cake tin in one hand, parasol in the other.  The people of the village thought that she sheltered herself in mourning, but all she could feel was the harsh sunlight on her skin. 

***

At the general store she overheard two women talking about a new arrival in town. 

***

They said it was a woman.  A young woman. She arrived alone late in the evening and moved into the old Murray house at the edge of town.

***

She felt consumed by the new woman.  The mystery of her.  She imagined her: a slender woman, with long dark hair tied up in a bun.  Like the woman on the hair pin box her grandmother owned when she was a child.

***

It went on this way, all day, as she walked down the dusty roads towards the village’s little store.  When she got there there was a woman, wearing black in mourning, waiting for her children who were playing behind the fence.  She heared the men in the black coats talk about her, whispering how here husband had feel in that deep black hole, how she still believed that he would come back.

***

She caught her eye and smiled gently, but the woman turned her head and shrugged her gaze away.

***

The wind picked up, and the woman stepped inside the store, figure following close behind. 

*** Perhaps the mother could steal something from the shop:

His mother was a young woman, still in her twenties, but the lines in her face had already set in.  She had slender, quite beautiful fingers but her hands were dry and coarse.  She had some lavender cream that she used sometimes to take the sting off, when they were chapped and her nails brittle after doing the washing in winter.  She kept it under her pillow and only used it at night. It was the first and only thing she had ever stolen.

Murrays

Characters in this scene: 

Sven, I’m not sure how we go with this one.  Do we keep it historical or make it contemporary.  If we make it contemporary I think we need some kind of narrative device so that the readers don’t get confused.  Perhaps the family could haunt this house. We need to think carefully about how the narrative will appear here. 

TEXT THAT WE MIGHT USE: 

***

Since then, she often had a sense of him.  A presence. Watching from behind. Trying to draw her attention. 

One morning when washing up at the kitchen sink, she felt her body time-slip.  A carriage, and herself in a pale blue dress.  She felt the coarse woolen fabric against her skin.  The coach door opened and a man hidden in shadow held out his hand.

***

She sits there, sensing.  Sensing the energy of things as she had always done.  In the corner of the room there is a dark patch.  In it she feels the outline of a woman, weeping for the things her husband has done.  There is a boy in her hands, staring at the tears that line her cheeks, not knowing how to comprehend the extent of sadness.  For the boy, sadness is loosing his marbles to the taller boy at school.  It is a small round puddle, sometimes cool and sometimes only partly cool, and partly warm with laughter.

But the woman knows sadness.  Her sadness is a lake, a mountain, a dark black hole in the ground that her lover went into in search of gold. 

She wishes she could get closer to the woman, clutch her back and press her cheek against her chest.  But there is time and distance between them, and if she crosses to the other side she will live in a body that is not her own.  The will try to smother her, try to make her believe that there is no way back.  Even if she told her that her husband was right there beside her, standing in the same dark shadow, the same deep hole, she still would not believe.  Even the time taken between two deaths is cruel enough to part the dead from the dead. 

***  They arrived at the cottage late in the night.  It was dark and cold.  They were used to the city, but here there were no lights to guide them and give them a sense of their surroundings.  

***

They went outside, feeling the cool night dive in underneath their jackets.  They clutched each other, aware of the darkeness, of the presences of a woman whose dress seemed to shake behind them.  They both knew she was there but neither of them was game to say it.  Somehow they knew that if they spoke of her, it would only make her stronger.

***

The man beside him yelled out then, to the pale, dark haired woman who was stepped out of the sulky and turned to the Great Western Store.  It was a crooked yell, filled with lust and heat that the boy couldn’t quite understand.

The small woman wore a dress made of fine silk, a silver brooch pinned in the middle of he chest.  The boy looked at her clothes, wondering how much food he could buy if he stole them from her and sold them.  He felt sad that his mother could not wear fine things like her. 

***

The woman glanced their way for just a moment.  Even from the distance, the boy noticed she had blue eyes.

***

The woman seemed pre-occupied.  Flustered. She took her surroundings in with obvious concern.  A tall man with a ginger beard stepped up to her. 

***

The woman was surprised to see him approach, though from her gestures, it was clear they had not met.  The boy heard the man say:  ‘is there something I can do to help you… to help you find your way?’

The woman smiled, pleased that he had approached her. 

***

They stood together a moment, then the man offered her his arm.  His voice was soft.  Appologetic. The boy could not hear what was being said.  They moved off together to the rear of the sulky. 

Cemetary

CHARACTERS IN THIS SCENE:

The mother, the brother, the boy, and girl.  The father might appear as a ghost.

MAJOR NARRATIVE ELEMENTS:

-        the funeral of the father

-        the father appearing as ghost (at the funeral or even afterwards)

SUB PLOTS AND OTHER NARRATIVE ELEMENTS:

-        In this section we could have some facts about the amount of children who died in the era, and some information about how miners died in accidents.  I have heaps of books that Keri lent me here at the moment so I can probably start looking for this tomorrow. 

FRAGMENTS OF TEXT THAT WE MIGHT USE. 

I’m thinking that the man (Noah, the father who died) could be a ghost wandering around the cemetery.  But I think that we will need to add things to the narrative that appears here to make it clear that he is dead, and is a ghost, trying to make sense of the place he is in.  We may need to add in some images to better illustrate this.  Perhaps we can change the girl with the flies to a man, and have some text as well as flies that talks about the fact he is dead. 

***

He remembered only a little of his life.  It came back to him in flashes.  Faces and outlines, strings of
                                   d i s c o n n e c t  e d
                                             moments, 

the feel of different textures against his skin. 

 ***

He remembers the word, as if it was a vein, blistered beneath his skin.  A red pox mark rising to the surface.  Like a stain or a disease. 

He remembers writing the word in chalk on the blackboard, saying the letters in his head.  He prayed that they would come out, one and then the next, all in the right order.  But they did not, he could not remember.  The teacher said that he if he could not spell the word he would never know what it means.  She wrapped her stick against his hands and scolded him because he was poor and un-used to high-class English grammar.  She lifted her stick and wrapped it, telling him the letters R-E-M-E-M-B-E-R. 

He remembers that teacher’s face as a flash, rough and cold like winter sandpaper.  Now he sees her staring at him on the other side. 

*** This text could perhaps be used in the context of the woman at her husbands funeral. 

She was tired of the stares and polite,  condescending smiles.  People thought that she was mad.  Waiting for a husband they all believed dead.

***  This text could perhaps be used in the context of the boy at his father’s funeral. 

The boy had seen his father, in the black cloud of a black dream, sometimes still and sometimes breathing.  In the dream he stared at him hard until his eyes disappeared and then his face disappeared.  Then everything went white and he was woken by the sounds of his mother weeping. 

The boy thought of this as he stood behind the fence, watching the woman who looked at his mother.  The woman looked kind, like she would help them, still his mother went dark and cold and turned away. 

*** This could perhaps be used in the context of Dianna’s brother at the funeral.  We could change the voice so it reads:  Dianna’s brother could see a shadow lurking behind her.

***

Behind the woman he could see a shadow lurking.  It had the familiar shape of a man.

***

It was a man’s shape behind the woman.  A man trying to become a woman’s face.

***

He watched the figure as it moved and twisted.  All the dark particles, like small black dots pulled together to form a new shape, but at the last moment they broke apart and scattered back to their original position.  

***

She felt herself going backwards (into her self)

she thought of everything she had lost, of everything she was not.  She looked at her brother and started to cry.  She felt her lover’s warm breath on her shoulder.  Then everything went quiet and they all heard the bell of death ringing (up the street) change to ‘across the graveyard’ 

***

The men in black called her to the church to identify the body, Aida and her sister watching as she walked by.

She wanted to tell the world how her heart felt like an empty hole.  But all the voices were full of sympathy and she could not. 

***

The brother and the sister turned around then to see the sisters son and her daughter coming toward them, the little girl white in the face and walking slow for the fever, the little boy holding her hand, concerned at the sight of her illness.  She coffed a spluttered, and the brother took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. 

Filed under: None | Posted by Dennis Kratz at Monday, 9 July 2007 10:36 PM
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This is the start of the Cemetary diorama:

Links:
Kukaburra - movie
Cross - links to stories about father and daughter dying
Toombstone - link to story - REMEMBER

Since the fall he sees flashes. He remembers one word, as if it was a vein, blistered beneath his skin.  A red pox mark rising to the surface.  Like a stain or a disease.

He remembers writing the word in chalk on the blackboard, saying the letters in his head.  He prayed that they would come out, one and then the next, all in the right order.  But they did not, he could not remember.  The teacher said that he if he could not spell the word he would never know what it means.  She wrapped her stick against his hands and scolded him because he was poor and un-used to the rules of English grammar.  She lifted her stick and wrapped it, telling him the letters R-E-M-E-M-B-E-R. He remembers now, the letters, the lips, the sound of words.  He remembers the grip of his father holding him tightly during those cold Irish winters.  When he was a boy winter was a word that ate whole days.  His fingers became bruised from pulling potatoes. 

He remembers that teacher’s face as a flash, rough and cold like winter sandpaper.  Now he sees her staring at him on the other side. 

He remembers being twisted, his legs bent in unnatural positions and the coppery smell of dirt mixed with blood.

Filed under: None | Posted by Dennis Kratz at Sunday, 8 July 2007 2:09 PM
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Camera
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Filed under: None | Posted by Dennis Kratz at Monday, 2 July 2007 01:33 AM
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Journal 2
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Filed under: None | Posted by Dennis Kratz at Monday, 2 July 2007 01:30 AM
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Journal
Originally uploaded by denniskratz

Filed under: None | Posted by Dennis Kratz at Monday, 2 July 2007 01:27 AM
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