Tonight on Compass we learned more about Barbara Blackman, great friend of poet Judith Wright.
Blind writer, philanthropist and artists’ muse Barbara Blackman, now in her 80th year, talks to Geraldine Doogue about her rich, eventful life and spiritual journey. Born in 1928 in Queensland Barbara was raised by her mother. Her father died when she was 3 years old. “I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I was born with something better, a question mark,” she tells Compass.
She spoke of her love for T S Eliot’s “Four Quartets”. I found something beautiful later on:
This is just one of the set:
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Indeed I do…
And as an elderly blogger who began doing this In Another Place back in 2000-2001, I really can’t get my head around people like Matt Mullenweg (right), WordPress’s originator, who is younger than The Rabbit but older than Thomas. He seems to have been 19 when WordPress started.
Guess you could say he’s done rather more by the age of 24 than I ever did.
And there are now 2,754,210 blogs on WordPress.com with 114,420 new posts today…
Another part of my childhood, as I recount here — which at the moment is Google top hit for “C32 steam”! This picture could have been taken on the Illawarra Line, though in fact is on Mount Victoria in the Blue Mountains. It is certainly the kind of regular South Coast train I saw every day through the 1950s from my vantage point in Vermont Street Sutherland. This C32 was built by Beyer Peacock & Co in the UK in 1891!
Linked to an excellent resource from which this image is taken.
Also where my father and mother married, and a place I spent much time in up to the early 1980s.
Looking on WordPress at my posts that have attracted 1000+ visits, I note that picture searches explain some of them. Here are the “targets”. I have linked each one to the post where it occurs.
Thanks to Collecting Books and Magazines Australia I found the very volume, or one of them, that I read practically from cover to cover at Aunt Beth’s place in Sans Souci some time around 1954.
This is my environment, and it is inhabited by more than humans of various ethnicities.
There are things like these: