Seated in the Street (Sydney Australia July 2016)

Against the Tide (Sydney Australia June 2016)

Eyes Front Eyes Down (Sydney Australia June 2016)

Filling in Time on the Train

There is Always Darkness Where There is Light

There is Always Darkness Where There is Light

On a Hard Road

And Mother Makes Three

Dodgem Watcher Sydney Australia May 2016

Gossip with Gusto Sydney Australia May 2016

Gossip with Gusto Sydney Australia May 2016

Passing in Dappled Light Sydney Australia May 2016

Sky Cages

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Family Portrait

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Patting the Dog Sydney Australia January 2016

On a City Sidewalk Sydney Australia January 2016

Lest We Forget: A Beach Memory

Lest We Forget at the Beach (Terrigal Australia June 2015)

Quite a few years ago in a poetry class the teacher asked us to write about our strongest beach memory. Not as a poem, just a short piece of prose describing the memory.

This is what I wrote. Well it’s been slightly edited, but not in any way that changes the original meaning and content. I came across it today as I sorted through some files. As we are actually staying across the road from a beach on the same coast right now, I thought it was a good time to resurrect this still powerful memory and to share it with you all.

I’m not really a saltwater person. Never have been. Sure, it’s true I’ve spent time swimming in the sea: you can’t grow up in Australia and not spend a heap of time at the beach and in the water. I never liked it much though. And after the Boxing Day Tsunami in ’05, I just was not physically able to go anywhere near the sea for a long time—and I was sure I would never ever get in the water again.

But, time passes, and I did eventually get back to the saltwater. But, let’s just say that even now, it’s pretty rare for me to actually swim in the sea. In fact, I think the last time was on the Gold Coast, that soulless, heartless strip of concrete lining the coast up near the tropics. Lived there for a year.

Anyway, I did swim up there a few times. But I stopped after a few shark scares. The final straw when a shark took a Japanese tourist. Bitten in half he was. Still and all, there are some fine beaches on that stretch of coast, which have left me with some pretty nice memories of walking the dunes, picking up shells, sitting with my hood up on the sand listening to winter waves pound the shore.

 Funny thing though, none of these are among my strongest beach memories. That honor belongs to a memory that goes a long way further back in time that also involves a chopped human.

1967. Balmoral Beach in Sydney. It’s a lovely, sheltered beach with the usual assortment of palm trees, chip shops and coin operated BBQs. I was 13 and my father was in Vietnam. Not yet a pacifist, and not yet ready to be disloyal to him, I eagerly took part in the picnics put on for families of soldiers fighting ‘over there’. Fun really: a lot of other kids to muck around with, some cute girls and plenty of food. Even better, there were sometimes presents: one time I got a string tied bundle of over one hundred comics. Very cool. I had those comics for years. Wish I still had them: some would be worth good money.

Anyway, on that summer’s day in 1967, I was at the beach for one such picnic. As I recall it now, I was just wandering around early in the day, just checking out what was going on, who was there and whatever.

Then I saw him. A young man (though to my 13-year-old eyes he looked old. But he couldn’t have been more than 20) on the sand sitting bare chested and wearing board shorts. Well, was he sitting?  He had no legs you see. He’d been chopped in half, just like the Gold Coast Japanese tourist. I was stuck to the spot, just staring. Sure, it was very rude of me. But I was shocked, and the sight mesmerized me. I just could not get my head around the image that was burning itself into my brain. Still can’t really—and now I’m all grown up.

I wondered, as I stood staring, how did it happen? And I thought, with the simplistic perspective of a naive 13-year-old, how can he live like that? As if in answer to my stupid question to myself, his eyes met mine. He’d caught me staring. Before I could turn away in shame, he lowered his eyes and bowed his head. Deeply ashamed, I walked away, very confused by what I had seen, what I felt.

A bit later that day (the picnic went on all day of course), a mate told me about the bloke with no legs sitting on the sand.

‘Oh yeah, that’s ... ’, my mate said. I forget the name now. And my mate knew what had happened to him as well: Landmine. In Vietnam of course. Seems the legless guy had stepped on one. Also, my mate told me, the poor bastard was an especially invited guest at our picnic.

Now, if I’d asked the organizers why they’d invited him, why he was an ‘honored’ guest, I am sure they would have told me that he was a war hero; he’d paid plenty, sacrificed his legs, for his country. For me and everyone else.

But I never did ask them. And back then, in my immature 13-year-old mind, I thought it was bizarre. It was like he was some kind of prized exhibit, a freak to be shown off. But he wasn’t. He was just some poor kid whose number came up one night in a bloody lottery. They told him to go and fight, so he did. Then he stood on a landmine, got his legs blown off and had his whole life buggered.

I wouldn’t say I am a pacifist solely because of that chopped up boy on Balmoral Beach back in ’67. I’ve seen a lot, and learned a lot in the many long years since. Still, as I think of it now, it wasn’t long after that day when I’d turned my eyes from this bloke in shame, that my father came home and I saw what the war had done to him, and then I saw what it did to me and my family. Then later still, I saw that we weren’t alone: the war had really messed up a lot of people, destroyed a lot of lives, ruined families and left a legacy of pain and suffering that is still with us now. No, I guess you could say that the legless guy on that beach simply planted the seed. So he sure played his part.

I thank him for that. And I am sorry I stared; I am sorry that my childish and ignorant behavior forced to you bow your head in what I now know was a sign of your own shame (not that you had any reason for shame of course) and sadness. I see you now, in my mind, sitting on that beach so many years ago. Lest we forget? We always forget the things we ought to remember. But, don’t worry: I’ve never forgotten you.

            This is my strongest beach memory.

Lest We Forget

Once More Unto the Beach Paul's Pictures Does Go: About Tidal Pools (AKA Rock Baths)

Being Seen in the Tidal Pool (Sydney May 2015)

Tidal pools, rock baths, ocean pools and bogey holes. These are just some of the names used to describe the outdoor swimming pools built on or into the coastline in Australia. Not common in other states, most of these pools are to be found in the eastern state of New South Wales, and especially in Sydney. Oh, and some people just call them swimming pools, or simply The pool. And bogey hole? Well that's easy: it refers to the less formal, less "built" holes in the rocks in which people like to swim. 

And people do indeed like to swim in these rock baths (that's what Sydneysiders call them, and as I am at least for now a local, I'm allowed to use the name) in great numbers and all year round as well. 

Kate Rew who founded the Outdoor Swimming Society in 2006 in the UK and went on to write a bestselling book called Wild Swim: River, Lake, Lido and Sea: The Best Places to Swim Outdoors in Britain (Guardian Books, London. ISBN 978-0-85265-093-6) defines wild swimming as:

swimming in any environment less subject to human control than an indoor public pool

She would approve of the multitude of places in Sydney where one can indulge in wild swimming in relative safety. The rock baths are open to the sea in all its moods (and they do front directly onto the huge expanse of the Pacific Ocean which can throw up its share of big waves and winds); swimmers are exposed to the sun, the sky and are right near or even on, the beach. The saltwater which washes into the pools (and has been known to wash swimmers out of the pools) is stimulating and healthy. 

And they are not only recreational: many of the pools host amateur swimming clubs which hold how to swim classes, social events and swimming carnivals. Water Polo was for a long time played in many of these pools, and diving competitions were held, though diving boards have been removed in more recent times as fear of law suits and insurance claims have scared local authorities into submission.

The pools are credited with being the cradle of the surf lifesaving movement in Australia. The skills acquired in the early days (rock baths began operating in the mid to late 19th Century) from activities such as diving, endurance swimming and in water sports like Water Polo, were seen as essential to the development of techniques used to save lives in rough waters

As surprising as it might sound to many, until relatively recently mixed open air bathing on beaches in Australia was forbidden. There were designated hours for men and for women and this rule was usually strictly enforced. In the late 19th and early 20th century a few entrepreneurs began to open pools which, though still segregated, were open all the time.

The pool in the image above is called Wylie's Baths at Coogee and it started life as a men only (the women had a pool at the other end of the beach which is more of a natural formation and is still there as well) pay as you go pool in 1907. Over time as beach bathing became more popular, there was a corresponding growing acceptance of mixed bathing (mainly due to safety concerns), Then, at a date I have been unable to determine, Wylie's became the fist ocean pool to offer mixed and family bathing. 

Ocean pools, rock baths, and even some of the bogey holes, are seen as relatively safe, family friendly venues for recreational swimming, as places to meet friends and even learn to swim. They have not only been a part of Australia beach culture for many decades, but have been pivotal in the very development of that culture. We also owe a great deal to these pools for their role in the development of the wonderful system of surf lifesaving clubs: According to the Surf Life Saving site, 615,000 people have been saved from drowning since this almost entirely volunteer movement started up in 1907 (that breaks down to about 17 lives saved every single day for 107 and a bit years Think about that.) 

Today, even as the temperature hovered only in the high teens (centigrade) Wylie's was still attracting swimmers, though I have to say, most people I saw could better be defined as poolside chatters (most fully equipped with coffee cups), with only a few actually jumping in.

The Tale of the Man with his Head in the Wishing Well

The Hand that Gives, Gathers (Sydney May 2015)

Now, as you may have heard me say before, I don't believe there are any ordinary moments, and you've probably read that I don't go searching for the surreal, or quirky or humorous moments either. However, every now and again, I witness something that just calls to me: "I'm surreal, I'm quirky, I'm anything but ordinary". Of course, as to that last one, I see those special things all the time, but stay with me on this one please.

One such surreal moment caught my eye yesterday in the centre of Sydney. A guy with his head down in a fountain. Obviously looking for something? Maybe. I will leave that up to you.

The fountain is actually a wishing well, and the statue of the dog is called The Legend of Islay. Let me quote the inscription (copied from Monuments Australia) so you know what it's about:

 The Legend of Islay

Islay was a favourite pet of Queen Victoria. Whenever he saw the royal mistress he would sit up and beg for a biscuit. He was often sketched and painted both by Queen Victoria and Sir Edwin Landseer, her painting master. The bronze sculpture by Justin Robson was modelled from a sketch drawn by Queen Victoria in 1842. Now over a century later, Islay is begging hopefully for a coin to help deaf and blind children of New South Wales. Islay died 26th April 1844 and buried in Adelaide Cottage, Windsor Castle.

Interesting eh? But, wait, there's more: The dog talks. Yes, a talking dog. And, naturally, someone has put a video online demonstrating him doing just that:

Even more interesting don't you think? The voice belongs to John Laws, the famous and notorious (in the opinion of some) radio shock jock who has been heard on Australian radio for as long as I remember (some might say too long). 

And, for a bit more: There is a stone on the front of the monument that comes from the battlements of Blarney Castle in Ireland. The plaque reads: "Touch the Stone from Blarney Castle, make a wish, and cast a coin".  

A it says above, donations go to the Royal NSW Institute for Deaf and Blind Children (where in a tangential and odd twist my father once worked as what they called the Bursar, or in real terms the manager of the facility).

I find this all fascinating and as a real treasured bonus to my work as a street and social documentary photographer. A surreal moment in a busy little square, that in fact reveals a story. Not necessarily the story we might all be wondering about: What's the guy doing? But an interesting one nonetheless. 

PS The title of the photo is from one of the inscriptions on the monument which you can see is in a number of languages.

Just another day on the street: A smile and a Chat about Changing Cities:

A Smile for the Camera (Sydney Australia May 2015)

It's no secret to anyone who spends time on the streets of any city, that cities are constantly changing, ever evolving beasts. I see it all the time of course, in both little and big things. Today I was shown another example; this time I guess it was a big thing.

The photograph above was made on the platform of a train station and, as you can see, the backdrop is pretty spectacular. In fact, the bridge is precisely the reason I was there! Anyway the man you see smiling here is doing so because he has just noticed me and my camera. He'd been pointing his mobile phone in the direction of the bridge and I was pointing my camera at him pointing his phone. You get the drift.

Me:     Great view isn't it? I shouted to him as I saw him notice me (but only after he shared this smile                       with me)

Him:   Yes it's beautiful

Me:     Well I actually got off the train to get some photos of the view and the bridge. Thanks for
            posing" for me.

We both laugh

Him:      I was taking a photo of a building down there (pointing to one of the two smaller
              buidlings in the middle of the frame)

Me:        Really?

Him:      I used to work there and now they're tearing it down

Me:       Why? (I was shocked because those buildings don't look that old.)

Him:      Redevelopment. They're buidling something much taller

Me:       Well I guess it's a prime location

Him:      It is yes. I just had to get a photo before it was gone.

With that his train pulled in and we waved a goodbye.

Cities change and evolve. Buildings get taller. Especially when there's a view like this one on offer.

PS
Here's the one I made as he made his photo and before he turned and saw me.

Unknowing Pose (Sydney Australia May 2015)