Where Are They Now - Anne Kennett's Archive

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TIP TOP TAPPERS
By Anne Kennett
Posted Monday 28th August 2006

Against all the odds and despite the onset of Australian winter, which means cool days and near freezing nights, I have continued to join the Surf Sisterhood twice a week for an exhilarating battle with the briney. After nearly 6 months you probably imagine me swooping along 10 foot waves, executing daring turns and switch backs, occasionally wrestling with a shark. The truth is that I still fall off more often than I stand up and I have only been out of my depth on a few terrifying occasions.

Last week, however, I had my best ever session on a sunny Sunday when the surf was a bit wild but great for practising basic standing up skills. We were joined on the beach by Auntie Pauline, Uncle Fred and his video camera, after he had kindly helped me with my surfboard (difficult carrying a camera and tripod) he took up a position on the beach to film while I purposefully headed out to sea. I was exited. At last the folks back home would see my lithe, if mature, figure elegantly tackling the white water. I practised a few nonchalant flicks of wet hair and each time I caught a good wave I gave the camera a casual salute. (Even middle aged Surf Sisters are cool) All in all Uncle Fred filmed 15 minutes of 'action'.

Some weeks later when we met up for the film premiere I was aghast to see all he had managed to capture was 15 whole minutes of me falling off in a variety of ungainly ways, including actually turning upside down while still clinging to my board. He even recorded me bumping into a fellow surfer in a very un-cool way. In fact he didn't get a single shot of me standing up for more than a few seconds and even then I fell off backwards, and this was on my best ever surf day! At one point in the film you hear him remark 'Oh, I just missed her coming all the way in - shame'. So the folks back home still won't see me actually surfing, but, on the bright side, it will give everyone 15 minutes of non-stop hilarity.

If I am one of the oldest Surf Sisters I am, in contrast, one of the youngest members of Miss Jean's Adult Tap Troupe. I recently joined Miss Jean's beginner's class in an attempt to get fit and make friends and I have not been disappointed on either count. Although initially rather alarmed to find the average age of the troupe was well over 60, I am amazed at their tapping zeal and friendly warmth. They are thrilled to have a new member, especially one from the 'old country', so Wednesday evenings finds me tapping away to such musical greats as New York New York, Top Hat, and Caberet.

We were recently asked to give a performance to a local old people's home and there was much excitement as we 'girls' got fitted out in little black skirts and regulation Miss Jean tee shirts. One lovely retired lady, who joined when I did,treated herself to a proper pair of tap shoes and told me 'I only hope I live to wear them out, dear.'

Unfortunately due to sickness it was found that the Tappers would outnumber the audience, so the show was cancelled, but now we're all eagerly looking forward to the Christmas show at the Catholic Club.

As we are about to come back to the UK for a holiday I will be missing both surfing and tapping for a while. Instead we will be taking long evening strolls to the Clumps or Mackney, catching up with friends and family, drinking cider and eating decent sausages for five lovely weeks. So if you meet us walking on the highways and byways of Brightwell in August do stop and say G'day.

SURF'S UP
By Anne Kennett
Posted Sunday 9th April 2006

Coffs Harbour is famous for two things, bananas and beaches. Visitors to the famous Big Banana can study the history of the banana industry, marvel at the life cycle of the banana, walk through a giant concrete banana, purchase a plastic banana water pistol and, as a surreal contrast, ski down the Big Banana indoor snow slope. But when the tourists have had their fill of bananas they head for one of the 20 stunning local beaches. There are small sheltered beaches, long windy beaches, even a discreet nudist beach, but best of all are the beaches for surfing, and Coffs Harbour boasts not one but two surf schools.

Matt bought me a surfing lesson for Christmas and my friend, Lou was also given a lesson by her husband so we decided to go together. The husbands thought it was hilarious and planned to bring the kids, a picnic and video camera. The staff at the surf school had assured Matt that I would not be the oldest ever student but I was decidedly nervous when the day finally dawned. Yet despite all our fears, Surf School was fantastic!

Only Lou and I were there so we had lots of undivided time with our teacher, Brett. After we had signed a terrifying disclaimer and confessed our ages, we slapped on the sunscreen and “buddied up” to carry the 9 foot surf boards down to the beach. We had specifically chosen a Friday morning after the school holidays hoping it would be nice and quiet, with not to many beach-goers to witness our humiliation. There was only one family on the beach, a group including several mature age members enjoying the sun in their deck chairs. Brett surveyed the 3 mile expanse of deserted beach and pronounced the best conditions to be, yes, you’ve guessed it, right in front of the family who immediately moved deck chairs and adjusted parasols to allow for an uninterrupted view.

First we did a gentle warm up jog along the beach and then lots of stretches. Next we learnt the names of the parts of a surfboard; head, tail, rail, fins and leg rope just about covers it. Then we were ready to get down to business, into the water and away from our audience. Except we had to practice the drill on dry land first. Brett had us flinging ourselves onto our boards, looking over our shoulders to judge when to “catch” a wave and then paddling our arms enthusiastically to the count of four before raising ourselves from the waist up and surfing (stage one), and all in this on the sand.

By now the husbands had arrived with the kids, picnic, buckets & spades, video camera etc. There was much hilarity at the beached whales flailing on their surfboards and the camera was soon rolling. We finally got into the water to put our sand skills into practice and to our surprise we found we were rather good. Our audience signalled approval with thumbs up.

After returning to the beach to do dry runs of stages two and three (more hilarity from our loved ones and discreet sniggers from the deck chair family) we were finally ready to try to stand up on our boards in the water, and guess what? We did it! Admittedly, only in waist deep water and we fell off more often than not, but every now and again it all came together and we were riding the white water and whooping with glee. It was fantastic and only exhaustion forced us out of the water after two hours. Unfortunately, by this stage both our families and the deck chair mob had had enough of the heat and retired to the shady barbeque area behind the beach so only Brett and a couple of newly arrived super-cool surf dudes were there to witness our triumph. However, we are so inspired that we are considering joining the Surf Sisters who meet at the horribly early hour of 7.00am on Tuesday mornings. I did ask whether we could start the alternative Surf Matrons (9am with tea and cakes afterwards) but it seems that the “Sisters” are our only option. I’ll let you know if we make it.

Meanwhile its back to the real world of uppity cows, mite-ridden chickens and worm infested dog. Oh, to be surfing.

GIVE ME A HOME AMONGST THE GUM TREES
By Anne Kennett
Posted Monday 6th March 2006

You might remember me as the female member of the Tap Dancing Fruit Machine at a couple of village fetes. I lived and worked in the village for 10 years before, in 2003, my husband Matt and I had a baby daughter, Isobel (known as Tibby) and we began to think about moving to Matt’s home in Australia to see how we liked life down under.

In 2004 we finally made the move and arrived in Coffs Harbour, New South Wales just in time for Tibby’s first birthday. It was January and very hot and humid. Roadside stalls were piled high with mangoes and bananas and when the temperature hit 40 degrees C and the jelly we were eating melted on the plate I knew things were going to be very different from life in Brightwell-cum-Sotwell.

We moved straight into Matt’s old family home, “Hazeldene”, which was empty and in need of tenants. Sited in seven acres of “bush” (woodland) and paddock, the house is an old, slightly run down, timber clad bungalow built amongst the trees on a steep hillside.

The house and gardens were originally established in the 1940’s and were considered so beautiful and quintessentially Australian that the Queen was scheduled to call in for tea during a tour of the colonies in the 1960’s. Unfortunately for all concerned a tree fell down and blocked the lane so she never did get to drink bush tea on the veranda, or wrestle with the quintessentially Australian plumbing either, but the fact remains that Hazeldene was a bit of a wow in its time. Sadly, since then a lack of time and enthusiasm coupled with a tropical climate which makes everything grow with unbelievable speed and vigour has resulted in a complete jungle which reaches within feet of the house.

Recently, in an attempt to clear a path to the dustbins we started to cut back a few bushes, and then got carried away. After two weekends of slash and burn we rediscovered the original terraces below the veranda and after another few weekends with chainsaw and pruners, a formally grassy terrace edged with camellias and agapanthus had been exposed. Given the first exposure to sunlight for years the camellias promptly flowered giving further incentive to re-grass the upper terrace and plant the banks. The rainy season has temporarily stopped progress but it is so pleasant to sit on the veranda and see beyond a wall of jungle that we’re itching to get back to work. Perhaps we’ll invite H.M. for that cup of tea when she visits Australia next month.

We also have some livestock: Bosca the escapologist is a cow with attitude. Botla is her calf. We have four bantam chickens including a loud rooster called Brucester and five other hens of assorted colours and temperaments. Jeddah, the lovely old donkey, recently died and we’re on the look out for a replacement. I wonder how much it would cost to ship out a couple of residents from Island Farm? Last but not least we inherited a dog called Monty, a ridiculously small white ball of fluff, prone to fleas and other parasites but popular with Tibby and, even I have to admit, a real character.

So, that’s our home amongst the gum trees. The local beaches are beautiful, the climate tropical and our life is very different to that in Brightwell-cum-Sotwell, yet we still miss our walks to Mackney or the Clumps, the fete, Christmas carols on the green, all our friends and the everyday events of village life. So between our annual visits “home” it is great to be able to keep abreast of local news and wheelie bin developments via the Brightwell website.

MORE NEWS FROM DOWN UNDER
Posted Monday 6th March 2006

This message came from a reader in New Zealand, Jane Charlton.

She wrote : "My father Fred Charlton lived in the village from 1962 until his death earlier this year. He and my mother are both buried in St Agatha's graveyard. He was a great stalwart of the church and I was so pleased to see your website. I shall have a little look at it every so often when I feel a little homesick. Having lived in the village myself through childhood I have many memories of fetes, silver jubilee, the village shops and baker, even the horse drawn vegetable seller."

For those who missed it first time round, an obituary of Fred Charlton appeared in June/July 2005 edition of The Villager - click here to view.

CONTACT FROM MARK WATKIN
Posted Monday 6th March 2006

Meanwhile, a bit nearer home, Mark Watkin sent this e-mail.

"Hello. My name is Mark and I am a former resident of the village.In fact I was born in what was then St George¹s Hospital in Wallingford, back in 1964,and lived in Brightwell until I was 18 before moving away to seek employment in Reading.

I dare say there are others who, like me perhaps, have moved from the village for a variety of reasons, only to find that moving back is now pretty near impossible! I have to rely on rented accomodation, as my income has never allowed me the luxury of home ownership. This and other circumstances, too many to mention, prevents me from moving my family back towards Brightwell, for which I am forever saddened.

Well,back to the point in hand. I enjoy looking on the new website of the village. It is very interesting and I must congratulate all those that have had a hand in its conception and its upkeep!

Could you perhaps enquire if anyone has any "old" photographs of the village. When I say "old" I mean to say of the village at a time that I remember it. For example,when Lynch's shop was in The Street, Kews bakery, The Bell Stores,etc! If any of these could be found, I for one would be most grateful to see them.

The recent article within The Villager about Mr Ron Wood was fantastic to see. Mr Wood taught me,my brothers and my sister and the village is indeed lucky to have him amongst your community. He is one of very few teachers that I can hand on heart say made a big difference to my life. I still think the world of him."