Facade of harbour pines heritage listed hall

November 19, 2020

The Lonely Pine
with Audrey Leuty






Vol 2 Ed 12






Our first everWebber Roast attracted a good size crowd and everyone enjoyed the meal cookedon site by visiting Webber Chef, Steve. Along with roast pork and beef we had chicken, jacket potatoes and achoice of salads provided by the ladies of the village.  This was certainly a first of many, we hope,similar evenings to come.  Thankyou Steveand all those who contributed to the success of the evening.



Well this is something that very nearly didn’t  happen. With only days to go the SocialCommittee found themselves without a caterer. Nothing daunted they set to andarranged a lovely lunch for the 30 odd people who attended.  Flemington was without its crowds but HarbourPines wasn’t without its race meeting and lunch. Well done, Pat K and Committeeand helpers one and all for  a great ‘daythat stoped the nation’. A wonderful lunch was served.

Our in  house racemeetings proved as popular as ever with two races before lunch and two after.

Those lucky enough to go home richer were:- Margaret P,Margaret S, Kath K, Adam, Ernie and Ruth. Thanks must also  go to Terry and his merry band of Terrors forarranging the biggest sweepstakes ever and the ‘in house’ races and serving upa free drink of Champagne.A day to remember. (and didn’t Haroldlook sweet in his pink cap)


A BIG thankyou to all those villagers who donatedChristmassy items for the hamper.. Four prizes

are up for grabs so buy your tickets now. Proceeds will gotowards subsidising our Christmas dinner. Tickets are $1.00 each.  Drawn at the end of the month.


COMING UP in December our annual Christmas Dinner andstreet party. More on this later.



Pool and Eight Ball will recommence on Mondays in our Hall.Starting 9th November at 1.30pm all are welcome (I am assured thatthis means us too, Ladies)  See youthere!


OUR ROTUNDA promises to be a bright show of colour thisyear. Planted by a willing group early Saturday morning and ‘rained’ in all daySunday. Couldn’t have had a better start. Well timed.



For those who like to sing or just listen to ChristmasCarols there is an opportunity for doing this in comfort. Friday December 4th  6.00pm at Holy Cross Cathedral. Socialdistancing will be observed but early birds should be sure of a seat.




Audrey ‘O’ remembers……

A Day at the Beach

How times have changed. In those days around holidays Daddressed in a three piece suit, trilby, brogue shoes. Mum in floral dress,cardigan and sandies.  Boys in shorts andshirts, girls in dresses with bows in their hair. All with bucket and spadesready for the day out.

On the train to Blackpool,walking  the promenade, watching thedodgem cars, the big wheel going around. Along the pier eating candyfloss, icecream, laughing with glee dodging the low flying seagulls after your ‘floss’and treats hoping for some.

You never missed going up the Blackpool Tower.You could see all over the promenade from there, people milling around likeants/flies. Then the ballroom watching the dancing with the beautiful dresses,handsome partners with their slicked back hair, black suits, some with tails,flowers in lapels. We never missed going to the ballroom. The highlight ofeveryone’s day.

A coach trip to Scarborough, Whitbyor Filey in Yorkshire. Over the Pennines fromLancashire another day out looking over the North Sea,so cold for summer , but still pleasant this time round. A ride along the beachon the donkies for 6d. The beaches in Scarboroughbetter, cleaner, more sun. but still the dirty looking sea.

If you stayed home the town centres were always deserted forall the richer folk had gone somewhere nicer and you wished you were one ofthem. Life wasn’t like that as us poorer folk put up with what we had and Blackpool wasn’t such a bad place. A good day out withfamily, grandparents, aunts, uncles and general hangers on. Who cared? Would wehave missed all that? No not really it was all part of our life and what wecould afford at the time.

Now the world is our oyster and we could go anywhere we like(but for Covid-19). We are happy and we know we are safe in this wonderful landwe now call home!




Mollie remembers a child at home and play….

I arrived in Geraldton with my family in 1949 as a four yearold. We  were  ‘Ten Pound Pomms’.

Nominated by a distant relative who arranged ouraccommodation and work for the adults. My maternal grandmother and an aunt anduncle migrated the following year.

Our relative found us a home of our own. A rent free housein Fifth Stin return for my Mother running the general store located in the front room ofthe house.  My Dad was a paintingcontractor and worked away a lot.

Fifth Streetwas the only ribbon of  bitumen in thesuburb of Wonthella from 1st through to 8th streets.

Bread and milk deliveries were made by horse and cart. Milkladled into your own billy can. One time the milko must have been running shortas a neighbour caught him topping up the churn from the rainwater tank!

By 1952 we had bought our own house. An old one in 7th Streetthat had been the old dairy, Wonthella was growing and the dairy had torelocate further from town.  Manyfamilies built a shed on their blocks and lived there until they could build ahouse.  Electricity and sewerage werenon-existent. The ‘nightcart’ provided an empty replacement pan on a weeklybasis. If emptying was needed more frequently then Dad would do the unpleasanttask of digging a whole and emptying the pan well away from the house. Theremust be some fertile land in Wonthella.

The Ice man would come weekly with a big block of ice forour ice chest. In 1953 my Mum and a friend catered for my sisters wedding.Cooking on a wood stove and cooling the food in the ice box.  

In 1954 electricity was connected and about the same time wehad a septic tank installed.  No moregoing to the thunderbox in the back yard. We had a toilet built onto the backverandah.

Bathtime was water bucketed from the copper into as tin tub in the kitchen – socosy in winter in front of the wood stove. We then graduated to a real bathroombuilt onto the other end of the verandah. The water was heated then by a chipbath heater and we took turns using the same water. Just as well that  by the n I was the only one at home with Mumand Dad.    To be continued…



This bloke confessedto his mates he always read his wife’s horoscope. To see what sort of a day hecould expect.


My wife and kids areupset ‘cause I put ginger in their curry. They loved that cat!




I was born in Busselton in May 1941 the 6th ofseven girls born to Edward and Phyllis Blain. Three brothers followed. MyGrandfather, Dad and Uncle were ‘group settlers’ each had been allocated theirown block of land amongst the tall timbers in a small town south of Margaret River called Witchcliffe,

After my Uncle was killed in the Second World War one blockwas sold and the other two were amalgamated. . My Grandfather gifted a one acrecorner block to the Government to build a school. When the school closed downit was allocated to Forest Grove. A bitof trivia…my Dad had to buy back the block.

We were raised on the dairy farm where milking was twice aday, seven days a week, rain, hail or shine. The cream was sent to the butterfactory in Margaret Rv.

Our farm was pretty self-sufficient, We had a large orchard,mostly stone fruit, a large vegie garden, all types of poultry. Dad also grewpotatoes which were sold to the Potato Board.

No corner shops in those days everything was home made.Bread, butter, jams, bottled fruit etc.

We each had our own jobs to do but life was pretty free andeasy until ‘hay time’.  Hot, itchy andplenty of flies it was the worst job on the farm until it was time to pick uppotatoes. Hot, DUSTY and plenty of flies! Would I do it again? You bet.

My primary school days were at Forest Grove a carefree,happy place. We had to travel by school bus. It was a two room two teacherschool   Another bit of trivia….In 1923 John Tonkin was the first teacher at ForestGrove School; he later became Premier of Western  Australia.

We were lucky to have a small hall where we held schoolconcerts, dances and tuck shops.

Interschool sports days were great fun. Catching up withfriends, making new ones. I loved all kinds of sport but I was never fast atrunning; always came first at the wrong end.

I only had one year of High School at Margaret Rv. I left sothat my older sister could go nursing. I worked beside Dad for two or threeyears then it was my turn to fly the nest and find work away from the farm.


GET WELL WISHES toKath and John, Roma, Gail and any others who are unwell. Speedy recoverybecause we miss you.


What about the youngIrish jackaroo who hadn’t been into town for 10 months, so he made a bee linefor the chemist shop, walked up to the counter and confronted the pretty younglass with his requirements.

After looking at anumber of different styles he decided on one and asked how much it was. Thegirl said “That’s 92 cents plus tax.” “Bugger the tacks” he sad. “I’ll just wire it on.”


The good thing aboutbeing wrong is the joy it gives others.


I was standing at thebar in a pub in Tipperarywhen a Chinese man comes in,  stands nextto me and starts drinking. I said.  “Doyou know any of those martial arts like, Kung Fu, Karate or Ju-jitsu”

“No” he replied. “Whythe hell ask me that, is it because I’m Chinese?” “No” I said. “It’s becauseyou’re drinking my Guinness.”


Think you’re having abad day, what about the two guys who unloaded by hand 6,000 bricks at the wronghouse?






In the 1400’s a law was set forth in England that aman was allowed to beat his wife with a stick no thicker than his thumb.

Hence we have the expression ‘rule of thumb’


Many years ago in Scotland a new game was invented.It was ruled “Gentlemen Only Ladies Forbidden” …thus the word GOLF entered theEnglish language.


Each king in a deck of cards represents a great king fromhistory

Spades – King David,   Hearts – Charlemagne,     Diamonds – Julius Caesar,  and

Clubs – Alexander the Great.


A story from our Writer in Residence Val Armstrong



He lived alone, that rough,weather beaten old timer, yet he was a man who gave no thought to the idea ofloneliness, for within him he carried the memories of a long productive andhappy life. Memories recalled of things he had seen and done, those that he hadloved and

lost he carried like a cloak around his shoulders.

Long gone was the impetuous youth. The contentment of manyyears of a happy marriage, not forgotten but now only a remembrance. Havingexperienced them all, now all he asked for was nothing more except to live insolitude. His face was deeply etched with the ravages of time, drink andweather. His work stained knobbly fingers, now twisted with rheumatism spoke ofyears of hard toil. His bandy legs told a story of their own, of years spent inthe saddle. His numerous scars stood testimony to the battering his body hadsustained in long years of hard work.

Yet it was his eyes that gave one the clue to this ancientman’s soul. For within their depths there still shone a light of battle, aglint of humour and a gentleness of spirit unconquered. Beneath the shadow ofhis shabby hat, they shone with the intensity of purpose still filled with thejoys of living.

The clothes he wore reflected the character of the man, forthey bore witness to the fact that though threadbare, patched and worn, theircleanliness showed that he still took pride in his appearance. His bootsgleamed with repeated polishing. His battered felt hat though shabby and markedby the passage of time, he still wore with pride.;

Perhaps one could be forgiven for thinking he had becomeembittered by his years of isolation, for his voice had that grating harshnessoften associated with one unaccustomed to long conversation. It wasn’t untilyou heard him  speak to the  multitude of wild animals- now tamed- thatcrowded around the bark hut: you glimpsed the true nature of this lonely man.Behind his façade, of roughness and toughness lived a man unaccustomed torefined living but revealing to anyone that came to know him, a man at peacewith himself and his own centre of the universe.




Not much on thesupermarket shelves yesterday so I decided to improvise.

Dinner last night wasa risotto I made with some mushrooms I foraged locally.

Not only was itdelicious, but soon after a Welsh male voice choir of purple elephants showedup and sang the whole of Meatloaf’sBat Out of Hell album, accompanied by a light show.