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The personal life deeply lived always expands into truth beyond itself - Anais Nin

Julie McNeill

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February 10

BECOMING PUPPETEERS

 

Thylazine: The Australian Journal of Arts, Ethics & Literature                                                                                                                                 #11/thyla11b

  BECOMING PUPPETEERS
By Julie McNeill

 

 

I was anxiously awaiting an audience for Jika Jika Puppets from North Fitzroy, Melbourne. They were part of my Youth Arts program for the first Melbourne Fringe Festival that I was a founding member of, and hardly anybody had turned up!

Summoning courage I went up to the puppeteer, Roy McNeill, who was dressed in black clothes. He eased my feelings of incompetence by saying it was okay, because he was training a puppeteer into the show of The Four Chinese Brothers and they would look at it as a rehearsal.

A group of young unemployed performers and musicians who had hitched their way up the Nepean Highway from Frankston sat with me, cross-legged on the floor. We were enthralled by the Japanese style Bunraku rod puppets and the way they came to life. The sets were original, incorporating musical instruments within them, like the giant triangle used as a gong.

Committed to audience participation in all of his shows, Roy inducted us 17-25 year old young punks into the joy and wonder of our basic creative spirits: waving silks, making music and working puppets from the primary school show.

 

The Asian influences were breaking through to the arts and culture of Australia in 1982. Roy later explained to me when we met again at a Winter Solstice night feast in Brunswick Street a couple of months later, that his experience at Osaka for Expo '70 had changed his artistic vision and direction in life.

THE APPRENTICE

Roy trained as a puppeteer with the Marionette Theatre of Australia (M.T.A.), when he was seventeen. His father had read a Melbourne's Age newspaper classified for a young person interested in theatre and wanting to travel. Roy didn't know anything about theatre but he did want to get out of a grim future working as a salesman at McPhersons Hardware.

Amazingly, he passed the audition where he was asked to work a puppet and carve a pair of hands. He must have shown a natural talent, as well as being young and cheap ... There were not many women employed as they could not carry the large, heavy 'bridge', tracks and set. The one or two women there helped to set up the puppets.

  "We had 3-5 tons of equipment. All the puppets were large, long string marionettes, whose heads were carved by sculptors from which negative moulds were made."

"The heads were then moulded with Silastic (a glue-impregnated material softened with acetone)," recalls Roy. "They were then covered with a skin made from pearl glue and whitening."

"These heads were very strong and light. The bodies were from half inch wood padded with flocking and canvas."

"Joining pieces like hips and waist joined with thick canvas webbing. Elbow and knee joints came from door hinges which had been loosened."

"The bridge from the ground was about 5 metres high. The puppeteers worked 3 metres up and controlled the puppets on the stage."

"There was a front stage and back stage with a scrim in between usually with a picture on it which one can see through when the lights were on the back, but appeared solid when the lights were on the front."

The M.T.A. was part of the Elizabethan Theatre Trust. Under its umbrella were the first flagship companies of the Australian Ballet, Opera and Marionettes. It was a fateful connection because Roy was able to unleash a performance talent and develop into a multi-skilled puppeteer who gained confidence to write, design, build and manipulate puppets.

For a lad from Leeds who had arrived in Australia in 1964, this was a fabulous opportunity. The shows were accepted with applause around the country, but off-stage, life was risky. In the late 1960's life on the road was often lonely. Roy hadn't quite found his place socially; the rest of the guys were 'gay' but they looked straight with their suits and ties and short haircuts.

It was Roy who was the odd one out; proud of his long wavy hair and excited by the fashion of the flare and fancy ruffled shirts with costume jewelry, many a Queensland country town male accused him of being a 'poofta'. Not being tolerated, being beaten up regularly, caused an aversion to Queensland and Australia's limited tolerance of difference.

Fortunately a tour of SE Asia gave him a raison d'être to escape. He got to celebrate his 20th birthday in Osaka, Japan for Expo '70 with two shows, The Magic Pudding - a classic Australian story by Norman Lindsay and Tintookies 2000, a futuristic production that showed the evolution of humankind with lots of peace, love and harmony at the finale.

This production was innovative as for the first time it left the marionettes behind and the puppeteers worked a variety of styles of rod, glove and hand and mimed rod puppets "It didn't go down well in Australia as everybody wanted the cute little furry creatures on long strings."

The show was cut from the repertoire and never performed again. "It wasn't given a proper chance" says Roy.

However, the opportunity to discover a distinctly different culture and form of puppetry gave him the impetus to research the rest of the world's puppetry. He had saved his touring allowance by not eating in the hotels, and it wasn't long before he was on the 'hippie trail', going overland through Asia across to Europe.

Roy was disappointed. In Sri Lanka the artform was dead, and all of the puppets that he saw, though beautiful and interesting with the different controls, were kept in museums. Though puppetry was a living presence in India it was hard to find as, like the circus, the puppeteers moved from village to village and when he did hear that there were puppets, there was a war that prevented him finding them!

DOWN AND OUT IN LONDON

"On arrival in England I saw most of the puppet companies, as I am interested in the different styles of puppetry and was also looking for work", Roy wrote in a letter home to his mum and dad in Highett.

"I did not find any work as most puppet companies in Britain consist of a hard core of two or three puppeteers, and the rest of the company was made up of out-of-work actors, trying to gain hours on the stage to be able to join the Union, or middle-age matrons. Both groups were willing to work for a very minimal wage."

"I was not very interested by their type of puppetry. I don't really know if this was a reaction on my part because of not finding work but it all seemed so trivial and removed from reality (possibly this is what they wished to achieve). They all were beautifully-carved wooden dolls."

"I reacted against it as I wanted something more spontaneous and stimulating, something which was not totally removed from reality but an extension of it. Wood was no longer as easily obtainable as it was 200 years ago. I settled for plastic and cardboard. I must say here the choice of materials was partly due to my own economic conditions." (Finnsbury Park,U.K. 1972)

One puppet company was explicit about the industry, telling Roy that if he wanted to be a puppeteer in England, he'd have to go and get a job in Yorkshire. In other words just as the ABC only had BBC spoken presenters, back in 'the homeland', regional accents were a form of class distinction.

Roy got a job as a postman to save money to go back to Australia. Even with alternate 8 and 16 hour shifts, with youthful energy and optimism, he wrote his own puppet script, The Dragons Secret Treasure, and designed puppets made with plastic bottles, egg boxes and fabrics. These early designs would become the foundation of his commitment to taking the art of puppetry into schools with his own puppet company.

  RETURN  

The Pilgrim Puppet Theatre was an old Church in Hawthorn that was run by Robert and Nancy Aitkins. It had a great puppet set-up with a stage that moved across, backwards and forwards to change sets easily, just like the Japanese Kabuki stage.

It was the best-equipped puppet theatre but, like many theatre companies, the issue of survival was a constant pressure. There were school shows during the week, but the first petrol crisis was occurring and it cost more to bus the audience in than the cost of the show.

To cut the cost of using professional actors for the pre-recorded voices, the puppeteers decided to design a more stylized, simpler puppet show using a combination of marionette and rod puppets, and used their own voices. Roy was involved in designing, making and writing the scripts. The puppeteers negotiated to get paid four days a week and the use of the theatre and equipment on weekends for experimenting with the artform: sheets of cardboard made into breathing triangles with soundtracks and other objects reacting with each other. Then Roy wrote his first Nativity - A King is Born. "It had to be very reverential - no funny bits, but it was still a hit and Robert praised the Lord! Unfortunately he didn't praise the puppeteers for their almighty effort."

It was announced that this success was a sign from God that they were to do more religious-themed shows so half the puppeteers left. Roy stayed for David and Goliath but the atmosphere was too nineteenth century to linger.

Roy left Pilgrim Puppets with $600.00 saved and he had a choice to start up his own puppet company or go on a cruise to New Guinea. As it also coincided with the breakdown of his five year marriage, Roy was ready for a sailing adventure or, as it turned out to be, near death experiences! He would return to Melbourne with a profound respect for solid ground, and moved into a shared house in Fairfield, taking over the garage to build puppets and sets for the shows he'd always wanted to produce.

In the mid-1970's the Melbourne arts scene was flourishing with optimistic, experimental and socially conscious young people. Some were fresh out of Arts and teaching courses, some like Roy were un-schooled, self-taught scholars with a working-class wit (the teachers hadn't been able to knock the stuffing out of him) - perfect for puppetry.

Enthusiasm for the potential of contemporary, exploratory puppetry, connections and alliances were made with people of similar ideas and intentions. Roy freelanced around town with newly-formed companies like Handspan, Kooka Puppets and B'Spell Performance Troupe, until in 1980 at the age of 30 years he launched JIKA JIKA PUPPETS.

  Towards the intersection  

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, I was aged 18yrs and no longer captive to the new suburb of Clayton, where my family had emigrated in 1978. My alcoholic mother and step-father shared no respect for the Shakespeare I was reading, or the history of Asia I was absorbed in, so I looked in her Year. 11 Legal Studies book to see when I could leave home without getting in trouble.

Safely sixteen, and resourceful, I lived in spare rooms, shedding poetry about the waves of my emotions. I was initiated into Emile Zola, Tolkien and Camus by my friendly, pot smoking, fresh faced college graduate teachers, who supported my path to individualism. I performed centre stage in sixth form plays, and was encouraged to pursue a life in the arts.

There was purpose in writing for Hard Times, a free newspaper I picked up in a Sandringham Op-shop, because I had stories to tell about being on the Under18 dole of $36.00 a week. Jobs were elusive. I didn't have the right clothes or the train and bus fares. My energy was leaching out of me, until I couldn't get out of the bed I was renting in an old lady's back garden shed.

Co-incidentally, all at once, a job in Abbotsford, close to the city, came from a perceptive accountant who appreciated a well-written letter, and was amused by my quirky dress and pixie boots. A surprise visit from a friend of a friend who needed a new flat mate in Elwood and I was whisked away to roads with tram lines and the delights of Acland St.

There was a vibe in the village, a multi-cultural openness, along with an appreciation of enticing cakes and cafes with delectable soups and decent coffee. All around the walls and the windows, there were art and posters to read and be persuaded to be an audience to - admission by donation. I picked Seven, a collaborative, experimental performance from an ensemble of ex-Rusden student friends.

  Mesmerised and delighted by the movement and the courage of it, the Director invited us to an inaugural meeting to set up a network of fringe artists. It was enough to catapult me out of my employment blues.

I had already been enrolling in acting classes all over town, some more mainstream, others more challenging and playful with text.

I had also moved to an art deco style block of flats where resided an intimate community of friends pre - The Secret Life of Us.

Unlike in that TV series with its tertiary educated, childless individuals, most were misfits of Catholic working-class suburban ordinariness. They were artistic and had babies who they had to hold tight to against pressure from the nuns.

I had found a haven of compassion and understanding and was inspired by their courage and imagination to transcend conventions that were impossible for our creative spirits.

Significantly we all shared a knowledge of how to live an artistic life very cheaply. They nurtured me, in my uncertainty, handing me brushes to experiment with paint, initiating me into the magic of the Pre-Raphelites and Picasso, Matisse and Bolero. They brought my attention to the wonders and details of Nature that I hadn't had since primary school. I was a novice, learning how to be a woman under a spiritual eclecticism of the gods, goddesses and Tarot cards.

In my flat, elevated by Hoist's - The Planets and Dexy's Midnight Runners I wrote poetry as one long performance piece. I was unaware that I was expressing all the fears and hopes I had, and the occasional psychotic hallucinations, which I know now were the signs of my struggling with the lows of depression and the ecstasy and thrill of life in hypomania. Nobody talked about mental illness then, but through good friendships, fun and art I stayed sane enough to work on the other side of town.

Fringe Network, a coalition of non-mainstream artists, established itself in the old Flying Trapeze Café in Brunswick St. Fitzroy. I happened to be younger, less educated and probably most naïve. Stirred by the artistic intensity and community activism I put my hand up to represent Youth Arts. At that time there was no Next Wave in Melbourne. Only South Australia had a dedicated interest in the cause of promoting young people who were keen to be mentored in all the art forms via the state sponsored Come Out Festival. I had a cause and flew with it.

Funding was received from employment and training initiatives like the Commonwealth Employment Scheme, which enabled many community projects to pay wages to their volunteers and receive training in administrative skills. The first Melbourne Fringe Arts Festival 1984 was the pivotal event of my new life.

Meeting Thom the Street Poet at the first celebration of Fringe Network in City Square meant I was invited to perform my poetry at the friendly writers' venues like the Living Room run by Anita Sinclair, who also had a passion for masks and puppetry.

Life-long friendships were made during this festive time, and it wasn't hard to find a lover ... I wasn't looking for a husband, but when I saw Roy the Jika Jika Puppeteer walk in to the Winter Solstice party in the building above the Black Cat Café, I was drawn to his side. I reminded him that we had met before, and he remembered that he hadn't been paid! I've been working for him ever since!

 

A PUPPETEER BY DEFAULT

Within two weeks of a whirlwind romance, where I was introduced to Roy's culinary arts and the preparations of the premiere of his latest puppet production, we decided to live together. Going backwards and forwards down Hoddle St was time wasted when you didn't want to be apart ... plus the set of The Adventures of Platypus Phil which graced the whole of the lounge-room, and most of the rest of the North Fitzroy terrace house, wouldn't have fitted in my flat.

At that time Roy employed a part-time administrator to get bookings and two other puppeteers who helped to make the puppets and perform the shows. Roy was so inspired by my Rubinesque physique, that he sculpted Mt. Higginsbottom out of dyed foam rubber as part of the rural setting, where the thorny devils hung out. So uniquely Romantic!

The tale of a platypus who was curious about the world outside of her burrow and ends up on South Melbourne beach after a big storm was topical in its expression of children's rights and the wonders of our flora and fauna. Then one morning I was woken early by news that one of the puppeteers hadn't turned up and they had a show to do in two hours!

I had seen the rehearsals and the shows they said ... all I had to do was do the Rock Wallaby part and they would be able to cover the rest! Within ten minutes I was in the van travelling to my first gig, learning my lines up the Calder Highway!"

THE ADVENTURE BEGINS

"Like any adventure" says Queen Snooze to the children, "it is exciting but also a little bit scary, but there's no sense ruminating, we must set off!" Roy rehearsed me into THE DREAM GOBBLER - an enchanting tale with a medieval style about Princess Lullabye who is having bad dreams. A variety of hand, rod and body puppets were used with a north/south/east/west set so that the Royal pair would take their puppet horse through the audience and be led to different countries where they might find a cure for bad dreams.

Jika Jika Puppets continued its hand-to-mouth theatre-in-education schedule but was knocked back from the Australia Council and Victorian Ministry for the Arts for project funding for the adult puppet show script and designs of Kitchen Sink.

"We were performing Dream Gobbler and Four Chinese Brothers, rehearsing Platypus Phil, so we hired a student dramaturg from Victorian College of the Arts to work on the application forms. The task was to take the strengths and weaknesses of all the different kinds of puppets and give them a character.

 

 

The strongest was the Mother who was a body puppet, and the Father was a rod puppet whose movements were mechanical so he was a process worker. The Son was impressionable so he was a marionette blackboard boy. The impetus came from the slap around, slap stick of the Punch and Judy tradition and the social realism of theatre that had been revolutionary in Britain, so I wanted to do the same with puppetry, but once there was no funding for it, the puppeteers slowly started to leave.

They'd given their all with the shows, plus the company was financially unsustainable. Mailing out 3000 flyers only got a one percent return. On a good week they would get a hundred dollars.

Roy had always wanted to have children and he had proposed kids, not marriage, in the first fortnight before moving in. He explained to me that he couldn't wait around as he was thirty-three. In 1984 we married in the Edinburgh Gardens (a rare thing in the artistic community then)!

Domestic issues came to the fore. Overcome by the experience of pregnancy and child-birth I wrote my poetry play RITES OF PASSAGE while breastfeeding. Parts of the production used slides and shadow puppetry to dramatise the conflicts of my ruined relationship with my parents.

I performed the show at La Mama for the first Next Wave festival, Universal 2 for the Fringe and also the Women's 150 festival. It was well received and I produced a cassette of the show.

It was also hard to keep performing with Roy in The Dream Gobbler. Half-way during the show my breasts would be so hard! By the time Queen Snooze had shared her magic cakes and was laying next to the children to have a snooze, ready for the witch to appear, milk was seeping out of my costume!"

Thinking of our priorities, we got a loan for low-income earners from the State Government and moved to a solid home and garden in the child-friendly town of Kyneton. Roy took over the middle room to build a new show, THE QUEEN BEE.

It was a perfect show for primary school students as it was made completely out of rubbish: cardboard boxes, tubes, plastic containers and material. Roy was showing them how they could make great puppets with everyday things. He had been reading The Uses of Enchantment by Bruno Bettleheim too, clarifying the importance of fairy tales to our lives and so our creative partnership became REAL FANTASY THEATRE.

 

 

PUPPETS AS ENDANGERED SPECIES

It was during this time that somebody in the audience had appreciated the joy and wonder of the other show called LET'S NOT SAY GOODBYE - about endangered species. After years of packing out tons of heavy wooden puppets and sets Roy had worked away, making his puppets light and transportable. Foam rubber was a perfect material. It could be dyed an array of bright colours, was easy to sculpt and glue with contact adhesive and it gave the puppets an ease of life-like movement.

Centre stage was a tree set over an aluminum step ladder. A branch represented every continent and that housed the different puppet characters who all had their own humorous voices and sad but true tales. The vast variety of animals represented Roy's passion for Nature and his concerns for their future, but I also was certain that they portrayed all the different aspects of his personality!

There was the tapir and toucan, the bush baby and python, wooly monkey and sloth, a rhino who loved to sit in the bog and dream, and Possum Gaddafi who was threatening to rap-dance in peoples ceilings. The European rat who was hitching a ride to Australia said his hair was green due to acid rain.

Fortunately there were visionary public servants in Victoria at this time who were inspired by Roy's ability to pass on an environmental message to a large, diverse audience in such a comically visual way. The recycling unit of the Environment Protection Authority commissioned a play and it was called MANY HAPPY RETURNS.

Scraps, a hungry backyard duck is scavenges for wrigglers.

"Just as he is hedonistic, amiable, funny and a little nerdy, each individual component of the piles of rubbish has its own peculiar personality and delivery. There is the rhyming compost heap, a pile of bottles eagerly awaiting their friendly bottle-o and their consequent transformation; the soft drink and baked bean cans who are to seal their various friendships by being crushed together and lastly the stack of papers as big as a tree who are also keenly anticipating their next re-incarnation." (Wendy Boynton, Lowdown, Feb, 1993).

Although I was unable to perform in the shows with two toddlers needing most of my attention, the family toured schools around Victoria, South Australia and New South Wales in our trusty yellow Mazda 1800 van. Loaded up with dog, kids, and nappy buckets and camper-trailer it was a working holiday of which the highlight was a Northern Territory tour that included a two week residency in the Aboriginal community of Lajamanu.

This meant, when Sweet tries to cheer her can-pal up about being recycled by saying: Just think, if we are to be crushed so tightly together we will become as one….or two or a whole stack of little cans! AND SHE SHOVES HIS SUN GLASSES ASIDE AND YELLS: Ah come on, just take off those sunnies or I'll crush them! AND KISSES HIM the Queensland Arts Council wanted to tone down that whole scene…

AN UNCERTAIN LIVELIHOOD

As the children got in the higher grades it was becoming problematic to go on the longer tours, so Roy would go by himself which he didn't like. He would even drive back a 1000kms after two or three shows on a Friday, just to be home at the weekend.

Three months in Northern Queensland and the Torres Strait was a fantastic experience and good money but the light plane only fitted the puppets, the puppeteer and pilot. It was too lonely and Roy decided he'd never ever want to be away from the family for so long again.

After thirty years as a professional puppeteer one can be called a Master, but a Master Puppeteer also delivered diagnosis of osteo-arthritis, and the realisation that there was no accumulated superannuation. Living expenses were increasing and less work was coming in, meaning more time dealing with social security and having to apply for jobs in which he had no experience and was too old for.

Regional isolation had meant being out of the loop for opportunities with colleagues and new projects, so being squeezed into a supporting puppetry role for a children's television series called Lift Off was a dent in Roy's sliding self-esteem, even though the pay was great.

An agent had engaged Roy to take a puppetry film to country schools and then run 'rubbish' puppet-making workshops. A book proposal for a How to series published by Angus & Robertson fizzled out due to the series being abandoned. He went back to Kitchen Sink, offering the play to funded companies, but they had their own agendas. Even applications to be Artistic Director in companies he had connections to were rejected, especially galling when non-puppetry people were appointed instead. I encouraged Roy to spend the time creating a new adult show which he had been dreaming about, based on the surrealism of Max Ernst.

The interpretation was not to the painter's trustees liking, and they rejected it strongly. Having the same difficulty as Roy finding regular work, I learned to drive and put together a one woman show for pre-school audiences called THE GINGERBREAD KID. Roy made the puppets and sets and I set off doing shows but it was still not enough.

After 30 years of professional experience and evolving artistry Roy couldn't get a different job or find a way to pursue his ambitions in the puppetry world. His last application for support was at the new Melbourne Museum to be an Artist in Residence - bringing the arts and sciences together in an imaginative, accessible way - but he was pipped at the post by an academic who was writing a dictionary on the language of Antarctica.

 
The State we left behind,
Had no use for us,
So stagnant had our life become,
Our visions meaning nothing, and
So we picnicked in that gutted Albert park to fare-well
Friends, surrounded by yellow flickering ribbons for
A car race, then up the Calder we drove
Away from the rows of daffodils.

For us, a tropical, new labour dream as
The ties on the trailer tarpaulin flapped
Showing glimpses of old shows, bits of plywood
And foam scraps for new puppets;
Trash to other eyes so no fear of theft, them
Polystyrene balls, bags of fabric, tubes, beads and
Tins of glue, all seeds of fortune for us
Poor transient artists riding up the Newell.

The only hope for the future was to sell up and start again. The Queensland Marionette Theatre was winding up and there was a good chance, said the project officer for Arts Queensland, that REAL FANTASY THEATRE would do well there, especially with their latest black theatre script, REEF. It was promising.

Brisbane City Council aided promotion of the recycling show, but the chief at Queensland Arts Council didn't want Roy back, though he might look at a new show. We suggested that a couple of tours would bring money to create a new show, that we had had consistently good feedback from students and staff, but we were not what he wanted. It was made clear that we wouldn't be able to go into Queensland schools without their authorisation.

I networked from the Tivoli caravan park, building up clients and re-working THE DREAM GOBBLER for parties and fetes. When the stormy season hit, the black light theatre application for THE REEF project was rejected. However the family had found a home on a hectare of land. With somewhere safe and private to settle, I let the tears and agony of a major depression flow.

It slowly dawned that puppetry had no future without recognition and funding, especially for the projects that we wanted to deliver for our souls to grow. Roy was burned out from years of producing quality, uniquely Australian puppetry, contributing to a dynamic culture.

The priority was our daughters. Thriving on the love and creativity of our parents wasn't enough in the teenage years; new sneakers and clothes, orthodontist treatment and money for a decent education were what were needed.

Driven to wear suits and shiny shoes
We presented ourselves to a myriad of
Arts administrators at many meetings in
Designer furnished towers and
Civic buildings to bid for a share of
Creative Nation with our puppets,
Poems, Plays and possibilities of
Producing to thrive 'stead of
Merely survive.

THE MAGIC OF PUPPETRY

Puppeteering is an imporrant part of creatIve culture in AustraLia that needs to be nurtured and supported more than it already is. Sharing the joy and wonder of learning through the artform of puppetry to young and older is unique. A puppet enters - the audience laughs, it moves, it speaks - laughter and excitement.

The content of the message is absorbed on many levels. Teachers and children have witnessed miracles as previously 'shy' or 'troublesome' kids participate in the shows when invited by Roy to work a puppet.

In towns like Moree, with a sorry history between black and white populations, the astonished reaction to an indigenous girl being picked to play the part of a princess was an indication of how the arts can transcend race and cultural barriers.

 

The magic of puppetry is that the discipline and skills of the puppeteer is translated as anarchic, a life force of its own making. Even the Christians used puppets as props for their biblical stories as have Shamans for their proselytising. The puppets are okay when they use it, but not when a free running puppet gets loose! For some young boys who find it hard to contain or communicate their feelings, their natural inclination is to hit and pull when all they really want to do is to cuddle the cheeky puppet!

Rather than punish, aggression is channelled into creative and respectful behaviour. The puppet promises that if they sit quietly on their bottoms, they can shake the rock-wallabys foam paw, or if they stand up and are kind and gentle, the python will wrap itself around them and give them a big hug!

Our discipline becomes theirs as they learn to interract with the puppets gently whilst still having the fun of spontaneity. As a reward for being a great audience they are invited to ask questions about the puppets and sets. Then they get to work a puppet and join in with Roy as he leads them through an improvised performance, revising the themes of the show.

The response of adults is as joyful. Their child within comes forth and they cherish the experience. Laughter is freeing. It is wild and silly. A class of Year 7,8 & 9 private school girls turned to look at a teacher to see if she was laughing. Was it proper to laugh at the crazy duck antics? Scraps the duck was so uncool he was hilarious. There's a lesson in that too.

A 'REAL' JOB

We laughed when Roy got a job as a carer for Disability Services, as the ongoing family joke from his Uncle Jesse was: "Hey lad, have you got a real job yet?" At forty, Roy could lift the fog of his mother's dementia by telling her how much he was earning on a regular wage, plus shift allowance and superannuation.

For the first time in our lives we had a secure income, which our daughters both appreciated, declaring that there was no way they were going to pursue a career in the arts!

Occasionally we do a puppet show and workshop, but these are rare events. I utilise my creativity and experience within the Diversional Therapy field. Roy's passion for the artform has transformed into planting native rainforest trees and other indigenous plants, plus looking forward to a well-deserved long-service leave!


About the Writer Julie McNeill

  Julie McNeill arrived in Melbourne in 1978 and wrote her first poems. Homeless at 16, she managed to get through Year 12 to the U18 dole. Julie wrote her first journalistic articles for 'Hard Times" newspaper for the Unemployed. She learned book-keeping for a year before getting depressed and moving to St.Kilda, where she discovered painting and writing for poetry performance. She is a founding member of 'Fringe Network', a resource for artists and Youth Arts Co-ordinator for 'Melbourne Fringe Arts Festival'. She met lots of life-long, loving poet friends at various reading venues and has performed multi-media 'Rites of Passage' 1985 in Melbourne theatres, inspired by the births of two daughters. Julie was trained by her husband Roy as a puppeteer, performing in schools and community venues throughout Australia for the next 20 years. She continues to write poetry, prose & journalism for www.brisbanevalley.info in Queensland. Julie has recently used her creative skills and intelligence in work as a Diversional Therapist in disability services and aged care.
  



Thylazine No.11 (June, 2006)


May 17

THE GETTING OF WISDOM

 

Diagnosed with Bipolar at 37 years made sense. It fitted perfectly. After a major depression, the experience of mania and psychosis catapulted me into hospital. Good advice from the nurse to focus on my own recovery and not anybody elses and my belief that creativity was the key to wellness was vital on that long road to recovery.

Post-trauma I adapted to a life of medication blends and doses, intrinsically optimistic with faith in the process . Art and Science is my shield. I function well enough, though not enough to fit into the mainstream of society, but then, I never have.

I learned about being a 'round peg in a square hole' reading The Getting of Wisdom by Henry Handel Richardson in Year Eleven.i The chaos of emotions and hormones of the adolescent girl culture remains relevant, not because I haven't grown up and none the wiser, but because like Laura I have to accept the view of others - of being a misfit, in a positive way.

For Laura and I , whether it is class, personality type or living with Bi-Polar Mood Affective Disorder no matter how one tries to fit in there is something that others perceive as different - something about the self-possessed personality and the confidence to express our authentic selves; Laura with her histrionic and defiant piano playing and I through the keyboard of my laptop, pumping out those words with rhyme, disorder and gentle sonata.

To quell the excesses of moodiness, depression and mania, part of the management plan usually lies with the exploration of our creative selves. Before I knew about mental illness I reveled in writing, painting, performing, and being a 'show-off'. As Dr. Kay Jamison has shown, the evidence is that many people with mood disorders are engaged in the arts.ii

Unfortunately, it's hard to make a living with your artistic flair. I related to most sufferers of bipolar disorder in John McManamy's publications who said for all the creativity, they are unable to hold down a job. iiiMy family called me a 'job snob', because I was miserable working in 'normal' jobs like everyone else. That hurt, but I had the youthful exuberance to follow my bliss out of the suburbs, to inner-city Melbourne with fuscia colours in a punk hair cut and pixie boots from the op-shop.

Pied Piper like, I called for other young artists to follow me, creating festivals, networking with audacity, and spilling my views naively to predatory media. Networking with other 'fringe' fellows, writing, performing poetry, falling for musicians and dragging them back to my lair was only brought to an abrupt halt by an excruciating diagnosis of genital herpes!

Not all impulsive acts of the hypo manic are detrimental! Wisdom comes when one is laid up with self-pity! Acyclovir became my miracle drug and work, rest and play was tempered. The decision to have children and marry within a couple of weeks of meeting Roy at a Winter Solstice feast could be regarded as impulsive, but twenty three years later I can say my brilliant insight about Mr. Right was a winner.

Motherhood meant being a good role-model to enable our children to grow up wise and well, and prevent passing on the psychological damage of my own family tragedies. A screenplay, theatre play, and novel nearly got published, funded, filmed, before their rejection.

Off-campus university workload was reduced, then deferred because I was juggling with too many ideas and ambitions. Identifying with the Olympian who couldn't row anymore, I couldn't read or comprehend a word or sentence.

This disease does a good job of defeating the ego. For females it is a double calamity dealing with the uncertainty of how the hormones will throw you every loony cycle. As I grow older the concept of the 'kindling effect' has become real and disabling.iv

My skills and enthusiasm were guided towards Diversional Therapy, but even then, the pressure from management, co-workers and obsessive thinking about the clients and the job were too much to cope with. My limits to pursue paid employment are now reduced to four hours a day, three days a week.

No more rushing, planning and organising like the hypo manic white rabbit from Alice In Wonderland. Forgetting to get my Webster Packs is a sure sign to take my Lithium, a few long deep breaths, and some solitude.

When the passion and the politics are gathering too much momentum, I let go of saving the world with letters and petitions, turn off the radio and slow down with a swim. Relaxation with some soothing and gently inspiring music takes one to a simmer. You may think you are selfish and going against your fathers Protestant work ethic, but this is what you need.

Maturity is a safety-catch. I have always been medication compliant. As much as I enjoy teasing myself with shamanic delusions I like to know what is real and be in control. Having a good relationship with the doctor can be a double-edged sword however. Working with your psychiatrist to keep from a state of chaos and confusion requires the patience of a saint as my irreligious mother would say, and also the chastity of one as far as I am concerned!

Being hypo manic and at your peak sexually, it doesn't take much to fall madly in love with your caring, intelligent, knowledgeable doctor; “Insight “, as they keep reminding us Bi polars is a necessity to keep us on the straight and virtuous.....I'm cringing with embarrassment but the evidence suggests that being a “biological time machine” is a common calamity to deal with.

Transference is very real and sadly, must be kept in the realm of fantasy as much as God must be kept to heel in the politics of our country. Michael Conner, Psy.D states, "Transference reactions are caused by unmet emotional needs, neglect, seductions and other abuses that transpired when you were a child. Recognising this pattern when it occurs and searching for the knowledge and counsel to prevent harm is a necessity.”v

Diverting futile fantasies, maintaining control and equilibrium is no easy feat. Recognising the symptoms of hypo mania and the likelihood of developing into mania and/or psychosis requires expert and intuitive skill. Honesty with your medical and significant others takes courage so continually building self-esteem is necessary for when a crack shows or a brick falls out.

Those little pills, especially the sedatives needed to slow those racing thoughts and brilliant metaphors can be taken to get some deep sleep therapy. It is so wonderful to be able to have the energy and seeming perceptiveness of a manic spectrum but sleep is a blessing for clarity of the mind. Getting the pills right to allow a decent descent in to the land of Nod is my favourite last thing on the plate. Without it, wisdom can't break through.

To aid sleep and prevent from losing your mind in an exuberant excess, release the valve regularly with a swim, sexual activity, and dancing around the lounge room – whatever gives you pleasure so you'll do it often! Having a dog to be responsible for if you're not playing soccer with the kids is good motivation. My dog is very good at dragging me up the hill to work a multitude of muscles!

We can avoid the extremes of Bipolar by loving who we are, keeping free from toxic relationships and environments, drugs, and fundamentalist ideologies. At a volunteer course for Youth Outreach work I discovered that my comrades were devout Christians who revealed they heard the voice of God. “It is a mystery that I also have experienced,” I said, “but for me it is a signal to go to the mental health unit as I have a tenuous grip on reality!.”

I am strongly spiritual, yet the gospel truth is related again to brain chemistry. It helps to keep a broad perspective, with enough wisdom to forgive yourself when you know not what you do.

For people like me ecstasy comes cheap(and apparently if you rub behind the ears that will induce a religious experience for those so disposed). It should be taught in re-hab!vi

At this stage in my life I believe it is wiser to be a good secular citizen than a saint. The urge to jump on my broomstick and provoke the patriarchal doctrines may cause a stir and fly the flag of Germaine Greer, but the idea of being a round peg in a square hole is the discovery there may be a round one...somewhere out there.

Always mindful that the energy and wit of hypo mania won't last forever one enjoys the moment and productivity of it, focusing on the discipline required to tap out these paragraphs in an orderly, sane manner.


i The Getting of Wisdom 1910, Henry Handel Richardson, Minerva Press 1993

iiTouched with Fire-Manic Depressive Illness & the Artistic Temperament, Paperback 1996


iiiLiving Well with Depression and Bipolar Disorder, Collins, 2006 www.mcmannweb.com


ivThe 'kindling' model in Bipolar disorder, www.bipolar.about.com/cs/brainchemistry/a/0009/_kindling1.htm


vTransference: Are you a biological time machine? Michael G. Conner, Psy.D 2006 www.crisiscounselling.com/Articles/Transference.htm


viwww.bbc.co.uk/science/horizon/2003/godonbrain.shtml



Julie's blog at www.jewels42.spaces.live.com/

(c)copyright Julie McNeill, April 2007

all rights reserved

May 05

Australian Labor Day Weekend 2007 in Ipswich, Qld.


Ipswich - Labor Day weekend - May 5th 2007 - the workers united will never be defeated -
slogans, badges, balloons, t.shirts saying Your Rights at Work worth fighting and voting for - and deep, rousing voices from the back chanting, Your Rights at Work, Howard Out! and from the front in reply they shout Vote for Labor, Vote for Rudd!
Bagpipes stir hearts and minds marching in unison down Brisbane St - Brass band trumpets Monty Pythons funny walk song! The sky is blue and huge, so anything is possible....Laughter comes easy, slapping on sun cream and hats and swigging on precious liquid H2O.

Three Labor/Union women - figureheads for a just and caring Nation make their presence felt, standing on Ipswich soil, is Sharon, Grace and Julia, with their high intelligence, and down-to-earth words and demeanor. They toil for a fair deal for workers and families for now, and for facing the future.

Free hamburgers and drinks, rides and jumping tiger for kids of loyal to the cause unionists and party members, and the Ipswich residents may go home and reflect on what it's all about, and why they have to vote Howard and his ilk out!


REMEMBER EMMA MILLER

She was a tiny Sheila, Mrs Miller,

Yet fought her whole life for the Rights

Of Man and of course the female folk too.

Not shy to stand up for a womans sufferage

To cast a vote, and live a life safe and secure

Her humanism and solidarity to the Labor cause

Against the greed and might of treacherous

Capitalists remains true to this day.

Emma was firm in her mission of a better life

For the battlers, the women and children who

Were paupers on less than a minimum wage,

Who could ill afford a loaf of bread

After paying the rent in rat infested squalor

On the flood-traps of the Brisbane river.

Her weapon was to use her intelligence, but

When push came to shove, she drew out

Her hat-pin and stuck it in the Commissioners horse

Who barred her way to petition the Premier that day.

The powers that be took a fall, but not before

They'd trounced on the right to march

In city streets, shouting, Cop that!

Swinging and swooping down on the masses

With their batons.

1900 seems so long ago but the message of Emma Miller

Is clear - Not to lay idle when there's people suffering

The tyranny of bullies and bastards

Who use their power and money to entrench inequality.

There was no way that the 'Grand Old Lady' was

Inferior as she took on the hierachy!

True and loyal to the cause, she was a giant amongst women

And men, even though she was only 4ft 10inch tall!

She travelled and inspired from Toowoomba to Charleville

In a carriage, organising campaigns and

Events like no other, so we must remember and

Honour the lady who led the struggle up the steps

To Legislative chambers.

 

 

(C)copyright Julie McNeill 2006

April 24

THE SONS OF BREDON (work-in-progress)

 
 

 A BREDON FAMILY EMIGRATES - 1853



Charles Higgins, aged 38, of Bredon, Worcestershire, an Agricultural Labourer like his father Richard Higgins(born, bred and buried in Bredon 1782 - 1865), said goodbye to his father, ready to set sail with his young family across the Atlantic Ocean for a new life of much better prospects and prosperity.


Angeline Higgins(nee Stratford)aged 34, also of Bredon, two young children to mind embarks on an adventure of a life-time. The couple had married in their thirties, and compared to most in the tiny hamlet were quite ambitious. They lived with Charles father, Richard, a widower, who lived(according to the 1851 Census), at Waterloo Cottage, Tewkesbury Rd. Bredon.

Their first child was Samuel Charles Higgins, born in Bredon on 15 March 1848 and christened at Bredon Church on 21 January, 1849. His younger sister, Catharine Ann Higgins was born on 20 April 1850.

Why would this young family say goodbye, to move so far away. “For good” is the only answer, and why to Iowa in the United States of America?

Richards second son, Frederick Higgins, born in Bredon 1820 had moved up to Belbroughton, ready for anything and met a woman called Betty Davenport, maybe in the Nailers Arms, over a few ales. She led him a merry dance to a cottage in The Gutter -(a traditional name for an old track in the valley), where he ended up making Nails at her fathers forge out back of the cottage.
Betty gave birth to  Richards second grandson in 1850 called William Higgins. It's not certain that the grandfather knew how either of his sons were doing, as nobody could read or write, but Betty the Belbroughton Nailer had managed to get his son, Frederick to the Holy Trinity Church, two years after little William was christened.

It was a Marriage solemnized by Banns, on Christmas Day 1852. This was a legal requirement where a notice had to be read out to the congregation for three Sundays in a row to make sure there was no legal impediment to the marriage. It was also an alternative to getting a more expensive wedding licence. Couples who wanted a quickie wedding had to go to Gretna Green, over the border in Scotland, although travelling from Worcestershire would have taken as long!

The main industries in the Bromsgrove district was nail and scythe makers, some even made for export to the farmers of the middles states of North America - maybe to his brother Charles to use, a little bit of home as he grew rich in the old colonies. No fancy Worcestershire pottery - only practical objects like scythes and nails.

So Sarah, his wife had passed on and now his oldest sons had moved away for a bright new future. At 79 years Richard Higgins found lodgings and had time to think. It would be unlikely that he would have suffered the tragic news of his first grandson, Samuel's death on ship, and buried in the Atlantic ocean, aged five years.

By the time Charles and Angleline set foot off the sailing ship onto the soil of America, found their place to settle in the farming state of Iowa, their daughter Catharine had married a young man from Kent, and they went on to deliver to their new country, ten babies who lived good, productive long lives, half of whom are still alive, but Richard Higgins could only imagine and never know for sure how things had worked out for his boys.

Richard had a third son, James born in 1826 at Bredon, but something had happened, he can't remember now, but he moved himself to the The Royal Oak Hotel in Front St. Bredon at 15yrs. Probably, by someone he met in the bar, he heard about how there was lots of gardening work around the fancy houses around Droitwich Spa.
He had a mind to get out of the tiny hamlet too, so he just about ran the miles further north. By 1845 he secured a job as a gardener at Barbourne Terrace in Claines
 and got to know a domestic servant called Anne Bradley(the same maiden name as his dear mother).

She was from Belbroughton, and ten years older, but they were good companions and they married at the Claines  Church when he was 23 years. who was in service at Rigley Hall and they married and had a son in 1850. The Master and Mistress of the House were good Christian people and didn't mind the addition in 1850 of baby Charles Higgins(after his oldest brother who went to America).

Anne had gone home to Bellbroughton, Bromsgrove for the birth, as she was worried about having her first child so late and wanted to be with her mother and female folk.  After her lie-in, and the baby was Churched, she returned to Claines where her and James were in service.

Obviously little Charles grew to love gardening alongside his dad, and he may have been taught to read and write by the owners, then found a position with an aquaintance of his parents employer, because at 21 years he is a gardener at a grand house in Surrey, where he was to meet and marry his wife Sarah Elizabeth.

How proud his parents would have felt to get a little note in 1881 that he, Charles John Higgins had become Head Gardener for the Earl of Derby's Lancashire Estate, and had a son, who they had called after the father and grandfather, Charles James Higgins born St. Michaels on Wyre 1878.

Richard was a man blessed with four sons and grandsons, though all had left the ancient soil of Bredon(pronounced by the natives as Breedon). His youngest son, Henry Higgins, born 1828 had worked with his dad until there wasn't enough work to feed a growing lad, and he like his brothers wanted to go further afield. Not too far, over the bridge to a farm in Boddington, Gloucestershire where he wed a young lass called Jane who was born at Stroud.

Little Henry was born soon after in 1849, but when the boys came together they dreamed and schemed - the oldest and the youngest full of having their own farm in the Mid-West of America, where there was lots of opportunity for a man and his sons . That was the place they went to, Charles and James and the young 'uns. They had heard of a place called Missouri - a land of prairies and grand rivers - somewhere to plant the Higgins stock, where an ordinary man could create his own estate for generations to come. So they went. All his boys. Richard guessed it was Gods will, so he had to be content.

(copyright JM 2007-all rights reserved)









 


April 19

SKELETONS 2

SKELETONS

 

I DON'T TALK ABOUT RELIGION OR POLITICS

said

NAN, WHEN I TRIED TO MAKE CONVERSATION

ABOUT HOW GREAT IT WAS

NELSON MANDELA WAS FREE.

EYES DOWN! OR YOU'LL MISS A NUMBER

TO CALL OUT BINGO!


DAD said BABBY! DO YOU HAVE TO

DRAG THE SKELETONS OUT OF THE WARDROBE?

WISHING HE COULD STEP INTO A STATELY

HOME THAT WAS HIS OWN,

AS A GENTLEMAN

IN 'PRIDE AND PREJUDICE.'

THEY ALL SPOKE POLITELY,

NO SHOUTING

AND SWEARING, AND DIDN'T DISCUSS

ILLIGITIMACY WITH THEIR DAUGHTERS,

HE STATED

WHILE DRIVING MY SISTER AND I

TO A SHAKESPEARE PLAY,

WHERE KIND WORDS OFT' SPOKE

BETRAYAL AND TRAJEDY.

WE LAUGHED AT DEAR DELUSIONAL ROMANTIC DAD

AND YELLED - YEAH! AS LONG AS YOU WEREN'T A WOMAN,

BLACK OR POOR !

AND HE TOLD US WE WATCHED TOO

MUCH 'CHANNEL 4!'

THEY'VE A LOT TO ANSWER FOR, SAID OUR FATHER,

BEING PART TO BLAME

FOR WHY BRITAIN WASN'T GREAT NO MORE!

I AM SPEECHLESS IN THE CUSHY

BACK SEAT OF HIS LATEST CAR,

BUT WRITE A POEM LATER

CALLED,

NAN IS A SKELETON NOW:

HER BONES ARE ASH,

HER NUMBER IS UP

AND POLITICS AND RELIGION COUNT FOR NO WOMAN

WHO HAD TO RUN FROM THE BLACK COUNTRY WITH A BABY INSIDE.

NANS PARENTS STOOD BY AND COVERED HER SHAME

IN BRUM, 1931, SO NO FOLK KNEW THE CHILD

WAS CURSED BY DEUTERONOMY.

THEREFORE, I MUST TAKE AFTER MUM WHO THREW

HER BIRTH DEED IN THE AIR FOR EVERYONE TO STARE

AT THE EMPTY SPACE OF HER FATHERS NAME

PRONOUNCING HE MUST HAVE BEEN

A RED HAIRED CHINA MAN!

NO SHAME, BUT HER FACE TURNED RED

WHEN THE LOCAL PRIEST EASILY GUESSED

HER CATHOLIC ROOTS AND

PURSUED HER UP HEELEY RD

ASKING WHY, FOR THE LOVE OF MARY

SHE HADN'T BEEN SEEN IN CHURCH?

THE REBELLIOUS BLOOD OF A CELTISH LASS

BOILED, REPLIED THAT SHE'D MARRIED

A PRODDY - MADE HER ESCAPE INTO THE BINGO HALL.


LEFT WITH THE LEGACY OF

BASTARD SECRETS,

SIBLINGS GET ON WITH THEIR OWN LIVES,

KEEPING MUM, AND OCCUPY SPANISH LANDSCAPES,

WHILE THIS GRAND-DAUGHTER

KEEPS DIGGING TILL ANOTHER BONE STICKS

OUT OF THE EARTH, AND WITH THE ENERGY

IT TOOK HER FOREFATHERS TO REACH FOR COAL -

 

WITH DADS PROUD PROTESTANT WORK ETHIC ,

I CONNECT HIM TO

THE IRISH BRANCH SO CLOSE TO THE BONE;

PAY - BACK FOR SNIPING AT MY

SYMPATHY OF THE BIRMINGHAM SIX -

ITS CHILDISH, I KNOW, THIS SPITTLE OF WORDS

I DARE TO CONJURE FROM A RICH DEPOSIT,

BUT LET US BE TRUE AND NOT DENY.

REALLY FATHER, YOU DON'T HAVE TO WINCE

EACH TIME I SEND ANOTHER POEM;

I SAY GET THEM SKELETONS LOOSE AND DANCE

THE DIRT AND MUCKY SOD OFF

SO WE CAN SIT AROUND THE HEARTH

AND RELATE A GOOD STORY

WE CAN ALL REFLECT ON, AND DRINK TO THAT,

ME OLD DAD; THE LOVE THAT MAKES ME BURST

THE BUBBLE AND SING FOR ME SUPPER

AND WATCH YOUR EYES ROLL OVER!

 

 Julie McNeill

(c)copyright Sept.2006

  POST-SCRIPT: SORRY DAD, SPOKE TOO SOON, AGAIN.

GENEOLOGY FACTS FOUND IN CYBER-SPACE SAY

YOU ARE A SON OF
HIGGINS, BREDON BORN -

BAPTISED AND BURIED AS HARDWORKING

PEASANTRY FOR THE PARISH.

NO SIGN OF THE IRISH OR THE GENTRY EITHER,

AS IN JANE AUSTIN TIMES OUR GRAND

PARENTS WERE HOWING AND SCYTHING, BAILING,

MAYBE ROLLING IN THE HAY

AT HARVEST FESTIVAL

BECAUSE THERE ARE A FEW BABES BEING

BLESSED IN THE CHAPEL NINE MONTHS LATER!
 

THE CYCLES OF LIFE CONTINUE - AND DAUGHTERS

STANDING AT THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE

DIG AT THE CONSCIENCE OF THEIR FATHERS,

BECAUSE THEY CAN, WHEN IT IS THEIR ONLY

RECOURSE FOR THE SILENCE - THE ABSENCE

OF CONVERSATION, WHEN ALL THERE IS,

ARE SKELETONS.

 

  (copyright) julie mcneill April 2007

all rights reserved

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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