Windows: Lens-Artist Photo Challenge #14

Taking a good photo is a challenge. Sometimes I see things that aren’t there.

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Image taken Balmerino Abbey ruins, one grey day.

This abbey has been in ruins since the Reformation in the 16th Century.  First it was the English who attacked the monastery, then it was the Scottish Protestants.

 I heard  Judy Small sing her ‘Walls and Windows” in Brisbane years ago.  She wrote great songs but gave up folksinging and is now a judge in the Family Law Court.

Here’s the last verse from that song-

Oh may we live to see the day when walls of words and fear
No longer stand between the truth and dreams
When walls of windows rise into the darkness and we dare
To look into the mirror and see peace.
   from Judy Small's song "Walls and Windows"

 

All text (except quote) and photos by Meg

Story Twigs the Imagination! by Meg Philp is Copyright © under Australian Law.

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Tiny Miracles — Writing Between the Lines

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As a follow-up to my last post, here’s friend Naomi’s experience and recount of her visit to Vilnius, Lithuania the same year I was in France.

Originally posted on Writing Between the Lines:

I have been out in the world again. All the stories I’ve seen and heard and lived have been patiently but eagerly contained, just waiting to be told.

In Poland and Lithuania, where we were traveling, World War II still casts a long shadow over the land. That is…

Please see the rest of her post and great photos here Tiny Miracles — Writing Between the Lines

In Perigord : Lens-Artist Photo Challenge: #13 Look Up.

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Travelling through Perigord / Dordogne a couple of years back,  I loved the wide-open countryside.  There were lots of quaint buildings in walled, medieval towns with few people around.

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Wild thyme grew in the walls.

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 There were careful renovations.

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A glowing stone memorial in a small park in  the town of Sarlat stopped me in my tracks.IMG_4438

Now here’s the thing. Just the other day, I happened upon a French movie on TV here at home.  I’d caught the word “Sarlat ” in passing and so sat down to watch.

That 2012 film, ‘Ici-bas’ or ‘Here Below,’ was set in Perigord in 1944 and directed by Jean-Pierre Denis. He said it was a fictional portrayal of actual events which culminated in the militia and German soldiers besieging a group of Resistance on 16 February 1944. Thirty-four Resistance fighters were executed. Then, on 27 February 1944, using Radio Paris, propagandist / spokesman for the Vichy government in exile, Philippe Henriot denounced the “Communists” who had “killed the saint.”

I looked up more info about WW 2 in the Sarlat district and found this from a local contributor, in Trip Advisor  (I’ve edited grammar.)

… In Sarlat, a plaque on the wall on Boulevard Nessman tells of Victor Nessman, a doctor and Resistance leader, who was arrested in his surgery and taken to Limoges to be tortured to death. This was the same Victor Nessman who had worked with Albert Schweitzer in the leper colonies of the Congo. The village of Rouffignac, now a drab village just north west of Sarlat, was razed to the ground by Nazis as a reprisal. The only clue there is the war memorial which lists five deaths yet gives no details about the events of 31 March 1944. The world’s biggest ever bullion and cash heist was effected by the Resistance in St. Astier, just outside Perigueux. The money, which was en route to the Germans in Bordeux , simply disappeared …

There were concentration camps in the area too, holding mainly Jewish French before onward shipment to the eastern death camps in Austria and Poland.

Little of all this exists in tourist museums. It needs to be researched from little clues dotted about the countryside. It seems that the jury is still out on the Resistance as to whether they were truly heroes or simply renegades who would jeopardise the lives of innocent villagers, as in Oradour sur Glane….

Sarlat Resistance 1944

They added that “It all sounds a bit morbid, but it has a compulsive fascination for most of us, as it all happened in our fathers’ lifetime.”

What terrible times.

 I wish I’d read some of that history before I visited Sarlat-la-Caneda.

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I think walls bear witness and hold memories of the past.

‘Lest we forget’ as Life moves on.

Sources

“Here Below”  Wikipedia. https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ici-bas. Downloaded 2 October 2018.

“Phillipe Henriot” Wikiwand. https://www.wikiwand.com/en/Philippe_Henriot. Downloaded 2 October 2018.

“World War 1 and World War 2 sites around the Dorgdogne.” Comment by Salandaise1 in Trip Advisor.

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All photos and text (apart from quotes) by Meg

Story Twigs the Imagination! by Meg Philp Copyright © under Australian Law.

Finding Your Treasure

Searching for stories that appeal and that I’d want to tell is like hunting for treasure. Lately, I’ve been searching for stories and images about treasure.

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I’ve had loan of a carefully wrapped 1919 collection of Hindu tales that Anne’s mother used to read aloud to her sister and she. They would talk about every story afterwards.

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This one is about a Brahmin, a much- revered holy beggar, who hoards the money and jewels he is given and then, to keep it safe, buries it all in the forest. When he discovers it’s been stolen, he announces he will starve himself to death, unless his treasure is returned! His treasure is returned when the king of that district cleverly finds the thief, whom he then pardons but whom the Brahmin will not. The story sets up the need to talk about it more by ending thus –

Every one who has read this wonderful story would, of course, want to know what became of him after that, but nothing more is told about him.

Stories need to be talked through, mulled over, repeated and given to someone else.

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Many a good story is shared over a cuppa. What a pot! There is a story there.

As I was walking a treasure to school on Wednesday, she talked about how, as part of Book Week celebrations,  a teacher had come dressed as a pirate. “She had lots of gold in a box, “she said. “Of course, it wasn’t real,” she added, sounding a bit disappointed.

Remember being excited as a kid by the notion of a treat kept in a special place you weren’t allowed to go?

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I used to be impressed by these cars … never drove one!

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A ‘Leaper’ bonnet mascot from an older Jaguar car.

A 13th century poet, Rumi, told of a poor man of Baghdad who had the same dream on several nights, telling him to go to Cairo where he would find treasure in a certain quarter, at a certain spot. He followed that dream, made the long journey, only to be captured by the night patrol while begging for food. He confessed to his captor why he had come to Cairo, who then admitted he’d had ignored a similar dream. His dream had told of treasure buried in Baghdad, in a certain street, in a particular house yard. As he listened, the captive realised it was in  his garden! As soon as he was set free, the poor man hurried home to find his treasure. What did he find?

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Plovers’ eggs which did eventually hatch, grow and fly the nest in a local park.

There’s a more recent (2007) Palestinian version of that ancient story called The Farmer Who Followed His Dream in a children’s collection by Sonia Nimr.   (I included this map of it in my last post.)

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It was when I told my version of the story again to a live, adult audience that the ending changed. A stranger came up and said how much they liked it. A regular  grinned and whispered across to me as I sat down, “Vintage Meg!”

The meaning made hangs on the storyteller’s intonation.

Without changing the final words,  I’d said them differently, for I was feeling and seeing what his treasure truly was when he reached home – family and children.

Treasure, for me, is the same  … and includes my extended family – the dear people I have as friends.

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A new grandson for a longtime friend.

References:

In Cairo Dreaming of  Baghdad, In Baghdad Dreaming of Cairo in Delicious Laughter: Rambunctious Teaching Stories from the Mathnawi of Jelaluddin Rumi. Versions by Coleman Barks. Athens, Georgia. Maypop Books, 1990.

A Royal Thief-Catcher in MITRA, S.M. (trans) Hindu Tales from the Sanskrit. Adapted by Mrs Arthur Bell. London Macmillan, 1919. pp 30 – 45.

The Farmer Who Followed his Dream in NIMR, Sonia. Ghadder the Ghoul and Other Palestinian Stories. London, Francis Lincoln, 2007. pp23 – 27.

All text and photos (except last one) by Meg

Story Twigs the Imagination! by Meg Philp is Copyright © under Australian Law.

 

 

 

 

Story Maps and Spirals: Retelling

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During my last storytelling session at a local school, teachers were keen for me to show the students the maps I draw to help me retell a story.

These are working documents. The first map is for a Palestinian story. Like many folk tales, the protagonist leaves home on a quest. They solve their problem and return home with new understanding, having learned from their experience.

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In more complicated stories, I find drawing spiral maps helpful. This story map is about the break-up of a friendship,

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In retelling, I need the routine to make a stable base for the story. Tone of voice is crucial to set the mood for a good story and for the suspense that will come. When we’re introduced to a character and nothing out of the ordinary happens, then they’re stuck in a same old routine – not much of a story.

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Jack Maguire in his book ‘Creative Storytelling’ said it this way .

“Another fundamental of a good children’s story is that the plot revolves around an element of tension.” (1985:51)

A good story spirals into action, moving from ‘The Way it Was’ to ‘The Way it is Now’

Life can go up or down in half a second. Often a trigger / jolt / problem shifts characters out of their ordinary ways. Then more problems and possibilities arise.

Characters’ actions and speech build the tension either up to a better, satisfactory, resolution or down to an unhappy, unsatisfying one.

The ending must pull everything together.

Sometimes a story spiralling upward is funny. Moving this spiral clearly shows how the teller has been ‘winding up’ the audience, especially when kids don’t get the punch line of the joke, at first. ‘Shaggy Dog’ stories are a classic of this type.

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Source of quote

Jack Maguire. 1985 Creative Storytelling: choosing, inventing and sharing tales for children. New York, McGraw-Hill.

All text (except quote) and photos by Meg

Story Twigs the Imagination! by Meg Philp is  Copyright © under Australian Law.

‘Flower’ of the Day: Cee’s OBC

What colour! Last week I took this photo in the warmth of the Fitzroy Gardens Conservatory, Melbourne.

I’ll submit it as part of Cee’s Photo Challenge but that glorious pink is the plants’ bracts, not the flowers of the poinsettia.

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       It was a cool afternoon in June with occasional sun … great for some of us to stroll in the park and enjoy these Autumn avenues.

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I sought out a special ‘Fairies Tree‘ in the park. The sun came out again.

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First carved  in the 1930’s by Ola Cohn who wanted children and those people who believe in fairies to know there was a sanctuary for them, here. It was restored in the 1970’s and is such delightful whimsy …

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…. with lots of talking points and stories here.

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All text and photos by Meg

Story Twigs the Imagination! by Meg Philp is Copyright © under Australian Law.

Cee’s Odd Ball Challenge: Strange Fruit

I’ve been wondering what to post since the WPC Weekly Photo Challenge ended in May. So, I’m hoping for inclusion in another (Cee’s) photo challenge. Over this last month I’ve been fascinated by the blossoming of this particular tree … and thinking about fruits and seeds

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Such a glorious velvet red!

Telling a story is like sowing a seed – you always hope you see it become a beautiful tree, with firm roots and branches that soar up. But it is a peculiar sowing, for you will never know whether your seed sprouts or dies.” Michael Montoure in his book ‘Slices.’

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These odd little balls are fruits/seed cases clamouring to be attractive to birds so they can be dispersed far from the tree. Perhaps someone knows what kind of tree this is?

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A change in colour after rain

Seeds are powerhouses in stories as in life.  They can be magical and send you to sleep like Titania in Midsummer Night’s Dream or they can provide opportunity, health and wealth.

Now they’re turning brown.

This month I’ve been retelling the Asian folktale Aina-Kizz and the Black-Bearded Bai. I first told it more than twenty years ago. The trickiest part of the retelling is the pivotal liar’s competition, demanded by the Bai ( a local official) when this woodcutter’s daughter outwits him in public and the judge fines him. The first one to call out “That’s a lie!” loses their bet.

[It’s hard work lying consistently. If the reteller misses some details out, the ending won’t work!]

The Bai began by saying that he found 3 ears of wheat in his pocket, one day before he was born. These he threw nonchalantly out of the window. When he next looked out, the crop was so vast his horsemen took ten days to get to the end of it … (and he brags on about his workers, the crop …  goes on more about his power)

The girl in her turn calmly claimed she found one cotton seed.  The bush that grew from it reached the clouds and she picked and cleaned the full bolls herself. She made made enough money at market to buy 40 camels laden with silks … sent her brother off to trade these in Samarkand … (and goes on more about her family)…

Her intelligence triumphs over his brute force.

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All text and photos by Meg

Story Twigs the Imagination! by Meg Philp Copyright © under Australian Law.

 

All-Time Favourites:

My friend Naomi takes great photos.

 She got me blogging and suggested I join the weekly Photo Challenge. This opened up a whole new way of joining in online, looking at stories.

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My most popular shot for “Transitions” was such a sneaky one.

Thank you all for the journey thus far. You’ve been great company.

Time to catch the next storytelling train and keep on the Story Twigs Imagination Line!

All-Time Favorites     Text and photos by Meg, except the first shot.

Story Twigs the Imagination! by Meg Philp copyright © under Australian Law.

A Japanese Twist

This week’s Photo Challenge Twisted didn’t mean much till I found this photo I’d taken in my local Sushi Bar ( I did move the figurine, just a tad.)

The women’s twisted hair and that knotted Obi sparked a rewrite of a traditional folktale I’ve been working on –

Long, long ago in Old Japan there was a young man who loved his old father dearly. Not long after his son’s wedding, the old man died and the young man withdrew into his work as he grieved for his father.

Early one morning, he brought his wife in to show the piles of baskets he had made and said he must go to the  market. She helped him stack them on his back and waved him off on his walk to the nearest town. She felt pleased to see him at last like his old self again. Such fine, strong weaving attracted many buyers so he sold out quickly. and made a good profit. Before returning home, the shy young man had time to wander the stalls.

An array of silver objects caught the light. He had never seen anything like these before. The Gaijin vendor signalled they were delicate and would break if dropped. He nodded as the young man gingerly picked up the nearest. One glance and he was amazed … for there was his father looking at him.

“Oh father!” he muttered, lifting his eyes to the sky, “What are you doing here in the town?” No voice spoke from the clouds. Was this some kind of magic? Looking around him, he wondered why his father had come back to see him.  He quickly bought the object, tucked it safely in his belt and anxiously hurried home.

As soon as he got there, he placed his precious find in the family shrine and said nothing of it to his wife. From that day on, he prayed fervently each dawn and dusk.

Naturally, his young wife noticed how much time he spent praying. One day, after her husband had gone off to gather more bamboo, she looked inside the shrine and gasped. There, she surprised a lovely young woman who looked back at her. She quickly closed the door … only to look again several times through the  day. The woman was always there.

As soon as her husband came home, she turned on him angrily. and pointed to the shrine “How dare you bring home another woman! You worship her! How could you do this to me?”

“What woman?” her husband stammered. “That is my dear departed father in there!” He rushed to to make sure. Yes … there was his father, looking worried. As he stepped back with a sigh of relief, his wife pushed past and grabbed the disc . One triumphant look and she handed it back saying “That is not your father … that is a jealous young woman!” Then she hurried away.

They argued till they were speechless and miserable. After a sleepless night, the young man suggested they talk to the wise nun who lived in the village temple.

One look at the pair and the nun ushered them in.  She listened with a kindly smile while they took turns to tell their part of the story. When tears had been shed and both were finally still, the nun stretched out a hand for the source of their troubles. After she studied its smooth surface, she exclaimed. “Goodness! This woman has repented and become a nun. It’s best that she remain here, for a time, in the temple.” Then she opened a wooden chest beside her, put in their mirror and closed the lid.

It did not take long for the news of the arrival of a wonderful glass to go round the village. The young couple laughed together when they, in their turn, heard the story  from a friendly neighbour. How mistaken they had been! How foolish! How marvellous!

Next morning, they found their furoshiki -swathed mirror on the doorstep and both agreed it should be hung by their door so anyone might look in at it. The tale of the mirror spread to many districts. The young couple gained status as the first family in that village to own one and they were not the last … to see their truth …  in a mirror.

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Twisted

A Japanese Twist©2018Meg Philp

Adapted from ‘The Mirror’ by BANG, Garrett, Men from the Village Deep in the Mountains. New York, Macmillan, 1973: 67- 9.

Some of the sources consulted

Japanese Bamboo weaving 

Japanese Historical Timeline

Japanese Mirrors

Mirror (See History)

Sacred Mirror: Japanese Imperial Regalia

All text  and photos by Meg

Story Twigs the Imagination! by Meg Philp is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License and is also Copyright © under Australian Law.

 

 

May Day on Mt Cootha 2018: WPC Line

 

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Hurdy-Gurdy Player

“Form the lines and turn together, Hear the clash of the staff as we shout and sing. The tunes all sound to the Tattercoat’s flying, We call up the light as the day comes in.” (Lyrics by John Thompson)

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They had gathered in the dark, above the city, to dance with bells, sticks, swords and kerchiefs.

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The Bellswagger, North-West, Ragged Band, and Logan groups, among others, all wearing their different kits.

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We all sang along, clapped and stamped our feet.

The music rises with the first light’s gleaming,

The dawn will break and the bells will ring.

                               (from The Bellswagger Anthem by John Thompson)

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All in together for the last dance.

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… spiralling our way up to the Rotunda

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…then with one great shout the dance and songs have done it.

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We’ve celebrated the year with the dawn of the sun.

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(A great bunch of Morris folk after the final formal photo)

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Lines – This week’s Photo Challenge

All text (except John Thompson’s lyrics) and photos by Meg

Story Twigs the Imagination! by Meg Philp is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License and is also Copyright © under Australian Law.