One of my favourite places when I was
young was Archie and Edna Hair's attic at the Arches, a fantasy
realm that lay on the Freestone Creek just outside Briagalong.
The attic was a tiny space above the
kitchen. Archie had papered the walls and ceiling with images from
old magazines. I lay on the grey blanket on the old wire bed and
gazed in wonder at his collection of images, images which told a
It was at 'The
Arches' that I was filled with a sense of curiosity and wonderment.
Archie Hair had a wooden box, the contents of which were a constant
source of fascination to us. In this box the old man kept things
he had collected from the bush. He called these bits and pieces
'wonders'. Archie's box of wonders contained a motley assortment
that to most people would have seemed like bush debris. Each piece
held a story.
This trunk is a safe place, a container,
where you can leave some of the debris of childhood. It is a place
where you can lock up the betrayals, the fears, express the inexpressible.
It is also a place to store happy memories, memories on scaps of
paper, which, when pulled out will flit like fire-flies and dance
Girl Who Had So Much by Sirius Tyde
Red's Mother by Lisa Phoenix
Years by Aletta Mes