By Louise Ure
There’s a tiny town that juts out into Wallis Lake, near Forster in New South Wales, Australia. My friends Dottie and Derrick moved there about five years ago after too many years in Sydney.
Derrick is an ex-British Navy man, with a squint to his eyes from all those years looking over the water. He catches his own crabs and insists upon cooking them in lake water because that is the salinity they knew. Dottie is a loud, lovely and generous woman, quick to make friends and to give you the clothes she’s wearing if you dare compliment her on them. They live in the very last house on the main road through town before you get to the beach, and are as at home there as if it were their birthplace.
This truly is a tiny town; only 300 residents and some of those are guests from the Big Smoke who come up to rent a holiday house for the summer. There’s a pizza restaurant and a small convenience store, but not much more. Not even a pub, and that’s practically a crime in Australia.
The first man showed up about 4:30 in the afternoon, a small ice chest under one arm and a folding chair cradled under the other. He nodded at me on the balcony and proceeded to the beach.
Two more arrived a few minutes later, also with folding chairs.
Then began a slow, quiet parade of townsfolk – twenty, thirty or more – in their stubbies (shorts), singlets (wife-beaters) and thongs (flip flops). Young men with calloused hands, middle aged women with henna-dyed hair, old men rolling toothpicks between their lips.
“Pub’s open,” Dottie said. We took our own wine and glasses and folding chairs and headed across to the beach.
I expected to see little enclaves of drinkers – four men at a picnic table playing cards, or two housewives catching up with a drink before making dinner – but no. Instead of the little chats I had expected, they had set up one big circle with their chairs. And as we approached, the circle got bigger. Jokes were shouted across to the other side, introductions were pantomimed to a person sitting six chairs away, quiet, grayer conversations were held between two people sitting together.
As each new arrival showed up, the circle loosened a bit more and stretched to include them.
The drinks were not shared, but stories were. Stories of how the day had gone, who had been taken ill, whose mother would be visiting next week, who had caught a mud crab in their trap.
It didn’t matter who I was, they welcomed me.
And it felt like becoming part of the mystery writing community all over again.
Crime fiction writers from all over the globe shifted their chairs and opened the circle to let me in six years ago. It didn’t matter who I was, I was part of the tribe now – part of The Pub at Wallis Lake – and I was made welcome. We could have a drink together and talk about how the day had gone, who was having trouble with a plot, whose editor would be visiting next week, who had sold their book series to a cable channel.
Jokes could be shouted across barrooms, we could read each other’s body language during a panel discussion, and quiet, grayer conversation could be held between two friends who were going through the same trials.
I was gently cradled by the fine folks at Wallis Lake last month. But I have been nurtured by this crime fiction community for a much longer time than that.
And I just wanted to say thank you.
P.S. In a nod to JT, here are a couple of my favorite Australian wines: Bird in the Hand and Two in the Bush. God, I’m such a sucker for puns and cleverness.
Louise, you always strike me as so sweet I just want to squeesh you 🙂
I want to live in this town.
Me, too, Dusty. Louise, what a beautiful tribute to friendship, the world over.
Makes me pine for the Aussie sun, sand and good humour, Louise, what with London looking gloomier than an Atlantic trench right about now. I found a fun community for screenwriters on Twitter called #scriptchat recently which, like this, helps the story-telling tradition and comradeship flourish.
Outside of this excellent crime group therapy, where do other people find solace in numbers?
Interested to know. Thanks for a lovely slice of community spirit to warm the cockles here, Louise.
Matt
Beautifully written, Louise. Your detail is eloquent. When I left teaching a few years ago, I gave those remaining teachers of English a book of thoughts and lessons that I had composed. One entry focused on the faculty lounge where we all ate lunch. I wrote, "Each day, make the lunch table big enough to accommodate all those who seek a place in the haven. Each day, make everybody fit. Do not allow anyone to fight for a space because sometimes it takes just too much energy to say, 'Could you move?' Make sure you collect everyone: the shy, the preoccupied, the reluctant; the one who is tired, the one who has had a frustrating morning, the one who is feeling left out. You are a force, a daily occurrence that strengthens, that enables, that distracts, that gives love. You are a family table. You are a power table."
I think everyone needs to have their own Pub at Wallis Lake. Sounds like a wonderful time, and your posts paint such a clear picture of your travels that I feel like I'm there with you.
I love this post and the comparison to our little crime writing community, which really is a special group.
(I also love that dog bottle!)
How do you do it? How do you make me want to abandon kith and ken, for a beach and a circle of folding chairs?
If you stay there, I will visit.
Louise, as always, your writing transports me. Do you KNOW what a gifted writer you are?? (and a much loved one).
Thank you all for commenting, and Sandy, your words about the faculty lounge are inspirational. I'm on the road again today and will check in again soon.
Another beautiful post, Louise, and a wonderful image. I, too, have found the mystery community to be very welcoming ;-]
Travel safe
No pub?
I couldn't live there then!
Hi again guys. Eight hours of driving today and my butt is sore. Time to find another friendly pub.
Wow, what a fantastic pub. I am loving these Australia journals, LU.
It's so true about the mystery community. It was so wonderful and heartbreaking to walk into the Mystery Bookstore party and know 3/4ths of the room. It's an incredible community, a privilege to be a part of it.
Thanks for all the comments, my mystery pals. Let's meet at the pub.
You write like an angel with wiccan wings.
Beautiful, Louise. I want the doggie bottle, too. 🙂
One more comment, Louise, in case you look again after "your" day on the blog. You represent another amazing thing about the crime writing community. I think some people call it "paying it forward;" that is, reaching out and actively drawing someone into the circle of writers, giving him or her a hand and even a gentle tug. It's one reason the circle gets bigger and healthier, not choked off into little camps and cliques.
Directed by Pat O'Connor. Starring Chris O'Donnell, Minnie Driver, Geraldine O'Rawe. 'Circle Of Friends' is set in 1950's Ireland. The movie focuses on Benny Hogan and her best friend, Eve Malone.
<a href="http://www.ebooksuk.co.uk"> Ebook Downloads</a>
Circle of Friends may refer to: "Circle of Friends" (Dexter episode), an episode of the television series Dexter; Circle of Friends.
Circle of Friends may refer to: "Circle of Friends" (Dexter episode), an episode of the television series Dexter; Circle of Friends.
Louise, I was down for the count sick this week and misse dyour post. I love the wine, and love our community. So glad you found another circle to nourish you, even if it's just for a bit.