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I'd not heard of this place, Max, but do recall some early paintings in Australia in which the forests contained a castle, because, well, 'back home' they always did.... And the piper too.... I like the sense you give of seeming never to get there & then the sign that you have.... Doug On 1-Nov-06, at 1:10 AM, Max Richards wrote: > Ercildoune via Ballarat > > [The feast was spread in Ercildoun, > In Learmont's high and ancient hall: > And there were knights of great renown, > And ladies, laced in pall.] > > Follow the highway > west from Ballarat > under the stone Gate > of Peace and Victory > (so big you think the trenches > must have been nearby) > > along the Avenue of Honour > with its hundreds of old trees > each with a small plaque > and further hundreds of young trees > each also with plaques, > to the junction with the ring road, > > keep on till you feel you've missed > the sign for Ercildoune > and will have to do an awkward u-turn, > and at length Ercildoune > (and Learmonth) the sign > points towards some low hills. > > The dirt road is sending dustclouds > towards you, cars returning from > their Sunday look at Ercildoune, > and just before the gateway > there's a big arrow turning you > left into a wide paddock, > > lined with parked cars, and folk > strolling in all directions > as refreshments are on offer > in the old shearing-shed. > Climb down, puppy, and inhale > for once real country smells. > > Here's the gatehouse dispensing maps > and brochures: Ercildoune. > 1838! that's early days, > and there's the wattle and daub > first shelter the brothers > from Scotland sheltered in. > > But the house they built! > local silver-grey stone > shaped into some fancied fortress, > with battlemented turrets - > to repel the English maybe, > or Aboriginals with what? spears? > > By the front door bristles > a bronze giant dog: > it which makes our puppy > bristle and growl > till we knock reassuringly > on resounding metal. > > But it's the gardens people are here for. > A vast walled one, lately rescued from > dereliction, an old phoenix palm, > many new roses - come back next decade. > Everywhere, old trees shipped in > in small pots at the beginning: > > sequoia and other giants > near the long lake (that needs rain), > where now a kilted piper skirls > piercingly over the paddocks. > Grateful shade, those big trees, > but mind your head - the old bunya pine > drops heavy sharp seed-cones. > > In its heyday worked by well over a hundred, > twelve of them gardeners; > there's a cemetery we ought to walk to, > but ... maybe another time. > Farewell, adieu > to Ercildoune. > > > Max Richards > Doncaster, Melbourne > Oct/Nov 2006 > > ------------------------------------------------------------ > This email was sent from Netspace Webmail: http://www.netspace.net.au > > > ----- End forwarded message ----- > > > > > > ------------------------------------------------------------ > This email was sent from Netspace Webmail: http://www.netspace.net.au > > > ----- End forwarded message ----- > > > > > > ------------------------------------------------------------ > This email was sent from Netspace Webmail: http://www.netspace.net.au > > Douglas Barbour 11655 - 72 Avenue NW Edmonton Ab T6G 0B9 (780) 436 3320 http://www.ualberta.ca/~dbarbour/ Latest book: Continuations (with Sheila E Murphy) http://www.uap.ualberta.ca/UAP.asp?LID=41&bookID=664 Where philosophy stops, poetry is impelled to begin. He was a man, far away from home, biting his nails at destiny. Susan Howe