Today was Anzac Day, and my SIL and I went to the Dawn Service at the little war memorial in the main street. We drove down in the chilly dark before 6 a.m, passing groups of people walking along huddled in their coats, seeing the lights of other cars converging around the shadowed park. It was very moving, standing beneath the trees and thinking of the Australian and New Zealand soldiers who landed at Anzac cove all those years ago. I looked up at a little sliver of a new moon lying on its back, cradled in the arms of a gum tree, and listened to a bugle playing The Last Post- one of the most poignant memories of Australians everywhere.













Don't you just love old houses? In the back hall is a huge floor to ceiling cupboard, which we hadn't opened until today, and then we found a little door at the back of it. Wouldn't we have loved this find when we were children, raised on a diet of Enid Blyton's Famous Five books. Would there be a secret passage beyond, an old trunk full of treasure, a faded map with an X on it? Or, in Daphne Du Maurier mode....a huddled skeleton sitting in the corner.....















Of course I took one look at the cobwebs and sent Matt up instead, and listened to his crashing and clattering and shouted comments, contenting myself with a peek from the top of the ladder. It must have been a storage space under the original verandah roof and there are boards laid across the rafters so that matt could crawl along quite comfortably. Nothing came to light of any interest, but it kept us all occupied for a good half hour, a change from our cleaning and painting and shifting.














Here's Bev sitting in the window seat, in our nice clean lounge room, having washed the walls down, scrubbed the skirtings and the window and polished the floor. She's exhausted, and I was up a ladder painting or I would have helped. But I'm tired too!