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PAPERBACK BOOKS

SECRETS IN STORE


secrets in store

This is a story told in three parts.  It is based around an actual historical building on the outskirts of Melbourne … The Kangaroo Ground Store. The store was established originally in 1891, and is still a working concern now in 2015. Lynn, who is a resident of the area, and frequents the store nearly every day for her coffee, has allowed her imagination to take her back over one hundred and twenty years in time. She has created a delightful and moving story of the early pioneer settlers, mainly Scottish Highlanders, who were the foundation of the area. 

It is a tale of human emotions, tragedy and joy, gain and loss, love and lust, betrayal and loyalty, all thrown into the mix of how folk survived in such harsh conditions. Lynn creates enchanting pictures of the bushland and the wildlife, and weaves a real spiritual connection between the main characters of her story with the kangaroos and the aboriginal people.

In Store Price: $22.95 
Online Price:   $21.95

 

AMAZON

EBOOKS
Ebook version - $AUD9.00 upload.

ISBN: 978-0-9943521-3-2  Format: Paperback
Number of pages: 146
Genre: Fiction

Cover: Clive Dalkins

By the same author 

The Irresistible Web 

Breaking the Web 

The Matriarch 

Margot 


Author
-
Lynn Richards
Publisher: Zeus Publications
Date Published:  2015
Language: English


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AUTHOR’S NOTE.

In the midst of becoming totally engrossed in the roller coaster ride of The Burns family, it was, of course, necessary for me now and again to research some facts and dates here and there.   I am truly grateful for Mick Woiwod’s amazing factual book, Kangaroo Ground .. The Highland Taken.  I would sincerely ask Mr. Woiwod to forgive me for not sticking to the truth, and literally going off the rails into my love of fictional characters.   Along with the wonderful collection of memorabilia at the Andrew Ross Museum, ‘The Highland Taken’ will be cherished by generations of K.G. folk for many centuries to come.

Lynn Richards, 2015

THE MOB

By Lynn Richards

 

They stand frozen like sentinels, silent and still

As the morning frost melts into dew

Large brown eyes glisten in the winter sunlight

Each eye, watching me ... reading me.

The powerful sires ... tall, protective, proud

Like giants anchored to the earth by their steady, robust tails

Cautious mothers, their baggy pouches bulging

Inquisitive ‘Joey’ heads, sweet and perky

Whilst independent youngsters sense uncertainty.

 

I count thirty five in number

Doing my best to ease the car gently down the pathway

Making the least amount of ripples in the space

Attempting not to scare them

Not to frighten the mob

Ears prick, noses twitch ... One shifts, then another

Suddenly they bound, they hop, they leap,

Easily scaling the post and rail

Young ones dart ... Mothers stay close

An urgent need for some to dive back into the baggy pouch

Where bony legs and twisting tails stick out this way and that

From here, from there

The mob regroups as one

And the choreography is complete

Rhythmic music of pounding tails upon earth

A joyous dance of bounding, hopping, leaping

Across a stage of green pastures to the bushland beyond.

Kangaroos ... My roos ... My mob!

 

SECRETS IN ‘STORE’ 

 

What drew me to enter such a ramshackle old store in the first place is still a mystery. Even though we had chosen to live on the semi-rural fringe of Melbourne, and everything that went with that choice, I was still a modern city girl at heart. If the truth be known, if I wanted a coffee I would gravitate to a flash, stylish bistro or somewhere trendy like Lygon Street, for instance. The only reason I would need to frequent the Kangaroo Ground Store in the early days was when it was also the local post office. It was necessary for me to tread carefully along the termite-ridden, unstable verandah to collect our mail from the rather large number of heavy metal post boxes allocated to the residents scattered far and wide in the local area.

It was nearing the close of the millennium, the year 2000, when Australia Post moved the boxes and the post office business around the corner to King’s vineyard. It took us all a while to get used to the transition. I guess this made a lot more floor space available within the dilapidated old weatherboard building for the Store to expand. I heard on the grapevine, as you do, that there were new proprietors, and that not only would there be more goods and produce available in the Store, but tables and chairs had also been set up for light meals, drinks and snacks. I remember silently snubbing any idea of ever frequenting such a place, new proprietors or not. I mean what on earth could it be, but a stop off place for people who had forgotten their milk and paper on the way home? Maybe it would attract the ‘tradies’ and truck drivers for a pie and sauce with chips, to be swilled down with a coke. Their heavy muddy boots could pound over the tired floorboards of the verandah, and they certainly wouldn’t feel as if they were out of place as far as the ambience was concerned.

So in my innate snobby way I just kept on driving past the old store as if it didn’t exist.

However, one day my husband and I were invited to the wedding of our farming neighbour’s daughter. The bride had chosen to have her wedding photos taken in front of the Store, and for the first time I noticed that the dear old weatherboard building was in fact charming and beautiful. Balanced on top of the rusty galvanised iron awning over the verandah was a sign which simply said ‘THE KANGAROO GROUND STORE, Est. 1891’.

‘Wow!’ I thought to myself. ‘Eighteen hundred and ninety one!’ If only the walls of this dear old ‘lady’ in the almost non-existent hamlet of Kangaroo Ground could talk. The wonderful stories that she could tell. Next time I passed I decided to stop, park the car, and go inside under the pretence of purchasing a paper. Even the car park had a charm. It was fenced by large tin panels, each portraying an exquisite old sepia photograph from a bygone era. Each picture had its own story.

Inside the Store, it was what I expected. The floor, which creaked when you entered, was covered with worn linoleum, large black and white squares. It would have been fashionable in the 1950s I guess. There were shelves stacked with all sorts of goods from stationery to small hardware items, as you would expect in a General Store. The large refrigerated cabinets contained a full range of soft drinks, and an even larger freezer was well stocked with every kind of ice cream and icy pole available. There were four simple wooden tables with lino on the top, each table with its own set of four farmhouse wooden chairs, painted cream. Also there was a large wine barrel used as an occasional table with three black comfortable vinyl lounge chairs around it. Admittedly two of the black chairs had their stuffing poking out here and there.

As I approached the counter I was surprised to say the least. The glass cabinet was stocked generously with wonderful gourmet pastries. All sorts of pies, pasties, sausage rolls, plus really good cakes, like vanilla slices, carrot cakes, lemon tarts, fruit muffins and flourless orange cakes. It passed through my mind that the people who had chosen to transform this dear old K. G. Store really knew what they were doing. I realised that there were quite a few customers asking for cappuccinos. Yes, they had a large coffee machine, and two attractive young ladies were run off their feet keeping up with the demand. So I was tempted to have my first cappuccino at the K. G. Store.

 

That was three years ago and my life changed from that moment on. Let me tell you, since then there has hardly been a day gone by when I haven’t bought my daily coffee from the Store.

What I discovered was that Bill, which is the nickname of the delightful young Lebanese man who runs the store, had learned a lot about coffee whilst working in Lygon Street, and it was his specialty to have good coffee. Now that I am retired and have more time to reflect, I often choose to sit in one of the worn old chairs at the Store and read a good book, whilst savouring my coffee out of a large white porcelain mug. Sitting there absorbing the ambience, often I feel as if I have been transported back in time to the rustic cosiness of a farmhouse kitchen many years ago. When I look around me I see how Bill and his family have appreciated all the old sepia photographs that must have come with the Store. A selected few have been somehow embossed onto the original old sash-style windows to further enhance its charm.

Nancy makes the best coffee. Old Harry is busy making sandwiches and wraps. Georgia and Mel are there at the weekends, and sometimes Bill’s lovely young wife Garda helps out behind the counter. They have a cheerful greeting for everyone who enters, and it is a joy to feel as if you are part of what makes their family business work. Locals, tradies, truck drivers, mothers dropping off kids to school, everyone becomes a regular customer and feels a sense of belonging. When I was a little girl growing up in the 1950s, I remember the shopkeepers really knowing who you were, and life was just like one big extended family.

As I sat there again today enjoying my caffeine boost, I felt that there were many stories that this humble old General Store could tell. Perhaps I will let her walls and windows and floorboards enter into my imagination and see what unfolds.

This is just the beginning.

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