An excerpt from “Sunday in New York”

Now available on Amazon at:  https://amzn.to/2H7ALs8

Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.

We met the Blaine’s at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaine’s frequently visited, and had recommended.

Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’.  It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.

It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over.  It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.

Aside from the half frown half-smile, Alison was looking stunning.  It was months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary.  On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to.  She had adored it, and me, for a week or so after.

For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.

She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars got on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds silence, and many more gasps.

Even I had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room.  Once more I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me.  Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others ‘out there’ who were more appealing.

Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight.  She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.

More than once I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”

Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together.  It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement.  Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.

The battle lines were drawn.

Jimmy was looking fashionable, with the permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it.  Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.

The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out she had straightened it.  And took the moment to look deeply into my soul.  It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.

Then it was gone.

I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me.  A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.

When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.”  It was not a question, but a statement.

I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’ but I accepted it with good grace.  Sometimes Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand.  I guessed she was talking about the new job.  “It was supposed to be a secret.”

She smiled widely.  “There are no secrets between Al and I, are there Al?”

I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.

I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al.  I tried it once and was admonished.  But it was interesting her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not.  It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.

Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil.  As I understood it, the Blaine’s were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in.  I didn’t ask if the Blaine’s thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.

And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realized I was looking at both of them.  I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand.  And yet, apparently, Alison did.  I must have missed the memo.

“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”

No secrets.  Her look conveyed something else entirely.

The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us.  It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me.  We were going to need it.

Then, a toast.

To a new job and a new life.

“When did you decide?”  Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.

Alison had a strange expression on her face.  It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind.  Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.

Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realized it would be churlish, even silly if I made a scene.  I knew what I wanted to say.  I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine, or upsetting Alison.  This was not the time or the place.  Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.

Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing.  If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decide there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control.  “It’s the little things.  They all add up until one day …”  I shrugged.  “I guess that one day was today.”

I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real?  Or; I told you he’d come around.

I had no idea the two were so close.

“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me.  I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points.  It was all I could come up with at short notice.

“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted.  “Alison was off to get some study in with one of her friends.”

“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up, and immediately got the ‘shut up you fool’ look, that cut that line of conversation dead.  Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.

It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose.  Care to join me, Al?”

A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend.  “Yes.”

I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation.  I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.

I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.

There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show.  I was quite literally gob-smacked.

I drained my champagne glass gathering some courage and turned to him.  “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up.  You know Alison is doing her law degree.”

He looked startled when he realized I had spoken.  He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed.  Or perhaps it was deliberate.  She’d definitely had some enhancements done.

He dragged his eyes back to me.  “Yes.  Elaine said something or other about it.  But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week.  Perhaps I got it wrong.  I usually do.”

“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.”  I shrugged, as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again.  “This week or next, what does it matter?”

Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart.  It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; it was possible she was now telling me lies.  If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?

We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”

“Trouble, I suspect.  Definitely more money, but less time at home.”

“Oh,” raised eyebrows.  Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details.  “You sure you want to do that?”

At last the voice of reason.  “Me?  No.”

“Yet you accepted the job.”

I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him.  Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him.  “Jimmy, between you and me I haven’t as yet decided one way or another.  To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”

“Barclay?”

“My boss.”

“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay that recently moved in the tower a block down from us.  I thought I recognized the name.”

“How did Elaine get the job?”

“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”

“When?”

“A couple of months ago.  Why?”

I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker.  I felt sick, faint, and wanting to die all at the same moment.  “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time.  Too busy with work I expect.  I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”

I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted and I knew I had to keep it together.  I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down.  I sucked in some deep breaths, and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.

And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown.  Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”

Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth.  It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction.  It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.

When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and I.  I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, it didn’t matter.  If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact I took over the dining engagement did.  She knew well enough the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket.  She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.

But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points.  Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine.  She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.

Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly.  I chose to ignore her, and pretend nothing had happened, instead of telling her how much I was enjoying the evening.

She had her ‘secrets’.  I had mine.

At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me.  It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, Jimmy came looking for me.  I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse.  When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was but neither made any comment.

It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which to a large degree it was for the other three.  But I had achieved what I set out to do, and that was to play them at their own game, watching the deception, once I knew there was a deception, as warily as a cat watches its prey.

I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree.  It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.

We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaine’s back to the Upper West Side.  But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer.  She showed concern for my health, asked me what was wrong.  It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.

She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it.  Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.

And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.

It left me confused and lost.

I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.

And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

Sunday In New York

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

Writing a book in 365 days – 344

Day 344

Balancing Ink & Life: How Writers Can Master Their Craft While Taming Distractions

“You can’t write what you don’t know, but you can’t write what you’re not focused on.” – Anonymous

Writing is a solitary art that demands deep concentration, yet writers are also humans with families, jobs, errands, and the ever‑present buzz of notifications. If you’ve ever stared at a blank screen while the dishwasher hums, the dog barks, or the inbox pings, you’re not alone. Below is a practical, battle‑tested roadmap for managing the work‑life tug‑of‑war and carving out a distraction‑free zone where words can flow.


1. Map Out Your Priorities – Then Align Your Schedule

a. Define What You’re Writing For

GoalFrequencyTime NeededDeadline
Draft novel chapter3×/week2 hrsEnd of month
Blog post for client1×/week1 hrWednesday
Personal journalingDaily15 min

Why it works: When the purpose and deadline are crystal clear, you can allocate slots that protect both writing and non‑writing responsibilities.

b. The “Two‑Bucket” Calendar

  • Bucket 1 – Core Writing Blocks: Reserve 2–4 dedicated hours on your most alert days (morning for most, late night for night‑owls).
  • Bucket 2 – Life Obligations: Place meetings, family duties, errands, and “buffer” time here.

Treat the writing bucket like a non‑negotiable meeting with yourself. If a personal event threatens to intrude, move it to Bucket 2 or reschedule—never cancel the writing block.


2. Design a Physical “Write‑Only” Sanctuary

ElementPractical Tips
LocationChoose a spot that’s separate from TV, kitchen, or bedroom. Even a small corner with a desk and a single chair works.
LightingNatural light boosts mood; if that’s impossible, use a daylight‑mimicking lamp (4,000–5,000 K).
ErgonomicsInvest in a supportive chair and keep the monitor at eye level to prevent fatigue.
SignalPut a simple sign (“Writing in progress”) on the door or a colored flag on the desk; it tells others you’re in focus mode.
MinimalismKeep only the essentials: laptop, notebook, pen, a cup of tea. Clutter equals mental clutter.

Pro tip: If you can’t leave home, recreate this “sanctuary” with a portable setup—fold‑out lap desk, noise-cancelling headphones, and a “Do Not Disturb” status on your phone.


3. Shut Out the Digital Noise

  1. Turn Off All Non‑Essential Notifications
    • Use the Do Not Disturb mode on all devices.
    • On Windows/macOS, set Focus Assist or Focus Mode to silence alerts.
    • On iOS/Android, create a custom “Writing” profile that only allows calls from emergency contacts.
  2. Leverage Website Blockers
    • Freedom, Cold Turkey, or the free LeechBlock extension can lock you out of social media, news sites, and even email for the duration of a writing block.
  3. The “30‑Minute Rule” for Email
    • Open email only at the start and end of your day. If something urgent pops up, note it on a “Later” list and return to it after the writing block.
  4. Physical Device Separation
    • Keep your phone in another room or inside a drawer. If you need it for reference, set a timer (e.g., 5 min) and then return it to its “out of sight” spot.

4. Master the Mental Muscle of Focus

a. The Pomodoro‑Plus Method

  1. 25 min writing (single‑task, screen‑only).
  2. 5 min micro‑break (stretch, hydrate, glance away).
  3. After four cycles, take a 15‑20 min longer break (walk, snack).

Why the “plus”? After each Pomodoro, jot a one‑sentence note of where you left off. This “mental bookmark” prevents the brain from trying to remember the plot thread during the break, keeping the next session smoother.

b. The “Pre‑Write Ritual”

  • 5‑minute breathing (inhale 4‑sec, hold 4‑sec, exhale 4‑sec).
  • Sensory cue (light a candle, play a specific instrumental track).
  • Goal statement: “In this session, I will finish the opening dialogue for scene 3.”

Rituals cue your brain that it’s time to shift into creative mode.

c. The “One‑Idea‑Only” Technique

When a stray thought appears (e.g., “Did I lock the front door?”), write it down on a “Distraction Pad” and promise yourself you’ll address it after the current block. The act of externalising the thought releases the mental load.


5. Protect Your Life Outside the Desk

AreaSimple Guardrails
FamilySet a daily “family check‑in” (15 min) to answer questions, then return to writing.
Household choresBatch tasks (laundry, dishes) for evenings or weekends; schedule them like appointments.
Exercise & HealthBlock a 30‑minute workout slot before or after your writing block—movement fuels focus.
Social MediaAllocate specific windows (e.g., 8–9 pm) for scrolling; keep the rest of the day offline.
SleepTreat bedtime as a non‑negotiable meeting; aim for 7–8 hours for optimal cognitive performance.

When your non‑writing life runs on a predictable rhythm, fewer emergencies bleed into your writing time.


6. Real‑World Example: A Day in the Life of a Freelance Novelist

TimeActivity
6:30 amWake, 5‑min breath, coffee, quick 10‑min journal (personal thoughts only).
7:00 amFocus Block #1 – 2 hrs: Draft Chapter 12 (Pomodoro‑Plus).
9:00 am15‑min walk, stretch, check messages (only urgent).
9:30 amFamily Check‑In – 15 min breakfast with partner, kids.
10:00 amAdmin: emails, invoices (30 min).
10:45 amFocus Block #2 – 1.5 hrs: Revise previous scenes.
12:30 pmLunch + offline.
1:30 pmHousehold chores (30 min).
2:00 pmCreative Play – free‑write, brainstorming (45 min).
2:45 pmShort break, snack.
3:00 pmFocus Block #3 – 1 hr: Outline next chapter.
4:00 pmExercise (30 min).
4:45 pmWrap‑up: review notes, set tomorrow’s goal.
5:15 pmFamily time, dinner.
9:30 pmLight reading, unwind.
10:30 pmLights out.

Key takeaways:

  • Writing blocks are front‑loaded when mental energy peaks.
  • Each block is surrounded by a deliberate transition (walk, check‑in) to keep the brain from “bleeding” into other tasks.
  • The day ends with a clear boundary—no screen time after 9 pm to protect sleep.

7. Troubleshooting Common Roadblocks

SymptomQuick Fix
“I’m tired, can’t focus.”Do a 3‑minute power pose (stand tall, shoulders back). It boosts dopamine and can reset alertness.
“The house is noisy.”Invest in a white‑noise app or a pair of noise‑canceling headphones. Create a “quiet signal” (e.g., a door sign) for housemates.
“I keep thinking about tomorrow’s errands.”Write a “Tomorrow List” at the end of today’s block. Offloading the mental checklist reduces anxiety.
“I’m stuck on a paragraph.”Switch to free‑write mode: write anything for 5 minutes about the scene, even nonsense, then return to the stuck spot with fresh eyes.
“My motivation drops after a week.”Revisit your why: Keep a visible reminder (sticky note, vision board) of the bigger purpose—publishing, income, personal growth.

8. The Bottom Line: Discipline + Compassion = Sustainable Writing

  1. Discipline: Treat your writing time as a professional appointment—schedule, guard, and honour it.
  2. Compassion: Accept that life will occasionally intrude. When it does, pause, breathe, and gently return.

When the two coexist, you build a resilient workflow that lets you produce quality prose and enjoy a balanced life.


Ready to Give It a Go?

Start tonight:

  1. Pick a 90‑minute slot tomorrow morning.
  2. Clear your desk, turn on Do Not Disturb, and place a “Writing in Progress” sign.
  3. Write a one‑sentence goal for that session.

Share your experience in the comments—what worked, what needs tweaking. Let’s turn the solitary struggle into a community of focused creators!

Happy writing. ✍️

In a word: Page

We as authors always like to see two little words in every review, page turner.

Alas, sometimes they’re not, but usually this applied to non fiction simple because they’re reference books. Then another two words apply: boat anchor.

The good stuff is usually over the page.

Page in this instance refers to a leaf in a book, which generally has many pages.

Then the is a page boy, not what you’d find lurking around these days but were more common in days past, but refers to a boy in training to become a knight, or an errand boy for a nobleman.

These days a page boy opens doors and runs messages in a hotel.

Another variation is being paged over the P.A. system, always a major cause of embarrassment because you and everyone else thinks your in trouble.

Of course, before there were mobile phones, there were pagers, and sometimes in the deathly silence of the classroom, it went off. Definitely not advisable to have one on you if you are trying to sneak up on someone. Same goes for the modern equivalent, the mobile phone.

For the person who uses a word processor, you are familiar with pages, and having the software generate page numbers, of course, not for the title page, and a different numbering for other pages like an index, before the story starts.

Complicated? Sometimes.

And many years ago a boss of mine often used to say I needed to turn over a new page, and it did make much sense to me. That might have been because I was young and stupid. But, later on I realised what he was really saying was that I needed to turn over a new leaf.

Kind of strange, but then a lot saying are.

And did I?

Eventually.

And just to end on a high note, Paige is also the name of a girl, I think, and one I’ve decided to use in a story.

“The Devil You Don’t”, she was the girl you would not take home to your mother!

Now only $0.99 at https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities, and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.

Suddenly he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.

If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.

At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.

That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.

Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.

newdevilcvr6

Third son of a Duke – The research behind the story – 26

All stories require some form of research, quite often to place a character in a place at a particular time, especially if it is in a historical context. This series will take you through what it was like in 1914 through 1916.

To the City of Sunshine: Melbourne’s Top Five Visitor Destinations in March 1915

A Journey Back to the Great War Era, When Tram Bells Rang and Empire Loyalties Were Paramount.

Modern Melbourne is a vibrant fusion of gleaming skyscrapers, hidden laneway bars, and world-class sporting arenas. But cast your mind back 109 years, to the sweltering late summer of 1915.

Australia was barely 14 years old as a federated nation, and the Great War (the war to end all wars) was dominating civic life. Thousands of young men were training outside the city, preparing for an unknown fate in distant Gallipoli, and Melbourne—the unofficial cultural capital—buzzed with patriotism, anxiety, and a fierce determination to keep life proceeding apace.

If you arrived in Melbourne by steamer or train in March 1915, seeking culture, leisure, or respite, where would a respectable visitor spend their time?

Here are the Top Five essential places to visit, a snapshot of life in the ‘Marvellous Melbourne’ of the Great War era.


1. The Public Library, Museum, and National Gallery (Current State Library Victoria & NGV)

In 1915, these three institutions were housed together in the grand complex on Swanston Street. This was not just a repository of books; it was the intellectual and cultural heart of the Commonwealth.

What You Would See:

  • The Dome: The spectacular octagonal reading room (the famous Domed Reading Room) had opened just ten years earlier and was a stunning architectural wonder. You would see men—and increasingly, women—poring over newspapers and ledgers, often discussing war news in hushed tones.
  • Art & Artifacts: The National Gallery sector displayed works purchased through the burgeoning Felton Bequest, providing access to European masters and important local artists.
  • The Atmosphere: A place of serious contemplation, where city officials mingled with students and researchers, all seeking knowledge away from the intense energy of the streets.

2. The Royal Botanic Gardens and the Shrine’s Future Site

While the magnificent Shrine of Remembrance would not be built until the 1930s, the surrounding area was already one of Melbourne’s most beloved leisure spots.

What You Would See:

  • The Gardens: March was the perfect time for a late-summer promenade. Visitors strolled along the Ornamental Lake, admired the recently established Tropical Glasshouse, and enjoyed picnics beneath the historic elms and oaks that had been growing since the mid-19th century.
  • The People: This was the definitive spot for society to see and be seen. You would observe impeccably dressed ladies in high-necked lace and enormous hats, often accompanied by men in civilian suits or military uniforms on brief leave.
  • Patriotic Displays: On Sundays, it was common to see unofficial gatherings or concerts raising funds for the war effort, turning the scenic grounds into a hub of patriotic activity.

3. The Block Arcade and Bourke Street

The central business district of Melbourne in 1915 was defined by the stunning Victorian and Edwardian architecture of its key retail streets. No spot was more essential for a visitor than the glorious indoor thoroughfare of The Block Arcade.

What You Would See:

  • High Commerce: This was the place to acquire the latest fashions, fine jewellery, and imported delicacies. Shops like Georges and others nearby set the retail standard for the nation.
  • Taking Tea: A visit to The Block was incomplete without taking afternoon tea at the famed Hopetoun Tea Rooms, with its opulent setting and renowned cakes.
  • Tram Life: Bourke Street was the beating heart of the city’s electric tram network, still relatively new. The jingle of the trams was the soundtrack to the busy street, ferrying commuters and shoppers to and from the inner suburbs. The sheer volume of people flowing through this intersection was truly ‘Marvellous Melbourne’ on display.

4. St. Kilda Esplanade and Pier

To escape the grime and tension of the central city, Melbourne residents would take the train or tram south to the seaside suburb of St. Kilda. While not yet the bohemian hub it would become later in the century, St. Kilda offered fresh air and seaside entertainment.

What You Would See:

  • The Pier: St. Kilda Pier was a major destination. Visitors could stroll out over the water, watch fishermen, and perhaps catch a view of the ships coming and going from Port Melbourne, many of which would soon carry troops overseas.
  • The Kiosk: At the end of the pier, a charming, distinctive Kiosk (the current structure is a later replacement) offered simple refreshments and sweeping views of the bay.
  • Luna Park: While the famous Luna Park didn’t open until 1912, it had quickly become a fixture. The exhilarating sights and sounds of the “Big Dipper” and the famous ‘Mr. Moon’ entrance provided a necessary distraction from the looming shadow of the war.

5. Parliament House and Treasury Gardens

In 1915, Melbourne’s Parliament House was still the primary legislative chamber for the newly formed Commonwealth of Australia (Canberra was under construction, not yet operational). This area was the hub of political decision-making.

What You Would See:

  • The Architecture: The massive, imposing structure of Parliament House, with its grand steps, symbolized the youthful power of the Australian government. Given the ongoing war, the discussions within were crucial—debates about conscription, finances, and troop deployments were frequent and heated.
  • The Gardens: Across the street, the stately Treasury Gardens offered a quieter, more formal alternative to the Botanic Gardens. It was a place for political power brokers to hold discrete meetings, or simply for weary citizens to sit and read the latest casualty lists published in the daily paper.
  • The Government Presence: Unlike today, the area was saturated with military staff and government clerks rushing between the various official buildings, underscoring Melbourne’s role as the wartime political capital.

March 1915: A City of Contradictions

Visiting Melbourne in March 1915 was to experience a city operating at full tilt, yet under immense psychological pressure. These five destinations remind us that even as the world prepared for unprecedented conflict, the necessity of culture, leisure, and civic pride remained undeniable.

It was a Melbourne built on certainty and Victorian grandeur, soon to be irrevocably changed by the events of the global conflict that lay just weeks ahead.


Step Into History

What forgotten Melbourne historical site would you most like to visit if you could travel back to 1915? Share your thoughts below!

“Can I help you?” – A short story

I had once said that Grand Central Station, in New York, was large enough that you could get lost in it.  Especially if you were from out of town.

I know, I was from out of town, and though I didn’t quite get lost, back then I had to ask directions to go where I needed to.

It was also an awe-inspiring place, and whenever I had a spare moment, usually at lunchtime, I would go there and just soak in the atmosphere. It was large enough to make a list of places to visit, find, or take a photograph of from some of the more obscure locations.

Today, I was just there to work off a temper. Things had gone badly at work, and even though I hadn’t done anything wrong, I still felt bad about it.

I came in the 42nd Street entrance and went up to the balcony that overlooked the main concourse. A steady stream of people was coming and going, most purposefully, a few were loitering, and several police officers were attempting to move on a vagrant. It was not the first time.

But one person caught my eye, a young woman who had made a circuit of the hall, looked at nearly every destination board, and appeared to be confused. It was the same as I had felt when I first arrived.

Perhaps I could help.

The problem was that a man approaching a woman from out of left field would have a very creepy vibe to it, so it was probably best left alone.

After another half-hour of watching the world go by, I had finally got past the bad mood and headed back to work. I did a wide sweep of the main concourse, perhaps more for the exercise than anything else, and had reached the clock in the centre of the concourse when someone turned suddenly and I crashed into them.

Not badly, like ending up on the floor, but enough for a minor jolt. Of course, it was my fault because I was in another world at that particular moment.

“Oh, I am sorry.” A woman’s voice, very apologetic.

I was momentarily annoyed, then, when I saw who it was, it passed. It was the lost woman I’d seen earlier.

“No. Not your fault, but mine entirely. I have a habit of wandering around with my mind elsewhere.”

Was it fate that we should meet like this?

I noticed she was looking around, much the same as she had before.

“Can I help you?”

“Perhaps you can. There’s supposed to be a bar that dates back to the prohibition era here somewhere. Campbell’s Apartment, or something like that. I was going to ask…”

“Sure. It’s not that hard to find if you know where it is. I’ll take you.”

It made for a good story, especially when I related it to the grandchildren, because the punch line was, “and that’s how I met your grandmother.”


© Charles Heath 2020-2025

The 2am Rant: We’re out in the country

Or almost

When you venture out from the city, particularly, this city, you find yourself among the blocks that run to several acres, allotments that are ideal for keeping a horse or two.

Inner suburban living often runs to high-rise apartment blocks, with no gardens, except perhaps on the roof.

Outer suburban living runs to individual houses on allotments that are from 600 to 2,000 square meters. We have not yet gone into mass building of duplexes or terrace housing because, for the time being, we don’t have the population.

And, this is why you only have to go about 35 kilometres from the centre of the city to be able to buy acreage.

So, we are visiting, and on such a glorious day, it’s a pleasure to sit on the back verandah, spending some time soaking up the sunshine, breathing the country’s fresh air, and letting the inspiration flow into the writing.

It works.

I’ve managed to write another photograph-inspired story, number 151, which will be published on my writing blog in the next day or so.

Also being tackled will be the next episode of PI Walthensen’s second case – nearing 60.

Unfortunately, though, the inspirational location didn’t afford me a title for this new case but it will have the opening three words “A Case Of…’

The rest, I’m sure, will come as the story unfolds.

What I learned about writing – A cat’s life is often better than a writer’s

I can see how it is that a writer’s life is one that, at times, has to be shut off from the outside world.

It’s a bit hard to keep a stream of thoughts going when in one ear is some banal detective show, and in the other, a conversation that you have to keep up with.  I know how hard it is because I’ve tried doing three things at once and failed miserably in all three.

So, out I slink to the writing room and start by re-reading the previous chapters, to get back into the plot.  I should remember where I am and get straight to it, but the devil is in the details.

Going back, quite often I revise, and a plotline is tweaked, and a whole new window is opened.  God, I wish I didn’t do that!

Then I get to the blank page, ready to go, and…

The phone rings.

Damn.  Damn.  Damn.

Phone answered, back to the blank page, no, it’s gone, got to go back, blast, another revision, and back to the blank page.

Half an hour shot to pieces.

The phone rings again.

Blast scam callers.  I nearly rip the cord out of the wall.

All through this, the cat just watches, and is that a knowing smile?

It can’t be, I’ve just learned that cats can’t smile, or make any sort of face.

I’m sure his thoughts are not vague or scrambled, or wrestling with the ploys of several stories on the go, getting locations right, getting characters to think and do their thing with a fair degree of continuity.

The cat’s world is one of which chair to lie on, where is that elusive mouse, be it real or otherwise, and is this fool going to feed me, and please, please, don’t let it be the lasagna.  I am not that cat!

Unlike other professions, it’s a steady, sometimes frustrating, slog where you can’t just walk away, have a great time, and come back and pick up where you left off.  Stories have to be written from beginning to end, not a bit here and a bit there.

It’s a bit like running a marathon.  You are in a zone, the first few miles are the hardest, the middle is just getting the rhythm and breathing under control, and then you hope you get to the end because it can seem that you’ve been going forever, and the end is never in sight.

But, when you reach the end, oh, isn’t the feeling one of pure joy and relief?

Sorry, not there yet.

And no comment is required from the cat gallery, thank you!

Another excerpt from “Strangers We’ve Become” – A sequel to ‘What Sets Us Apart’

It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone.  It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air.  In summer, it was the best time of the day.  When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.

On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’.  This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.

She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable.  The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day.  So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.

It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her.  It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

I sat in my usual corner.  Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner.  There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around.  I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria.  All she did was serve coffee and cake.

When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?”  She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.

“I am this morning.  I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating.  I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise.  I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”

“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me.  I have had a lot worse.  I think she is simply jealous.”

It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be.  “Why?”

“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”

It made sense, even if it was not true.  “Perhaps if I explained…”

Maria shook her head.  “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole.  My grandfather had many expressions, David.  If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her.  Before she goes home.”

Interesting advice.  Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma.  What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?

“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.

“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much.  Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone.  It was an intense conversation.  I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell.  It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”

“It is indeed.  And you’re right.  She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one.  She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office.  Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”

And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful.  She had liked Maria the moment she saw her.  We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived.  I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.

She sighed.  “I am glad I am just a waitress.  Your usual coffee and cake?”

“Yes, please.”

Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.

I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one.  What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.

There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it.  We were still married, just not living together.

This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her.  She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.

It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.

There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd.  She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right.  It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.

But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings.  But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.

Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart.  I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit.  The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.

I knew I was not a priority.  Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.

And finally, there was Alisha.  Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around.  It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties. 

At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata.  Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.

Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.

When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan.  She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores.  We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated.  It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.

It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard.  I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.

She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top.  She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.

Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak.  I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.

Neither spoke nor looked at each other.  I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”

Maria nodded and left.

“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests.  I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence?  All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”

My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.

“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us.  There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”

“Why come at all.  A phone call would have sufficed.”

“I had to see you, talk to you.  At least we have had a chance to do that.  I’m sorry about yesterday.  I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her.  I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”

An apology was the last thing I expected.

“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington.  I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction.  We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”

“You’re not coming with me?”  She sounded disappointed.

“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress.  You are so much better doing your job without me.  I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband.  Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less.  You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it.  I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”

It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement.  Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points.  I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever.  The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.

Then, her expression changed.  “Is that what you want?”

“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways.  But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”

“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”

That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud.  “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan.  You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy.  While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”

“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance.  I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother.  She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right.  Why do you think I gave you such a hard time?  You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously.  But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”

“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”

“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”

“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”

I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead.  Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers.  Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen.  Gianna didn’t like Susan either.

Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her.  She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.

She stood.  “Last chance.”

“Forever?”

She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face.  “Of course not.  I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship.  I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”

I had been trying.  “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan.  I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”

She frowned at me.  “As you wish.”  She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table.  “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home.  Please make it sooner rather than later.  Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”

That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car.  I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.

No kiss, no touch, no looking back. 

© Charles Heath 2018-2025

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