Launceston

Launceston is a surprisingly interesting place. It had the first electric municipal streetlights in the Southern hemisphere (1895). And the first underground sewer system in Australia – which is still working today. It's got a great range of architectural styles, especially from the 1890s when Hobart was in a depression, but Launceston was riding on Melbourne's coat-tails. Then there's this Gas Board building (a retort I think) from 1930.

A lot of suburbs are low-lying, and they regularly flood. The floods of 1929 were very serious (22 dead) and the photos of it are remarkable. 

And that brings me to what I came here to talk about. One of Australia's great footy grounds, York Park is by the river in Invermay. Across the river is undeveloped floodplain. Heaps of it. So when you look at an aerial photo (this has east at the top), there is nothing, nothing, nothing, fields, the river, a quarry, fields, a road, fields, nothing, the river again, then BAM an established AFL venue. It's odd, no?

Launceston Cup triumph and a well-earned rest.

Soccer season is finally over. We went to Launceston for the weekend, to see Marcus play for the Central Region again. Having lost the Hobart Cup to the Northern representative side, we were keen to see the boys do well and maybe pinch the Launceston Cup in return.

We drove up on Saturday morning, getting there about an hour before the first game. The tournament was on at Churchill Park by the river. It had been raining for a week beforehand, and I thought the grounds would be terrible but they were surprisingly good. The grassed areas around and between the grounds were saturated though - Michael spent a lot of his time paddling.

Saturday was warm and sunny, and watching the first game I was actually very pleased when I found some shade. Central's first game of four was against Northern - and based on previous results, it was essentially a decider. Marcus played again at right-back, and he was very involved right from the start. Every attack from the home team seemed to come down his side, and he was impassable. After soaking up ten minutes of pressure Central struck on the counterattack to go one up. The boys went wild. There is a lot of showboating in the Central U/10s and the goal celebrations are way over the top.

Shortly after there was a 2nd goal, and they went to the break up 2-0. Marcus was dominating, winning a lot of high balls with his head (you don't see that much in U/10s). He was anticipating and cutting off attacks, then holding and carrying the ball up confidently and passing constructively. More goals came, and by the end Central were up about 5-0. It was a great effort all over the park.

Unfortunately Marcus didn't see out the game. Ten minutes from time he went for a 50-50 ball and limped off in pain with a damaged ankle. It was an hour until the next game, and Atef the coach was insistent he would need Marcus, but Marcus wasn't able to put any weight on his leg at all. (Various people later said they thought he was best on ground)

We consulted the St John's ambulance ladies, who gave Marcus a bag of ice and said that he really needed an x-ray. So I piggybacked him to the car and the four of us went looking for the Launceston General. Emergency was not particularly busy, but we were still there a long time. The doctor who unwrapped the bandages winced when he saw the swelling though, but Marcus was cleared of damage and released. We sped back to Churchill Park to let the team know that he was OK, but sadly would not be playing any more that weekend. In his absence they had won a spiteful game against Western Schools 4-2. The Western U/10 coach is a real problem - I believe Central and Eastern Region have put in a joint complaint about his behaviour and his instructions to his team.

After a quick catchup with the team we went across to Joe and Jill's nearby for a cuppa. Their boy William is 5 now, and he and Michael had a whale of a time on the floor doing something with action figures and Lego. Their renovation is 95% finished - they actually have some insulated rooms now, which make a difference in a Launceston winter. We then farewelled them and went off to our billet for the night, with Lindy, Ellen and Tristan in Blackstone Heights. Tristan was delighted to have boys to bounce around with, but Ellen is now in full moody teen mode, and was on Facebook with headphones on for our entire visit.

The kids and Elf read and watched footy while Lindy cooked and I grilled her about everything going on up there. We went to high school and college together and have a lot of mutual friends around, so it was very good to be able to swap news about what they are all up to.

We had decided to stay and support the team rather than making an early departure for home. The first kickoff was at 9.00 so we had to bolt breakfast and get out of there. Sunday was a darker day with all sorts of weather predicted. Joe had lent us a folding chair for Marcus, so he joined the coaching panel on the halfway line while I did my usual stalking up and down the sideline. The goals were not long in coming, and Central had another good win, fortunately with no further injuries.

The last game was played in steadily worsening weather. It was blowing a gale so umbrellas were useless. We had disposable rain capes, which did a good job of keeping most of us dry. The sleeves are very short though, and I had that horrible uncomfortable wet-sleeve feeling until we got home to Hobart. The conditions were dreadful for soccer, and the boys looked very tired, but they won the last game 2-0. Sam scored the second with a header but was too tired to and wet to even celebrate it.

We had to return the chair to Joe, which gave us an excuse to bring our bags in, and change into every dry thing we had remaining. Then we had one more commitment before we left town: visiting Elf's father's old friend Jill Green. Jill was at our wedding but I hadn't seen her since, and I don't think she had met the boys. Her house in Riverside is amazing - she grew up in it. When she was a girl the West Tamar Highway that roars past her door was a dirt road.

Once we had a cuppa with Jill we hopped back in the car, pointed it south and cruised slowly and patiently home though the rain squalls.

Marcus is recovering now very well, and in fact has to be be reminded constantly to go easy on his ankle. It's a shame he missed so much of the tournament, but if he could only play 45 minutes of it, he was certainly there for the 45 minutes that counted.

Chessfest 2010

That rant below about music started out as an account of our day at the chess tournament. South Hobart was represented by Marcus, Avon, Angela and Oscar. We arrived at nine, and after some kerfuffle things got going at tennish. The kids each played nine games (plus a few practice games before hand and at lunchtime) and the whole thing wrapped up around four. It was quite intense.

There were maybe 200 kids involved from all over Tasmania. There are two parallel competitions in the same hall - Open High School and Open Primary. Some of the high school kids were just enormous, quite a bit taller than me, and I am 6 foot. I remember from last year how strange it is to spend a whole day in the same room with kids that age.

Last year South Hobart came 14th of 18 schools, so we certainly weren't going in to it feeling any pressure to perform. I was very pleased with the goals Marcus set for himself and the team - modest improvements on last year. He won 3 games and drew 2 in that tournament.

Yesterday he won his first two, and I think that set him up to enjoy the day, even though he lost the next three. After five rounds Oscar had a win and a draw, and the other three had two wins each - a very even contribution from everyone.

The event was hosted by Launceston Grammar school, the same as last year. My Dad actually attended back in the fifties. Although it is a swanky private school, its located in the working-class suburb of Mowbray. Marcus and I went for a walk in the sun during the lunchbreak, and the difference in culture once we left the gracious grounds was significant. On the corner next to KFC is Dave's Noodles, and just across the road, the Dilligaf Café. Noice.

The school is on a hill, overlooking the broad mudflats and marshes of the Tamar river. It may have many fine qualities but it is not a handsome waterway. Closer in to the city there has been a lot of development around the old river port, with an attempt to work with the maritime theme. I was very amused to see a fine dining restaurant there called Silt. I'm pleased to see they are embracing the unavoidable.

After lunch the team really finished the day off well, getting seven points from a possible 12. Marcus and Oscar improved on their results last year, and Avon and Angela did very well in their first efforts at this level. Although we had an extra player last year, our team score was slightly better this year.

One thing that is ridiculous at all tournaments I've been to is the way the playing rosters are put up. After all matches in a round are completed, the organisers do some calculations, and work out who should play next, and on which table.

Then, in a large hall full of 200 kids ranging in size from tiny Grade 2s girls to lads with beards (who row in the first eight and drive cars) the organisers put up ONE a4 sheet at each end of the hall - often on the doors. Cue the stampede. At one stage I was coming in from outside, and as I opened the door about 20 young people staggered forward into the light, as though magnetically attracted by the roster.

Rather than calming the situation, the organisers then get up on the stage while the smaller and more timid are still trying to get a look at the roster, and say "Get a move on please, the next round will start in 2 minutes! If your opponent has not arrived by then you can start their clock". Cue mild panic attacks and some light shoving.

To their credit the organisers did try to wrap things up quickly this year. We stayed to see the big trophies and medals handed out, then drove home. On the way we stopped at Campbell Town for dinner at a new place called Burger Me. 1/10 for the name but the food was actually very good.

Clicky clicky clicky - that's the sound of a chess tournament

Warning: this is an attempt at an objective report which veers off into hero worship and parental pride overdrive.

Today I attended my first chess tournament, accompanying Marcus and four schoolmates to the State Junior Championships in Launceston. Today was also the school swimming carnival, so many of the more experienced chess players were otherwise engaged with tumble-turns, negative splits and so on. Thus South Hobart fielded an inexperienced but keen team, with one Grade 6er, one Grade 3er and 3 Grade 2s.

We had to get on the road at 7am to make it by the 10.00 registration deadline. Liam from over the hill came with Marcus and I. We breezed in at 9.56 with the rest of our delegation already there and having kittens. (The venue was Launceston Church Grammar School, attended by my Dad in the fifties. I pictured him walking the hallowed halls with young knobbly knees and a straw boater).

The kids had a tough agenda - nine matches each with half an hour off for lunch. The tournament was held in the large hall. Each player was limited to 15 minutes, timed by a special chess clock at each board. After each move a player had to click their side of the clock. The clicking frenzy at the start of each round was amazing, as less thinking time is required for the fairly standard opening moves.

There were 180 players, playing at 90 numbered boards. After each game winners would meet a tougher opponent, and losers an easier opponent. Parents were asked to sit around the fringes and not cruise up and down around the boards. This was made difficult by the sheer number of stackable chairs that had been left in the hall. It probably seats about 800; - 180 chairs were in use, leaving many, many piles of chairs around the perimeter. Some of us hovered awkwardly for the whole day, others took the hint and went to explore the cosmopolitan joys of the Mowbray area.

Marcus started strongly, with two wins and two draws from his first five games. A draw is worth half a point, a win worth one. He had his heart set on getting 5 points. Angus, our elder statesman, also had 3 points from 5 games. I think at that stage we were 12th out of 16 schools.

After lunch Marcus only picked up one point from his last 4 games, finishing with 4. Angus finished strongly with 3 wins from the last 4 games for a total of 6 points. Lachie, Oscar and Liam scored 3, 2·5 and 0·5. In the end we were 14th. Liam played nine games, without a win, but was never disheartened or gave less than his best - I was really proud of all the boys.

Marcus was initially disappointed to fall short of his last tournament score. I pointed out that he was playing today at a higher level, against the best in the state, from all primary grades. Beating three of them was a fantastic effort. All nine opponents are rated above him. By the end of the day Marcus' rating was up 24 points to 715, which puts him in the top 20 seven year olds in the national Chess Kids database. Er ... once I put him in the database that is.

Out on the tear with a cardboard Richo

I dashed off on Saturday afternoon to Launceston to attend Joe Crawford's 40th birthday. Joe and I go back to about grade 8. I caught a ride up with Ado, Pete Wilson (No. 1) and Olly, who I have variously seen not much, hardly and not at all in the last five years. We had a good trip up the Midland Highway, although it was squeezy in the back as for some reason Ado had left Jordy's child seat buckled in there.

When we got to L-Town things were pretty hot and steamy. I met young William Richard Douglas Crawford for the first time, but I think he thought I was part of a dream. He was starfished out on his little blanky to keep cool, and just very slowly opened his eyes and closed them again. Jill whisked him away to a safe place to spend the evening.

Joe had booked out the Cascade HQ downtown. It seems to be the main Launceston office of the Cascade Brewery, with a pub attached, although it is just around the corner from Boags' Esk Brewery, which is confusing. Drinks were paid for until 11. Joe anticipated thirsty hordes coming back to his place, so he had asked a few people coming to stay to bring eskies with them. The house emptied as a posse went to the bottleshop to get stuff to fill the many eskies.

I finally met Pete Wilson (No. 2) for the first time. He was living in Scotland at the time of Joe and Jill's wedding in 2002, and was to be Best Man, but couldn't make it as his wife was unwell. I stood in as Second-Best Man. I said something about this to the nice blonde lady he was with. She pointed out that that wasn't her, that was his nasty wife, who he can hardly bring himself to discuss, and the missing-the-wedding thing was the last straw. He is now with Nancy, who is French Canadian.

The party was grand. I had travelled light on the assumption that no-one would care if I rocked up in shorts and sandals, and I was right. It stayed warm and humid throughout the night, and I spent much of it out leaning on a railing with the smokers and the more outdoorsy non-smokers. Joe was circling, urging people to down the grog he had paid for, as he saw the 11.00 curfew as a "bet-you-can't-get-your-money's-worth" challenge. Older and generally wiser than before, most of us were drinking beer keenly, but drinking water as if we were landed fish.

Two of the guests were lifesize cardboard cutouts of a young Matthew "Richo" Richardson. They were ritually abused by the generally non-Richmond supporting crowd. Even long suffering Tiger fans like Joe and I found ourselves turning on him after a few hours and berating him for his kicking style, poor body language on field and narcissistic habit of watching himself on the big screen.

Joe ruined his prospects of pulling in eager drinkers at his place, by insisting everyone traipse over to another pub at kick-out time of the first one. Apart from we six who were staying the night and Joe himself, only about 3 or 4 others showed up. One of the Richos had his head ripped off at the second pub, and the other one was badly karate-kicked about the gonads.

After borrowing Sal's sleeping bag I had left it behind, as I couldn't imagine myself wanting to get into it at the end of such a hot day. I lay on a couch and had about one hour of sleep, in cumulative five-minute bursts. Ranald, one of Joe's dogs, was trying to get between me and the back of the couch most of the night.

In the morning I got on the go before any signs of a recovery session started. I felt that the beer in the eskies would be calling out to everyone by about twelve, especially as the last day of the test match was going to be unfolding on telly all afternoon. I hiked into town and caught the Redline bus home.

It's different up north

We drove to Launceston on Friday evening, to stay with Lynn and Scott, and their kids Isobel and Tom. The aim was to visit famous TV vet Dr Harry at his hobby farm on Saturday.

On the way up we were diverted into a paddock by a fatal accident, between Tunbridge and Ross. All heavy vehicles were lined up along the highway waiting for the road to be cleared. We happened along about four hours after the smash, so there were many, many trucks and buses. After seeing the wreckage were were astonished to hear there were survivors.

We were late into Launceston, and dismayed to find no-one at home at Lynn's. We had rung ahead to warn of our delay - we were all going to just head to McDonalds to get dinner into the kids, then get something more sophisticated later. We dithered around Launceston for a while looking for Maccas, and by the time we found it and drove through we had a call from Lynn inviting us back to try again.

It was great to see them all after quite a long time. Lindy and Sam and their kids Ellen and Tristan were there too. Michael threw himself straight into the fray, and could be glimpsed dancing around like a loon with the big girls and Tristan. Marcus and Tom did diligent jigsaw and Lego work together but separately. They gradually warmed up, to the extent that when our boys, Tom and Isobel were put to bed all in Isobel's room at about ten, they talked until midnight.



Meanwhile grown-ups had Thai takeaway and also rabbited on until midnight - a late night for Elf and I. It was wonderful to be with old friends. Lynn has amazing and depressing stories from the front line of teaching in Launceston's toughest suburbs. She is teaching kids whose parents she taught in primary school seven years ago. Lynn says if South Hobart Primary (about 140 students) was in Launceston it would have been merged long ago. State schools up there are fewer and bigger. Some are favoured with good maintenance and funding, some are not.

Our boys woke at six as usual, and woke Tom and Isobel. They all played nicely for an hour or so before they required us - we hauled ourselves up off the air mattress and addressed breakfast and clothes. The kids were great all together, and we just wish there was a good way to get them together more often. Launceston and Hobart are not really so far apart, but there have been so many accidents on that road lately, it's becoming a bit of a barrier.

After breakfast we headed out to Harry's, at Relbia, about 20 minutes from town. Very parched country, divided up by parched hawthorn hedges. The man himself greeted us, with a weird Madonna-style clip on microphone strapped to the trademark cloth cap. He started by telling us about the effects of the drought, the worst in the area in 150 years. He was pretty engaging. He started by showing us his ponies and thoroughbreds. One of the latter had a little shadecloth arrangement over his eyes, which he wears for about eight months of the year to prevent sunburn on his white-blazed nose. Tassie sun is not kind to white or even partly-white horses.




The boys' interest waxed and waned as we moved through the farm, seeing dogs, guinea pigs, rabbits, rats, fancy fowl, cats, turkeys and pigs. In the fowlhouse we had a lecture on incubation, which ended with Harry assisting a little chick to break out of its shell. Marcus was allowed to hold the one-minute-old chick.

In all I would say Harry's is a good investment, at $50 for the family. The tour took about two hours. Harry obviously misses the limelight a little - there was ample time for autographs and photos with the great man. The Clucky Chook Cafe where the tour ended may have had lovely food but the staff need to learn to smile and spend less time on their hair.

As we drove back to town we came upon a small roadside grass fire. Some people on a fat motorbike who had recently passed us heading the other way, either lit it themselves or must have sailed past and ignored it. Lynn and Scott and I all stomped on it until it seemed to be out. I noted a fish shop in Kings Meadows was selling Saw Shark.

We had lunch back at Lynn's, and the kids got down to some more intensive fun. Marcus and Tom sat on stools at the breakfast bar to eat, and looked like old blokes in a pub, nattering away. It was very sad to have to drag the boys away, but we wanted to drive home in daylight as much as possible. Michael cried and Tom (in his Superman costume) responded with a spontaneous hug.

The drive home was pretty uneventful. There are beautiful splashes of gold around the midlands at present, especially along the (dry) riverbeds. Rain started falling as we came in sight of Hobart, and continued through the day today, so hopefully it is falling on Harry too.

Lovely day out in Launceston

Jeff Blake and I went up to see the Tigers play Hawthorn in Launceston. They were overwhelming favourites, not something we have been able to boast very often in the last 20 years. It was a "danger game" - a phrase I have personally never used about a Richmond fixture before. But we were pretty sure we'd be singing the club song all the way back down the Midland Highway.

We were wrong. The Tiges didn't turn up to play. Even the warm-up was woeful. They trailed all day and went down by about six goals. We had fun all the same. We hooked up with my mate Joe and his wife Jill, it was a perfect day and Joe even had a beer tab he shared with us. (Lights Elf, all lights).

The only downer was Jeff decided the Hawks club song was kind of catchy, and kept breaking into it all the way home to Hobart.