The Umbrella's Shade and Other Award-winning Stories from the Stringybark Short Story Award
By David Vernon
()
About this ebook
" Bubbling hot fudge breathes chocolate and caramel steam. Quivering white marshmallows nestle in dunes of crispy roasted coconut. Smooth layers of pink and white coconut ice settle beside transparent Turkish Delights, dusted with icing sugar. We arrange them in cardboard boxes, each lined with a paper doily."
— from 'Last Post' by Joanna Capelle
"His was an elegantly compelling courtship, a steady acquisition of herself that she was hardly conscious of. Her younger suitors had brashly assumed she would be grateful for their lusty attention, but not him. He knew the value of sweet flattery and honest admiration, of singing her praises openly until she could hear no other voice but his."
— from 'Black and White' by Kerry Cameron).
"Nowadays there were several varieties of lettuce on display at the greengrocery, long leaved, short leaved, frilly leaved and some that looked like seaweed. This one looked exactly like the ones his mother used to buy to put on his cheese and vegemite sandwiches, but his mother’s lettuces never said anything important to him, in fact they never spoke to him at all, not even telepathically."
— from 'The End is Nigh' by Raymond Southwell.
This unique anthology brings together 27 short stories from established and first-time writers. The themes are many and varied. They are united by a common passion and curiosity for exploring the Australian character and how Australia’s big, broad land affects those who live here. Dip your toe in and sample the very best entries in the Stringybark Short Story Award 2010 as selected by David Vernon, Gina Meyers and Andrew Perry.
David Vernon
I am a freelance writer and editor. I am father of two boys. For the last few years I have focussed my writing interest on chronicling women and men’s experience of childbirth and promoting better support for pregnant women and their partners. Recently, for a change of pace, I am writing two Australian history books. In 2014 I was elected Chair of the ACT Writers Centre.In 2010 I established the Stringybark Short Story Awards to promote the short story as a literary form.
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The Umbrella's Shade and Other Award-winning Stories from the Stringybark Short Story Award - David Vernon
The Umbrella’s
Shade
And other award-winning stories from the
Stringybark Short Story Award
Edited by
David Vernon
Selected by
Gina Meyers, Andrew Perry
and
David Vernon
Published by Stringybark Publishing
PO Box 464, Hall, ACT 2618, Australia
http://www.stringybarkstories.net
Smashwords Edition
Copyright: This revised collection, David Vernon, 2018
Copyright: Individual stories, the authors, various.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors and the editor.
Table of Contents
Introduction — David Vernon
Letting Go — Paula Wilson
Same Old — Jess Clarence
The Masked Transformer — Kurt Ulmer
The Footsnake Story — Gayle Beveridge
Gastropodia (A Tale of Horror) — Athol Henry
Cy — Ted Witham
Running Out of Time — Rebecca Raisin
Long Road — Mavis Stucci
Swollen — Camilla Walker
Last Post — Joanna Capelle
The Umbrella’s Shade — Jane Delahey
Crocodile Creek — Meg Mundell
Violet and the Opera — Jeanette Fegan
A Stolen Childhood — Kurt Ulmer
Passing — Steven Ross
Reading the Water — Beverley Lello
Black and White — Kerry Cameron
Mrs White — Pamela Tatt
Sheila — Carol Price
The Datsun — Dominic Counahan
Cockatoo Gran — Karen Crofts
Ted — Julian Howard
Monsoon 1962 — Jack Sturgess
Rainbow Letter — Robyn Sykes
The Draft — Sarah Fraser
That’s Fair — MJ Cope
The End is Nigh — Raymond Southall
The Stringybark Short Story Award 2010 Winners
About the Judges
Introduction — David Vernon
For as long as I can remember I have loved short stories. As a writer there is something enticing about capturing a slice of life in an evocative way with few words. There is little time to build rapport with the reader, acquaint them with the quirks of one’s characters and their surroundings before ‘bang’ the story is over. Oh, and in that short span one also has to entertain the reader. What a challenging task!
Judging by the wonderful response to the inaugural Stringybark Short Story Award, this challenge is one that many writers take up with enthusiasm. The judges settled down to the pleasurable enterprise of reading 159 stories. And what a varied selection of high quality stories we read! From these 159 stories we have chosen 27 to showcase in this anthology. Some of the authors presented here are already successful published authors. Others are on well on their way and some have just started writing.
The writers were invited to write up to 1400 words on any subject as long as it reflected the nature of Australia or Australians. Judging was rigorous, with each story rated against six weighted criteria. This felt very scientific and we were confident that our mathematical formulae would lead to the best story ascending robotically to the top of the pile. But of course, literature, by its very nature, inspires different responses from different people. The three judges had three different short lists and thus whilst our rigour had weaned out stories that did not quite make the cut, we were still left with over fifty that we needed to debate. There were many stories that were in all three lists and this gave us our winners (after considerable discussion and too many glasses of wine). But what of the others? There were gems here that needed to be published but which ones we could not agree upon with ease.
This could have been a weakness in our judging process. But I don’t think so. Australians like to consider themselves individualists and therefore what we are presenting to you in this book reflects the very nature of Australians themselves. I am certain that amongst this collection of diverse stories you will find ones that make you smile, cry and think — all signs of an excellent short story.
I hope that this volume is the first of a series of books that showcase Australia’s rich writing talent. Thank you to all those who entered a story. If your story was not included, I hope to see a story of yours in the next volume — keep writing! Please visit www.stringybarkstories.net and see what tempting literary morsels we have awaiting you.
David Vernon
Stringybark
March 2011
Letting Go — Paula Wilson
Julie drove the battered ute, once white now a dirty orange, into the drive churning up a storm of dust. She pulled the door handle while simultaneously kicking the door. It shot open and she climbed out into the orange air trying not to breath too deeply.
The wooden gate was held shut by a leather strap. She slipped it open and as she passed through, an unkempt bush brushed up against her arm leaving yellow blossom particles clinging to her top. A motley black and grey healer ambled up and nudged her leg. She leant down and rubbed his tattered ears feeling new scabby lumps.
You been fighting with Walker’s dog again?
Kel just moaned in appreciation. Is Mum home old fella?
Kel turned and guided her along the path to the side of the house. Flies buzzed around two stainless steel bowls, trying to feast on the hardened remains of the dog’s dinner. Julie stopped, picked up the bowls and placed them on the gully trap; she turned on the tap and filled the bowls with cool water. Kel whined at the door so she left the bowls to soak.
It was hot inside; the air conditioner was silent. Mum refused to use it even though Julie had had it installed last summer when the temperature topped forty for five days in a row. If God wants us to be cool he’ll drop the temperature.
Julie retorted with Then why did he give us the knowledge to make air conditioners?
Didn’t do any good. Julie had not witnessed it in operation, yet sometimes she had her suspicions that Mum sneaked it on when no one was around. One day she would catch her out.
Hey Mum it’s me.
No answer.
Julie looked around the lounge. Something was different but she could not pin down what it was. She stood still, taking in the room. Then it hit her. Dad’s old chair was missing. The one Mum had been threatening to throw out for years, its once green and brown seat covered by an equally old rug that hid its threadbare condition. And then when he died she left it collecting dust in his corner. It was gone. Julie spun in a circle expecting to see it in a new spot. No, it was gone.
Julie felt a sadness in her heart, then relief. She had hoped Mum would move on but it hadn’t happened. She still cooked his favourite meals. Same quantity, the freezer full of rainy day leftovers. Julie went to the kitchen and opened the freezer. It was almost empty. The rainy day meals were gone.
Kel flopped down against her leg. Where is she, old fella?
He just looked up at her with his faded grey eyes, just like Dad’s. They had thought Kel would follow when Dad went but he was still here looking after Mum. A bead of sweat trickled from Julie’s hairline, her t-shirt stuck to her skin, heart smashed around in her chest. She tugged the t-shirt away from her body. Where is she Kel?
The dog lifted his head from the floor at the sound of her raised voice and moaned.
Sorry old fella.
Julie rubbed between his ears. Come on. Take me to Mum.
She opened the door leading out back and went onto the verandah. Kel dragged himself off the cool charcoal tiles and followed.
Hang on a minute.
Julie turned and ran to the lounge. There was one more thing of Dad’s. She went to a glass cabinet. She didn’t need to open the doors. It was not there.
The wooden box. Dad had carved it from Australian Rosewood. So smooth, the stain rubbed in over many weeks. Julie had watched him work in the light of the log fire. Now she understood. And she knew where Mum would be.
Once they were through the gate leading from the back garden Kel ran ahead of her along a vague track. Gum trees defined the line of Matthew’s River, although it was little more than a creek these days. A recently fallen gum lay across the track with its top dipped in the water. She climbed over the smashed limbs, looking as she did, for the old carving. Mum had once said, Your Dad carved our initials in the tree the year we came here.
They were still there, just beneath where a branch had been torn off.
Sitting on a long, low, sand coloured rock Mum looked out over the river. Kel lay at her feet. The rock formed a natural bench and her parents had made all the great decisions of their life together sitting on it. Mum’s hard worked hands clutched the rosewood box.
Julie sat down next to her, reached over and ran her fingers over the box feeling its smoothness.
Tree came down last night.
Yeah it was a nasty wind, thought I’d come and check for any damage,
Julie replied.
Just the tree.
Mum slipped her hand on to Julie’s. I knew you would find me.
They sat quietly. A kookaburra called from over the river. A flock of cockatoos flew noisily over their heads. Jackie lizards scampered amongst the rocks.
Think it’s time to let him go now.
Mum stood up and together they released his ashes to the river.
Paula Wilson spends weekends seeking out pirate treasure and searching for dragons with her two grandsons. She then writes about these adventures for other children to share. When she isn't doing this she is writing short stories for adults, which have been published in a number of anthologies. She also writes an online column featuring Australian women in history.
Same Old — Jess Clarence
To be honest, I reckon it’s all got a tad boring if you know what I mean,
Lucas confessed to one of his mates. Same old, same old. I mean, I proposed the idea of role-playing and the look she gave!
George and Sally laughed as the television show went on to an ad break.
Lucas is a right ol’ devil,
George chortled as he got up to make them both a cup of tea.
It was six-fifteen on a Monday night, the halfway point of their daily ritual of watching Neighbours