Beltane

I an in a rather philosophical mood this evening. There is a full moon tomorrow and a quarter day straight after. It seems a good time to take stock. What have celestial events to do with my suburban world?

The 31st of this month is Beltane Eve in our hemisphere - the light festival that marks the start of  summer. At this quarter day the Sun has reached adulthood and, united with the Earth, brings forth burgeoning growth.

Many cultures have such festivals in this season. I photographed this paisley shawl when I was at Highwic. It encapsulates the story in symbols - from a country that celebrates Diwali at this time.
Traditionally on this night in Europe the hearth was extinguished after the evening meal. It was relit at dawn the next day from the renewed communal fire. The following "May Day" celebrations could get a little racey. Maybe that is why Beltane is the only festival not appropriated into the Christian calendar - just a bit too earthy?

I'm all for a party, but to me a hackneyed reconstruction of a past culture is an empty ritual- unless it can be charged with some meaningful intent. What is there about Beltane or Diwali that resonates in our own age?
In our time we are at last free to arrive at  personal understanding without restraint of rigid orthodoxy. We are free to create our own rituals and call them routines.
But I am wary. Doing the same thing over and over leads inevitably to the same results. This could be a good time to spice up the stale habits and toss the empty ones away.
Which is where I get to philosphy of sorts.
As mature adults we have ideally learned to balance our instincts and our aspirations -combining spiritual intelligence and life force in an abundant life. There is an element of service to Beltane which implies Wholeness is both magnetic like the Earth and radiant like the Sun- and every individual hearth or heart counts in creating a healthy community.

So - three things I wish for you friend: Light, Love and Abundant Life Force throughout the year.


Today I include an extra big chunk of the story - the rest of Chapter 6. My thanks for your patience while I was away from my desk these last couple of weeks.

Drawing from Life Chapter 6 Continues:

Bill had a good run, that first day on the road. Reaching Whangarei about one in the afternoon he left the car at the motel and ambled about until he found himself at an old Hotel. He had a cold beer there and a tired ham sandwich left over from the earlier lunch trade. It was deathly quiet, with only a couple of pensioners for company, but he sat there for an hour or so thinking. Back at the motel he flopped down on the bed and fell asleep. It surprised him when he woke to find it was just before seven. He had been aware of irritation but not tiredness. 

It was getting late when he emailed Philip. After advising his whereabouts and immediate plans, which were few, he mentioned how he might look at buying a place out of town. The idea had only come to him as he was eating dinner.  Any way the scheme sounded good so he spent a bit of time surfing the real estate sites to see if anything appealed.

The next day Bill checked out, shopped for food and drawing gear and then took the road out to the Heads. He had his wet suit in the boot so he took the chance for a swim at Parua Bay. Afterwards he sketched a bit on the beach, so it was late morning by the time he was heading back to Kamo.

He was driving at a steady rate when the back left tyre blew. Managing to stay on the road he limped to a wide driveway a few metres ahead where he could stop clear of the open road. When he climbed out he noticed a wooden sign above his head, swinging from a T-bar post. The legend read Antiques and Collectibles but he could see no one about. He figured he wouldn’t be in the way if he used the drive to put on the spare. He was smiling to himself, despite the inconvenience of it all. It was a good while since he had done enough driving to be in this situation. He whistled an old Armstrong standard as he fiddled about getting the car jacked up and the mess off the back wheel, replacing it with a spacer he found in the boot. So long as he made Paihia tonight he would be happy.

He about to tighten the last two nuts when he saw a chap coming down the drive from the house. The thought that he may have been under surveillance made him chuckle because he hadn’t dressed for company. His damp hair was pulled back in a rough pony tail and his dark sleeveless T shirt left part of his dragon tattoo showing on his left shoulder. Standing up as the homeowner came nearer, Bill stepped forward to shake the offered hand. The man was about his age, fit and solidly built.

“Niven Marsh.” The man had a pleasant manner and Bill decided he had come to be sociable rather than clear the property of vagrants.

“Bill Egan. I won’t be much longer.”

Niven leaned comfortably against the car “Oh, no problem, we’re closed anyway, until October. Just do the weekends, you know.”

Bill didn’t know, but he could imagine the off season at the Heads would be pretty quiet.

The man was looking skeptically at the wheel. “Come from Auckland eh? Those spacer things are only good for getting out of the mall car park.”

Bill knelt down and finished the job, seeing his visitor was in no hurry to get away. They had a brief chat about Bill’s travel plans as he stowed the tools away again and let the car down off the jack.

Niven said “The missus sent me to let you know we were having a cuppa on the porch if you want to join us.”

Bill threw the jack in the boot with the rest. Accepting gratefully he cast a doubtful look at his black hands. That made Niven snort and grin. “She’s seen worse. You can clean up under her supervision.” Bill had some misgivings as he followed his host up the drive to the white bungalow set back a good way from the road. He needn’t have worried. Niven’s wife, Beryl, was a hyperactive- seeming woman, but very friendly. She had a surprisingly warm smile that lit up her square freckled features when she laughed.

Bill and Niven were soon ensconced in cane armchairs on the front verandah, chatting about changes in the North. Bill explained how it was ten years ago that he was last up this way. Beryl was working at a table just off the verandah, in what looked like a stock room. She told him she was preparing for an antiques fair in Hamilton at the weekend, which brought them around to the subject of work.

When Niven asked him about his job Bill decided to be candid about it. The guy seemed pretty easy going but he was no fool. Beryl stopped what she was doing to drift out and listen as he told them what he did, or had done, up until last week.

Both husband and wife were genuinely interested in the situation surrounding the redundancies. Bill explained he had deliberately kept clear of the media. He hadn’t even bought a morning paper since the weekend. Niven was able to add a few details he had read in the morning Herald. Another colleague of Bill’s had gone, along with quite a few of the casuals and part timers. Beryl deftly moved the subject to a more general discussion of educational entertainment after that.

In the companionable silence that followed Bill realised he should make noises about going. Niven anticipated him though and enticed him to stay on a bit.

“I’ve got something here you might be able to help me with. I want to get a valuation, hang on- I’ll fetch it.” He went into the house and returned with a leather briefcase.  “Our neighbour Jillian, up the road, her husband died recently of cancer. She’s moving back to town. Her husband was an art teacher for years. He taught at the High School for a long time.” He sat holding the briefcase on his lap as he explained. “Beryl and I dealt with the furniture and ceramics. This stuff in here though”, he jabbed the vinyl case with his finger, “well it’s not in our field.”

Bill started to explain he wasn’t a valuer. Beryl had stepped out on the porch again with three stubbies of draught beer. As she passed them around she explained that she didn’t want to be stumbling around Auckland not knowing what she had, or who to see about it. It was just an opinion they were after.

Niven opened the case and swiveled it towards his visitor relating how the lady had never seen her husband take it out of storage. Bill picked up one of the manila folders. It certainly didn’t look like it had been handled much. There was a sketch book inside the folder and some loose sheets. They were drawing exercises mostly and what looked like some compositions and roughs for a larger work. Bill put them to one side.

Niven handed him the next pile with an apprehensive look on his face. These were mostly small sketches of anatomy – hands, feet, shoulder muscles and some profiles. Possibly they were materials or examples from a classroom situation. Next in the case was another folder. This one was tied with a fraying black ribbon. These were all finished drawings mounted on card. There were some beautiful charcoal sketches which Bill took some time to admire. Niven pointed at one as Bill was holding it. “That’s Jillian I think. And that study of the infant under it would be their eldest boy I’d say.”

Bill knew it was good stuff, not particularly saleable though. He suggested they should go to the son.

Niven pulled out two further folders. One had a bunch of newspaper clippings protruding from it. The other seemed to hold more mounted drawings. Bill opened the last one and froze. He whistled softly. Niven sat forward, pointing at the top drawing. “It’s a cracker isn’t it? That balustrade is a beautiful piece of draftsmanship. What about the girl though eh?”

Bill just stared at the image without answering. It was the upper torso of a young woman. She was leaning against an ornate stone balustrade, supporting herself on her wide spaced arms. Her head was thrown back as if tipped up to the sunlight. The lips were slightly parted and the mouth turned up becomingly at the corners. Her curly hair was long and cascading down her arched back. The figure was drawn with a compelling surety of line, portraying energy and sweeping movement in every curve of the sensuous form. Clearly she was pushing herself off and, in a second, would spin around in laughing delight. The young woman was Rhona.

Bill put the drawing down carefully on the open briefcase, exhaling as he did so. He reached out for a cigarette and lit it before dropping further back in the chair. Niven was looking at him with a sharp expression. Beryl came and sat on the step. Bill noticed husband and wife exchange a quick glance.

Bill leaned forward on his elbows and looked from one to the other. “It’s good but not good. I know the subject.”

Beryl jumped to her feet “See Nev’. I was afraid of this sort of thing.”

Niven ignored her. “There’s about eight more in there. All beauties and all of that one girl. Some society lady is she?”

Bill drew on his cigarette carefully before answering. “Tell me was his name Drago, this mate of yours?”

Niven looked over at his wife disappearing back into the house.

He asked quietly “You know a bit about it do you?” Bill leaned forward and flicked the folder of clippings saying “so would you, if you’ve read that lot.”

 The man was embarrassed now and Bill could see he was wishing he had mentioned the background first without trying to bluff through it.

Niven shrugged. “That’ll be why they came here for a start. I haven’t told Jillian about these yet. I don’t really know what to say.”

Bill just nodded. He was preoccupied trying to think what he could do about it. Unless Niven was careful about how he sold them the whole sorry story would do the rounds all over again. He hardly noticed when Niven left him alone on the verandah. Glancing down he saw that the briefcase was tidied away and just that one drawing of Rhona was left on the table beside him.

When his host came back a few minutes later Bill had come to a decision.  “I’ll buy it – that one of Rhona. I’d rather do that than see it in circulation quite honestly.”

Niven was looking uncomfortable but Bill said “It’s for sentimental reasons shall we say.” He automatically started to dig in his pocket for a business card before he remembered he didn’t have one anymore. He stood up. “I’ll leave you my number ...”

Niven was shaking his head. “Just hold on. You have another beer and I’ll ring Jillian. Then you can have her answer before you go on with your trip. Stay here a minute I’ll be right back.”

Bill paced. He could hear the couple discussing it all in the kitchen. Beryl came out on to with another three beers in her hand.  She told him how much of a shock it had been to her, reading about what had happened at the University. “Jim was such an honourable man, always. I just couldn’t picture him…” She broke off there. They sat outside making small talk about other things until her husband flopped back into his chair.

 Beryl shifted around on the step to face him, asking if Jillian had known about the sketches. Niven applied himself to his beer, taking his time to answer.

“No. She wanted to burn the whole briefcase, and its contents, rather than talk to anyone about the good old days.” Niven shook his head at Beryl’s unasked question. “I’m not going to do that.” He sipped his beer and looked at the floor before he said “I’ll just give you the gist of it Bill – she said you can have the drawing and god help you if you know the subject.” He had more to say obviously. After a moment he went on. “What she had to say about that girl Rhona wasn’t pretty. I was shocked, I honestly was.” He lapsed in to silence a bit longer until Beryl commented that it was reasonable to be still upset about an affair.

Niven blew his cheeks out. “She said he didn’t have an affair with the girl. She said she could have forgiven him if he had.”

Bill understood the woman’s point of view immediately. It surprised him that Beryl didn’t too. She couldn’t see the problem if he was faithful.

Niven shrugged, clearly uncomfortable going into it further. “It was some matter of principle with him. Jillian feels he put that principle before his duty to her and his son.” He gestured to the drawing lying on the table. “Any way that drawing is yours Bill.

He reached over and they shook hands.

Bill stood up and passed Beryl the scrap of paper he had written his contact numbers on asking her to look out for any good treen, early bakelite or wood working tools. “If I’m on holiday I may as well indulge my hobbies.”

Beryl smiled told she knew he was a collector just looking at him coming up the drive.

Niven walked with him down to the car and saw him off.  Bill gave him a wave out the window before he glanced over at the drawing on the passenger seat. The artist had known and loved the subject- that much was obvious. Poor mortal Mrs Drago would have had no show of competing with a girl with that quality about her… a perfect life model.

Even in his own case it was the way Rhona moved when she was animated that had first caught his attention. He suddenly realised she had walked away from him on Saturday without once raising her voice or losing her temper. Was that how she had survived? So why had she made no move to independence? What was she afraid of? It was academic anyway. She was probably back with hubby by now and happily ironing his nasty polyester shirts.

Bill made it to Paihia without any further delays. As soon as he was booked in to his room and settled, he checked his emails. Philip has sent one early that morning to say he had heard of a deceased estate at Waiheke about to come on the market. That was quick work and Bill was intrigued. There were a couple of fuzzy photos attached. The place was one of the original cottages near the water at Oneroa. Bill got up to pour himself a beer and stood over the lap top gazing at the pictures.

Bill had a gut reaction to this property that reminded him of Rhona asking him once about an art purchase. She kept saying “Yes but how did it make you feel. Do you love it or not?” At the time he told her professionals couldn’t rely on feelings. What he hadn’t told her was that when he was younger, working in London, he used to rely on that feeling all the time.

The coincidences attached to this proposal were too noteworthy to ignore. Philip had gone there to see an elderly client who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, come to him about a purchase. This cottage was next door and Phil’ said he just happened to strike up a conversation with the agent on his way back to town. Apparently the property was genuinely in original condition. Philip said he knew Bill had building experience and an interest in historically authentic domestic architecture, so he figured that a restoration project might be what he had in mind.

Standing at the window of his motel room, Bill looked out across the harbour to Russell. He realised he had no intention of going back into the corporate or institutional world.

Originally he had been thinking of buying somewhere in the North, but he had no inclination to sell his Parnell place. He wanted to keep a base in town. A property nearer Auckland, but well out of the urban environment could suit him.

Returning to the table Bill typed his reply. It probably qualified as financial lunacy but he decided to go ahead. He described the figure and terms he had in mind, adding that he would return to town in the next couple of days unless his presence was required sooner. That done he relaxed. Philip could be trusted absolutely.