From Fireburn
A gleam moving through the ground floor of the great house caught her eye, and Ivy supposed the new master was going to his bride's bedroom. A tremor trickled down her back and she hoped Emiline's misgivings were misplaced, that when everything settled, the plantation would once again run smoothly. Why then did she feel so jittery?
Ivy shivered again - like a nest of ants had crawled right over her. But she'd had the shivers all day, as well as being hot. Hastening her step Ivy went inside, pausing when she heard a sudden sharp cry. It didn't sound like a bat. She hurried along the corridor and closed her door quietly, hoping all was well upstairs.
"There is tenderness and pathos, a rich descriptive seam and a credible and atmospheric use of the Crucian dialect. But for me, it was the deft plot and cleverly woven narrative that impressed the most. A cracking and hugely satisfying read."
Jack Scott, Perking the Pansies
"A compelling, meticulously researched novel"
Berndette Nason, Tea in Tripoli
A gleam moving through the ground floor of the great house caught her eye, and Ivy supposed the new master was going to his bride's bedroom. A tremor trickled down her back and she hoped Emiline's misgivings were misplaced, that when everything settled, the plantation would once again run smoothly. Why then did she feel so jittery?
Ivy shivered again - like a nest of ants had crawled right over her. But she'd had the shivers all day, as well as being hot. Hastening her step Ivy went inside, pausing when she heard a sudden sharp cry. It didn't sound like a bat. She hurried along the corridor and closed her door quietly, hoping all was well upstairs.
"There is tenderness and pathos, a rich descriptive seam and a credible and atmospheric use of the Crucian dialect. But for me, it was the deft plot and cleverly woven narrative that impressed the most. A cracking and hugely satisfying read."
Jack Scott, Perking the Pansies
"A compelling, meticulously researched novel"
Berndette Nason, Tea in Tripoli
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I have always loved the beat of drums, swaying bodies and stamping feet. Maybe that's why the Mount Hagen Show in Papua New Guinea fascinated me. Born out of the Australian Government's attempt to sponsor harmony between feuding tribes, ever ready to throw spears across valleys at each other, it had, since its inception in 1964, grown to be a well organized event by 1977. Still not known internationally, it drew local expats as well as many tribes.
The show ground was a melange of color, sounds and clumps of men and women, all milling in their tribes. Men from Tari, deeper in the Western Highlands, wore their distinctive headgear of hair and moss and decorated with red plumes from the Bird of Paradise. With beads and bone encircling their necks, above yellow painted faces with a red line down the nose, sometimes enhanced by a piece of wire poked through the septum, they were startling figures to bump into in the crowds. The men from Chimbu were not so flamboyant, relying more on their reputation, stocky stature and gleaming dark skin to instill terror. Short, plain arse-grasses hung from their waists. The white feathers entwined through vines in their hair contrasted strangely wit the bows, arrows and clubs they carried. From Asaro in the Eastern Highlands came the Mudmen. They wore very little....... "Finally, Apple Gidley has lifted the lid from her genie's bottle to share her global nomad experiences of the last 50 years, across 12 countries. I loved it."
Andrea Martins, Co-founder and Director ExpatWomen |
A Journey of Giraffes Global Living Magazine - Issue 9 November/December 2013
....Life slows and we follow the natural rhythms of nature, rising with the dawn and falling asleep to the snorts of hippos floundering in the river... The bush is atwitter with luminescent sunbirds, bulbuls, and sometimes the plaintive call of the go-away bird. Our days are spent walking, or driving to one of the seven dams on Lissataba, each excursion a smorgasbord that delights the senses. Sunsets are viewed either on the deck listening to the bush settle, smoke from the firepit stroking our nostrils as we huddle in sweaters in the cooling air, or on a craggy rock a short drive away, watching the sun ease behind the African lowveld in a glorious display of violet and tangerine. Then as the bush throws up night-time shadows the Milky Way shimmers above in a cloud of diffused stars. In this wild and natural place we are insignificant...