Dan Schaumann

Author Archive

Vegetable Marrow

 

A few weeks ago I chanced to pass an antique store in country NSW called Darcy’s Old Wares. I spent the best part of an hour wandering through their many aisles stacked to the brim of aged furniture, toys, appliances, accessories, books, records, when I stumbled across a Sydney-based womens magazine from November 1934 for the bargain price of $5.

Amongst the cheesy romantic fiction, countless recipes for jam, scones & broth, passé adverts for Aeroplane jelly, Bushells tea & haemorrhoid cream, and dated eccentric humour (my favourite joke, although a little morbid, was one that went: “If you please, Mrs Brown, Johnnie’s cap is in the pond.” “Then where is Johnnie?!” asked Mrs Brown. “If you please, he’s under the cap!”), I stumbled across a rather cheerful column entitled:

Fun with the VEGETABLE MARROW

In a previous edition of the magazine, a competition was run where the children of Australia were asked to create a poem about vegetable marrow and mail it in – the grand prize being nationwide publication of the best verses.

I thought the winning entries were so astonishingly innocent yet freakin’ hilarious that I just had to transcribe them for all to see!! So here, I present to you the very best of vegetable marrow poetry, straight from the inkwells & quills of 1930′s Australian youth:

 

Plenty Of Time

Mr Marrow, why not be gay,
On this lovely sunny day?
Mother said you have no need to worry,
For to eat you we are in no hurry.

 - Frances Collins (aged 14), Wodonga, Victoria

 

His Reply

A vegetable marrow was seated on a barrow,
In a pool nearby he studied his reflection.
“And,” said the marrow to a perky little sparrow,
“It’s my taste, not my looks, that’s my perfection.”

- Peggy Rowe, Cunnamulla, Queensland

 

Full Of Mischief

A vegetable marrow in a market basket lay,
His head was full of mischief as he jolted on his way;
He bumped into the carrots, he pinched the onions’ toes,
He knocked a pretty lettuce flat and pulled a cauli’s nose!

- Frank Barnes (aged 10), Casino, NSW

 

Unlucky Move

This is the tale of a vegetable marrow
Who left his bed for a grocer’s barrow,
From there to the saucepan was just a short step-
And the family ate him with relish and “pep!”

- Lynne McGeorge (aged 9), Quilpie, Queensland

 

No Hope!

“Of hope,” signed the marrow,
“There isn’t a glimmer,
For to-morrow my owner
Will have me for dinner!”

- Clare Lee (aged 15), Nanango, Queensland

 

Billy’s Task

Ugh! I don’t like marrow, Peter Pan,
Although I try to eat a spoonful if I can.
If I thought it would bring a Merit Card to me,
I’d eat a bowl of it for tea!

- Billy Howard (aged 9), Fairfield, NSW

 

Not A Dream

I saw a berry, a full yard long,
And plump, with a skin a golden yellow, and strong
As iron, to resist attacks of thrush and sparrow-
A nightmare? No! A vegetable marrow!

- Daphne Corbitt, Ashburton, New Zealand

 

Thought It Funny!

A vegetable marrow was in a show,
He fell upon a fat man’s toe
And laughed, “Ha, ha! He, ha! Ho, ho!”

- Victor Campbell (aged 9), Deniliquin, NSW

 

White Sauce

Oh! vegetable marrow, sweet vegetable marrow,
How beautiful you look to me,
But I like you best when you’re dressed
In white sauce for my tea!

- Betty Shaw (aged 12), Brisbane, Queensland

 

Unwelcome Gift

A vegetable marrow was once sent
To “Monty,” the Office Cat;
“Monty” turned up his snub little nose
And said, “The idea of that!”

- Grace Wilcox (aged 14), Canowindra, NSW

 

Very Tasty

A vegetable marrow is a wonderful dish
If you cut it in halves and cook it like this:
Scoop out the middle, fill with peas and minced steak,
Pop in the oven and for half an hour bake

- Edmund Howard (aged 12), Fairfield, NSW

 

? ? ?

We once grew a vegetable marrow,
It was much to big for my barrow.
Dad cut it in two, and this is quite true-
It was still too big for my barrow!

- Terry Davis (aged 9), Mittagong, NSW

 

---

 

LOLLL how awesome are they! I wish I knew of them 3 years ago when I worked at Abel & Cole, I’d love to have shared them with customers who ordered a butternut squash from me

Of course, I couldn’t go past the opportunity to write a poem myself:

“The vegetable marrow’s a mighty fine food-
I like it a lot” said the bumpkin.
“It’s long and it’s green and it’s tasty when chewed,
It’s very much like a thin pumpkin”

Go on, you know you want to give it a try yourself – you’re more than welcome to leave your own vegetable marrow rhymes in the comments section below!

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The Cytogeneticist

The date was set. Almost six weeks after responding to her ad in the lonely hearts section and countless eager emails later, their meeting had finally been arranged.

He was anxious to find out more about this beauty, a rare speck of gold in an otherwise perpetual congregation of dust.

He couldn’t stop staring at her photo – the one that accentuated her slightly boyish features against devilish femininity. The inked emblem just below her shoulder had him intrigued. The photographer’s choice of angle left much to the imagination. Was it an anchor? A hook? Perhaps a spear? The silver bracelet against her right wrist faded into a mysterious shadow, meeting with the slender fingers of her left hand. Her left arm lay across the silken bedsheets, strategically positioned in a way that hindered the lower view of her necklace and what may otherwise have been classed as a highly suggestive cleavage. Her deep blue eyes stared into his as he imagined how it would feel to hold her and gently brush against her rose lips for the first time.

So far they had only exchanged sentiments in written form, but he yearned to hear her voice. Would it be high-pitched and womanlike, or deep and powerful as per her virile appearance? He was desperate to find out.

She lived only a few miles away from him and had spent the majority of her childhood in this southern London district. She was as captivated by his upbringing in a tropical antipodean climate as he was of hers in cold and wintry surroundings. He thought it cute how she named her puppy after Gonzo, the big-nosed blue character from the Muppets, and he loved the way she hinted how they may one day lay beneath warm covers watching romantic films together. Although his interest in said genre was normally lacking, he honestly couldn’t wait to spend such a night in with his newfound flame.

Above all, the most attractive feature he saw in her was that she was studying cytogenetics.

They had opted to meet for brunch on Monday. With a long weekend in front of him, he spent his Saturday shopping for a new outfit, settling on a pair of bootcut jeans and a dark but elegant shirt to match. He perused a few stores in the hope of finding a small gift to offer his date, but he wasn’t able to find inspiration on this occasion. He decided it best to instead purchase something fresh for her on the morning they were due to share their meal.

Sunday afternoon greeted him with enthusiastic nervousness as he prepared a brief but bright text message confirming their arrangement the following day. He suggested a cosy Croydon cafe he’d attended a few weeks prior and offered a meeting time of 11am. He pressed ‘send’ and he waited excitedly for her response.

He waited some more.

An hour passed, then two. Nothing.

As the day turned to dusk he considered drafting a follow-up message. Could she have cold feet? Perhaps she needed some extra reassurance that this was the right thing to do? He almost felt it appropriate to call, but he didn’t wish to spoil the one and only chance they had of hearing each others voices as well as laying eyes on one another for the first time. Every moment spent without her confirmation only added to his concerned anticipation. By the time dusk turned to night he was sure this whole idea was set to be yet another failure.

Eventually, he heard the familiar beep of his phone and rushed over to check if it was from her.

“Hey hun. So sorry it’s taken so long to reply, but I was rushed to hospital today with kidney pains. I’m drugged up and lonely at the moment, I wish you were here with me. Can we reschedule tomorrow? I’m just not sure when I’ll be able to leave here. Sorry again x”

Shocked at this medical revelation, he replied the only way he knew how.

“That sounds awful honey, I’m so sorry to hear. Are you ok? I wish I could be there for you. I was thinking though, there’s no reason why we still can’t meet tomorrow. How would you feel about having our date by your hospital bed?”

At 11:00 the next morning, he boarded the bus that would lead him to her hospital.

The automatic doors unmasked a reception area reeking of lifelessness and sterility; an ironic observation considering the life-giving function of the venue he was visiting. He made his way to the hospital gift shop, settling upon the brightest box of chocolates he could find, in amongst the disheartening condolence cards, sympathy flowers and personal hygiene accessories. He walked for what seemed like an eternity along a maze of pale green corridors, venturing past wards full of people suffering from all kinds of ailments, and occasionally making way for nurses wheeling distressed patients on their blood-stained bed trolleys.

He reached the division he was looking for and enquired with the head nurse as to where he could locate his companion. She pointed out the general direction of the ward in question, wrongly assuming he knew exactly who it was he was about to visit. Entering the heavily disinfected room, he slowly peered around the curtains of each of the bedspaces until her dreary and drug-fuelled eyes recognised his. Almost six weeks after responding to her ad in the lonely hearts section, they met for the first time at the gynaecology unit of Carshalton hospital.

She lay limp and sullen, her facial features a far cry from the photo he spent much of the past month dreaming of. Her soft, raspy voice lisped hello as she struggled to remain focused on the moment. She declined his offer of a chocolate as he placed the box onto her bedside table, suggesting rather that he savour one on her behalf. He pitied her current state as he unwrapped the turkish delight, surveying this highly compromising situation he had somehow found himself in. She began explaining how she came down with major abdominal cramps early the previous day, but digressed halfway to instead describe the pain she felt in her knuckles, upon recently discovering her ex-fiancé seducing another man in their bed. She had punched a brick wall with all her furious might to release her anger, and in the process, shattered all the bones in her hand. Between her knuckles, her kidneys, and her medicated frame of mind, she appeared entirely oblivious to the fact that this was their inaugural encounter together.

It took another hour of inebriated communication and the insertion of a catheter to drain her fluids before she sorely walked with him to the exit, drip stand lagging behind.

They hugged goodbye… and they never saw each other again.

 

Many years have since passed, and every now and then he reflects upon that fateful morning beside her hospital bed.

Imagine how different life would have been if he’d married a cytogeneticist.

---

This is a true story. It happened in November 2008. I was so bewildered by the situation that I don’t actually remember much of the conversation we had by the bed – aside from the description of how she broke her hand. I know she got out of hospital a few days later but I felt so awkward that I just couldn’t go through with the prospect of seeing her again. I regret that now.

Anyway, it does make me wonder what kind of other crazy first (or last) dates people have been on? Feel free to leave a comment below and share your experiences.

Read the rest of "The Cytogeneticist" »

Barrenjoey Lighthouse

Not long after I moved to Sydney in 2009 I headed up to Palm Beach, famous as the setting for the TV soap Home & Away, and I noticed there was a lighthouse at the top of the Barrenjoey Headlands. I didn’t have time on the day to check it out, but after taking a recent tour of the beautiful Wadjemup Lighthouse on Rottnest Island off the coast of Perth, I was inspired to return to Palm Beach and make the trek up to northern Sydney’s very own towered beacon.

Constructed in 1881 close to the point where the Hawkesbury River meets the ocean, the sandstone lighthouse still remains in operation today, although it has been automated since 1992. It can be accessed by foot via the ‘Smugglers Track’, named so as the location was a popular for said activity in the early 19th century, up until a customs station was constructed in 1843. Currently, the spinning beam of 75,000 candlepower can be seen around 35km out to sea.

Here are some photos I took of my afternoon exploring Barrenjoey Lighthouse and the superb surrounding scenery. If you’re ever in the area, it’s totally worth spending some time up there yourself!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Walczac

I was very happy recently to hear from my Twitter friend, Danuta Muszynska, who had written a translation of my song The Fighter into her native Polish tongue, called Walczac

Please check out her blog, where you can see the lyrics as well as some notes on what inspired her to write the translation. She plans on posting more Polish translations of popular English songs in the future – I’m particularly looking forward to seeing how she translates the songs by her hero Bryan Adams

Her translation as well as the original lyrics are below, and you can listen to the song (the English version, that is!) at the bottom.

Thanks Danuta!

 

Walczac
(© 2011 Danuta Muszynska)

Walka trwa – nieba w sercu z pieklem, ktore widza oczy twe
ogien zgasl – blizne zostawil, leku pragniesz dla duszy jej
i zaprzeczasz – choc sam dzwigasz ciezar ten – odwrocic chcesz los
czysta milosc odzyskac chcesz, ktora dawno ukradlo cos

wytrwale
i przez lzy
ciagle uczysz sie

Czy kolejna godzine spedzisz walac wciaz glowa w ten gruby mur
Czy wolania ktos wyslucha czy uslyszysz gluchy, zimny szum
walczysz – czy zostaniesz, czy porzucisz niebo w sercu-pieklo tu
- jej chlodna cisze i Twoje lzy – dodajac koszmar do jej snow?

I tak walczysz
-z soba wciaz

I tak walczysz
-z soba wciaz

I tak walczysz
-z soba wciaz

I tak walczysz
-z soba wciaz

Czy porzucisz walke – zanim wygrasz ja
Czy poddasz sie pieklu – na niej zalezy ci

Czy porzucisz walke – zanim wygrasz ja
Czy poddasz sie pieklu – na niej zale?y ci
Czy porzucisz walke – zanim wygrasz ja
Czy poddasz sie pieklu – na niej zalezy ci
Czy porzucisz walke – zanim wygrasz ja
Czy poddasz sie pieklu – na niej zalezy ci

 

The Fighter
(© 2010 Dan Schaumann)

Oh the fighter with his heaven in his heart and his hell to behold
His desire is to remedy the scar of the flame to her soul
Oh denier with the heaviness imparted he dreams he could change
Cruel reminders of the innocence of love vs the means to remain

Persevere
Through your tears
Learn your lesson well

Oh the hour, will it speed or will it burn with a laboured old fuse
Not an answer to the plead, a deafly ear and a reason to lose
Oh the fighter will he stay or will he stray far away from his means
All the while through her silence and his tears he will conquer with the thrill of her nightmares

Oh the fighter
Oh the fighter
Oh the fighter
Oh the fighter

Oh the fighter
Oh the fighter
Oh the fighter
Oh the fighter

Oh the fighter will end it before it’s repaired
The fighter surrenders and shows that he cares
The fighter will end it before it’s repaired
The fighter surrenders and shows that he cares

Oh the fighter will end it before it’s repaired
The fighter surrenders and shows that he cares
The fighter will end it before it’s repaired
The fighter surrenders and shows that he cares

 

The Fighter:

 

* The Fighter can be found on Dan’s album, A Thousand Days Beneath The Sun, available now on CD and iTunes.

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Blowflies and spiders

I had an insane dream in the early hours of this morning.

I was at my parents property in north Queensland, standing by the shed to the right of our house if facing from the back yard. Towards the rear peak of the shed was a small hole in the corrugated iron, and through this hole flew an endless stream of flies. Not the annoying little domestic flies you may see stalking the cake crumbs on the kitchen bench that you forgot to clean away – I’m talking massive, monstrous blowflies that you could imagine feeding off wild buffalo carcass in the 45° outback heat. They were the size of bumblebees, and heavy to the point that their overworked wings were having difficulty keeping their bodies afloat in the air.

There would have been thousands of them, possibly even tens of thousands, all appearing out of nowhere from this hole and flying in a relatively straight line towards our house. I followed them for a hundred metres until I arrived at our carport, just to the right of the garage, where I was faced with a scene that any arachnophobe would rather select suicide over. Instead of a car, the area the blowflies were flying right into was full to the brim of thick white spider webs, complete with countless enormous and excited arachnids of all colours and types, their labyrinth of adhesive mesh bringing the journey of the poor flying insects to an abrupt end. Among others, I recognised tarantulas, golden orbs, redbacks, huntsmen, funnel webs, wolf spiders and birdeaters. God knows what else was there.

The spiders would pounce on the flies the very second they found themselves entangled. I could see their fanglike chelicerae penetrate the outer skeleton of every one of the blowflies, the venemous injection killing them on the spot, before cocooning them with their neverending stream of silk to keep them fresh for use as a future meal.

I stood there for a few minutes taking in this scene before me. The combination of spiders, web and blowflies eventually became so thick that I couldn’t see out the other end of the normally car-filled space any longer. It was then that I noticed a strange crawling sensation on my face, as if there was a pitter-patter of tiny feet beginning around my lips and meandering toward my neck. I placed my hand on my face and quickly retracted once I realised tiny, baby spiders were populating my palms. My mouth opened, and out of it vomited a black stream of these diminutive creatures. They had used my stomach as a breeding ground and were now escaping into the world, ready to grow and wreak havoc on any blowfly unlucky enough to cross its path.

And then I died.

* * *

It’s a good thing I’m not scared of spiders huh?

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Faith

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always put my full faith into everything I’ve wanted to accomplish.

It’s strange to explain, but whenever a new goal or ambition enters my heart, I have this deep knowing that the universe will obligingly set everything in place to allow me to fulfil this dream, and that nobody and nothing will hinder me from reaching my destination.

I often notice little ‘synchronicities’ around me when I have one of these goals in focus.

They’re like perfect signs from an external force, greater than I could ever imagine. They encourage me to pursue this path I’m on.

I’ve never had reason to believe I won’t reach the place I want to be.

I know with all my soul that I’ll get there.

And so it has occurred three times so far along this journey of life that I’ve put my full assurance into a particular path being the right one for me to follow.

Each of those three times, there was never a plan B.

There was never a thought put into what might occur if it doesn’t work out.

There was never a hint of doubt, contention, or fear.

There was only ever 100% faith that this path is the right one for me.

Each of those three times, I was just within reach of my destination.

I could see it, I could taste it, I could feel it.

Until reality stepped in the way and obliterated every last one of my hopes and dreams.

It hurts.

It really fucking hurts.

Yet I still go on and repeat the same faithful way of feeling, time and time again.

* * *

Many years ago, I was told that I should give up on faith.

Because with faith comes heartbreak.

With faith comes pain.

With faith comes frustration.

With faith comes inevitable failure.

Give up on faith, and you remain free from hurt.

Success comes as a bonus if you have no expectation.

So just give up.

But you know what I say to that?

No.

* * *

I will never give up on faith.

For without faith, there is no hope.

Without faith, there is no excitement in what is next to come.

Without faith, there is no love.

Without faith, there is no life.

Faith makes me stronger, it’s shaped my life and it makes me who I am.

It’s opened up new opportunities and has taken me to places I may never have otherwise considered.

Despite the pain in my heart from the times I’ve been let down, faith has had an exponential effect on me and I feel nothing but joy and gratitude for coming to this realisation.

It’s an incredible thing to feel.

I pledge that everything I put my heart into from this moment onwards will be accomplished with the utmost of faith.

And I encourage you to do the same.

Know that there is no such thing as failure.

And have faith.

♥

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The day my heart melted

The day my heart melted
It was a Sunday
The sky was a perfect crystal blue
And my eyes caught your smile for the first time

We climbed
Hundreds of stairs we climbed to the top
It’s only from the top that you can fall
And boy, did I fall

Time and distance have this strange way of augmenting reality
I didn’t understand what reality entailed
Until this day

I realised I had only one chance
One single chance in my whole entire life
To ask you the question:

“Is it ok for me to have faith and hold onto this dream, or is it best to let it go and move on?”

I didn’t need to ask to find the answer

As I sit alone in this cold room, all hope of ever feeling those three words has drained from me

Wherever life takes you, please just know there’s somebody out there who does.

x

Look Within

She sits silently in the corner of her room, her chin resting on her knees, arms wrapped tightly around her legs.

The hallway light creeps underneath the closed door and coats a small portion of the otherwise dark carpet with an amber tincture. She traces the glowing contour with her eye from one end to the other and back again. It’s the only thing she sees in this vague world.

The cries from her newborn she no longer perceives. Although aware that the weeping exists, her ears concede and filters it out, leaving nought but the deafening silence of an empty space. Before too long, she feels the consequence of her own cries trickle along her cheek, obliviously wailing in near-perfect unison with her hungry daughter.

She knew he was trouble from the moment she met him. But there was something so appealing about his harsh charisma that she fell blind to his faults. Many of her friends warned her against him, yet she chose to look outside their subjective viewpoints. She so desperately wanted the bad boy.

When she was with him she felt like she was the only woman in the world; the single source of seduction for his prevailing heart. He held her close and whispered her promises she’d only ever dreamed of hearing. She accepted every one of his idealistic words, and in return offered him her soul.

He took her soul. It remains with him to this day.

Seven months after she first shared the news with him, she wonders what she ever did to deserve this outcome. Her pleads for him to return have fallen unnoticed. The endless attempts to contact him have left her with an infinite ache deep within her being. The stories she hears of his forays with other women leaves her nauseous and vulnerable. The guilt-laden memories of the past offer little hope for the future. Tonight, and for the rest of her life as far as her heart is concerned, she remains alone and together with her tiny bundle of joy. The only thing that keeps her going.

As her child’s weeping falls to a dull whimper, so does the sound of her own sobs. Not wishing to unsettle the baby, she fires a piercing scream from her heart to the universe one last time, demanding to know when her stolen spirit will be restored.

Little does she realise, her prayers had already been heard loud and clear.

He was the one who encouraged her to pursue her newfound flame all those months ago, even though he secretly wished for her to be his warmth all along.

He was the one who took her out for coffee when he thought that she could do with a friend to talk to.

He was the one who gave her the little gifts whenever they met to help take her mind off the pain.

He was the one who offered those small words of encouragement when she needed it the most.

He was the one who supported her pregnancy and inspired her to go through with it.

He was the one who reassured her not to give in.

He was the one who made her laugh.

He was the one she least expected.

He was the one who could save her.

Sometimes you need to look within to find the love that you truly deserve.

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Make A Choice

This is a recording I made of one of the most beautiful and inspiring blog posts written by Frauke Heyde.

I connect with these words so much.

Believe in yourself <3

Kirribilli

For nearly two years now I’ve lived in the Sydney suburb of Kirribilli, and I love it.

It’s central yet secluded, quiet yet free from dreariness, clean, colourful, scenic, friendly, and altogether just plain awesome.

Today, I’ve been inspired to write this blog post about my beloved locality. Firstly, my tribute to the gorgeous Lady Gowrie Lookout, and secondly, some snaps I took at this afternoon’s open day at Admiralty House (the official Sydney residence of the Governor General of Australia) and Kirribilli House (the official Sydney residence of the Prime Minister of Australia).

 

Lady Gowrie Lookout

Not long after I moved to area, I went for an afternoon walk past the two Government residences, and ended up at the bottom of a neighbouring lookout named after Lady Gowrie, the wife of the 10th Australian Governor General.

It was there that I noticed a heartfelt couple of lines painted onto the rocks, just a few metres from the shimmering waters edge:

James ♥ Georgie

one year & forever

Where else in the world could you get away with emblazoning your love for all to see on the outer walls of the Prime Minister’s residence? James & Georgie’s tale inspired me, and together with my penchant for songs about Australian locations, I couldn’t help but write one about it.

This is a video I made recently to accompany the tune, featuring scenes from around Kirribilli and the lookout itself. It’s even a finalist in this years SydneyVision song contest! I hope you like it:

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MEbw_7CWn78

(if you happen to know who James & Georgie are, please let them know somebody has written a song about them!)

 

Admiralty & Kirribilli House Open Day

I was up fairly early this morning and went for a stroll toward the lookout, to sit at the park bench overlooking the harbour and read the paper. I noticed a number of people were queuing up outside the gates of Admiralty House, and it soon dawned on me that today was the annual open day, put on by the Australiana Fund.

I collected my camera from home and returned to the open day where I spent a good part of the morning exploring the normally-concealed gardens. Unfortunately photography wasn’t allowed inside either of the houses, but there was still plenty to capture outside their walls.

After two years of wondering what lay behind the heavily-secured boundaries, this is some of what I had the pleasure of seeing today:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Isn’t Kirribilli beautiful?

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