St Marys Creative Writers Group

The St Marys Creative Writers Group was founded in 2001, from a project for local women to record their stories, funded by the NSW Government, Family and Community Services, Community Builders Program.

When the project ended the participants made a decision to continue and the St Marys Creative Writers Group was officialised. Longstanding member and current facilitator, Gayle Barbagallo writes on behalf of the Group in celebrating 15 years of creativity.

I for one am extremely grateful that those ladies kept it going because in 2007, I joined the group and have loved every minute spent in the company of my fellow group members. On the last Friday of each month I know I will be entertained in the nicest possible way as I listen to the various works of this delightfully diverse and talented group. Many members of the group have been successful in having their works published as well as winning various local and international writing competitions. However, I believe being a success in writing is as simple as putting pen to paper and beginning the story. Being published or winning a prize is the icing on the cake, but first you need the cake! I would like to thank all members past and present, for their friendship and contributions over these 15 years; and to all of the staff at the St Marys Corner, Community and Cultural Precinct and participants in this year’s Queens Riches and Textures Project for their support and encouragement.

Gayle Barbagallo

St Marys Creative Writers Group's Submissions

A Place to Call Home

Win smiled as she stirred the cake mixture in a large bowl, it was one of a set of aluminium ones she had bought from a shop in Queen Street, St Marys some forty years ago. The shop was long gone now, replaced by a chemist, but the bowls remained as good as new. St Marys had a village atmosphere then, which, thought Win with a smile, has not diminished over the passage of time. The shopkeepers’ were still friendly and many of them happy to call you by name.

Later that day Win went to the fish shop also in Queen Street, it been in existence even before she came to live in this happy place and they still served the best fish and chips Win had tasted since leaving England, the country of her birth in search of a better life with her beloved Alfie. Alfie was sadly long gone now, but whilst he was alive, he had always bought his clothes from Jim Mills in Queen Street, and bought Win birthday and Christmas gifts from Doves jewellers every year. Most of the little restaurants then had been Chinese ones, and without fail Win and Alfie always had a Chinese take away on a Friday night, it was a ritual they kept up for many years. She was all alone now but the neighbours were very kind and always kept a friendly eye on her, and living in her little house in Phillip Street meant an easy walk to the shops. The community spirit in St Marys reminded Win of the village in Sussex that she had grown up in, the people here are just as caring she thought to herself, and they look out for one another. Win especially loved Christmas because every year the local Council put lights in the trees and Queen Street turned into a magical place at night, all that was missing was a fall of snow which certainly wasn’t likely to happen, but still, you can’t have everything in life she mused!

Win commented regularly to friends and neighbours that the people living in St. Marys were down to earth, hard-working folk, often struggling financially, emotionally and physically to assimilate into a new country, and adapting to the ways of the people in a strange land, and she had said to her neighbour only yesterday, “you know Carol, the warmth of the community spirit here always makes you feel as though you have a warm cloak wrapped around you, it makes you feel safe and secure.” Carol agreed, her daughter Julie lived in an affluent suburb on the North Shore but there was none of the friendliness there, neighbours kept to themselves and rarely spoke except for the odd ‘good morning’, and even after ten years she and her family still felt as though they were strangers in the street.

It was a sunny day with no wind, Win finished her shopping and walked down to a group of creative writers, yes she thought to herself, I might even try making a vase one day soon. A mature gentleman came and sat nearby, he smiled tentatively at Win, “it’s a great day, he said. “Yes,” she replied in her soft voice with a smile, “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” The man opened his arms expansively “We’ve got our swimming centre, shopping centre, library, little cafes, clubs, pubs, medical centres, entertainment and plenty of green spaces all on our doorstep – it doesn’t get any better than that.” Elsie looked down at her hands folded in her lap and sighed, “yes, I agree, we are really lucky to be living in St. Marys!”

The man looked at his watch, it was 10.30am, “I don’t suppose a nice lady like yourself would allow a bloke to buy her a cup of coffee, and my name’s Ted by the way, retired now, the wife passed away three years ago, lost my best mate I did.” Win looked at the man thoughtfully, he was rather distinguished looking and seemed to be about her own age, she smiled shyly at him. “Well, the Rustic Chef cafe is just across the road, and coffee would be nice, but only if you allow me to buy you a muffin to go with it, and my name is Win, well, it’s really Winnifred, but no one ever calls me that these days.” Ted smiled back at her, “Well Winnifred, come along, how about we get to know one another over coffee and muffins.” He held out his hand and helped her to her feet, she felt his large, rough hand enclose her small soft one, then she put her arm through his outstretched one and together they walked over to the traffic lights to cross the road. “Yes” she thought to herself, St Marys is a great place to call home at any age.

Gabrielle Moran OAM

St Marys community members submissions

A St Marys' Lass

Growing up in St Marys, Queen Street to a lot of us was our entertainment. The Crown Theatre, where many a happy time was spent with family and friends at Saturday’s matinee. I can remember the first picture I saw at that Theatre just after it opened. Sir Edmund Hilliary had climbed Mt Everest and a documentary had been made. We were at St Marys’ Public Infants School and were given an excursion to the Crown to see it. We were marched into the building by a side front door and had to sit on the floor right in front of the screen and look up. Since that time I cannot sit any closer than the back row. Another early film I saw there was called Darby O’Gill & the Little People and that really frightened me so much I can remember it to this day. That screaming banshee will stay in my head the rest of my life. It was only in later life that I found out my family came from Ireland and that film has had less of an impact as time goes by.

Once high school came along, it was a place where the latest date was consummated with a kiss in the back row. Anything further than that was definitely frowned upon and not encouraged. Shopping for those first small kitten heels was a pleasure at Fay’s and Flint’s Shoe Shops. The first anticipated bra, sewn by my Grandmother, was made with material bought from Green & Petrich where an Aunty worked. Carson’s Fabrics was also frequented by my Grandmother who was a local dressmaker. Bowman’s Bus Service took us from St Marys to Penrith to shop and hangout as well as watching our St Marys’ football lads up against the Penrith team and to go to the Nepean Theatre in the night-time. Spiro’s was a favourite with us teenagers, especially after the movies. Koning’s Cakes was the place to go for yummy cakes and pies.

The Patricia Salon was my first taste of earning money when my Aunty gave me a job on Saturday mornings in her hairdressing business, and just up Queen Street, her husband, my Uncle, had his barber & tackle shop that is still there and now owned by Guido. My first job at Cuckson’s & Son on Forrester’s Road saw me walking Queen Street to work and home five days a week, then on weekends to catch up with those friendships I still held dear from school. Lammings Store was a treat with lots of great things to spend your pocket money on. Beacroft’s Butchers was on the corner of Queen Street and the Highway and I was happy to buy the meat there for the family dinners. I loved the sawdust on the floor and the big chopping block.

Who can forget all those wonderful Spring Festivals with different floats coming down the street and it is still going strong after all these years. Dad bought our first TV at King & Lewis and Mum frequented St Mary’s Home Improvements, George Purdue and the Home Bazaar shops for the latest in home wares. Because it was more convenient, my mother shopped at Anania & Mercuri Vege’s shop that was closer to our home.

St Marys Mower Centre was the place Dad was happy to shop to help with fixtures for our belligerent mower. Mills Mens’ Wear was the place to buy our school uniforms and Rex’s kept men’s wear up to date, St Marys Radio shop was also frequented by our family and friends. In 1953 Neales’ store was built on the opposite corner to Beacroft’s Butchers and became one of our family favourites. Our old family friend Cliffy Nowland worked there and most likely had his haircut from Mick Codner’s barbershop close by.

When we were sick, it was up to the Renshaw Chambers to see Dr Renshaw and find out what was wrong. I can see my Aunty now, practically running past our house pulling her dilly bag and shouting out a greeting as she went on her daily shop up Queen Street. Lee Driving School taught lots of kids to drive. I have a small recollection of passing the old Bennett Wagon Works before it was pulled down. When trains were taken to visit family and friends, we all walked up and down Queen Street. The St Marys’ train station was the place where our local soldiers came back home from World War One. Each soldier coming home was given a procession down Queen Street to the venue of the family’s choice for a well-earned welcome home reception and a chance to catch up with friends and family not seen, sometimes for the entire four years of that war. The local RSL Hall was just behind Queen Street and was where the old Bowling Club car park is now. Many a local celebration was held in that RSL Hall, including my engagement party in the 1960’s.

I remember also falling over in Queen Street in the 1970’s walking on the pavement. I wore those chunky high-heeled sandals (silly me) and went down a small hole. Luckily I had on a long skirt and my modesty was covered but not the embarrassment on my face. I realised after having been helped up that nothing was broken so I could continue down Queen Street head held high but limping. Coachman’s Park for several years was the gathering place for outdoor entertainment. It was just recently and on a lovely summer’s evening I enjoyed the festivities for the children of the latest Disney film along with a historical photo display of St Mary’s History by Fusion. Even though I am getting on, I enjoyed the film and as I still live in the district. I hope happy memories and the pleasure of walking Queen Street is still to be had.

Lyn Forde

Be Home Before Dark

A childhood memory from growing up in St Marys

I can hear mum now, “be home before dark!” as I’d run off to play. “OK Ma,” I would call back,
but my mind was already racing ahead to the adventure that was waiting for me. At lunchtime,
my school friends and I would talk about building the biggest and best cubby house ever! The
plan was to raid our backyards for any old crate boxes, rope, old fence palings anything really,
the rest we would find in the paddock down near the creek.

It was the beginning of summer, lovely and warm, the grass was green and dry, flowers were
out, and you could hear the hum of bees. I could see my friends down near the creek and they
had already started building the cubby house. Branches had been stacked together sort of like
a tepee, maybe not quite straight but it looked like it wouldn’t fall down.

Everyone was talking at once, but the plan was quite clear to us all, so at that point I joined in
the melee and proudly produced an old piece of tarp. Everyone agreed that it would keep the
rain out, should it rain or it could be used as a wall, or even a floor, the possibilities were endless.
On and on the planning went, there was no hurry as our cubby would take its shape over
the summer months and would finally exhaust itself when the coolness of winter would come.
The sun was getting low and mum’s words I could silently hear, “be home before dark!” and
then all of the sudden I could see it in my friends’ faces that they had heard the same silent call
as well. With a scramble we raced back to our homes yelling out to each other until out of sight.
Huffing and puffing running quickly through the front gate, around the back screaming, “I’m
home!”

Caroline Volkiene

Spring

Cherry blossoms and Eucalyptus,
Flowers bloom, in St Marys.

Tomoko Ward

St Marys

The poem written circa 1920, select and submitted by Norma Thorburn, member of St Marys and District Historial Society

Nine and twenty miles from Sydney
as you go by road or train
there’s a little valley township
St Marys is its name.
Tis built upon the South Creek’s banks
that lively, oak-clad, winding stream
that flows its way through fertile lands
so peaceful and serene.
If you care for landscape scenes
you will surely get your fill
when you look down on that valley
from Church or Quarry Hill.
The town was famed for wool and leather
in the days that have decayed
and the wagons, drays and lorries
the Bennett brothers made.
In that very splendid district
many million bricks were made
In the days now past and gone
when that was quite a trade.
If only Victoria Park could speak
what wondrous tales from it you’d share
about those careless happy days
when it was called The Square
It could tell of all the bullocks
that were roasted on its green
of the glorious games of football
by sportsmen strong and clean.
It could tell of games of cricket
of how the wickets soon did fall
when demon bowlers, Royal and Tolhurst
did send down the ball.
Oft in the Park, I sit and ponder,
underneath the shady trees,
and hear the voices long departed
murmur in the leaves.
I seem to hear their voices calling
seem to see them sitting there,
and to hear the good old yarns they told
on Sundays in The Square.
But soon, now, we old men must follow
of joys and cares we’ve had our fill,
to sleep with friends departed in
the Churchyard on the Hill. 

George Sullivan