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(0)Clarke
In a small country town in central Gippsland, the only doctor, Don Wilson, a widower for ten years, lives alone. Deemed a trifle eccentric, but loved and respected by all living in Wallaby Creek.
Small things, like his driving a forty-five-year-old MG he had bought new, named Rocinante; that, and playing the cello in the stillness of the bush evenings, maintained the image.
It was a time when small independent communities were being
...A story of two worlds, separated not only by light years but doomed to be always apart socially. The advanced race, though identical to the other, lives in fear. Not fear of extermination but of infection. The infection is sin.
Our own history tells us that the mixing of religious dogma is fraught with peril. Getting folk to listen to a concept little different to the one they subscribe to, never seems to end well.
Imagine the problem
...A thousand hearts stopped beating. The orchestra grinds to a halt. A furtive glance, and with a shake of the head to the conductor the cello soloist walks off the stage.
A young woman looks at her father, "What is happening dad?"
"All will be well Georgia," he turns to answer, "it's just a broken string."
And so begins our story. Played out not under the bright lights of the Hong Kong stage but in a modest life in South Melbourne,
...In nineteen sixty-four, if you didn't have money, lots of money, university was not for you. If you were the daughter of a struggling wheat farmer then things just went from bad to worse. The bitter truth was that it mattered not you were a brilliant student, you are a girl and girls just don't get to be engineers, especially not at the cutting edge of the scientific world.