Skip to main content

Civilization is a movement and not a condition, a voyage and not a harbour.


Geilston Bay power poles. June 2010.

A short while ago someone asked in the comments to see more of Geilston Bay, here's a start! Here's the view looking south towards the next suburb of Lindisfarne.

Geilston Bay itself is a small suburb of Hobart. Technically, it is located in the City of Clarence located on the Eastern Shore of the Derwent River Estuary. It is a suburb abundant with nature, with many houses built right next to the bushland (hence the impressive amount of dead native animals to be found squished on the highway).

In terms of 'attractions', well, there is the bay itself, with a Boat Club located a couple of hundred metres from our house.

There's the Shag Bay Aboriginal Site, but we're really just talking about piles of discarded mussel shells. I'll be honest and confess an anthropological bias: once you've seen Notre Dame Cathedral, a midden that dates a few hundred years more recent seems a bit humdrum.

There is also a local high school that is on its last legs, Geilston Bay High and a private Christian School. I suspect that the students of that school are in fact vampires because in all honesty, I've never actually seen any children there. Please note that I have lived not two hundred metres from the place for four years now.

To continue the excitement, there are not one but two local shops, not one of which is located on a corner. There is a butcher, a hairdressers, a pizza parlour, a radiator repairer. Sadly, we have no candlestick maker. Lindisfarne Village is 15 minutes walk away, and has the whole supermarket/bakery/French patisserie deal, so we're sorted on that score.

Right behind the Geilston Bay Community Centre (home of the Geilston Bay Playgroup), you'll find the Geilston Bay Tennis Club. These sit right next to the local football/cricket ground, home of the OHA Ships.

Get onto Google Maps, and you'll get the vibe.

Comments

Beth said…
In the dim distant past as an inaugural student of Geilston Bay High (I too am on my last legs...) our parents attempted to find the correct pronunciation of Geilston Bay. Is it a hard 'G' as is gills, or a soft 'G' as in congeals?
Our answer came from Giels in Scotland - a soft 'G'.
I'm sure there's more to be said on the similarity between Geilston and Congeals as concepts.
Kris McCracken said…
Beth, good to see a GB'er still knocking around!

Popular posts from this blog

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral