A young girl gazed with awe at the mulitude of different trees in a sloping garden. Within the garden stood a large old house amidst bushy shrubs and occasional flower beds, she found so intriguing. It looked as though it all belonged in one of the mystery stories she enjoyed reading. The ten year old girl and her brother who was two years older, rarely visited the inhabitant of this huge property opposite an enormous park. But on this occasion their mother was discussing plans to take a friend who painted, to the beach for the day the following Saturday. Although the children were still enjoying their summer holidays, Saturday seemed an auspicious day in which a beach outing would occur. It wasn't clear why, but it would be very welcomed by the children, as the weather was hot and sultry. So they continued to play and explore the huge garden with its many nooks and crannies, while their mother was occupied inside. They lived not too far away and their mother was perfectly capable 0f driving the family car. In those days about ten years after the second world war, not many cars occupied the roads anyway.
Eventually they were invited to join the adults for tea with cucumber sandwiches and a piece of seed cake. Of course their mother washed their hands and faces first and straightened the young girls dress to make sure they were decent enough for this lady who was relatively unknown to them, but appeared rather pleasant, with a kindly smile and a well shaped face. The lady seemed rather middle aged to the child, as she wore her hair pinned up in a sort of scroll behind her head. They knew it was necessary to be on their best behaviour, as their mother was eyeing them suspiciously, probably wondering if one of them were to drop cake crumbs on the lady's carpet, or worse still, their drinks. They were given cold freshly made lemonade with a slice of orange in it, which was welcome indeed.
The girl quietly sipped her lemonade looking around the walls of this old Victorian room over the rim of her glass. The ceiling was high and the two windows were larger than she'd seen before, but inside the sitting room appeared dark and almost forbidding, probably because of the many large trees and bushes outside in the mysterious looking garden. Spaced out around the walls were a few framed paintings and several drawings. She wanted to walk around and look at them, but caught her mother's expression of 'no you will not'. The girl sighed and ate a mouthful of the delicious seed cake instead. But she couldn't take her eyes off the paintings and wanted so much to study them.
The very next Saturday their mother packed a picnic lunch for them all, while their father went off to umpire a cricket match. The lady painter who seemed very important for some reason to the young girl, but not knowing why, was escorted into the back seat before their mother engaged first gear and set off for the beach, well over an hour's drive from home. The weather continued very warm with several clouds wandering across a deep blue sky turning to pale cerulean on the horizon. A fitful breeze blew leaves this way and that on trees dotted along the main road, as the car travelled towards Frankston beach.
Soon after lunch was eaten, the charming lady with her hair caught up behind her head with wispy bits floating around her face, seemed eager to paint the scene in front of her. The girl's brother had already wandered off to help push two long rowing boats up onto the sand in front of a very pleasant old two story structure. It was probably a yacht club or for lifesavers who manned the beaches in certain areas, where people could swim between two flags in safety from boats or even an occasional shark.
The young girl watched the lady adjust her small easel in the sand where she proceeded to paint the scene that presented itself. She looked on in amazement as colours were daubed and dabbed onto the canvas, forming a beautiful picture slowly coming to life. Behind the two long boats, a small yacht appeared with a young man sitting towards the stern holding the tiller, with its two sails and single mast. It heaved to in shallow pale azure green water. Immediately the artist painted the sail boat into the small picture. Her older brother wearing a red shirt helping to push the long row boats onto sand, was eventually painted into the scene also, their reflections added in a gently receding light blue and azure sea. A blue sky with a scattering of clouds tinged with muted pinks similar to the colour of the sand, reflected in the shallow water, as it lapped gently onto a reddish golden sandy beach. The painting was forming into a beautifully balanced picturesque scene, much to the child's delightful enjoyment. She sat quietly watching as the lady continued earnestly with her brush and palette.
The girl's mother had returned to their car, parked not far away, with the picnic basket and collected hats and anything else they might need. A large umbrella had already been erected keeping the artist cooler in the hottest part of the day. In the distance behind the sail of the small yacht, was Olivers Hill, which rose up from the town and wound around the edge of a cliff above the sea. Deep red-gold clay and rocky cliffs cascaded down from the main road until they reached lapping waves and a foam-filled sea, crashing against rocks with an occasional piece of driftwood and seaweed bobbing on the surface.
As the afternoon and the painting drew to a close, two young boys emerged from the cool shallow water and romped on the sand nearby. Not long after, laughter was heard as one of them fell scattering grains of sand across the painting. The artist looked up in disgusted annoyance trying gently to brush them off the fresh oil paint. Not all of them were possible to remove.
As the little girl grew up, the signed painting had been bought by her parents and framed well at the time. But her mother eventually became old and unwell, and the girl who had by now reached middle age herself, asked her mother if she could have the painting some day in the future. Her father had already sadly passed away and her older brother also. She still remembers him helping to push the long wooden rowing boats up onto the beach wearing his red shirt, included in the small oil painting, that hot summer's day during their holidays.
The artist was Norma Bull who was born in 1906 and died in Melbourne in 1980, aged 74, an Australian artist best known for her painting, drawing and etchings. She lived and worked in England from 1938-1947, when she returned to Australia to continue painting. Her home known as 'Medlow' was built in 1889 and bought by the Bull family in 1911, her mother being a great lover of music and the arts. It was bequeathed at one stage to the National Trust, but since sold back into private ownership. Norma's father Dr Richard Bull, was a lecturer in bacteriology during WWI and developed typhoid vaccines. He was President of the British Medical Association in 1926.
The small oil painting scene was eventually passed down to the author of this short story, now also 74, having taken up watercolour painting herself at the mature age of 71. She still gazes up at the painting hanging on her living room wall and occasionally gently runs her fingertips over its surface to feel the few grains of sand that still remain.
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