General News
17 July, 2026
LITERARY EUPHORIA: The exhilaration of a good story
Lying in bed listening to the rain falling on our iron verandah and roof is a soothing and relaxing sensation. As I lay in bed, warm and semi-conscious, my mind cast back to times in my life when I had experienced similar sensations.
As a kid on the front porch of the farm house, I experienced that warm feeling as Pietro, my grandfather, slowly and in his own inimitable style, told one of his Italian folk tales.
He often retold a story but with a special “nuance”.
I sat almost transfixed in a semi-euphoric state.
Having had the good fortune of being in the presence of Basil Rathbone, just being in ear shot of his voice sent shivers down my spine.
When things get me down and I need to be recharged I will play the opening chapter of “War of the Worlds”.
It is impossible in my mind to separate the readings of Orson Welles and Richard Burton.
Settling in a comfortable lounge chair I am transported.
As the librarian at Carisbrook I retold the tale of H.G. Wells as if Judy and I actually experienced it.
In my version, on a stormy night as we travelled home from Melbourne, we saw the meteor embedded into Bald Hill.
I unveiled a drawing of the martians emerging from their space craft.
The children were convinced it was true.
That evening, several families visited the site to have it confirmed.
On the radio in the USA, Orson Welles created turmoil with his radio production. His listening audience was in the tens of millions. It was called The Mercury Theatre.
Among my greatest memories of being a parent is the nightly bedtime stories — they still bring a warm feeling.
In the cosy, semi-dark bedroom I shared stories both told and read.
Some of the favourites were the classics, The Hobbit, Gulliver’s Travels, all of Paul Jennings’ tales, and Wind in the Willows. The reader’s enthusiasm is pervasive.
Prior to being a parent, when teaching at a small rural school in the Western District, we established a corner. It was carpeted and sheltered.
The students from dairy farms were either related or close friends.
As I told the latest tale they huddled together almost in a ball.
Often the school bus driver had to rouse us with several blasts of his horn. The children reluctantly boarded their bus for home.
Often some parents would join the audience.
Perhaps it was the decade of the 70s and the world was a more innocent place, or life on the farm was more “down to earth”.
Whatever it was, these children were more innocent and had a trust and respect for their parents, teachers and each other.
There wasn’t a need to seek artificial stimulants to achieve a sense of well being.
During my career I have shared endless written and told stories with students all over the state. Teaching a grade three and four at PS 404 we developed a story corner where we shared the triumphs and disasters of a multitude of literary characters.
Notable citizen and business man Rod Whitmore’s grandson Timothy, was an engrossed reader.
When I was reading C.S. Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, he collected all of Lewis’s novels and read them.
Amazingly despite the constant attention drawn to our violent world, we are living in the safest time in history.
Simply the “world wide media” makes us more aware of our mortality.
The days of the “bibliophiles” (book addicts) may be ending, but there are some who believe literature can help us cope (bibliotherapy).
Within the small group comprising the rural school was an essential ingredient that seems to be diminishing by the day.
That is respect for others, including classmates, teachers, parents and society.
Property, both personal and community, was maintained and not vandalised.