WOW! I stood dumbstruck, surrounded by thousands of books and boxes of all shapes and sizes. For some strange reason, I’d wandered off track, found myself in darkness back-of-house at the State Library of Victoria, standing smack bang in the middle of the WG Alma Conjuring Collection. I twitched as if someone walked over my grave, and magically the lights switched on. Quickly my eyes adjusted to the white light. To my left, somewhat inconspicuously placed, a framed photo of a gentleman I thought I recognised from TV, a man of mystery, Will Alma. Above the picture of Mr Alma (holding a razor blade to his lips) a pair of white nylon gloves. How quaint I thought, slipping the gloves on, one finger at a time, wriggling them about under the fluorescent light.  My gloved hands miraculously took on a life of their own, ferreting through the collection, lingering lovingly over 2000 shelved books on magicians, tricks and the art of conjuring. My fingers stopped dead in front of a bound book titled, ‘Battling Demons’. I lifted the book off the shelf, pushing aside any evil thoughts I had. I turned to the first page and was immediately interrupted by a man’s booming theatrical voice.

“Don’t touch that! I think you’ll find ‘Deceptive Conceptions in Magic’ more to your personal taste.” Oh, I thought, closing the book out of respect for the gentleman’s authoritarian tone. “Let me introduce myself, dear friend. I am the Great Raymond…man of magic, illusion and disguise. You’ll find a book about my adventures somewhere on those shelves. Have you heard of me?” l shook my head, startled by the man standing before me in a bow tie, black top hat and tails. “Oh, well, some haven’t. My last gig was 1993 in fact! What brings you here, may I ask?”

“Looking for inspiration I suppose. You look familiar? Have you been on the ABC?” I enquired. The Great Raymond raised an eyebrow, dismissing my question. “Well, you’ve stumbled into the right place,” he assured me. “We’ve every trick in the book here. There’s one on conjuring up ‘inspiration’ somewhere, I’m sure. I’ll perform it, a private show. That’s why I’m the Great Raymond! I can conjure up anything, even a little ‘inspiration’. Now, ask me something else, while I hunt about for that book”.

I thought for a moment. “Okay. Have you ever guillotined a Librarian?”

“Anyone I’m in par-tic-ular?” the Great Raymond prompted, smiling wickedly.

“I’d rather not say.  But, have you performed the trick inside the State Library?”

“Of course. Hundreds of times. But, those librarians get my goat. I get on their goat. They hate my guillotine trick. But, occasionally,” he confided, “when I shout ‘off with their heads’ randomly at the top of my lungs in the Cowan Gallery, one brave little family historian has a damn good chuckle. Anything else? Ask me anything. I’m the Great Raymond!”

I pondered, then asked, “Raymond? Can you make problem patrons disappear?” The Great Raymond screamed with glee, unable to control his excitement. “That’s my specialty actually” he gloated, tipping his top hat. “Once, I made a group of grumpy old aged pensioners, retirees, vanish while on the Changing Face of Victoria tour. They were from Geelong. Poor things. Oh, it’s a marvelous trick. The security guard Bob, is still looking for that Probus club I believe. Oh, I found the book I was looking for…Inspirational Tricks for a Restless Soul”.

“But, I’m not a restless soul?” I said defensively.  The Great Raymond snapped his fingers and opened the book up on page thirteen.

“Dear friend,” he winked, “Don’t lie. I know everything. That’s why I’m the Great Raymond.” He did a twirl, the room went black, Raymond was gone. I stood in darkness, then suddenly twitched, the lights flickered on-off-on. The room was empty, except for the WG Alma Conjuring Collection, and me. Beside the picture of Will Alma, the book ‘Inspirational Tricks for a Restless Soul’. I took off the white gloves, and opened the book at page thirteen. At the top, written in bright red ink, the words, ‘magic for dummies’ – WG Alma. It was then, at that very moment, I felt a presence, someone’s breath, close to my ear. He whispered, “For your in-for-mation, old friend, I have been on ABC TV.” Then, before I could say, abracadabra, he was gone.

Will Alma, (Born Oswald George William Bishop;  4 November, 1904 – 6 May, 1993) was an Australian stage magician, illusionist, maker of conjuring apparatus and magic historian. He is best known for his donation of the ‘WG Alma Conjuring Collection’ to State Library Victoria.

Dumbstruck by Noel Anderson was first published on 14th December 2018 in The Goat Zine by the State Library of Victoria.

If you could change the choices you’ve made, would you want to keep them or upgrade them for something else?

I am on my way to London, in transit at Abu Dhabi airport. It’s a long flight and I’m flying solo. So, I’ve got time to mull over things, stuff like my life choices mostly. I shuffle, sip coffee, think back and stare out the window, waiting for the 380 airbus and my final leg. As I wait, my mind begins to revisit ‘turning points’ from my past. “What if I didn’t make that decision, then? What if I ‘did this’ instead of ‘doing that?’ Would I still be flying solo?

‘Believin’ is the answer to all your fears’

It’s been several decades since I studied directing and lived in London. This is my first trip back, not sure why I took so long to return to the UK. I guess shit happens.

On the way to Melbourne airport, I listened to Lisa Stansfield’s song ‘Change‘ on the tram. Lisa sings, if I could change the way I live my life today, I wouldn’t change a single thing. It might be the 3 sleeping pills I knocked back on the first leg of my plane trip, but thinking about Lisa’s words over coffee, I’m not sure I feel the same way.

They say change is as good as a holiday. But, is it? I’ve had a lot of change forced upon me. There’s been breakups, several deaths and missed opportunities, like most people I guess. Of course, a lot ‘choices’ I’ve made have worked out spectacularly well, while other ‘changes’ have been hopeless. But, what if I could take all my mistakes, the lemons of my life, and miraculously turn them into jugs of fresh lemonade, would I be happier than I am now? Would I still be flying solo to London? Would my life be more rewarding?

‘I’ll always be there and I’ll always care’

The truth is my spectacular failures made me the person I am, they’re ‘original’ and all mine. No one else in the world has them as back catalogue, except me. I guess that’s okay, then?

I finish my coffee, check my boarding time and switch on my iPhone. I open my Facebook app and reread the entry I posted 14 hours earlier in Melbourne.

Lisa and I have been through a lot over the years including breakups, bad hair and no hair. And, more recently a shocking bout of ‘high anxiety’ just before I left for London, alone. A glass of wine at the airport, Lisa singing about ‘Change’ on my iPhone, and I’m now feelin’ funky and ready for the next big chapter? Change? Bring it on!

About the author – Noel Anderson has worked in film and theatre and is currently adapting his play Sammy & Dave into a film, about two bisexual-married men who rendezvous for a one night stand. Based on a true story.

‘Good people drink good beer’

There are some things we’ve done away with that won’t ever come back, that’s good to let go of… like having to hand wash your clothes, like we did before washing machines were invented. Then there are things we’ve forgotten we need, like human connection beyond our iPhone and our laptops. A conundrum of modern life in most large cities. Recently on a trip to old London Town I was reminded of this. In a world gone mad with the possibility to connect or reconnect with more people than ever before, we appear to be isolating ourselves, going in reverse-cycle. Can we tune into each other again and put our iPhone away?

I’m in a pub in Holborn in central London on a warm night, and believe it or not there is no music playing inside the bar. The punters, mixed in age, are being forced to communicate in a music free venue. The pub is busy, everyone is talking, no one is yelling over loud ‘thump-thump’ music pumped out of cheap sound systems, like you’d find on a stroll down Chapel Street in Melbourne on any given night. At first, to be honest, I didn’t notice the lack of music, I just order a pure brewed organic lager, as you do, and found comfortable a seat. But, gradually as I sipped my beer, my mind started to search around for sound and the thump-thump-thump. But, there was none.

“I come here all the time,” a woman in her 40’s propped up at the bar told me. “I love it. This is one of the best pubs in London. Honest!”

“But, there’s no music being played. Is that normal?” I ask.

“That’s right. No they don’t play it at all. You can go to any of their pubs, they’re all over London you know, and there’s no music in any of them. They’re all like this. Everyone’s chattin’. I luv’em. Look around,” she smiled and finished drinking her fruit lager.

‘There’s no music playing’

A pub with no music, who thought of that? I ordered another pure organic pint and snuggled up close to the bar. It did indeed appear to be working, everyone was talking, even me, a total stranger in town, talking to the people around me in the pub. “I am just going to take some photos, if you don’t mind,” I tell the barman who is wearing a T-shirt stating ‘good people drink good beer’.

“Are you a famous writer or something?” he asked.

“No I’m just one of those annoying people who just keep at it, because I can’t think of anything else to do,” and I pull out my iPhone.

“Here, take one of me. Go on then.” He stands close to the bar pretending to pour a brewed beer and smiles. I snap a picture. Too easy. I look around the ornate pub and think, ‘this is probably the best pub in the West End… or the world. Lucky me’.

“It’s good here ain’t it” a young bloke across from me calls out, slightly pissed. “I just popped in for a few on’me way home. I live with’me sister, she’s cooked dinner. I best go after this one.”

“I’m from Australia” I announce unexpectedly.

“I can tell. How long are you here for?” he asked, sipping his organic pint of pure beer.

“Three weeks. I use to live here. A long time ago. I’ve a few days in Paris this weekend, then back to London. Just here on hols”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Hols. Short for holiday. Australians shorten everything, all of us do,” I smile.

As I drank, I chatted. I chatted with the barman, then the barmaid. We talked about Europe and organic beer, naturally. I finished my pint and I left. In the two hours I sat in the pub, I can’t recall anyone taking out their phone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure they did, but I didn’t notice because I was too busy talking absolute rubbish to total strangers. Just passing the time of day or what we use to call, shooting the breeze.

I walked back to the hotel and started to sing Slim Dusty’s classic Aussie song A Pub With No Beer.

It’s lonesome away, from your kindred and all

By the campfire at night, where the wild dingoes call

But there’s nothing so lonesome, so morbid or drear

Than to stand in a bar, of a pub with no beer

I took the lift to the 7th floor, brushed my teeth, stripped naked and tucked myself into bed. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear tomorrow calling me. I turned over, pulling the sheet up over my head. I must wash my clothes first thing in the morning before I head to Paris for the weekend, I thought. Then, I gently sang myself to sleep.

About the author – Noel Anderson has worked in film and theatre and is featured in Breaking the Code a two day symposium for writers/authors, 6-7th Oct 2018. Noel is currently adapting his play Sammy & Dave into a film, about two bisexual-married men who rendezvous for a one night stand. Based on a true story.