OH ENGLAND MY LIONHEART by KATE BUSH Poem by Kevin Densley
The vines twisted around the pergola/in my grandmother’s backyard/were gnarled and old
SEALED WITH A KISS by BOBBY VINTON Story by Stephen Andrew
Music was beginning to assert its life-long hold over me, but it still played a distant second fiddle to being a part of a team of twelve boys dressed in pads, batting gloves and protectors.
WICKED GAME by CHRIS ISAAK Story by Asha Douglas
We’re on a bare mattress on the floor. The living room is strewn with sleeping bodies, toppled bottles, and sauce-smeared paper plates. I can’t look at him. I can hardly move or breathe. I’m still, concentrating on the TV.
Roll On Summer Roll On by Paul Kelly Fiction by David Wilson
David Wilson, of our partner site The Footy Almanac, writes of shifting youthful dreams: beach, cricket, a girl. And a dose of Paul Kelly.
When A Fire Starts To Burn by Disclosure
Shu-Ling Chua New York City, June 2014 As we slip through the inky night, from ferry to bus to my windowless hotel room, I think, I could stop this at any time. I could have stopped this hours ago.
Mull of Kintyre by Wings. Story by Jeff Dowsing
Jeff Dowsing Inverloch, Victoria 1978 An abiding childhood memory is of sitting at the kitchen bench in a holiday house at Inverloch, munching Coco Pops as Mull of Kintyre played on the radio.
Dancing On The Jetty by INXS. Story by Brutus Mudake.
Brutas Mudcake Rye foreshore, summer of 1988/89 Seven years old, and I’d entered the orbit of popular culture and had an entrée to what was as the epitome of cool, teenager-dom.
Summer Rain by Johnny Rivers Story by Colin Ritchie
Lorne Foreshore outside The Wild Colonial, summer 1968/69 Irrewarra, summer 2015 Lying close together I’d held her hand under a towel so nobody would notice, and, incredibly I’d even stolen a kiss from her.
Senses Working Overtime by XTC. Story by Zoë Krukpa
Zoë Krukpa Cleaning my bedroom window, Canberra, 1982 My ear was burning in the sun, and my nose, which I had just recently pierced with the aid of a needle sterilized with a match and a handy bit of raw potato, was throbbing softly. The window rag smelled of this new stuff, eucalyptus oil, which I wanted to drown the world in I loved it so much, and my music box was precariously perched on a stool.
Those Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days Of Summer by Nat King Cole Story by Colin Ritchie
Colin Ritchie Traffic lights somewhere in Melbourne, 2012 Colac, summer of 62/63 You could say the pocket transistor radio was the iPod of its day! Everybody had to have one and you felt so groovy walking down the street with it in your hand. Certainly a real status symbol to the youth of my day in my home town of Colac.