WRITERS SHOWCASE

Memoirs, fiction and poetry
from our U3APP writers

A Selection of Stories >>

Read amusing and heartwarming stories and poems from our talented writers.

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Aziza Khamlichi: “Acquaintance”

It was one of those sunny days with blue sky in Albert Park. Layla decided to take a trip to the city. On her way to the No 1 tram, she saw people happily walking, all wearing cheerful clothes. Smiles and greetings were shared and acknowledged. This was shortly...

Alex Njoo: “Remembering George”

Dear George, I’m sorry that I didn’t speak at your memorial. But I felt that those who did; had done so with such heartfelt eloquence. Anything I’d say would have been superfluous. At any rate, you’d have dismissed the whole performance of grieving friends and relatives, albeit celebrating your...

Mary Powell: “Out For a Walk With the Dogs”

Walking the dogs is a pastime that often involves me although I don’t own a dog. A friend believes it is mean to have only one dog; they need a mate so she has two. On Easter Monday she and I joined another friend who is perfectly happy with...

John Craven: “What the Travel Agents Do Not Tell You About Japan”

When planning to go to Japan, or anywhere else, it is desirable to do a bit of research. There are plenty of places to start – glossy pamphlets, confusing websites, newspaper articles, and, if all else fails there is no shortage of young enthusiastic travel agents. In the excitement...

Brenda Richards: “Bulrushes and Black Ducks”

Poldi decided to emigrate when he was nine years old. America would be a good place to go, and it was far enough away. He just didn’t know how to get there. Poldi’s mother died when he was a baby. A family friend saw her picture and told him...

Wendy Butler: “Groote Island 1970, A Memoir”

It’s hot, stinking hot – she can feel the sweat pouring in rivulets between her boobs and down her legs. Her rubber boots are so sweaty she might as well be standing in water. If only she could take her daks off – but then she there’d be no...

Alex Njoo: “Puppy Love”

Give me the time of day And I give you the hours Of my life. Give me the seasons of the year, And I give you the buds in May. Give me the nights of your dreams, And I give you a Galaxy of stars. For you are, my...

Peter Thorne: “Kosta’s Music Box”

Jayden sidled up to the back door of the factory and jemmied open the door. Inside, he passed a door that was propped open and found himself facing an inner door with the usual intercom keyboard beside it. Once again raised his trusty tyre lever. At that moment there...

Lois Best: “Locked Out”

Clunk. Uh oh. That’s the sound of the back door locking behind me. I try the knob. Yep, it’s locked. This is not good. I am locked outside my daughter’s house, in her Fort Knox style backyard. I’m staying here just to look after my teenage granddaughters’ rabbits during...

Lois Daley: “Vegemite”

Vegemite – Aroma and History in Port Melbourne to Preserve In the early 1970s my father, the late Albert Edward Daley, a boilermaker, often walked across Murphy’s Reserve in Port Melbourne from our home in garden City to the Vegemite factory to work on the boilers.* My brother John,...

John Craven: “Bonny Goes Nursing”

Bonny was destined for greatness. She was born into Labrador royalty and there were huge expectations for Bonny and the rest of the litter. This high achieving canine dynasty had provided raw material for the police, customs, emergency services and assisting blind people to negotiate the perils of their...

Lois Best: “Life is a Juggle”

‘Well, juggling chainsaws is obviously out,’ thought Flo as the colourful beanbags plopped at her feet. ‘For both of us, I reckon,’ chuckled the obviously novice juggler next to her. She was also awkwardly retrieving beanbags. Flo realised she had, once again, voiced her thoughts. She’d been doing that...

Janet Campbell: “The Red-Fanged Snake Cake”

The Red-Fanged Snake Cake Cake! Is there any other word so guaranteed to start the smiles, the joy, the celebrations? Our family’s cake story started nearly nine years ago, when my about-to-turn-eight years’ old oldest nephew pleaded with his parents for a red-fanged snake cake for his birthday party....

Margo Anderson: “The Pumpkin Grower and the Uncle”

She was cruising through the town, slowly and observantly; up and down streets never driven by her before, seeing how gardens grow, how fences divide and keep worlds within and without. It was enjoyable and calming to where she had been as she farewelled a treasured family member as...

John Craven: “The God Gig”

Every now and again the Gods have a conference to review developments and kick up their heels in ungodly frivolity. A key part of the celestial fun is to review a component of the universe and, in 2021, the focus is on planet Earth. The performance criteria are, basically,...

Sheila Quairney: “Me And My Fitbit”

This time last year, I lived in a happy bubble. I believed I was an active person who slept the recommended 8 hours a night and burned a respectable number of calories every day. I now know better. The painful truth of my sluggish, piggish, insomniac lifestyle is revealed...

Margo Anderson: “So He Killed Him”

The day was drawing to its end, the sun had already started its last fall to the West and people were moving from their coffee to wine, beer or spirits, and the mood was changing along with it. People were at the old convent in the inner city, all...

Dota Abdilla: “A Childhood Wonder”

Where is the sense of awe and wonder? That came from innocent youthful eyes Mesmerised by the small twinkling stars Each disappearing by the sunrise A moon that waxed full and round each month In the distant sky that seemed so near Mysteriously engaged by its presence Changing...

Brenda Richards: “Moon Beams”

Maggie was tidying up. It was a never-ending job with a four-year-old. She straightened the blankets on the little bed, picked the teddy bear off the floor and placed it neatly on the pillow. She sighed as she looked out the window and watched Millie and the old dog...

Jan Harper: “Letter Home to Scotland from Canvas City”

Canvas City November, 1852 Dear Father, I was glad to hear that you are keeping well, thanks be to God for giving you that blessing, and may you ever continue to be so. I am now biding temporarily on the outskirts of Melbourne Town in Australia. Our ship from...

Brenda Richards: “Twelfth Night”

I left the pub and walked home past the houses with their Christmas lights blazing. Tomorrow was twelfth night. They’d take their decorations down and then Christmas would be over. It couldn’t come soon enough for me. It was a warm evening, with the moon shining through the clouds. ...

Sheila Quairney: “Just Relax”

“Just relax” murmurs the doctor soothingly as she attempts to probe tender bits of my anatomy with something alien, cold and rather unpleasant. Relax? Seriously? I think to myself, trying and failing to unclench my jaw, and other bodily parts. We’ve all been there, haven’t we, rigid with fear...

John Craven: “Covid Coffee Underbelly”

Over many years, people have remarked that my integrity is beyond reproach. But, dear friends, I feel that I need to tell you an almost unbelievable tale about how I stumbled on a conspiracy and had no choice other than to blow the whistle and take the consequences. It...

Bob Croker: “Working Boy”

I was waiting for my fifteenth birthday, March 1945 to start work. It was the year the war finished, in two stages actually V.E. day in Europe 18th May and V.P. day in the Pacific 15th August. They are days I remember well as will anyone who experienced those...

Sheila Quairney: “Sharing”

One seed, two lives. But very different stories. It happened on a long, sticky langorous summer’s evening. When the setting sun painted its colours of crimson and gold across the darkening sky and the birds sang themselves to sleep. The seed was planted. It lay quietly undetected, buried deep...

Lois Daley: “My Mother”

My Mother (written for International Women’s Day 2021) Jessie Georgina Craske was born 1904, the eldest of five girls, to John and Sophia who lived in a small rented cottage in Ross St Port Melbourne. Jessie was a pupil at Nott St State school till the age of 14....

Roderick Waller: “Haycarting”

In 1956, eager, carefree, innocence in flush of evening dusk, joy of haying the summer rye, raking, tying sheaves, stacking into stooks. The Clydesdale clopped, pulled the dray-cart, crossed the stream to the hidden ley of laughing kids and folk The pitchfork taller than the boy, though he mastered...

Mary Powell: “But For the Grace of My Cat”

“Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” my mate Les asked. “Yeah. I’m sure enough to give it a go.” “Well it’s over to you. I like her, don’t get me wrong but she doesn’t seem your type. You need to be with someone like Amy.” “Yes,...

Brenda Richards: “Up to Speed”

“Often away and believed uneducable.” I stared at the words. This was Phil’s last school report, hand written on a sheet of paper. There was no other information. He had not completed primary school. He was now 14, six foot tall, and wanting to live at my place, which...

Julie Butcher: “Sardines on Toast”

SARDINES ON TOAST – A vignette Spreading her toast with butter, sardines, lemon juice and black pepper, Julie recognised it was Saturday lunchtime. She was one of four-children-born-within-six-years that on Saturday afternoons ate sardines on toast. Then they watched the B-grade movie while Mum, close by, tackled the ironing....

Writers Showcase