Sensible lives thrown into chaos by questions and imagination.

With her world unexpectedly upturned, academic and writer Gillian Galbraith retreats into the history she has been researching, and unwittingly releases vivid lives and voices from the past. But her buddy Kitty is having none of that – there’s way too much important stuff in the here and now…

Haughton delves into the lives of real people living in Gippsland, Victoria. The play explores the connections we struggle with to find our place, and untangles the stories of the past on which we have built our present. It’s a compelling and compassionate weaving of contemporary and historical women’s stories, both myth and fact.

The result is a magical journey for everyone who loves a good story or two.

  • non-naturalistic
  • 85
  • 6 total
  • 4 female identifying, 2 male identifying
  • history, gender, women
  • 18+
  • teen, young adult, adult
  • Australian Script Centre


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Female | 50s | under 3 minutes
Starts on page 29

EXTRACT: And it’s being found out- like- like- our history is a sack of spuds- a dodgy potato... you know, you smell something??... you finally track down the stink to the potato box, and then you plunge your fingers into the vilest mess held together by a fragile layer of skin that bursts as you try to pick it up and you retch because it’s all over your fingers and the stink is worse than the septic tank on a hot day and you’re angry because nobody told you that rotten potatoes are really disgusting and you should wear rubber gloves.


Female | 40s | 3 to 5 minutes
Starts on page 41

EXTRACT: Then headlights appeared. A yell from Dad and we all gathered close, silent. Mum and us kids kept real still, in the background. It was a police car. They got out and looked us all up and down. Dad spoke to them, assured them we were moving through, wouldn’t be there the following night, and eventually the police left. But what I remember most was the looks between Mum and Dad... Dad’s wariness, Mum’s shrinking into herself, looking down, placing us kids- all 8 of us behind her... And their fear silenced us; not a word spoken.



Noes on Soundscape

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