Travels in Dreams

City Dwellers (Europe)
29 July, 2020
Chapter 1 Adrift in Time
5 August, 2020
City Dwellers (Europe)
29 July, 2020
Chapter 1 Adrift in Time
5 August, 2020

Bill Mollison

Travels In Dreams

“What matters it what went before or after

Now with myself I shall begin and end.”

W. Shakespeare


Travels in Dreams

Copyright Lisa Mollison, 2016

The contents of this book and the word Permaculture are copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism, or review as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part of this book may be reproduced by any process without written permission from Tagari Publications, PO Box 1, Tyalgum, NSW 2484, Australia.

Cover photograph: Peter Wade

Illustrations: Claire Yerbury

Back cover: Reny Mia Slay

Photographs: Bill Mollison unless otherwise acknowledged

Editing, manuscript, lay-out: Marlyn Wade, June Howard, Camilla Sunke

National Library of Australia


Mollison, Bill

Travels in Dreams


Includes Indices

ISBN 0908228104 (H’back)

0908228112 (Paperback)

Travels in Dreams

Chapters & Contents


Many friends are mentioned in the text; others are left anonymous, to protect the guilty; all are real people, you can touch them if they still live.

Particular thanks go to Claire Yerbury for her cartoons on various themes, to Craig Worsley for help with photography, to June Howard for typing my manuscripts, and to Marlyn Wade, my amanuensis.

And to all my brave companions who have suffered with me, or because of me, my love.

This is a home-made production, for I had to live my life myself, and with this I was greatly aided or sometimes redirected by Margaret Andrews, Philomena Mary O’Neil, Reny Mia Slay, and Roz Dunwell, all of whom risked marriage with me in that order. Other ladies, alive or dead contributed memories and events; some of them never told me their names.

The spur that started this autobiographical collection of events was a forgotten gentleman who contacted our office, offering to write my autobiography. All he wanted, he said was twelve hours of interview time. Twelve hours to cover 67 years! I decided to do it myself. It actually took much longer; I should have accepted his offer.

The poems (all the bad ones and the doggerel) I have written myself, unless otherwise acknowledged.


This book is a work of fiction; most, if not all of it is lies.

Even the lies are imprecise reports of old lies, overheard.

Nobody, you will agree, could have experienced all these things.

And if the actions of people herein seem unreal, it is because they are.

Regard this work therefore as the product of a sick mind, and forgive.

Or, you may believe that in one of those many dangerous days,

I died

And that this note was written posthumously.

Reports of my death, while numerous, have also been often inaccurate. Thus:

If you hear that I am dead

Tell them they lie.

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