The Discovery Writers Group hosted an afternoon of writing, as part of Senior's Week, supported by a grant from the NSW Government. Through a series of exercises of the mind, the participants unlocked the past and found it came alive again on the page.
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The Stories
1. “I remember…
my first home, a fibro bungalow on a double sized block with a separate combination laundry/toilet and a double garage. My parents and sister lived in the back part of the garage for a period whilst the house was being built. The larger-than-average yard allowed lots of space for outdoor amusement. I had my own basketball hoop, swing and balance beam and several sizeable trees to climb. There was a fish pond situated at the back of the yard beneath a large willow tree. My father constructed the pond by cement rendering an old corrugated water tank. In the back right hand corner was a chook yard with a corrugated iron house which provided shelter for the chooks and somewhere to lay their eggs. Alongside was what was referred to as “the bush house”. I am not entirely sure of the origins of the term but it was a very basic timber and wire construction which more often than not was covered with choko vines. This provided protection from the weather extremes for sensitive plants such as ferns, fuchsias, begonias and young seedlings and cuttings waiting to be planted out.
The house featured louvred glass windows which by today’s standards provided no secure protection although somehow security did not seem to be the issue back then that it seems to be today. The kitchen had an “Early Kooka” electric stove and it was not abnormal to cook lamb chops for Sunday breakfast, perhaps a bit of an indulgence today. There was no inside loo until the sewer was connected which must have been around the mid to late 50’s. The only built-ins were in my parent’s bedroom, my sister and I had small free standing timber wardrobes. These seemed sufficiently large enough to house all our clothing including the belts, handbags, shoes, gloves, hats which were required for wearing to Sunday school and later Church.
My mother had a physical disability that precluded her from being able to perform certain household tasks usually reserved for the housewives of the day. That meant I was assigned to the particular weekly chore of cleaning the outside “dunny”. Manned with a good bucket of hot water liberally mixed with disinfectant and a broom I went about the task without hesitation. I am not sure whether I could assign such a task to any of my grandchildren and expect the same response. Needless to say today when I travel around and see unhygienic public toilets I make comment that I could get myself a job!
Another chore I went about with a certain amount of pride was cleaning my shoes and very often those of other family members. This carried over to applying Kiwi whitener to the shoes I wore for netball each weekend. We called them “sandshoes” which in fact were Dunlop Volleys, footwear that has come full circle and is now a fashion item for teenagers. To my knowledge few people clean their “joggers” or sports shoes these days, you just buy a new pair when they start looking unkempt.
I feel it was a great privilege to grow up in the 50’s with a feeling of freedom and security. I lived in a street where everyone knew each other and there were lots of children of similar ages. We went to school together and played together on weekends. Billy cart races and cricket matches played on the unsealed road with little fear of “hoons” racing by. Bonfires and fire crackers on Guy Fawkes Night were a highlight.
It all seems just a dream now but one which you wish you could return to with your grandchildren.”
Carol Reynolds
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2. MY TWO MOTHERS
I was born in the early hours of the morning, on the 20th day of the 1st moon in the Lunar Year of The Ox 1949. Mama was hoping and praying to deliver a bouncy, cute, little baby boy, but I was born a female. Her plan to have another boy to replace my deceased infant baby brother was dashed.
To most Asian women of her era she was duty bound to provide a male descendant, one who will be the jewel of the family. The expectancy was that the son would eventually be the head of the family, replacing the current soul winner of the family. Papa had a successful business importing bicycles from England and Japan and he was doing very well. He needed a strong young man to carry on the business when he retired.
Sadly Mama took me home and cared for me. She was loving and protective but the longing for a boy was deeply set in her heart. Then one day the opportunity came for her to adopt a baby boy. Without hesitation she accepted the challenge of a second little infant in her arms.
Mama could not cope. Her solution was to palm me off to an old aunt to take care of me. I went to live with my aunty who bestowed great love on me. She carried me, she nursed me, she was there when I learnt to walk and to talk. My first words were " Ah Koh " ( aunt in Hokkien ). I did not disappoint her.
Ah Koh regularly took me home to visit my Mama and Papa and my little brother. We were a happy family but I always went back home to live with my surrogate mother in a little room that she had rented nearby. I did not feel rejected, I did not feel unwanted, I did not feel abandoned, I was a pleasant child. I grew to love my Ah Koh very much. I was her daughter.
When I was 5 years old Mama came to claim me. She wanted to take me home to live with her because I had to start school soon. But I had changed. Ah Koh had become my mother, the closest person I had. She was my protector, my saviour. But Mama was my birth mother. The one who could afford to give me a good education, the one who insisted that I was her daughter after all. She said Ah Koh was only my carer...
I remember vividly how I crawled under Ak Koh bed to hide from Mama as I refused to face a world without my 'mother'. But Mama was as determined as I was. She was forceful; she used a stick to scare me out from my narrow, dark sanctuary. She promised that aunt would be visiting daily, and then she bundled me into her waiting car where my little brother was safely strapped to his seat.
I cannot remember how I survived from that day on. But I strongly retained in my memory the day I sat beside the sick bed of my dear Ah Koh. Finally she left me, but she left me a stronger child, a loving person and most importantly a forgiving adult.
Annie Organ.
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3. Granny’s Brolly
What’s a brolly, you ask?
My grandmother would call to me just as I was leaving the house. ‘Got your brolly?’ Invariably, I’d forgotten. But I can’t forget my experiences with her when, as a child, I sometimes stayed at her house. On these occasions, a grandparent needs to have events up their sleeves so that the grandchild is not bored. My grandmother had a sleeve long enough to take me up to the shops and not lose me. We walked under her umbrella, I remember it black, but that’s memories for you. The umbrella, the brolly, is still with me. Faded as my memories. Faded to an unimpressive green. But this brolly is exceptional, because I know the last forty years of its history.
In the year following Granny’s decease, I bought my first car. Somehow, somewhere, the brolly was placed in the boot. I’ve no recollection of doing this. But the brolly knows. It knows how, when I sold one car and bought another, it shifted residence. All the contents of the boot were just moved over, no questions asked. And that is how, from a lime-green Galant to a yellow Pulsar to a white Camry, my grandmother’s brolly stayed with me. It has led a mobile life. Just like granny. A migrant widow to Australia.
The brolly is one of the few possessions of hers to pass down to me. I marvel at the wooden shaft with its essential engineering. Nails attach a mechanism which still works today. I admire the handle, an early clear plastic, a kind of perspex, attached to the shaft by some primitive glue. This handle was surely up-to-date for the times. My hand tests the braided wrist-strap which threads through a tunnel in the perspex. And I look at the spokes, ending in small plastic trimmings. The brolly was an object for Australian winters and summers, rain and sunshine. But possibly not preserved so well in a hot car boot!
I was the child embarrassed to walk with her grandmother as she unfurled her umbrella on a scorching summer day. Who could do such a thing? And who would wear lace-up boots and long skirts in summer? Of course, I didn’t notice that other elderly ladies would be wearing the same. I was too much of a judgemental child. The umbrella reminds me of my past. The shelter she gave when I stayed with her. A link between generations. It has served its warning. It does not judge.
Name supplied.
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4. THE EGYPTIAN EXPERIENCE - A ROMANCE
Besotted with Ancient Egypt, one of histories greatest civilizations, I avidly studied and soaked up information, drooling over brochures from the travel agent. I started a travel fund - gold coins in a bottle. Don't laugh ! By the time I was 25 I had many bottles full of gold coins, a surprisingly large dollar total enough to finally travel to see Tutankhamen's treasures in the Cairo museum with my frend, Evie. The Egyptian museum was a feast of artifacts, a wealth of antiquities at which to marvel. But there was more to come.
It was whilst standing gobsmacked looking at the famous triangular shapes of the immense Great Pyramids of Giza that I met Hassan. One glance from his liquid sensuous eyes and I was a gonna. He was our constant companion, hard working, energetically guiding us around, giving me languid glances. My heart stopped. I had lost my senses. Never had I met a more imposing and sensual male. It was love at first sight and I'm sure the feeling was mutual.
I had to leave him. Waiting was the Nile cruise, Aswan, the temples of Luxor and Kamak, the Valley of the Kings, sphinxes, tombs, archaeological marvels, desert landscapes then return to the spice markets and bazaars of Cairo. I went back to find Hassan. He hadn't changed, still batting those eyelashes, happy to see me. He was strong yet gentle, in turns playful and dignified. You know when you've met ' the right one '.
My friend, Evie's forceful opinion was that I was a raving lunatic when I confided to her that my aim was to work towards getting Hassan back to Australia to share life with me at my parent's country property. The paper work was massive, the red tape daunting but I persevered. After all, love is a totally irrational human response. I was awaiting that wonderful day when we would be reunited.
Unfortunately, Hassan had to spend six months in quarantine and it cost me a fortune to get that camel to Australia.
Elaine Staples
Besotted with Ancient Egypt, one of histories greatest civilizations, I avidly studied and soaked up information, drooling over brochures from the travel agent. I started a travel fund - gold coins in a bottle. Don't laugh ! By the time I was 25 I had many bottles full of gold coins, a surprisingly large dollar total enough to finally travel to see Tutankhamen's treasures in the Cairo museum with my frend, Evie. The Egyptian museum was a feast of artifacts, a wealth of antiquities at which to marvel. But there was more to come.
It was whilst standing gobsmacked looking at the famous triangular shapes of the immense Great Pyramids of Giza that I met Hassan. One glance from his liquid sensuous eyes and I was a gonna. He was our constant companion, hard working, energetically guiding us around, giving me languid glances. My heart stopped. I had lost my senses. Never had I met a more imposing and sensual male. It was love at first sight and I'm sure the feeling was mutual.
I had to leave him. Waiting was the Nile cruise, Aswan, the temples of Luxor and Kamak, the Valley of the Kings, sphinxes, tombs, archaeological marvels, desert landscapes then return to the spice markets and bazaars of Cairo. I went back to find Hassan. He hadn't changed, still batting those eyelashes, happy to see me. He was strong yet gentle, in turns playful and dignified. You know when you've met ' the right one '.
My friend, Evie's forceful opinion was that I was a raving lunatic when I confided to her that my aim was to work towards getting Hassan back to Australia to share life with me at my parent's country property. The paper work was massive, the red tape daunting but I persevered. After all, love is a totally irrational human response. I was awaiting that wonderful day when we would be reunited.
Unfortunately, Hassan had to spend six months in quarantine and it cost me a fortune to get that camel to Australia.
Elaine Staples
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5. New start for Adam
Adam lay on the floor of his room. His father had returned home in a drunken mood. He lashed out at anything or anyone within reach. Adam’s nose was bleeding from a heavy blow to the face and he wanted at that moment to be free of the abuse. No one came to check on him and so after some time he put himself to bed without dinner.
Next day he was in trouble for being late at school. His eye was swollen and bruised and his head ached. He’d come to school without breakfast and felt sick to the stomach. By lunch time he’d made up his mind to never go home again.
That afternoon after school he kept on walking. He wanted to get far away from home and the memories of beatings. His Mum was kind enough but she was no match for an enraged, drunken father. Adam had left without any warm clothing to keep out the damp night air, but he paid little regard to that fact.
By nightfall he was miles from home and near a park, so it seemed to him that he could take shelter under one of the low hanging bushes. He used his schoolbag as a pillow and fell asleep. He was far enough away from the street to be unnoticed by passers by.
When he awoke the sun was shining and he soon recalled his plan so he abandoned his school bag and trudged on even further from home. He passed by a small shopping centre where in the window of one of the shops was an exquisite Harley Davison, glimmering in the morning sunlight. He hadn’t realised it but a man was standing next to him. The man spoke ‘Isn’t she a beauty?’ ‘Yeah’ agreed Adam. ‘You could have one of those one day’, remarked the man. ‘How so?’ asked Adam. The man sounded friendly enough as he explained, ‘I have some young fellas working for me, just like you. I pay them for selling pictures for me and I give them somewhere to live and some grub as well’. This sounded too good to be true to Adam, who by this time was desperate for food and shelter, so he agreed to give it a go.
The man introduced himself as Toby, and took Adam to a house at Dee Why, where he met some kindred spirits: all unkempt runaways, thought Adam, but with nothing better on offer, Adam was fed and settled in with the group. He was organised to sell pictures at busy seaside shopping centres and in return would have board and lodging but little payment for his work. After about a fortnight some of the boys grumbled about not having enough to eat, so they decided to raid a grocer’s store and help themselves to some of the goods on display. They were not experts in criminal activity and accidently set off the alarm.
Adam’s partners in crime were more adept at this game than he and they fled before the police arrived, but Adam failed to escape in time. He was taken to the police lockup and questioned, but he stubbornly refused to talk. He would not give his name, the names of his mates or where he lived. The constable was frustrated by his noncompliance so he decided to ring YOTS (Youth Off the Street). ‘Hello, is that Fr. Chris Reilly? We’ve got a young lad here who refuses to cooperate with us and we think that he is a likely candidate for your YOTS programme.’ ‘O.K, I’ll be down this afternoon’ answered Fr Chris.
The officers introduced Fr. Chris to Adam but still for some time hardly any words were spoken. Then, very patiently, Fr. Chris agreed to take Adam to meet his staff, who’d had experience with youth in similar circumstances. The staff proposed to take Adam to one of their farms where he could help to care for animals. They’d had many success stories from enabling disturbed youth form a friendship with, and be responsible for an animal. They allotted the job of caring for a horse that Adam called ‘Lucky’, bearing all the hall marks of former mistreatment. The two formed a close friendship.
When Fr. Chris called to check on Adam’s progress, Adam responded ‘…me an ‘im is both lucky cos we’ve been given a “new start” in life.’ This was just the beginning of an experience shared with others who respected and valued him.
Monica O’Brien
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