Edith
Uncle Hartley
He was a real 'father-figure' to several of us children growing up, particularly my older two brothers, myself and younger brother.We lived in Claremont and spent a lot of time around the Swan River borrowing his row-boat for crabbing - with his permission, of course - and a highlight of our four years there was centred around this kindly man.
We knew he enjoyed visiting us on Guy Fawkes Night and always brought lots of crackers for us to share around. Money was scarce, so a trip to 'the pictures' - now called a 'movie' was a highlight too of these years, also involving this loved uncle.
When we were invited to a Saturday 'arvo' matinee to see a film it really was something different to our usual routine. I can still see this huge man sitting in the row with his nephews and niece around him. Two shillings was produced at 'interval' - the intermission between films - and one or two of us were delegated to get the threepenny icecream cones.
Oh joy! Icecream was only enjoyed at Christmas and Easter by our family, so was a real treat! And to 'put icing on the cake' we were allowed to keep the change.
I wonder whether Uncle Hartley ever knew how fond we were of him, and what a wonderful father he'd have made.
Life in the 1950s
As is often the case comparison between the young mother then to a similar age - educated in the 21st century is a stark contrast.Firstly, the greater majority of young women in the 1950s married then had their children, usually two to four of them at two yearly intervals. The unfortunate few who were pregnant with the father suddenly disappearing over the horizon had often little choice but to 'adopt the baby out' from Hillcrest, St John of God's or King Edward Memorial Hospital. (Many of these women, now in their fifties, are now looking for, or being contacted via Jigsaw and others.)
Being an 'unmarried mother' was socially unacceptable and worse, the child still had 'illegitimate' or 'father unknown' on the birth certificate. Not until the 1960s, the hippy era and advent of THE PILL were changes made.
Most young women in the 50s accepted that to get married meant that their role of job of work was the caring for the home and children. As I explained to my (then) teenage grand daughter, 'If you didn't want to do that job, you just didn't get married!'
'But,' she replied, honestly bewildered, 'but Nanna, that's not a job!' Have you ever felt like the proverbial fish out of water, complete with open mouth?
Hmmm!
Time - Me!
When small she lived from day to day, but time she didn't measure
It was enough to BE, enjoy, have time for play and pleasure.
At ten she'd learnt a lot of skills, still worry free and playful
But learning school and peers now rank important to be joyful.
At twenty now the teens slipped by, with boyfriends, partners, dancing
Reality has reared its head - adventure, work, entrancing.
At thirty she knew more of life, the good times and the tears,
Alone to rear two children now, as so many with their fears.
Forty saw her more in control, of her life, her work and family
Though youth had gone she rallied round what was now her priority.
At fifty they were young adults, how proud she felt of them.
The journey had its highs and lows, but over all a gain.
Sixty came, her health was good, time now to plan retirement.
Contentment with the years well spent, the future thought excitement
Of new horizons, learning still, the earth a place of wonders
So seventy enjoys the day, lives on, her future still to ponder.(with apologies to Charles Aznavour and Maurice Chevalier)
Mockingbird
I was browsing through the non fiction shelves at the local library recently when I pulled out a book whose title intrigued me.Having read 'To Kill a Mockingbird' (hasn't everyone?) I read the blurb on the back and inside cover to discover this book dealt with the writer, Harper Lee. What would be so interesting about her life to warrant a sizeable book about her? So I took out the biography to find out.
Almost to the end of 'Mockingbird' now, I've come to appreciate the dynamics of this shy, reclusive woman. Born into a small sleepy town in Alabama, after two and a half years writing Nelle (Harper) Lee catapulted the occupants of this generally unknown and forgettable hamlet onto the world stage.
From the time of publishing, the book became a world-wide phenomenon, taught in 75% of public schools in the U.S.A. (my grandchildren, with many others, had it here in year 8), in most European countries (unofficially too, in Russia). There were stage shows and the well known movie - starring Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch and two unknown children as Scout and Jem.
Winning the Pulitzer Prize proved the pinnacle of Nelle's life as a writer, but she continued to refuse most interviews and invitations, was abrupt with many she felt intrusive and ignored others. She commuted for many years between New York and Alabama particularly when her father was alive. A.C. Lee - civic leader, title lawyer and politician - was the author's model for the central character Atticus Finch, and was renowned as a gentleman and humanitarian in an era of the Ku Klux Klan and all it implied.
Nelle Harper Lee never married and appeared quite content with a selective circle of friends. A life long friend - portrayed as Dill (the rather unusual gregarious school boy who enjoyed school holidays with his aunt next door to Scout and Jem), Truman Capote went on to publish his first novel before Nelle. He later appeared to resent Nelle's success and Pulitzer Prize which Nelle couldn't understand and he died a drug addict and alcoholic.
Why Nelle didn't complete her second novel based on a local multiple murderer will always be an enigma. She is quoted as saying she'd always intended to write many novels, but after that first one which became the best selling novel of the twentieth century, she became 'overwhelmed' by the required promotion and publicity and retreated from the spotlight as soon as she could.
Nelle is now eighty two, living with her ninety two year old sister (who practised law as their father had done before her), quietly reading and at peace now she's out of the limelight of 'To Kill a Mockingbird'.
Makulu
I never thought that I would see him again, but having read that he was transferred from the Perth Zoo to Taronga Park I went there particularly to see him and there he was! I had seen the gangling infant with his still devoted mother hovering nearby. Now he was a handsome adolescent, the long graceful neck, huge eyes with the incredibly long eyelashes looking gently down at me.He was in his permanent home as part of the breeding programme, and seemed to have settled in (who can tell?) with others around him.
Frankly, I felt the pen was disappointing for such a prestigious zoo - bare earth with not a shrub or tree in sight.
Who can forget the world famous picture of the new born Makulu sitting bolt upright with his mother's mouth on his head crinkling his forehead? Cards by the thousand and countless posters have circulated here and overseas.
I do so hope they are building a natural area for this famous boy and his companions. If nothing else, he's earned it!
Goals and Dreams
I was finishing the last book published by John Pilger, this one titled 'Freedom Next Time' when he quoted just a few lines from an author unknown to me:
"Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly."Have you ever stopped dead in the thread of your reading - as in John Pilger's strong statement on injustices by governments and industrials (not everyone's cup of tea for relaxing reading) and realised that at 76 you'd never heard of this prolific novelist, poet and writer of short stories? He also wrote four volumes of editorial and documentary fiction, twenty plays, children's poetry, musicals and operas and three autobiographies. There were also a dozen radio and television scripts, seven anthologies and dozens of magazine articles and sixteen books of poems. Whew!!
WHO was he? … His name was Langston Hughes (1902 - 1967), dying of cancer at 65 and having plays and poems published posthumously.
(I am often accused of being too serious or intense in attitudes to issues in life. This might be so, but I'd rather be as I am and who I am, than a 'don't give a damn as long as it doesn't affect ME' which is so prevalent today.)
Langston Hughes, I discovered, was an Afro-American, born in Missouri into a fortunate family for that era. (His great great uncle John was the first Black American to be elected to public office - quite an achievement with an emerging Ku Klux Klan.)
Langston began writing poetry in 8th grade but was discouraged by his father from pursuing writing as a career, in favour of something 'more practical' like engineering. He dropped out of the degree course and for the rest of his life wrote constantly with his work frequently published. Travels included many areas of Africa, Italy, France, Russia and Spain and he loved to sit in clubs listening to jazz and writing poetry.
Hughes is quoted as saying "No poet of worth has ever been afraid of being himself."
The earlier quoted short poem is entitled 'Dreams'.
'Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams, for when dreams go
Life is a barren field, frozen with snow.'Seems his was a full, enjoyable and purposeful life and existence.
Life Now - Seachange!
Ten years ago if anyone had told me I would leave the metropolitan area for an area three hours or so away, leaving behind all family and network of friends as well as good neighbours, I'd have said, "In your dreams - dream on!"Then a combination of life-changing incidents and a serious consideration of alternatives and strategies to resolve the intolerable situation became clear.
To explain: I lived in Senior Citizens' units with the first couple of years quite enjoyable. Then across the road (which incidentally was part of a bus route and was quite busy), a tavern was opened. That was the beginning. When the young patrons were evicted at 11 p.m. their party mode continued across the shopping centre car park with noise levels making it impossible to sleep if, like me, you had fenced front garden then footpath then frontage as five of us had.
That was the beginning of the end of my living in the 'metro madness.'
Next began the home invasions. I had a disturbance on my front porch around dawn one morning. He was a very thin young man rummaging in my gardening bucket I had left there overnight. He wanted a drink of water, he said, and on enquiry told me - through the locked security door - that he lived in the adjoining suburb. When I firmly said I was not opening the door at 6 in the morning to a stranger and closed the door I heard him leaving by the gate.
It was later that day I heard he tried (and succeeded) in gaining access a couple of doors down with the same ploy. When John - who was in his sixties, had had a debilitating stroke and was permanently in a wheel-chair - answered the door, went to hand the glass of water out to the would be thief and probable drug addict, he was swiftly pushed back into the room with the door slammed behind him.After the thief ransacked John's unit, he frisked John, took his wallet, the watch on his wrist and left without a word or a backward glance.
In the ensuing five or six months there were a further five or six thefts and garden ornaments or small shrubs stolen. I believe if you visited week end markets you could quite possibly see your goods for sale.
Late one morning I was busily trowelling the garden at the back of my unit. My Rhodesian Ridgeback dog, Nala was sitting nearby supervising my gardening while I was day dreaming (as we tend to do with repetitive work). I was suddenly snapped out of my reverie by a loud, long belly growl coming from my companion dog. Looking from her to the garden where her attention was centred, I saw an adult hand withdrawing from the gate latch. A tall shadow on the other side quietly disappeared.
We can all be wise in hindsight …
I gave no more thought to that would-be thief until I heard that Peg next door had a home invasion shortly after my incident. Yes, I should have rung her and/or the police. Fortunately, Peg was sitting on the front porch with her little terrier while the thief gathered up three hand bags - one with her pension money inside - all three bags thrown in the back yard while the thief left with her money and other valuables. At least she wasn't hurt.
Other disturbing incidents followed so that I had definite thoughts of living elsewhere. Moving to another suburb was not an option to me as law and order was obviously breaking down, so I considered a south west town.
So, here I am in Busselton. Location good, five minutes' walk from the 'doggie' beach with my 'rescued' kelpie cross. Life style a vast improvement on the metropolitan madness, so after nearly three years happily here I've decided that I go back to Perth only when I must.
Aurora Australis
In the eighties I joined the Astronomical Society of WA wanting to know more of our awesome universe than the little we know so far. The evening class was held at a room in Wesley College (South Perth?) on the first Monday of every month. There were viewing evenings at the Observatory and field events of all night viewing held at Nyandra Forrest on ten inch Doppler telescopes, which I found fascinating. For those who couldn't stay the distance all night there were two Nissan huts - one for girls and one for boys - with sufficient cots for all, another had basic facilities for tea and coffee and to sit while eating. One evening at the class in Perth following the guest speaker's brief talk and having a tea break one of the younger men went out onto the verandah for a cigarette. The No Smoking embargo was then in its infancy but accelerating - when we heard a loud shout from that direction of 'Quick, all of you, get out here. Come and see this!' or words to that effect.The thirty of so of us dropped our mugs on the table and hurried out. What we saw and experience was almost over whelming and something I have never seen before or since…
Across the clear night sky to the south as far as the eye could see was a riot of rippling, waving ribbons of colour. Constantly moving in reds and blues through to violet higher up and graduating to variable shades of yellow and green towards the horizon. Only the sounds of 'Ooh,' 'Aah,' and 'Oh' were heard in this small crowd, we were engrossed in this visual phenomenon. Not really understanding, but mostly overwhelmed by our first experience of this spectacular sky feast for the eyes. Time and our astronomy class forgotten, we stood spellbound as this constant rippling of vivid colour gradually subsided to fade, gradually and silently, until the stars resumed their dominance of their space in the night sky.
There was no mention in the newspapers or on TV of this unusual occurrence and I regret not ringing the Observatory or tracking down whether this had been seen before so far north of the South Pole.