Rhiannon
Memories of Early Childhood
I was born in my grandmother's farmhouse which was (and still is) on the shore of a lake at the foot of Mt Snowden in North Wales. This village was an all Welsh speaking one in those days. Tourists have since found it beauty so today one can hear so many dialects and many children are bilingual.What an ideal childhood I must have had with my brothers and sisters. What more could a child ask than to be surrounded by lakes, mountains, waterfalls and rivers to explore. Gradually the beauty around the lake was ruined when the open cut mining for slate started in the last century. Now this ugly blot on the landscape is slowly returning to its original loveliness after so many years of mining.
My ancestors were tenant farmers and quarry workers. In fact the Sunday-best clothes belonging to my great grand parents are on display in the Cardiff museum.
Until quite recently I frequently visited the house where I was born. This building intrigued me. The dairy was built with huge slabs of slate and even on the warmest of summer days it was like stepping into a coolroom. The parlour, as it was called, had a door built into a wall which when opened revealed a stairway to the bedrooms.
I must of course mention the 'loo' which was at the bottom of a long path. But instead of flowers on each side, some sadistic soul had planted gooseberry bushes there. It did not pay to be in a great hurry to reach your destination down that path because of the cruel thorns on the bushes. The loo, when reached, was a wooden structure built over a gushing stream. Very convenient and hygienic (in a way) as everything was just swept down by the obliging stream to the lake.
Everything comes to an end. Dad was granted a scholarship to Aberystwyth University and when his degree was completed we all moved up to Scotland. Language problems were awful for a young child! After all, the Scottish accent can be daunting at times. However, children overcome all hurdles. Just when it was smooth sailing after a few years Dad was transferred back to Wales. Another problem reared its ugly head with now another language. No one in school could understand me. The town we lived in was Holyhead - the port for Ireland.
This just goes to prove that you do not have to leave the U.K. to cross language boundaries. It is no wonder that people ask me where I came from prior to arriving here.
Collision
On the 13th of May 2007 at 5.30 pm, an accident occurred on Rocky Bay Road track involving a head on crash between two vehicles travelling in opposite directions. No one was injured. The white station wagon was occupied by two elderly men returning from a fishing trip and the second vehicle, a red utility, was driven by a youth accompanied by his friend. Both of them had been surfing.The driver of the white wagon had become bogged after turning a sharp corner and they were attempting to dig out the wheels when they noticed a red ute bearing down on them and almost running into them before smashing into their car.
The driver of the ute strutted out of his vehicle off the defensive and full of rage, suggesting in colourful language that the other driver was an old dodderer who was too old to be driving anything but a wheel chair. The elderly man asked how long the youth had had his licence and just how many demerit points he had scored.
This brought no answer in words but the youth replied by throwing rocks incurring more damage to the station wagon. The actions and language on both sides got out of hand until the younger ones noticed their surfboards had become airborne and looked pathetic out of their ocean surroundings, lying in pieces on the bush scene.
Things could have become much more serious had not an onlooker arrived on the scene and phoned, regarding the fracas, to the police, who soon arrived at the crash site.
Grumpy Old Women
There must be thousands of women waiting to join our G.O.W. club judging by the way our patience is wearing our. Maybe a G.O.W. badge would help.The present generation might as well wear a uniform. Have they no minds of their own? Same style (if it can be called that) wearing layers of clothes but still exposing their midriffs. Music is the same - the louder the better. The more violence in films, the better rating they get.
Enter the supermarkets with 'have a nice day' mumbled at every check out. What difference does it make to us even if we have had a dreadful day? Should it make us feel better? So annoying. Then when you reach home you find you have been charged double for an item and find a spare one you haven't ordered.
Another trip back to the shop and they suggest you check your docket before leaving. Hard enough juggling your groceries, trolley, purse and sometimes kids without checking each item.
Try picking up the phone to make an enquiry. Then you have to listen to a voice reciting a list of buttons you press, depending on what your enquiry is. By the time these have all been listed to you, so confused you have become that by this time you have forgotten what your original problem was. The simple solution would be for one button to have printed on it 'HELP'.
Now it is the banks' turn for complaints. Where is the privacy? You whisper your business to the teller who then cannot hear you. Then next time you attempt to speak it comes out so loud that everyone in the queue knows your problem. How embarrassing!
Have you ever got onto a bus (in Perth, of course) and expected as a matter of course to be charged a Senior's or a Pensioner's rate? Not likely! You are asked for proof of the same. Is the man blind? If his eyesight is that bad he should never have had a license to drive a car, let alone a bus.
Then at the hairdresser's. The reason you are here is to try to improve your appearance and feel better about yourself. You sit in the chair and you can't believe you look that bad! Why on earth can't they bathe us in a soft rosy glow instead of ghastly fluorescent lighting that makes you feel as if you have aged overnight?
These complaints are never ending. Let's hope we become more accepting of others as time speeds on.
The Clydesdale
My name is Bess and I am a very large strong horse known as a Clydesdale. I believe my breed comes from a faraway land called Scotland. In fact, from an area known as the Clyde - hence the name. It must have been a very cold country because my fetlocks have very thick hair growing over them, possibly to keep my hooves warm. Quite useful in this country to shade my feet from the hot sun!I have a wonderful owner who talks and fusses over me. He is a farmer and although I work hard he is with me and seems to understand when I need a break. My work consists mainly of pulling a plough which is fairly easy, but if the plough hits a large rock this sometimes causes an injury to my master. That's a welcome break for me but I'm sorry whenever my master is hurt. Sometimes his young son takes over at this time but this I do not enjoy as he is inexperienced. He shouts and curses at me through no fault of mine as I do not understand his orders.
Something else I hate is when this young man mounts me to go and shoot kangaroos and foxes. To this day a sudden noise startles me.
Now and again I have to deliver large kegs of beer to the Public Houses and I am glad to be in the quiet paddocks again afterwards.
An enjoyable experience is sometimes to take part in a procession when I am decked out with brass chains and medallions. I really think I do look very regal. The happiest part is when I take a cart load of happy children who just love me on a ride. I must be patient and gentle with them, and they do call me a gentle giant.
One of these days I will surely be put out to permanent retirement, but not just yet, I hope. There's lots to do!
A Memorable Flight
When flying to Singapore en route to Perth from Rangoon, the man sitting next to me nudged me and asked whether I could hear a different sound from the plane's engines.
Somewhat confused, I had to inform him that I didn't have a clue about the sounds they were supposed to make. He then informed me that one engine had stopped. This was a shock to me especially when he said that he was an aeronautical engineer and worse was to come when the pilot's voice came from the cockpit.
He was sorry to inform passengers that as one engine was not functioning we could not continue with the flights. This, I thought, is what nightmares are made of.
Back we flew to Rangoon but we could not land until all the fuel had been used. I'd never seen so many paddy fields in my life and have no desire to do so again. Eventually we landed safely when the fuel had all been used but then we had some hours left before we took off again.
On a happier note, a Chinese family noticed I was on my own and invited me to join them for dinner. Such kindness is never forgotten and we all got on well despite langue problems at times.
Eventually all went well for a safe return in good old Perth!
A Child's Birthday Party
Not even if I was offered a million dollars would I plan another child's birthday party.Everything that could go wrong did. The day before I spent hours trying to put together a birthday cake. As soon as it was almost cooked, the power went off - a complete black out. I took it out of the oven to discover my cake resembled a crater in a volcano. A quick dash to the nearest baker, twenty kilometres away - they were sold out. A quicker dash to a supermarket saved the day.
Now, I thought, I had to ice it. After mixing it I thought it needed a little more icing to set it quicker. I found the shaker so as to control the flow but the lid fell into the liquid mixture so I had to add more liquid. I felt that the icing was thicker than the cake.
Next step was to put on the candles and then I felt nothing could go wrong.
Unfortunately, in the disasters of the day, I had forgotten to put them in the fridge. A hot day had bent them over nearly double. Lighting them was a difficult job but the children thought that was what was planned and they were excited to see a different way to light candles.
I was worn out but I now had the job of driving these party goers to their widespread homes on farms. This took me an hour and a half.
At least I slept that night!
First Impressions of Australia
I arrived in Australia as a Ten Pound Pommie (as we were known then) on the 5th of May, 1955. I didn't know what to expect - probably heat, blue skies and maybe a kangaroo or two on the horizon. Alas, it was wet, windy and cold. What a disappointment.
I was met by some relatives of a sister in law and taken to their property in South Fremantle which had quite a few acres. I was always scared of horses, and they raised and bred them. The day after I arrived a rodeo was to take place and the 'cowboys' from up north were given the use of the stables. I had great difficulty understanding them - probably due to the flies invading their mouths.
Out of bravado, I accepted an invitation to have a ride on one of their steeds. I was literally flung over it and enjoyed a nice little trot. The horse was obviously not used to this and took off. Fortunately I landed on soft sand but no one was concerned about me. The horse was obviously more valuable than I was. So much for caring Aussie men!! I still have a deep respect for horses and learned to love them - with a fence between us.
I ended up marrying a farmer who bred and raced horses but I never rode one again. However, the only time I wanted to ride was on the back of the two Clydesdales. I was quite safe in my wishful thinking as I had no hope of mounting either of them, but I still spent time with these gentle giants.