Dear Dad

I remember when we were young our Sunday dinners (at lunch time) were always special. We all sat at the table observing the rules: sitting up nicely and no elbows on the table. Mum enjoyed feeding her family and she would present a full roast dinner complete with Yorkshire Puddings and yummy gravy. This would be followed by a wonderful dessert: rice pudding, trifle, or maybe steamed syrup sponge pudding with custard. Thinking back now, I have no idea where I put it all!

Sometimes, after the dishes had been taken away from the table, mum and dad would reminisce about 'the war' (WWII). Mum would describe the horror of the blitz and what it was like to live in London at that time. She could never forget the frightening sound of the air raid warning sirens when everyone would rush to air raid shelters or to the underground stations for safety. There everyone would stay, tucked up and safe until the 'all clear' sounded.

Dad would tell of his experiences on the battlefront where he was a Royal Engineer. He told us about searching for mines, building Bailey Bridges, and lots more but I can’t remember. And this is why I write. I wish I could go back and listen to his stories all over again.

It wasn't until I was working as a temp in Perth and spent a few weeks on the reception at the Vietnam Veterans’ Counselling Service that I realised why my dad was telling us his stories at the dinner table.

After the war he didn't have a counselling service to go to. He was demobbed, given some 'civvies' (a suit) and left to 'get on with it'. Very fortunately for him he had my mum to come home to. They had been pen friends during the war years and were married in 1946. I am sure if it weren't for my mum he would not have 'recovered' as well as he did. But I still don’t think he ‘unloaded’ any of the horror of the war to mum or to anyone.

So I ask myself now, what was going on inside his head? I shudder to think. And now I wish I'd listened more carefully to what he said at that dinner table. But I was only young and had no understanding of what I was actually listening to.

I have just watched a documentary about The Battle of Monte Casino. It was described as one of the most dreadful battles of WWII. And that is the dinner table story I remember most clearly. I can see my dad's face now as he described the war scene, using the condiments as Tommy, Jerry, and the monastery! But not once did he tell of the horror, the blood and gore, the thought that he may die. No, that was all kept inside. He told us of the heroics, the guns, the camaraderie and the winning! That was his way of dealing with those memories. Probably not enough though.

I understand now dad.

An Achievement

d' daaaaaaaaaa !

"These are a few of my favourite things" and my earring holder that I just finished today! Don't be fooled, I am not 'crafty'. There's mucky gluey bits all over the back, the embroidery is far from neat but I like it.

Handbags

Let's face it; a girl can never have too many handbags!

There's a story attached to each of mine.

My dear old mum bought me the tapestry one. I can never part with that.

My sisters and I had been walking around Harrods in London on one of my trips home, pretending to be important, browsing, oooing and ahhhing at various things, celebrity spotting, giggling and generally having a bloody good time. After a coffee in the coffee shop where ordering coffee is like ordering a three-course meal we browsed the gift shop and my eldest sister pointed out a stunning, stylish, black backpack with "Harrods" embroidered on the flap. We both liked it. On the train on our way home, she produced it from a shopping bag - she'd bought it for me! That's my 'cabin bag' whenever I fly.. of course, darling!

The small satin clutch bag has a motif of beads sewn into a heart shape. One of my sons found the beads amongst my sewing things, he would have been about ten years old. He found a piece of black material and set to sewing them on. When he presented it to me I was so touched. So I made a small clutch bag of black satin so that I could place it on the flap. A treasure!

I have two cloth bags given to me by my very dear cousin. She bought one of them - the lovely red collage - and made the other - a floral fabric bag. I have a secret suspicion she may also have a number of handbags. I would assume her two daughters would have a cupboardfull each too! She tends to frequent 'car boot sales' and her motto is "you can never have too many vases!"

I went with my sister and brother-in-law to London one day on my last trip home (to England) and on walking through a mall bought a nice sized black fabric bag with fabric flowers on the side. She made special effort to show me how I could transform the 'flowers' on the side from buds to full blooms. Amazing! I said. I haven't thought about doing anything with those flowers since I bought it! Sorry lady!

I made myself a red backpack specifically for using when I am on my bike. Hopefully drivers will see me with a bright red patch on my back!

A very dear aunt who lives in Queensland made me a small clutch bag. She does a lot of craft and it is made of patches of various fabrics with a green theme and there is a piece of lace incorporated in it that belonged to our great grandmother. She is a great believer in families and remembering people.

I bought the striped fabric bag from the chemist where I was working in Narrogin, a country town in Western Australia, a few years ago. Narrogin was my first experience of living in a country town. I found the people to be of a different species almost. Down to earth, friendly, broad minded and genuine. Well I thought so, anyway. I learned so much from country living.

I made a friend in Narrogin and she is one of these people who are incredibly good at buying gifts for people. She thinks of things that they actually want, like and/or need. How does she do it? She bought me the brown bag with beaded dangling things. So many people have commented on what a nice bag it is. It's a perfect shape, size and colour.

That's the problem with handbags; size, shape and colour. Can you get it all in one bag, as it were? I've tried a great big one that I could get everything in - wallet, phone, tissues, lipstick, diary, perfume, pens, lunch, camera, handcream, extra jumper for when it gets chilly, kitchen sink etc etc. It looked so appallingly untidy that I decided to change to a small and very rigidly shaped one so that I was limited to what I could cram in it. It didn't last long. I couldn't get everything in it. I started using another little bag along with it then realised I was carrying TWO bags! I go back to the huge bag and try to be tidy. And so it goes on.

My son phoned and I mentioned that I was going through my handbags. He reminded me of a patchwork leather bag I had (many years ago) with circular plastic tortoiseshell handles. One of the handles had leaned against a hot iron and had a groove melted into it. Why on earth did he remember that? He was very young!

My eldest sister was in her teens when she had the brilliant idea of a new handbag for mum's birthday and collected money from my other sister and myself. She was working in London at that time and she chose an exquisite brown stylish leather bag which must have cost a fortune, I realised later. Mum loved it. It was like the Queen herself would have used. My mum loved the Queen.

Autumn

After the heat of summer which extended into Autumn this year somewhat, it has finally cooled down. (sigh... I love the heat!) Here in the south of Western Australia we are receiving the dregs of a cyclone. An incredibly fierce cyclone (named Glenda) which caused some destruction and flooding. It formed off the north west coast of Western Australia and at one stage the Meteorological Office reported the possiblity there could be THREE cyclones forming. Fortunately, only one actually eventuated.

A couple of weeks ago cyclone Larry caused devastating destruction in Queensland where it obliterated banana crops, tore off roofs, pushed over huge trees and generally made a bloody mess. I should watch my language especially as, incredibly, not one person was killed or injured. But I feel this is because Australians understand their weather. Australians respect their weather, their climate. They therefore prepare, they evacuate, they batten down and are ready for anything. At the aftermath there is absolute camaraderie. Everyone gets in and helps. I love these people. Maybe that's why I live here!

Two days ago, as our cyclone Glenda moved slowly south she crossed the coast near Karratha which received huge amounts of rain. But not too much destruction. We watch the radar images with fascination. We are due to go mining in the Gascoyne Region and we wonder if, when we get there this winter, we will find a completely new arrangement of the scenery compared to when we were there last year.

My partner wants to be there NOW to witness this spectacular weather, the heavy rain, the wind, rivers and creeks running that rarely have water showing above ground level.

This photo is of the Gascoyne River when we were there last year and that's the bulldozer on its way across the 'river'! Can't see any water? That's because there isn't any!! It's all below the surface.


So this morning, instead of putting on my shorts and t-shirt to go walkies with Woody, I adorn jeans and jumper and grab my umbrella. It's not pouring but the sky is grey and there's moisture in the air. Cyclone Glenda is now ex-cyclone Glenda and as usual we get the leftovers. But the leftovers are gentle and greening.

As I walk out the door the fresh air hits me and is invigerating. Then I notice the unmistakeable fragrance of wood smoke. Someone has lit their wood fire! mmmmm As I approach the forest my nose tells me that the overnight rain has lifted the scent of the eucalyptus oil that drips from the trees on to the forest floor. It is absolutely delightful, refreshing, like pure oxygen.
Woody, of course, is completely oblivious to all these smells. The only smells he is interested in are animal and/or edible. But then, he is a dog.