ENAMELLED PLAQUE
During the last war, my parents befriended two American soldiers, brothers from Idaho. We became very fond of them and were devastated when the younger one lost his life in the fierce fighting in New Guinea. I wrote to his mother until she died and vowed to visit the family one day. This I did in 1991, taking with me an enamelled plaque (made by me) titled Stained Glass Window, in memory of the young soldier who had died. I presented it to his ageing sister, who seemed to cherish it, while the giving gave me a sense of fulfilment somehow. After many years we lost touch, as you do. A few weeks ago, I received an e-mail from a woman in New York State who had purchased the plaque from a gallery in Idaho Falls. She absolutely loved it and had contacted me from the inscription on the back, put there by me all those years ago. She wanted to know the history of the plaque. So I told her. I can only presume that the sister left the enamelled painting to her only child, who, now being in his eighties, has perhaps passed on himself, his estate being administered by those to whom the plaque perhaps meant little. The local gallery was given the task of realising on this once precious item. It had been well looked after and fetched a tidy sum. My pleasure lies in knowing it is still loved.
YOUR OWN TEETH
The young share-farmer was chatting to my father. In the old days, the depression years of the thirties. They had discussed the drought, the never-ending lack of rain; the rotten price they were getting for cream. ‘And did you notice I’ve got me new snappers?’ he...
CONTENTMENT
CONTENTMENT When asked what was the main attribute that contributed to her longevity, my ninety-eight year old grandmother would retort quite defiantly, ‘Contentment!’ This rather puzzled the younger ones, as she had led such an isolated life on a country dairy farm,...
REMEMBERING OLD SCHOOL DAYS
How I love reading of the old days in the Tamborine Bulletin! Not only does it inform me; it sometimes takes me back to my childhood at Buccan and my school days at Logan Village. This time, I was transported to the one-teacher school where headmaster Mr Alec Brown...
THE CROWS AT BUCCAN
Recent news about crows menacing humans reminded me of my school days when Marty, Joan and I would walk barefoot the five kilometres from our home on Buccan Hill to the Logan Village School. The first hundred or so metres down the long hill were safe enough, but then...
THE MEAT ANTS ON THE WAY TO SCHOOL
We walked barefoot to school at Logan Village. The gravel road near the Quinzy Creek bridge was sometimes covered in large meat-ant’s nests. These big red ants packed a powerful sting of which we were most aware. Joan and I skirted round the nests, but one day, Marty...
THE SILVER THIMBLE
We were leaving the district. Leaving the farm that had been home to four generations of my father’s family. The Great Depression still raged and times were tough for a small dairy farmer of 1937. They would try their luck in the city. A share farmer was arranged, a...
VALE BARRY HUMPHRIES
What a great entertainer! He has enabled us to enjoy such mirth! Such talent! He will be missed. Years ago, when my daughter Katy was a teenager, we were having a day at the Brisbane Exhibition. We had not long passed through the gates when I almost bumped into this...
YOU ARE JUST STARTING TO LEAN A BIT WHEN YOU HAVE TO BLOODY-WELL DIE!
That’s what my father used to say when he was in his eighties. And now I am at least THINKING it. Yes, it is true. It sometimes takes a lifetime to really understand some issues...or someone. Perhaps it is because when one gets older, one might have more time to...
FAIR EXCHANGE
The doorbell woke me from my midday nap. I groggily answered the front door. The pleasant looking young man smiled at me. ‘My wife and I were going past your place,’ he said, ‘and we noticed all the oranges under the tree. I wondered if you could spare a few? They...
SUNFLOWERS
As she does, my daughter Katy brought me a bunch of seven huge sunflowers. She knows I love their brightness. But more than that, they remind me of my early school days.Barefoot, we would walk the five ks from the farm at Buccan to the one-roomed school at Logan...