[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ admin_label=”section” _builder_version=”4.16″ global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_row admin_label=”row” _builder_version=”4.16″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” custom_padding=”||11px|||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.16″ custom_padding=”|||” global_colors_info=”{}” custom_padding__hover=”|||”][et_pb_post_title meta=”off” featured_image=”off” _builder_version=”4.23.2″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_post_title][et_pb_text admin_label=”Text” _builder_version=”4.23.2″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n
\u00a0During 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.<\/p>\n
[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section][et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ _builder_version=”4.23.2″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.23.2″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”-82px|auto||auto||” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.23.2″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][et_pb_blog show_thumbnail=”off” show_author=”off” show_date=”off” show_categories=”off” _builder_version=”4.23.2″ _module_preset=”default” global_colors_info=”{}”][\/et_pb_blog][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u00a0During 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 […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"on","_et_pb_old_content":"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.\r\nThe first hundred or so metres down the long hill were safe enough, but then we must pass the big gum tree that stood near the entrance to the cow paddock of rich pasture on the Logan River. In this tree nested the crows!\r\nI suppose it was only at nesting time that the crows would attack us, but we were always wary, looking upwards as we approached, and getting ready to run! I think the birds sensed that we were afraid and would remain quiet as we sauntered nearer, pretending we were fearless. Just when we thought we were safely past the danger spot, the crows would swoop, screeching their war-cry! Our little legs sprang into action, running as fast as we could as the birds swooped over our heads, again and again, terrifying us as we raced breathlessly towards the creek where we knew low hanging willows would give us some shelter. The crows did their job well; their nest was safe.\r\nThen it was on to school, past the meat-ant nests that pitted the old gravel road. It seemed that these big red ants were out to get us too...but that\u2019s another story.","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1,26],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-937","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-general","category-musings"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/sexinyourseventies.com\/2023\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/937","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/sexinyourseventies.com\/2023\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/sexinyourseventies.com\/2023\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sexinyourseventies.com\/2023\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sexinyourseventies.com\/2023\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=937"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/sexinyourseventies.com\/2023\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/937\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":939,"href":"https:\/\/sexinyourseventies.com\/2023\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/937\/revisions\/939"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/sexinyourseventies.com\/2023\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=937"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sexinyourseventies.com\/2023\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=937"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sexinyourseventies.com\/2023\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=937"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}