Writing Family History Week 3

Walking in their shoes - Downward Spiral

Fred Ross and I were excited to be flying our second op. with Bomber Command Pathfinder Force. It was now the evening of 19 August 1943. The following wave of lumbering Lancaster bombers depended on our light weight Mosquito to drop target indicator flares over German industrial areas.

Our first op. two nights before had been, as Fred said in his letter home “a short flight to Berlin, take in the sights and home in bed by midnight.” We were cockily confident again tonight.

Suddenly, without warning, a heavy ack-ack shell hit and the tail of the Mosquito disappeared; I was thrown to the floor. Momentarily deafened by the terrific explosion, I called forward to Fred, “we’re hit”, but no response came.

I looked back to see the gun turret blown out by a burst of tracer from above; I had been seated there moments before. The noise was deafening as flak burst all around us, shrapnel drummed on the wings and searchlights followed our every move.

The plane was out of control, racing dizzyingly downwards as 
I forced my way through the gun turret debris. I fought forward against the pull of gravity knowing I had to get to the controls.

My worst fears were realized when I saw Fred slumped over the column.

The incessant racket continued as I tried desperately to move my friend aside.

“Damn, I'm only 21! …will I make it home to Faye? …what about Mum and Dad?”

The sickening race to the ground continued…

Goulburn Community Choir

In early October I joined the Community Choir with a good deal of trepidation. I have always enjoyed singing but never felt that I could sing well; in addition I always felt at a disadvantage because I do not read music. 

However, this choir was promoted by the Goulburn Regional Conservatorium as being for anyone from 16-96 who enjoyed singing, and music education was not a prerequisite. So I went along with a dear friend who also sings in another choir, learns Voice and also Ukulele, and tried not to feel inferior.

We met for 1-5 hours once a week for 7 weeks and had our end of term concert last Thursday night.It was a wonderful experience to be part of a like minded group who enjoy music and the end result was better than expected. 

We were conducted by the Director of the Con, Paul Scott-Williams, who very capably coached such a mismatched group and enabled them to excel in a short time. Thank you so much Paul for your hard work.

Now I'm counting the weeks until practices resume in early February :-)

Writing Family History - week 2

This is my eTivity for week 2 of the Writing Family History course through the University of Tasmania. This was posted to "Hooking the reader".

The Christmas Parcel

On Christmas Eve a large parcel arrived from overseas. It reinforced the finality of Colin’s death and at first she could not even look briefly at its contents.

Christmas was bleak for the whole family, but after a week Daisy finally began to go through some of Colin’s mementoes.

She found the photos he always kept with him wherever he travelled: a framed photo of his sister Shirley and the small photo of his parents always in his wallet with another of Faye.

There was also a bundle of letters creased from continual rereading, and another, still sealed, addressed to her. Daisy contemplated the envelope’s familiar handwriting for several more days until at last she steeled herself to lift the flap. Then she began to read the words her son had written four days before he disappeared…

“Dear Mum,

First of all excuse the pencil but I am just in a slight rush so naturally can write faster…Once again I am at a new station and once again trying to settle down. At last the training for ops. has finished and I have already done my first one… I am safe and sound… we work 7 days a week but have 6 days leave every 6 weeks all being lucky! Our 6 weeks isn’t up till near the end of Sept....

…2 am.

Well Mum I’ll break this off now till later and pick it up when I have some more to tell you.

Your boy – Colin xxx…”

Writing Family History

I have just started an online course called Writing Family History with the University of Tasmania. The course runs for a total of 6 weeks over the summer vacation and will give me a statement of attainment at the end. 

Each week we have to submit an eTivity (a piece of flash writing of no more than 250 words) and a final piece of 750-1000 words. So I plan to post each week's piece here to have a record of what I've done and to keep me on task with regular posting.

This was Week One's piece...

1944

The warm hall was welcoming after the chill wind outside. The dance floor gleamed after its last application of sawdust. Trestle tables around the edges of the hall groaned with an abundance of food while large teapots were already being filled.

Shirley sat out three dances while pondering whether coming here was a good idea. This was her first night out since Colin had disappeared over Germany and she still felt guilty about leaving her elderly parents.

A group of RAAF boys approached; one of them shyly asked Shirley to dance. He seemed so ill at ease that she took pity on him and agreed. Fortunately the dance floor was crowded so she heard only a few of his two left feet excuses.

When the bracket finished Shirley thankfully sat and enjoyed just talking. Alick confided his continual homesickness, how he missed farm life but also how he longed to travel overseas with the RAAF. 

She responded by telling him about her only brother who went to England as an RAF navigator; about the devastating telegram last August which changed her life forever; about how her family now lived in a house weighed down with grief.

Over supper the young couple continued to chat. Shirley wanted to get to know him better while Alick was quietly surprised that this sophisticated city girl was interested in him.

The evening ended quickly. They parted with promises to meet again next week. Along with the other girls Shirley piled on to the 10.30 bus as the young airmen set off on their frosty walk back to Fairbairn RAAF Base.

Happy 40th Ben

Today is my son Ben's 40th birthday and of course my thoughts turn to Peter whose birthday is tomorrow. 

When Peter turned 40 we had been back living here for over twelve months, and he was entrenched in his third career change; when I turned 40 I had had three children, was working part time and had just started studying again.Somehow Ben doesn't seem as old or experienced as we were, but I know that he has had many more varied life experiences than either of us at the same age.

When Ben was born I was 24 years old and Peter was one day off 27. We thought we were so worldly wise  ready to take on this new phase of our lives. In reality we were dreadfully under-prepared and our lives were never the same again.

The day that Ben was born was a cool November day, very similar to the weather we have been experiencing lately. I now know that we went to the hospital way too early, but I was unsure of what to do and impatient to meet my first born child.

As a result, we spent most of the day walking on the edge of the lake and waiting for labour to set in or risk being sent home. That would have been the ultimate humiliation, to have to go home and come back another time!

Fortunately my friendly GP decided to intervene in the early evening by breaking my waters and Ben was born just before 8 pm that night. Our family began with the birth of my parents' first grandchild, my grandmother's first great-grandchild and the fifth Kendall grandson

Day 30!!!! Fond memories of Paris

So I have made it to day 30 of the 30 Day Blogging Challenge where I undertook to post once a day for 30 days. I have surprised myself at the persistence I have exhibited and I am hoping that it has not been too tedious for anyone who has been reading my blog posts.

I was planning to do another post today with more pictures describing the next stage of our trip to France in 2014, but with all the sad, sad news coming out of Paris today I think I will just post a few of my favourite Paris photos and send heartfelt loving energy to everyone in that beautiful city.

Week 4 roundup

This week I managed to again post every day to my blog, although I wasn't able to get through my planned sequence of travelling through France. Doing that should see me through to the end of the 30 Day Blog Challenge and then I can decide how often I plan to regularly post if not every day.

Here's a brief run down of what you missed if you  haven't yet discovered my website.

Day 22: Week 3 of Grandmarg's blog
Day 23: Travelling from Sydney to Hong Kong on the way to Paris 
Day 24: Day 2 - Arriving in Paris and exploring alone
Day 25: Neighbours - how much I loved our neighbours, and why
Day 26: Going to school - how I continued to hate going to school
Day 27: Misunderstood - addressing a writing prompt
Day 28: July road trip - some photos from my solo road trip

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July road trip

In July of this year I went on a solo road trip where I met up with old friends, went to a family reunion and explored several places I had never been to. 

Misunderstood

The eight year old girl never felt that she could tell her Mum or Dad how she was feeling: her mother always seemed so busy with the younger children at home and she didn't want to bother her any more than necessary, and her father was always so tired and distracted when he came home long after dark that she didn't talk to him either.

She continued to ask herself for many years why she always felt she could never talk to her parents about what mattered in her life, what frightened her and what didn't, what she was proud of and what she was ashamed of. 

Finally the answer came to her: as the eldest child she was always told that she was the big girl, older than the others, able to cope; but all she ever wanted was for someone to get it, to understand, to say, " I know how you're feeling."

If only someone had sat her down and asked some questions about how she was feeling and what was bothering her, she may have learnt to cope with change more readily at a much earlier age, because sometimes she didn't feel so grown up and just wanted a little babying. 

She wasn't looking for someone to fix the situation, just another person who could understand and let her know they understood. 

Going to school - Kywong

When I was five years old I started school. I had to go on the school bus and every day I hated leaving my family. 

Dad would drive me to catch the bus and my heart would sink when I saw the bus coming around the corner. I used to cry a lot and I told Mum that some of the kids on the bus teased me; I don’t think they really did tease me, I think I was just plain miserable at having to go to school and needed an excuse for crying so much.

However, I do remember having some happy times at school, especially an occasion when the School Inspector, Mr Lake, came to school and I had to read for him in front of the class. I loved to read and this was probably when I first realised that sometimes other people had trouble making sense of the words on the page.

First aid was a concern because our school was so remote, without even a telephone to contact the outside world. Friar’s Balsam was the universal antidote for all manner of cuts and scrapes and if you had a toothache during the school day the headmaster would give you Oil of Cloves to relieve the pain.

On one occasion the school photographer arrived unannounced for school photos and we had to tidy ourselves up very quickly; it must have been a very quick preparation because in that photo my hair is standing up on end.

Growing up in such a large family circle should have assured me of plenty of self confidence but it didn't. I really hated going to school, I hated having to go to travel on the bus and I think I just hated any change in my life. 

It must have been so hard for Mum to send me off sobbing every day on the school bus. I know how she must have felt because I experienced the same thing some 40 years later when Amy was going to school most unwillingly.

Knowing what I now know I would have taken Amy’s concerns more seriously and sought professional help for us all. I was struggling to commute to work full time in Canberra as well as study part time by distance, and Peter was working at the gaol so he was often not available to help out. We got through those difficult years somehow but I still feel sad and I do hope that Amy realises that I did the best that I could at the time.

I still feel anxious when I think of little tots starting school and I already wonder how my own grandchildren will go when it’s their turn. 

Just the thought of having to leave someone so young for a whole day in a group situation fills me with trepidation – my heart starts to pound and I feel the anxiety flood through me. But why do I feel this way? Am I just transferring the memory of my own experiences onto my grandbabies? Both Sally and Ben went to school with very few problems but perhaps I identified more with Amy than with them.

Neighbours

 From the time I was born until I was ten years old I felt nothing but unconditional love for our next door neighbours.

I was extremely fortunate to live on a farm next door to my father’s parents and I saw them almost every day of my life.

In my memory we are always seated around the large kitchen table having morning tea, afternoon tea or lunch. There is always a crowd of people there - my uncles, aunts, grandfather, Dad, and sometimes also shearers and other workmen. 

The kitchen always smells of delicious meals, soups, roasts, and of course fruit cake and slice. I always have a cup of cocoa with the adults because my grandfather makes it deliciously sweet and creamy, just the way I like it.

Soon after, my grandfather died, my uncle married, my aunt returned to live at home with her two children, and then we moved far away from that encompassing circle of family love.

The magical spell was broken but those happy times will remain always in my memory.

Day 2 - Arriving in Europe and exploring Paris alone

The longest leg of our journey to Europe was from Hong Kong to London, a total of 11 hours in the air but mercifully most of the trip was in the evening.

We arrived in Paris at about 9.00am and then had an unplanned free tour of Paris attractions as our (replacement?) shuttle bus driver took a small bus load of jet lagged tourists all around Paris hoping our hotels would magically appear:-). He was so stubborn that he would not admit he was lost, kept checking maps on his phone and even resorted to asking people at traffic lights for directions. We FINALLY arrived at our very posh hotel Hilton La Defence after 2 hours of driving around Paris. 

We settled in and dozed for the afternoon and then ordered Room Service for our first French meal - Croc Monsieur, yum!

We had a free day before joining our Trafalgar tour so decided to spend the day having our own tour of Paris. Trevor was extremely jetlagged and couldn't wake up so we left him to sleep it off.

After a couple of hiccups we managed to negotiate the Metro and found ourselves at Gare Saint-Lazare. I realised that I was REALLY in Paris seeing places I had only read about, and was also hearing and still understanding the language I had learnt some 45 years ago. I was ecstatic!

We hopped on and off a Big Red Bus Tour of Paris. Here Wendy admires the
beautiful River Seine.

One of our stops was at the Musee d'Orsay where I photographed this magnificent horse for Wendy's grand daughter who loves horses.

After meeting up with our tour group we were taken for dinner to this beautiful restaurant overlooking the Louvre. We watched the sunset from the terrace and then went inside for our meal.

2014 - my life long dream fulfilled

Day 1 - Sydney to Hong Kong

In late September 2014 I finally realised a long anticipated dream - to travel to Europe, especially to France, and more especially to Paris. My friend Wendy was my travelling companion and she brought along her well travelled friend TTTT (Trevor the Travelling Teddy.) In anticipation of boring friends with MILLIONS of photos on our return, I set up a Facebook page to share photos each day. This page was called Griswald Grannies Do Europe and was a great hit amongst our friends.

Trevor was ready before us, waiting patiently for Wendy's son Tim who was our trusty chauffeur to Sydney.











We stayed overnight in Sydney so that we could be at the airport with plenty of time to spare the next day. 

While waiting to depart Wendy took some basic French lessons from Trevor. He told me she was a good student but needed to keep practising.







After what seemed like the longest day we arrived in Hong Kong and I began my photo frenzy, snapping pics of the amazing ultra modern Hong Kong airport.

We were labelled (in case we wandered off?), very efficiently collected and delivered safely by mini bus 

to  our beautiful hotel the Eaton. 

A good night's sleep and a restful day in and around the hotel's luxury coffee shop prepared us for the next leg of our trip, overnight to London.

Best of GrandMarg's Blog week 3

Celebrating three weeks of continuous blog posting

This week I have continued with my plan to alternate photos and writing, and although I have not yet had anyone comment on my posts I have had a few more lookers. I am happy that I have managed to post something every day for the past 3 weeks.

Here's a brief run down of what you missed if you  haven't yet discovered my website.

Day 16: Best of GrandMarg's Blog - week two(ish)
Day 17: Deep Sleep - written on a tired Friday
Day 18: Flowering succulent - photos of my beautiful cactus
Day 19: Language - addressing a writing prompt
Day 20: Spider webs - photos of spider webs taken this year
Day 21: Bus stop - how I hated going to school on the bus

In the next week I plan to combine writing and photos of my European trip last year, and by the time I have finished that my 30 days of blogging will be complete.

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Bus stop

I hated going to school as a young child, especially having to travel on the school bus– having to get onto the bus in front of so many others who often jeered at me, being squashed into the bus, sitting next to people I didn't like and didn't want to sit next to.

The bus was noisy and hot in summer and cold in winter; someone always seemed to be having ‘wars’ with someone else and there was always some ill feeling in the air.

************************************************************************

The timid six year old waited anxiously for the bus to arrive, fighting bravely against waves of dread at having to say goodbye to Dad or Mum. Getting on the already crowded bus packed with noisy kids who would invariably jeer or make fun of her was the biggest challenge she faced each school day. Every morning it was something different – the colour of her jumper, the shoes she wore, the size of her school bag, how her hair was parted – so she never knew what she could have done that day to try and avoid criticism.

She just wished that she didn't always feel so different to everyone else.

 

Once she arrived at school the day would go smoothly, as she usually got top marks for her spelling and reading. However this also drew attention to her and gave her enemies more fodder for tomorrow’s teasing; but still she was never deterred from trying to always do her best.

Going home on the bus every afternoon was another harrowing experience to be endured. If she had had a successful day at school there would certainly be comments made about how ‘brainy’ she was, how she must read encyclopaedias for bedtime reading, how she was just being so smart to show everyone else up.

Somehow the half hour bus trip to her stop passed before the next hurdle came. Would someone be waiting to meet the bus or would they be running late?

If there was no one there to meet her she knew the ritual – get off the bus, and walk about 500 metres down the dusty country road to the first house where Mr & Mrs Byrnes lived.

“Gran” Byrnes and her husband, “Grand Mister” were old people about her grandmother’s age who had never had children but loved everybody else’s as their own. Gran Byrnes was a wonderful cook and always had lovely fairy cakes or chocolate slice or date scones for afternoon tea.

It was a long lonely walk in the heat anxiously scouring the roadside for suspicious creatures and jumping at every rustle in the grass, but she knew that once she reached the house she would have fun waiting for Mum or Dad to pick her up.

Spiderwebs...a little late for Halloween

I continue to be entranced by spider webs and I love to catch them with a  little dew or frost highlighting them. This is a selection of ones I photographed earlier this year.

 

Language

She continued to listen to her iPad, trying to implant the once familiar French phrases into her subconscious. Each phrase she heard made the language more real to her and she could see the words written in her minds-eye. 

This preparation was for the much anticipated trip to Paris, another item to be crossed off her bucket list.

The plan had been to travel in June of the next year, stay with the young people in London and then cross the Channel, explore Paris and have a bus trip around France. 

The savings plan went well for a while but several unexpected expenses dented the nest egg and now she was facing the prospect of having to defer the trip. 

This was not a particular concern to her as she preferred to travel when she had adequate money, but she was dreading the disappointment in her son's voice when she had to tell him of her changed plans.

2.12.12

Flowering succulent

This beautiful plant surprised me by flowering for the first time
last year and did not disappoint this year.

This is a close up of one of its flowers; the photo does not do it justice.

I tried to get a shot from directly above
but don't think it was as successful as I had hoped.

Deep sleep

In a deep sleep
With endless dreams
Caught in the momentum 
of continual dreaming
I know that I must wake soon.

Waking finally
I fight through depths of sleep
Until eyes finally open
And consciousness returns.

Dull headache
And hot wind outside
Make me grateful that today is Friday.

8.11.13

Best of GrandMarg's Blog - week two(ish)

This week I have kept up with the 30 Day Blogging Challenge by posting every single day, I have revamped my blog page trying out a new look and I have started to alternate photos and writing in keeping with my new look page.

Here's a brief rundown of what you missed if you  haven't yet discovered my website.

Day 11: Seven word Sunday (on Tuesday)-my attempts at writing Small Stones
Day 12: Spring comes to the garden - 6 photos of our Spring garden
Day 13: My slow but steady fitness quest - how I am starting to walk more frequently
Day 14: Day 14, more flowers - some more photos of our garden
Day 15:Albert Hall Canberra 1944 - how I imagine my parents met


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Albert Hall, Canberra 1944

Albert Hall was early Canberra’s community hall. Situated near the Hotel Canberra where many politicians and public servants lived, it was the city’s venue for school concerts, flower shows, live dramatic performances, the annual Winter Ball as well as Saturday night dances.

The warmth of the hall was welcoming after the chill wind outside. As usual, the ladies of the Women’s Comfort Fund had done a wonderful job of decorating with crepe paper streamers and balloons. The dance floor gleamed after its last application of sawdust. Trestle tables around the edges of the hall groaned with the abundance of supper food and large teapots were already filled in anticipation of thirsty crowds.

The young nineteen year old woman sat out a couple of dances on the pretext that her twisted ankle from that afternoon’s hockey match was still bothering her, but she was really wondering whether coming tonight was such a good idea. Last year she and Vera had been regulars at the Saturday night Services Dance but this was her first night out since her brother had been shot down over Germany. Even though she still felt guilty about leaving them, her parents had insisted she go so she went with Vera and a group of other friends from work.

A small group of young RAAF boys approached and one of them, tall and handsome, shyly asked her for a dance. He seemed so ill at ease that she took pity on him and agreed. Dancing was obviously not his forte and he continually apologised for his poor skills but the dance floor was so crowded that she heard only a few of his excuses.

When the bracket finished she thankfully sat down and enjoyed just talking with him. Alick confided his continual homesickness, how much he missed his family and the farm routines, and how he longed to travel overseas with the RAAF.

She responded by talking, haltingly, about her big brother; how he’d gone off to Canada and then England to join the RAF and be a navigator, and how the telegram that came last August had changed her life forever. Now she lived in a house weighed down with grief where she felt that she should be in perpetual mourning and she worried that her elderly parents would never smile again.

The supper break came and went and the young couple continued to chat. She knew that this was a man she wanted to get to know better and Alick was quietly surprised that this sophisticated city girl was interested in listening to his stories.

All too soon the evening came to an end and they parted with promises to meet at next week’s dance. She and the other girls piled on to the 10.30 bus as the young airmen set off on their long walk back across the river flats to Fairbairn RAAF Base.

After that night she was again a regular dance-goer but she always refused to dance until 20 year old Alick arrived. He was always relieved when he reached the hall with his mates and saw her face light up when she saw him. 

Day 14 - more flowers

This is a selection of photos of flowers taken over this year.

This beautiful pink ruffled rose flowered earlier this year.

I bought a bag of tulip bulbs in April and planted them. This was one of the successful blooms.

This white tulip was the only other one that flowered. I must make sure I divide the bulbs and store them carefully before replanting for next winter/spring.

Our daffodils desperately need dividing and replanting - this was the only one that flowered and surprised us.

The pansies tried hard all winter but I think they have now given up the ghost. Next year I will plant more clumps or more in pots for a better effect.