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.