WRITING GALLERY - OCTOBER 2024
WRITING GALLERY - OCTOBER 2024
Embedded Files
A PRECIOUS GIFT by Malcolm W
A PRECIOUS GIFT by Malcolm W
When I was 15 years old, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. My teachers sometimes despaired of me because they reckoned I was wasting my talents. I always did enough to pass my exams, and no more. However, I was diligently studying for my final exams at the age of fourteen, when my life took a new twist. I had to take three months off school to look after my mum and three siblings whilst she was confined to bed for the last months of her final pregnancy and my dad was kept busy working three jobs. Fate decreed that I should leave school when I turned fifteen, and without taking those exams. It was my choice to take that step, and at first I was at a loss as to what direction I would take.
I started work at the local newspaper, as a copy runner in the editor’s office, earning the princely sum of £3 per week. I quit that job after only three-months and took an apprenticeship learning to be a glazier. When I had just become a tradesman I started dating an Aussie girl who had taken a temporary job in the office. Six months later we were married in a registry office, and I flew around the world to meet my new in-laws. Six months after that we jumped in our car and drove to look for a new life in Adelaide.
After three years we moved back to England for eight years before moving back to Sydney, and on to the Hawkesbury north-west of Sydney. We eventually moved to the Capricorn Coast in Central Queensland where we live today.
Now, when I look back on my life and wonder why I did what I did, I always think back to my early teens, and the day when I heard my dad say to my grandmother ‘I’m worried about Malcolm, he doesn’t seem to know what he wants to do with his life”
She smiled when she saw me listening in, and she replied: “Don’t you worry about him Raymond, that boy will be able to turn his hand to anything he puts his mind to”.
Her words instilled in me the confidence to tackle every situation head on and have belief in myself. So, the best gift anyone ever gave me was my grandmother’s belief in me, which gave me a powerful self-belief. Things may not have worked out for the best every time, but her words gave me the strength to shrug off any mistakes and give it another go. My wife and I just celebrated fifty years of marriage, and we have many good memories, and many achievements we are proud of.
MY BERBER CARPET by Valda R
MY BERBER CARPET by Valda R
Anik sank down into the long soft rug his beautiful young pale skinned wife Sylia had brought to their marriage, and which she had spent many hours designing and weaving. The traditional design included checks, zigzags, crosses and stars.
He was exhausted as the sand storm had raged for hours, while he had been trying to find shelter for his animals and although the camels had settled into the sand with their backs facing the wind, the goats and his few sheep were more vulnerable. Their tent was nestled into the sculptured dunes, but there was little protection and he couldn't afford to lose any sheep as he needed to build his stock. Moving them to the back of the caravan was the only option.
He knew they would need to move to a more protected spot as soon as the sand storm abated, preferably to where there was water to graze the animals. Their tent, made from the densely woven hair of the camels and vegetable fibers and woven into strips, was portable and lightweight, but was barely holding up under this sandstorm. He would speak to his Father in the morning to see if he thought they could make it to a known oasis further west.
As Sylia approached him, he pulled her onto him. He forgot his worries and he felt himself harden as she wrapped her arms around him, but finally pushed her aside and said hoarsely, ‘we must eat first’.
He hadn’t eaten since morning and smelt the aroma from the goat's meat stew which had been cooking in the clay oven for hours.
Satisfied and sated, he picked up his three stringed loutar made from goatskin and selected timber, and began plucking and watching Sylia as she began to dance erotically.
His recent marriage ceremony to his beautiful girl had lasted over five days, first celebrated in Sylia’s home and then his parents home. Her family had paid the dowry, and his young wife had brought this beautiful rug which she had made from the wool from her family’s sheep.
This rug was where they ate, slept and consummated their marriage and where Sylia gave birth to their first baby.
When I step onto the soft pile of this vintage rug with its frayed edges and worn patches and close my eyes, I think about these skilled nomad herders of the Sahara desert, and the amazing history of the people who have maintained their nomadic lifestyle. I can feel the haunting rhythmic music, and imagine the sexual symbolic women’s dances and wonder if this was the rug Sylia had made.
This rug where people ate, slept, made love and gave birth, was now mine.
What a beautiful gift.
THE GIFT by Julie S
THE GIFT by Julie S
August 1960. We pulled in to the town square at Domodosala on the Italian side of the Simplon Pass and as was common in those days we were very quickly surrounded by locals drawn by the very big kangaroo, painted on the front of our Bedford Dormobile Camper, whose name was Bes. We had bought Bes from a line-up of cars and vans for sale outside Australia House and had her fitted out by the carpenters working on building the London International Hotel - where we were employed as cooks and general rouseabouts. Although I had been living by myself for some few years I was certainly not much of a cook, but had bluffed my way into the canteen where for six days a week we cooked a full English breakfast – eggs, beans, bacon, tomato and black pudding for fifty men. This was followed by morning, tea, lunch and then afternoon tea. The job provided the money for Bes and then also for our expenses for the next eight weeks roaming through Europe.
“You know my brother Lorenzo? He and Allegra have a shop in Syd-i-ney.”
“Does he sell vegetables and fruit?” I asked.
“Si si. You know him?”
“Oh yes, he has a good shop and is working very hard. He is very happy but he sometimes misses his life here in Italy”.
It was always heart warming to see the innocence of local people wanting to know if we knew their loved one in Australia; population 10 million.
February 2019. My husband and I travelled through Vietnam, north to south. We cruised on the Mekong, squeezed through the Cu Chi tunnels which were dug by the locals during the American War, and we visited the nearby Museum where we saw some of the horrors inflicted on people; a most sobering experience. We attended cooking classes, enjoyed the breathtaking spectacular of the light festival at Hoi An and then we back tracked a bit to visit Laos where we stayed in the most beautiful village of Luang Probang, famed for its many Buddhist temples, markets specializing in paper and also silk making.
Then on to Cambodia where we were to spend a couple of days clambouring through the many temples of Siem Riep and Angkor Wat. The complex was built in the early 12th century and is said to be the largest religious complex in the world. For some reason it was abandoned in the 16th century and it was not until the 20th century that works began to reveal its beauty once again. Massive trees roots had overtaken the complex but many roots have been left to add to its mystery.
After Siem Riep we were invited to join a local family for lunch. To get there we sat in an old dray pulled along by a huge buffalo, along a dry, rutted, dusty track. We were greeted by snotty children and scrawny chooks, one of which I believe became our lunch. As I was seated at the table a young man sidled up to me and said “You know Fred?”
“Fred? Tell me more.”
With that he took me by the hand and took me to a darkened corner where sat a wizened, shrivelled old woman – introduced as his Grandmother.
“Fred. He make my grandmother see.” He tapped her eyes and she beamed with the most beautiful smile.
“Fred.” He repeated. He make my grandmother see”.
Now at home in early December it is time to make the annual Xmas Gift donations to our favourite charities. At the top as always, The Fred Hollows Foundation. Just $25 can give the gift of sight.
“Its obscene to let people go blind when they don’t have to”.
THE REJECTED GIFT by Cindi B
THE REJECTED GIFT by Cindi B
It was a careful ongoing project, an idea that she felt would improve her writing and give her basic insight into how people thought and reacted in whatever situation came up. Its information should give her eventual novel depth and reality she hoped. Dossiers, they were really, that she kept on all her friends, family members and casual acquaintances. It was an enormous amount of work making verbal portraits, of very real people, that she updated as frequently as possible. But the gift she gave to Natasha brought it all to a halt for weeks while she a) tried to forget the occasion, and b) when that did not work, tried to understand why.
She had two nieces, very young teenagers living over a thousand kilometres away. Having agreed with a request from her brother to rear the children as her own should anything happen to their parents, she visited as frequently as possible, but, sadly not often enough to achieve a close relationship.
Looking forward to Christmas with them, she made gifts. Gifts especially tailored to their interests, with their names intrinsically part of the making process. Beautiful gifts made with caring love.
‘No thankyou, Aunty, I don’t use that sort of thing” Politeness, honesty and finality from Natasha, but a slap in the face to the giver. Chelsea’s polite thanks for her gift came as a huge relief.
Understanding the why was vitally important for her self- esteem, for the dossiers of course and eventually the novel.
When she found out that the girls had no idea that, should they be orphaned, she would be their carer, she felt a step closer. However, Natasha , she was sure, had meant no harm, no actual rejection and had no understanding that her “no, thankyou” could cause hurt. A withdrawn personality, but nevertheless a sweet quiet child she reluctantly accepted hugs, but never returned them.
Writing that particular dossier was a lesson in understanding that some people really are different. Spending as much time with Natasha as she could, she encountered a personality trying to make literal sense of a world filled for her with non- sense. A very strong personality.
It took almost ten years for her to find another suitable “Natasha” to pass the gift on to.
Fast forward another ten years and now we understand that many “different” people are living “on the spectrum.” We are all probably there somewhere, and are gradually learning how to get on together. Not too late for her and Natasha, she hoped.
Google Sites
Report abuse