A Normal Woman's Diary.

Memories of Earlier Times 1955-1961

MEMOIRS IN PROSE POETRY

We left Barmera,

With memories

Of bore water and more, than that,

the grapes drying in the sunlight, turning black. Those currants were once bunches on the vine, row, after row, after row. That dirt track with three pine trees, almond in white, dances in the spring breeze, as we make haste to the road, to catch the milkman, with his load. There he fills up our billy can, nothing was homogenised, or pasteurised. We just looked at all the clotted cream, in blobs floating there, wishing to taste it on our tongues, but we didn’t dare. Father wouldn’t like it. Mother won’t like it. Fear was greater than want.

We left Barmera,

With memories,

Of the local swimming hole, and more than that,

the pelicans where once so many, they cast shadows across the sun. Whole flocks of them, fishing, row upon row upon row. No lack of food for them. The clear water of Lake Bonny, was a dream just like the cream, we could taste it on our tongues. The house, our dream home was being built out of rainbow sandstone. Nothing lasts long when your business partner is a thief. We remember our dad building it from scratch. The house that Jack was building came down with a crash with the business now broke, it was no joke. We all had to go, we didn’t dare. Father didn’t like it. Mother didn’t like it; and fear was greater than want.

We left Barmera,

With memories,

Of orange trees, and more than that,

the sheet metal water tanks, that he used to make, now lay forgotten, rusting in the sun. Row after, row, after, row. We left quickly in the night, running away from a broken life’s dreams. Not everyone succeeded in the early sixties. But I still remember as a gem that night, as we drove for hours in the moonlight. The ghost gums shining and the taste of tears on my tongue, as the land said goodbye. Cuddled up in blankets against the cold, three girls huddled one with curls of gold. That night I felt it, the spirit of the white ghost gums said goodbye. Could you feel it too, the land saying goodbye?  Afraid, I never asked them, didn’t dare. Father wouldn’t understand. Mother wouldn’t understand, and fear was greater than want.

We left Barmera,

With memories, of prayers and more than that,

the wish to return to my birthplace. Were the irrigation channels crises cross wide open plains, row upon row, upon row. The clear star filled skies on hot dry summer nights. Were we would lie outside singing childhood chants, time after, time after, time. I can still taste the salt of the air, on my tongue, when one night we stayed at the sea, near Port Pirie. I went back just once, and saw, the old house, three pines, the almond tree, and all those vines.

There I glimpsed the memoirs of my childhood; all flashed by as the bus past my childhood territories. Now that gem of a memory has become one that I recall, with feelings of resilience, a sameness in this world, from a lifetime of change, moving from town, to city, from state to state, just to see that old house down the dirt track unchanged, no fear now, nor want.