Journals

Crash at the Bridge – Journal Entry 28th May 1980

This letter has a happy ending somewhere in the middle, so don’t get alarmed by my story. Gran asked me to give you the news and now that some days have passed I can think about events calmly.

On Sunday 30th March, a local supermarket gave a gala dinner for 200 pensioners. Our branch of the Pensioner’s League was given some tickets. Gran and her friends were invited and transport arranged.

Off all the pensioners went, each dressed up as though it were Christmas. They had been looking forward to the dinner for several weeks. Gran, as you can imagine, put on nearly all her jewels. I had to advise her to take a sparkling necklace off and to rub a bit of rouge off too. Anyway, down the road she went, to wait for two friends. We, of course, teased her and said what a mad social life she led, that she was never at home and so on.

I waited up for her from about 10 pm. I did a lot of work while waiting and the rest of the family were in bed. At 12:30 am a police car pulls up and the policeman tells me that Gran is in hospital.

“What..? What happened?” I cry out.
“A car accident.”
In shock, I ask what the damages were. I start to shiver.
“I don’t know,” he says. “One had a couple of bad leg breaks, one has facial injuries.”

He comes into the kitchen to ask a few details. While he is there, the telephone rings. It’s the hospital, ringing to ask me about Gran’s age, whether she is allergic to anything and a few other details. The policeman listens to my answers and writes them down as I speak, they were the details he was after too.

Then he asks me where Mrs M’s son lives.

I ask why and am told Mrs M died in the crash. Oh my God, this is unreal. I have known this person for the past ten years. Such a wonderful character. She was seventy-five. Barbara, in the meantime, has heard the commotion and is stirring in her room. We head her off and keep her in her room.

I go out with the policeman to show him where Mrs M’s son lives. The driver in the crash was sitting in the front seat of the police car. We dropped him off at his house first. The policeman told me that the driver had been checked to see whether he was drunk… but he was not. The accident happened when Mrs M allegedly tried to put the sun visor up in the car and the driver leaned over to help because, he said, he didn’t want her to get hurt! He drove straight into the entry post of a narrow bridge and Mrs M was killed instantly; a vein in her neck burst. We understand she was very badly injured on impact. The other back passenger had both her arms broken (the left arm is broken in two places) and large patches of skin on her legs stripped off. Gran was on top of her with her bum in the air. Both of them had passed out and both have no recollection of the accident. Gran vaguely remembers a bit of conversation in the ambulance. She thought she heard the ambulance driver say that one woman was dead.

The accident has made a little bit of local history. People have been saying for months that the bridge was too narrow and that one day there would be a nasty accident. Well, this was the nastiest accident on record.

When I returned home I rang the hospital and found out that Gran had facial injuries but was out of danger and doing very well. The next morning I visited her in the hospital, which was 36 miles away, and found her almost unrecognisable. She looked terrible. Her face was swollen. Six of her precious bottom teeth and some gum had broken off in one chunk, fallen inside her mouth and stayed there for a few days until the swelling had gone down enough for the dentist to see what had to be done. She had the worst black eye I have ever seen, her bottom lip was stitched and she had a huge swelling on her right cheekbone. The eye was so red inside the puffed flesh that I wondered whether there was serious damage to her sight. Not only were her facial injuries severe, she had massive bruising all over her body and eight stitches on her shin.

Many of her friends rang to ask how she was. The telephone rang often over the next week. A couple of days later the funeral for Mrs M was held. She had a huge turnout and most of Emu Park was in mourning. I went to the funeral even though I was very worried about Gran. Subsequent X-rays had shown two cracked ribs, a cracked sternum and a damaged lung. They were draining her lung on the day of Mrs M’s funeral.

The day after the funeral the hospital rang to say Gran was asking for me. You can imagine how I felt. When I got there, I learned that two litres of blood had been removed and that more was dripping out. The drain was a hole in the side of her chest with a tube inserted and fixed between the lung and the chest wall; the tube then led into a plastic container. I stayed in the hospital that night, a good thing too because Gran had a mild heart attack. It wasn’t a full heart attack but something was causing her heart to beat irregularly and the staff and doctors worked on her for two to three hours, checking her pulse and heart at regular intervals. The next night, the palpitations started again, very mildly, and continued to do so for a few days.

Things weren’t so good at home either. Barbara was hysterical at the Activities and Therapy Centre and cried for hours. We had to put her on tranquilisers, the family was fearful of further accidents and Johnny and I drove for the next few days at 45 mph! I was torn between staying the night with Barbara and staying at the hospital.

Poor Gran has had to do without her teeth. Tomorrow she will be at the dentist all day and a week later she will get a new set of teeth. She has had to eat pap these past two months.

Her friends have been very supportive with lots of flowers and cards and visits. When Gran realised she was going to live, she perked up and improved so rapidly that she was out of the hospital in about ten days. The other woman, who was the same age as Mrs M, is still in hospital and likely to stay for several months more as she is not healing well. Gran, in comparison, is very fit and healthy. She has been wanting me to write and give you all of the news but as I mentioned at the beginning of my letter, I didn’t want to think about what had happened, let alone write about it. I also decided to wait a bit rather than write in a hurry and cause anxiety amongst you. Now Gran is reasonably fit but tends to tire easily and gets the odd pain in her ribs. She is taking it easy.

To get on with today, it is Gran’s 70th birthday – your letter and Mary’s arrived and was beautifully timed. That cheered her up tremendously. The family gave her presents: slinky black trousers and a chiffon top, a lottery ticket ($80,000 if she wins), some hand lotion, two coffee mugs from Barbara and a tiny vase with a dried flower arrangement.  A friend gave her a large and very smart handbag.

I made Chicken Biriyani for dinner. On Sunday, when Johnny gets back from a tour of the coal mines, he will be cooking another birthday dinner for Gran, this time a large Red Emperor. The friend who gave the fish to Gran as a Mother’s Day present will be coming to help us eat it. There will be chocolate mousse to follow with roasted almonds strewn on top. Cold cider will flow.

I should sketch out the household we have, so you can understand how Gran fits in, why she has so many friends and why so many people call her Grandma and give her little gifts. In these parts, an extended family is very rare indeed and almost all our friends call her Grandma.

There are eight in the family and now we are nine because of a very young grandson called Marcel Nathaniel. You can guess whom he belongs to! His mother is a young blonde Swede called Monika. They all live with us and have been doing so for the past three years. Marcello finished high school last year and is working now. He doesn’t want to study further at the moment.

Then, of course, there are Gran and Barbara. Barbie has improved so much that you would be pleasantly surprised should you meet her again. True, some things never change, like her penchant for blurting out all your news as soon as someone gets home or telling you the same thing about four hundred times. Apart from these minor faults, she is now fairly reasonable and helpful around the house. She still attends the Activities and Therapy Centre and, better still, there is a bus to take her the 36 miles to the centre and back again. She has even started talking in an Australian accent, like saying ‘plight’ for plate and can joke and tease when she is in the mood.

Gran (I may have told you this or you may have learned of her activities from Nora) is a member of the National Fitness Club, the indoor bowling club and the pensioners club. She goes to church and has many friends: priests, nuns and lay people. In the hospital, she was visited by the priests and the nuns sent her gifts. Sometimes one of the clubs hires a bus and goes out visiting another club out in the sticks, so of course, Gran is out for the day. All in all there is a reasonable amount of socialising for Gran and she is often attending an afternoon tea. Then she has her garden and precious Australorp chickens. Did I tell you, our present Australorp egg production is about a dozen a day? Beautiful large brown eggs with the occasional speckled one in the mix.

Karen is in her second last year of high school and studying very hard. She intends to go for tertiary education and is a very determined young lady. She likes discos, writes funny letters to her friends, is artistic, can cook and is, in fact, a competent person – good to have around.

Young David Gareth is normally referred to as Gareth (That Dreaded Took or that bloody boy) and is doing well at school.

You may not know what is a normal day here: Marcello and Johnny go out to work quite early in the morning, usually 6 am to 7 am, then Barbie catches the bus, then Karen sets off, also by bus to high school, then after a while, Gareth hops on his bike and rides to school (which is at the bottom of the road). Four of us are left and we get through the household chores as swiftly as possible, then I go to my desk, Gran pads around doing this and that, Monika attends to the baby or makes cards with shells or pressed flowers and clever little designs. The day is interspersed with cups of tea and lunch, until the family comes home again. The first one home is Gareth at 3:15 pm, then Karen and Barbie at 4 pm, then Marcello and Johnny return between 5 and 7 pm.

I suppose I ought to go to bed now. It is 10:40 pm and the household is fast asleep. I have to wake up early, as usual, to get Barbie off to ‘work’. She is rather slow and gets distracted, taking approximately one hour and fifteen minutes to get washed, dressed, make a flask of coffee, pack some biscuits for morning tea or little lunch, eat some cereal, fry herself an egg and eat it, pack her bag, comb her hair and get trotted down the road (by me now that Gran is not too well) and put onto the bus.

The baby is so sweet, he is four months old and well looked after by Monika. He seems very good-natured and is usually laughing, cooing or trying to say something. He has just learned to grab things and stuff them in his mouth. They are talking about finding a place of their own… I hope they don’t move too soon, we shall miss watching Nathaniel grow.

KarenProfileCircle120Notes and Links

  • This journal entry is part of the My Mother’s Voice – Journal Series
  • These posts are meant to be read in sequence and the Preamble post marks the beginning of the journal series. Refer to Archived on the Home page.
  • A map of where we lived and a family tree are also at the bottom of the Home page, click here.

Day of the Cyclone – Journal Entry 24th Feb 1980

It’s Sunday and the time is 4:50 pm. Destructive Cyclone Simon, also called Small Destructive Cyclone Simon, is 40 km away NNE and travelling toward us at 10 km/h. The wind in the centre is said to be over 200 km/h, and right now there are gusts at about 50 km/h. Six or eight roofs in Yeppoon have been damaged.

28th Mar 1980

Dear Joan,

What a wonderful surprise your letter was. It had very bad effect really because it arrived just as I was making a ‘fair copy’ of an Algebra assignment. After reading your letter, I found I was making too many mistakes and wasting sheets of paper. So, I decided to stop and write to you instead! If there are mistakes in this letter, you were the cause of them.

It’s nearly three months since you left. I saw Fr. Meade once when Johnny and I were at the airport leaving for Canberra. I met Nadine at the supermarket and she gave me news of you.

Speaking of mores and depression, I fully agree with you. When we left Manila to come back to Emu Park, I hurt for over a year. Actually, that was because we had left my mother and sister behind in rather uncertain conditions and circumstances. It took two years before we were reunited. I used to have nightmares. My sister had a bad nervous breakdown.

It does get harder as the years go by and we begin to appreciate people a lot more than we did when we were inexperienced. Let us not talk of age; right now I think life has never been so good for me and that a whole new world and perspective is before me. I have the privilege to participate, if I make an effort. I feel you also are very privileged and can do many more things in Brisbane than Rocky. So go to it my dear, use your time well, very well; you have no right to do otherwise. But also remember, being a delightful companion to your family is the number one priority, they need you, especially now when they are hurting too.

Your Australorp rooster is in full glory, he has the run of the yard and thirty hens besides. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to enjoy the chooks, there’s always study or family to attend to.

Marcello has a fine lot of Rouen ducks and they quack in unison when anyone calls out to them, especially at feeding time. Marcello works now, deciding that higher studies were not for him. I’m hoping quietly that he will do so someday because he has a good brain and should use it. But then I suppose most mothers feel that way. Monika has had a boy-child. Naturally, his grandmother in Emu Park thinks he is the most beautiful baby in the world! His hair, a dramatic black when he was born, is now a light brown colour which threatens to turn golden. Marcel Nathaniel has lovely brown skin. We’ve accused Monika of sun-tanning him on the quiet.

Lynne is also taking Computer Science I, so I see her at lectures when I attend them. Computing is fun but a hard art to master. Someone can write a program, however, an elegant one is a different matter. Intelligibility is the keyword, my Johnny tells me.

Johnny is as gorgeous as ever but overworked as usual. I look forward to the time he has less to do and can write poetry and novels and play the flute. He writes beautifully and I have a whole case of love letters to prove it.

Talking about books, Johnny bought me a crop of D. H. Lawrence books which I raced through; I should say I read voraciously. Also D. Ireland books and a very interesting study by Dr Kamien on community medicine among the Bourke Aboriginals. At the moment I am reading Manning Clark’s A History of Australia and am up to the age of Macquarie.

I don’t know if I told you that I joined a group known as the CIAE Search Group which helps people identify their problems and suggest solutions. At the moment we are working with the Aboriginal community groups as well as a group of Aboriginal delegates from central Queensland. We held our first 1980 workshop recently (the first for me) which was very exciting. A further weekend workshop with the delegates is scheduled for Rocky and Gladstone. Hervey Bay and a few others will be making requests soon I think. Reg is in charge and these workshops come under community development. If you are interested I could tell you more in some future letter.

I hear much laughter from the kitchen. It’s my mother who enjoys seeing the baby smile, laugh or make noises. She makes more noises than the baby! The kids won’t agree with the last statement. They will tell you I am much more noisy with the baby, but don’t believe it, it’s not true.

The weather is so beautiful, especially as we’re heading fast towards winter. The sunshine, butterflies, the egg-laying-cackle of the chooks and even the chatter of the builders below make me feel so good to be alive. What does it matter if there are a few mosquitoes around, the lawn needs to be done again and Gran’s garden has more weeds than veggies in it? We’ll get around to them sometime, but in the meantime, everything smells good, the sea is calm and I’m writing to you. At least I was writing to you, but now I’ve come to the end of my letter.

Look after yourself and give my regards to the family.

Love,
Gita
PS: Do practice your letter writing on me!

KarenProfileCircle120Notes and Links

  • This journal entry is part of the My Mother’s Voice – Journal Series
  • These posts are meant to be read in sequence and the Preamble post marks the beginning of the journal series. Refer to Archived on the Home page.
  • A map of where we lived and a family tree are also at the bottom of the Home page, click here.
  • Added Nathaniel to the Emu Park Family Tree.

Hospital Flashback – Journal Entry 7th Jan 1980

It has been raining for the past forty-eight hours; well almost. The Australorp chooks are drenched. The wind is strong. As usual, the front verandah is a bit wet, with fine rain blowing onto the books and papers. The louvres can’t be tightly shut. Also, water is seeping down the walls of the verandah. A good day for tidying the house and cutting bottles for tumblers.

The family went to the Kavlon Theatre last night to see two Terence Hill/Bud Spencer movies. Too much slapstick, with baddies and goodies smashing stores and hitting each other with bottles. Boring to us but the others seemed to have enjoyed them. The cinema was packed.

Today I should like to get the following done:

  1. Pay the bills
  2. Type the letter to Marcie
  3. Do some algebra
  4. Finish networks to get onto SEARCH
  5. Cook some curries

List of items for Canberra:

  • Jeans 2 or 3
  • Tops 2 or 3
  • Skirt, black embroidered + blue
  • 2 saris and blouses
  • 1 cardigan
  • Swimsuit?
  • Lungi
  • Toothbrush, hairbrush
  • Toe-rings
  • Notepad, pencils
  • Algebra?
  • Handbag

What to look for in Canberra:

  • Outline of Social Anthropology Studies
  • Bibliography on Aboriginal studies; esp urban
  • Spices
  • Granite pestle and mortar for Gran
  • Turkish delight
  • Present for Monika

Muchlater

17th Jul 1979

A lovely new biro and a new pad. Ward 13, Room E, just after a meal of Shephard’s pie made of mince and large chunks of meat. Wish I’d bought a bottle of chilli sauce. The noise of the crockery being washed is deafening, such loud crashes and the domestic aid handles them with a stern face and tight lips. I sat next to a short square woman in a blue chenille dressing gown. Her mouth is misshapen. Most likely it is a mild paralysis or stroke. Her specs are as thick as old-fashioned soda water bottles. Perhaps my tastes have changed since last here and now I’m more choosy or more observant. The tea tastes grey and weak, the bread tastes grey and dry, and even the potato and lentil soup tastes grey. This is food produced in vast quantities with no care or love. The pie was fairly tasty though. One patient was on a special diet and was given her pudding first instead of the main course. She plastered it with Worcestershire sauce before she realised it was custard and not scrambled egg.

Back in the ward. I’ve got a bed near a window and Rocky is slowly putting on its lights.

Funny type of conversation going on. There are three people, each determined to tell the others the story of her life. One woman had a particularly hard life with seven kids from five pregnancies: one has had a kidney out, two attend opportunity school, one has a hearing aid and two were in an accident recently.

I’m going to do some sums, this is very boring.

At the dinner table, most of the women claimed to like Kamahl.

19th Jul 1979

Yesterday was an exceptionally long day. We were asked to wash in Phisohex at noon and get dressed in ‘theatre clothes’. These were a grey cotton top, open at the back, and the most awkward crumpled grey cotton tie-on underpants. At two, the woman of the seven pregnancies was taken away for a full hysterectomy. At 3:15 pm it was my turn, fortunately for a very minor operation.

A jolly young bearded man wheeled the trolley into the ward and said, “Who’s next?”
I echoed, “Who’s next?”
He pointed dramatically at me, paused and said loudly, “YOU.”
So I said, “Surely not.”
“You’re Gita aren’t you..?”
He smiled. “Then it’s you.”
He went into his litany in a sing-song voice, “Any nail polish? Wooden leg, false eyelashes, teeth, glass eye, jewellery?”
“Oh well, we have the genuine article,” he concluded and asked me to hop on the stretcher.

I climbed on and was taken to a nurse and to get my medical file. Some slight delay as the nurse has lost a patient. Besides, I haven’t been given an injection to keep me quiet and I’m glad of it. We proceeded to move out of the nurse’s room and towards the lift where the wardsman trotted out his next stock joke: “This lift is not working, so I’m going to have to take you down the stairs.”

We went through the door leading to the operating theatre. There is a very long narrow white corridor in front of me as we glide through. Men stood in front of some of the doors, white-gowned and capped. The women were in purple. The light was strange, almost disco-like without the flashes. Everything had a T.V. science fiction look about it – a Dr Who feeling – except these people could have been baddies. The timid could have very well wrecked their nervous system. What price must one pay to cure one’s ills, especially minor ones? A large white-clad attendant dwarfed the wardsman and me.

KarenProfileCircle120Notes and Links

  • This journal entry is part of the My Mother’s Voice – Journal Series
  • These posts are meant to be read in sequence and the Preamble post marks the beginning of the journal series. Refer to Archived on the Home page.
  • A map of where we lived and a family tree are also at the bottom of the Home page, click here.
  • The hospital visit was written in the journal after the 7th Jan 1980 entry and has been included here as a flashback.

Seven Year Recap – Journal Entry 2nd Jan 1980

Dear Marcie,

Thank you very much for being so tolerant. It must be nearly seven years since we were in Manila.

Christmas in particular is a curious time when one takes stock and wonders about one’s friends. I had wondered how you were going.

The report over the last seven years would be something like this:

Year 1 – 1973

Glad to be back and without servants. People are friendly, warm, small townish and so dearly Australian – offhand and casual but helpful and interested in one’s doings.

Queensland in particular (not Brisbane, that’s the capital and not typical) has this reputation for having barefoot lotus eaters, who would rather go fishing than build your house or repair your plumbing. Only emergencies need to be attended to promptly. Newcomers to the area take a while to adjust.

Johnny is very busy setting up the Department of Mathematics and Computing.

Marcello, Karen and Gareth attend the primary school down the road. The kids in particular remarked on the friendliness of everyone in Emu Park and deplored the segregation in their primary school in Manila.

Year 2  – 1974

Went north right up to Cook Town – didn’t make it to the Cape York Peninsula. Camped on a jut of land between the sea and a bit of backwater. The fish jumped onto the sand, asking to be eaten. We were warned of crocodiles but didn’t see any. A  lone fisherman who was camped nearby gave us huge crabs. They were delicious. We all agreed it was the best of all our camping trips. Did lots of camping nearby. There was a beautiful little waterfall and great beaches, one as long as nine miles and hence called Nine Mile Beach. Needed our four-wheel drive. We slipped away every fortnight when the weather was good.

Johnny still working very hard.

Year 3 – 1975

Had a lot of hassle getting my mother and sister Barbara into Australia. Took two years of persuasive letter writing by Johnny and an appeal to an M.P. My sister is mentally retarded, hence the problem. Things were not quite as carefree at our place after that. Our movements were cramped considerably.

Johnny working harder than ever.

My sister was in a bad way, twenty-nine years of being messed about with witchcraft, neglect, faith healing, drugs and electric shock treatment. She was pathetic, frightened, selfish, repulsive – a nuisance to everyone and yet she had affection to give.

So the next two years was devoted to sorting her out and getting her to relate in a human way to others around her. She was taken on at the Sub-Normal Children’s Therapy Centre and that helped a lot. Now she was going to work like everyone else. She travels with Johnny as the Capricornia Institute of Advanced Education (CIAE) is near the therapy centre. Johnny has been mainly responsible for humanising Barbara, he maintains that Barbara’s home life should be predictable and stable.

Life gets a bit unpleasant when my mother objects to our handling of Barbie, however apart from that, my mother has a good vegetable garden going and a vast number of Australorp hens. We get about a dozen brown eggs a day, bananas when they ripen, the occasional pawpaw, passionfruit, chilli, aubergine, pumpkin, etc, etc.

So our standard of living improved and of course some people envy our extended family. During the 1979 Christmas holidays I was only cooking once a week! Everyone takes turns now with Johnny cooking dinner at weekends. I’ll save telling you of the menus until some other letter.

Grandma, as we call my mother, seems popular at the National Fitness Club (second oldest member), the Singing Ship Bowling Club and the Pensioner’s Club, whose members seem to regard her as a cute oriental mascot. She loves going out and is forever baking or cutting sandwiches for some tea or other. The expression is ‘taking a plate’ to ‘afternoon tea’.

To get back to Barbara; she is beginning to feel secure and has a sense of belonging. She is useful and helpful and good to have around. Above all she can work some things out for herself and does whole jobs on her own rather than working from a set of instructions. She has an excellent sense of humour, especially of the absurd, and it’s nice getting her to laugh.

Skipping to 1979

A year of crises but not all bad; in fact some positive gains. Marcello finished high school reluctantly. He will be a father in mid-January and Johnny and I will be grandparents. Monika is Swedish and dropped out of school mid-grade eleven because of the pregnancy. Apparently she wasn’t enjoying school much anyway. We’ve just added an extra room to the house. Monika has lived with us now for two years.

We always cause a stir when we visit Rockhampton library. Between us we take out forty-eight books and with three sets of surnames listed under one general name, things get a little complicated. Only the more adventurous of the library assistants are willing to tackle us.

After stuffing around all these years organising markets, nursery and candle-making and even giving an adult education course on Indian cooking, I took a preliminary maths course at the CIAE, a pilot course Johnny had introduced, using some material which had proved successful in the UK. The hardest part of the course was getting into the habit of regular study. The course is intensive, with four years of high school maths in one year.

The novelty of the material is that it is maths for adult students and not high school maths. Some of the examples are hilarious like the statement, “Minnie Snodgrass is the most beautiful girl in the world when the light is just right.” One clever device in the text, is the use of a dreadful character called Authur O’Figgis who makes the silly mistakes that one tends to make in maths when one is not thinking. For example, (a + b)2 = a2 + b2 instead of the correct answer a2 + 2ab + b2, so when O’Figgis joins Comp-Ferrat, production drops.

There could be interest in other parts of Australia in this course. Johnny wrote several chapters, eliminating some and rewriting a fourth of the course to suit Australian education requirements. There have been many conferences at which Johnny has delivered papers on P-maths. He is heartily sick of the subject and this is only the beginning.

We will be in Canberra at a conference for maths teachers where he will tell everyone about the Australian experience of ‘Poly-Maths’, as it is called in England. The author of the bridging course will also be at the conference talking about ‘Poly-Maths’. He is a tough, intelligent, beer-drinking, Rugby-playing, Welsh mathematician who will then come to Rockhampton for the second time to discuss P-maths at CIAE. I don’t know if you are aware that a lot of teaching in Australia is done through correspondence. I think Australia leads the world in external teaching. P-maths depends a lot on discussion between lecturer and students. It had to be changed to suit external students. Tapes were made which have proved very successful. Actually on the whole the external students did better than the part-timers and towards the end, the part-timers were demanding the tapes.

At the end of 1979, Johnny and I realised that being hellishly busy without making time for each other was disastrous. After all, our relationship was the most important thing. Every evening we had to stop whatever we were doing to meet at 9 o’clock. If we could meet earlier that was better still. The rule seems to be working very well.

We also took several holidays together, but because of the large number of people in the family and the fairly high probability of things going wrong, we couldn’t go away. So we spent our time at home in Johnny’s study and spare room (called the talking room) and stayed up late and woke up late. The family had to look after itself and only approach us in an emergency. We lived off omlettes, cheese, olives, bread, lots of rum, brandy, creaming soda and coffee. It was a marvellous time. We went for long walks along the beach and along the disused railway track and had long discussions. The family was most circumspect.

1980

So, Marcello looks for a job. Karen has two more years of high school and seems to be doing well. Joined the debating team last year, will work for her Duke of Edinburgh gold medal award this year and is taking science and maths as board subjects. Gareth is in his last year of primary school. If he carries on the way he has been, he should be quite a scholar. He’s read Silmarillion, is attempting to teach himself Greek (not working well at it), is well acquainted with the Iliad and is having the Odyssey re-read to him. He was interested in Aztecs a while back and seems to have enjoyed reading The Once and Future King. Things should be better for him at high school as he lacks intellectual stimulation at his age level.

Johnny still carries a heavy load: Chairman of the School of Science, Planning Committee and the Management Advisory Committee. He is involved in the Computer Centre and would like to organise rotating H.O.D of Maths (sounds like a windmill) to give him more time. So 1980 brings no relief. I have signed on for three subjects: Computer Science I, Algebra I and Probability & Statistics I. Also, in the meanwhile, I’ve decided to read about social anthropology and Australian history with a long reading list on selected books on sociology (some very dull) and  philosophy.

You are probably aware of Seymour B Sarason’s writings, two of his books are especially good: The Creation of Settings and the Future Societies and Human Services and Resource Networks. On philosophy, Johnny has discovered an Australian, John Passmore .

Please let me know in some some detail what your interests are and what you’ve been doing.

All the best for 1980 to you and the family

More next time,
Gita

KarenProfileCircle120Notes and Links

  • This journal entry is part of the My Mother’s Voice – Journal Series
  • These posts are meant to be read in sequence and the Preamble post marks the beginning of the journal series. It can be found in Archived on the Home page.
  • A map of where we lived and a family tree are also at the bottom of the Home page, click here.

Christmas Day – Journal Entry 25th Dec 1979

Christmas at last for the kids. We sat around the tree and each person chose a present addressed to himself and we watched while it was opened. A delightful ritual, Barbara, in particular, was wide-eyed and eager about Christmas and the opening of presents. She was given perfume, soaps and bubble bath scents by Karen and Monika and she loved them. She had a bath this morning with her new cosmetics and has invited me to use some too.

It’s nice to be writing in the diary but before I go further, I must work out why I feel frustrated with Johnny – at moments very intensely. It’s a contradiction because if I saw someone behaving badly towards Johnny, I’d be the first to defend him and attempt to protect him. So how to go about this… perhaps if I noted down the occasions of irritation:

  1. Didn’t want to go swimming this morning at 11 am. It seemed the hottest morning yet. At 8 am this morning the heat whacked you hard. On the road to the beach, Johnny made some comment (which I can’t remember) and I said, “Working up the right frame of mind to go swimming?” and he said, “Oh Gita.” I can’t remember but all I knew was that it was a short answer and I thought inappropriate.
  2. Made comments on my comments about the rice (made by Gran) not being heated well. Said it was the nature of the method of cooking, knew all about it, had lots of experience. Bullshit in this case, Gran admitted to being hasty and taking the pan off too soon.
  3. Told Karen I would withdraw my offer to wash up as it was her turn and she tended to swap washing up duties if she could. But I don’t think I put it well. Karen looked a little put out but admitted, however, that she didn’t like washing up. Johnny asked me to stop recriminating and I didn’t agree we were. Could be wrong.

Surely this general feeling of irritation is because I haven’t written much for a while.

27th Dec 1979

Johnny and I sorted out my general irritability. It was mainly my fault, which I projected onto him. Also agreed that Johnny nagged occasionally. So much general tension over mum, Barbara, and occasionally the kids.

I must record our Christmas dinner. It was so very very good. We should really reserve it for Christmas and not repeat it during the year.

We had:

  • Roast turkey stuffed with rice and apricots
  • Beans and corn in butter
  • Spherical chips
  • Gravy and Rosella jam

The large size of the turkey was novel for us and the meat was tender and delicious.

Johnny beamed with pleasure at the determined way we ate our food and demanded more. Pudding was mango and cherry salad with orange juice jelly, cream and ice-cream. Sighs of pleasure from everyone. A real success.

Boxing Day lunch was:

  • Moreton Bay bugs and lots of prawns
  • A dish of aioli to dip them into
  • A salad of onion, olives and leftover beans
  • Rolls and a couple of other things I can’t remember.

A gorge. Dinner, following that, was simple:

  • Avgolemono soup
  • Cake
  • Fruit
  • Ice-cream and cream.
  • Apple turnovers at Barbie’s request.

Our trees have been supplying us with bananas. Borrowed a book from the library on growing bananas to help us grow better ones.

Finish reading Lewis’ Social Anthropology in Perspective and have started Emery’s Towards a Social Ecology. Excuse me, I’ll put a record on the player. Indian maybe? Flute by Ramani, an exciting and poignant recording.

I love my love with Johnny because he’s Johnny and has given me so much. Terribly loyal guy. I love that best of all, the fiercely loyal streak in him.

In the meanwhile, I’ve read Phallos by some Danish psychologist and dipped into a book called Surrogate Wife – a bit of pornography wrapped up in pop psychology. The book Phallos was disappointing.

Today is Friday and what has happened?

Finished Phallos, helped a little with changing the door in Gareth’s new room and had a long discussion with Johnny on Passmore’s Perfectability of Man.

KarenProfileCircle120Notes and Links

  • This journal entry is part of the My Mother’s Voice – Journal Series
  • These posts are meant to be read in sequence and the Preamble post marks the beginning of the journal series. It can be found in Archived on the Home page.
  • A map of where we lived and a family tree are also at the bottom of the Home page, click here.

Life Rebalancing – Journal Entry 8th Dec 1979

A warm morning. The black cockatoos are doing the rounds of the Queensland hoop pine trees. The nuts are ready for eating. Their harsh cries seem to have stopped. They must have settled down to feed.

It’s been a month since I wrote in this pad. What has happened until now?

P-maths, that almost constant influence in my life, is over. Now I can start revisiting it and have been doing that since the end of November.

Had ten whole days with Johnny at the end of the semester. We walked up hills, up and down the railway tracks and under the bridge, went to the beach and lived off eggs, cheese, bread and olives. We drank much rum, brandy, wine and creaming soda. There was much love and we talked and discussed many things: adults in education and their transition, urban Aborigines and manipulation/facilitation.

The family was so good while we were on holiday.

I’m back in gear, doing a few things I didn’t have time to do during study time and we’ve made several family shopping trips to Rocky. We’ve planned more. Johnny invited me to join the CIAE search group and it could be the most exciting happening in my life. I attended a few meetings and enjoyed them very much. They were intellectual and stimulating.

I seem to have time to read and think because the big ones take turns cooking. My cooking day is Friday and Johnny takes the weekend. As for gardening and chooks, I’ve just about retired completely from those two activities, but will take the time to plant banana and pawpaw trees – they look after themselves. Late night shopping on Thursday was fun and we are going again next Thursday.

22nd Dec 1979

The lass who is looking after Cassidy’s house is a Finn, reads about Kundalini and is only interested in that type of reading – Rama Krishna, etc. She has two boys aged 7 and 12. Presumably, she knew Connie because of a common interest in the occult. The Cassidy’s dog has a spear grass thorn in its eyeball and Herbert has taken it to the vet. Poor Herbert and Marian, they have many dogs of their own. They also have Ellen’s dog Sugar. Neurotic Sugar, who bleeds a lot when she urinates, then squats in it and shakes herself. Unfortunately, she will probably die soon and her mistress is in hospital too. I wonder who has that poor Persian cat that was kept chained all the time. A beautiful, frustrated cat with matted fur.

So many good books to get acquainted with. Read Graham Greene’s In Search of a Character, two journals about his books: A Burnt-Out Case and The Heart of the Matter. He wonders, in the first journal, what makes so many people want to become writers: “Why should this dream of writing haunt so many? The desire for money? I doubt it. The desire for a vocation when they find themselves in a life they haven’t chosen? The same despairing instinct that drives some people to desire rather than to experience a religious faith?”

Re-read Lady Chatterley’s Lover for the fourth or fifth time. Lawrence is such a good writer. Nothing yet to touch this love story – rather the telling of this common theme – love between a man and woman.

Why are Johnny and Gita lucky to have each other? I think it is because each has what I call a ‘generous heart’. A giving, in spite of high cost, and it’s rare for two such people to be together. Looking around, there seem to be many couples where one partner is generous and the other is not. Such a loss it seems, though the couples seem to make a go of things without feeling anything is missing. Social Anthropology in Perspective by Lewis is most enjoyable and sets me thinking. I had better start re-reading Emery’s works for the Canberra trip.

The relationship with my Johnny is good but runs into trouble sometimes because of my moodiness. But I am learning to control moodiness. Life is so good – the only life one has and Johnny says we should do something substantial to merit this life we have together.

Last night was such happiness. We decided not to use the word happiness, overused and ambiguous, surely we mean ecstasy or rapture.

KarenProfileCircle120Notes and Links

  • This journal entry is part of the My Mother’s Voice – Journal Series
  • These posts are meant to be read in sequence and the Preamble post marks the beginning of the journal series. It can be found in Archived on the Home page.
  • A map of where we lived and a family tree are also at the bottom of the Home page, click here.

Johnny’s Birthday Feast – Journal Entry 6th Nov 1979

It was Johnny’s birthday yesterday. The day before that, I wondered a bit about D and what he was thinking and feeling. Tried to work up anger over the whole thing and I ended up getting irritated with the family, the people I love.

Yesterday had bright spots, but Johnny found me unpredictable and moody. On the drive home from Yeppoon yesterday, the moke hood was down and Johnny had his shirt off. On houseless stretches of road, I had my shirt off too. The sun and wind delightful on my body. D rang yesterday when I was out. Said he would ring back but didn’t.

We bought so many good things for the birthday feast. Prunes, dried pears, apricots, peaches, figs, brazil nuts, peanuts and cashew nuts. The pistachios were for Johnny and I. The meal was superb with Johnny seeing to some of the cooking: we had lamb kebabs, mushrooms, sprouted beans and rice. The sweet course was half a rockmelon stuffed with strawberries, cream and ice-cream. Later, after the washing up, we brought out the nuts, fruit, rum, Cinzano and coffee.

There was an awkward situation earlier where two diggers were expected to pitch up during the evening. How to stop them coming during the festivities when they would be most unwelcome? Especially as the house had been invaded by diggers for over a month. Most of them were boring, with talk of themselves and whinges about the Australian Army. Johnny especially was fed up and he was not free in his own home. Anyway, to get back to the awkward situation, we talked it over while cleaning the sprouted beans and it was decided that Marcello would write a letter to Kevin, asking him not to call until Thursday, thereby solving two problems (hope it works). Kevin is intelligent but very self-absorbed and insensitive to other people in the room. He talks all the time, about himself and all the things he has done. Impossible to turn the talk. Laurie was to be met at the door, should he come during the meal, and parked in the pub until we retrieved him. However, Marcello and Monika met him at the camp when they went to deliver the letter. Poor Laurie had been scrubbing kitchens all day. He agreed to come at 8:30 pm and turned up at 8 pm. It was a good time to come because we had finished early. He came in filthy with kitchen grease, fed up with work and mentioned he was on duty again at midnight, guarding the equipment loaded on the trucks lined up for departure the next day. It was his last evening with Karen.

Infatuation: a foolish or extravagant love or admiration. D called. I couldn’t muster any anger against him. His gravelly Australian voice was so good to hear. What am I going to do? He feels helpless too, agrees that things are impossible. Can we forget or at least refrain from contact and get on with what we have to? D is all wrong for me and what I value. I could be all wrong for D, in fact, I think I am. His world is unreal, so far removed from the basic, hard, down to earth world I inhabit. His world would destroy us. It seems to have had an unsettling effect on D, always rushing around, restless, not given to reading much, no proper roots, getting his living from the labour of others. What the hell do I see in him? What? What? What?

Johnny says it is an escape from the slightly hard times we’re in, power or whatever D represents. Would I care if D were poor? Is it the life he can offer that attracts – the smell of money that gives D charm and attraction?

7th Nov 1979

  • Concentrate on P-maths
  • Stew, early dinner
  • Out this evening at 7 pm
  • Get clothes ready

8th Nov 1979

D not as fantastic as I had imagined. He was 30 minutes late to phone because he was busy bargaining for a higher rate of interest on his money. Another thing, he was anxious to get on with his appointments and so wanted to give me the taxi fare home. Shit. Next time, if you must pursue or explore people, Gita, find out their views on Aborigines, politics, religion and money! Anyway, D made it very easy to break clean. We agreed that even if I were free, he would not want to change his way of life, and I would not want to change mine. We were pursuing different aims. So why not call it a day and part good friends? There seems no need for false promises. Very little to add, I suppose, except to realise I mustn’t ‘finger sores’, it tends to be very distracting and extremely discourteous to Johnny. It hurts to think I’ve been a fool yet again – surely the ‘cafe’ business was another. Balance for God’s sake.

9th Nov 1979

Last night was good, with the house full of people and the younger ones doing the after-dinner entertainment. Had a long talk with Johnny. He said what I had done to him was worse than anything he could imagine. However, the thing to concentrate on is Johnny and Gita and their great debt to life. Our life had been built upon trust which I have damaged and must now repair. A big repair job I’m told.

KarenProfileCircle120Notes and Links

  • This journal entry is part of the My Mother’s Voice – Journal Series
  • These posts are meant to be read in sequence and the Preamble post marks the beginning of the journal series. It can be found in Archived on the Home page.
  • A map of where we lived and a family tree are also at the bottom of the Home page, click here.
  • Australian Army soldiers, commonly known as ‘diggers’, were stationed at a training camp near Emu Park.

The Aftermath – Journal Entry 30th Oct 1979

Today I have to take a firm stand. Johnny is destroying himself and suffering inordinately. Last night was the worst ever, he says. My rejection, that is my disinclination for lovemaking, is taken as a deep rejection and hurts him very much. I don’t know what to do. Actually, I know what to do – put all thoughts of D from my mind. My relationship with Johnny is the most important thing in the world. It grew over the past fifteen years and we paid for it very dearly. The present family is very precious. There should have been no question of prolonging the agony and indecision for so long. I can’t think clearly. I don’t want to think clearly.

It is nice sitting at the desk and writing. The wind is very strong, parts of the house rattle and the pine trees are singing. The little sunbird has started sitting on her eggs. She seems unafraid, her curved beak is visible, looking like a witch’s nose.

The cramps in my leg are annoying, still, such wonderful news on my health. Will telephone Dr Russ in the middle of November.

Let’s build on strengths, rather than dwell on weaknesses:

Simplicity
Excellence
Hospitality
Warmth
Contributing
Care

Discussion on the above list ended rather disastrously, mainly my fault for side-tracking this year, very poor performance, most anti- intelligence, care, etc. I saw it in Johnny’s attack on me personally. Practically reduced to tears.

Never mind, let’s dwell on weaknesses:

  • I want to be treated differently, to be given privileges which others don’t get;
  • I stay in bed trying to sleep with a full bladder;
  • I go on unreasonable tracks (1) cafe and catering business (2) wanting to stop drinking on the grounds that alcohol destroys brain cells (3) work at the hotel (4) affair with D;
  • Most important: very short-term thinker and lose sight of objective or direction very easily.

What are my strengths?
What do I want to do now, in the next year, in five years from now?

31st Oct 1979

Johnny wrote this after I noticed a wry smile on his face this morning and asked what he was thinking:

“I woke up and lay happily absorbed with her, absorbed in the beauty of her skin; and then recalled with a slow shock, the monster thing.

Wondered how I would go in the same position, but I knew that.

Recalled the times a little tempted by the possibility of liaison and each time had thought of her and our love and ruled it out. Even in recent months, frustrated beyond endurance, with fantasies of beautiful girls, I said to myself each time, you know bloody well you wouldn’t do it Johnny. Something strange is happening but you could not betray Gita. Sex could never be so good as you and she have known it.

Recalled how last night, all the time, she avoided saying, ‘I love you.’ But these moments together are true, pure, good and wonderful.

Will she chase the monster thing away?
We’ll see tonight perhaps.

I believe that Gita goes my way too, but she is not far-sighted and occasionally cultivates strange obsessions. I wonder too whether the monster thing is her first infatuation after meeting me (and that young Frenchman, years before). Perhaps she doesn’t recognise it or think of handling it.

As the stronger partner, my betrayal of her would be worse than hers of me.”

1st Nov 1979

At 12 noon yesterday, I reached a decision. Go home Gita and stay there. There was really no choice. The affair with D was all fantasy and escapism. All the pain and hurt was one-sided and my beautiful, kind, sensitive, intelligent, innocent Johnny was hurt the most.

So I cooked a carefully chosen Indian meal for Johnny. Made coffee for his early return and was happy to make tentative steps out of limbo.

How soon will we heal, what should I do to make up, to compensate for the days of terror that Johnny lived through? His terror has not gone away completely. Will it ever?

A very happy evening with wonderful lovemaking. God, how tame the phrase is. The alternative is to fill several pages with a detailed description of what took place, but I won’t. Best ever?

The rain lilies were white and crowded on the lawn in the moonlight. Johnny and I stepped carefully between them to avoid damage, while taking quiet pleasure in their beauty. Strange and hardy things these rain lilies. This lot was very short-stalked. Their leaves had not had a chance to grow because of the long dry weather, so only the buds pushed through the parched ground. Watering them does not produce the flowers. They only seem to respond to rain and their bulbs keep underground for years. Tova barbecued and ate some of the bulbs. She said they tasted delicious, but they made her and Bob sick for two days.

Happiness was waiting for mum to come back on the bus from a bowling match in Rocky. Tired from our long evening of sex and booze, we sat in the bus stop shivering a little in the cool midnight air. When the bus did come, mum hadn’t noticed our car and got off to a smart trot up the hill. We frightened her, as she thought we might have been soldiers. We slept well, except for Johnny who woke up at 2 am with a bad intestinal pain.

He gave me a good idea of how to get out of this latest self-absorption – concentrate on Johnny!

So many good things to be getting on with, but also a great deal of rebuilding:

  • Study Algebra
  • Study Computer Science I (a skill if needed)
  • French or Chinese (French first, I think)
  • Lots of reading and writing
  • Teach self to read faster
  • House and family
  • Johnny of course

A nine o’clock rule has been in force since last Saturday. No work after 9 pm and meet in the study.

KarenProfileCircle120Notes and Links

  • This journal entry is part of the My Mother’s Voice – Journal Series
  • These posts are meant to be read in sequence and the Preamble post marks the beginning of the journal series. It can be found in Archived on the Home page.
  • A map of where we lived and a family tree are also at the bottom of the Home page, click here.

Relationship Breakdown – Journal Entry 10th Oct 1979

Johnny is a civilised bastard. He makes me feel secure. I see hair and I want to singe it, a habit I acquired from singeing the scraggy ends of my hair.

13th Oct 1979

Johnny sees no hope in his job and in his home. He has hardly seen me for the past few weeks. Says he is even lower on my list of priorities than P-maths and that I appear to be systematically destroying our relationship. He has to hang around most of the time waiting for me, occasionally we have a good evening together. Johnny’s in a bad way; says I have reduced him to a blubbering mess.

My God, this is terrible – a wonderful guy, thoroughly trapped through his love and kindness. What have we given him in return? He is destroying himself in his work because he has all of us to support and cannot just walk out to part-time teaching. He would use his spare time so well.

He calls my suggestions to free him, crazy. I suppose they are. He is to go wherever he wishes. We get support from the Government or work. It is crazy because while mum and Barb could get money, they will be seriously disadvantaged if they don’t have family support. Sure, we can make it on our own but how much warmer and richer our lives are through living together and cooperating. So where’s the problem?

Well, the big problem is me.

A look around the home and a quick scan into my past, gives me a very gloomy opinion of myself. There is a serious air of neglect in the house. I’m always caught up in things, no time to keep the house reasonably tidy and always getting side-tracked. Worse still, the children are infected by my bad habits, slack thinking and behaviour. Are there any good points?

Most of what I am interested in, Johnny possesses, and more besides for his knowledge is years ahead of most people. He is so good-looking, experienced in so many good things and yet, yet I cannot seem to respond steadily.

A couple of nights a week, and then nothing.

What hope is there?

If I love Johnny and help him, then he is not a mess. We have debts and a tight budget for a few more years. He is in a mess if I don’t love him. Then he has nothing and the burden he carries will be unbearable.

14th Oct 1979

The Fiesta captain to trawler in front, over the address system: “Okay guys, give us about ten feet of slack please.” Laughter from the guys in the trawler and dinghies.

It’s good to be sitting in the harbour. The sun is low and warm, the wind not very strong, so it’s pleasant walking about. The second boat has come in full of day-trippers to Keppel Island. I want to watch the people getting off.

18th Oct 1979

A few very dramatic days.

On Saturday, Johnny asked me if I had been unfaithful to him. I ducked the issue. The question was a result of my insistently questioning him on what his attitude to me would be if I were unfaithful. His question was precise, “Are you intending to be unfaithful or have you been unfaithful?”

What was talked over the weekend and early week seems blurred, so soon too. I think most of my talk was manoeuvring Johnny into agreeing to my going away for a weekend or a week. First I said a few months, then reduced it to a week or weekend.

To questions on what I intended to do while away I replied, “Think and just wander around.”

Now there seems no chance of going away. I mustn’t. Sunday night was terrible. I was jittery and my thoughts were far away. I will have to brutally sort them out. Will do so right away and then come back to writing about what took place between Johnny and I.

After fifteen years of being free and devoted to Johnny, I go into a relationship with another man.

“What is he like?”
“What do you mean?”
“As a person.”
“Oh, as a person.” I had to think carefully.

He is good with people, very easy to be with. At the first meeting there was instant recognition of male and female. There was some chat together. He was setting out on a boat with a crew of three or four. The men were packing food and dinghies into the car. He didn’t have to do anything; at the Hotel there are always people doing jobs for him, even taking his crushed shirt off him and ironing it.

The next meeting was when D returned – the weather wasn’t good, so they returned a few days later. We had a talk about four-wheel-drive camping spots on the coast. We always only snatched an exchange when he passed by on his way from some place to another. He also watched me from a distance. A very restless man. Even though he owned the place, to me he seemed not welcomed because of his position, almost alien. Old man T told me of D’s love life and the women involved. D is alleged to have said he likes women

Wild promises made to me by D. “I’ll give everything up for you. Come to Europe for three months. I’ll buy a house here so I get more privacy and not mess up accommodation arrangements at the hotel.”

When he realised the extent of my family commitments he knew all he could hope for was a little of my time. He wants to show me many things, take me to so many places. Alas, there is no future for us, nor a present. He wants an heir and time is running out for him, so he must get another woman.

How do I feel about that?
No right to feel anything. I’d be happy for him and the child. He is good with children. What have I gauged about D?
First his general appearance: he is a little taller than me, 50 years old, holds himself well because of army training and is overweight (but otherwise brown and fit). Has admitted he is restless, always on the move. D has blue eyes and short wiry brown hair. He has a lovely smile and a quiet sense of humour. D is relatively unspoilt in spite of his wealth, but all the same, makes remarks like, “What are the damages?” He pays with money, as if that would cover everything. He believes everyone has a price. I’ll admit he might have been in a tense mood when he said these things.

“I can’t get you out of my mind,” he said when I saw him next. “I had to wait two weeks to get your phone number. I’ve been thinking about you. You little devil, I wish I had never met you, I mean that, this is terrible. I want you with me all the time. I’d take you with me everywhere.” An achievement I think, because D likes moving around alone – more freedom for sexual opportunity?

I laughed and said, “I wished most heartily we had never met.”

“I’m alive when I’m with you,” he said while breathing deeply and leaning back in his seat. “I don’t want to meet your husband, it would spoil things.”

A cruel laugh from me and, “Good, it would solve our problem.”

He gave me a wry look. If I hadn’t seen him in dark blue shorts and shirt relaxed and cleaning the boat I don’t know if I’d have gone with him a second time because he looks very like a Gold Coast businessman – no, I don’t think that’s right.

Anyway, I’ve written him a letter that he will get sooner or later. It is written to end a love affair – let us forget each other – take someone else and be happy. Soulful stuff. I’m not free, so don’t hold yourself up, get on with producing a child as I cannot give you one.

A brutal remark to Johnny when I told him I thought I was in love with someone else: “I don’t want to be here. Do you realise that? That’s how I feel about things.

“It’s more serious than I thought,” Johnny muttered.

I want to go to D but I have a feeling I’d soon find him dull and deadening. I don’t know, it is very presumptuous of me to make this completely unfounded judgement. He is an exciting man and good to be with, but I know nothing about him and there isn’t the complete trust in him that I had, and still have in Johnny. A bit unfair really because I haven’t known D very long and he’s usually surrounded by people. He has to watch what he says for fear of compromising me.

He is free and has no need to hide his women.

KarenProfileCircle120Notes and Links

  • This journal entry is part of the My Mother’s Voice – Journal Series
  • These posts are meant to be read in sequence and the Preamble post marks the beginning of the journal series. It can be found in Archived on the Home page.
  • A map of where we lived and a family tree are also at the bottom of the Home page, click here.

Memories of India – Journal Entry 30th Apr 1979

It was good to receive your letter. We wondered how you had gone with the interview. Johnny certainly enjoyed reading your letter as good letter writers are so rare.

The photographs were very informative, they revived memories and feelings that have been sternly suppressed for twelve years. One is of course grateful for any scrap of news. Averil in a sari was a heartening sight. Johnny and I feel very strongly about being as Indian as possible in India, one is Indian, and any other way is slightly suicidal. Yes, it’s easy for us to speak from this comfortable distance, but we love and miss many of the good things of India. Indians abroad are usually invited to speak on India and are asked many questions about religion, poverty, food, clothing, etc.

I’ve run adult education classes on Indian cooking and given a few talks and demonstrations at the local high school. Many of our Indian friends tell us quietly, but with amusement, that they have had to visit the nearby libraries so they are able to answer the queries put to them about India.

I regret very much not having bothered to learn more of the culture I was born in. Had I a choice of an overseas holiday, I would most likely spend it in India, pursuing a few of my interests like kolams and regional cooking.

I’ve written a teach-yourself-to-cook Indian cookbook but haven’t bothered to revise the manuscript, something I’d been meaning to get to daily for the past three years!

Perhaps R can swap recipes? For instance, I’ve tried making Naan roti but have yet to achieve a reasonable one. The recipe books are not much use. What actually goes into Naan and should the oven be hotter than 550 degrees F?

Today gran and I made brinjal pickle (homegrown) and lemon pickle too. The lemon pickle recipe is one your mother taught us when we were kids.

We can grow most Indian vegetables if we have the seed. We have to depend on what’s available through the seed companies as seeds are not allowed into the country. Our most precious plants are two curry leaf seedlings. We grow, or have grown, okra, brinjal, four different types of chilli, guavas, mangoes, spinach, bitter gourd, snake gourd, pumpkin and dhal greens. Not the proper dhal greens, a weed, but good enough. The house we bought already had four large mango trees.

Gran (or Nana, as you call her) is the keen gardener and raiser of chicks and ducks. The garden suffers when she gets a temporary job – usually looking after invalid old ladies. At the moment she is sewing hats, bags and shirts, to sell in a friend’s craft shop.

19th May 1979

Have lost my perspective of what I was going to do this year. Sidetracked again but something good and right came up. Joan has formed a catering group and there is much work to be done before any return can be seen. In the meantime I have neglected P-maths and am very agitated. Need to sort myself out.

Jobs Pending
  • Meals On Wheels (M.O.W.) – ask Janet to take over
  • Pancakes for tuckshop – what should I do? Give it away?
  • Candles – lots of wax to be used up
  • Plants at Magnussons – continue?
  • Garden – needs attention
  • Chooks and pen
  • Family, of course
  • Car Maintenance

Just phoned Janet, she will take over M.O.W. Also ordered some avocados for Monday evening.

3rd Jul 1979

A few things have to be planned for next week. I’m away Tuesday and Wednesday nights. And maybe Thursday?

  • Cheque to Bankcard
  • Letter of resignation
  • Make cooking and house notes for family
  • Lots of P-maths
  • Sort out insurances
  • Visit Cyss
  • Johnny’s clothes need to be prepared.

Cleansing Diet

The general idea is that if the body is purified, it will heal itself.
So apply (1) and (2) on alternate days.

Breakfast (1)
Grated pineapple with grated seeds
(almonds but not peanuts)

Breakfast (2)
Plain biscuits with butter
1 slice wholemeal toast
2 lightly poached eggs

Mid-morning: juice 3 oranges

Lunch (1)
Salad (any)
Raisin, nuts

Lunch (2)
Fruit (apples in particular)

Mid-afternoon: 3 oranges

Dinner (1)
Steamed veg
Veg rissoles (onions, egg, no sauces)

Dinner (2)
Salad
Nutmeat

No liquids for an hour before and two hours after a meal. No meat, condiments, tea or coffee. If sweets are craved, eat brown rice with milk but no sugar, yoghurt or custard without sugar. Drink Kurk brew instead of tea or coffee.

***

The pain is constant. Time, that clichéd healer, should dull it, but at the moment I welcome the pain – in fact, I deliberately foster it.

Absolute folly, it interferes with day-to-day activities. I wish to write it off as a delightfully human and rare experience and leave it at that. What else is there to do? You must get on with your life, and soon, please. We only have one life each of us, and the years go so quickly. I agree most heartily, I wish we had never met, the agony is terrible. The conflict for me is awful.

All this must seem rather dramatic to you but what the hell, if we can’t make love let us at least attempt to make literature! Shall I put you in a book and thereby absorb you in a less destructive way?

In what way is my behaviour different from Barbie’s behaviour when she withdraws? I have the same urge to be by myself, I don’t feel hungry, well not as much as I normally do. I like wandering about in the garden and I can’t concentrate. Sleep is at a minimum.

The disco was fun. I danced from the time I got there to finishing time which was 11:30pm. My partner was ‘stretch’, a very tall guy. He was young and clean and wore glasses, which gave the impression he was learned. Took a crowd afterwards to the Singing Ship. The moon was disturbingly bright. The young ones went off to make wishes at the well. I sat in the moke and brooded. It had been a wonderful evening.

There is no future or present, only a brief past. A past that should not have been.

KarenProfileCircle120Notes and Links

  • This journal entry is part of the My Mother’s Voice – Journal Series
  • These posts are meant to be read in sequence and the Preamble post marks the beginning of the journal series. It can be found in Archived on the Home page.
  • A map of where we lived and a family tree are also at the bottom of the Home page, click here.
  • In Emu Park: “The Singing Ship memorial commemorates Captain Cook`s Bicentenary in 1970 and marks his exploration of the bay in May, 1770. The memorial represents the billowing sail, mast and rigging of his ship Endeavour. Concealed organ pipes use the sea breezes to create eerie music.” Ref: Monument Australia, click here.