meilleure amie

Mum and I were fortunate to spend time with some favourite rellies this week – a tasty meal with my father’s sister and brother and their spouses. These aunts and uncles have been a part of my life forever and part of mum’s for over fifty years.

It was the start of birthday celebrations for mum, she turns 75 – wowsers! I have started this story about my mum several times and while most stories that I write come easily this one has eluded me.

There are few words in the English language to describe this lady appropriately.

In recognition of her 75 years I am going to try. Im sure the photos I have included will help paint the picture of this lovely lady.

Apparently, my dad said to his sister many years ago that the best thing he ever did was marry Brenda. As one of their 3 children I’m kinda glad he did too! She was a hit with his family from the start – including his mother, which for those who knew Ellie was something monumental.

Mum_Dad_sheepyards
One my favourite photos – the young couple in the sheepyards at Bellevue

I sometimes wonder if things would have been different if she was born in a different era. Would she have been a nurse? A counsellor? A psychologist?

As a middle child born during the late World War II years she was destined to leave school at 16 years and work to help support the family. As was the norm in the 1950s she worked until she married, at a local jeweller and then became a full-time wife and mother.

Would have, could have. I get the feeling she doesn’t regret how her life has turned out. It has still been one hell of a ride!

Life was tough growing up during those post war years, a middle child of six children whose father died when she was seven. The Murray River was her home – born in Yarrawonga and childhood in Corowa until a handsome school teacher swept her away when she was nineteen to Gundagai, Manilla and finally settling in Curlewis in 1974.

She was a bit of a looker as a young lady in Corowa. Her sweet curls set from rags in her hair a common sight in the family album, her peaches and cream complexion shining in photos taken at district balls and dances in the early 1960s. She has a quirky talent of being able to raise her right eyebrow which she used effectively to gain the attention of the handsome school teacher who used to visit their home in Parade Place, Corowa. Her skilful talent obviously worked, as they were married in 1963 and enjoyed over 50 very happy years together.

In times of sadness and loss this wonderful lady is the glue, the strength, the rock that guides and helps both family and friends through their most traumatic experiences. She does this without hesitation and it usually involves delivery of some home-cooked food to feed the soul.

Food baked by her, always with love and heart. Many have tried to recreate her jam drops, her Anzac biscuits, the almond bread, weetie pudding, curried chicken or memorable sponge cake. It is never the same. One of my daughters commented that Gran cooks with love in it – and no one can put Grans love in, so they will never be the same. I have to agree with this theory.

She was also quite the seamstress, sewing many of our clothes and her own in the early years. She still is the go-to person for mending and fixing clothing for family members, some even saving things until they next visit for Gran to fix.

 

Selfless – Caring – Generous – Thoughtful are all words that easily spring to mind.

DSC06137There was invariably a little note wrapped in my school lunchbox with a smile, or simply the words love you x written on it. Just her way to let me know all was fine in the world, she was there in spirit, always.

When my girls come home to visit the pantry is stocked with home baked goodies, delivered by Gran who knows their favourites to welcome them home. She has baked birthday cakes forever, and always whatever is requested, though most of the time one cannot go past her sponge!

Her door is always open, the kettle is always on, there is always a cold beer in the fridge and food in the cupboard that she can whip into a master meal in a heartbeat. We had many a night with friends, playing cards and dancing, laughter and silliness in our Minhala home. The lady of the house was in the thick of it and making sure everyone was having a great time, their glasses full and their hunger satisfied. From Dad’s co-workers and students to my brother’s navy mates who would turn up at last minute on weekend leave – they were welcomed, bedded and fed – usually being sent off with armfuls of leftovers to get them home.

Officially she is Gran to eight grandchildren, unofficially to countless others. At the local school she was known for quite some time simply as “Gran’ – even the Principal fondly called her Gran. A most fitting title indeed for this lovely lady.

Her caring nature may have made a wonderful nurse, the way she can listen without judgement may have made a leading psychologist. Would haves, could haves that we will never know. I do know though, that she is the most considerate and forgiving mother and grandmother this side of the black stump. She is the most loving, honourable, proud wife, mother and grandmother in cooee of the Murray River.

And she does a damn fine cooee that has called many a child from up the paddock!

She is the one with the infectious laugh, the silliest faces, the quirky sense of humour, the willingness to give anything a go.

She is our world.

She is my mother.

She has made me all that I am and all that I will be.

She is my best friend.

Happy 75th birthday Brenda Christine – Mrs T – Mum – Gran x.

 

meilleure amie is French for best friend

First Steps

countryhorizons_cambodia_nightcityskylinewithsunset

It took me some time to decide. I wanted to push myself out of my comfort zone every now and then but not sure this was for me. I had visions of being thrown in a foreign jail, not able to tell family and friends where I was. But maybe I just watched way too many movies.

The country had been a war zone in my lifetime. I have small recollections of learning about the events of the 1970s at school, even raising money to help the poor of the region.

But I said OK, lets do this!

YOLO …   (and I can feel my daughter rolling her eyes…50 year olds should not use YOLO she would be saying)

Off I go – to gain the fourth passport stamp of my life.

As the waters of Singapore came into view from the airplane window I contemplated the Australian bloodshed that had occurred decades before as World War 2 knocked on our door and annihilated the land now beneath me.

As a teenager I was fascinated by the World Wars. I watched countless TV series about prisoners in Changi Prisoner of War camp, of women who were captured by the Japanese in 1942 and of course Pearl Harbour and Gallipoli.

As the plane makes it final flight into the modern Singapore I’m taken back to a school assignment interview with a friend of my father who has been a prisoner in Changi and survived. He didn’t tell me much at the time and at 14 I was a little naïve to ask for the detail. As none of my family have a history of service in the wars, these were my only experiences of the bloody battles that ravaged southern Asia last century.

The city beneath me and modern airport, complete with indoor gardens was a stark contrast to what my imagination conjured of Singapore. I celebrated my first footsteps in Asia with a Singapore Sling – it seemed fitting and absolutely glorious after the eight-hour flight.

And then onto our destination, Cambodia.

My senses exploded as we exited the airport at Phomn Penh.

Lights from a herd of motorbikes galloped towards us, another line jostled beside trying to sneak past. The air was filled with a peal of horn blasts swirling in with the dust of the evening skyline.

The streets were a coalescent of old with new. A stooped woman slowly wipes the street dirt from a table covered in a plastic faded cloth, beckoning diners to take a seat while next door an elderly man sat on a broken chair minding bric-a-brac that covers every available corner of the shop in the hope a shopper sees a bargain or a necessity.

Youngsters kick an empty drink bottle dispersing other litter and discarded food across the street. A toddler wearing only baggy torn shorts watches, his face a flummox of his day with specks of food, tears and mucus staining his cheeks and running down his bare chest.

A car tries to reverse from an American clothing store, the security guard holding up traffic to allow the driver to enter the continual flow. A troupe of tuk tuks hang near a club, ready to barter for a ride in the hope of making a meagre wage from Saturday night tourists to finish early and maybe rest tomorrow.

Overhead I spy 3 storey buildings inclining on each other, seemingly built as an afterthought for family expansion. Spirit houses protect the occupants, the ornate gold coating catching the last of the sunlight, the fruit offerings keeping the spirits peaceful.

The streets are framed by a spaghetti of electrical wires looping around leaning poles and mixing with neon lights and dilapidated signage, a mix of local chirography and western advertising.

Our driver paints the political and social landscape for us as we bump and thrust through the city traffic. The herd continues to stream by, some laden with 3 or 4 passengers, even a baby slumped asleep over the handle bars. Others tow a small trailer packed with goods from vegetables, building materials to sorted rubbish. We learn there is a market for the rubbish – one person’s trash another’s treasure that can put food on the family table.

We hear the story of our driver’s family, a story we will hear retold by many we meet. The loss of family members in the 1970s, a country pillaged and ravaged through history, a people exploited with their spirit tattered yet unbroken.

Unfinished highways funded by other countries loom in the twilight, while displaced sleep in hovels in its shadows. Our car bounces along unloved roads and past the contrasting grandeur of others.

The grit of this city is smattering on us, our eyes seeing what our minds are not comprehending.

Our ears are hearing the chaos of existence yet our hearts will listen to the silence of oppression.

We steel ourselves for the days ahead. We step into the night, into the city.

The whale kingdom

countryhorizons_tonga_sunset

Malo le’ le’…again. I promised I would return and I did. I fell in love with the contagious smiles and welcoming embrace of the Kingdom of Tonga last year and I do believe I left a piece of my heart drifting gently through the cerulean waters of this island paradise.

A few weeks back I journeyed again to connect and renew, if only for a short time.

The capital city Nukualofa maybe a bit more bustling, the western influences maybe slowly creeping into its veins but once you voyage to one of the outer islands the slow-paced bustle is left far far behind and you are vortexed into a postcard. The waters, every shade of blue, turquoise and aqua are as deep as forever. The sun warmed our winter weary bodies as we were resuscitated by the dashes of island breeze that fluttered in the air.

A small boat ferried us to our island escape on Kapa, just a stone throw from the main island of Vava’u, where our host welcomed us with a warmth we had grown to expect from this Kingdom. One cannot help but just relax and fall into an island way of living, the clocks are few, the technology connections to the outside world intermittent, the call of the ocean mesmerising.

As a new day was heralded with a postcard sunrise we packed way too many belongings for a day on the water to search for the regal majesties of the ocean – the humpback whales. I am an ‘in case packer’ – I packed a large backpack for the day, in case we got wet, in case we needed some food, in case we needed an extra battery, in case the boat broke down and we necountryhorizons_tonga_reefresort_sunriseeded to spend a night on the water, in case, in case, in case. And of course, used very little of it!

On the whale tour boat (Beluga Diving) we met travellers from the across the globe, all with a similar wish.

The Japanese ladies were kitted with the iPhone in water proof pouches hung around the neck. If you ever wondered if these work – they do! We dived, we snorkelled, we were in and out of the boat and the iPhone survived brilliantly.

The Intense Italian was so concentrated and really dominated the personality of the boat. He was equipped with large DLSR cameras – one he spent more time keeping dry and free of salt spray than actually using, the other enclosed in a mammoth water proof case that took several people to lift back into boat each time.

And an Australian couple from Brisbane, Simon and Allison. Seasoned travellers who dive and snorkel regularly off the coast of the Queensland. It was good to have kin folk close by, even if I did feel a novice as this was the only second time I had worn snorkel gear.

Day One was a tad windy and the waters choppy. The calming island zephyr had decided to whip up enough to make the whales head to deeper, calmer waters. We spotted a few, jumped in to observe underwater when possible but the main act hadn’t read the script.

As we farewelled our whale-seeking-friends at the end of day, our skins parched by the island sun and wind we wished them safe travels, never believing we would see them again.

Until we met the boat the next day.

To our surprise and delight we were teamed again with the Japanese ladies and our Brisbane couple, small world sometimes. And I arrived with less ‘in case’ luggage – it was me, my snorkel gear and sunscreen today. I have to admit it was liberating.

The Intense Italian had been replaced by a young French Wanderer, travelling the world post doctorate before settling into the hum drum of mature living. Yes, a small amount of envy and a great amount of admiration for solo travelling women such as she.

What a magical day.

Within a short time of leaving shore we came across a mother and her new babe. Our Tongan guide was first in the water, establishing a relationship with her in a language that seems to cross between them in silence. We are just visitors to this timeless world of the Tongan people and their whales.

In groups of four we slid softly into the water and as quietly as possible swam close the mother and baby. I felt a bond to the resplendent mother of the blue ocean as she moved slowly, buoyed by the natural currents of the water. Her baby exuded an energy that all young seem to have as it ducked and weaved, from side to side, top to under. I could not help but relate to a time when my babes were young and rarely sat quietly in my lap!

As other travellers busily clicked their cameras and jockeyed to a position to make that ‘like-worthy’ shot I was happy to just be. The desire to capture for perpetuity can take away from just taking in the experience that is unfolding in front of you. I left that for others.

The serendipity of the moment hypnotised me. A lump rose in my throat, my mask fogged with tears unchecked, a soft choir of an ocean song echoed in my ears as I was suspended in the water magnetised and connected to this mother of the ocean. As our eyes met amongst the sunbeams dancing through the water I hope she could hear me say she was doing a great job with her babe and safe journey back to the cooler waters of the world.

And then is was over. We left the new family in peace, reminding ourselves we are purely observers to the main act and our time of theatre was over.

Malo. Thank you. My heart still stays, I will return again.

 

Footnotes and travel tips:

We stayed at the Reef Resort. I highly recommend this as a place to stay. It only has 5 cabins so only a few other guests at any one time. The Japanese coral gardens on your doorstep are wonderful to discover with snorkelling. Host, Herwig is very very helpful and a wonderful host. Hannes and Julia are top chefs – the food was amazing and they are always smiling and offering to help in any way.

Herwig booked our whale swim tours for us through Beluga Diving. Biggest tip is to book these well in advance of your travels. I did not realise this and nearly missed out! Book at least two days, preferable three. Cost is about 400TOP (= ~ 235 $AUS) per person per day.

We travelled to VaVau’ via Nukualofa but have since learnt that VaVau’ is an international airport and you can travel via Fiji. The flight times are a bit more reasonable via Fiji.

Kingdom Moments

We do not remember days, we remember moments. (Cesare Pavese)

I recently travelled to Tonga as part of a joint group with Good Return and Xplore for Success. Twelve women, six days, a thousand memories.

I have already written about first impressions in Mālō e lelei and how I struggled to keep emotions in check during the magnificent Sunday church service. I hope many other memories from the experience will stay with me for a life time.

I know I will continue to support the work of SPBD and Good Return

I will continuethetravellers to be astonished at the work of South Pacific Business Development (SPBD) and the difference they are making to places such as Tonga. I observed the commitment of the staff at SPBD, their passion. They know they are helping making a difference and it shows. I am also thankful for the tolerance of the SPBD staff when 12 career women from Australia arrive on your doorstep full of energy and questions, you were all very patient, courteous and extremely helpful.

I know I will remember the day I visited Tongatapu.

While I enjoy the luxury of my home I hope I remember the experience of arriving in the poor area of Tongatapu and the realisation that I am seeing people’s homes, lying below sea level amidst salty swamplands,  their yards  awash with fetid waters that seep in from the surrounding seas. Images quickly take me back the overpowering putrescent smells that hung in the air as we visited homes and listened to the women tell their stories.

As I flick on a light switch I hope I will remember the tears that rolled down her cheeks as she told us that the loans had helped her put on electricity in her home. As I jump into my new car I hope I remember the many hours of work over five years of another to save to buy a car to take her children to school. As I continue to support my own children through their university I hope I remember the 23 year old making handicrafts and baking to earn an income for her own education with the desire of a better standard of life for her children.

I hope the feeling of vulnerability in seeing, smelling, feeling the effects of Climate Change with my own senses, not just reading about it in news grabs will remain with me, as well as the small glimmer of hope at the mangrove reclamation area – one day this land will improve. I know future news items will stir the feeling of helplessness as I looked out to sea and pictured what it would be like if a tsunami was to land on these shores and its people.

I know I will always remember the people I met in the short time I spent in Tonga.

I will always…always remember the joy in a Tongan smile, how it is contagious and welcoming.

I was privileged to see and feel the pride shown by the clients when they shared with us stories about their businesses. It was heartwarming to listen the stories of how the microloans being provided by SPBD and Good Return are improving their lives, from providing food for their families, clothing, education, electricity, even a car to take children to school. I was surprised to see the small entrepreneur spirit of many who use the intermittent internet to sell their wares across the world.

Many will hold a special place in my memoday1_visit_bakersries.

The bakers, the mother who passes on her recipes to her daughter by showing.

 

 

The seamstress who makes traditional clothing that Tongans still wear with pride to church and other special occasions.

 

The weavers who will sit for days to make masterpieces from pandanus grass, from floor mats to the traditional taʻovala. Or others that will make intricate pieces to form kie kie that many people still wear daily.

The fisherman wives, who will pray each day for their husband’s safe return from the seas and who will then work long hours packing the haul for market.

The farmer’s wife and daughter who work side by side the husband and father to harvest tapioca and yams to sell at market.

selling_tapa

When I close my eyes I can see the image of women drying and pounding the tapa from thin leaf to broad sheets to sell at market. I can hear the sound of the rhythmic whacking ringing in the village air during the midday hours.

 

I hope I will be able to remember…

being immersed into Tongan life. I am grateful tdance2o be invited into their homes, their church, their lives for a small glimpse of Tonga and its people. Their music mixed with the softness of the Tongan expression and laughter of its people still ring in my ears and flows through my soul.

 

I know I will return to Tonga

You have created a special place in my heart

 

tonga_redshell

 

 

Rainy day in the city

I woke one morning last week and peeked out the window.

NO!!

The sky was dark, the city was grey. The heavens had opened, it was pouring rain.

When I’m home I love the rain. I know it is filling our dams, our water tanks and the soil profiles that will sustain our crops and our community. It is Mother Nature’s gift to Father Earth. Read More