Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Friday, August 5, 2011
Melancholy and Memory
No pics to speak of today - it would take way to long to hunt them down. But it started off with a completely unrealated - kind of - and 'regular' convo with someone who also lived in my dinky little town where I grew up. And that got me thinking about our personalities and what and who we would be if some things were different.
I loved to read. I read a lot! But I often wonder why I felt such an affinity for characters for Jane Eyre (my favorite of all time), Anne of Green Gables, Polly Anna, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm and later, another book which is hiding downstairs somewhere - the main character of which ran away from home. Just why did I have such a weird affinity with Orphans and the unwanted? I would immerse myself in these stories, imagining and envisioning every step of the way. I did read other books like Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden - detective novels - always trying to find out the big answer, but the ones I mentioned earlier I always tended to always go back to. I even felt the same about poor old Heathcliffe...again, and unwanted person.
I had no reason for this in the family matter....I was wanted - I was loved - I was cared for. I had two sister - sorry, have two sisters, and two parents. But I also had a brother who was born early and who died not long afterwards. I believe that same year, my beloved Poppy also died....right now my memory is shot to pieces thanks to a virus and my pain medication. I have wondered recently if these two events, so early in my childhood - along with what seems to have been an insatiable curiosity - have kind of moulded the deep inside kind of me.
I often have to remind my husband, and the teachers and the grandparents, that just because someone is a little loud, silly, chatty etcetera, it does not mean they are not timid and shy. Those of us like that put on an act - and in a sense we actually lose ourselves to our act because first of all, no-one takes us seriously in the end and second of all, we lose the ability to actually be who we really are with other people. If we do try that, we're regarded as sullen, sly or gloomy. I say this because I recognise myself in my eldest son. He came to me recently and said that when he has to do "sharing" (the old show and tell) at school, his eyes start to prickle and sometimes his throat hurts. Instantly, I was thrown back to my school times, where teachers were not as sensitive as they are today and I could feel what he was going through. I told him that it was okay, mummy felt like that all the time as well, and sometimes, she still does. We just have to learn to try and ignore it.
Now the thing about small towns is, everyone knows everything about everyone....or at least they think they do. And really, that's true to a point. The thing about industry towns - particularly ours, is people come and go and turn up in another industry town. In my case, the industry was the old Hydro Electric Commission - the town - various, but in the main it really was Strathgordon, the place Greenies love to hate.
I've wanted for a long time, to write from the view point of those who grew up in these Hydro Towns - they "Hydro Brats" so to speak. Someone else thought it a good idea that a series of books be done on the other side of the Hydro - there was ummm....the Construction side of it and the er...civil?? side - I'll have to ask him again about that. A series of books was published by the HEC before disaggregation, on the construction of these towns giving all sorts of details and facts and the like. And although some normal kind of stuff was mentioned, there wasn't a lot of anything about the people as a whole.
So you can imagine why, a girl who felt like she was seriously over protected while her sisters seemed to get to do or go where they kind of wanted to, would drown herself in books.
Take that healthy habit of reading into a very small town where danger was regarded as the infrequent car on the road and maybe a snake on the footpath, it got to be very difficult.
As most people know - small towns have in general a small town mentality. In our case, I guess we did, but we liked our small town and would curse the 'terrorists' as we called the tourists, who would interrupt our summer days by driving round gawking at the locals.
Although I lived at Butlers Gorge briefly - I was so little I have only a vague memory but I'm told I did get my first kiss from a kid named Jason behind the shed, caught by his mother I believe - this was related to me by MY mother by the way. But my memories there are vaguely of the work sheds and possibly a playground of sorts - I don't know. Who's to say - I was maybe 2. I also lived at Tarraleah in a couple of different houses, and Lake Echo which, now, has some bitter sweet memories for me and the beautiful Poatina.
I regarded for a long time, Poatina as my home. When we left to move on to Strathgordon, I was heart broken. We got there just as people were beginning to move on to Tullah for the next big Hydro building schemey thingy. My earliest memories of school there was firstly, maybe my first week at the school, was being told off by a Miss Bennett - for standing on what was, apparently, a row of seats. She said to me - do you stand on the chairs at home? Well of course I didn't! Well don't do it here! It occurred to me - but obviously not her - that there were half a dozen other kids doing the exact same thing - actually, they were jumping up and down on a broken slat....but what could I do? I was the new kid in town quite literally. The first day in that town that I really, really wanted to cry. I just mumbled sorry and sat down with my chin on my chest. What on earth was the matter with the woman that she had to pick on the new girl in such a harsh voice? Today I'd call it PMS!
My second memory was of the loveliest of teachers Ms Ann Baily. I had her for just a few weeks as we arrived very late in third term. For some reason - she bough a pile of icecreams - and I mean ICE-CREAMS not icy-poles - for all us kids in the class, and we were allowed to choose. In my desire to finally be allowed to have something my parents would never let me have, I chose an Eskimo Pie....the ones in the wrapper without a stick!. The rotten thing started to melt and I had it everywhere. I was so embarrased I hid in the cloak room. Towards the end of the ice cream eating episode she realised I was missing and came looking for me....to find me coated in it and again, almost in tears. I recall she asked me why I was hiding..she would call me her little aboriginal girl....but that's all I remember...her gentle voice. She took me to the girls toilets and let me clean myself up. There was no chastising, but for a while after, she was very gentle with me as if she knew how fragile the weird bravado little girls put up, really was. Sadly, she left too with most of the school and we were left with one wonderful teacher whom I would like to name, but I'm not sure he would appreciate it. Truly - my favorite teacher. Why? He was kind. He was honest. He wasn't horrible to people - to my recollection. And when I read my report that he sent home - he made me cry. Not because he said how bad it was - how I couldn't do this and I needed to work on that....this man was honest. As I got older and re-read the reports he wrote, I wonder how much of that was an understanding of someone who had felt on the outside himself, and it was his way of urging me to join the circle. But again - the thing that struck me most was his honesty. I loved him and after he left to teach at another school - we wrote postcards and letters for a good while.
I'm guessing he did feel on the outer a fair bit now I know more about him. Just like me....I always felt I didn't quite fit in the family....in the town....in me. A square peg in a round hole maybe...always wanting to fit in but never quite feeling that I did.
Hmm....enough - time to return to motherhood and wake those who need waking so I can go and collect children from school.
I'll be back....Anarchy Brown is never far away - always trying to break through.
MWAH!
I loved to read. I read a lot! But I often wonder why I felt such an affinity for characters for Jane Eyre (my favorite of all time), Anne of Green Gables, Polly Anna, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm and later, another book which is hiding downstairs somewhere - the main character of which ran away from home. Just why did I have such a weird affinity with Orphans and the unwanted? I would immerse myself in these stories, imagining and envisioning every step of the way. I did read other books like Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden - detective novels - always trying to find out the big answer, but the ones I mentioned earlier I always tended to always go back to. I even felt the same about poor old Heathcliffe...again, and unwanted person.
I had no reason for this in the family matter....I was wanted - I was loved - I was cared for. I had two sister - sorry, have two sisters, and two parents. But I also had a brother who was born early and who died not long afterwards. I believe that same year, my beloved Poppy also died....right now my memory is shot to pieces thanks to a virus and my pain medication. I have wondered recently if these two events, so early in my childhood - along with what seems to have been an insatiable curiosity - have kind of moulded the deep inside kind of me.
I often have to remind my husband, and the teachers and the grandparents, that just because someone is a little loud, silly, chatty etcetera, it does not mean they are not timid and shy. Those of us like that put on an act - and in a sense we actually lose ourselves to our act because first of all, no-one takes us seriously in the end and second of all, we lose the ability to actually be who we really are with other people. If we do try that, we're regarded as sullen, sly or gloomy. I say this because I recognise myself in my eldest son. He came to me recently and said that when he has to do "sharing" (the old show and tell) at school, his eyes start to prickle and sometimes his throat hurts. Instantly, I was thrown back to my school times, where teachers were not as sensitive as they are today and I could feel what he was going through. I told him that it was okay, mummy felt like that all the time as well, and sometimes, she still does. We just have to learn to try and ignore it.
Now the thing about small towns is, everyone knows everything about everyone....or at least they think they do. And really, that's true to a point. The thing about industry towns - particularly ours, is people come and go and turn up in another industry town. In my case, the industry was the old Hydro Electric Commission - the town - various, but in the main it really was Strathgordon, the place Greenies love to hate.
I've wanted for a long time, to write from the view point of those who grew up in these Hydro Towns - they "Hydro Brats" so to speak. Someone else thought it a good idea that a series of books be done on the other side of the Hydro - there was ummm....the Construction side of it and the er...civil?? side - I'll have to ask him again about that. A series of books was published by the HEC before disaggregation, on the construction of these towns giving all sorts of details and facts and the like. And although some normal kind of stuff was mentioned, there wasn't a lot of anything about the people as a whole.
So you can imagine why, a girl who felt like she was seriously over protected while her sisters seemed to get to do or go where they kind of wanted to, would drown herself in books.
Take that healthy habit of reading into a very small town where danger was regarded as the infrequent car on the road and maybe a snake on the footpath, it got to be very difficult.
As most people know - small towns have in general a small town mentality. In our case, I guess we did, but we liked our small town and would curse the 'terrorists' as we called the tourists, who would interrupt our summer days by driving round gawking at the locals.
Although I lived at Butlers Gorge briefly - I was so little I have only a vague memory but I'm told I did get my first kiss from a kid named Jason behind the shed, caught by his mother I believe - this was related to me by MY mother by the way. But my memories there are vaguely of the work sheds and possibly a playground of sorts - I don't know. Who's to say - I was maybe 2. I also lived at Tarraleah in a couple of different houses, and Lake Echo which, now, has some bitter sweet memories for me and the beautiful Poatina.
I regarded for a long time, Poatina as my home. When we left to move on to Strathgordon, I was heart broken. We got there just as people were beginning to move on to Tullah for the next big Hydro building schemey thingy. My earliest memories of school there was firstly, maybe my first week at the school, was being told off by a Miss Bennett - for standing on what was, apparently, a row of seats. She said to me - do you stand on the chairs at home? Well of course I didn't! Well don't do it here! It occurred to me - but obviously not her - that there were half a dozen other kids doing the exact same thing - actually, they were jumping up and down on a broken slat....but what could I do? I was the new kid in town quite literally. The first day in that town that I really, really wanted to cry. I just mumbled sorry and sat down with my chin on my chest. What on earth was the matter with the woman that she had to pick on the new girl in such a harsh voice? Today I'd call it PMS!
My second memory was of the loveliest of teachers Ms Ann Baily. I had her for just a few weeks as we arrived very late in third term. For some reason - she bough a pile of icecreams - and I mean ICE-CREAMS not icy-poles - for all us kids in the class, and we were allowed to choose. In my desire to finally be allowed to have something my parents would never let me have, I chose an Eskimo Pie....the ones in the wrapper without a stick!. The rotten thing started to melt and I had it everywhere. I was so embarrased I hid in the cloak room. Towards the end of the ice cream eating episode she realised I was missing and came looking for me....to find me coated in it and again, almost in tears. I recall she asked me why I was hiding..she would call me her little aboriginal girl....but that's all I remember...her gentle voice. She took me to the girls toilets and let me clean myself up. There was no chastising, but for a while after, she was very gentle with me as if she knew how fragile the weird bravado little girls put up, really was. Sadly, she left too with most of the school and we were left with one wonderful teacher whom I would like to name, but I'm not sure he would appreciate it. Truly - my favorite teacher. Why? He was kind. He was honest. He wasn't horrible to people - to my recollection. And when I read my report that he sent home - he made me cry. Not because he said how bad it was - how I couldn't do this and I needed to work on that....this man was honest. As I got older and re-read the reports he wrote, I wonder how much of that was an understanding of someone who had felt on the outside himself, and it was his way of urging me to join the circle. But again - the thing that struck me most was his honesty. I loved him and after he left to teach at another school - we wrote postcards and letters for a good while.
I'm guessing he did feel on the outer a fair bit now I know more about him. Just like me....I always felt I didn't quite fit in the family....in the town....in me. A square peg in a round hole maybe...always wanting to fit in but never quite feeling that I did.
Hmm....enough - time to return to motherhood and wake those who need waking so I can go and collect children from school.
I'll be back....Anarchy Brown is never far away - always trying to break through.
MWAH!
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