Category Archives: Family

Cliches


All I can use are cliches
Overused
Like breakfast dishes
Coloured in Chinese Willow
Beauty debased by familiarity
All the words were used
Long before we met
By others, to whom a muse
granted a ready tongue, yet
For the first time I love you
A new love and no new phrases
All I can use are cliches.

 
J.E.McL jun 1977

Old Family Photos


I have just spent several days sorting out some of my family’s heritage.

My mother died back in 1983 and I inherited her Photo Album. A book full of mainly small dark images which were more of an ‘aide memoire’ than an illustration to be appreciated. It has sat in a drawer for years and I have looked at it occasionally. Mostly with despair because it was so hard to work out what was in the images.

Then I realised, at last, that I have a scanner which can take a little image, scan it at hundred or thousands of pixels per inch and so increase the size of the original and then I can play games with contrast and brightness and stuff. Thank you Irfanview.

Here I am three or four days later an all those images have been scanned, labelled and sorted!

I’m not going to bore you with all 2-300 images but maybe a couple every now and then.

When he came back from the war, Dad  went farm labouring. Firstly at a place called Canna in the Northern wheatbelt of Western Australia. In the aftermath of the depression and the war, the area was still quite primitive. One modern advance was the arrival of the internal combustion engine and that was where I first drove a vehicle.

family photo 1

Another, probably more interesting photo was from his time with 603 Air Group. In between bombings and strafings, the aircrews amused themselves. As ground crew, Dad took photographs of some of the fun and sometimes wrote on the back of the photo. This was a US Liberator Bomber.

naughty plane

The kisses were for Mum who was expecting me at the time.

Enough for now. Maybe some more later, maybe.

 

 

The Old Woman


There is a huge house in our street.

The extended family is run by an old woman with a pack of irritable dogs allowed to run without a leash. Her car doesn’t even have a number plate,  but the police do nothing.

To the best of my knowledge, she has never had a regular job in her life  and her bad-tempered husband is notorious for his racist comments.

A shopkeeper blamed her for arranging the murder of her son’s ex-wife and her boyfriend,  but nothing has ever been proved.

All their kids have broken marriages except the youngest,  who everyone thinks is gay.

Two grandsons are meant to be in the army  but are always out partying in nightclubs.

One of them got married  and seems to be settling down  but the second is out of control.

 It is not even known if they have the same father.

I hate living near Buckingham Palace.

 

Stolen from phil’s phun

A Story From My Youth


Being unbelievably ancient, stories of my youth stretch back into the late 1940’s.

Dad had come back from the war in the Pacific and my parents presented me with a younger brother. Dad went farming. Farm labouring in the West Australian Wheatbelt. Sowing and harvesting wheat and feeding a flock of sheep on the stubble. He was paid a small wage with keep. A house and a sheep per week. We moved around a bit but that was another story and not really understood by my young ears.

Anyway, this is a story which took place on a farm probably just outside a small town called Dalwallinu in the Spring of about 1949.

There was no scheme water so we had to rely on stored rain water in the tank. Baths were in three inches of water after everyone else had bathed. Younger brother and I cleaned our teeth leaning over the edge of the verandah with a glass of water in our hand. The ground was gravel and about three feet down. Quite a drop when you are little.

One of the perks of farm life was the collection of pets and animals in a child’s life. We had Skip, the Red Cloud Kelpie who couldn’t see through the stubble so he stood up on his hind legs to see where the sheep were. Then he would drop down and sort those ovines out. Skip’s Mum had done the same thing.

Then there were the orphaned lambs. Mum had a soft spot for them and we often had a baby lamb which needed feeding and so lived around the house. Eventually they were weaned and sent back to the flock.

The year I was five Lambsie was a nice friendly little pet. As tends to happen with young animals, it got a bit bigger and started hanging around us. It was included in our games. It always kept an eye on us when we cleaned our teeth with Kolynos toothpaste and our little glass of water.

Time passed. Possibly a month or two. We noticed that Lambsie was developing little bumps on its head. Dad explained that it was going to be a ram and those bumps were baby horns.

Eventually the natural thing happened. One evening we were standing on the edge of the verandah cleaning our teeth when instinct kicked in. Lambsie lined younger brother up and butted him off the verandah. He fell all the way down to the ground. Where he got quite angry.

I made the mistake of laughing and was leaning over the edge to see the fallen heap down there on the ground. Lambsie then dealt with me! Together, down there on the gravel, we were both teary and very angry with Lambsie. We demanded, in our four and five year-old way that Dad do something about him.

Lambsie disappeared.

The next Sunday we had our roast dinner. Younger brother asked what had happened to Lambsie and Dad told us that he was our dinner.

Being little boys and harbouring a lot of resentment against Lambsie we ate on with greater relish! And extra mint sauce.

 

Remembrance Day


A detail from the Australian War Memorial

Poppies are found there all year round

For the sacrifices were not just a one day thing.

Remembrance1

 

My much younger Dad in the second world war

In a jungle and sucking on a straw

While he couldn’t survive the peace,

He survived the war at least.

Wish I could have known you better.

remembrance2

Three Mothers


My Mum’s Mum

Pretty hot for someone born in 1898
This was before she embarked on her 50+ year marriage.

Mum's Mum

 Mum and Me

In wartime austerity

She taught me to love words

Hand coloured by Len McLennan

Mum of my children

Still as feisty as she always was!

That was a wicked glint in the eye!

mum o' my kids

Today is Mother’s Day in Australia

Image

Hypnotic Dog


feed me