This story is about a special day and moment spent with my seven year old daughter.
A GOLDEN GIFT
I am going to remember December 1997 very fondly, as this was the time I visited
my hometown of Carnamah. It had been several years since I had last been there.
I was so looking forward to sleeping in my old room, sitting on the veranda and
wandering around my old school. I wondered how big the trees in the back yard
were. It would be nice to see the Umbrella tree in the front lawn. My brother Peter
and I used to have a favourite passtime of constantly swinging around this tree.
Many years after Peter and I had left home, Mrs Singleton who lived two doors
down, fondly related to mum "I don't know how that Umbrella tree ever survived
with Peter and Tracy swinging on it all the time". We still laugh about that.
Carnamah is 200 miles north east of Perth, Western Australia which takes about 3
hours by car. On this visit my 7 year old daughter Nicole and I were to travel with
my mum in her car. We were only 10 minutes gone when Nicole first asked how
long we had to go. Mum and I both laughed and told her we would let her know
when we were half way. I was thankful that mum was driving as I intended to
savour and soak up the views of the countryside that were so familar to me.
I looked for one of my favourite landmarks along the way. A small old church
situated on the side of a hill, fairly close to the tight winding road. Within its iron
fence boundary is a graveyard, the surrounding scrub is thick with flourishing gum
trees that make a canopy for the shrubs and moss rocks. Each time I pass, I
wonder about the lives of those early pioneers buried there, and the stories they
could tell. And as I always do, I promised myself I would stop and have a wander
through one day.
We had packed some snacks to eat on our journey. Mums favourite wholemeal
sandwiches with ricotta cheese and apricot jam, fruit, biscuits and a container of
mum's chilled "real" water. I always refer to mums water as "real" because it is
rain water, not like the water we get from our taps full of chemicals. To me there is
nothing more refreshing on a hot summers day .
It was getting hot and we were all thankful for the airconditioning in the car. Being
our summer months the harvest was completed, and the paddocks were a pale
yellow from the remaining stalks of wheat. Already many of the farmers had
collected these making mounds of hay for their stock. These looked very much like
straw huts dotting the horizon. The sheep and cattle had already found what
shade they could to rest for the hottest part of the day.
For what seemed the hundredth time, Nicole asked "Are we nearly there yet". Mum
answered with her favourite reply, "No, but we are getting closer all the time". "You
always say that Nanna" was the response, and we all laughed together.
After much chatter and many games of "I Spy", we finally arrived. As I carried our
bags from the garage and through the front gate, I took a deep breath as I was
feeling quite emotional. So many memories were coming to me at once. For a
moment I wished I was again a young girl running around the yard. Playing as I
used to, swinging on the clothes line and doing summer salts on the lawn. Or
maybe to chew some fresh mint and smell mums geraniums. Nicole soon distracted
me with one of her endless questions. I looked at her with a smile, and not for the
first time thought how lucky I was to have such a lovely little girl.
Nicole and I were to sleep in my old room. The china plaque with "Tracy's Room"
was still on the door. There was a time when these walls were covered with "Alice
Cooper" posters. I used to have dark purple curtains with a light purple bedspread.
I had a two drawer desk where I kept my school books. On my chest of drawers I
had a lamp made from a animal horn, with a plastic pink shade. My beloved brown
cordroy jacket would be on a hanger on the outside of my wardrobe. Most of that
was gone now, but my old room still had the same cosy feel to it that I remember so
well. The wooden wardrobe that remained gave the room a familar welcoming
smell. It was so good to be home.
It had been several months since mum had been here, so she had much that she
wanted to do. I decided to take Nicole on the long walk I had promised her. For the
passed few days I had been telling her that when we visited Carnamah, I would
show many of my old haunts. It was quite hot so we walked slowly, Nicole holding
my hand as she always likes too. Pausing often under the shady spots the gum
trees offered along the way. As we walked I told her stories from my childhood
memories.
We first crossed the road and walked the short distance to the creek. This was
where I used to play so much as a child. The wooden bridge where I used to sit
and dangle my feet, was now gone. I told her how my brother and I used to catch
tadpoles in the winter, and take them home to watch them grow into frogs. She
begged me to bring her back again when the creek was next filled with water, so
we could catch tadpoles together. It warmed my heart to see how curious she
was, and how intensely she listened. We stood there for a few moments. Nicole
exploring the creek , as I was trying to come to terms with the feeling of something
long lost.
We then crossed the railway line, walked passed the war memorial and further
down was the main street with the shops. All the while I was relating childhood
memories to an intrigued little girl. We walked all the way up the main street to the
school, which is situated at the other end of the town. I pointed out the C.W.A.
(Country Womens Association) Rooms where I used to go to "Brownies", the old
police station, and the place where I went to "kindy". There has been some
changes over the years but thankfully much is still as I remember it. I must have
walked this street a thousand times but this day I was taking in every detail. . All
my senses were on full alert, savouring every moment of this very nostalgic
journey. The sound of the wind through the trees, which always reminds me of
home. The crunching of the gravel and blue metal under my feet. The pink and
grey galahs flying overhead, screeching as they passed. I was enoying even the
smell of the dust. This experience was leaving me saturated with emotion.
Nicole became more excited as we came closer to my school. Now her questions
really began to flow, she wanted to know every detail. I showed her the science
lab, typing room, home economics, the playground and most importantly my old
locker. The paint was very scratched and the door no longer closed properly.
Nicole played on the playground equipment for awhile including the same old
monkey bars that I had played on when I was her age. We then sat on a bench
seat on the veranda, Nicole still chatting, while I drifted off and listened for
someone to call "Hey Fleggy, what yu doing?" Flegg being my maiden name, so
Fleggy became my nickname. How wonderful it was to be 14 years old again
joking with my friends. I jumped on my friend Dot's back then she carried me a
short distance before we collapsed on the ground with laughter. Then I was
awoken by the tug of a little hand trying to pull me up. "Come on mum, lets go".
We very slowly walked back laughing along the way. Several times I wiped a tear
from my eye, I did not want this afternoon to end. I had been wanting to take this
walk through the main street of my home town for many years. I wish I could
explain why I had such a strong need to see and touch these places. Never did I
imagine that someone would be even slightly interested in sharing these moments
with me. Nicole is to young to understand how much her display of love,
innocence and genuine enthusiasm helped me enjoy a very special moment in my
life. Hopefully many years from now when she reads this, she will remember the
priceless time we spent together this day. I am sure it will bring a smile to her
pretty face. I thankyou my sweet, for your golden gift of love.
By Tracy Willet
January 1998.
I dedicate this story to my daughter who has brought such joy into my life.
BACK TO MY HOME PAGE
[Aussie History]
[My Tribute to Australia]
[My Awards Page]
[Jane Austen Tribute]
[Some Photos]
[Kookaburra Page]
[Koala Page]
[WW1 Poetry]
[Tracy's Writing Den]
[Wattle Women Bookclub]
[Wattle Women Tribute Page]
[Graphic Appreciation Page]
[My Magical Holiday House]
[Fading of a Yellow Rose]
[An Irish Lass Becomes a Martyr]
[A Golden Gift]
[A Most Treasured Friendship]
[Discoveries in Marvelous Melbourne]
