wondered daily about how they were
doing.
“During
the years when my son was a baby, I used to look at other babies around his age
and wonder how he was doing and what he looked like. These thoughts still
continue today...” comments a mother whose child was taken from her at birth. ( Releasing
the Past: Mothers’ stories of their stolen babies)
I
think sometimes we must have reminded Mum of Bertie, Audrey and Noel because I
occasionally observed a fleeting look in her eyes that I did not understand at
the time, that seemed out of place in the context. Perhaps unseen ghosts from
her past life caught her unawares.
Chapter 8
I
wonder if Mum’s habit of nurturing everything she could find resulted, at least
in part, from the loss of her first three children. She always seemed to have
some young creature in her care. In the spring she would walk around the
paddocks next door and check for lambs that needed mothering. When ewes had
multiple births, they would sometimes reject the extra lambs. Mum would gather
the orphaned lambs and the lambs of sick ewes and bottle feed them. Sometimes
she would bring a weak lamb inside and make a cosy bed for it in an old
cardboard box and keep it near the stove where it would be warm. Actually, I
think the young sheep quickly caught on that Mum was a soft touch because the
group of woolly white lambs jostling each other for her attention often
included those that did not need a surrogate mother.
On
occasion, a sick lamb might share the warmth of the stove with a box of fluffy
yellow chickens. These were my favourites. My mother kept them in an old shoe
box with holes in the lid which she placed near the stove. For chickens that
had just hatched, Mum positioned their shoebox on one of the side bricks, part
of the hearth in which the stove was set, where it was warmest.
Mum
loved birds of any kind and delighted in watching the tiny blue wrens, robin
red breasts and little grey thrushes that often flew into her garden. If she found
a bird with a broken leg or wing she would try to nurse it back to health. She
taught us to distinguish one bird from the other, especially the difference
between a sparrow and a starling. In those days we had slingshots. Mum did not
want us to mistakenly shoot sparrows thinking they were starlings. The only
birds she would allow us to shoot at were starlings because they were pests.
She usually had a pet bird, sometimes a canary and at other times a blue
budgerigar. It seems to me the budgies were always called Bluey. As far as I
can remember, Mum did not give the new budgies new names.
She
also loved dogs and most other animals. However, one creature Mum did not show
much affection for was the snake. She was afraid of them, as were most people
in Australia at that time. ‘The only good snake is a dead snake’ was a mantra
often heard. Snakes in the bush were part of our lives and Dad had taught us
not to touch, catch or try to kill them. We came across snakes several times
when we were gathering wood for the fire. I recall one occasion when we saw a
black snake curled up under a log.
“Stand
still,” said Dad, keeping his eyes on the reptile while holding one arm out to
block Bobby, Maxie and me from moving forward.
He
slowly reached up to his fedora hat which sometimes replaced the well worn navy
beret, took it off and carefully lowered it before finally letting it fall to
the ground between him and the snake.
We
stood perfectly still and quiet behind Dad. I used my father’s legs as a shield
while my brothers held their bodies slightly to the side so that they could see
the snake.
“Move
backwards slowly,” said Dad.
I
kept my eyes closed as we inched backwards. My heart was pounding.
“It’s
moving,” hissed Bobby.
I
gripped my father’s trouser leg.
“It’s
gonna get us,” said Maxie.
“Shh,”
said Dad.
When
Dad stopped moving backward, we all stopped. I tried to shut my eyes even
tighter as I imagined the snake’s gleaming
doing.
“During
the years when my son was a baby, I used to look at other babies around his age
and wonder how he was doing and what he looked like. These thoughts still
continue today...” comments a mother whose child was taken from her at birth. ( Releasing
the Past: Mothers’ stories of their stolen babies)
I
think sometimes we must have reminded Mum of Bertie, Audrey and Noel because I
occasionally observed a fleeting look in her eyes that I did not understand at
the time, that seemed out of place in the context. Perhaps unseen ghosts from
her past life caught her unawares.
Chapter 8
I
wonder if Mum’s habit of nurturing everything she could find resulted, at least
in part, from the loss of her first three children. She always seemed to have
some young creature in her care. In the spring she would walk around the
paddocks next door and check for lambs that needed mothering. When ewes had
multiple births, they would sometimes reject the extra lambs. Mum would gather
the orphaned lambs and the lambs of sick ewes and bottle feed them. Sometimes
she would bring a weak lamb inside and make a cosy bed for it in an old
cardboard box and keep it near the stove where it would be warm. Actually, I
think the young sheep quickly caught on that Mum was a soft touch because the
group of woolly white lambs jostling each other for her attention often
included those that did not need a surrogate mother.
On
occasion, a sick lamb might share the warmth of the stove with a box of fluffy
yellow chickens. These were my favourites. My mother kept them in an old shoe
box with holes in the lid which she placed near the stove. For chickens that
had just hatched, Mum positioned their shoebox on one of the side bricks, part
of the hearth in which the stove was set, where it was warmest.
Mum
loved birds of any kind and delighted in watching the tiny blue wrens, robin
red breasts and little grey thrushes that often flew into her garden. If she found
a bird with a broken leg or wing she would try to nurse it back to health. She
taught us to distinguish one bird from the other, especially the difference
between a sparrow and a starling. In those days we had slingshots. Mum did not
want us to mistakenly shoot sparrows thinking they were starlings. The only
birds she would allow us to shoot at were starlings because they were pests.
She usually had a pet bird, sometimes a canary and at other times a blue
budgerigar. It seems to me the budgies were always called Bluey. As far as I
can remember, Mum did not give the new budgies new names.
She
also loved dogs and most other animals. However, one creature Mum did not show
much affection for was the snake. She was afraid of them, as were most people
in Australia at that time. ‘The only good snake is a dead snake’ was a mantra
often heard. Snakes in the bush were part of our lives and Dad had taught us
not to touch, catch or try to kill them. We came across snakes several times
when we were gathering wood for the fire. I recall one occasion when we saw a
black snake curled up under a log.
“Stand
still,” said Dad, keeping his eyes on the reptile while holding one arm out to
block Bobby, Maxie and me from moving forward.
He
slowly reached up to his fedora hat which sometimes replaced the well worn navy
beret, took it off and carefully lowered it before finally letting it fall to
the ground between him and the snake.
We
stood perfectly still and quiet behind Dad. I used my father’s legs as a shield
while my brothers held their bodies slightly to the side so that they could see
the snake.
“Move
backwards slowly,” said Dad.
I
kept my eyes closed as we inched backwards. My heart was pounding.
“It’s
moving,” hissed Bobby.
I
gripped my father’s trouser leg.
“It’s
gonna get us,” said Maxie.
“Shh,”
said Dad.
When
Dad stopped moving backward, we all stopped. I tried to shut my eyes even
tighter as I imagined the snake’s gleaming
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