Dad: Hopeless in Emergencies especially if blood was involved – Trog and other Animals

030 Sammy 065 Colin and SammySammy was an outside dog. My mother was adamant about that. Even when the dog developed a severe phobia after a palm frond fell on her head, my Mum did not relent. It was okay though because we were kids and we spent a fair amount of time outside so Sammy had plenty of company. She went to sleep in the laundry with a treat of two biscuits. These she refused to eat until we let her out in the morning; her way of punishing us.

I was responsible for her training and I spent hours teaching her to sit and stay and shake hands. We used to go for a long walk on the lead as soon as I arrived home from school. It was here that I developed my dislike of people who did not control their dogs. We had to avoid many streets to avoid dog attacks. Poor Sammy was frightened of her own shadow. It was also my job to feed her and this I did without argument. In fact the only task I baulked at doing, in regards to my best friend, was picking up the dog shits in the backyard. We dug a pit right up by the back fence, the furthest point from the house and into it went the millions of doggy done its. We lightly covered this with grass clippings and compost so that the blow flies did not become too bad. In the time we lived at Strathfield we must have dug oodles of holes.

We moved to Lindfield and for the first time Sammy was alone for long periods throughout the day. Dad now working 9 – 5 in the city and Mum and I were still travelling back to the other side of Sydney to our respective schools. I wasn’t just around the corner any longer, getting home early for walks. My brother, now in university, had a girl friend and hardly ever seemed to be home. Sam started to miss us and look for ways to follow us. Dad was the easiest to follow as he walked to the train station whereas we left in the car.

The day that I was playing in the orchestra for the musical Oliver Sammy had slipped out and followed my Father. Dad heard the screech of breaks and the squeal of an injured animal. Looking around he saw Sammy making her way from under a car and racing back down the hill to home, dragging her right rear leg. He followed and found her at the front gate, collapsed but conscious, blood pouring from a wound on her leg.

He phoned my Grandfather. He didn’t know what else to do as we only had the one car and we had taken that to school. From there I don’t know what he did but my grandfather told me he arrived  and found on the front verandah; Sammy, weak but wagging her tail and my father passed out on the day bed. My father had never liked the sight of blood.

A trip to the vet and many stitches later Sammy was fine. I wasn’t told until after my concert and, although, angry about this at the time, I can see it probably made a lot of sense. Sammy never again left the back yard except on a lead.

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A Rant – On Alcohol

In Australia excessive alcohol consumption is a huge burden on society, not only as a direct result of death and disease but also due to the effects that it has on the families, and local communities such as criminal activity, vandalism, aggression and inability to maintain work. In 2003  alcohol accounted for 3.3% of the burden of disease in Australia (NHRA ).  An estimated 3,200 people die annually due to excessive consumption of alcohol and there are 81,000 people hospitalised for this reason.( Aust. Govt 2012). It is unknown how many hospital admissions are indirectly due to alcohol consumption but it is estimated that there are huge numbers as alcohol is a risk factor for cardiovascular disease, cancers, diabetes, nutritional deficiencies, overweight and obesity, risks to unborn babies, liver disease, mental health conditions and dementia, self-harm and trauma to both the drinker and others.

As an intensive care nurse I have experienced first hand the effects of alcohol in relation to traffic accidents, aggression and violent acts to others, health personnel, police and other emergency services.

North Shore Advocate Jan 29 1986 copy

Alcohol in Australia is a socially acceptable activity. Social events revolve around drinking and sports, such as football, are sponsored by alcohol companies. Early childhood education about the effects of alcohol need to be undertaken – a policy based, public health intervention.

 

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Pitch to the Publisher

Here is what I think I will say in my verbal pitch to the publisher. If you heard this pitch would you be tempted to look at the manuscript further? All comments appreciated.

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Hallo

I am Irene Waters. I am going to tell you about my first manuscript  “Nightmare in Paradise” completed at 54,000 words. It would sit on the bookshelf between Sarah Turnbull’s All Good Things and Julian Evan’s Transit of Venus. Although I have written in various forms throughout my life, I have never attempted to have my work published. I have completed a post-graduate certificate based on writing at Central Queensland University where my manuscript made up the creative component. I have almost completed the first draft of the sequel.

Nightmare in Paradise is my true story of the four years that my husband and I spent as business partners of the paramount Chief on the remote Pacific island, Tanna in Vanuatu, in the running of a small resort and tour business. The island attracted people from round the world who came to see the world’s most accessible, active volcano, the traditional lifestyle and cargo cults. We knew that things would be difficult. We knew there was no electricity so we took an electrical system. We knew we would have to build our own house and took a kit home.  We knew that the island’s people lived a traditional custom lifestyle complete with witch doctors and chiefs but we thought we’d fit in. We believed the resort was doing well with many guests.  What we didn’t know was that the resort was bankrupt and had no guests, that water could only be obtained at high tide with the use of a pre World War II  hand pump used by a pumper that held the resort to ransom. Nor did we know that the gas refrigeration could not even keep a few bottles of beer cold. Imagine, running a restaurant without refrigeration – we killed as the orders came in. The narrative follows our time on the island, describing the difficulties in running, in bizarre conditions, what was to become a successful resort, with chapters devoted to the traditional life and cargo cults. As we turned the fortunes of the resort around our troubles unfolded and multiplied.

 Most chapters of this dramatic yet often humorous tale are a complete story in themselves, yet linking all is the gradual increasing tension that happens between Chief Tom, Roger and me. A key point in the narrative is when the strained relationship reaches a crisis with Roger’s kidnap. This leads to time in Vanuatu’s legal system. First criminal then civil. Having been awarded by the Chief Justice sole operating rights we return to Tanna, choosing to manage the other resort as we felt safer at a distance . This had a new set of problems culminating when a guest is killed at the volcano.

I would like to read a small amount from the manuscript. The passage I have chosen is at the end of a chapter which deals with the trials, tribulations and amusing incidents that happen in a restaurant without refrigeration. It is at a point where we have finally installed our electrical system and now, with refrigeration, guests no longer have to watch our waiter, cleaver in hand , running around the restaurant chasing the chicken they had ordered for their dinner.

Luckily our second shipment of goods arrived by early April and we managed to get our electrical system up and running. We could then pre-cook the curries and spaghetti bologneses which made life easier for us. This improvement caused us much amusement. The freezer was in our house which was about three hundred yards from the restaurant. Between the resort and the house was pitch black nothingness. An order would come in and one of us would grab the torch and run to the house. Everything would be pulled out of the chest freezer in the attempt to find the desired article. Once found we would then run back to the restaurant where the reheating process would take place. Our labeling system left a bit to be desired and often the wrong item would be brought back : so it was off, running again. We all took turns and we were all jolly fit as a result.

One day a technician flew in to service Tanna Coffee’s equipment at their roasting house located near White Grass. He ate his lunch at our restaurant.  He asked me what I would recommend he have to eat “the chicken curry or the chicken soy”.  I recommended the curry. I went and placed the order and off Joseph ran. He came back empty handed not having been able to locate any curries. Off to the house Roger went. I went back in and said “I’ve been thinking about it and I think you really should try the chicken soy as you can get curries anywhere whereas chicken soy really is an island delicacy.” He agreed and I went back to the kitchen to tell Peter that when Roger came back with the chicken soy our guest would happily have it. Roger came back with the soy, Peter started to cook it only to discover that it was in reality a chicken curry. At this point Roger said he would go and talk to our guest and persuade him to have the chicken curry. Our guest pointed out that “Irene says I really should try the chicken soy”.

Roger decided truth was the only option and the patron agreed to have the curry. Roger returned to the kitchen where Peter happily tells him “ Em i oraet. Mi fala convertum kurri. Em i nambawan soy nomo.”

I carried the converted meal out to the table and said “ I don’t know what it is now but I hope you enjoy it”.

Peter was an excellent cook and although the curry differed only from the soy by either the use of “Keen’s” curry powder or soy sauce both meals were somehow particularly delicious. Our guest agreed with Peter’s assertion of “nambawan” when he said “I want the converted version next time I come.”

 

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Finally a dog: Trog and other Animals

I held my parents responsible for my forced move to the city. I made their life hell and the only way I would settle to Sydney living was if they would allow me to have a dog. The answer was a resounding no.

A woman came to visit one day as I was again haranguing my parents and she offered a kitten from a litter that her daughter’s cat had produced. My parents finally relented and I got my little kitten.

024 Irene 023 Irene & kitten 1969

It wasn’t long before the kitten’s hair started to fall out. My brother, already a budding scientist, devised a cure. Sulphur mixed with honey which we applied liberally to the kitten. Within a few weeks her hair was growing back and we pronounced her cured. Now it was my brother and i with the skin complaint. We itched and when on closer examination by our mother discovered that we had rosy rings in numerous places on our bodies. A trip to the doctor confirmed my Mum’s diagnosis – ring worm. There were creams to apply and special bath additives to bathe in and, of course, the trip with the cat to the vet.

When put under the ultraviolet light the cat showed rings all over her. We were given orders not to touch her and the vet and mother conferred in private. We were given no say – the cat was too little to treat and there was no choice but to put her down. I was distraught. Not only did I lose the kitten but we were also told that the spores were now in the garden and we would have to wait two years before we considered getting another animal.

To console me a fish-tank and some goldfish became my next pets and placed in my bedroom on the windowsill. We didn’t know that you needed a glass lid for a tank but I learnt when I walked into my bedroom one night in the dark and trod on two of my fish with my bare feet. It was not a pleasant sensation as I felt them flatten under my toes. The three remaining fish lasted a little longer then the fish tank went into storage in the garage.

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The two-year quarantine period nearly over, I started the begging for a dog again. I persisted in my quest though each effort met with a resounding no. When a girl brought a litter of black labrador cross pups with her to school I was certain that if I just took one home I’d be able to persuade my parents, with my brother’s help, to keep her.

That afternoon I put the tiny puppy inside my school jumper. Her heart and my heart seemed to beat together. I just had to keep her. With a lot of cajoling and promising that the dog would be an outside dog, and that I would pick up all excreta, and I would train her and walk her and feed her permission was eventually granted. The two little girls next door that I baby-sat on occasion were as thrilled as I was and they immediately set to playing dressups with her.

019 Margot & Joanne Brown

We called her Samantha which was quickly shortened to Sammy, named after my favourite TV program of the moment bewitched.

017 Colin and Sammy

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“Daddy’s Shoes”

Beautiful. I miss my Dad too

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Trog and other Animals

Trog was wild:  but she comes a bit later. This is the first in a series about the animals in my life. It will be in a new category of its own called Trog and other animals.

I was always desperate to have a dog as a child but this desire was not met whilst we lived in the country. We did have the obligatory box of silkworms and my brother and I followed their progress from egg to worm to silk cocoon and finally moth with immense fascination. Almost as much fun as the silkworms was picking the leaves from the mulberry tree for them to munch with us kids becoming stained purple from our squashing of the berries in the process.

Apart from the silkworms a succession of injured tortoises, usually with broken shells, were treated in my intensive care unit for wild animals. Most of them succeeded in making their way back to the river. We did not know then that a broken shell can be fibreglassed to repair it.

Pinkie was the first animal we named. She was a little white mouse that belonged to my brother. Although I can remember our delight at her arrival, my mother’s fear that she could already be pregnant and playing with her, I have absolutely no recollection of her demise, which surely must have happened. Perhaps she escaped, but even then I would have thought that I would have remembered the loss of the first warm-blooded pet that we owned.

007 Pinkie

Following her we were given a pair of finches. One dropped off the perch immediately and the other pined to such an extent that we gave him to a person with an aviary full of finches rather than watch him meet his end also. Now with an empty cage we looked for a bird to fill it. We bought a green and yellow budgerigar that my brother and I planned on teaching  to speak. This did not happen. I don’t think our budgie was too bright as we certainly tried. He looked so lonely in his cage that I have never been fond of caged birds since. I can remember wanting to let him loose into the wild but my Mother told me that he would be killed by another bird as he had not learnt the ways of the wild.

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When we moved to Sydney the budgie was the only animal that came with us, the cage crammed between the front and back seats covered by a sheet. Our fear was that we would be stopped by the quarantine officer at the check point and he would order the bird to remain behind. In those days there were strict regulations regarding passage of animals and plant matter from one region to another to ensure that disease was not moved from one region to another. I can remember stopping before the check points and being forced to eat whatever fruit we were carrying and not have it thrown in the bins provided. We got away with it and the entire family including budgie made it to Sydney.

budgie photo wikipedia

 

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Thinking of them

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As New South Wales faces the worst bushfires in over a decade with over 200 homes burnt to the ground and countless others damaged, animals left injured and homeless, our rural fire service exhausted but carrying on. In Qld where I live, so far we have been spared but our hearts go out to those affected. At my Mum’s retirement village the walkers and the motorised scooters lined up for their users to sit and enjoy the entertainment rendered by the retirement village choir. Donations were given  generously for the victims of the last few days. As the last song was sung the tears flowed as the elderly audience joined in the chorous singing “I am, you are, we are Australia.”

IMG_0564 2013-10-20 14.18.11

photos thanks to  Newcastle Herald, Donna Langdon and unknown (from Facebook)

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Memoir

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“In our memories we meet ourselves”

Elizabeth Jolley Learning to Dance

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Our Next trip cancelled

After our holiday we all looked forward to our next holiday on an island in the Barrier Reef. My brother read books about the coral and fish that we would see and then told me all about them. I know my mother and father were also looking forward to it.

My wiping up nausea probably start 6 months after we returned. At first, treated as a psychological problem, the family ignored it, with concessions made such as sitting down to wipe up. This lasted around three months before I collapsed in school assembly. Even then, it was considered a reaction to the heat of the day rather than an indication that I may have been sick.

Eventually, as the nausea started to happen whenever I was standing, my parents took me to our doctor. At a loss, he suggested that maybe I was allergic to dairy products and to try removing these from my diet. I was very happy with this as I hated milk. Especially the milk we were forced to drink at playtime. It was a government incentive to make sure that all Australian children had enough milk to prevent rickets and to do this they provided school milk: a bottle for each primary school aged child. The milkman dropped this off early in the morning and it sat there in the sun until ten o’clock when we had to drink it. The taste of warm, half-off milk turned my stomach, even before I had my mystery illness.

The removal of dairy products did nothing to improve my condition and the GP could offer no other suggestions  as to a possible cause. I guess the adults still thought it was psychological. About two months before our anticipated holiday the vomiting started. At first only when standing but it finally became so severe that it would happen whether I was standing, sitting or lying. At this point I stopped going to school.

They tried me on antibiotics only to find it gave me an allergic reaction. They changed it to a different one which had no side-effects for me but still no improvement to my vomiting. Around this point my mother told me she was sorry for not believing me when I said I felt sick. The next thing I know I am put in hospital.

Although I was only six, for some reason they admitted me to the adult ward. I don’t know why when they had a children’s ward. The occupant of the two-bed room they put me in was a delightful old lady, Mrs Little, who took me under her wing and looked after me. She had the softest skin and I think she was very sick. She always comforted me when my parents left after visiting hours and made me feel safe.

One afternoon my parents and my brother arrived and they took me out of hospital to take me to a specialist in Lismore, a larger country town. We loved going to Lismore as they had soft serve ice cream which they served in cones. The specialist was in an upstairs room overlooking the river. He sat behind a huge desk that had a leather section in the centre. My dad’s desk had a removable one that was a red, worn leather base with leather corners on the upper side that held sheets of blotting paper but this specialist had his writing pad built into the desk. He sat on his side of the desk and the four of us sat in a straight line on the other side.

He asked lots of questions then I had to get up on the examination couch, also leather, for him to prod and poke me. On completion of the examination, I was told to wee into this little container. With that he then put a potty on the floor and told me to go to the toilet. I refused. There was no way that I was going to go to the toilet in front of a perfect stranger, my parents and my brother. I fought with my mother as she tried to pull my pants down. She won that battle but she couldn’t force me to wee. I sat on that potty for a long time whilst they tried every trick under the sun. The turned on taps and had the water running, they promised me an ice cream if I filled the little pot and they tried threatening me. There was nothing they could do to make me go in front of them. Eventually they gave up.

We had got no more than ten minutes away from there when I started ” Mummy I want to go to the toilet.” My parents were not impressed and my mother expressed her anger verbally. With me in tears, I returned to the hospital where I spent another two weeks. During this time my parents decided to cancel our booking for the Queensland island in the Great Barrier Reef as it was unknown whether I would be well enough to travel. For awhile my brother was very angry with me for spoiling his holiday. My Mum and Dad must have been disappointed also but they hid it well and did not blame me for it.

According to my mother no-one ever fully diagnosed what was wrong with me. The vomiting eventually went by itself (unless the antibiotics eventually helped) but the nausea when I stand still remains today. I’m okay if I’m moving or sitting but to stand still is just impossible. To watch me wiping up, instead of the stool, I now jiggle or walk around.

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Our 1961 camping trip to North Queensland.

In the last summer, the one before I started to feel nauseated when I wiped up, we had gone on a camping trip to North Queensland. My mum hated camping and I had heard stories of when they used to travel to Sydney from Condoblin when my brother was a baby, my mother and brother would sleep in the car, whilst my Father would sling his army issue hammock complete with roof between two trees. The tales were always ones of woe for my mother so consenting to our holiday under canvas would have been a surprise. 1961.11 camping near Rockhampton On this trip we went in luxury. Our tent was large enough to take four, hessian-strung stretchers in a row, so we slept in relative comfort. If I wanted to go to the toilet during the night, I had to wake my mother to come with me, as it was usually quite dark in the camping grounds and my mother had a fear that some ill would befall me if I went to the toilet block alone. Packing and unpacking our Holden car became at first was fun as it was an adventure, but then it became a real chore for my parents. We had many relatives up north and we visited many of them. The most memorable was the visit to my Uncle Ollie who was the post master in a really small country town in North Queensland not too far from Rockhampton where we also crossed the Tropic of Capricorn into the torrid zone. 1961.10 A,C,I,near Rockhampton 1961.9 J,C,I, Not only was Uncle Ollie the postmaster, he was also the local telephone exchange and weather station. Fascinated by the rain gauges, thermometers and barometers installed around the post office grounds we pretended to be the postmaster. Inside the house there were telephones in every room and in a central location was the big, black switch board with many wires poking out, waiting for a call to come in which he would then connect one of these wires to the line of the person the caller wished to speak to. My uncle let us connect some of the calls as they came. On this trip we made it as far as Mackay, 1,196 kilometres from our starting point. 1961.12 C,I,Mackay We would all have liked to go further north but time ran out and we had to return home as school was about to start after the holidays. My parents promised that the next year we would visit the Great Barrier Reef and stay on one of the islands, not rough it as we had done this year. Apart from the visit to Uncle Ollie I have to admit that at five I really have little recollection of the trip, and if I had not been triggered by the washing up I probably would not have thought of the holiday (though Uncle Ollie is vivid). I imagine it wasn’t a lot of fun for my parents as my brother suffered from car sickness and I would have been bored from the inactivity of the travel. I do, however, have strong memories of the following year.

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