Shangri-la aka The Danders

If you have been off travelling there comes a point when you really just want to get home. Most of that feeling arises from a longing to reconnect with family, notwithstanding modern technology affords us opportunities to do that in real time more than we used to, and if I was really honest I was seriously in no hurry to get back. You miss the hugs though, the real warm connection you get from wrapping your arms around your children and grandchildren and it being reciprocated, something that cannot be achieved on video calls. So it was that I had a dilemma; I didn’t really want my trip to end but I longed for that kind of connection to my family that wasn’t available when I was still in Australia.

As we know only too well, those kinds of shows of PDA’s or get togethers are currently off limits for the time being. And so it was that we were to arrive back to a new reality. One where we were confined to barracks, quarantined, #staying home at least for the foreseeable future. A few blogs back I did write about a visit to my own home for the weekend. Gaining a new perspective on how it might look through a visitors eyes. Now I really was like a visitor, just back from a 5 week trek on the other side of the world slap bang into a new reality with nobody but the Lion to share it with.

My delight to be home, lasted all of five minutes. The silence was deafening, with only the buzz of the fridge, humming out of tune with my happiness, to welcome us back. There was food inside, so someone had been busy, but it lacked the invitation to dine, maybe since we’d scoffed too much on the plane. We simply needed to see people. These needs were unmet. We were abandoned. Alone. Do you know how hard that transition from touring with a group of 28 to enter the dismal, loneliness of the Danders is? It is normally writhing with bodies, ringing out with voices, clinking with glasses and the mastication of food.

My farmhouse kitchen table, the hub of all activities and normally brimming with people, wine and food, bore only a raft of mail accumulated over our absence and neatly sorted into his and hers piles by my daughter. There was a warmth, which I had ensured was in place through my Hive App, that greeted us on arrival. A heat that would be impressive, as we welcomed our guests inside from the wintery conditions outside, given the fact we had just arrived home. I hoped they would soon arrive to share our stories, our photographs and their presents, except that none were allowed to come. I caught sight of our cases sagging in the hallway, groaning with washing, tired from all the hauling and pulling and bulking up in the aircraft. Their newness depleted, bearing the scuffs, scrapes and ticketing labels, their own identifying memories of our trip.

The Lion opened all of the windows, inviting the fresh air to replenish the staleness of uninhabitation. He lit candles even before he had emptied the case as he returned to super OCD mode now he was home and had purpose. I stood still, listening to the silence, smelling the air, slowly gaining my bearings with familiarity. Everything static, frozen in time, just the way we left it. No ghosts of memories these past five weeks, the house craved noise and laughter but none was coming.

I thought it best to empty the cases. 8 piles of washing occupied the floor of the snug. Each aligned to a washing programme, and carefully placed according to colour, materials and dirt. The reek of sweat and sun lotion permeated the room once the clothing was released from the confines of the case. A pile of shoes, and one or two items that were never worn looked forlorn in the vacant space created by the expulsion of washing. The cases suddenly lighter as they were lugged up stairs to their final resting place at least until we went on a big trip again.

Toilet bags had been cleared of most of the contents at the last stop, with the stalwart items, always needed but never used, found their way back into their hiding place under the sink until next time. Our bedroom was such a haven, despite the thinly spread layer of dust on the furniture, our bed was inviting us back, tempting as it was I am sorry but not yet. We were still buzzing on life anticipating the opportunity to speak with family or friends who might remember that it was today we were coming home. I checked the phone several times only to find everything was in working order. No messages displayed. No cars arriving, no people passing. Silence – shattered only by the Lion trying to ignite the candles and huffing and puffing as he did so.

Day turned into Night, and we had still no real evidence of any joy that we were back. The house wrapped itself around us, warm, cosy and illuminated by warm white lights and twinkling light strips, the strengths of our very own Shangri-La were in abundance. Video calls with our nearest and dearest over, we finally accepted and embraced the comforts we were surrounded by and would sleep on our new reality, of no social contact until the next day….

Tjapukai-An Aboriginal centre

You cannot really blog about Australia and not mention the indigenous people. I have, on one or two occasions. mentioned them on our travels to Alice Springs and Darwin not always in detail because we were advised, quite strongly, these tribes did not want to interact nor be photographed and to respect their privacy. This made it difficult to speak to them and find out anything. The closest I came to a conversation was with an Aboriginal woman who was painting at the Art Centre in the Outback, she told me her painting depicted women gathering leaves to make medicine. She spoke quietly as she worked and nodded only in response to my questions keeping eye contact to a minimum.

The indigenous people were thought to have come here from Sri Lanka many thousands of years ago, when it would have been easier to transverse the vast lands of our planet long before the seas were imploded by the melting glaciers. Their history is well documented in Australia and makes for shameful reading; when Cook arrived here in 1770 he declared the island uninhabited, ignoring the indigenous people, their land rights and more importantly what they knew out this environment. Early settlers did not appreciate the ways of the Aborigine people and there were many battles, even massacres with the loss of entire families, foreign diseases imported unwittingly by the visitors devastated the indigenous people’s numbers in the early days. Christian groups in the early 1800’s with every good intention tried to protect them by locking them up but this invariably led to them being incarcerated or held against their will unable to move freely for fear they would be harmed. Today there is sill a high proportion of indigenous people locked within the criminal justice system as a result of the historic inequalities and pathways they have been forced down.

In Alice Springs, at the telegraph station, we learned about the 1970’s children born of aboriginal women and white men who were removed to children’s homes often by force, separated from their mothers. This tragic set of affairs was to be referred to as the ‘Lost Generation’ and appalling stories are still emerging today from that period. Today Australia is trying to make amends for the deeds of the past, we read that Adelaide was the first City to fly the Aboriginal flag alongside the Australian Flag but it was evident to the tourists eye, this symbolic gesture has a long way to go before balance is achieved. The lands that have been handed back to the Aboriginal race were as a result of lengthy law suits and not through any altruistic attempt to right a wrong done. It will be a complex journey and it is clear it varies from state to state and territory.

After the Outback experience and the Darwin encounter with the Aborigine peoples, the indigenous people of Cairns, as we were to discover on our visit to the Tjapukai centre, provided an entirely different perspective. The map of Australia greets you but it is an Aboriginal Map constructed in the 1980’s to better inform people, a task the indigenous people could not have completed alone since the Aborigine people themselves would have little understanding of the size and scale of the area before the early explorers arrived. There are around 500 tribes and 300 dialects. Within Queensland alone there are 6 dialects spoken. tribes may know neighbouring tribes but rarely further than that and often marry between neighbouring tribes. Dreamtime legends and stories were passed through the generations from men on long hunting expeditions. The Djabugandji and Tjapukai tribes, known as the Djabugay people of the Kuranda area of Cairns rainforest, reflect the nuance and difference between tribes, they have different songs, traditions, dances and music from other tribes. In Australia, of those that completed a census, only 3.3% of the population, around 649,100 people identified as Aborigine.

Dreamtime is a term identified by scholars and now used universally to describe the cultural worldview and beliefs of the Aboriginal people. In Tjapukai the Dreamtime story of creation is based on their belief that following creation there were two seasons; Wet and Dry. Animals, Fish, mammals, plants and people are either wet or dry. If the father is traditionally of the Wet side (fishing) the son or daughter must marry into the Dry side, to create harmony. They believe two brothers from the wet and dry sides fought over superiority, the dry side was murdered by the wet, returning as a crocodile eating the wet side brother as he fished, on his death he became a mountain on the dry side. The simplicity of their view does have a familiar ring to it and makes sense, you can also relate it to a religious link with the creation and the story of Cain and Able in the Old Testament.

Our guide called herself Ruby however her aboriginal name, given by her grandparents, was Rainbow (Guti Guti). In aborigine families the grandparents name the children since they have more knowledge of the culture and systems of the tribe. She was a beautiful girl, black wavy hair pulled off the brow to reveal an open and warm face,with a wide smile revealing well cared for teeth (not like others we saw), tribal clothing covering her petite frame accompanied by delicate patterns of white and ochre body paint on her shins and arms. Rainbow was very engaging and willing to share stories and information about her people with anyone interested to hear them.

In addition to the history we also had a go at throwing a boomerang and spear. After our initial introductions we went to the grassed area for our Boomerang lesson. Only males use boomerangs or spears, women foraged for medicines while men hunted for food. The boomerangs shaped different for left and right hands, were intended to give the appearance of a flock of birds, it was not unusual for 10 boomerangs to be released at once. The Lion had a good technique and managed to return it twice when it was his turn. I on the other hand would have been more of a snake than a bird since my throw stayed close to the grass, 5 feet in front to be exact, suppose I might have been better at foraging.

Next up was the spear throwing; the spears were bamboo stalks with holes at either end, a wooden peg with a hook carved into the tip like a crochet needle, slid into the bamboo hole pinched close to the speak creating a spring to launch it toward the target. This ingenious weapon took a bit of practice but I was better at this than the boomerang, getting it at least near the running Kangaroo target. One thing for sure this little venture brought out the competitiveness amongst the alpha males in the group. With an invitation for anyone who wanted another go 6 of our team, all men, fought for pole position to do so. It was clear they wanted to demonstrate their innate hunter gatherer to their women but it was clear all of us women would be starving if that was the case.

Our next station was to observe tribal dancing, and the centrepiece activity, the Digeriedoo. Carved from red or white gum trees this is the oldest wooden instrument in Australia. If termites have already infested the tree there is a good chance it will be hollow and most of the work to hollow it out will have been done by the little pests. The cut and length of the instrument determine the pitch, much lower if longer etc and that can also be altered if it is soaked in water for a few hours . They use beeswax to soften the mouthpiece and fill any holes in the trunk. To create a sound (it’s not like playing a trumpet) the lips softly vibrate, like blowing a raspberry but constantly and air is taken in through the nose at the same time. A bit like the scuba diving, a tricky combination, we were invited to try to do this as he made it look so easy but we failed. It’s a practiced art to breath and raspberry at the same time.

The dancing and clothing worn has symbolic meaning for everything, the paintings on the body represent animals, ladies wear grass skirts and men, animal skins. The men also have animal tails or grass rolled with hair dangling from their waist like tails to decorate the outfit. Paint is naturally derived producing ochre, yellow and red, white or charcoal from the ashes. The dance they performed described the Cassowary, native to the rainforest and the symbol of the Djabugay people, its forage and encounters with other animals. This bird also appears in the paintings; paintings here differ from the Outback Aboriginals who paint in dots mainly, whereas here animals and people were evident. we buzzed with excitement at the chance to speak with the Aborigine people here, a very enjoyable presentation, informing us a little of the insight to the rainforest people of Kuranda.

And with that we ventured into the rainforest and to its lonely village of Kuranda by Skyrail, a tale I will provide in the next blog. For now lets enjoy the Djabugay people and their stories.

Melbourne, city of family.

If you’re looking for a City that buzzes, then Melbourne is for you. A population of 4.5 million, construction cranes and boring drills reflects a city that has no intention of staying static. We stayed on William Street at the Carlton Suites Gateway just on the banks of the Yarra River. The thing that many of us were anticipating most about this city visit, wasn’t the historic sites, the museums, the sporting arenas. No this visit promised us the sheer unadulterated pleasure that only the presence of washing machines in our rooms can bring to errant and sweaty travellers. Although only 10 days into our 4 week trip this was a critical requirement.

For me Melbourne was all about people; meeting up with family whom we hadn’t seen for over 50 years. Two members of my fathers family emigrated to Australia in the 1960’s; the Hastie’s and the Cruickshanks relocated to the suburbs of Victoria but close enough to retain contact with each other. Our visit to the area reflected a lot of Scottish heritage in the Victoria address book but there were also elements of Irish, Dutch and Aboriginal names on the roads and highways we travelled. Melbourne was a penal colony built by convicts, unlike the free settlers of Adelaide and Perth. The £10 fares encouraged many hard working honest people to relocate to the area. This included my family.

I was excited to be able to catch up with the Hastie’s on our first night in Melbourne. Only 3 of the original 4 who arrived in 1964 remained, but they had added 6 children and 3 grandchildren to the brood in the interim years. My Aunt, now in her 86th year had not lost one ounce of her West Lothian accent, other than her grey hair she had the same smile and was instantly recognisable when I emerged from the elevator. Both of her children, my cousins, had Australian accents but proudly claimed they still had British Passports. My eldest cousin, a tall, beautiful woman with golden brown hair and instantly recognisable eyes, I had not seen for over 56 years. She had never been back home. Married now to an Australian with 3 children and 2 grandchildren. She was a bit of an enigma to me when we were small, I was always looking up to her. My lasting memory of her was playing on the swings the week she was leaving for a better life and how I cried. Behind her beautiful blue eyes, however there dances a dark shadow, a heartbreaking loss so raw and so personal it threatened to destroy her family.

At the age of 19 her daughter Brodie took her own life, subjected to workplace bullying. This tragedy, when it happened was a mystery to us in Scotland since no-one could articulate the story without a guttural pain chocking back the words and us too polite to probe. Since that time my cousin has campaigned for Brodie’s law to make bullying a criminal offence. And she has achieved it, now running the Brodie’s Law foundation she tirelessly works to improve organisations and highlight the impact of workplace bullying. If I looked up to her as a child, I was even more impressed now with the strong, powerful woman before me.

My other cousin, her brother, bore an incredible resemblance to his dad, even as a baby I’m sure he had a moustache, I can hardly recall seeing him without it. He struck me as the one holding the family together, stepping into his father’s shoes. He held family dear in his heart and had organised this reunion, despite being awful at managing messages the importance of maintaining links was not lost on him. He clearly played a role when he lost his niece; the entire family had been impacted. And he was also out to see the newest Hastie currently residing in Brisbane when she arrived to cement the family ties so necessary when you first move here.

The Cruickshanks, dad’s sister and her family moved here from East Lothian in the 1960’s too. My cousin, his wife and their daughter met up with us in the Yarra Valley. My cousin and one of his son’s had visited Scotland recently but it was still great to meet his wife and daughter. Still resident in the same place they arrived to all those years ago they took us out to the Dandenong’s to provide us with an ariel view of Melbourne’s skyline. However the poor weather put paid to that as the mountain was swathed in mist and rain. We needed umbrellas for our visit and for a bit it felt just like being at home. Once the mist cleared however, we had an amazing panorama of the central business district’s high rise blocks in Melbourne.

The Sky Centre also boasts an English garden and play area for kids with a restaurant and banners celebrating the location as a wedding venue. Large totemic sculptures by the famous artist William Ricketts stand proudly around the gardens and are truly stunning examples of what you can do with a chainsaw. On our drive out to the Sky Centre the depth and sheer density of the woodland was a stark reminder about the threat my family live with at the time of fires. My cousin pointed out homes within the forest with debris on the roofs that made them vulnerable to fire. He explained that you need to put a tennis ball in the gutter to block the down pipe and fill the gutter with water to stop fire spreading.

We made up for the delay in commencing our sight seeing caused by the weather by sharing family stories, of our grandparents, aunties and uncles and cousins now living elsewhere in Australia; Newcastle, Airlie beach and Rockhampton. This cousin played Australian rules football and was good at it, we had newspaper cuttings to prove it, sent by a proud mother to my father over 50 years before. I had intended to bring them with me on this visit but forgot them. As his wife and daughter are currently logging the club’s history they were delighted we had kept these and I have promised to send them on. My second cousin I had already met through Facebook so it was wonderful to meet her in the flesh, say what you like about this form of social media but the connectivity to family across the globe is a truly wonderful thing. I knew what her son looked like, how he was doing in school, the family time they spent together. We bonded over a short ride to a local village and she filled me in on the family and how they were all doing. Proud of her roots she had wonderful stories about her grandmother (my aunt) and the close bond they shared, we drove past their old home in Coldstream and I could imagine them living there. We took a stroll to Olinda where the shops and restaurants are individual, quirky but friendly. The Lion, overhearing a Scottish Accent stopped to speak to the gentlemen only to discover that he was from Edinburgh and his brother lived in our town!

Melbourne gave me a great feeling of belonging, not so much with the city. It did however give me family time, so precious on this trip and it’s also the place where I made new friends……………

Looking for Christmas. Chapter 3 Christmas

There is one Christmas that always stands out, it is quite a memory, but it’s not because of the joy and laughter I remember it, no it was because there was almost no Christmas that year.

We were living in Shotts with my Grandad at the time, both parents were working. Dad was driving long distance and often away for long periods and Mum part-time, as most of the time she was looking after us and my Grandad too. We three girls shared a room, so I must have been about 7 or 8 at the time. It was a big room for the 3 of us, there was a single bed, a double bed, a wardrobe, dressing table and fireplace. The wardrobe was about 5 feet tall, walnut with a pewter handle. It had a single door, with clothes hung to the left and right and shelving at the top on either side. It wasn’t for our clothes, they were stored in drawers, but my mother stored all of her glamorous gear in this wardrobe so we often sneaked in here to look at her clothes and dress up in her shoes.

The three windows in the bedroom overlooked the front of the street and our garden. The hall, accessed by the front door in the middle of the front elevation, gave access to this bedroom on the left and the living room on the right. I don’t recall if the front door was ever locked, when Grandad lived in the house he was never really out and we had a dog, which was the fashionable and affordable security back in the day. Anyone could have come in, I guess, but everyone had an open door back then and if we heard the door we would rush to see who had come to visit and what delights they had with them.

At the rear of our house we had about 6 steps leading to the back door, into what we called the back kitchen and a door out into the T-shaped hall. Within the T part were the other 2 bedrooms and bang in the middle was our bathroom. It would have been easy to access our bedroom but hardly unnoticed.

As Christmas approached we had already put up our tree, but something was not quite right. By the age of 7 I could tell when things were far from harmonious in the house, call it intuition or just being alert to the dynamics but I could tell my mother appeared distracted. We girls were all at school by now, apart from the youngest sister who was only just 4. Being out of the house at school meant we missed a large part of family life and by the time we returned home the usual rush to have dinner before brownies or the salvation army meetings meant you were pretty much oblivious to what everyone else was doing.

There was a sense of panic one night just two weeks before Christmas. Dad was off ‘down the road’ as we used to say, and mum had been searching for something for days. While this began with periodic glances behind cushions, or digging out old handbags, it built slowly toward a crescendo becoming more frantic as days went on. Grandad, who never did anything around the house, had even joined in taking to turning cushions over and even tipping the sofa upside down.

Looking on I was trying to make sense of the emerging chaos, but in all honesty had no idea what was happening. I knew however what ever it was it was bad; the adults were distraught. Our dog just looked on bemused while this tornado of torment continued. She was trained to recover things, but I’m guessing they thought her skills were just for the dog shows as no-one thought for a moment she could assist. I pushed this childish idea out of my head. While I guessed they were looking for something I was clever enough to know I was not able to help because my requests fell on deaf ears. What ever had been lost was significant. At one point my mother was in tears.

These were the days long before telephones and with dad away she had to bear it herself. She was 25 years old when I was 7 so her youth combined with her isolation seemed to add considerable weight to what ever it was she was seeking. Finally three days before Christmas she clearly had no options left but to take me into her confidence.

By 7 I guess you are mature enough to hear bad news, I mean, I might not have been prepared for it, but she must have had no choice but to tell me as my father was still not back from his travels. I sat down, and looked at her, my steady little childlike world about to be rocked by the news she had to share. I was a little nervous and could feel my heart start to pick up the pace as she looked me in the eye and began to tell me her story. It must have been a dilemma for her, knowing what I would make of this loss, knowing too it meant the end of my childhood. She clearly had no other option but divulge what was ailing her and end my fantasy right there and then………