THINGS MY MOTHER NEVER TOLD ME....
My mother was a tall dark haired woman who loved black jellybeans, cacti and Johnny Cash. She was also very artistic with a talent for sketching and painting.
So when Dad visited the other week with a bag of 'bits and pieces' there was much laughter as we discovered -
# Whitcombes storybook of Hiawatha for 6d (sixpence)
# Bible she received from her parents for her 13th birthday
# Assorted jewellery including clip on earrings (she was too scared to get her ears pierced)
# Plastic doll wearing Carlton colours
# and a Diploma of Proficiency from the Art Training Institute, Swanston Street Melbourne- listed as 'Australia's Foremost School of Commercial Art' dated March 1957
There were also some pieces of her artwork
We also discovered an old exercise book. She had copied out poems by Keats and Wordsworth, even a Shakespeare sonnet or two. But we also discovered two poems----The Wild Dogs and The Bushland---that were written by her.
None of us knew that she'd written poetry.
Mum died years before I picked up a pen and began to write. In fact I was newly married with a six week old son when she died. So I was emerged in nappies and bottles and lack of sleep, writing was the last thing on my mind.
It's strange how excited I was over this. The thought that she too struggled with finding the right word or phrase, that there were things she wanted to capture and put down. It gave a sense of connection, a sense of belonging.
And that's always a good thing. Especially in my family where they are a talented lot, who can draw and sketch anything. Landscape, cartoons, portraits. They sculpt and lead light, wood turn and pen and ink.
I can't. But the realisation that Mum, at one stage of her life, had picked up pen and paper and formed a poem or two----that's priceless.
So when Dad visited the other week with a bag of 'bits and pieces' there was much laughter as we discovered -
# Whitcombes storybook of Hiawatha for 6d (sixpence)
# Bible she received from her parents for her 13th birthday
# Assorted jewellery including clip on earrings (she was too scared to get her ears pierced)
# Plastic doll wearing Carlton colours
# and a Diploma of Proficiency from the Art Training Institute, Swanston Street Melbourne- listed as 'Australia's Foremost School of Commercial Art' dated March 1957
There were also some pieces of her artwork
We also discovered an old exercise book. She had copied out poems by Keats and Wordsworth, even a Shakespeare sonnet or two. But we also discovered two poems----The Wild Dogs and The Bushland---that were written by her.
None of us knew that she'd written poetry.
Mum died years before I picked up a pen and began to write. In fact I was newly married with a six week old son when she died. So I was emerged in nappies and bottles and lack of sleep, writing was the last thing on my mind.
It's strange how excited I was over this. The thought that she too struggled with finding the right word or phrase, that there were things she wanted to capture and put down. It gave a sense of connection, a sense of belonging.
And that's always a good thing. Especially in my family where they are a talented lot, who can draw and sketch anything. Landscape, cartoons, portraits. They sculpt and lead light, wood turn and pen and ink.
I can't. But the realisation that Mum, at one stage of her life, had picked up pen and paper and formed a poem or two----that's priceless.
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