Opinion Australia

The kids school had a ‘Gala Day’ today, which loosely translated into a large ‘garage’/car boot sale which in the UK would be a sort of large scale open air jumble sale I suppose

There were assorted ‘attractions’ like an inflatable obstacle course and bouncy castles, a couple of fire engines with accompanying fire-personnel (who had some sort of competition amongst themselves) and the ubiquitous sausage sizzle.

The kids had their hair tinted, nails painted and faces coloured and spent an hour bouncing and running around.

I stood and watched

On the way in I bought a few raffle tickets and was surprised when in the first draw we won a $10 voucher for a local shoe shop. I was even *more *surprised when in the ‘grand draw’ we won the grand prize… which turned out to be a weekend away for two at Pittwater.

I think we might see if there is wheelchair access and let the oldies go up for a weekend… or maybe they could babysit and *we* could have two days peace? We’ll see.

Hitler used to inject himself with amphetamines (speed) five times a day?? That might explain a lot of his behaviours! Explain… not excuse.

Yup… I’ve finally reached the penultimate number in this decade… will I be here to reach the next one? Watch this space… I make *no* promises… but I *do* hope I make it

Actually ‘happy birthday’ has been right so far. Got up this morning as usual and forgot totally… then wife and kids reminded me… though I still had to get their lunches ready first!

So… pressies? Well I had a lovely little roly-poly ceramic pig from daughter number one accompanied by a box of Turkish Delight… which I love. I like making my own as well but it’s too much trouble usually so these will go down well… as will the packet from daughter number two… who also bought me a ‘welcome’ map for the front of the house… really nice

Then the wife gives me a framed copy of Desiderata… and a copy of “Diana – The portrait” by Rosalind Coward. It’s a seriously large book packed with photos and stories about the life and death of Lady Di and well worth the money I reckon. Clearly I’ve not had time to read all of it, but the bits I *have* read were really *very* good.

It’s nice to see this sort of book that paints a “warts and all” picture of someone but still produce on balance a positive reflection on someones life and their effect on their times.

The pictures tell their own story. The ones from the early years were a revelation with nearly all of them showing a sad, troubled and moody child! She grew and changed, but those sad eyes remained the same almost all her life. To be honest, I never thought of her as a particularly beautiful woman, despite the adulation heaped on her after her marriage to Charlie at age 19, but she was clearly well presented

If there is a quibble about the book it’s that there wasn’t sufficient coverage of the size of the crowds who waited in line to pay their last respects as her funeral cortege passed through London. I was amazed at the number of streets where people stood shoulder to shoulder… the string of well wishers stretched all the way to the motorway… and even *along* the motorway in parts!!

I’d forgotten some of the stories about her, e.g. stroking the hands of lepers and aids victims… but they brought back some memories.

I liked Diana… I felt somehow she brought ‘hope’… it’s all a bit intangible… and it’s hard to believe it’s so long since she died. I think I’ll have mixed feelings reading through the book.
And so back to today… I’m here and another year has drifted by… hard to believe they drift by so fast, but it’s true.

One of the problems with living in paradise is that you get a little blase about things in general, for example we *expect* the weather to be perfect! And of course it is mostly.

And yet we complain constantly. It’s too warm, too cold, too windy, too dry, too wet… whatever.

I think maybe the variations are giving us just enough variety to appreciate what we have here and no more. It’s never *really* ‘too’ anything.

It’s just right!

My father is 86. He was born in Highgate, London. He left in order to take up employment in South Wales before the war… and married my mother at (roughly) age 22. From then on for the past 62 years of so we have a record of who he is, where he’s been and what he’s done. Before he arrived in South Wales… nothing.

He never talks of his family… if he ever had a family. He never talks of his youth, childhood, schooling… nothing relating to life *before* he arrived in Wales all those years ago. So for 22 years his life has been a blank to us.

We’ve asked him of course… repeatedly… and got nowhere. We think his fathers name was Harold and his mother’s name Anne… but that’s it. He might have had a sister… maybe even a brother… but this is conjecture based on a few hints he gave an aunt who is now deceased… and aunt on my mothers side of course… we have *no* idea if there are relatives on his side.

You may ask what the problem is. Well it’s because we have a gaping hole on one side of our lives. It’s very close to being the ‘identity crisis’ that adopted or fostered children face when they know nothing about their birth families.

Also of course we want to know about *him*… where he went to school… what he studied… who his friends were… what did *they* do with their lives etc etc. We want to know about the other half of the family… *is* there another half? Are there inherited diseases we should know about… a myriad of questions with only one person knowing at least some of the answers.

Over the years we’ve respected his clear wish not to discuss the issue… well clear in as much as when the question is asked he either ignores it or changes the subject… but we’ve never tried to discover his origins on the basis that one day he’d talk. Well he’s 86 and he hasn’t so time is running out for *us*.

It may be that even after 70 years the topic is still to painful, embarrasing or traumatic to talk about… but if so well *tell* us!! It’s so frustrating for us.

Was he abandoned as a child and brought up as an orphan? Was he illegitimate? Was his father or mother… or both… a murderer… a spy… or what?? We *think* his father was some sort of salesman who died in Europe of some illness… but again only conjecture.

Sorry to say but we feel this is grossly unfair and want to know our heritage.

Anyone got any ideas how we can persuade him to talk… even after all this time?