Reminiscences. 1.

Funny, really, as one gets older, how one's mind retreats to the past. I don't, as a rule, try to remember much of it – I live in, and for, today; and have to cope with it. Dealing with the multiple and mostly conflicting inputs of today is a tough enough task. Why clog what's left of my mind with stuff that I can access already in print. Have, generally, only imprinted “reference” points; a book, a library, a diary or “memory jog”. Can go “look up the details later” if necessary but sometimes there is no other record; apart from my own memories.

Some time ago, I created a “spreadsheet”; formerly in MS Excel, but now in “Open Office” which lists every important transition and key event of my life. My lifetime on an A4 sheet of paper. Months – January to December - across the top; years, beginning in 1944, down the side .. though if I keep going much longer, will have to make it 2 pages – or miniaturise it, squeeze it all in, somehow.

But some things written elsewhere have sparked my interest in trying to remember the past. One of them was a list of motor vehicles that have owned. The list I gave was incomplete, but it also occurred to me that each and every vehicle had stories and anecdotes attached. I also have a memory list of the names of all the females that I have “loved” or been closely associated with. That list, while longish, also has stories and anecdotes attached.

Perhaps, now, with some time of my own, will begin to write more about them .. but that is all a sort of pre-ramble.

Have been thinking about my step-father.

We begin life: rejected, ejected, expelled from warm comfort - born into this world, DOS installed; squealing, squalling, gasping, grasping for oxygen; an un-programmed super-computer. The DOS*, of course, is that which makes the heart beat, the organs function, allows us to breathe; feel physical pain and pangs of hunger.

There is a quote – apparently originating from the “Roman Church” teachers - along the lines of “give me a child until the age of seven, and I'll show you the man”.

I never met my step-father until five years after I was born, so will never “blame” him for anything, and we were never what I would call “close” .. but recently, am developing some sort of “affection” - and in odd, occasional, unguarded moments, weep - for him. Much, much too late. He died, alone and apparently unloved – in a War Veterans Home in 2002. For more years than I care to admit, had no idea where he was, or that he HAD died, actually – until I began serious research into my own Genealogy – Family tree – in 2005, and needed some dates. .. but don't misunderstand, have much information about my mother – and father; - the bloke who sprogged me, who gave me the initial spark of existence .. and their families. Perhaps that is why I frequently struggle with “identity”.

And so, who was my step-father. The bloke who took on full-time responsibility for the care and welfare of me and my mother, five years after I was born.

Have to admit that I can recall very little about him. Do not even know the date or place of his birth. Apparently his family came from farming communities somewhere around Snowtown or environs, in South Australia; but only know that he had a brother, Reece, who took up farming at Wanbi, in the Mallee near Loxton. Went there for a weekend, some 40 years ago. With a .22 scoped rifle borrowed from my cousin and shot rabbits.

But who was Reginald James S.?

From memory, a quiet, gentle, taciturn bloke; six-foot 2, heavily built, with strong bones. Photos from the 1940's show him as more or less handsome; for that period. Have no real recollection of his Religious Faith; probably traditional Methodist, but more apparently “Calathumpian” - a mixture of taught Christianity underpinned by a deep faith and belief in the power of Nature. His name for his personal, “over-arching” God, was “Huey”. Also a Freemason; but he never mentioned, or discussed that. It was my mother who showed me where he hid his apron and appurtenances. It meant little to the child me.

Have no idea of the level or extent of his early education. More than likely at a country school to year 7. The few books that he owned or treasured were those based on Farming practice, Bush Engineering (improvisation using materials at hand), or Infantry History.

A returned infantry foot-soldier; having survived the duration (1939-1945) without promotion, medals for exceptional gallantry – or scarred by physical wounds. His Regiment; 2nd/43rd AIF. Tobruk, El Alamein, New Guinea, Borneo, etc. He never spoke, or made much, of his war service but before I give the impression that he sat, safe and hiding behind the lines – I do know that he was an expert rifleman and the 2nd/43^rd was frequently in the front lines of battle.

In 1949-50 he was working on a factory production-line at Pope Industries (Adelaide) and met my mother; who was working as one of the switchboard operators (telephonists) for Miller Andersons (a department store in Hindley Street which was demolished many years ago and replaced by a carpark ) - probably at a dance-hall, which were popular at the time, and they both loved dancing (“ballroom”, not hip-hop). They married.

Reg applied for, and was granted, access to blocks of “virgin” land on Kangaroo Island that were being released through the “Soldier Settlement” scheme devised by the Government at the time.

And so, in the “current era” year of 1950 - me, my mother, and Reg migrated to a “Nissan Hut” transit camp at Parndana on Kangaroo Island ..

(to be continued ..)