Honey Hush

When I wrote this poem a few years ago, I was thinking about the joy this little boat brought to me and my friends as we sailed the waters of Fisherman's Bay in South Australia. 

A Rainbow Class yacht Dad bought for David and me, David was caught under the sail in a capsize and never wanted to get in the boat again.

Brian Tiller, David Kent, Trevor Moore and many more mates terrified water skiers as we fought for space on the deep water in the small bay. 

Honey Hush, I loved you to bits.

SIXTEEN

It was a girl

She was sixteen

Her dad’s old guitar

And ripped blue jeans

She strummed old strings

We sang along

It was a boy

He was just fifteen

A red sailing boat

For his summer’s dream

His gaze she held all night

We watched on

It was a boat

As dawn broke golden

And soft white sails

Her name emboldened

Slow waves on morning tide

We did not see

It was new love

On summer breezes

Days just drifted by

Seaweed sand and evening breezes

No one he loved more than she

We saw it all

Old Symes Family Photos

Having all sorts of fun trying to edit the old black and whites from almost one hundred years ago, found one of Harold William Symes taking a bit of time out. I'm not too sure about his bed, even for 1940 those pine posts look a bit uncomfortable. This is taken alongside the house in Government road Orroroo, not long before he died.
Harold left behind a family who followed in his footsteps believing in his example of his hard work and Christian ethics.
A highly social man Harold loved his sport and did everything from Tent Pegging, Tennis, Clay Pigeon shooting, to organising athletic events.

Andrew William and his wife Doris Elizabeth Symes
 my great grandparents, cut a proud pose for the camera

This photo shows Edna and Beth Symes decked out in their Sunday finery, Mum still has he plaits here, but later at her sister Aileen's insistence, they were severed. She has always liked her hair and the amount of curlers and driers in her Fifth Street bathroom are testament to that.

Edna's life Story

Never too old to give it a try

January 2017
88 Year old Edna Probert of Orroroo ready for some slides 

While sorting through my mother Edna's photos and journals to help me build a chapter plan for her story, I thought about her many visits to Darwin and how easily she fitted in with Danny's friends. 

  For Mum fitting in with people always came naturally and she often did it without needing to be asked. In 1987 I found her volunteering for different duties to help our young motorsport community at the Black Rock Dirt Circuit Club.

 A few years later, and she was helping my son Danny to build his drift car in Darwin. This year she was surprised when he brought a car back to South Australia so he could show her what drifting was all about. 

 This is a picture of Gran buckled in and ready for a blast around the circuit at Mambray Creek.

Photo Courtesy of Xdrift Industries Drift Team

How do you decide whether to write a biography, or tell the story of some-one's life.

Edna Probert in her Fifth Street  home May 2017

Surrounded by mountains of memories in the form of notes, journal entries and photos I'm trying to find the best way to record my mother's stories. We have plenty of Stud Books as my Uncle Doug calls them, family trees that document our ancestral roots, but these are as dry as a vacuum cleaner repair manual. I want something more, more entertaining. Therefore I have started imagining my mother as a ten-year-old and working from the stories her sisters and brothers told me and used them as the base to paint a picture of her life just before the Second World War.

Below is an excerpt from the introduction.

Iris looked at her mother, pointed toward Edna and said. ‘What’s the chance that next week Dad can take both of them?’

Emily brushed at her dress again. ‘Absolutely none. If anyone needs to know their Bible, it’s Edna.’

‘What, who said my name?’ Edna was never one to be left out.

‘Mum said you’ll need a lot more Bible lessons yet.’ Aileen grinned at her, ‘just to keep you out of the Devil’s clutches.’

From the moment the visitor from the north took the pulpit, Edna always knew she wanted to be a missionary in New Guinea, so it did not matter what anyone said, God understood her and she knew he would help her resist any of Satan’s temptations. She thought about New Guinea and how she would look after unwanted babies. Along the way she would spread God’s word. While this was the world of many a scrawny country kid whose social life revolved around family church and school, it was how Edna saw herself. She still does.