Vinyl Records and Memories

My wife Veronica (Bonnie Ronnie) and I have been digitising our old vinyl records for the past couple of days. A few years ago Ronnie bought one of those Digital Turntable Players and we just never had the time to set it up, learn how to use it etc. - you know... all the excuses the procrastinator uses. Well we finally got around to setting it up and learning how to use it as we practised on some of our older less popular records, just in case we mucked up.

Once we got onto a roll and actually worked out how we could listen to the digital recording as we were duplicating and dubbing etc. we really started to have a bit of fun. We started with the "seven singles" (45rpm) as we used to call them,  Bonnie Ronnie had sorted them by Genre with Romance at the top of her stack.

This is the first record player we have had since leaving Rhodesia (Zimbabwe) so we hadn't heard some of these songs since the seventies and very early eighties. It didn't take long for the memories to come flooding back and it was as though we had gone back in time almost forty years. The memories were so vivid and the emotions as real today as they were back then. Progress is slow because we have laughed till we cried, danced a bit and sobbed till we were exhausted, we would then rest and reflect on our life together.

It has been a very good life, an adventurous life with more trials and tribulations than we expected but it has moulded us together in such a way that my Bonnie Ronnie is not my soul mate, she IS my soul. I realised this when we were broken down, penniless halfway across the Australian Nullarbor with two small children asleep in a small tent - it was midnight we had just finished some repairs to the car when she commented on the beauty and serenity that surrounded us. There was no panic, or accusation of failure. I had brought her half way around the world, completely cutting her off from everyone who was near and dear to her, to a point in time and quite possibly the most isolated place on earth to become destitute with little hope for the future and in return she gave me strength, through her love and faith in me. This however is a story for another time [Perth-Brisbane].

There had been two occasions while we were courting and romancing back in the day when pressure from my parents, particularly my father had caused us to break up. We were fighting a war at the time and I would often be deployed for months on end which really cramps a courtship I can tell you, so that didn't help matters. Why were my parents so against my Bonnie Ronnie I hear you ask?

For a start my father had unrealistic expectations for me, we often joked about his desire for me to study law and enter politics - he would tell everyone that I would be Prime Minister one day ...but Dad wasn't joking so I became a huge disappointment to him when my grades dropped at school, I left early and took up a trade - well that didn't go down well I can assure you. Dad didn't have much to say about the various girls I dated (there weren't many anyway) but Bonnie Ronnie was different and I learned a thing or two about my father that I must say I don't much care for to this day. Dad is my father and I love him and honour him but Ronnie wasn't just a girlfriend, I was totally smitten and completely in love with her and she loved me... and I loved that she loved me.

Dad was rude, abusive and downright obnoxious to Ronnie, we were young, fighting prejudice, parents, so called friends, time, distance and a war and the pressure became too much for us - for me... and I couldn't stand the way Ronnie's heart was breaking while looking for acceptance from my family. My brothers all three, always accepted Ronnie right off the bat and I knew that they would take care of her if anything were to happen to me. I think that they each were a little in love with my Bonnie Ronnie and I'm not talking about lust here. I have the best brothers on earth.

Anyway on two occasions I tried to end our relationship primarily because Dad had managed to convince me that I would treat Ronnie badly in the future - yes I know my mind wasn't exactly healthy at the time, one of the occasions was after sitting at a guard post sucking on the flash-hider of my rifle for four hours (Definitely another story!) Life was not going as expected and hope had almost run out (almost - I didn't pull the trigger although I had applied some pressure from time to time). 

Our break-ups never lasted more than a day or two but they felt like an eternity because I simply could not stop loving this girl no matter how hard I tried and believe me I tried, what kind of life could a screw up like me offer this beautiful creature. She needed love, she had had so much abuse prejudice and rejection in her life and she had a right to expect a good life with a good provider. I knew after the second break-up that even if I couldn't be the provider that my Bonnie Ronnie deserved, she would never find anyone who would love her more than I. This was something that I could give her and I believed that this would see us through anything that life could throw at us.... and guess what - I was right.

Oh you should have seen her light up like a Christmas tree when our son was born, my heart swelled so much that day that I felt sure it would explode in my chest. Words cannot describe the positive change that our Son and later our Daughter would have on my Bonnie Ronnie, she was determined to prove all the nay sayers wrong - and she did, but in such spectacular fashion that my Father actually accepted her in the end.

This is only a glimpse at what these vinyl records have rekindled - The range of emotions are incredible.

Bonnie Ronnie

Till next time God Bless!

Shane and the Shunter

Since writing my last blog this morning about Mom's home remedy and Guy's scalding, I've had my second youngest brother Shane on my mind. Shane was born while we were still living in Wankie, Southern Rhodesia (forgive me for using the old names but I grew up with these names so my fondest memories are inextricably entwined with them). In fact Shane was born shortly after Guy's scalding/burns incident.

Shane now lives with his family in the UK and I was able to catch up with him and enjoyed his company for the whole of September 2011, this is relevant because I hadn't seen Shane for 30 years 5 months and 11 days. That is another story in itself and I'll tell that another time suffice to say we created a whole new batch of awesome memories.

About six months ago Shane had a nasty fall off a ladder and shattered his right ankle. It has been touch and go ever since, as to whether he will lose the foot because of the severity of the injury but I digress - back to our story.

As I've mentioned in my last post, my Dad worked for the Rhodesia Railways as a Telegraphist at that time, down at the shunting yards. We lived at the time in Motherwell Street, the number escapes me but we lived directly opposite the only house on the other side of the street just up the road from the Railway clinic (I was already a frequent visitor, as were my brothers to a lesser degree but "frequent flyer points" or "flybys" as they are commonly known today hadn't been thought of at that time - pity, haha!). The Taggarts lived opposite us in that house, I always thought of the nursery rhyme 'Jack Sprat' whenever I thought of them.... come to think of it I still do. They were a lovely family who had their fair share of trials and tribulations as most families do.

I probably shouldn't mention this but I will anyway as it seemed so comical to me at the time. Dad would often get home from work in the evening, get out his guitar and mouthorgan (harmonica) and play (between sips of coffee) on the veranda. Mom would sometimes sing if we didn't have an audience which wasn't very often. The neighbours would always come out and ask Dad to play various tunes. 

Frequently during these impromptu sessions Mr Taggart would arrive home from the pub which was up the road at the top of the hill. The neighbours would snigger as Mr Taggart made his way on wobbly legs (there had been a tragedy and he no longer drove, I suspect this was the reason for stopping at the pub on his way home). Mrs Taggart would politely escort him into the lounge from their veranda, their curtains were seldom drawn so we could see quite clearly into the lounge and Mrs Taggart would give Mr Taggart a clip across the ear which would always send him sailing across the room past the picture window. She would be heard saying "...and that's for not coming directly home" then as she helped him up "..now come and have your dinner pet". This usually signalled the end of Dad's playing and bath time for us kids.

I was an early riser regardless of the time I went to bed and this holds true to this day but as a child this was problematic because I was one of those 'hyperactive' kids I think they call it 'ADHD' these days, anyway I couldn't stay indoors I had to get outside and play. I loved westerns which Dad would read to me on occasions and we would sometimes go to number three colliery to watch silent black and white 16mm movies of 'Hopalong Cassidy' or 'Buffalo Bill'. These were my hero's and I would enter my fantasy world and play on my own for hours. 

While I was allowed to go outside to play early in the morning I had strict instructions to make sure I closed the door properly and to play in the back yard. I usually did this however on one particular morning I was coming in the back door when there was a loud banging at the front door. Dad was right there and opened the door... I had a clear view through the passage to the open door.

I'll never forget the big Dutch shunter standing at the door thrusting his right fist forward and asking, "Is dis yorn?" (Is this yours?) and dangling from his huge fist was a little dirty bundle looking like a little puppy that had been dragged backward through a coal shaft... it was Shane!, he was about a 10-12 months old (from memory) and had yet to master the art of walking. "I fond him zitting by the trak at the yardt" said the Dutch Shunter in his thick guttural accent.

By now the whole family, servants included had come along to see what all the fuss was about. Mom took Shane from Dad who had thanked the Dutch Shunter before closing the front door and beckoning me to come closer. "How did your brother get out Peter?" asked Dad, without waiting for a reply he stated, "Didn't close the door properly, did you?". I know now that the questions were rhetorical but Dad was a man who believed that sparing the rod would spoil the child and a lesson needed to be learned - it was fortuitous that a tragedy had been avoided when Shane was saved by the Shunter and so I learned a valuable lesson on responsibility that day. For that I am grateful to both my parents.

Red - Our Home, Green - Dads office, Blue - where Shane was found.

To this day we have no idea how he managed to cover such a distance as a baby, and in less than two hours - incredible!

Till next time, God Bless.

Burns - Guy's Incident.

I came across this interesting post this morning on Facebook;

A young man sprinkling his lawn and bushes with pesticides wanted to check the contents of the barrel to see how much pesticide remained in it. He raised the cover and lit his lighter; the vapors ignited and engulfed him He jumped from his truck, screaming. His neighbor came out of her house with a dozen eggs and a bowl yelling: "bring me some more eggs!" She broke them, separating the whites from the yolks. The neighbor woman helped her to apply the whites onto the young man's face. When the ambulance arrived and the EMTs saw the young man, they asked who had done this. Everyone pointed to the lady in charge. They congratulated her and said: "You have saved his face." By the end of the summer, the young man brought the lady a bouquet of roses to thank her. His face was like a baby's skin. A Healing Miracle for Burns: Keep in mind this treatment of burns is being included in teaching beginner fireman. First Aid consists of first spraying cold water on the affected area until the heat is reduced which stops the continued burning of all layers of the skin. Then, spread the egg whites onto the affected area. One woman burned a large part of her hand with boiling water. In spite of the pain, she ran cold faucet water on her hand, separated 2 egg whites from the yolks, beat them slightly and dipped her hand in the solution. The whites then dried and formed a protective layer. She later learned that the egg white is a natural collagen and continued during at least one hour to apply layer upon layer of beaten egg white. By afternoon she no longer felt any pain and the next day there was hardly a trace of the burn. 10 days later, no trace was left at all and her skin had regained its normal color. The burned area was totally regenerated thanks to the collagen in the egg whites, a placenta full of vitamins.

This reminded me of a few incidents when my mother's home remedies were used to great effect and I thought that I might share one of these today.

When my brother Guy was a toddler we lived in a little coal mining town called Wankie in the north west of Southern Rhodesia, I think the name(s) have been changed to Hwange in Zimbabwe. My father was a Telegraphist working for Rhodesia Railways at the shunting yards on the west side of town. I was fascinated with my Dad's ability to communicate using Morse code and loved the almost musical tapping of the telegraph.

My mother was the home maker as was common in the 1950's with usually only one breadwinner in a family. Yes we had 'servants' as the black Africans were commonly referred to, but truth be told every person regardless of colour felt that it was incumbent upon them to alleviate poverty and unemployment and so would employ as many people as possible, of course the pay was pathetic and that was why these 'servants' would be supplied with life's necessities (accommodation, clothing, food, detergent's etc.) in addition to the meagre pay. For the most part those who could do more - did.

We had a housemaid and a gardener, not that they had much work to do since we didn't have a garden and my mother preferred to do her own housekeeping, but the housemaid could make tea and baby-sit from time to time and the gardener could water the fruit tree's twice a week, thereby assisting with feelings of self worth. (These people became family members over time.)

Early one morning the housemaid had made a huge pot of tea, placed it on top of the tea trolley and wheeled it through to the passage and left it outside my parents bedroom door. Guy and I shared a bedroom opposite and I was an early riser (this would prove to be problematic from time to time as I often woke my siblings) and woke my brother Guy. After helping Guy escape the confines of his cot, I left him to his own devices and went off to explore the yard (remember - no garden) and enact my favourite fantasy while playing the part of my favourite western hero 'Hopalong Cassidy'.

A short while later I heard a blood curdling scream from Guy and raced indoors to find out what had happened. I came upon the scene of my mother, handing my screaming brother to my father calmly as she instructed the almost hysterical housemaid, "Kajima - boysa lo baby powder and lo Vaseline" ("Quickly bring the baby powder and the Vaseline") as she stripped off Guy's clothing. The tea trolley was laying on it's side, the teapot had lost it's cosy and was laying in a mixture of tea, sugar and milk upon the linoleum. It was apparent that Guy who was just starting to learn to walk, had crawled over and tried to pull himself up by using the tea trolley. He had managed to pull the tea trolley over emptying it's contents onto himself, including a teapot full of boiling hot tea.

My mother righted the upturned tea trolley, and gave it a swipe over with her dressing gown just as the housemaid returned. Taking the canister of 'Johnsons Baby Powder' Mom removed the top and emptied the contents onto the tea trolley, then she took handfuls of Vaseline and started mixing it with the powder which she then applied as a paste to Guy's burns.  Guys screams abated to sobs as the soothing paste was applied to his entire body. Mom then grabbed a crepe bandage and bandaged Guy so that he looked like an Egyptian mummy. This whole incident had taken less than five minutes and although Guy was taken to the General Hospital as a precaution immediately after, it was my Mothers calm quick thinking and her home remedy that had saved Guy.  

Guy has absolutely no scaring as a result. The home remedy was continued for several weeks as it was a very soothing balm which I can personally attest to having used it on my own second and third degree burns after an afgas explosion - but that's another story for another day.

A Telegraph similar to the one my Dad used in the 1950's

Till next time - God Bless.