Tezzas Ramblings - Message Board

Topic List

Replies | Active | Stats

Post New

General Chat

Chain Games

Author Lounge

Help & Feedback

Movies & TV

Arts & Recreation

People & Celebs

Our World

Literature

Music

Sports

Virtual Blogs

Tributes

Recruiting

Subject: Tezza's Ramblings

Posted by: tezza1551
Date: Aug 14 10

Been thinking about starting a blog here for a while, but wasn't sure if I had enough to write about. However, today, someone asked me about my year thus far and I thought that might be my starting point.
Earlier this year, I organised a reunion for the descendants of my great great grandparents, who came to Western Australia in 1854. There were well over 100 there, and many more that couldn't make it on the day.
Then, two months later, a routine medical check showed I had a very small cancer, which necessitated some fairly major surgery three weeks ago.
Today was my first drive other than last week's driving from home to work and back (thanks to the miracle of laparoscopic surgery, I was out of hospital two days after the op, and was back at work two weeks after), and I went to our major shopping town 70 km away.
I hadn't driven this particular route for two months, and last time I drove it, we had had very little rain. Today, it was just beautiful, with winter wattles in full bloom, green paddocks, lambs everywhere and even the odd roo or two watching me from the road edges. Patches of white and pale pink show the promise of spring wildflowers in the next few weeks.
And on top of all that, I got everything I wanted at the shops, including the perfect piece of fabric to finish my quilt.
Life is good.

124 replies. On page 6 of 7 pages. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

tezza1551

Thanks Lesley. Tasmania was awesome.. doing up an album for FB...but there seems to be washing etc wanting to get in the way..we finally got home 8.30 last night.. allowing for time zones, we flew out of Hobart at 7.30am WA time.. flew just over an hour from Hobart to Melbourne, then 4 hours from Melb to Perth.. then the drive home.. I'm still slightly confused !

Reply #101. Mar 21 12, 8:48 PM

lesley153

I can understand the confusion. Sadly, I can also understand the washing. :( See you when you've escaped from the laundry pile.

Reply #102. Mar 21 12, 10:08 PM

tezza1551

Shopping in the 1950s & 60s
Shopping in my childhood was very different from today. Each month, Mum would go to the local Co-Op with her list, sit on a stool by the counter, and the sales assistant would write down each item, then go to the shelves behind him, and get down the required packet. Flour, sugar, tea and other items came in bulk and were weighed and bagged by the staff at the Co-Op. Nobody we knew bought biscuits or tinned fruit, and convenience foods were unheard of. Mum made all her own jams, chutneys and sauces, bottled fruit and made butter, biscuits, cakes and slices. We ate mostly mutton, killed on the farm, with a home grown chook at Christmas and Easter, and bacon was for when visitors came.
Bought icecream was a very rare treat, usually reserved for trips to Perth, when it featured on the menu at the hotel, and Mum usually made her own from Carnation milk and gelatine. Even cordial came in a small bottle, and had to be mixed up with sugar and hot water before it could be used.
All in all, there wasn’t a great deal bought at the shop.
After the order had been taken and packed into a box by the assistant, he added up the total on the docket by hand – not a calculator in sight, and informed Mum of the amount. If she was paying for it, he would put the money into the flying fox and send it to the office, and very shortly after, the change would return in the same way.
After that, the assistant would arrange for the groceries to be taken to the car.
Supermarkets were unheard of, except perhaps in American movies, and the local Co-Op had everything from fencing wire and sheep drench to sugar, flour and milk...

Reply #103. Mar 24 12, 4:00 AM

redwaldo

Another intriguing piece of writing Tezza.

While some accept the globalisation of business (Multinational retailing), cooperatives are more democratic and personal!

Reply #104. Mar 24 12, 4:07 AM

tezza1551

I was thinking recently about an incident in the district when I was about 12. A two year old girl had wandered away from home on a cold May Saturday, and couldn't be found by family and neighbours.
On Sunday morning, members of the various polocrosse clubs were called, including us juniors. We packed up horses & swags, drove the 50 or so kilometres to the farm where the child was missing, and joined the search... along with local volunteers from bush fire brigades from up to 100 kilometres around.
A bush poet at the time wrote a poem beginning
"It's not a clearing sale you know
Though there are cars and trucks all round"
By Sunday night, the searchers were starting to give up home.
The poet (also a local farmer and experienced bushman) joined the search late Sunday afternoon. As many of us began to make camp for the night, Mr Smith decided he and two mates, also fresh to the search, would try walking through the bush while it was quiet.
Several; hours later, they found her..she had seen the searchers a few times, but hidden each time they came close as she thought she would be in trouble for wandering away.
It was an interesting experience for a twelve year old... and I will never forget the excitement that flashed around the camp in the early hours of Monday morning when the word came through that she had been found.
For Mr Smith, it was a lifechanging experience - he found the confidence to write more.. and wrote four poems, two from the searchers' point of view and two from the child's perspective. These were later recorded and I was lucky enough to be asked to read the child's poems...
I found the old vinyl EP yesterday, which is what triggered my thoughts.

Reply #105. Apr 11 12, 5:23 PM

tezza1551

Sorry.. just reread..
by Sunday night the searchers were starting to give up hope !

Reply #106. Apr 11 12, 5:25 PM

tezza1551

Last weekend, I headed for Perth (300 km) to see my newly arrived twin grandchildren.. one of each, and quite good weights for five weeks early..
Then on Saturday, I was lucky enough to go over to Rottnest, about 20km off the coast from Perth.. a great ferry trip down the Swan, then out onto the ocean.. beautiful day, not too warm, but comfortable.. Nine of us, all from the same small town.
We played with quokkas (small marsupials rather like a giant rat.. which of course the early explorers thought they were), caught a bus round the island, walked up to the lighthouse, and finished our visit with a nice cold beer or two at the Quokka Arms.
Then back on the ferry to return to Perth, and out to dinner...
Came home Sunday to find we had had good rain.. enough to get the tractor out to start seeding...
It's all good !!

Reply #107. May 07 12, 9:47 PM

lesley153

What a wonderful reason for a trip, Tezza. :)

Back to the poems about and "by" the lost child - can we read them?

Reply #108. May 08 12, 6:42 AM

tezza1551

I wrote this story while I was a volunteer ambulance officer..
The sound of the telephone wakes me. I stumble from my bedroom to the hallway and glance at the digital alarm clock – it is 2.33am.
It is the second night of my seven nights on call as a volunteer ambulance officer.
It is early Sunday morning and last night there was a cabaret at one of the outlying halls.
I pick up the phone and hear the cheery voice of the night sister at the local hospital. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” she says, and gives me details of the accident. My reply is acerbic but I repeat the directions she has given me.
“Have you rung the cops?” I ask her. I also want to know who I am on call with and if she has contacted them. The night sister answers in the affirmative to both these questions and requests that I contact her by radio when the situation has been assessed.
I pull on the clothes I have left out waiting, in case, and head for the car. I notice my son’s car is missing. He is not home yet. The cold feeling that grips at my heart is not entirely due to the fact that it is mid July and the night is freezing as only the inland south west can be.
In the short distance to the ambulance centre, I mentally review the details I received a few minutes earlier.
The accident is about 40 kilometres from town on an isolated road used as a shortcut. It is the road back to town from where the cabaret was held. My son was at the cabaret. What if? The accident victim could be anyone – my son’s mates, children of my friends…
By now I am at the ambulance centre and start the ambulance. I wait on the forecourt a few moments for my partner to arrive. My mind is racing.
Brian arrives and we leave. I flick the beacon switch but leave the siren silent – at this time of night there is no traffic and the town is asleep.
We head south on the highway, lost in our own thoughts. As parents of teenagers, this is the type of call we dread. Our sons, or someone else’s?
After 15 kilometres, we leave the highway for a wide gravel road. A few moments later we turn again. The road is narrower and thickly lined with large gum trees. Another turn and the road is now little more than a track. The trees are larger along this stretch. A vehicle hitting one of these monsters would stand little chance. We are in ’roo country and scan the sides of the road carefully. Neither of us has much to say.
Nearly there now – we are passing the gateway of the farmer who reported the accident and, ahead, I see the flashing blue lights of the patrol car. We slow, preparing to stop.
In the beam of the headlights we see a tangled mess of metal, barely recognisable amongst the remains of the huge old white gum. An hour earlier, the mangled late model Falcon ute had been the prized possession of some young man.
The sigh of relief is audible. My son has a Holden and Brian’s son drives a Falcon car.
We see in the flow of the lights the weary face of one of the local police. We know him well and have met at such a scene too many times before.
“Don’t hurry,” he tells us. This statement tells us everything we need to know.
“Locals?” I ask, dreading the response.
He names them. Three young footballers – local boys. Three lives lost. All three grew up in this district. They went to school with my children and I know their parents. Tears are not far from my eyes but there is work to be done and tears will not help anyone now.
We commence routine checks and know, despite the fact that ambulance officers cannot officially pronounce a person to be dead, that there is nothing we can do. All of us are tired, tired of picking up the pieces at so many scenes like this. Despite education campaigns and quantities of funding, our young people still mix speed and alcohol in a deadly combination.
We load the bodies into the ambulance, straightening limbs and covering wounds.
I call the hospital to advise them of the situation, giving as few details as possible. Soon enough everyone in the district will know that three young men have become statistics.
The police are still assessing the scene as we leave. Their task will be to visit the families of the boys – every parent’s worst nightmare. My selfish thought is that I am glad it is a police job and not mine.
Again, there is little to be said on the drive home.
We reach the hospital and do what needs to be done. We share a cuppa and some tears with the night staff, both local women.
By now it is almost six in the morning. As we return the ambulance to the depot, we notice the town is beginning to stir into life. Soon the ripples will spread out through the community to the school, football club, churches, polocrosse and local businesses. Such is life in a small town.
Within a few hours the tragedy will have permeated the lives of almost everyone in the district.
But, for now, I am heading home hoping for a few hours sleep. I still have five more nights on call.

Footnote: The above article is based on several incidents and not an account of any one event. The place names are fictitious, as are any characters mentioned in the narrative.

Reply #109. Jul 21 12, 7:21 PM

redwaldo

A very moving story Tezza.

Reply #110. Jul 21 12, 7:45 PM

veronikkamarrz

Chilling, Tezza. It is the story that all parents hope they never hear.

Thank you for doing your job.

Reply #111. Jul 21 12, 9:07 PM

Dee30

As stated a story that no one wants to hear, however it may serve to warn some of our youth of the tragic ending of the young lives. Some of us are not prepared to meet our maker and just imagine the ones who think they are invincible and will live forever here on earth.
Terrianne, you have lived a challenging life and you report
it very well. I could read your stories over and over.

Reply #112. Jul 23 12, 10:20 PM

tezza1551

I woke at 2 am this morning to the sound of rain on our corrugated iron roof, and started thinking about rain...

My first major memory of rain is February 1955, when we had floods in February and the bridge on the main road near our home was washed away. Mum had been to Perth to visit her parents, and Dad and I stayed home. A couple of days before Mum was due to return on the bus, it rained for about thirty hours straight, and the creek rose... and rose… to the point where the bridge was about 3 feet under water, and rails and bitumen had washed away. We couldn’t drive to town to collect Mum, so Dad, with me, aged four, in his arms, crossed the bridge on foot to reach his brother’s house on the other side of the river. There, we borrowed Uncle Kevin’s car and drove to town. Years later, in 1982, I did the same thing from the other side with my four year old in my arms to reach my parent’s home.

Reading back in the book published for the centenary of the primary school I attended, I note that our school bus often couldn’t get through because of swollen creeks, but 1955 and 1982 were the two worst years for flooding.

Then there were the many summers when the rainwater tanks were getting low, and bath water allocations smaller and smaller, and then, there’d be a summer thunderstorm and we had water again.. still to be watched carefully: after all, you never knew when the next rain would fall.

I remember too cutting tree branches for stock feed in a drought year, the constant moving of stock to ensure they had water, and the joy when the rain finally fell, and the green feed started shooting on the bare, brown earth…

The smell of rain on dry ground is one of my favourite smells… as a kid, when it started to rain, I would run outside to smell the rain and feel the drops on my bare skin… come to think of it, I still do…

Reply #113. Aug 11 12, 7:04 PM

redwaldo

A telling story about rain; particularly relevant for the driest continent on earth!

Reply #114. Aug 11 12, 7:28 PM

redwaldo

Tezza has passed away.

We at Rock the Clock feel a profound sense of sadness and grief on hearing of her death.

She contributed so much to our team and through her evocative writing on this blog.

This blog stands as a testament to her literary skills and love of life.

RIP Terrianne.

Reply #115. Oct 23 12, 8:36 PM

veronikkamarrz

I feel so sad at this news. Loved her quizzes, and reading her posts.

RIP, Tezza.

Reply #116. Oct 23 12, 9:42 PM

MikeMaster99

I feel a great sense of loss. I loved reading Tezza's stories and reflections on growing up and living in that part of the Australia. Rest in Peace.

Reply #117. Oct 23 12, 10:44 PM

Mommakat

R.I.P. Terri-anne. I will miss our swapping anecdotes on our childhoods growing up in this great State. You will be sadly missed by more people than I care to count....Meg

Reply #118. Oct 23 12, 11:38 PM

MarchHare007

Oh - so sad.
I'd just noticed the blog was up and was looking forward to a new tale.

Rest well Tezza.
Happy memories to everyone who knew her well.

I'll miss her unerring sense of justice, sense of fun and quirky tales.

Reply #119. Oct 24 12, 6:12 AM

MotherGoose

I am so sorry to hear about Tezza passing away. She and I corresponded, albeit infrequently. We had a lot in common and we also had many "connections" in that I knew a number of her relatives and we had mutual friends. It was only a few months ago we talked about getting together to finally meet in person. Tezza lived about a 3-hour drive from me. Her sister and my mother (Mommakat) live in the same town (about an hour's drive) and Tezza said the next time she was visiting her sister, that the three of us (Tezza, me and MK) would make arrangements to meet up. Sadly that won't happen now and I regret that we have lost that opportunity. But at our age (50s), we thought we had plenty of time! Just goes to show we shouldn't procrastinate.

RIP Tezza. You will not be forgotten.

Reply #120. Oct 24 12, 6:31 AM

124 replies. On page 6 of 7 pages. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Legal / Conditions of Use