I have always fancied myself as having some talent when it comes to music. I have always wanted to be in a group. The Beatles changed everything. To me they had the perfect life. I would have liked to do what they did. Who wouldn't?
But of course I never did join a group. I only once played rhythm guitar in a jam session with a very talented person named Frank who went to Bath University. Frank was quite talented and could play lead guitar quite well. He asked me to set down a rhythm guitar sequence for him to play over. This was only a fleeting trivial occurrence but I will remember the thrill of it always. Such are the unknown important things that have meaning only to us as individuals. Hang on Sloopy only has 4 repeating chords. Frank worked out melodies that were entrancing. I provided the chords and did sing solo verses when he needed a rest. We were playing at one end of a long room and there were a number of people in the room. This was student accommodation in Bath. They applauded when we finished. This was the only time I ever played in a grown up way. This was the only time I was ever taken seriously as a musician. I struggled with the guitar for many years. I never succeeded in learning more then 8 or 9 chords. As for playing lead forget it. I did however end up with a large knowledge of songs. I conclude I must have been boring about it. I have since learned that in England during the 70's lots of people went to Art Schools specifically so they could join a group. Pink Floyd all came from Art School. Ditto Roxy Music. Ditto Genesis. Ditto lots of others. It makes sense. Where else would you meet people who were supposedly interested in art and had lots of time to practice. I did once ask if I could join an existing group though. They were called The King Valley Ramblers and were run by my cousin Ivan Fulton. I even wrote a song for him to sing as a kind of audition. He liked country and western and I thought it could be his signature tune. Everyone said he was a good singer. There were 3 in the group. Him singing and playing rhythm guitar. A Bass player who also did sound effects. And a lagerphone player providing percussion and background vocals. I thought I could play keyboards. I offered my services. This is the song I wrote especially. I thought it was quite reasonable. This is only the first verse. It has more verses and a chorus. It was about him. I was born in the north of the state near where mountains meet a river. I lived right beside a railway line and I loved each mornings whistle. Life was tough and hard on the farm but I never once missed chancing my arm Skimming stones is easy and fun when you live in the north of the state. Ivan was my first cousin. In many ways he was my role model. He was 6 years older than me. He worked in the National Bank and was quite happy about it. Everyone liked him. He was quite good at sport. He was popular with both old and young people. There didnt seem to be anyone who disliked him. Of course he was a role model I could never live up to. When I was growing up the bane of my life was my mothers constant question - Why cant you be more like Ivan? Ivan was her sisters only son and in both woman's eyes Ivan was close to perfect. My mothers sister had two other daughters and she made no secret that both girls were a disappointment. Ivan was no trouble. She was proud of him. She relayed to my mother all of Ivans many and varied exploits. This made my mother jealous and always pointed out how I dissapointed her because I never told her anything let alone did anything worthwhile. All kinds of people made the comment that Ivan was close to his mother. My mother admired him absolutely and always discussed things with him in an adult way. He never gave his mother any trouble. Just the opposite to me she would often say. Why couldn't I be more like him? When we were growing up I did try to be like him. I tried to be his friend. I hung around him as much as I could. But he never encouraged me. Mostly he was indifferent. Sometimes he ignored me completely. When he did speak to me it was mostly to shush me because I was saying something embarrassing. When we became adults he softened to me a bit and kind of accepted me. But he didnt like discussing intimate things with me and he never really relaxed in my presence. He had other friends with whom he felt most relaxed - one of whom was in the group. I always knew he had different political views and that he dissaproved of my politics. We also had differing views on immigration and integration. He was definitely not a multiculturist - and I was. He had strong views on racial integration. Segregation was preferable. And immigration was dangerous. Look at what had happened when they let black people into England was his stock statement. He definitely thought it was dangerous to let different races into Australia. He didnt really respond to my request to join the group. After a period I asked again and again he didnt respond. There was only silence. I didnt get upset but I did accept it was some kind of message. I didnt press the issue. Up to this time I had always kept up contact with my relatives by visiting them. But it was always me who called on them. Jenny and I and the children were always visiting people. Including Ivan and his wife. After this Jenny said I should stop calling on my relatives and just see what happened. I saw her point and agreed I would try the experiment. Of course the obvious happened. Not one relative ever visited us. Twenty or more years have passed without any contact. The group endured and was quite popular in its own way. Ivan died unexpectedly several months ago. At his funeral the surviving one member of the group sang a song he had especially written for the occasion. The son of the other previously also deceased member joined him on stage and then made a speech telling the large crowd how important the group was to his father. Both of them then stood on stage together and wept at the memory. I did see Ivan shortly before his death. I had unexpectedly ran into his sister and she had said I should call in on Ivan where he was now living. She said he would like to see me. He now lived in rural Victoria and shortly after it just happened that I was going past his place. So I called in but when he saw who was calling he strode towards me and said in great anger - what are you coming around here for causing trouble? I didnt know why he was angry with me. I could only ask - Trouble? Who too? He did not elucidate. But he did take me to his wife and we did have a conversation of sorts. I didnt stay long. When I left I told them where I lived said that they would have to visit me. I said it knowing they would never visit me. But I still said it. I never saw him again. In retrospect it was better that he did not let me join the group. One can only learn these things in hindsight. In a way I didnt mind his behavior the last time I saw him. I had always believed that deep down this was how he really felt. He tolerated me because I was a relative but he didnt really like me. He disapproved of my politics. Probably he didnt like my body language. I was different to him. I believe that people reveal their true selves in anger. If they say things in anger you can believe that this is really how they feel. Unless they recant and apologise you should believe them.
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Running with Scissors – Taking Risks.
I wonder if the well-known fictional character Edward Scissorhands ever ran recklessly. Would we have run with him? Encouraged him to run? In real life we do not want to take risks. How many risks do we really take in life? And how many choices do we have that involve risks? We could argue that each time we drive a car we take risks. But self-preservation rules out really taking risks. We do not want to take risks. But when we do take a risk we will remember it. In my life I have only on two occasions taken risks that were death deaf defying. I will remember both clearly until I die. The first risk was taken when I was 18 and is almost a ritual of Australian youth. Of course it involved a motor car. My father even though he was a conservative person for some reason fancied a more than usually powerful car. On new year’s day 1964 my father allowed me to drive by myself his car to the Myrtleford Rodeo. Along the way I picked up some mates. We met up with other people we knew at the rodeo. We all decided to go to a dance in Wangaratta that night. We drove in convoy from Myrtleford to Wangaratta. Of course during the course of this trip we decided by osmosis to have a race. Three cars raced each other. Because I had the most powerful car I felt obliged to outrace the other two. I passed the other two only to be passed in turn by them. I had to pass them both again. This took me some time and I had to achieve a high speed to do so. When I finally passed both cars for the second time my natural sense of self preservation took hold and I came to my senses. I knew I was indulging in highly dangerous activity. I decided I was going to stop being part of this particular group and I immediately did. I knew I was indulging in mob mentality and that it was both dangerous and stupid. I have never done this again. I have always since been a careful driver. But because of the activity on this night I gained somewhat of a reputation and was once or twice dared to do it again. When I refused I was sneered at in the usual Australian way. You know - what are you? - a woman? Are you weak or something? I have remained ultra-careful ever since when driving. Neither have I ever indulged in mob mentality again. The only other time I have taken a risk knowing it was life threatening was when I was living in Earls Court in London. A work collegue invited me to a music and drinks get together at his flat. He lived in Finchley. I got talking to his flatmate whose name was Steve . I still know him. The dialogue went like this:- Flatmate: Where do you live? Me: Earls Court. Flatmate: What address? Me: 75 Eardley Crescent. Flatmate: Really! You are kidding. What floor? Me:The third. Why? Flatmate: I know that flat. My brother used to live in that flat. Me: What a coincidence. Where is your brother now? I have never heard you mention him. Flatmate: I don’t mention him probably because he is dead. (Steve was a bit of a wit) Me: Really. What happened? Flatmate: He was killed trying to get in through the window of your flat when he was drunk. He didn’t have his key and was trying to open the lounge window. You know the one that looks out onto the Exhibition Building. Me:(Very interested). Wow what happened? Flatmate:He came home drunk one night. Didn’t have his key and proceed to climb up the drainpipe to get to the top of the building next door. You know the gap between to window and the next building? Me: Yes Flatmate: Yes well he slipped and fell. Apparently there was frost on the window sill. He was killed immediately. Not a lot more could have been said. The musical party proceeded. We went on with our lives. But of course the inevitable happened. On Easter Thursday 1970 I came home after a nice night out with colleagues from work and to my horror discovered I had no key. It being Easter everyone else in the flat was away elsewhere for all of the long break. I was locked out. I was in big trouble. What could I do? But I knew that it was possible to get in through the lounge window. It was possible. Dangerous but possible. I think it helped that I was slightly drunk. Alchohol did help but in those days I felt invulnerable anyway. I was living in London after all. Of course I was very cool about it all. I would check it out first. I would take it in steps. I would go slowly to lessen the danger. I would look first before I did anything. I would take into account the fact I was slightly intoxicated. I would practice everything mentally in advance. It was surprisingly easy to go up the drain pipe. It was almost as if the footholds were put there for me. I reached the top of the building next to ours and walked over the roof to our lounge window. And yes there was quite a gap between the building I was on and our lounge room window. And the gap was indeed 3 stories deep. But I didn’t look down too much. I stayed cool. I concentrated on the window. I looked across the gap. I could almost touch the window. If I was to lean across I could hold onto the window frame. This didnt look all that hard so I tried it. I stiffened myself and made a bridge across with my body. I held on to the top of the window sill. I tested if the window sill was slippery. I put one hand under the window frame. The window opened easily. I tested again if the window sill was frosty. It wasn't. I put my hands inside the flat. It felt warm and comforting. I was almost home. But I still had to get across a gap of about one metre. If there is ever an example of running with scissors this was it. I ran with scissors. I took a risk and almost dived across into the window and through it. It ended up being done very quickly. I admit I did recognise there was a kind of cold spot as I passed over the gap. But I ended up safely inside sprawled on the floor. As I said I was very cool about it. I got up and carefully closed the window. But I did have a passing look at how far down the gap went. It was an awful long way. And dark. I went to bed and slept the sleep of a very relieved person. It was good to be alive and home and in bed. I had a nice Easter all by myself. It might have been this weekend I watched the very first Monty Python. By myself. But I was changed forever. I didnt ignore what I had done. I was not aloof about it. I knew had taken a big risk. I was not aloof about it at all. I had actually risked my life. The feeling stayed with me for some time. If I was called upon to do this again maybe I would no matter what the danger. But at the time I was living in London after all and I felt this was an achievement in itself. I had to keep up standards. I have reached the age of 70 and suddenly I have been struck with atrial fibrillation. I say it is suddenly but on reflection I may have previously had it intermittently for short periods without it having any noticeable effect on me.
There is no ignoring it now. I know when I have it. I feel different. I can feel my heart beating irregularly. It throbs in my ears. And it seems it beats high in my chest. I have a metallic taste in my mouth. My stomach feels full. I have a cold feeling in my chest. I feel as if I have electrical currents arcing backwards and forwards across my chest. My whole upper body pulsates with Adrenalin. When your heart rate ramps up to 150 there is no mistaking it. Its impossible to sleep or to even relax. I went to the Benalla Hospital where they attached me to a machine that immediately started clanging a warning bell. As I had not really ever been unwell before I was not surprisingly concerned. I thought I was having a heart attack. I have been to the hospital 4 times and have been admitted twice. I have been prescribed beta blockers and this has slowed my heart rate down to an acceptable rate but it has not stopped the irregular beat. My heart has three times reverted to a proper beat and I know immediately when it does. My body seems to relax. I cannot feel my heart beating. It goes back to beating deep in my chest. Of course I then feel invulnerable. But after a few days the Atrial Fibrillation returns. I seem to have it permanently now. According to the internet Atrial Fibrillation is quite common and I have to accept the fact that I will have to live with it. It is not life threatening. Jenny and I were married by a wedding celebrant. We were the only people present but to me it was as good as any wedding. It was as romantic and pure as any public wedding. More even. By any standards. Anywhere and anyone. I will have to explain. We had been together for some time. A matter of years. Since I first saw Jenny I felt I was completely attached to her and never imagined not being with her. I felt we were married. I was antgonistic to getting formally married. I came from a largish extended family that were viscous in their attitudes and I always felt identification with those on the receiving end of these attitudes.. I had been to lots of weddings where snide comments were said about the bride. She is definitely pregnant. Why was he marrying her? Or - she is definitely marrying down. She could do better than him. I had been to a wedding where the bride was over two hours late. The bridegroom paced up and down the road outside the church looking towards Wangaratta until he finally spewed up and fainted. Fell to the ground - and therefore suffered a lifetimes contempt from all the women present. I had been to weddings where the brides mother was ashamed - she was ashamed because everyone knew the bride was pregnant - everyone was shamefaced and never looked her in the eye. I knew that I myself as a person I was not approved of - I had been told as much so many times. Plus I always felt superior morally and didnt approve of the crude standards that existed in the society I lived in. Because I did not feel a true member of society I was not prompted to have a public wedding. And of course I had been publicly been married before. I felt I was committed to Jenny and did not need to have the state involved. But in talks we had decided that we could try and have children. Jenny felt she was ready to have children. She said I could organise the wedding. I looked in the local paper and phoned the local wedding celebrant. It was surprisingly easy. I even teased Jenny by saying it was on tomorrow night when I put the phone down. It wasn't but it might as well have been. It was next tuesday night. We went to the celebrants house. I did not have to even produce evidence of divorce. Her daughter acted as witness. I went over the words with her beforehand. We agreed to put in the normal vows but no other extended sayings that have become standard in public weddings.. There were no flowery statements. But because we had the normal vows - do you wish to enter into marriage with this woman - do you take this woman as your lawful wedded wife - etc - I was able to say them with absolute conviction. I was totally truthful in what I was vowing. I had no regrets. I meant what I said. And say them with conviction I did. I could say them again now. The Celebrant was a very nice woman. She kissed and hugged Jenny when she was finished. It was all very wonderful. Just the wedding I wanted. I am glad that Jenny let me do this. I loved her for allowing me to do it. It was our wedding and ours alone. I once worked for Lawrence and Hansen in Dorcas Street South Melbourne. Jenny and I used to meet in the city every Friday night but one week she said she would like to meet me where I worked. We always had trouble organizing the right time to meet. She lived in Frankston and would take the train in. She could not predict exactly what time she could meet me at Flinders Street. This was before mobile phones. Even before personal phones. It wasn’t easy to contact each other. Jenny decided that she would walk to my work. And wait for me outside until I finished work. We could then walk into the city together. Dorcas Street runs at right angles off St Kilda Road. It’s a long street and runs down through South Melbourne to the sea. It is crossed several times by important roads. There is a direct road from the city to South Melbourne that cris-crosses other roads and is the quickest route but Jenny had consulted the map and had it set in her mind how to get to Lawrence and Hansen. She would walk along St Kilda Road until she came to Dorcas Street and then she would walk down Dorcas Street. I didn’t know what time she would arrive so I went out at 5.10 to see if she was already there. She wasn’t but I could see her in the distance way up the end of Dorcas Street. I could tell it was her even from this distance by the way she walked. She has a special gait. I went out again at 5.20 and she was closer but as there were a number of roads crossing Dorcas Street she had taken longer than I anticipated. She still had a number of busy roads to cross. I could tell what she was wearing and she was carrying her bag. It was pleasurable to stand and watch her happy contented walk. Because her eyes were not that good I knew she could not see me. But I could see her. Her walk summed her up. Patient yet determined. Generous and kind. Happy to do things. Slow yet steady. Loving and happy. Keen to please. Happy to please. I went out again at 5.30 and she was there waiting. I embraced her and kissed her. Some people in the office saw this happen. I had to let her wait for a little longer while I went back inside to clear up my desk. I came out the door and we walked off arm in arm. It was a wonderful enjoyable experience. To walk off arm in arm with a beautiful woman is something to be had. She had done her hair in a different way than usual. She had a number of pins holding it over her ears. It was a little like Princess Leia but this was long before Star Wars. I found it very attractive. Anyone who knows Jenny knows that she has extremely strong hair and would have gone to some trouble to do her hair like this in order to look nice. I knew she did it for me. I knew already we could be together. I felt already in a way we would always be together. We talked as we walked. We were happy in each others company. I was completely happy to be in her company. I'm sure my body language said so. On Monday some of the girls in the Office asked me who the young girl was. It was obvious from looking at us that I was much older than Jenny. They didnt exactly ask what school she went to but the questions verged on this. I felt my image had been raised somewhat. Of course I glorified in the situation and exaggerated wildly. I was doing something worth while. Great even. x |
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