A History of Silence - Lloyd Jones is following his bloodline.

Lloyd Jones is following his bloodline. What gets left behind? What gets hidden? In this review I refer to the author by his first name, Lloyd. As I somehow feel I have come to know him. Why does Lloyd make this journey into his past history at this time in his life? The other side of fifty, more questions about mortality, purpose, searching for answers that remained out of sight. Beginning to wonder, having your own children. Remembrances. Lloyd delves into why we retain the things we do. In the process revealing himself to be an exceptionally gifted and reflective writer. p.245. ‘ I looked into the hairdressers window once and saw her, wide eyed beneath a dryer, like someone receiving electric shock treatment. My father used to say I’d send my mother to (an early grave) to the loony bin if I carried on the way I did. I can’t remember what I did to cause offence. This recollection has no role to play. But, it continues to exist, like a card fallen out of a pack, representative of other such moments that fail to add up to anything more. In this way life sheds itself. It leaves skin on the furniture, hair on a pillow. A life reduces to a couple of walk on parts in other people’s recollections. And while some fade, others remain stuck forever like an overbearing portrait glowering down from the walls.’ This is one of the standout examples of Lloyd’s take on memory, those remembered moments that stick like glue. Whether we want them there or not. The silence, the hidden pasts of families, Lloyd equates with stage fright, echoes of fear and shame. There are many, many stories of hidden pasts. The dead end of a generation. Lost without any artefacts to trace. Lloyd is able to trace his threads from the past. The artefacts, letters, transcripts, voices left to be heard. Overlayed with the trauma of loss of the scale of disaster that struck Christchurch in 2011. Is this why the author feels the need to walk the streets and stand where his ancestors stood? Any ancestors. As he curiously goes to a place named Zula with a fabricated family history from his wife’s ancestry. Finding the missing pieces of the past helps to discover why things happened the way they did, why people are the way they are. But one hundred years on there is a lot of the benefit of hindsight. Dying Lloyd recalls one of the last looks of hope and trust by his dying dog and mother. The sense of helplessness at having to let them go. The knowing what was to happen seen as a massive betrayal. For each person dying it is like we haven’t done this before. Like we need to know the rules, but it appears we don’t. So people blunder on. Lloyd earlier relates the story of the doctor asking if his mother knows she is dying. The tip toeing around the central truth of dying. Eventually Lloyd tells his mother ‘You’re on your last legs’. She relates that she has been let down. The conclusion being ‘Dying feels like we have let down our loved ones.’ As if there is more that could have been done, somehow for human or animal. It could also be her mother surmising that in life she had been let down, the abandonment by her mother. Despite the implied emotion of family secrets Lloyd is not a sentimentalist. He describes his search for reasons behind his known world. Childhood, family home, pets, relatives. The shared habits of a lifetime, without undue fuss. Much like his parents’ generation, the worse sin is to make a scene or cause a fuss. There are tiny fragments of his own life in the ‘now’, apart from the retracing of steps and revisiting the past. We learn he was asked to write about the Christchurch earthquake not long after it happened, but doesn’t get back to them. But perhaps a genesis for this book appears. Other fragments occur with a mention once or twice about his own children, wife and a separation. But these are submerged by the wider purpose of the memoir. Which is looking back. To look inside himself. To get the answers the author has been denied. But as often happens, his parents have left the scene by the time this search really begins. They will not hear the resolutions. Memories are such fragile things. I was stirred to write of my own search through family shame, sadness, brokenness and silence. There is a wider framework here, as many families have a silence. Unexplained ancestors, lost in time. Or lost to follow up as reports might say. The energy to do the follow up is huge. So well done to Lloyd Jones for having the fortitude and courage to go through the midst of time. This was a book that was always at the top of its game and I relished it all.

The seventies will never die!

Peter Goers manages to write deceptively simple words, full of home truths. (October 20th) It is very sad that Australia still has the open wound of missing children, particularly three from one family. It weighs heavily. But this was balanced by life's small joys. Who doesn't enjoy a solo sing-a-long in the car. My favourite is the My Generation radio show on Saturday arvo's. Coming home from my volunteer spot at the Art Gallery. After seeing the obligatory weddings on the footbridge and North Terrace. The seventies will never die!

Shoot Me First

Shoot Me First An absorbing firsthand account of the life of development aid worker on the front line of the volatile countries of Pakistan and Afghanistan. A memoir by Grant Lock over a period of 24 years. He is deeply committed and patient man who has the insight to meet people where they live from vastly different cultures. There is an early account of a worker who comes in all guns blazing about women’s rights and how things should be done, completely missing the enormous cultural challenges that exist. Grant recognises that many, even his own kin may see this as insurmountable challenges. But as if to leave on a note of hope he relates the tale of Omar and his redemption. He relates a long-time coming tale of a slow awakening from a corrupt life. There is an overlap with another memoir ‘Three cups of tea’ of an American who gives up his old life to build schools in the mountainous terrain of Pakistan. Languages are learnt. Trust gained. Terror in their backyard. But oh the sadness when circumstances force the eventual return for good to Australia. Afghanistan has had a turbulent history to say the least. The corruption belies belief in this country. Hard to comprehend this correlation with the strict call to prayer and faith. Grant writes of his experiences, but also his inner conversations. His rationalizations and worries. I am still however feeling I don’t know the real author. His early life that moulded him was missing. His education and background, his hometown and beginnings that got him on this road. There is mention that his father was against the plan to go to Pakistan. But other than that the reader is none the wiser. Mention was made by other readers of this book, that it is a lot better than the cover. Please reissue with a more inspiring cover. Thank you to Grant and his wife Janna for sharing the immense hardships of life in a fundamentalist Muslim country.

Wine O'Clock

Thank you again to Kathy Lette for the licence to have a glass of wine while doing the multitude of tasks that seem to be ongoing as the day nears its end. Another maxim is to always keep a bottle of champagne in the fridge for special occasions. Sometimes the special occasion is having a bottle of champagne in the fridge. Cheers!

Braving the storm

Louie and his mate Mike in Heart of a Nation made my day. (October 5th) The face of the little dog and his owner are melded together. Through hell or high water, and they have certainly braved many storms. I cannot however bring myself to read stories about inhumane devastation and tragic child neglect. It seems more and more is coming to light that is an assault on the spirit. I pray that there are more tales of Louie and his remarkable resilience. But even more that there is a light on for all those who are suffering and need help.

Canberra is so inspiring.

Canberra is so inspiring. I fully recommend the National portrait gallery, cafe, bookshop and tour. I find it is the computer sabbatical that really refreshes. More walks, books and chill out time. Plus seeing places and people I have never seen before. Talking with locals at the Narrandera sheep dog trials. It was their 150th celebrations and the sheep dog trials where a big feature. Those dogs are remarkable, so eager, fit and their concentration is unwavering.

Giving is inside of us all.

Giving is inside of us all. This essay brings up the topic of suffering. Christian ethics are written large about caring for our neighbour. That is for all of us. "On the last day, Jesus will say to those on His right hand, 'Come enter the Kingdom. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was sick and you visited me.' Then Jesus will turn to those on His left hand and say, 'Depart from me because I was hungry and you did not feed me, I was thirsty and you did not give me to drink, I was sick and you did not visit me.' These will ask Him, 'When did we see You hungry, or thirsty or sick and did not come to Your help?'. And Jesus will answer then, 'Whatever you neglected to do unto one of the least of these, you neglected to do unto Me!' It is not an optional extra to volunteer, as a Christian. It is a deep held belief to give to those who are suffering. However much of life is seemingly taken up with earning to cover the basics. The basics in the western world are all mod cons. It is a privilege to serve others. Volunteering ones time as a Christian is not meted out for the kick back of ‘feeling good’. In fact volunteering can be confronting and challenging. A long way from the ideals presented as ‘self serving and self promoting’. Australia has one of the highest rates of volunteering in the world. Apparently we also rate very high as the least corrupt society. The motivations of volunteering are various. Altruistic values are not a tick box category that you manufacture. It is from the heart. There are personal gains to volunteering. Research backs up the gains of interpersonal relationships, less isolation and the development of confidence and skill sets. There are also moves to make it mandatory in some countries for anyone receiving a benefit to volunteer their time back. This really makes the onus as an ultimatum. A final quote on volunteering, from a new convert, working in a childcare centre. ‘I feel alive again’. Giving is inside of us all. With thanks to Alice Johnson for this timely essay, from Eureka Street - 8th of October, 2013. http://www.eurekastreet.com.au/article.aspx?aeid=38308#.UlSmUCjIbE0