My first view of the place was getting off the plane in Darwin. Straight from the U.K. and the cold of a typical winter, it was a bit of a culture shock to say the least. I knew little about the place to which we were headed. After an endless flight in cattle class, squashed into seats, far too small, with little leg room I was tired, and stiff. Shell shocked, by being surrounded by screaming children, too many people, in a small environment. It's not an easy trip, to be confined for so many un remitting hours. Or, should I say, not for me, as slightly claustrophobic. In all, a journey of about twenty five hours, I seem to remember. By the time we finally arrived, I was so excited at the thought of getting off the plane, seeing my brother, and my parents, I did not care about any of it. That part of my family, had emigrated a few years previously. Although, as my trip was because of a family emergency, my mothers illness, it was with mixed feelings I embarked.
By the time we arrived, and the plane landed, I was a mass of emotions. Not least of which, was tiredness, worry over what I would find, and excitement. As people began to move, and gather their belongings from overhead lockers, I, and my teenage daughter, gathered our stuff together, ready to make a much needed move. Putting on our coats, both thick, fluffy affairs, and headed down the aisle. By the time we stood at the door, the air hostess, smiled at the weight draped about us, saying "I don't think you will need those coats out there". Surprised, I, and my daughter looked at each other, I thought,'why not? It's seldom too warm for some kind of coat, and it night. Even if you don't keep it on for long. How warm could it be?
Then, as we reached the door, leading into the twilight of the night, we realized why. Standing at the top of the steps, with the lights of the airport lounge across the tarmac, we paused. As we did, we were hit in the face with such a blast of heat, it was like walking into a pre heated oven. Enough to singe your eyebrows. It was something beyond out comprehension, and we advanced down the dozen steps with some apprehension. Feeling the hot air batter around our tired bodies. Unable to make out what was happening, we had never felt a heat like it. As the plane was parked away from the buildings, we had to walk a couple of hundred yards to reach the passport control, and duty free. Such as it was, the whole airport, in those days, was little more than a collection of huts. We both looked around, with interest. It felt as if we were abandoned in the middle of nowhere, and we wondered what came next. It was certainly nothing like London, Heathrow. Can it really be a big place? Where are all the towns, the cities, the houses?
Passing through customs, we were met by my Father, our bags loaded into his car, and we were off, down the road. Ahhh, the road, it was again very different to everything we knew. Once out of the airport, with its collection of Palm trees, parked vehicles, and officials. The road was so straight, it was unnatural, no roundabouts, or traffic lights. Only sparse trees, and red earth. Whilst along the left side of the verge, a metal pipe of large dimensions stretched endlessly in both directions. Sitting up on little metal legs, looking neglected, and antiquated. We discovered later, it was the mains water supply. Erected during the war, a task undertaken by the American forces billeted there. As usual, the Americans, not good at going without all mod cons, designed it. As cheaply, and easily as possible, I think, but it's still in use, sixty plus years later. It was their custom, to fill any shortfall in the countries infrastructure, that way. Set the troops, and their engineers to sorting out the problem. Which, is exactly what they did here.
We continued in his car, with very cold air conditioning blasting away. A fact we were very relieved about, as we were both shiny with perspiration by that time. Or, was it sweating like pigs, and this was night time, unbelievable. Either way, we were hotter than we had ever been. With my father trying to tell us everything at once. He loved it there, needing to outpour information about the differences he found between Australia, and England. About how, he could not find a place to buy tobacco, or newspapers, there were no tobacconists. It was so strange, he said, but so interesting. He was living on a block of land with his son, and was very happy. In his own very London, English way, he was quite the adventurer. He tried to stuff our travel, jet lagged heads with too much information, impossible to take on board. We managed to mutely nod now, and again, he probably did not notice anyway. He was far too busy telling us everything he was sure we would need to know, in order to survive there. I think he was very relieved to see us.
Later, I suspected, his attempt at filling in the gaps with mindless chat, was an avoidance technique. Anything, rather than talk about my Mothers illness, the reason we were there. As we drove along, a distance of about forty k's, the countryside remained much the same. Stunted trees, no vegetation, lots of red, red, sandy soil. Many of the trees were blackened to a hight of perhaps five, or six feet, they had few leaves. My father said it was due to the annual burnings. Regularly held by the fire service, to clear the undergrowth. At other times of the year, by spontaneous fires, which often roared through the bush, threatening everything. To me, it was like driving through a riven land, as if after 'the haulocaust'. It seemd impossible anyone could live in such a country. My eyes could not adjust to the differences, or make sense of what I was seeing.
We did see a few single level bungalow type, wooden houses in some places. They were scattered intermittently between the trees, hardly close enough to see any neighbours at all. Most of them, on twenty five acre blocks. Unheard of, in my home country, where gardens were often the size of a large handkerchief. A few houses were built on stilts, and looking very strange to us. None of them looked substantial enough to survive well. However, all the houses were few, and far between. We saw no animals at that point either, not even birds, although my father assured us there were plenty.
Reaching their house, almost hidden in the long grass, surrounded by more thin trees, I thought it was a large shed. No wonder my mother is ill, I thought, whatever had they come to? To me, it looked more like Africa, than anything else. How could my father like anything about it? Exchanging glances, with my daughter, we grabbed our own luggage, and followed my father through a flimsy looking door. Then, there it was, my parents English home. Everything as it was before. Carpets, heavy curtains, stuffed furniture, full bookshelves, and ornaments. In the middle of which, sat my Mother, looking pale, and wan, unable to stand.
That night was spent catching up, on the news. In general, and the illness. It appeared things were not good Mother could not cope with any of it. Which I soon discovered, as she kept whispering, "I don't like it here, that surgeon made a mess of me". As a result of not settling, she, I believe, had become ill, had a op, which had gone wrong, and here we are were. Sitting together again, in this stuffy little house, with long grass almost up to the roof line.
Nothing I saw, or heard that night gave me much hope. My mother wasn't coping, my father was lost trying to know what to do as she did not improve. Everything around the place was becoming neglected, there seemed many tasks we were needed for. Not least being chief nurse, and bottle washer. I, and my daughter eventually went to bed, tired out. With me thinking, whatever can I do to help, in this strange, and dreadful place. Both of us freaking out at the funny little bald looking lizards, scooting all over the walls, and ceilings. Geckos, we were told, they won't hurt you. Nooo, I thought, but where might they run, once I am asleep?
The next day, waking to the familiar belongings, but very different house was just as strange. The house was stuffy, overfull, and kind of out of time. Even though it was strangely comforting to see it all again, it didn't jell. It was like being in a time warp. Finding my parents little English home, or at least it's contents, here, in this barren, baking hot country, full of strange noises. Cycadas humming away like a mini road trains. Something else I was to become very familiar with, the insects, and the lorries.
What would the tomorrow's bring, and how could I cope. Sorting this out was obviously going to be down to me. As my brother was away up country somewhere, and would be for the week. Last night, we eventually slept the sleep of exhaustion, dreading this next few weeks
However, this morning would not bring anything as I thought it would: I was in for more surprises than I realised.......
More later
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