As a writer I'm struck by the way a story
insists on the writer giving it voice. One of our frustrations as writers is
dealing with the mundane every day things that can become so time consuming the
story remains locked up inside. Eventually though it loses patience
and there's no choice to 'let it out' as Mr Miyagi demands of Daniel san in
Karate Kid. "Best karate (story) inside, now time to let it out."
So here's an offering from the evolving 'Diggers
daughters'..
Uncle Ben
In Ben’s time off away from the madness of
war he found a moment to reflect and so he wrote to Mum. This is a part of one
of those letters.
Dear Tash,
Yesterday was very
crisply clear and the sky being heavy in cloud. In the afternoon with nothing
else to do I rugged up the old system, applied my knee boots and hiked out
across the snow. In places one had to flounder through drift but there was
something beautifully simple about it all. Miles of snow covered countryside,
wonderfully crisp, keen freezing atmosphere and the crunching of snow beneath
the feet to relieve the eerie stillness.
Being alone away from it all, the world about which I
gazed appeared serenely beautiful and it was difficult to believe that but a
few miles away people were being mutilated by the modern machines of scientific
warfare. The love of the great open spaces is part of my Australian heritage
and although totally different to the geographical features of our own land,
stillness or quiet is much the same all over the world. I could write a book
about eerie stillness but guess people would not appreciate my distorted views
upon life.
Cheerio, write soon
your brother the same Ben
I read Uncle Bens letter again and again, imagining him in England and
right where we had been nine years ago I the beautiful tranquil countryside of
Wing County. My heart felt all the distance, anguish and loneliness in Bens
letter. I’d experienced that aloneness, that feeling that had come in our time
in England
Now the late afternoon sun is reflecting off the leaves of the York Gums in
front of the house the same silence surrounds me as the heat of the late summer
afternoon promises to leave us with another hot night. It makes me feel
even more alone. Bonnie’s black shape emerged from under the tank stand
when I called, shaking herself and making a cloud of dust. There’s only one
place to be cool and think, the log that’s fallen over the gully. Sitting on it
with my feet trailing in the water little minnows swim around them and tickle
as they brush my feet, making me giggle. Bonnie always seems to think
this is a good time to nuzzle under my arm almost causing both of us to fall
into the water.
In England
I’ve missed Ben since he first left home not long after we got back. Sure he’d
been a terrible tease, but things were never dull when he was around. He was
always doing silly things and showing off, but he was fun to be around. I’m
afraid for him there in Europe
Sometimes it’s so hard to believe that someone I know so well is a part of
those terrible almost unbelievable things that are happening. I’m sure glad we
live a long way away from there now, but wonder how Grandfather and Grandma
Rose are.
In his letters he tells about so many
horrible things. My heart feels like it would break if anything were to happen
to him. How must Grandma White be feeling, she must be very worried for him
too.
Each Anzac day I look at the men who had
been in the first war and saw that they were different; something had changed
them. Would Uncle Ben be changed by what he’s involved in. Like his long walk
from one country to another and then to cross the channel from Dunkirk
My Dear Mum & Dad,
Thank God is all I can say, for nothing but his help has brought me out of Belgium England
But with the grand old country just
across the water we treated his efforts with a certain amount of contempt. For
now I am almost proof against shell, bomb and anti-aircraft fire, although we
had to wade out into the water which was thick with black oil from sunken
boats, up to the waist. It was really amazing to see the smile of the Tommies
as they clambered aboard the small rowing boats which were to take them to the
Channel boats standing out to sea. Although I never bothered about looking back
from Dover
I came back with what I stood in and since
have been refitted with new clothes uniforms etc and as I sit here on this
peaceful Sunday afternoon it is extremely difficult to realise we have come
through such a raining hell since last Sunday.
Your flying son,
The same old Ben.
Terrible things do happen. On the altar of our church is an inscription to one
of the soldiers who died in 1918. He was a distant cousin. I wondered if he was
like Uncle Ben was before he left to go to Europe
In loving memory of Private Herbert Arnold Williams...Killed in France
Both Mum and Grandma had known him well; he is the spectre that is present when
we visit his family. Yet we never speak of him.
Life here has become so different since the beginnings of the war things are
being rationed and people seem to be afraid of what is happening in Europe
Almost a year ago we heard King George on the wireless saying that England Germany England
If only I had someone who I could talk to and tell them how I feel and have
them tell me that everything will be alright. Even when my best friend Rowena
and I talk about things on the farm and what we want when we grow up we are
still very aware that the men are leaving to go to Europe
Maybe I’ll go and visit Rowena tomorrow and tell her the about this latest
letter and tell her more about England
R.A.F.
C/- Australia
Sunday Mar 2 1941
With the sun shining and a genuine taste of Spring around
again I came to life and say hello to you all away down under in that land
which means so much to me and the indefinite future when I will be able to
place a foot upon this great land of my birth.
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