Monday 21 May 2012

Memory

My profile states that I am a writer of fiction. 'Fruit Carving' was non-fiction.
'Memory' is a piece of fiction, inspired by a visit to Gulgong in NSW.


MEMORY



My memory plays tricks. Can’t always remember what I did yesterday, or, sometimes, this morning, but I can remember things from my childhood! They tell me its age.

I was ninety two last birthday! They look after me well here. Meals are good, even if they are a bit mushy. Just as well, my teeth don’t handle food like they used to.

Somebody’s coming!

“Hello Pop!”

Its little Janey. She’s not so little now; going to the university.

“I’ve bought you some chocolate, Pop. Are you up to talking with me for a little while?”

She’s a lovely girl. Knows I like a bit of chocolate. It’s one of the few pleasures that I have now.

“Are they still looking after you, Pop?”  She straightens the blanket over my knees and wheels me to the bench seat that overlooks the lawn and the flower beds.

            She sits on the bench and takes a writing pad out of her bag. She looks very smart, my little granddaughter.

“I have to do a university project on an item of family history. I was hoping that you could tell me the story about your grandfather. The one who came to Gulgong with his family in the gold rush days.”

That would be your great-great-grandfather, my grandpa Jed. I can remember my father telling the story on a cold winter evening while we huddled around the fire in the parlour, after dinner.

            It was eighteen seventy when gold was found at Red Hill in Gulgong. Jed was thirteen years old when his dad, Luke, was one of the first to hear of the find. He loaded up his cart with a tent, his mining tools and kitchen equipment. His wife, Elsie and young Jed sat on the folded tent behind the driver’s seat and they set off from the worked out lease at Hill End.

            Luke was one of the first to stake a claim on a lead close to Red Hill. Jed worked along with his dad, digging and carting the mud and rocks to the washer-box. His mum worked around the tent. She started a garden and put up some small fences to keep out the wandering animals. They did really well in the first two years. Found lots of gold that they sold to the agents who came round the gold fields every month.

            When that lead was worked out, Luke wanted to shift camp. By now, there were thousands of men in and around the area, all with high hopes of finding gold. One evening, as they sat in the tent, just before bed-time, Elsie spoke;

‘We have a tidy sum of money in the bank, why don’t we settle down and build a house. We don’t have to go chasing more gold!’

There was an almighty row. Jed sided with his mum. He was now fifteen and was sweet on a girl from one of the shops in town. He didn’t want to move.

            The result was that Jed would stay with Elsie in Gulgong and Luke would continue his search for gold. It was in his blood. He didn’t know anything else.

            Elsie put a claim on a block of land in Medley Street and Jed, along with a hired hand, built a substantial timber framed house. The walls were clad with weather boards and it was roofed with corrugated iron. Elsie and Jed moved in and rented out the back room to a couple of miners who were working a lead nearby.

            The money in the bank was earning a bit of interest and Luke’s regular requests for cash were moderate. Elsie realised that the boarders in the back room made a reasonable contribution to the household, especially when they asked if Elsie could supply them with meals.

Young Jed was now approaching twenty years old and wanted to marry his sweet heart. Elsie sat with him and they discussed several possibilities. After a long evening of talking, they came up with a plan to extend the house to include another four bedrooms, a sitting room and dining room. Then Elsie could run it as a proper boarding house.

Jed drew up the plans the next day. The Council was not as strict as they are today! So he registered the plans and started on the building. He found the bloke who helped him before and offered him a job again. Before Elsie’s house was complete, Jed was approached by a man wanting to settle in Gulgong who asked Jed to build him a house. Jed told him that he would start as soon as his mum’s house was finished. The man agreed and they settled on a price.

Two months later, as Jed was putting the final touches to the man’s house, the local butcher came to see him. Jed knew him and knew that he was working out of a temporary building, made of timber poles, clad with bark, under a corrugated roof. The butcher wanted a more substantial building. He had bought the block next door and asked Jed to build him a weatherboard shop.

Well, as you can imagine, Jed liked the work and agreed a price with the butcher. He decided to hire another man to help build the butcher’s shop. The next building that Jed put up was a brick structure. Bricks were being made in Sydney and had to be carted over the mountains. This made him think. He had another talk with Elsie. The upshot was that she lent him the money to start a brickworks.

As time went by Jed married his sweetheart, Alice. He also became the first full-time builder in town and was part owner, with Elsie, of the only brickworks west of Sydney.

Janey, it’s getting a bit cool out here now the sun’s gone, can we move?

“Pop, that’s a great story! I’ve got enough for my project and it’s time for your tea. Come on, I’ll take you inside!”

Saturday 19 May 2012

Fruit carving

Fruit Carving

On the way back from Europe in 1985, my ticket allowed for a 3 day stopover in Thailand. This was to be the first of many holidays for me in Thailand, ‘the land of smiles’.
I booked a day tour to the Rose Gardens, once a resort for wealthy Thais taking a break from the bustle of Bangkok. Now it is a showpiece of Thai culture in a magnificent garden setting.
My day started with an 8 a.m. pick up from my hotel. Although it is only 60km from the centre of Bangkok, the coach took the scenic route, stopping at a sugar cane factory for a morning tea break.
The coach arrived at the Rose Gardens in time for lunch and a walk through the arts and craft centre, before the start of the cultural show.
As I walked through the centre, admiring the local displays, I saw for the first time, a demonstration of fruit carving. I was fascinated by the blaze of colours and intricacy of the work. The lady demonstrators made it look so easy. I stood mesmerised as I watched watermelons being transformed into roses.
I saw many other aspects of Thai culture on that first visit; traditional dancing, kick boxing, working elephants, Thai temples and my first experiences with Thai food, but it was the fruit carving that captured my imagination.
Back in Australia I bought a watermelon, assembled my sharpest knives and started to work. The end result could be called many things, but ‘success’ does not appear in any of the descriptions. Over the next few months I destroyed several more watermelons before I admitted defeat. To say that the Thai ladies made it look simple is probably the biggest understatement I have ever made.
Several years later I was leafing through the latest batch of circulars that had been deposited in the mail box. One was from the local evening college, listing the courses for the coming term. I flicked through the pages and because I have an interest in good food, I paused in the cooking section. To my amazement, there was a six week course on Thai fruit and vegetable carving. My dormant desire was aroused.
Needless to say, I enrolled and over the next six weeks, I spent three hours each Tuesday at evening college. The teacher was a Thai lady who worked under contract for several Sydney hotels, providing carved fruit and vegetable displays for special occasions. She introduced me and the class to the Thai knives used for carving. On subsequent trips to Thailand I have built up my own collection.
I shared the class with a young chef who wanted to improve his skills and a number of older ladies who, like me, wanted to try. We started with simple designs using basic cutting techniques on carrots, cucumbers, leeks and onions. It progressed to more intricate designs and more detailed cutting with beetroot and small pumpkins. The pinnacle for me was when I carved a watermelon into a shape resembling a pineapple. The shape was immaterial; the spectacle of colour with white-tipped petals, cascading down over the red background, convinced me to keep going.
As a result of the preliminary course, I was invited to attend a more advanced class being conducted in the teacher’s own studio. Here the class was smaller and the work much more intricate. My hands were now responsible for the transformation of a watermelon into a simple rose. I took my first success home and photographed it for posterity. It is now in an album next to my first disastrous effort from 1985. It holds pride of place, along with ‘baby’s first steps’. When we need a laugh at a dinner party, I bring out the album.
After four Sunday afternoons I graduated with a basic skill in Thai fruit and vegetable carving. No certificate, no medallion, just a huge sense of satisfaction. I still cannot achieve the delicate designs of the ladies at the Rose Gardens, but I have satisfied my desires for carving fruit.
What am I doing with my newly learned skill? I provide table centre pieces for family dinners as well as providing something different and eye-catching for friends when they have a special event. My work has been displayed at weddings, 21st birthdays and a christening. It was the talk of several works luncheons and office charity days; after the event, the display was auctioned for the charity of the day.
Twice a year, I attend a gathering at a Thai restaurant in Sydney. One at Christmas and the other is a Christmas in July dinner. I am pleased to supply the table centre piece for the enjoyment of everyone. The best compliment I received was when the Thai owner’s daughter asked if she could take one of my watermelons to school to show her class the art of Thai fruit carving.
There are some benefits, other than seeing pleasure on people’s faces. To sit engrossed for 2 or 3 hours working on a display is very therapeutic. The worries and stresses of the day dissolve as the work progresses…. And, I can eat my mistakes!

Ken Windsor © 2012