Bits of Yarn, Calico and Velvet Scraps                                                            Page 3

Dad, tall, good looking, laughing, loving to sing and

dance. It was he who taught us our prayers and he

who came up every night to 'hear' our prayers.

When he died, too soon, 'our family world went

inside itself forever' (Les Murray). He was the

fulfiller of dreams. He achieved what he dreamed

of for himself and he gave what he promised to us.

Even the great journey, the voyage to the land of

the fathers ... far away, across the great ocean,

beyond the horizon. The promise of a magical,

mythical land; the place of the Clan. And the voyage

was taken. The sea had not yet been swallowed-

up. We sailed on it and it bore us to the far away

place. Trust was presumed. And there, yes, it was

all true. My twelfth birthday was celebrated in the

green land, covered with snow. Three years later

my father died and I wondered how the sun could

keep shining. I say now that I didn't know my

father because I have only the knowledge and 

memories of a child. Could that be as real and as

true as it gets?