Letter From The Other Side; from
Cynthia
‘James, James, Morrison, Morrison
Weatherby George Dupree
Took great care of his mother,
although he was only three……
……..and goes on to the 4th
verse
‘You must never go down to the
end of town, without consulting me.’

Those words of A.A Milne were engraved forever on my mind when as a
child I recited his poems over and over again.
To this day I still enjoy their rhythm and flow and the wonderful
memories of my relatively carefree childhood they recall.
Last week as we made our way slowly along the shopping strip of our
small town the words of the poem wandered quietly into my head once more.
It was a beautiful Saturday morning. The sun shone brilliantly and the
early autumn glow was touching the edges of the leaves on the trees lining the
streets. The haze of smoke from the late seasonal burn-offs of the Department
Of Environment hung in the air. We all know autumn will bring this haze if the
weather is still and warm and are grateful for it, as the extra
undergrowth which has grown in the
forests during the summer will make any summer bushfire next year all the
hotter and hazardous.
The street was buzzing with tourists lounging about as they enjoyed the
mountain air and drank coffee at the tables along the footpaths. They always appear
to have their feet strategically placed to trip any unwary pedestrian. It seems
to me at times that tourists grow longer legs than we do.
The local volunteer groups find Saturday mornings very profitable for
their raffle ticket sales and some set up sausage sizzle stalls. The smell of
barbequed sausages and bacon wafts down the street enticing pedestrians to
follow their noses like ever hungry spaniels seeking the source of a scent.
Teddy and I were strolling from the supermarket down to our lovely old
Victorian red brick library. It is really only a very short walk and would take
no more than ten minutes on a quiet day.
Walking is something I can still
do without too much trouble just so long as I am wearing a pair of sturdy
supporting shoes. I have drawn the line at the ‘glow-in-the-dark’ gym shoes and
have opted for a more sober style.
We crossed the path which leads across the roundabout and were making
good progress until we met a friend. He is an interesting man, a musician and teaches
the drums. Teddy being of the opinion he is also a musician because he tortures
us with his trumpet every day enjoys chatting with him. I think the book he
read about Lois Armstrong has gone to his head.

While we were speaking to our drummer friend I spotted a decoration in
a garden nearby that didn’t really appeal to me. It was a discarded toilet
which has been converted into a plant pot. Two doors down from this home is a
small road sign which indicates there is a public convenience further along the
street and I wondered if the plant pot owner had taken his idea from the sign.
Another gentleman we know came along while we were being silly and
giggling childishly about the garden landscaping and he joined in the
conversation surmising along with us why anyone would opt for such a decoration
for their front yard.
After twenty minutes or so we parted company and went on our various
ways buoyed up by the happy and rather ridiculous conversation.
Not very far past the newsagent we met another couple we know and fell
into conversation with them. After receiving and giving updates on our health,
our families’ health, our dogs’ peculiar behaviourisms and where to purchase a
decent handbag in town, we continued on our stately progress.
Then we came upon the raffle ticket sales. It was in aid of a good
community cause and so we bought two or three and of course began a
conversation with the lady selling the tickets. We hadn’t ever met her before
but …and I still don’t know how the conversation got around to it,….. the
subject of my present health issues came up. She was a fund of information and
attends the same neurosurgeon that I do. She takes weight strengthening exercises
for the ‘older person’ and those rehabilitating from illness and after quite a
time, (there was another person selling tickets while we chatted) I left her
feeling as if our meeting had somehow been organized by someone or something
much wiser than me. It was quite
stunning how much better I felt from being able to share some of my experiences
with her.

Next stop along our way was the library. Well….. what can I say about a
trip to the library? It is never a quick drop-the-returning-book and run is it?
We shuffled through shelves, looked at videos and discs, argued about who’s
fine it was that had to be paid for the late return and came out carrying more
books than we can possibly read in the allotted time ultimately enjoying the
full library experience.
By this time, instead of taking ten minutes to walk the distance we had
spent an hour and a half.
We turned out steps back toward where the car was parked and made for
the chemist shop and met a lady we have known for ages and stopped to ask after
her health and laugh about her antics as she tried to hold her walking stick in
one hand and balance her barbequed sausage rolled up in its bread, in the
other.
We had reached the end of the town and began our journey back, not in
the least worried by the time we had taken. We know that trying to hurry on a
Saturday morning in our main street is a waste of time. Instead we looked up at
the smoky hills and shuffled along happily recounting some of our friendly and rather
silly conversations which were all enjoyed in comradeship and the pleasure and
the privilege of living in such a place which has the support and help we
provide to one another.
We did see one gentleman coming toward us that we felt unable to face
on such a nice day. He is possibly the most irritating and negative person in town
and I have yet to work out why he feels as grumpy as he does, but I ducked into
the shoe shop and Teddy followed quickly. It cost the price of a new pair of
shoes I fell instantly in love with to miss him, but we felt the purchase price
was worth avoiding being depressed on such a pleasant morning.
I think James, James, Morrison, Morrison must have lived in a town like
ours and knew that if his mother went down to the end of town she would be a
long time and would not be back in time for tea. That way he would know he could
be free to raid the biscuit tins in her absence without being caught.
At least the authorities didn’t have to put up a notice that we were ‘lost,
stolen or strayed and post a forty shillings reward’.
Cheers for now,
Cynthia







The End Of Town Without Consulting Me.