A Childhood Memory. Printed in the newsletter of my local writing group.
I thought I would include it in my blog. to illustrate that I can be serious.


A Childhood Memory.

The year is 1950.

The place is Nuku’alofa the capital of the small Pacific Island Kingdom of Tonga.
I am standing on the pier watching my mother swinging high into the air as the large rope cargo net lifts her while she lies helplessly on a stretcher. The wind sways the light load and I hear a faint cry as she feels the movement and watches the birds’ wheel above her.

I ask my older more knowing sister why our mother is being hung up in the net. She explains it is because she can’t walk up the gangplank, she is too ill. There is no other way to get her onto the ship.

The ship towers over us, smelling of oil and paint, its engine rumbles and bilge water streams from the rear. The odours mix with the smell of drying copra.

The smoke stacks are beginning to show a light plume of grey as the stokers get the engines ready for departure.

My mother’s body keeps swaying in the air, slowly rocking, flying closer to the ship as waiting arms stretch out to catch hold of the ropes and steady her descent.

At last she is lowered.

We walk up the gangplank, the water far below.

Our Tongan friends and my Tongan ‘mother’ who has cared for me for years stand quietly murmuring and begin to sing The Maori Farewell. The music fills me with fear and an immense sadness which still lingers.

The End.
Elizabeth M. Thompson. ©