Soul Speaker

My childhood was spent on a remote sheep station, miles from anywhere and even further from the family and friends we’d left behind in Sydney. I remember being quite lonely at first, finding the hardship and isolation of life on the land harsh and unbearable. 

But I also remember the freedom and sense of space we enjoyed, where our backyard was endless and pets became cherished companions. I remember simple things: crawling into the cool space under the lemon tree and picking the wild violets that grew there, gently placing fragile stems in my palm to arrange a posy for mum. Picking tomatoes off the vine in the veggie patch and eating them like apples, the warm, delicious juice dribbling down my chin and leaving Rorschach prints on my t-shirt. I remember getting into trouble for that!

My fondest memories are of family. I remember being overwhelmed by excitement when my grandparents would arrive after their day-long trek to ‘the bush’ from their city bungalow. Us kids would all be delegated chores the week before their arrival in an attempt to make our simple 2 bedroom shearer’s hut into a hospitable environment for our elderly guests. To this day, I can’t remember where they slept in our cramped quarters; I guess in my childish excitement I was so overcome with joy at having my beloved ‘Pa’ arrive, the logistics of where they slept was too mundane a detail to remember. 

 

I remember bony arms embracing me in warm hugs and long, hot days spent on the riverbank as Pa indulged in his favourite passion: fishing. I remember eating fresh catfish and hating its muddy taste, but eating it anyway to avoid tarnishing Pa’s pride in his bountiful catch. I remember long talks on the verandah, watching the magic of a summer snowfall as thousands of white cockatoos perched in trees along the riverbank. I became known as ‘Pa’s shadow’, an affectionate family joke. It was a joy just to be in his presence, drinking in his quiet conviction that life was full of wonder. We shared a love of books and poetry, escaping together into enchanted worlds of words and pictures. We would sit together for hours, reading and talking. Or not talking. Sometimes those silent moments were the most comforting, creating a special space where our hearts and souls merged. 

Pa is the only person who has loved me unconditionally, without judgement or expectation. It was okay to just be me, not some version of me that was being reflected by others. I didn’t have to be better, or try harder, or bite my tongue; I could say and do and be what I wanted without guilt. We didn’t have to touch, or speak, or even glance at one another; just being in each other’s presence calmed our souls and brought immense joy.

Pa passed away 30 years ago, a memory so devastating my heart still aches all these years later, a piece of me dying with him on that day. But beneath the sadness there is a quiet acceptance: he is with me always, his kisses blown on a breeze sweetened with the scent of Old Spice, his smile imprinted on every sunrise. We are able to communicate without words, because he is my Soul Speaker. 

I love you, old man.

XX

Pa’s Shadow