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The woman ahead of me in the 8 items or less queue this afternoon had:
There’s an evening meal to savour.
I went back to my old school today, sort of. When I was in Year 12, the Sisters of Mercy girls’ school I attended merged with the Christian Brothers boys’ school around the corner. The boys’ school became the senior campus and so I finished my school days there. Today I was at the junior campus, the old convent otherwise known as Snans (St Ann’s, if you speak clearly). I don’t know why I was surprised to find it hasn’t changed much. The office has been renovated and the artwork on the walls is different, but everything else seems to be more or less the same. I really wanted to take a stroll down what used to be the Year 9 corridor (and may still be, for all I know) to see if the gruesome tableau of Jesus being taken from the cross is still there, but I didn’t get a chance. I hope it is still there, disturbing new generations of students (although it was never as disturbing as the head-of-Jesus-in-a-box that used to be in the nuns’ chapel).
This semester I will be doing a community history project, which I’m looking forward to immensely. I have to do a brief history of a local primary school, for which I plan on returning to my childhood primary school of St Marcellus, and a longer history on a community feature of my choosing. I haven’t chosen it yet, but it will be something from my hometown of Purnim (some thirty or so minutes from the City by the Sea). The curious dynamics of small - nay, tiny - country towns mean that I am still a local, despite not having lived there for twelve years, while current citizens are newcomers and will stay newcomers for the rest of their lives. In preparation for this history, I have been reading through my grandmother’s old diaries. They go back to 1956 (earlier ones have been lost, alas) and contain the wisdom of the ages. Australia’s twentieth century Samuel Pepys:
Wednesday, 11 August 1965
Sold Beryl. Got £28-1 for her. We went to town later. Chris said Billie didn’t have his will signed.
I assume Beryl was a cow (actually, I know Beryl was a cow, because earlier she had a calf). No idea who Chris and Billie were, but I hope Billie signed his will eventually.
- a packet of smoked herrings; and
- a small carton of rum and raisin ice-cream.
There’s an evening meal to savour.
I went back to my old school today, sort of. When I was in Year 12, the Sisters of Mercy girls’ school I attended merged with the Christian Brothers boys’ school around the corner. The boys’ school became the senior campus and so I finished my school days there. Today I was at the junior campus, the old convent otherwise known as Snans (St Ann’s, if you speak clearly). I don’t know why I was surprised to find it hasn’t changed much. The office has been renovated and the artwork on the walls is different, but everything else seems to be more or less the same. I really wanted to take a stroll down what used to be the Year 9 corridor (and may still be, for all I know) to see if the gruesome tableau of Jesus being taken from the cross is still there, but I didn’t get a chance. I hope it is still there, disturbing new generations of students (although it was never as disturbing as the head-of-Jesus-in-a-box that used to be in the nuns’ chapel).
This semester I will be doing a community history project, which I’m looking forward to immensely. I have to do a brief history of a local primary school, for which I plan on returning to my childhood primary school of St Marcellus, and a longer history on a community feature of my choosing. I haven’t chosen it yet, but it will be something from my hometown of Purnim (some thirty or so minutes from the City by the Sea). The curious dynamics of small - nay, tiny - country towns mean that I am still a local, despite not having lived there for twelve years, while current citizens are newcomers and will stay newcomers for the rest of their lives. In preparation for this history, I have been reading through my grandmother’s old diaries. They go back to 1956 (earlier ones have been lost, alas) and contain the wisdom of the ages. Australia’s twentieth century Samuel Pepys:
Wednesday, 11 August 1965
Sold Beryl. Got £28-1 for her. We went to town later. Chris said Billie didn’t have his will signed.
I assume Beryl was a cow (actually, I know Beryl was a cow, because earlier she had a calf). No idea who Chris and Billie were, but I hope Billie signed his will eventually.
