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Last night a chance remark over tawny port about horrible dogs matched to horrible people had us galloping through the portals of time back to the early 1980s when we were establishing ourselves on the south coast. The dog our memories returned to was a Rottweiler with a studded collar: the owner, a feral man called Rat. He and his mate Jed had a daggy camp on the block next door, a lean to hut that was a bit of a rubbish tip. These memories led to more recollections of our next door neighbours: Alan who spray painted his cat pink; Wheelie who sported the tattooed tear on his cheek that is the chosen mark of murderers; Brian Hosesquirter, an ex undertaker, who drove his ute backwards and forwards over the crates we used as a stall for the veggies from our market garden in a burst of mindless destruction.
Rat and Jed shot parrots to eat. One day a bullet whistled past the house, which was by now home to four little children. J saw the owners of the block, saying the shooters had to go. They did. Rat ended up on a prison farm somewhere in NSW; Jed sadly died when he was hit by a car walking home along South Head Road.
Not all of our neighbours were feral, and slowly the subdivision began to fill with normal people, like us. We barbecued fresh mullet with Jan and Steve: we too have a criminal past, since they were caught in an illegal net, with the aid of our makeshift boat, half a forty four gallon drum called the Bismarck. We established friendly relations with two older couples: Errol and Betty were breeding goats, and Flo and Dan, a jazz musician and pharmacist who’d lived in Vanuatu. They retired to Eurobodalla after years of holidaying at Blackfellows Point: when they first came down from Sydney there was only a punt across the river at Batemans Bay.
We’re the only ones of that first lot still on the subdivision.
As we reminisced, we also ruminated on the nature of our memories. Chronology was non existent, that thread on which events are strung: we could remember isolated events, but not their sequence. My memories were very short on detail. What I did remember with absolute vividness was my unfading regret that on first meeting Rat and Jed I offered them a slice of sponge cake, made with duck eggs: the viscous whites held shape beautifully, and my cake cooked to perfection in a temperamental fuel oven.
Lucid Gypsy said:
They sound like characters from the sort of American movie that I wouldn’t want to watch, spray painting a cat for goodness sake! I don’t believe in bad dogs, only bad owners, although I wouldn’t want a Rottweiler. Also, if I’d baked cakes for people who turned out to be such idiots, I’d resent it too x:-)x
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morselsandscraps said:
Yes. I had a twinge about “horrible dogs”. It’s owner creates its badness – and its goodness. The Mt Tamborine dog even obeys me and is gentle, because my daughter-in-law is a dog-whisperer. I wouldn’t want to watch that movie either!
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Heyjude said:
Crikey! What a past! And Tish is right, these do seem like characters from a novel. It’s difficult to share memories of the past when you have only been in a partnership for 12 years. We can remember pretty much the sequence of events thus far! But I have no-one to share those dodgy days of hiking to India or living in South Africa. I do recollect an individual with a Rottweiler and I had a x Doberman called Psyche. No pink cats as far as I remember…
I guess I shall have to write my memoirs before I too forget. Maybe time for a new blog 😀
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morselsandscraps said:
Shared past was one of the things that made me persist with connection after separation. Not to seemed a waste, and now it’s invaluable. J knew my aunts and uncle and parents and sister – all those people who have gone except in memory. There’s also the childhood of our children and our whole life on the south coast, during much of which he was more present than me. I’ve got five mini memoirs in draft – the first one I’ll probably post tomorrow. I’m getting huge (obsessive?) pleasure from writing them and reflecting on my life.
Go your memoir. You’ve got a reader-in-waiting!
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Heyjude said:
It may well be time to step aside from the blog addiction and do something else.
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Tish Farrell said:
What a story, Meg – so much resonance! A feral man named Rat – There’s a novel in this, methinks.
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morselsandscraps said:
You know what? I’ve spent more than enough time with them! You can have them with my blessing.
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Tish Farrell said:
Oh Meg. You are so kind 🙂
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Sue said:
Wow, what a set of dodgy characters! I can completely empathise with the fact you could remember isolated events, but not their sequence! My distant past throws up all sorts of snapshot images, some of which I would be at a loss to work out where they slotted in…..
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morselsandscraps said:
Snapshot images is exactly what they are. I’m trying to sequence my cameras and even that is posing problems.
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Rosemary Barnard said:
You really copped a nasty little bunch there Meg. Did anyone report for animal cruelty the character who spray painted his cat pink? I have very clear memories of neighbours from hell, both recent and going back many years: I won’t even begin to give examples of their behaviour. I have even clearer memories of the absolute relief it was when they moved away. I never take for granted the considerate, caring and supportive neighbours I do have.
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morselsandscraps said:
No reports for animal cruelty. Was the culture of reporting different then? Maybe a case of don’t interfere with neighbours – unless they’re shooting in the vicinity of your children.
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Rosemary Barnard said:
I think that I would have been very scared to report any of those neighbours for anything. As I remember years back, people did make reports to the RSPCA, but I don’t think that would have applied in the circumstances you described.
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restlessjo said:
Was your baking triumph a rarity that you remember it so well, Meg? I have zilch good memories in the cookery department. A fading scar from a long past can opening adventure…. 🙂
Who paints a cat pink????
I was with some friends who go way back yesterday, and we were trading memories too. They have a caravan in a village we last visited 35 years ago. My only memories of the place were waking to snow on our balcony and the views from the terrace. What a lot we’ve seen in all those years! 🙂
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morselsandscraps said:
Indeed we have seen a lot. My current memoir frenzy is revealing a rich and varied life.
Cooking? Cakes that sink were my specialty, which is why the duck egg sponges stick in my memory. I was a bit of a whizz with tomato sauce and meatballs, and I won a prize at the local show with a quiche that had gone mouldy before I saw its red ribbon. I bet you have more culinary skill than you suggest with your fading scar.
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pommepal said:
How amazingly the names fitted the characters. I could visualize them, Rat small and skinny with tattoos? Brian Hosesquirter would have to be big and fat with a receding hairline??? You must’ve been so pleased when they moved/died. I can see some great material for future posts…. I agree about the nature of the memory. Strangely enough this morning Jack and I were discussing our travels since we met in 1982 and it was with great difficulty that we could agree on dates and sequences. I have made a plan to write down all the history before it disappears completely into that fog of old age…
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morselsandscraps said:
Jed was the most benign of them, so I certainly didn’t rejoice in his death. Rat was in fact beefy, and do you know I’m not sure about Brian. Whenever we talk about the past we too swear we’ll put together a chronology – haven’t done it yet!
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pommepal said:
Time is always of the essence Meg…
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Olga said:
Wonderful tribute of memory to some unsavory neighbours in your past. You were a genuinely kind person to offer them your baking wonders.
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morselsandscraps said:
And genuinely mean-spirited to resent the fact still, some 40 years later!
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Olga said:
Don’t know about that. Forgiveness is difficult.
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