MUM AND THE BLOW FLIES

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While growing up in the dead silence you often heard the words, “You bloody bastard.” Often that was a sign mum wasn’t happy, or something had gone awfully wrong. No what matter the situation mum would still react at the sound of the humming noise as it whipped past her.

Mum and the blow flies had its challenges until mum won. Then there was this classic from the day when time stood still on a warm day in early 1980’s that mum literally watched a blow fly walk under the gap between the door and the lino floor. For those who knew mum would totally get it. It became a story mum shared for years that every time I see a blow fly now; I’m reminded of mum’s story.

 Even the time when mum’s body was failing her and few days before her passing, she sat with the fly swat in her hand and her ears pricked for it to land near her. And during that time, mum’s eyes would search the ceilings for a fly as she could hear but not see. She must have been crossing to another realm as I never saw or heard what she as hearing. As time neared, we knew she was flipping from earth and heaven for sure.

In those last days with mum and that darn fly swat….I said, “I’m gonna bury you with that if you don’t put it away!”

Flies suck for sure; don’t they mum.

OH NO! NOT LAMBIE AGAIN

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While growing up my father had small blocks of land that had sheep and during lambing time we often ended up with a few pets. Some we named others we didn’t but there was one time we had one that went by the name of Lambie…

Who didn’t like to stay in where he belonged, he ate the wires to my light off my bike in the shed and was notorious for getting out.

Tudunt tudunt tudunt

            ‘Oh no, Lambie again,’ were our words as we sat watching television in the front room just after lunch on the weekend. ‘He’s out again.’ His yard was a large unused tennis court, that had dug up holes from the landlords turkeys with large over hanging cyprus trees that kept the wind out. 

As his hooves hit the pavement and made the noise of Tu-dunt tu-dunt tu-dunt, which made all the hairs on the back of our neck stand up. Then came the bleating sound of his baaing.

Followed by unpleasant words from mum and dad (no swearing). Then we often tore outside and began rounding him up. Most times we would end up water streaming out of our eyes and sore ribs at the sight and frustrations of dad chasing him back to his yard.