Saving a slice for Philip

August 19 1947

Crash!  The distant sound immediately jolts me from my slumber and I pull the curtains apart just enough to spy the time on the small clock beside my bed.  Today is my birthday!  I have asked Molly, Ruby, Joan and Elizabeth to come over for my party.  I only asked Elizabeth in the hope that maybe her brother Philip might come along too.  He is a total dish and I have had several conversations with him.  In my head.  But only one actual talk when I dropped a glove on the way to school and he said “I think this is yours”.

Judging by the sound of the crash, I guess mother has secretly got up early to make my favourite cake but gave her position away inadvertently by the symphonic cascade of tins falling out of the pantry. I imagine she is cursing silently. There are thirteen red and yellow candles waiting in the drawer to be planted.  I will make sure I save the biggest piece for Philip if he comes.

December 25 1961

The usual early morning bird call has been replaced by the bells from St Mary’s appealing for all available Christians and the sound of Edward riding his brand new tricycle.  He has also discovered the trailer, shredded the wrapping and joined it on.  Catherine has filled it with empty cans that rattle busily with every fracture in the concrete path and he shrieks with delight while his little legs spin furiously.   I send my first Christmas prayer of the day hoping Bert at number 52 has at least a little Christmas spirit today. 

March 16 2016

A rhythmic squealing then the sound of objects hitting the floor stirs me.  Following the raucous is the sound of laughing.  Is it my birthday?  Is Ruby here, or Janet?  Is Philip here? I get out of bed, grab my dressing gown and open the door.  Two dark-skinned women are outside my room gathering a tray and its contents that have fallen off the metal trolley. 

‘Morning Deirdre,” says the one with the badge that identifies her as Jamie.  There is no sign of my friends, only a long corridor with door after door off it.  Directly opposite my room is a door adorned with a photo of a man casting a fishing rod in a river looking very happy.  Underneath it says his name is Ted Spencer.  On my door is a photo of a woman in her thirties, her shoulder length hair in curls and looking like she has had three wines already and the slight blur suggests it’s not posed.  She also looks happy. 

“Here are your pills my love,” says the other holding out her hand.  I don’t know her but she seems kindly.

 

 “It’s Marjorie’s birthday today,” says Jamie.  “There’ll be savouries, cocktail sausages and chocolate cake,” she adds. 

I immediately feel better about the day.

 

“I love birthday cake.  Do you think Philip will be coming?”

Andrew Hawkey

The Dawn Chorus

The dawn is a gift full of promise like an unwrapped parcel waiting tantalisingly to be undone. No matter where you are it is the start, of a new day, which unravels slowly. At times it is serene and peaceful and sometimes it is noisy.

The sunrise from the balcony as I stood looking over to the St Clair beach signalled with its beauty a very bad day but at that moment in the dawn it was breath-taking. The sun was lambent on scattered roof tops. There was a solitude at this time that felt comforting and yet an unspoken yearning came unexpectedly.

A bird sound called on the soft summer air and soon another, different, calling intermittently to one another, randomly, greeting each other. First a high soprano followed by a lower contralto then a tenor, rich and full bodied, ensued.

A small chorus with no melody line and no conductor, random, but beautiful in its clarity and sound. No matter how the day unwrapped it had the most peaceful and beautiful start.

But a noisy cacophonous start to the day can be a grateful beginning. It can be the most welcome sound.

After an interminable night of silence desperately trying to sleep with wrinkled sheets, a hard mattress and hard pillow, the darkness stretching out for an eternity the morning’s arrival would have been so welcome. I continually looked at my watch but the hour hand moved so slowly. I stretched out a leg. I plumped up my pillows. I curled back my leg. It was so uncomfortable. The air was hot and stuffy. No breath of fresh air here .It was stifling Sleep was unattainable Counting sheep did not help. Another drink of water perhaps. Oh please morning, Hurry up!  Soft darkness.  Silence!!! Soft tread, sleuth like but still no morning. Desperation was my companion.

Dawn please!!! Then I heard it. Trolleys clanging, voices chattering, footsteps scurrying along busy and purposeful. Lights were on and buzzers sounded. Morning had arrived.

The hospital dawn chorus had started. 

What a relief!!

Fay Ward

A New Zealand Dawn Chorus

CRASH bang clang rattle ding! Silence.

"Bugger Bugger Bugger! DAMN and blast the bloody thing."

The sound of something heavy being pushed and varying amounts of other workshop noises came charging out through the closed barn door. Jenny and Patrick stood and looked at one another wondering if this was the opportune time to open it and announce their presence. They did. It was large, a myriad of tools was scattered all about, materials of all sorts were stacked here and there and amongst all this a white haired guy of indiscernible age was spread eagled on the floor amongst it all.

"Grab that,” addressing Patrick.

Nodding to Jenny, "Come over here and hand me that nut."

They did as directed and after a lot of effort the large hunk of steel was in place on the trap and the gent on the floor visibly relaxed. He got to his feet.

 "I've been fighting with that most of the morning, not as young as I used to be. What can I do for you?" as he looked at their packs and took stock of the visitors.

 "We visited the local wildlife office this morning and James told us that you have done a pretty good job out here restoring a large area of scrubland back to native forest and have had remarkable results with the birdlife. We are from UK and want to experience a New Zealand Dawn chorus. He also remarked that you had the area virtually predator free with the exception of fallow deer. Extensive plantings of native food trees have also taken the place of exotics."

"Ahhhh Yes . That fellow doesn't have the same respect for deer that I have. So thirty years ago I set out to prove to him that a pristine New Zealand forest and birds can co- exist in the presence of deer."

The conversation continued, but eventually they left with instructions of what to do and where to go. After a pleasant afternoon strolling through the bush, checking the odd predator trap, they set up camp. Before  turning in hey set their phones to 4.30am. They woke and listened and were not disappointed in what they heard.Their smart phones were set to record and this was the result.

Grant Ward