It’s wonderful that sharing my early life and memories on here triggers off good memories with you too and that you share your parts of your life with me. This blog that keeps me occupied into my old age is going to places around the world where I have never been including one in Russia (?) plus other far-flung parts.
Today came full circle when I heard from Matt Ward who used to be the Editor of Opus at the University of Newcastle when I was a mature student around 2020. Later he edited Skive . Ì have pleasure in including his memory.
SYNCHroNICITY once more.
Thank you for the link on Alloway Primary School memories. You’re a fine writer.
It reminds me of my boyhood, sometimes picking passionfruit. From my blog from a few years ago:
PASSIONFRUIT — a short memoir.
The boys would stop on their way to school to pick passionfruit from a vine that hung over a fence. They’d rip the fruit off and then fill their pockets with them. They always thought that the owner was an angry farmer who’d chase them with a pitchfork, but of course that never happened; they never did see who owned the passionfruit vine.
When they neared the school they ran down the large ‘Grease’ movie-like stormwater drains and smashed the passionfruit against the concrete walls, to break open the tart-tasting yellow pulp. Their hands would be briefly stained by the passionfruit skin, but they’d lick that off their own hands (the purple would stain in the natural dry river beds the skin possesses). They’d then suck the pulp out like it was nectar and they pretended it was! Nectar like the Gods imbibed even though they wouldn’t learn of the Gods in an ancient Greek or Roman sense for many years.
When they arrived at school they didn’t wash their hands — they left them sticky cos they were boys, and boys don’t mind being messy.