My Da

 Wednesday, 5^th January 1870

I was playing very happily with Janet today , we were rolling down the hill at the back of the barracks and playing around near the gaol and the bore hut.  I was telling Janet all about our celebrations for Twelfth Night, which is tomorrow, and Janet asked if she could come.  So, we ran to dad's office to ask him if Janet could join us for dinner tomorrow, only to be told that there is no Twelfth Night dinner tomorrow! Nothing is going to happen!  There’s no party! Dad said we can read from Mr Shakespeare’s play by that name, if we are desperate for something to do on the day and to ask mamma if Janet may join us for a family meal.  But there is to be no Lord of Misrule and we have eaten all the mince tarts already and there will be no King cake.

We had so much fun in the last few years when the Queen’s Own Regiment was here.  Mamma’s Da had once been a member of that regiment when it was here before, earlier in the century, but he transferred to the 11^th and stayed in New South Wales when it returned to Britain.  I remember Da coming to the Barracks one day a few years ago, just after Arthur was born, to see Mamma and also to see if there was any of his old mates in the Barracks, but they had all either left or died. 

adapted from "Old Man and his dog" by Landseer (1800-1873)

My Da.  He wasn’t much taller than Mamma, and had a few teeth missing, so that when he smiled at me and said “Hello me darling!” there were these dark spots between his other teeth.  His greeting always made me laugh for joy and I loved his Irish accent.  But he walked stiffly, using a stick with his left hand to balance, as his right leg used to drag behind him when he walked.  His right arm also hung uselessly at his side; he couldn’t even carry his stick in it. 

I asked Mamma why his right side didn’t work properly?  She just shrugged and said he had had a fit years ago and nearly died. “Would have served him right if he had - the old, good for nothing drunk,” she said. 

Mamma was always hard on her Pa.  I don’t think she ever forgave him for walking out on her and Ma, and her brothers and sisters.  Left them destitute and then her Ma died.  Mamma doesn’t like to talk much about it though.

But whatever he did, he’s still my Da and I love it when he comes to visit and brings his little dog, Bella.  She’s such a sweet little thing, the colour of caramel with a smooth , short coat.  She would walk ahead of him sniffing at things and would stop and wait for him to catch up.  He gave us each a penny that day; I remember he smelt and his clothes were dirty and torn, and Mamma said he should have used the money to buy himself a new pair of pants. But Da said if he wanted to spend his money on his grandchildren, he would. 

adapted from the painting "Man and Donkey" on Flickr

“Why didn’t you ever spend it on us, Da?   Maybe then my brother and sister would still be alive! Maybe Ma would still be alive!” Mamma cried and ran off.  I heard Da mutter “maybe you’re right Jane, but it’s too late now.”Then he patted my head with his dirty hand, caressed my curls and left.   We haven’t seen him since.