ONE ANZAC DAWNING

One ANZAC Dawning

In the cold, clear dawn of an April morning, the world was all but silent,
for tears rolling down the older man's cheeks made no noise.
The two minutes silence ended, then the last post called across the
land, across the years.

A shuffle of feet, still no words. A shiver in the cold morn and he
clasped my hand...

"I was just 17... the same age as you are now girlie".

This was at my first dawn service with my beloved grandfather.
He hugged me, but offered no more words, and I had none to give
through a veil of tears.

We wandered away from the wreaths, moved through the small crowd
and went home. Then my grandfather left.

It was well into the evening before he returned,
with a wink and a laugh and a strong smell of beer.

I resented that then.

A while after, my family, with Pa in tow, visited the Australian War
Memorial.

There, my big strong Pa, cried like a baby...as he wandered around the
panorama of the villages of France where he had been. This was the only
time he actually talked in detail about his experiences, as he
recognised village after village.

While I was growing up, I always believed my grandfather was an ANZAC,
for he had led us to believe he was.We taught our children the story of
Gallipoli, it wasn't until I did the research that I found he wasn't. By
then he had lost the final battle. I guess he was in France, around the
same years and that was close enough. I've told the story before
about him winning a Military Medal for bravery under fire and rescuing
two others, also several mentioned in dispatches for similar feats, but
also a court martial, and being in the brig for assaulting his CO and
going AWOL with a young French girl... he was only 17...So, I guess we
can forgive him for misleading us, wrong though it was. These are the
stories he forgot to mention.

Crissouli (c)

 There is so much more to my grandfather's story.. I will add it to another post. 

5 MINUTE CHOCOLATE MUG CAKE

 5 MINUTE  CHOCOLATE MUG CAKE

4  tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons  sugar
2 tablespoons cocoa
1  egg
3 tablespoons milk
3  tablespoons oil
3 tablespoons chocolate  chips (optional)
A small splash of  vanilla extract
1 large coffee  mug (MicroSafe)

Add dry ingredients  to mug, and mix well.  Add the egg and mix  thoroughly.
      Pour  in the milk and oil and mix  well..    Add the  chocolate chips (if using) and vanilla extract,  and mix again.
Put your mug in the  microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000  watts.
     The cake will  rise over the top of the mug, but don't be  alarmed!
     Allow to cool a  little, and tip out onto a plate if  desired.
EAT ! (this can serve 2 if you want  to feel slightly more  virtuous).
  
 And why  is this the most dangerous cake recipe in the  world? 
 Because now we are all only 5 minutes away from chocolate cake at any time of the day or  night!

P.S. not sure about that much oil.. 

 

A FEW FAVOURITE THINGS...

WHY IS THE MOON IN THE SKY?

Three little girls were playing in the park

They played all through the morning

Until it was quite dark

They tossed a ball and skipped with ropes

And smelled the pretty flowers

They wandered through the gardens

For hours and hours and hours.

Then, right beside the roses they saw a pretty sight

A tiny, twinkling fairy all bathed in silvery light.

                            

“Now that you have found me I simply have to say

 I must grant you three wishes, you must use them all today.”

The three little girls all clapped in great delight

They knew they had to hurry or soon it would be night.

One did wish for starlight to light the evening sky

Another asked for moonbeams to help her learn to fly

 But the third girl was quite saddened and didn’t want to say

 For she knew that when they used the wishes, the fairy would away.

         “I wish, I wish..” she stammered “I wish with all my might

I wish that you could stay with us right throughout the night"

Then they heard a tinkling, as the fairy flew away

And that is why you see the silvery moon, after every day.

Crissouli (c) 2008

SECRETS IN THE WOODPILE

                   

SECRETS IN THE WOODPILE

 Down by the woodpile

 Where we really ought not go

 Lived tiny little mice

 Whose fur was white as snow

 The mice they liked to squeak a lot

 As all mice like to do

 But really they were talking

 In words not known to me or you.

 They were chatting all about the ball

 For they did love to go

 They pulled the tiny carriages

 For fairies and elves, you know.

 Oh, how splendid in their uniforms

 Of silk, of shimmering gold

 It made even the shyest mice

 Become quite a bit more bold!

                                                                                                                                                   

 Soon the night did happen

 The moonlight shimmered so

 A beautiful garden of flowers

 Was lit with a silvery glow.

 Fairies came from everywhere

 And danced the whole night long

 If you listened very carefully 

 You'd hear a sweet and tinkling song.                                                                     

 The morning came too quickly

 And all was cleared away

 No sign of the frivolities

 Was left in the new born day

 But if you went by the woodpile

 Where you really ought not go

 You'd see tiny white mice sleeping

 Dreaming of places yet to go.

 

  Crissouli© May 2007

 

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

CHILDHOOD DREAMS

Recently I was tidying up some old cupboards and came across a very tattered, thinly covered pink rabbit. Tears overwhelmed me, and I sat there, cuddling that rabbit from long ago, while memories flooded back.

That well worn rabbit was my companion for so many years‚ she knew all my childhood secrets, heard all my frustrations, consoled me when I was sad, rejoiced with me when I was happy. I don't know who gave me my dear friend, I just know that as a little girl, I loved her so.

She was so cuddly, with long floppy ears and the cutest little nose. I imagined her running through the paddocks, with me hanging on to her, carrying us to who knows where. I don't remember her having any other name other than pink bunny, which was a fair enough name for a little pink rabbit. At night, she was my pillow and guided me through my dreams. I had other toys, but none held such a special place in my heart.

For our son, it was his 'bydie', a fluffy pink and blue checked blanket bound in satin, which was his constant companion. There was no going anywhere without bydie. It remained part of our family till it was nothing more than a few threads, held together by multiple machining over pieces of paper, then the paper soaked away. To this day, the remnants remain in his baby book. Big Teddy, Georgie Monkey and a number of other soft toys were part of his life, but bydie was the favourite.

For our daughter, it was a pink elephant, with lovely checked ears. She accompanied her everywhere, even to New Zealand on holiday, but sadly was lost over there. She also had to have a bydie, according to her big brother, so he used to get her pink blanket and bring that with us... two bydies and two children, and all was well with the world.

I remember my mother talking about a little rag doll, the only doll she ever had; my father recalls playing with jacks made of knuckle bones, also marbles‚ no manufactured toys otherwise. He and his brothers did make billy carts, with whatever scraps they could find and old wheels scrounged from the local tip, or dump.

My husband, who has always lived in a city, had a favourite plastic car with friction drive which was his special toy for many years. When he outgrew playing with that as it was meant to be, he tied it with a rope and dragged it around behind his bike.

All this made me wonder about the toys, if any, that my grandparents had‚ did they do as my parents mostly did? Make their own, with whatever was available? Life was so different then, and they were both from larger families ... there was little time for play, so little need for toys. I recall my aunt saying that she never had a doll, but she did have a wooden dolly peg, wrapped in cloth, that she used to carry around in her pocket. Not for them the glamorous picture of hula hoops and spinning tops‚ no china dolls, nor fancy trikes. As I see the enormous number of toys that my grandchildren have, and yes, I did give them many of them, I cannot help but wonder how they would feel about no electronic toys, no, or very few, soft toys.

Children don't really change. If their imagination was fostered and nurtured as ours certainly was, I'm sure they would have been very happy playing with my dress up box, which I kept under the tankstand. Scraps of fabric, old clothes, feathers taken from non complaining hens, broken beads‚ anything and everything that took my eye, became all of these wonderful items, stirred in with a good dollop of imagination and a small girl could be transported wherever she dreamed.

For my grandchildren, it is my large collection of buttons, all sizes, colours, shapes, made of everything imaginable, that has kept them occupied for years, along with their craft box. This I filled with the usual pencils, paints, crayons, glue, scissors and so on, but also with scraps of fabric, waste paper, old cards and lots of different textured items. Like children gone before, foster the imagination and develop the child.

Crissouli © 2007

NATURE'S JEWELS

Softly, gently, they floated down

Shades of red and golden brown

Dancing, prancing, upon the breeze

Forming carpets with the greatest of ease.

This way, that way, over there

Till nowhere is a space to spare

Crunching, rustling beneath my feet

Piling upon the garden seat.

Crisp, fresh breezes touched my cheek

As if warmer places they did seek.

Winter can't be far away

When autumn leaves come down to play!

(c) Crissouli 2007