WalkaboutsVerse: WALKABOUTSVERSE 1 OF 230

part one (longish blank-verse poem - all the rest are below 50 lines)
Poem 1 of 230:
0 - 19: HELPED BY “THE OLDS”; SCRIBED 2000 A.D.

Another branch on ye tall English Tree
(Having three grandparents Mancunian,

And one grandfather up from Colchester),
I was born in Manchester’s St. Mary’s,
Just before kick-off, on the World Cup Day
(Nine hundred years from that other battle;
And three hundred from London’s Great Fire)
When hosts England defeated Germany.
And I came out of the womb quite wounded:
A clubfoot to boot - my lighter left foot.
This Foot has not made me miss much in life,

But early-on proved a bedtime hassle.

My earliest learn-to-walk-and-talk years
Were based within a semidetached house,
Not distant from Didsbury’s Old Bull pub,
Nor the Cong. of my Christmas Day christening.
In perhaps what was a first in-spite-of
(I have sometimes, since, gone against some grains),
Apparently I learnt to walk quite young
(Aided about by a walker at first)

And, enjoyed it so, was soon plonked instead
(Partly for the purpose of parental peace)
In a containing, back-garden, playpen -
Walls contented with, then contended with:
Student, wanderer; student, wanderer...

Via request in a Northern accent
(A tongue soon to be kidded-out of me
Upon emigration to Australia),
I’d be walked with Sis. to “Feed the duckies,”
At places to which lately I’ve returned
(As partly has that long-lost first accent):
Fog Lane Park; the Mersey at Didsbury.
And, at night, first books were read out to me
“Again” and “Again!” by my Mum or Dad,
Alongside my first of hundreds of beds.
(In extension, I now like to study -
Read to write - publications at least twice;

And keep a pen bedside - to sleep/not dwell.)

In the first year of the “Disco Decade”
(Not back, to live, till Hong Kong’s repat. year -
Alighting on a sunny Swithun's day!),
Newly arrayed in a gunslinger’s kit
(Fighting or flighting home-grown discontent?)

And a post-foot-surgery plaster-cast

(Performed urgently but seemingly well),

Via Switzerland and a plane-bomb scare,
Before Tel Aviv and other short stops,
We four were greeted like many before -
Some two hundred years from Captain Cook -
At, in a Cockney rhyme, “Steak and Kidney,”
By, in an Aussie slang, our “relies,”
On, to my Olds, “A summer winter’s day.”
Such days, still, are beyond my memory,

Save vague remembrance of going to bed

With my feet in bedding-tearing braced-boots -

Designed, I take it, to stop reclubbing;

And save playing with, in ray-lit air, dust -
The dust of a Waterloo high-rise flat;
From whence, with Sis., Mum and her Scottish friend,
Would be made weekly train-trips to Paddy’s -

A market with, for mine back then, “Doggies!”
Doggies - those space wanting/needing cute pets,
That, at least through novelty time, kids love;

Doggies - some innocent shoe-soilers,
Others good fitness-mates of clean owners;
Doggies - some innocent traffic-risk strays

Or hare and ground-nesting-bird nemeses,
Others trained restrained sanity-savers,

Sans choke-chains or retractable leashes.

(These days, I’m with a “no pets” landlord’s rule,

Though, in my youth, I spent time with many.)

Nature, nurture, or a knitting of both?
From this council-flat (I’m told by my Olds),
Wearing braced-trousers and a shoulder bag
(The latter custom has survived the years),
I’d often want to collect the mail -
To collect to Know my grandparents’ news,
To Know, I now interpret, of others:
Other places, other people - their lot.
(Plus, may I add, to at least try and help.)
And this links with desires to See things:
Years hence, during my maturing twenties,
I preferred moulding-work to electrics -
I could See the changed-shots of changed-settings.
And my Foot - ‘twas an infant’s obsession,
Leading me to grind, to self-improve.
Nature or nurture? No - a work of both;
To me, the fraction’s the question.

My Dad’s
Electrical abilities employed,
We moved to a Yowie Bay detached-house,
And I into Yowie Bay Infant School.
Now, in retained-fragments, I remember

(“Spots of time," in William Wordsworth’s words)...

One spot, a tape of Peter and the Wolf,
By composer Sergei Prokofiev -
As thrilling as role-playing firemen
(If in the yellow-raincoat set, that is -
A “group-think,” in military language)!
More spots are the preschool where Mum worked hard

(As with Girl Guides and Meals on Wheels,

Along with donating a lot of blood);
An enchanting turtle in my school’s tank

(I've since kept - but questioned - aquariums);

Rather than Poohsticks, bark-boats down drenched-drains;
Early shoots of capitalism, like:
“My dad’s got ten billion million, so there!”
(These “shoots,” through all my school years, were well-fed -
While socialism was malnourished);
Old hopscotch, force-men-back, and hide-and-seek;
Plus esoteric doctors-and-nurses;
Ignorant cowboys-and-Indians games
(Again, sprouting from biased nourishment);
Playing a football-mix - betwixt the codes;
Sore young hands from training at Aussie Rules
(A good game - for me, began at too young);
Playing tunnel-ball with medicine balls;
And a first ruler-smack across the “Moon”;
Stars - stars, as carrots, for getting through books,
Stuck onto a competition wall-chart;
And kidding leading, from “lorry,” to “truck.”
Such was the start of my new ‘isation -
English Boy to Anglo-Australian
Or, now, Australianised-Englishman
(Either-nationals pick other background)...
Who, as a positive nationalist,
Respects and supports indigenous rights;
Who doubts economic-emigration
Plus refugees not in their closest refuge
(That is, from this point in time on, at least);
Who is aware of medical reports

Re sunlight levels and evolved skin-tones -

Rickets from a lack of vitamin D,

Or, the opposite, skin-cancer cases;
Who attempts to understand history,
And make due allowance for its effects;
Who has heard the globe-as-melting-pot voice
(And, beyond English and Aussie training,
Is, frankly, much a product of the globe),
But likes cultures and borders, with fair trade
(Eco-travel and lore parts of such trade),
Via a stronger United Nations,
Including - his own - the English nation;
Whose anglicises is slowly regrowing
(Anglicises of the better kind, I hope):
Settling through experience and practise,
Appreciating unique home-plusses,
But fighting, in a Way, some home-dislikes,
Whilst remaining caring of world affairs
(Not forgetting worldly ills seen first-hand),
Thereby making something of it - this past.

From hand- to foot-passing drills/New to Old,
I began seven years of club soccer,
And further years of callisthenic drills
(Team push-ups, chin-ups, sit-ups, and leg-ups;
Solo skipping and hopping on my Foot -
A half of a Morris dancer, of sorts!),
At the up-and-go-searching age of six.
Good times, mostly, for my family and me:
Nil-nil and latish in the second half
(And latish in my football career!),
A 12-years B-grade hard-fought grand-final
(Always trialled - never picked for the A’s),
My family closely edging the sidelines
(Extra feeling for my just-widowed Nan -
My Grandad-trainer-keenest-fan had died;
They having followed us from Manchester -

She ex store-clerk, he ex-army and -chef)
As they cheered and urged our team on...
And a long firm drive from outside their box!
Me slowish (hadn’t scored all year) but there -
There for this once, there for the deflection...
Off goalie to my boot and into net;
We won and played the next year as A-2's,
Earning “Most Improved Team ‘79” -
The Miranda Magpies, in the striped strip.
(Missing my Grandad’s interest in the game,
I stopped on a “7 Years Service” badge.)

From a one-minute walk over the road,
To a fifteen-minute suburban march
Or, now and then, a five-minute pedal

(I later did such, as a high-school sport,

At Sutherland Shire Cycling Club's track;

And, with panniers, made a camping trip -

Before mandatory-helmet laws there),
My schooling moved to Yowie Bay Primary,
And, in some ways, the “nourishment” improved:
I recall films and projects on salmon -
Impressively muscling the river’s flow

(Hard-homing from the Pacific Ocean),
To sow their seeds and die in calmer climbs;
Plus videos and projects on Bushmen -
The fine Bushmen of the Kalahari,
And (equally finely-tuned to their lands)
Those of Aboriginal Australia;
A spear making-and-throwing contest,
Preparing fires for bush-tucker food,
Before a visit from the experts who,
After some indigenous chant and dance,
Showed easy us kids how things should be done;
And then being moved by a film - Storm Boy.
(Years later, at uni., I would add on,
To this and high-school narrative-study,
In-depth anthropological research -

Which involved, at last, socialist viewpoints -
On Aboriginal society:
That is, both pre- and post-colonial.
Partly, as has already been hinted,
We are products of self-experience,

And the latter strongly influenced me -

From support for native cultures and rights,

To other conclusions and where I live.)

As well as soccer, through primary school,
Were goes, of varying scope and depth, at:

Schoolyard handball on quickly chalked-out courts;
Softball - one (not so soft!) flat on my nose,
Thereby tonne-heavy for a lengthy time;
Touch- and, sometimes, tackle-type rugby league;
Snooker and pool, darts, and table tennis;
Go-carting, cycling, and skateboarding;
Beach body-surfing and pool lane-swimming,
Or diving and ducking in backyard pools -

Plus whirlpooling in our small round one,

To easily scoop-out the centred leaves;

Long-distance runs, like Sutherland 2 Surf;
Cricket - in a low grade, carrying-bat
And managing to spin the ball both ways;
As well as pastime games, like dominoes
(Including group-effort long-chain toppling),
Twister, hula-hoops, yoyos, cards, and draughts.
Plus, at the end of these fun years, tennis:

During A-grade junior competition,
Down by one match-point and five rapid games,
In a match against my sparring partner;
His team and my team all well-acquainted -
A local derby of Bill Gilmour’s school
(Bill Gilmour of world refereeing fame);

The previous-season's grand-final lost

By my wayward backhand in the doubles -

All sessions and sweat to no avail!

I began giving the ball some more air
(Slow things down, when down/and speed up, when up),
And, that time, it worked - seven games to five.

(I didn't go into senior comp.,

But have returned to tennis for pleasure.)

From the Primary motto “Justum Tene"
To an “Ardentibus Nil Ardui,”
My schooling moved on to Port Hacking High;

With test results just above average
(As with the tennis and other sports comp’s),
A school report labelled me “a battler” -
Dedicated but lacking “confidence”;
Latter is, surely, partly conditional,
But it’s true that I choked in some exams -
Yet to learn the fine Art of perspective,
That saw me better through tech. and uni.
(“A late bloomer” hindsight reports might add),
Helped me shoestring through say forty countries
(“Say” for the world’s boundaries sure have changed),
Plus reach the station of “works manager.”
And this “fine Art” came hard to me from chance,
Plus learning, in time, to cope with chances:
“Look, he’s wearing one of his sister’s shoes,”
He laughed, pointing. “He’s got a girl’s shoe on!”
This event chanced upon me in first-form,
And was to do with my shorter left leg -
Or the higher-heel raising it up.
I left the playground of that “knowing” group,
And learnt to cut cardboard-insoles instead -

Later replaced with prescribed heel-lifts.
(So far, I have suffered little back pain,
Having lifted, I gauge, my workshop share -
In perspective, a minor injury.)

    From the school-of-knocks to schooling in sex -
The “esoteric doctors-and-nurses”:
What do teachers say/what don’t they say?
I remember, “If it’s not on, it’s not on”;
As well as, “Getting off before Central”;
And brief talk on other contraceptives.
I don’t recall being told the age-law;
Nor about foreplay to get wet and hard,
Before either guides it slowly inside;
Nor how sodomy, being much tighter,
Is more risky re blood-borne diseases;
Nor any mention of alternatives,
Like mutual hand (with oil) massage;
Nor of Her need for post-sex affection -
Equally strong as His need to finish?
But perhaps enough by teachers was said
(In words I can no longer remember),
For pregnant teens must have been rare - if there;
And when AIDS arrived so did Grim Reaper,
Warning on how many, from a germ’s view,
Each of a couple may be sleeping with.
And, as for my school-sexuality,
Male friends have always been non-sexual
(Friends, rather, in music, sports and suchlike),
While hetero-sex came not till late teens.

    On, from “doctors-and-nurses,” to farmers,
Oklahoma! - an end-of-year school-bill
(Signalling Americanisation),
With a neighbour in a leading song-role,
His family giving tickets to mine -
Was my first viewed stage-play of any kind,
And, though I’ve seen few since, I liked the form
(If not, now, Americanisation)...
Something for when I'm more settled, maybe.
Other plays - non-musical - through school were:
Lawler’s Summer of the Seventeenth Doll,
On migrant cane-cutters’ concerns;
Plus, on power, Williamson’s The Club.
And, as for my own theatrical roles
(Beyond the jams with my musical friend),
From high-school forth, I’ve liked bathroom warbling.

    P.C.s, too, were embryonic back then:
When I began those six formative years,
Within grounds walkable from home (again),
A computer-room had newly opened,

With just two terminals for the whole school,

And only available at lunchtime -

I.T. not yet on the curriculum;
Among the few - “Tech-Heads” - that took the call
Was a friend who guided me to BASIC
And simple key-games like Formula One,
Loaded firstly by tape, later by disc.
(But for brief clicks at tech., uni. and work,
I’ve lost touch and have never surfed the Net -
Finger-walking a library, I gauge.)

“Try to nut-through and get the gist of it.”
So spoke one of our science teachers,
In reference to a theory of much complaint.
Getting to Know more-and-more my limits,
I soon took to - and still take to - gisting.
Testing and strengthening this newly-found Way,
In English classes, were the study of:
Judith Wright’s, and Kenneth Slessor’s, poems;
The novel, The Getting of Wisdom,
By Henry Handel Richardson;
Plus, adding to past primary-projects
And preluding uni. work (as above),
Aboriginality in Coonardoo -
Katharine Susanna Prichard's novel;
As well as the previously-mentioned plays.
(“What, then, is the writer saying? And how?”
An English teacher repeatedly asked.)
And there was another schooling in Gist:
The general gist of our misdeeds -
Written and written, down and down a page,
During lunchtime or after school, even!
(Smoother the paper, more will the wash run?
Or, from William Shakespeare’s Claudio,
Within Measure for Measure, “Liberty,
As surfeit, is the father of much fast”?)

Leading me out to a bit of Nature
(“A bit” compared with the likes of Wordsworth
Or, indeed, latterly, Attenborough),
Throughout primary- and early high-school,
Was involvement in Yowie Bay Cubs and Scouts,
Culminating in a Perth jamboree -
Reached by my second long jet-plane journey,
And including a circular joy-flight,
In a small feel-the-flying aircraft,
Somewhere around what seemed a huge campsite;

Leaving just footprints and taking just pics,
Further pursuits were orienteering,
Or plain hikes for views and other nice ends
(Now, increasingly, for the life passed, too -
Along with natural history T.V.,
Old Poetry influential, once more),
Canoeing and kayaking on rivers,
Plus knotting and other “rites of passage.”

Adding to this outdoor experience

Were fun, family, coastal holidays,

To places both north and south of Sydney
(There was also a trip to New Zealand),
Which included some fishing and swimming

(I'm no longer so keen on the former),

Or paddling out on a (wind-prone) lilo

(Until one such jaunt forced a Dad-rescue!),
Plus the simple thrill of staying anew.
And Nature-flashbacks are the usuals:
Gumtrees, wattles, bottlebrushes, teatrees;

Kangaroos, cicadas and cockatoos;

The hard-laughing kookaburra chorus...
Plus the cracking storms (ending sultry days),
Some blown by Southerly Busters.

At home,
Early or late in those summertime days,
Breaking from study or such indoor things
(I did, and still tend to, take briefer-breaks
Around half-past each hour - for hours),
I’d go out to the quarter-acre block
That ran down behind our bungalow,
Within walk of boat-lovers’ Yowie Bay,
In Sydney’s lawny Sutherland Shire;
Once just a means of some sporting practise,
My interest in the garden blossomed,

From lend-a-hand lawn-mowing and -edging,

Into composting, mulching and weeding,

Before pruning, plant types and, finally,
Pelargonium species collection.
(Now, in cooler and more-confined soils,
I grow, and shape, some Hedera helix,
Plus push for native- and veg-planting.)

Meantime, my wartime-trained Dad was growing

(His spare time spent, well, at an easel, too)
Much of the simple fare I now consume:

Post the omnivorous years of my youth

(Meals tastily prepared by my Mum -

Somewhat of a wiz with the microwave),

When at home, at least, I’m a vegan now

(Eating plenty of legumes for protein);

A teetotaller - but for scarce events;
And a non-smoker of any leaf-type -
The slight calm not worth the cost and the throat
(A calm reached freer from just thought-control).

When the ball-size changeover was afoot,
During third-form I took to playing golf
(“Thought-control” test if ever there was one!);
First ‘twas done solely as a P.E. sport
(Struggling hard to baff the thing off the ground!),
Then whenever I could find the free time,
By sixth-form as a junior member,
Before - how now - as a keep-card hobby
(That has replaced stamp- and coin-collecting):
Ninety courses played, in eighteen countries,
And some six single-figure scores, so far...
(A perplexing perpetual pastime.)

Found much easier than the golfing kind!,

I learnt to drive a car during school, too,

And was soon steering a small sedan

(Packed with a tent and gas-cylinder stove,

Plus, occasionally, fellow travellers -

Backpackers, hostellers, or hitchhikers)

As high as Thredbo, for Kosciusko;
As far west as Fleurieu Peninsula;
As far south as temperate Tasmania -
Crossing via the ship Abel Tasman,
Before a smaller ferry to Bruny,

Enabling drives round both scenic islands;

And as far north as tropical Queensland -
Returning, partly, via a freight train.
Also, some years before my driving test,
I became a naturalised citizen,

Along with the rest of my family -

Though I, being underage at the time,

Didn't declare allegiance to the queen,

As head of our old and new nations;

Either way, I had little care back then
For the politics and symbols involved,

But, these days, am against monarchism

And pro regulated competition,

Along with social cooperation,

Including social security for all.

(And I now Know of Milton plus Cromwell -

Early, competent, brave republicans.)

After high-school came an apprenticeship

For Electrical Fitter Mechanics,

Which was unfinished but not unfruitful,

As some subjects later bore exemptions
Towards one of my tech. certificates
(Preferring moulding to wiring, as said);
Plus, as it was a quite highly-paid one
And as I was based at home during it,
The earnings enabled the shoestring-travel,
And uni. study in Humanities,
That, along with all the above, led to
(In the Old medium found best for me)
The penned Walkabouts, which may now be read -
Newly shown, I hope, where I’m coming from.

(C) David Franks 2003