Scribbles

I firmly believe that I have written in excess of one thousand letters to my family and friends since I left the family home in Melbourne in 1967. They were certainly a load of rubbish and won’t be reproduced here. Besides, most of them have been destroyed (thankfully). My mother did save every letter from Port Hedland and to my amazement she also kept all the letters I wrote as I hitched from Tunisia across North Africa and the Middle East to India in 1970. There was no English spoken on most days so I often wrote something as I waited for a kebab or a cup of chai in some desert outpost. I have the feeling that most of the letters weren’t read when they reached home but they were proof that I was still alive and slowly heading East. 

I also wrote some poetry along the way but even if it had survived I wouldn’t dare include it here. The only exception is “You are…” which I wrote and faxed to Ann (my wife at the time) at her Daimaru office workplace. Unfortunately she was in a meeting which lasted three hours and in the meantime my fax was read by the entire office staff. Ann didn’t appreciate it and I never wrote another poem for her. 

So now I have included it here among some little scribbles of mine before they are lost. I’m well aware that many of you wish they had disappeared years ago, never to be seen again. Bad luck! They won’t take long to skim over! 

John A Wilson, February 2018, Gold Coast