Open Writing

Glen Taylor finds good news in neighbourliness, and toasts the new year with the message “Go well and prosper, and

care for each other.”

A TOAST TO 2006

We always start the day by reading the newspaper while we eat breakfast in bed, one of the little luxuries of

retirement. The headlines are usually full of doom and gloom or some scandal or other, the negative being accentuated

rather than the positive, and it is not until you have skipped through the sports page and read the death notices that

you can lose yourself in the crossword and smile at your horoscope.

“What’s this rubbish about?” you ask. 2006 has arrived and a New Year. For us we hope it is better than 2005, when it

became hard to apply the philosophy of the half-full cup rather than the Half-empty one. On the home front it was

sickness, broken bones and family disasters, so let’s raise a glass to 2006.

But moving back to the papers, the reporters seem to seek the dramatic and sensational. Indeed we do need to hear

about the wars raging in all parts of the globe and, as an historian, I am more concerned with why they are happening

and what the outcome, sometimes generations down the track, will be, rather than the gory details which are part of

war.

It is important that we know of natural disasters and how I admire those on the spot, hands on aid workers, and the

reporting of these events does make us dig deep into our pockets when we can do nothing else to help. Yes for such

events we need the details, but the “nit picking” scandal we can do without, and some things should be kept private

and there is little in the national papers which speak of the ordinary, mundane yet satisfying things which make up the

average life, so here is a little story of what I believe life is all about.

The house next door is occupied by a young family of doubtful background, the usual modern day life sort of thing,

musical partners, not musical chairs, lots of children coming and going and we are not sure who belongs to who.

However three little girls are always on the scene. When they first arrived we chatted over the drive wall, peering

through the gaps between the rhododendrons and other shrubs.

It wasn’t long before chatting became visiting. The garden and the house were thoroughly investigated and bunches of

flowers were taken home to mum, or mums, having not yet worked out the connections between these “cousins''. A

new baby arrived, a little boy. Great excitement, the young couple now had one child in common and the washing line

was full of baby things. Endless cars came back and forth and we weren’t too sure who the visitors were. Certainly the

cars were not the sort to pass road-worthiness tests, but they were a happy lot and caused no trouble.

My three little girls, now surrogate grandchildren, continued to visit. Little bunches of flowers, clutched in hot hands

were delivered and placed in their special vase in my kitchen, letters arrived in the mail box and answers had to be

delivered to theirs. They started to “help” in the garden so I introduced them to growing things. Each had their own

flower pot. Seeds from “Pooh’s rumble tummy honey pot” packets were planted and inspected every day for growth and

what excitement when the first bits of green pushed their way through the soil. Three pots for Christmas presents for

mums. Three pots in full bloom with nasturtiums and other colourful things. “But what about Nannas’?” So three pots

of geraniums were put together, pink pots with ribbons round them, and “When were our tree and decorations going

up?”

By now mum over the wall was chatting to me and hoping they weren’t being a nuisance. No they weren’t. They

diligently swept out my garage. They “helped” to wash my car, soaking each other with the hose pipe and creating a

river down the drive, which could be turned into a tidal wave if you brushed hard enough. They went home wet, dirty

and happy.

Christmas came and plants were collected and delivered. My tree and decorations were carefully inspected, especially

the parcels under the tree, until they found the ones with their names on. A happy group of kids whose mums made

them say “please” and “thankyou” and yet, to many, these were folk not to be associated with. “Do you know…..?” etc,

etc.

Still, you say, what is she on about, what has this to do with newspapers? To continue, the other day my husband was

trying to trim a large bush on our side of the drive. It was too high for him and his only means of completing the task

was from the other side, nor was he happy about being on the top of a ladder with an electric hedge trimmer, having

broken his back some years ago such positions do not appeal to him.

I heard a male voice next door so hopped over the wall and rang the bell. The “doubtful” young man was standing on

one leg, the other broken, doing the dishes with about eight young children around him. I explained the problem but

realised he couldn’t help. “I’ll come and hold the ladder,” he said, picking up his crutches. We both stood on either side

holding it firmly, while Martin balanced on the top and finished the job.

“What’s your name?” I asked. “You don’t want to know,” he replied. I had a feeling he might have been one of my

“trouble makers” in my teaching days, or maybe his name had been in the court news at some time, whatever… We

talked about how to prune trees and shrubs and he asked me if I would show him what to do. “No problem,” I said. I

also added that we had some very big trees to prune in the autumn and that I wasn’t too sure how we would manage.

“When my leg’s better I’ll come round with my chain saw and do them for you,” he said, and I am sure he will.

Which brings me back to the point of the story. This won’t make the headlines. He and his mates may make the papers

if they do something they shouldn’t, but next to me is a nice happy family with kids who feel secure and I am sure that

in the troubled areas of the world, in Iraq and the West Bank and all the other places which feature so prominently

each day, there will be people who will hold ladders for each other and look after each others children and help out in

the difficult situations which surround them. I don’t underestimate the horrors of war nor the need for some of them at

times, nor do I wish to be sheltered from witnessing the tragedies of natural disasters, but wouldn’t it be nice if we

could hear about some of the good, normal things.

Our daughter left us to return to Australia, after the Christmas holidays, the other day. In the departure lounge she

stood by the window separating us and, hands against the glass, we made the sign which Mr Spock used to make in

“Star Trek.” Do you remember his words? “Go well and prosper.” Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the leaders of the nations

did the same thing, pressed hands and said “Go well and prosper,” and wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could tolerate

each others differences and lend a helping hand, the helping hand which is always there in times of natural disasters

but often missing at other times and sometimes withheld if the people aren’t our type, the wrong race, colour, creed or

social stratum.

So for 2006 my toast is “Go well and prosper, and care for each other.”