Statement of Intention:
I intend to join several stories and create one of my own, from my memory of my boyhood in Perth. Mac Leod writes of boyhood in “The lost Salt Gift of Blood”, of memory in “Winter Dog “ and of family ties in all his stories; also he focuses so often on the work scarred hands of both the miners and the fishermen. I have tried to mention all of these as connections in my story and I think probably younger students say year 9 and 10s would like it.
As I stepped outside and caught the sun’s glare on my tanned, almost burnt face, I realised that it looked like it was going to turn out to be a typical mid-summer Saturday. The sun, glaring in my eyes, was shining down upon my back yard, brighter than normal as though it was smiling at me, almost beckoning me to join it and enjoy the warm day. The smell of dried salt and the seaweed was in the air and smelt familiar to me. The sound of the everlasting waves effortlessly crashing onto the beach just made me feel like there was nothing that could ruin the day. The flawless blue sky appeared as though it was opening its arms ready for me to embrace the day entirely. Something suddenly clicked and I realised that there was a place I should be. The warmth of the day was so inviting that I had nearly forgotten that the previous night I had arranged to meet my best mate down at a little cove just around the corner from my house.
It was years since I’d seen Tom, we’d met in the pub last night and over a few beers we’d caught up. He had never left Cape Sable and had become a miner like his father and his father’s father before him; whereas I had left on my eighteenth birthday. He seemed much older than me, his age was all in his hands – broken fingers, old gnarled wounds healed badly from home attempts to seal the blood. He had married young, already a father---- the unspoken question was not asked. It seemed unnecessary. Who cared these days if it was a “shot gun wedding”, he told me he loved...