Tribute To Rose Giumelli

My brother nearest in age to me, had been
Affected by poliomyelitisI
In his babyhood. The very reason
Our Mother left Italy in a hurry
“Get this to a warm climate quickly!”
Had been the doctor’s orders. What better place
Than Kurrawung, near Kalgoorlie. Father
Was cutting wood for the pumping station there.
Mother packed her bags – wrapped her child in a shawl –
No questions asked. Going through the Suez
Enzo began to move his toes. Delighted.
Mother massaged his legs. Kurrawung’s hot sand
Did the rest. He was always a fighter.
When he walked – twelve months later they moved south.

South, was a milling place in the Darling
Ranges. Father had a brother there,
Dying of a miner’s complaint. He wanted
Family near him for his dying days.
Men’s Plans God disbands. Work was not to be had,
All he could get was cutting timber –
Mother still under a tent in the middle of winter.
Water ran under our bunks. Possums
Stole our bread. Mother nearly went out of her mind.
When the Mill Manager saw the situation
He moved us to a bark hut at the mill.
It had no floors – no doors – no windows – yet
No place could have been more welcoming.

Barton’s Mill was a haven for Mother
She could draw her breath and settle for a while,
She built a fence around the bark hut
To stop a horse getting inside the house
Made a hessian drop to keep out the wind –
Grew vegetables in the enclosed land,
And sold some to her neighbours for a few pence.
The only drawback to her happiness
Was that Father only came home week-ends.
Uncle Steve had gone back to Italy to die
Against her loneliness she had no defence.
She pestered Father to buy the block of land
Which finally became our family home.

We left the Mill in the middle of March,
On a great dray Father had bought, for now
He was cutting wood for sending to Perth.
There were five in our family now.
Josephine, six months old, sat on Mother’s lap.
Hens squawked as we went over the bumps.
Father yelled at the horse, “Now hurry on,
It’s getting late.” Not a patient man,
Still the sun was a half globe in the west.
When we went indoors we slept on the floor,
The wind whistled under the door
As only the winds of March can do.
I thought I saw a face at the window pane.
Next day the Kookaburras wakened us.

That winter the winds came roaring up the gully.
It rained as it had never rained before –
Or so the locals said. Vapour condensed
On the tin roof, and in the morning dropped on the floor.
Mother was desperate – despite a huge fire.
The two rooms became like a sauna bath.
Father went to the mill where face cuts were
Given away. He put up a ceiling!
We were no longer poor creatures
Soaked to the skin. We were like rabbits –
Safe – and warm – in their burrows.
Then – suddenly – the sun smiled on the land.
Every bush put out flowers
Magpies carolled in the trees to let us know
The world had – eventually – turned around.

School !! A terrifying experience
For a child who never knew the language’
Nor knew how to manage herself with strangers.
Like a wild creature of the bush –
The first days she hid beneath the desk,
And never moved. When school was
Out she grabbed her bike to go
But two big boys – just for devilment –
Barred her way. She knew then how
t felt to die. Out of pity an older girl
Drove the boys away. She never forgot
That gracious gesture.
Her insecurity sought the girl always
The following year her brother joined her

Father was a gregarious fellow
Who enjoyed a drink, a laugh and a yarn.
We joined in many district activities.
For us children the great event of the year
Was the Christmas Tree organised by a Committee.
I remember well one year –
My brother Vincent had a habit
Of blinking his eyes when nervous.
His present from our first Christmas Tree
Was a toy soldier which blinked its eyes
Whenever it was stood on its feet.
Nest day when we were comparing toys
The rubber soldier could not be found.
But months later when the grain bin
Was emptied – there was the rubber soldier.
Swiftly Vincent threw it in the open fire outside.

Clearing the land was not an easy task.
Burning the timber that lay on the ground
Was the better part – It was like tinder.
Father lit great fires when he came from work.
I Loved to see the sparks rising to the sky
At night. But the roots out of the ground
Was a serious business. There were
More underground than met the eye.
To be able to plough all had to be
Removed. A tedious business requiring
Hour of toil. Mother worked as hard as any man.
I remember seeing her – day after day – bowing drains
All the good land had to be drained.

When we were young our greatest thrill
Was to see the loco go past our place.
We could hear it coming up Gungins Gully.
We’d be there beside the railway waving madly.
Levi Wallace, the guard, always waved back.
Contact with the outside world made our day.
But the greatest thrill was to catch the train
For Perth. We had to drive four miles
On a horse and cart to get to the
Station by seven thirty in the morning.
But it was worth it. Going down the
Zig – Zag we could see the city –
So exciting to a country child.
Once in Perth we were given a treat
At Boan’s Cafeteria. We felt
Like millionaires out for the day.
We came home late at night full of sugar buns.
Mother had a way of stretching her coins
We were always loaded with “bargains”.
On days when loneliness became her bogey,
She’d cut, and seam and make our clothes.

Then, suddenly our lives were turned around
Father was injured by a falling tree.
He had to think of something else to do.
Mick Flanagan, who had helped us before,
Suggested a milk, and fruit and vegetable round.
Succesful !! We were transferred to the Mill School,
Where Vincent and I ended our school days.
So many happy memories are still in my mind:
Going to school on a horse and cart,
Wrapped in Father’s Italian Police Cape
When it rained. Toby, the horse knew
Every rut. No need to drive. Our noses
Always in a book. Soon we were
At Johnny’s Tree, just above our place.

I grew into a dreamer _ nose always in a book.
Never once thought of what I wanted to do.
In forty-one I married a man who knew.
Always successful in what he undertook.
The fifties were good for those on the land.
He went into Business and made more money
Then was necessary for either of us
We started to go out with a certain crowd
Who never knew when they needed to stop
He took it in his stride – But I collapsed
That was not what I wanted for my life
For me life had to have meaning
I searched, and searched until I found meaning.

The thought of God gave me stability.
But in my mind I had life all planned out.
Follow the rules and as certain as the dawn
God would follow mine. But, alas,
Life cannot be manipulated
Even by the best intentions in the world
Failure was the medicine that
Made me question all my assumptions.
When, broken by the death of my husband
Who had cherished – and over protected me.
Harrowed by family squabbles over property.
The mind nothing but an instrument of pain,
The sense of Self was lost. There was only God.

He stooped to his creature in gentle insistence
“You’re not to engage upon a marathon of success
By yourself you can do nothing worthwhile.
Determination is but the work of ego.
Humility – the one element missing,
Could be the open sesame to life,
Lose yourself in Me – I know what I’m doing”.
And so it was. But there is no “knowing”.
Only a “being with”, in darkest silence.
Faith, Hope and Love. Love’s the binding
That makes us aware of others needs.
No longer a critic. Just understanding
That it’s the same Spirit that courses
Through our veins
You are flesh of my flesh
Blood of my blood.