Today, October 7, is your birthday. It still seems wrong that you should have gone first and I still wish you could have waited. You were a couple of years younger than me and it continues to feel like something is out of kilter when October 7 comes around each year and you’re not here to celebrate.
You were taller than me – well everyone in the world has always been taller than me – but when we were young it seemed odd that I, the oldest, was the shortest. I expected our brother to grow taller but it seemed unfair that you, my younger sister, shot up past me too.
When I agreed to play defence in the basketball team (who but you and I remember that old game of basketball with 9 players?), you stuck me on defence, between you and Joy with the idea that you and Joy would catch all the balls while I kept out of the way but what you said after the game was that I had danced around being useless and what was worse, laughing about it and, you said, the other team thought I was a dag and sent all their curved balls in my direction and that ruined the game. Basketball wasn’t about having fun, you said, it was about strategy and I had mucked it up. Completely.
You knew I was never any good at sport but you were desperate to make up the numbers. Same with that damned marching team. You could not understand why I turned left instead of right and you said if I just concentrated it would all be okay. I think you’d have laughed to see me trying to do an action song though. You will not be surprised to know that they put me behind this large guy so I didn’t ruin the performance.
We both became great dancers though so some co–ordination seemed to work. Perhaps it was the music? And I played the guitar (all four chords, simply repeated as necessary) when you and Lillian and I sang. We had a lot of fun.
And you always got the giggles when we sang Whispering Hope. Glad’s favourite. Soft as the voice of an angel… You said it was because my face was nothing like an angel as I glared at you over the guitar when you mucked up the entry. I frowned to try and stop myself but it was useless and in the end I just gave up and laughed too and the adults sat around moaning about ‘young girls these days…’ and then we pulled ourselves together and sang it properly and they all sat back and smiled.
Do you remember when we had to empty and clean the dunny can that time the night man didn’t call? He hated our long weedy driveway and if he was feeling tired he just missed us out. Under Rose’s directions, Jimmy dug the deep hole and you and me lugged the full can out of the dunny okay but at the top of the steps to the backyard you started to giggle and some of the contents went slop, slop, over the sides and down the steps.
Rose was furious and shouted at us and we couldn’t stop laughing and the contents sloshed more and Jimmy rushed over and grabbed the can and lugged it to the hole, stuff slopping over the sides as he went.
We boiled kettles and put the boiling water and some grated soap in the can and sloshed it about and Rose shouted at us and you started giggling again and we spilt the hot soapy icky water over the back yard and Rose was practically incandescent with fury at our carelessness. And you always wet your pants when you laughed too much so Rose told you off about that too. We finally got the scrubbing brush to scrub the can and by then Jimmy was laughing too.
‘You bloody kids,’ said Rose, and she sat on the back steps and her shoulder shook. ‘You bloody kids,’ she said again, and then she put her hands over her face and gave in to laughter and there we were, the four of us, laughing in the sunshine, as you and I scrubbed that wretched can then carried it up the wash house steps, over the wet wash house floor to the dunny. I think we ended up with the cleanest wash house and dunny in Greenmeadows that day.
I’m remembering all that work you did for the Globe production of Wednesday To Come when you visited me in Dunedin. I simply could not have managed all that publicity runaround without you but did you have to entertain the cast with stories of my bossiness and how I hit you with a toetoe when we were kids?
So many memories, our weddings, babies, me leaving my marriage. I’m not sure you really approved or understood what that was all about – what you did know though was that I was your sister and that surpassed all.
You died suddenly a couple of weeks after you left Dunedin and you know Val, if I could have you here to share this journey into old age with me you could tell any stories about me and giggle about them as much as you like and you know what? I’d be laughing too.
Happy birthday and love, always…
Renée
We had the same sense of humour though and you only had to look at me sometimes and I would start.
You were my bridesmaid when I married, we wrote letters, had each other’s kids for holidays, exchanged recipes, and when I changed my life you were staunch. I don’t think you understood it but I was your sister and we shared that wonderful vein of loyalty which means that even if we disagree with a course of action the other had taken we always acknowledged our right to take it.
So as the peach blossoms are flying around in the wind, I think of you and I’ll think of you when the peaches ripen and when their leaves fall.
I think of all the things you never got a chance to do. Technology for example. We could have been sending texts and emails and cracking jokes along the ether. You had a great laugh and we laughed at the same things.
