“Our Little Secret!” 1969
My parents are getting old, my father turned 80 last week and my mother turned 78 in the last week of June this year. Perhaps it is understandable therefore that as we age, our memories falter, that we cannot always rely upon our minds to recount with clarity things that happened when we were younger. My short term memory is pretty weak and l do work on that, it is reflective therefore of what may be going on at the time and in the moment of now as in our present how good or bad it is. However my long term memory at my own concession is phenomenal, and if anything with the onset of this blog, l have been able to tap into those vaults deep within the complexity of my mind and really fine tune my yesterday’s.
If not for the cognitive memory itself, then all it takes at times is perhaps, a trace of a scent or a hint of a smell, a faded photograph, a snippet of music from ago, a colour, a number, a forgotten word, a grasping of a trail of anything and my mind can affix itself to that slip of time and take me back with accuracy.
My parents have many a time selective memory, choosing to remember the good times only and forsaking what they have decided to leave be and that is of course their perrogative. We each of us have to determine what we decide to tamper with and reawaken or simply let the days before swallow once and for all.
It is often suggested that autism and the paranormal share a strange connection, this might be true, l don’t know, l have no true way of verifying that, however this series concentrates on the unknown, the at times spooky, the horrors of life that many people choose to ignore in order to keep their sanity intact. It is also suggested that those whom experience trauma or suffer with heavy depression that parts of our minds can indeed see things that others cannot or refuse to believe that they do.
Over my years and today l will share with you a brief introduction to the weirdness of my family, l have seen things that l cannot say hand upon heart that it was NOT there, or NOT true or coddly knobblewonks that’s bollocks! Because l think in truth if we were to fine tune our minds properly and start to exercise parts of the brain we do little with then you too, the reader might see more than you think you do.
My mother from a very young age, indeed from the start of this tale to launch the series would tell me l had a gift, that l had inherited from her and that she inherited from her own mother – an ability to see things, to sense things and to have an understanding of … things. I used to pooh pooh that notion when l got older, when l was younger it used to scare and for good reason, and then as l aged and led at times a very worrisome life filled with the unusual, l could no longer disagree with her that l did indeed have a sixth sense. In the last few years alone, l have switched off my guide because my mind had sped up expotentially and l was struggling with the autism speeding me up and my guide never shutting up!
You can decide what to make of my tales ….
“Our Little Secret!”
In 1969 l was six years of age – nearly seven, l was living in Malaysia with my parents and my sister. My father was with the RAAF as an NCO, my mother atypical of the time therefore was wife to an NCO, she had her own duties and she organised events with the other wives as was the call of duty should you wish to life at that time in Malaysia with the wives and families of those working on the base.
My mother once said to me and no matter how l might these days remind her that she said this to me when l was seven she will deny that such a statement ever happened. One day upon the discovery of this tale, she said “Rory, l worship the ground your father treads, l will do anything to see him succeed!” Which even that age was l thought a profound statement to make from my mother of my father. Could she have not have simply said “Rory l am deeply in love with your father and l wish for him to succeed at whatever he does?”
But she didn’t say that. Years on, asking her and she point blankly said she never said it, these days she wishes him no real ill, and yet l am always concerned about that as to whether it was always the case. They had a hostile marriage and relationship, l knew this as l saw witness to it on countless occasions within all the many family homes we ever had and these hostilities were present till the day they divorced. The truth is, they should never have married, of course merely mentioning this and this would erase my existence from the world had they not.
Or would it? Would this mind simply not have stepped into the presence of someone else?
I cannot remember the day it happened, but in the days leading up to it, my mother was seeing strange people, some had a very distinct aura to them, some wafted heavy scents in front of me and others still arrived with all sorts of trappings and trimmings of their trade. The amahs had put many of these people in touch with my mother at her beckoning. When they arrived, my sister and l were harried off elsewhere as we were to NOT see or hear any of the conversations.
There had been a lot of stress in our household, my mother was always ill and plied high with valium which seemed to be the prescription of many of the wives of the time, to calm nerves, or so it was suggested. The heat was damning, it was always daming, always so very hot, and the heat to those unused to it would cause many a mind to blister away. Two of the wives during the time had to be flown back to Australia as they had started to go as was described at the time ‘a little loopy.’
On the day in question, my mother had been in her bedroom and she had retired there not long after a woman had come to see her. My sister and l had been downstairs with Sharon, whilst Choy had walked the strange woman up the stairs to go and talk with my mother, and had stayed some time, long after Choy had returned down to us. I never saw her leave, but leave she must have done, for when l went upstairs to see my mother she was alone. But she had something in her hands, a strange thing like a toy, but not a toy at all.
I asked her what it was and she tried to put it away and stopped and turned to me and showed me the thing in her hands, a rather crude looking doll made from raffia with pins protruding from it? I asked her what it was and she answered that it was an effigy that she had made to help her with her illnesses and that it was able to help her get better and help my father get through his tough times and secure the promotion he was looking for.
It was then that she started explaining to me about my gift, and that it was down to me if l was to ever use it, it was my choice. She forbade me to tell my father and that it was to be ‘our little secret.’
In the months that followed, l saw the ‘doll’ with an assortment of pins, on various occasions and whilst my mother’s health never seemed to change, colleagues around my father grew ill with strange problems, and my father stepped into their shoes. My mother upon hearing news of this, only ever smiled, and looked at me in a very knowing way.
This episode in my life was something l could never firm up in my mind, all l knew was that there was always something strange in our household in Malaysia and indeed in many of the family homes long after we moved back to Australia and indeed the UK.
Who really knows the truth, eh? It all comes down to belief – doesn’t it?