I’m excited about this meme that dear slummysinglemummy has tagged me for. (By the way Slummy, I think of you as one of the cool blog-kids so I’m thrilled y’all chose me! 
It calls for a picture/song that brings back powerful childhood memories. It’s cold, and grey outside in England. Like dishwater. January usually means breakers and sunburn and sand in inconvenient places, to me. So this meme has given me the chance to trot down memory lane to that wonderful South Pacific idyll where I ‘grew up’.
No, not the land of the hobbits. Fiji – where I lived in a gold mining community in the centre of Viti Levu until I was eight or so. My earliest memories are of Fiji. I remember the smell of coconut milk as I snuggled into our adored Fijian housegirl (cum nanny) Miri and the piquant taste of curry and roti that I chose to eat for breakfast with Miri and her family, spurning the eggs and bacon by sneaking out of the house before Mum had risen.
My song is American Pie by Don McClean.
This song reminds me of travelling in the car with my Dad who was the Financial Controller of the mines. We were both well known in our little town. Dad because of his work (he pretty much employed everyone!) and me …well…. because being the shy retiring type (NOT) I sat at the garden gate and introduced myself to every person who passed, aged four. The result was when we drove through the town the Fijian kids would run alongside and chant ‘Vicki Vicki, Vicki’. And I’d give my princessly wave!
I remember asking him what the song was about and he replied that it was about the death of JFK. Actually it wasn’t, it was about the death of Buddy Holly, but I didn’t question Dad at the time. NO one questioned Dad.
I remember sitting in our airconditioned Holden driving to our nearest town Tavua just after the devastation that was Hurricane Bebe, (where we sheltered under the house whilst 185km winds screeched around us) and American Pie was on the car radio. My Dad liked to sing in that rusty 1950s radio star kind of way, and I’d pipe up too with my little soprano. I’d always felt the disappointment that I was not the son I think my father really wanted. I made up for it, by being his little friend. I’d hold the tools whilst he fixed stuff. I even walked a round or two of golf to just show that I was his side-kick.
Over the years our relationship was very difficult at times. Complicated adult stuff. Later I earnt the title of being the only one in our family who could win an argument with him, an accolade I have mixed feelings about to be honest.
But back to 1974 driving in the Holden, watching the American Red Cross and military trying to help the local people replant their crops, and rebuild their lives. Back to the sweet smell of frangipani on the breeze, the hot sun baking through the windscreen. And best of all those days when we went out to the islands (like this one, which is Treasure Island I think) where we played tourists.
The kids would swing their legs over the side of the boat and chat and point out jellyfish. The adults would drink, and dance and flirt inside to the thumpa thumpa thumpa of the box-guitar – a makeshift instrument made of a string and a beer crate. Sometimes one of the women would mysteriously fall over and her crocheted bikini top might come loose. Then everyone would laugh. There were always long-haired men with American accents who smelt of mothballs. Hippies, Dad said with a snort.
My father would sometimes sing, and my mum would dance to the thunga thunga music. The Fijian band smiled huge teeth – like the shark’s tooth necklace we’d been given – and beads of sweat would studd their brows. A sweet smell of rum, and Fiji Bitter and sweat and lust (I guess, I didn’t know it at the time) enveloped the little boat as it lurched through the lumpy turquoise waters. If you’d asked me then I would never have thought that they would ever have been unhappy. I simply could not see a future with lawyers and tears. For them, or for me.
That’s a great memory. Warmth. Happiness. Music.
Here’s a picture of me with my sun umbrella. Every young lady needs a sun umbrella, don’t ya know!
So to further this meme I tag………
Nickie at typecast
Hannah at Muddling Along Mummy
and Stephen at BillyGottaJob
