GLIMPSES
by
Journey
Writers
A collection of stories,
poems and other writings by
Jeanette Grant-Thomson
Judith Noyes
Lyn Hurry
Joye Alit
2003
Evergreen Books
CONTENTS
Title
Author
Foreword
Faces
in the Foyer Lyn Hurry
Emily Jeanette Grant-Thomson
Encounter with Destiny Judith Noyes
Showers of Blessing Lyn Hurry
The Call Jeanette Grant-Thomson
Mawah Joye Alit
Slip, Slop, Slap Lyn Hurry
Camdodia 1991 Joye Alit
Fine Thanks Judith Noyes
Waiting in the Wings Jeanette Grant-Thomson
Mother and Child Lyn Hurry*
Divine Encounters Joye Alit
My Friend Jeanette Grant-Thomson
Andy Judith Noyes
Delilah Lyn Hurry
Farmhouse Hill Joye Alit
Fear Judith Noyes
My Dad’s All Right Lyn Hurry
Towards the Green Jeanette Grant-Thomson
Volcano Joye Alit
Tamini Stories (1) Joye Alit
(2) Judith Noyes
(3) Lyn Hurry *
Jimmy’s Son Judith Noyes
Only Fifteen Lyn Hurry
The Shelter Joye Alit
Members of the Flock Lyn Hurry
Fading Judith Noyes
Tea For One Joye Alit
Home Alone 1 Judith Noyes
Going In Lyn Hurry
Memories of Kenilworth Jeanette Grant-Thomson
Coming Home Jeanette Grant-Thomson
Day’s End Lyn Hurry
About the Authors
TAMINI’S
RETURN*
Lyn
Hurry
Tamini
remembered this place. She had been very young then. It
looked much smaller now - but it smelt the same.
It was the smell that permeated the whole district, and
yet apparently went unnoticed by the thousands of
locals: raw sewage, rotting carcasses, refuse of
families too poor and often too ill to be concerned. It
hadn’t changed ... could it ever?
As the bus jolted to a stop, her misgivings faded. Was
there some sort of homing instinct in every individual,
that even the lowliest dwelling of one’s childhood
became a precious, almost sacred memory? After all
these years and experiences far, far away, could she
stick with this decision? Certainly there were doubts;
yet the determination of her youth dominated.
Was her mother still alive? This question brought focus
to her thoughts as she threaded her way resolutely
along the riverbank. She recognised none of the women
who looked at her with a curious mixture of scorn and
apprehension; they paused only momentarily in their
labours.
The muddy pathway soon took its toll on her heeled
shoes and light-coloured skirt. She smiled wryly at her
own foolishness. About a hundred metres further, she
began the climb up the slope away from the river. The
path narrowed but was still slippery.
Children milled about her. Some actually clutched at
her hands, her cloth bag; and she drew away, strangely
troubled. They cried to her in strident, pleading
voices, but she knew better than to slow her progress.
Not now.
The clamour of her surrounds was numbing. It had always
been noisy, she recalled. The noise was as much part of
the place as the odour. Only after an absence did the
noise become significant. Suddenly she longed for
quiet, although it might never be found. Not here.
At the doorway of the familiar dwelling, she stopped.
It adjoined hundreds like it, and was surrounded by a
district of similar degradation; yet she knew it
belonged to her.
Although the children stayed with her, she ignored
them.
Bending down, Tamini lifted the thin rag which
pretended to cover the doorway. Inside was a woman. She
looked about ninety, but Tamini called softly, “Mama?”
There was no response from the old woman who scratched
at something in front of her.
“Mama, it’s me - Tamini.” The language returned like a
favourite garment.
The woman seemed to shake her head. She passed a hand
across her eyes.
“Mama, I’m back. I’ve come home.” Tamini stepped slowly
into the gloom. The noise and smell accompanied her -
but the children did not. She bent down and placed a
hand on the woman’s shoulder, touching the loose skin
near her throat.
The sightless face turned towards the voice, and a
single word escaped the drooping lips: “Why?”
In that instant came the blessed silence. Amid the
stench, as she settled beside the pitiable remnant of
her mother, Tamini knew why.
“Mama, Jesus has sent me home.”
MOTHER
AND CHILD
I saw once
a small child
in a blue coat
and
a blue child
in a small coat.
She was blue
with cold
and the mother
stood by
smoking a cigarette
and laughing
in blue smoke.
Laughing
through red mouth
and yellow teeth
while the blue child
cried.