Pat's Diary - Part 6 January 1941
January 9th 1941
Thursday in my little trundle bed
Dear Diary
Nine days have passed in the New Year. Two days ago the Australians entered Bardia. Their casualities figure less than 500, including killed & wounded. Upon their entry they took between 25,000 and 30,000 prisoners. To mark the first Australian battle of the war, the Government has requested that flags be flown on all buildings. I can't help feeling proud of their good work, of my Australian fellow men.
Today I am home with a very bad cold, the first day away from work.
The Mayne School of Authorship have entered me in a scholarship exam which will close on the 31st. How I wish I could win it. It would be the thrill of my life. I'm going to prepare for it right away.
On December 15th I had a poem published, "By the Billabong". I received a purple certificate for it. It is the first poem since my D.O.S was won. I am very thrilled.
Patricia Ann
Here is my poem "By the Billabong".
The air about was calm, & quiet & sweet
The trees in all their perfect splendor stood
The breath of life hung heavy in the air
A reflection in the creek of all things good.
A fallen log lay broken in the stream
The relic of a tree once green & young
And in the rustle of the tree I seemed to hear
The music of a mighty song unsung.
And far away came drifting in the breeze
A scent that blended gaily with the song
And thoughts within my mind were glad & free
On that peaceful day down by the Billabong.
12th January
At my little attic window, Roseville
Dear Diary
In a few weeks I shall be 16. I'm really afraid to be another age. Fifteen sounds so comfortable. Of course there was all the fuss last year when I left fourteen behind, but I'll admit, in truth to myself, that sixteen is really the turning point in one's life. I shall have to accept it I suppose, as everyone has to accept everyday items.
I have read five detective stories lately, all about murder, in the Penguin Specials, and I feel quite capable of commiting one. Please don't take it into your head that I'm going to, because you'd be quite wrong. I'm just an innocent child.
I'm in an awful position at present. having to take some vile medicine which is vileness & the Devil itself.I can't bear it any longer so perchance I will run away.
Back to work I go tomorrow with my new black frock mummy made & finished on Saturday. Elaine is here until Wednesday. She's horribly nice now.
Phyllis has such a lovely book, with hundreds of pictures of the Princesses & the Royal families of Britain.
I have largely neglected my poetry of late, but will pick it up later. It is, in my opinion, that everyone has poetry in them but are only too lazy to develop & find it. I know that no-one agrees with me on that point, but it is absolutely true that everyone has it in them. By that I mean that anyone can string some words together to rhyme. It might be true also, that I am gifted with it, but then that's not the point. I too, have often felt that "can't be bothered" sort of feeling, but I've made myself do it if I felt it coming, and I am sure everyone else could. (no collection will be taken for that little speech)
Today I had so many jobs to perform, that I just forgot about them all & went out & had a lovely sunbake, & tonight everything is crying out to be done. I rather feel like a mother with a bunch of children whom she has neglected. It's too late now to do all the jobs so i thought I'd spend a pleasant evening with my Diary.
The local theatre was not esteemed by my personage over the weekend, instead I nursed my cold in bed. It's so strange! Yesterday I tried ever so hard to write a letter to a person I didn't know so well, & do you know, I was holding that pen for fully half an hour & I hadn't written anything. It must be true what Mr Raine said about me being shy, But fancy a person being shy of a piece of notepaper. It's ridiculous. I'm sure it wasn't shyness that held me back, it seemed just like a hand keeping me back. I'll try again on Tuesday night (recess night).
Well Diary, I must away, as the hand of time is pointing rather fierce fingers at me to beckon me to bed.
So until next time, Patricia Ann of Glen-Ayr, aged 15 yrs
Sunday January 19th 1941
Dear Diary
This is the last day of my fifteenth year, or rather the year I was fifteen. Tomorrow I turn sixteen. When I am sixteen, I'm going to stop collecting rubbish and doing silly things, and going to keep just a few hobbies, instead of the countless millions I now have, so that I shall be able to do them more often and more perfect. I shall dedicate more time to my Sunbeams work now. My fifteenth year was quite pleasant, except for Mummy's illness back in August & September of last year.
I shall not give up my Diary, that is one of the few privileges I'll allow myself. For it is the only place I can openly express my self. I find fun in it, and amusement is hard enough these days.
I just heard a beautiful song with a marvellous tune that went straight to my soul. I wish I could capture the tune and put it down just as I heard it, but things like that can't be done, which I think is a pity.
Tomorrow I am having my photo taken. One big brown tinted one and six little black and white ones. The big one is for Mummy as my birthday gift, and the others are for Uncle Jim in New Zealand, Harold Moore in Dubbo & the soldier in Palestine. I'll have three left.
For the last time as 15, Patricia Anne
Taken in Tonga - December 1928. Phyllis, Peggy & Pat (almost 4 yrs)
Sunday 26th January 1941
Dear Diary
I have been sixteen a week, but life hasn't changed much. Shirley at work lent me "East Lynne", and reading that I feel I could easily write a book.
Today I was to have gone to Cronulla with Pat Weinert, but this morning it was very blowy and windy. This afternoon rain graced the earth in a heavy shower.
Thursday January 30th
Dear Diary
I won't fall in love until I meet the right man, and as I am not even looking for him, I won't find him just yet. I'm more interested in my poetry and thoughts. Today I composed "Autumn Leaves" but have yet to finish the last verse.
It is just after ten. I've had such a lot to absorb, Weddings, our takeover of Anthony, and the visit of the Aunts & Uncles, my experience with the perfume woman, and the affair about the photos. It will all have to wait until next time as very tired is Patricia Anne aged 16 yrs
Thursday in my little trundle bed
Dear Diary
Nine days have passed in the New Year. Two days ago the Australians entered Bardia. Their casualities figure less than 500, including killed & wounded. Upon their entry they took between 25,000 and 30,000 prisoners. To mark the first Australian battle of the war, the Government has requested that flags be flown on all buildings. I can't help feeling proud of their good work, of my Australian fellow men.
Today I am home with a very bad cold, the first day away from work.
The Mayne School of Authorship have entered me in a scholarship exam which will close on the 31st. How I wish I could win it. It would be the thrill of my life. I'm going to prepare for it right away.
On December 15th I had a poem published, "By the Billabong". I received a purple certificate for it. It is the first poem since my D.O.S was won. I am very thrilled.
Patricia Ann
Here is my poem "By the Billabong".
The air about was calm, & quiet & sweet
The trees in all their perfect splendor stood
The breath of life hung heavy in the air
A reflection in the creek of all things good.
A fallen log lay broken in the stream
The relic of a tree once green & young
And in the rustle of the tree I seemed to hear
The music of a mighty song unsung.
And far away came drifting in the breeze
A scent that blended gaily with the song
And thoughts within my mind were glad & free
On that peaceful day down by the Billabong.
12th January
At my little attic window, Roseville
Dear Diary
In a few weeks I shall be 16. I'm really afraid to be another age. Fifteen sounds so comfortable. Of course there was all the fuss last year when I left fourteen behind, but I'll admit, in truth to myself, that sixteen is really the turning point in one's life. I shall have to accept it I suppose, as everyone has to accept everyday items.
I have read five detective stories lately, all about murder, in the Penguin Specials, and I feel quite capable of commiting one. Please don't take it into your head that I'm going to, because you'd be quite wrong. I'm just an innocent child.
I'm in an awful position at present. having to take some vile medicine which is vileness & the Devil itself.I can't bear it any longer so perchance I will run away.
Back to work I go tomorrow with my new black frock mummy made & finished on Saturday. Elaine is here until Wednesday. She's horribly nice now.
Phyllis has such a lovely book, with hundreds of pictures of the Princesses & the Royal families of Britain.
I have largely neglected my poetry of late, but will pick it up later. It is, in my opinion, that everyone has poetry in them but are only too lazy to develop & find it. I know that no-one agrees with me on that point, but it is absolutely true that everyone has it in them. By that I mean that anyone can string some words together to rhyme. It might be true also, that I am gifted with it, but then that's not the point. I too, have often felt that "can't be bothered" sort of feeling, but I've made myself do it if I felt it coming, and I am sure everyone else could. (no collection will be taken for that little speech)
Today I had so many jobs to perform, that I just forgot about them all & went out & had a lovely sunbake, & tonight everything is crying out to be done. I rather feel like a mother with a bunch of children whom she has neglected. It's too late now to do all the jobs so i thought I'd spend a pleasant evening with my Diary.
The local theatre was not esteemed by my personage over the weekend, instead I nursed my cold in bed. It's so strange! Yesterday I tried ever so hard to write a letter to a person I didn't know so well, & do you know, I was holding that pen for fully half an hour & I hadn't written anything. It must be true what Mr Raine said about me being shy, But fancy a person being shy of a piece of notepaper. It's ridiculous. I'm sure it wasn't shyness that held me back, it seemed just like a hand keeping me back. I'll try again on Tuesday night (recess night).
Well Diary, I must away, as the hand of time is pointing rather fierce fingers at me to beckon me to bed.
So until next time, Patricia Ann of Glen-Ayr, aged 15 yrs
Sunday January 19th 1941
Dear Diary
This is the last day of my fifteenth year, or rather the year I was fifteen. Tomorrow I turn sixteen. When I am sixteen, I'm going to stop collecting rubbish and doing silly things, and going to keep just a few hobbies, instead of the countless millions I now have, so that I shall be able to do them more often and more perfect. I shall dedicate more time to my Sunbeams work now. My fifteenth year was quite pleasant, except for Mummy's illness back in August & September of last year.
I shall not give up my Diary, that is one of the few privileges I'll allow myself. For it is the only place I can openly express my self. I find fun in it, and amusement is hard enough these days.
I just heard a beautiful song with a marvellous tune that went straight to my soul. I wish I could capture the tune and put it down just as I heard it, but things like that can't be done, which I think is a pity.
Tomorrow I am having my photo taken. One big brown tinted one and six little black and white ones. The big one is for Mummy as my birthday gift, and the others are for Uncle Jim in New Zealand, Harold Moore in Dubbo & the soldier in Palestine. I'll have three left.
For the last time as 15, Patricia Anne
Taken in Tonga - December 1928. Phyllis, Peggy & Pat (almost 4 yrs)
Sunday 26th January 1941
Dear Diary
I have been sixteen a week, but life hasn't changed much. Shirley at work lent me "East Lynne", and reading that I feel I could easily write a book.
Today I was to have gone to Cronulla with Pat Weinert, but this morning it was very blowy and windy. This afternoon rain graced the earth in a heavy shower.
Thursday January 30th
Dear Diary
I won't fall in love until I meet the right man, and as I am not even looking for him, I won't find him just yet. I'm more interested in my poetry and thoughts. Today I composed "Autumn Leaves" but have yet to finish the last verse.
It is just after ten. I've had such a lot to absorb, Weddings, our takeover of Anthony, and the visit of the Aunts & Uncles, my experience with the perfume woman, and the affair about the photos. It will all have to wait until next time as very tired is Patricia Anne aged 16 yrs
posted by moonchild at 10:57 PM
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