FanStory.com - Forgotten Memoryby Claire Tennant

Last week, I was in an odd mood. Given our concerns, it was not surprising. I was contemplating. I gazed at the photographs of people and places I knew, my mind creating memories of voices and laughter. I thought of what these people meant to me and what effect their lives had on me. Familiar places of work and leisure, moments of betrayal or support. The need to slip back into childhood where protection from the enemy was there, the support from either a parent, a teacher or a family friend. Quite suddenly I realised I could not stay there. The parental influence would remain, but not their protection. It was time to grow up and let go of the things that haunted me. Easier said than done. The era was as dead as a doornail.

I was not alone with the people I thought of. They were alive once more in that moment, and many of them, including those I write about, have long since been taken home to the allocated mansion in the sky. I am about to share this little memory that pushed me forward and put the doldrums to rest. Further, it was as though the Lord had touched my shoulder, and a different thought process began. Suddenly, I laughed; fortunately, quietly otherwise, my darling, our pooch or our neighbours would hear the hysteria and think:
"Great, there she goes again!"
I was not unhappy, just reliving a moment long forgotten but now newly treasured.

I was eight years old. We had not been as much as twelve months in Mum and Dad's choice of adopted country. The soft Scottish accent of yore was not so evident; in its place, the strong, twangy Australian 'say what you mean and mean what you say' accent was still strange to me.
I don't know what I did that day, but Daddy was not impressed with my behaviour. I was sent to my room. The nerve!! Disgusted, I hit on an idea. I found two little shopping bags, the kind children used to play at "shops" with and packed some clothes, no, more like stuffed some clothes into them. A pair of trousers, the legs of which would not fit in the bag, hence provided decoration, showed how inexperienced I was. Even to this memory, the situation looked comical. I was determined to leave. I knew which direction I was going but had not the experience to realise I would get tired easily. Thank goodness the Lord was there; otherwise, this tale would not have been happy.

All was quiet. The bedroom I shared with my brother was close to the front door. With a deep breath, I opened that door and was about to step out. Daddy heard, and when I saw him, I panicked.
"Where do you think you are going?" he asked, unable to hide a grin.
"I'm leaving home."
"Is that so? Where are you going to go?
"I'm going to Uncle Albert's."
"Have you told him or Aunty Peg?"
"No."
"What if they are not there?"
Oops! I had not thought of that. I just wanted to prove I could do it, whatever it was.

I did not know where to look, but Daddy was trying not to laugh.
He knew exactly what to say.
"You do realise that Mummy is cooking a roast for dinner."
"Lamb?"
Daddy nodded.
"So, you will stay after all?"
I nodded. Mum sensibly stayed in the kitchen. It must have been very difficult for her not to laugh; she was a mischief-maker as a child. I, as a rule, was too scared to create mischief.
Our Dad and this gorgeous man, an uncle in all but blood, worked together. Apparently, Dad relished the storytelling the following morning.
"Albert, you and Peg nearly had a visitor yesterday."
"Who?" Albert noticed the look.
"My little niece?" Albert laughed. "Well, if she had managed to walk the two miles to our house, Peg and I would have let her rest, given her a treat and taken her home."
The laughter continued for some time.

It would have been feasible only a few months later as our parents bought a house in the same street as our friends.
Not all of our memories evoke sadness. Some like this one remain locked away for over fifty years and lift us from despair to smiles.