Mōrena/Good morning from chilly Tākaka,
How is your story coming along this week? Remember to keep taking small, imperfect steps towards your goal.
I have a glimpse into memoir writer Natalie Birch’s world to share with you today, including the photo (above) of Whitford Wharf that brings her story to life. Have a read and see if it inspires you with your own story:
A short memoir written by my 8 year old self – by Natalie Birch
I grew up in the small, rural community of Whitford in South Auckland. There were seven of us kids, I was number four.
We knew everybody, in fact my mother grew up here too, so quite a few families were our relatives. I could walk to the village, it was only 200 yards away, down the road, over the bridge and round the corner. In the village there was the Store, the Hall, the garage, a wharf, and a boat-building shed.
The Turanga estuary (we called it the creek) ran through Whitford with masses of mangroves either side of the channel. The creek ran along the back of our place and the mangroves grew right up to the bank at the back of our house.
Dad made a clearing in the bush down by the mangroves and built a big, brick barbeque there. He grew flax along one end of the clearing, the other end was bush of mainly punga, kowhai and ti-tree.
This was our play-ground where we built our huts, played our games, sloshed around in the water when the tide was in, and got our gum-boots stuck in the mud when the tide was out.
The Whitford General Store sold every sort of thing. My best treat to buy was a carnival pattie. It was round and flat like a biscuit, it had a marshmallow centre covered in chocolate with 100’s and 1000’s sprinkled over the top.
The Whitford Hall was across the road from the store. At the entrance to the hall there was a majestic Oak tree. My grand-father planted it after the Second World War in memory of his son, my mother’s brother, my Uncle Ian, who was killed in action at El Alamein in Egypt. Uncle Ian’s photo sat on the mantelpiece in our living-room. He and Mum looked alike, they both had lovely, kind, brown eyes.
The wharf was one of my most favourite places. It was just along from the store and in summer lots of the older kids used to come here when the tide was in to jump off the wharf and swim. I would never have done that because Dad told me that the creek was full of eels and I was scared stiff of those creatures.
My best thing to do, on a warm, sunny day, was to lie down at the edge of the wharf and look down into the water and watch the frothy bubbles floating slowly along on the tide. I loved the calm feeling this gave me.
One of my sisters still lives in the house that we grew up in all those years ago, however little remains of the village we knew and loved, except of course for our cherished oak tree and creek.
What did you think? Phrases like ‘sloshed around in the water’ and ‘ look down into the water and watch the frothy bubbles floating slowly along on the tide’ took me into her story. I could feel the warmth of the sun on my back as I lay on the wharf looking down into the water.
And as for you, keep writing and if you can gather up a photo or two for your story too.
Charlotte x
PS Do you live near Nelson? I’m about to kick off a course called ‘Write Your Memoir in One Year – Nelson.’ I’ll be personally taking people through the writing process, including helping them prepare to print their books. You can learn more about the course and join up here.
Charlotte Squire 