OUR HOME BY THE RIVER
My early life and Jane’s early life, as different as they were from each other, were both spent wandering from one place to another. Jane was born in Thailand and then, as the stepdaughter of a diplomat, lived and was educated in some of the most beautiful cities in the world, including Rome, Moscow, Kuala Lumpur and Tokyo. I, on the other hand, roamed as a hostage to poverty, spending my childhood running with my family from debts that always seemed to be snapping at our heels. We ran from Glasgow in Scotland all the way to Elizabeth in South Australia, then on to Port Adelaide.
Jane and I were like two rivers following very different courses, and you’d have thought that our rivers were never meant to meet. Jane’s early travels were gentle and slow, like a deep, wide river rolling through soft green hills, always constant, only changing direction when she needed to. She would pause and take stock every so often, prepare for a turn ahead and then move on in a measured and careful manner, looking forward to new adventures and the beauty that lay round the next bend.
My erratic creek, on the other hand, surged from its source, fleeing the harsh, oppressive landscape of its origins, then twisted and turned, rushed and crashed, desperately gouging a path that was usually shallow and nearly always treacherous. There were no smooth waters, just endless raging rapids, tossed and tormented and out of control – but always searching for a place to
