The church was opposite a park, and in the park were giant guns. We slid down them after church when our parents were talking, and poked lolly papers up the barrels.Guns in a pleasant suburban park. The re-inscription of a war-trope through context? Spears into pruning-hooks? A relocation which signalled the end of wars? A salutary reminder of the fate which awaited humankind if we did not learn to “study war no more?” Or a mindless war souvenir? One thing is certain, a Freudian interpretation of the cannon seems very far from this scene.
Birthday song. Children singing to other children and naming them as “little child so dear”? A sentimentalized view of childhood filtered through adult sensibilities.
Missions, unquestioned. Now through knowledge of the Stolen Generation I cringe to remember our unthinking, colonial certainties.
Children safe and unsexualised, dependent. Time to grow up. Protected.
*
Next: Chapter 4. Bus
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