Watercress Heaven

My uncle was a drunk. It’s probably not something family members would probably admit about him, but he was. Denial is subversive to say the least. He was a simple man, leading a fairly simple life.

By day he earned his living in the shearing shed and in the evening he spent alot of his hard-earned cash drinking beer in the local watering-hole they called “the kumara patch.” A kumara is the maori word for a sweet potato and I’m not entirely sure how that figures but that’s what it was called.

He was also someone I suspected had a very gentle soul. I loved him alot in his later years when he gave away drinking and seemed entirely content to drink gallons of tea instead. The funny thing is, finally I could see him and sadly his life was almost entirely over by then. The thing is, he was gentle. I often wonder what made him retreat into alcohol, what makes any of us?

My uncle was a great cook, he made food taste so sweet, especially pork bones and watercress with dough-boys (or dumplings). I’m inclined to think it was because he made them with love and a practised hand. It never occurred to me while I was growing up to ask him about his parents, it’s always as if he’d been around my life forever and somehow thoughts like that never seem to matter much then! Sigh.

I loved his gruff old manner, it was terribly endearing to me, not so to others but that’s life. I don’t know why I thought about him today, maybe it was the elderly man with his shocking white beard and awkward gait that somehow touched a ‘missed-him-in-that-moment’ nerve.

Some drunks go on further in their drunken ways, others pull up short and some simply stop altogether. Some are lost to us for all time yet others stay soft in our memory because we let them. I wonder what it is that sets one as opposed to another on that path?

My memories are warm Uncle, some old blokes are probably having the best meal they ever had in heaven, I can see you now, bent over a pot, checking the watercress. Heaven must really smell nice today.