How I Learnt About Sorrow

As a child all of the stories I remember circulated around my grandmother's willow tree. It was the setting for every tale and featured in every story I read for many years. My grandmother was enamoured with Australian stories about native flowers and gum nut babies and as a nature artist herself she loved to paint leaves and foliage in minute detail while I sat in the corner of her basement studio and lost myself in the pages of May Gibbs’ fantasy picture books. But the story I remember being most affected by was one called ‘Dot and the Kangaroo’ by Ethel Pedley. My grandmother would tell it to me in instalments when I stayed with her until I was old enough to read it for myself and then I read it over and over again to try and recreate the tender feelings it evoked in my growing heart.

As an adult I remembered reading that it was a ‘classic Australian story’ about things such as 'Conservation' and 'Environmental Issues' and even that it was 'Racist', as was most of the literature created in this country at the turn of the century. But as a child for me it was none of these things. It was a tender and incredibly sad story about a little girl who, after losing her way in the forest, was found and befriended by a beautiful and wild creature who taught her about the ways of the forest and showed her the secret beauty of her animal nature.

I remember when Dot first ate the berries that enabled her to hear the language of the animals and how they all suddenly understood one another and could feel each other’s feelings. I tried for weeks to choose berries that might give me those same powers and remember my grandmother prying them out of my tiny palm lest I choose ones that were poisonous or at the very least likely to make me gag. I loved the idea of being lost in the bush as it mirrored my experience of my grandmothers back yard which to me was a jungle. I would meander down past the willow tree to a creek and when you jumped over to the other side there was a vast meadow and lush grasses and trees for as far as the eye could see. I would lay in those tall grasses for hours imagining that no one could see me and only slightly fearful that I might be trampled by a horse or gobbled up by an unfriendly snake. But it was the idea of being hidden, lost and even alone that enchanted me in a way that was hard for my family – who always wanted me to play with the other children - to understand. It wasn’t that it didn’t scare me – like Dot I was often terrified, but it was like I had this precious secret – that if you stayed still long enough, remarkable things would happen and your imagination would open you up to new ways and you would make new discoveries and have new adventures just like Dot’s discovery of the Kangaroo.

“The thought of being lost and alone in the wild bush at night, took away her breath with fear, and made her tired little legs tremble under her. She gave up all hope of finding home, and sat down at the foot of the biggest Blackbutt tree with her face buried in her hands and knees and thought of all that had happened and what might happen yet…”

There was an enormous affinity between Dot and the Kangaroo and it was their tender friendship and connection that touched me the most. The Kangaroo had lost its baby Joey and when she let Dot travel in her little pouch I remember squealing with delight at how magical and warm that must’ve felt. So safe and secure yet in such a wild place. I would’ve loved that.

“Dot peered out from her little refuge in the Kangaroo’s pouch, and saw the glow of the twilight sky reflected on the top of the boulder. The rough surface of the stone shone with a beautiful polish like a looking glass, for the rock had been rubbed for thousands of years by the soft feet and tails of a million kangaroos... When Dot saw that she was a little sad…”

There was a lot of sadness in the story. Mostly to do with all the ways humans and nature just couldn't seem to find a way to care for each other, but the saddest part of the story for me was when Dot finally found her way home again and had to say goodbye to the kangaroo. Their friendship had grown so solid through the adventure of travelling together in the forest and even though the Kangaroo was also reunited at the end with its Joey like Dot was with her family, it made me cry every time I heard it. And I didn't just cry but heaved huge sobs. I thought it was so unfair that the Kangaroo had to go back to the forest and couldn’t live near Dot and her family. I think it was the first time I understood separation or had to comprehend that loving something wouldn’t prevent it from being lost from you forever and it was a sadness that never really healed in me. My whole adult life I have formed attachments that have lingered long beyond their used by date and been shattered every time we had to part – even when it was the best thing for us both.

I remember that I lamented that I was a human and that I couldn’t just stay forever in nature – just like Dot does when she hears the Kangaroo discuss the destructive ways humans treat animals in the story. “You are as nice now as my baby Kangaroo,” she said sadly, but you will have to grow into a real white Human. For some reason there has to be all sorts of creatures on the earth. There are hawks, snakes, dingoes and humans, and no one can tell for what good they exist. They must have dropped on to this world by mistake for another, where there could only have been themselves. After all,” said the kind animal, “It wouldn’t do for everyone to be a Kangaroo, for I doubt if there would be enough grass; but you may become an improved Human.”

Forever etched in my mind was the final image of Dot waving goodbye to the Kangaroo, tears streaming down her face. The Kangaroo couldn’t stay near the humans, for no matter how grateful they were for bringing home their daughter, their destructive ways were antithetical to the wild freedoms of the forest and as I continued to read and love that story and may others, I vowed that if I couldn't be as wild and free as the animals of the forest, I could at least one day become an improved human being.

Delaney Jane.