Tu Ha and Corrie

Tu Ha & Corrie

Tu Ha always says she’s seen enough rain to last her for the rest of her life because until she was about twelve she lived in that greenest of green lands, Vietnam. In Hoa Long village to be precise, not very far from Saigon, sorry, Ho Chi Minh City.

For Tu Ha was used to the annual monsoon, when lightning flashes, thunder roars and the warm rain comes down like pickhandles. This makes the countryside the most fertile in the whole peninsula and delights the village pigs that roll joyfully in the slime. And at day’s end the big black water buffaloes can relax from pulling ploughs and lie up to their necks in the cool dark mud of the paddy fields, gently dreaming water buffalo dreams. This is where most of the villagers work, ploughing, planting, harvesting and then threshing the rice that is their main food.

Corrie Slight, on the other hand, spent his first twelve years in a township where, on those very rare occasions that storm clouds did let loose a downpour, the people all celebrated.

Corrie’s story:

‘Corrie’ is short for Coriander because his mother had muddled it with Lysander, who she read in a school book was a hero in ancient Greece and the clergyman who came flying in for Corrie’s christening didn’t bother to argue. But his Mum made up for her mistake by bringing Corrie up tough.

The first thing he thought he would like to be was a footballer, because he was big, agile and, as we know, tough. Then some things happened that altered his life completely and changed even that change of plan.

Corrie, who didn't have a Dad, had grown up with his Mum in a little desert town with just one road running through it and a few scrubby eucalyptus trees that were very poor protection from the sandpaper winds and red dirt and the everlasting heat of the daytime sun. That’s about all you could say about the place, except that it was somewhere between Alice Springs and Derby, way over in Western Australia. Just a bit nearer Derby, actually.

‘Didn’t have a Dad’. Well, that’s not true, of course. What had happened was that his Dad had left home when Corrie was a tiny baby. There were no arguments, no fights. He just packed his swag one day and went walkabout. No one knew where. Corrie’s Mum did her best.

Corrie’s father never came back, not even when Mum started to cough all day and the doctor insisted she go to Perth for some tests. That was a big week for Corrie, who was just about twelve when it happened. He stayed with the family next door because Mum didn’t have enough money for two fares and two lots of hotel costs. When she came back she started to see the doctor much more and quite often Corrie would come home from school and catch her softly crying.

Then she told him. It was on her birthday in October and Corrie had just given her a little bottle of perfume, ‘real perfume, not toilet water’, the lady in the chemist had said. When she told him was that she was very ill and might not be there for Christmas it made Corrie’s world turn upside down because every year they went away for that week to a property where one of Mum’s uncles worked. They had been going away, just the two of them, for as long a Corrie could remember. Now he didn’t know what to think.

But Corrie’s Mum told him that by December she would be in hospital in Perth and he would live with her sister and husband in Canberra and he wasn’t to worry. Then she put her arms around him and cried and Corrie felt a bit like a frightened child and a bit like a man.

At that moment he decided he could do one of two things. He could either act like a little boy or he could grow up, quickly. The temptation to be a little boy again was very strong because it’s tough when you’re twelve and Mum tells you she’s going to die. For even if she hadn’t used those exact words he knew that was what it was all about.

Already he was beginning to think in a very grown-up way.

What Corrie’s Mum used to say was this:

‘There’s only one way your chin can go and that’s up.’

And Corrie found that if you really do lift your chin when bad things happen you somehow get the feeling that you can get past the trouble and just about anything is possible.

That’s what his Mum said to him in October and that’s what she said in December, in the Perth hospital where his great uncle had taken him on that last night.

Actually, Corrie’s Mum, who had become tiny and grey looking, lay in her hospital bed and whispered two things, the first being ‘I love you’. Corrie started to cry, quite openly, he couldn’t help it. His great uncle just sat on the other side of the bed as if he were made of stone and looked down at his boots.

The second thing—and the last, for then she closed her eyes—that Corrie’s Mum whispered was,

‘There’s only one way your chin can go and that’s up.’

Corrie knew he was saying goodbye to his Mum forever. But he didn’t cry. His chin went higher and higher into the air and he pressed his lips together, hard, even though he felt like shouting ‘It’s not fair, it’s not fair!’

Corrie didn’t stay in his old home after that. For a week he went out to the property, where his great aunt made sure he ate a lot and rode the ponies all day. His great uncle sorted out the house, but not before going round the rooms with Corrie and asking what he would like to take with him. Corrie wanted to take the lot, each piece of furniture and each ornament on the shelves. Everything, really, reminded him of Mum and he didn’t want to forget her, ever.

But his great uncle said, ‘that’s not really, possible, is it Corrie?’ so he took his clothes, of course, and his favourite books and the photo albums and the little box with his mother’s jewellery.

Corrie took all those, together with the three lace handkerchiefs with her initial on that he had bought at Wilson’s, especially for this Christmas.

At the end of the week Corrie and his suitcases went in his great uncle’s ute out to the airstrip and once again they flew to Perth in a small twin-engine aircraft. It was hot and the flight was very bumpy in the summer air but Corrie didn’t mind. The reason was easy. Something had been building up inside him that made him want to scream and break things, although he knew this was not the way for grown-up people to behave. So when the aircraft hit sudden air pockets and started to bounce around and his great uncle began to look a bit anxious Corrie didn’t get scared because he thought that perhaps God had arranged it especially to shake him up and make him think of other things.

From Perth the long flight in a really big airplane was very exciting for Corrie because he had never flown in such a large aircraft before. And it seemed that he had his own Flight Attendant, a lady who reminded him in many good ways of Mum. The Flight Attendant was younger though and, he had to admit, much prettier. But he knew that was part of her job, to be attractive.

Anyway, Susan, for that was her name—she told him to call her that as soon as she first saw him as he stepped into the plane—made sure he was comfortable in his seat

It didn’t take the jet long to get all the way up to 33,000 feet above the ground, their cruising altitude. Straightaway Susan came down the cabin to Corrie with a can of Coke and a small packet of chocolate biscuits. Some of the other passengers looked a bit surprised but Susan whispered that it was a special present from her.

Then she told him something that really made Corrie excited.

‘The pilot, that’s Captain Gustafson, has asked whether you would like to visit the flight deck?’

Corrie was astounded. It looked like he was somebody special, and this was a new feeling for him because except for his Mum no one had really treated him as anything but a very ordinary boy.

‘Ye-es please!’ he gasped, and Susan said she’d be back for him a little later on.

About an hour passed, during which Corrie had played with the radio and earphones and listened to his favourite music. When the Flight Attendants had been along the aisle with their trolley and cleared the lunch things away Susan came back and asked Corrie to follow her up the cabin towards the front of the aircraft. Now Corrie could feel everyone’s eyes upon him but he wasn’t embarrassed. In fact, he was proud.

But the best thing was the view out of the cockpit window. They were flying very high and there was no cloud so out to the left Corrie could see the huge sweep of the Great Australian Bight as they approached Adelaide, which they were going to overfly on their trip to Canberra. Then Captain Gustafson leaned forward and pointed down.

‘Look, Corrie, there it is.'

Corrie stared over the pilot’s shoulder. Far, far below, sort of blue-grey with a few shining bits where the sun was reflecting off city roofs, was Adelaide, nestling between the Flinders Ranges and Spencer Gulf. It looked so far away and tiny yet Corrie knew it was perhaps a thousand times as big as the little settlement he had grown up in. Suddenly his mind was filled by thoughts of all that had happened and why he was here. A big lump came up in his throat and his eyes blurred with tears. Captain Gustafson noticed Corrie’s sadness (aircraft captains notice everything) and tried to help.

‘Hey, young man, perhaps you’ll be flying one of these in a few years. Would you like to?’

And suddenly something happened to Corrie. The flight deck, the instruments, the terrific view, the fantastic power of the aircraft all seemed to come together in his mind.

‘Writing?’ he thought excitedly, ‘that can wait. I’m going to be an airline pilot!’

And he asked Captain Gustafson how you became a pilot.

‘Best thing for you is to get into the Air Force’, was the reply, ‘that’s where I learned to fly. And they teach you properly. And you get to fly supersonic jets. Then you can apply to join an airline.

‘Yes, Corrie, that’s the best way. But, you’ve got to be real good at maths and physics to get selected.’

Corrie considered. He had concentrated on being good at English so that he could get to be a writer and he was regularly top of his class. But he wasn’t that bad at maths either.

Yes, thought Corrie, I reckon I could do this.

Soon, though, he had to go back to his seat because the aircraft was landing at the Australian capital city airport. ‘When you get inside, just go along the corridor,’ said Susan, 'and I’m sure someone will be there for you.’

By now Corrie wasn’t feeling at all shy.

‘Thank you, Susan,’ he said, ‘thanks for your help.’ Corrie’s Mum had brought him up to be polite.

Now he couldn’t help it - he was nervous. All this was a big change for Corrie—the aircraft, the big city, all that had happened before, and now, waiting to see his aunt and uncle, who of course he had never met before. But as he stepped through the gate into the airport concourse, there was a delighted cry.

‘Corrie! Over here!’

And there, with her arms spread wide to greet him, was almost the exact image of Corrie’s Mum. Well, a bit younger, perhaps, but so like Mum that Corrie gasped in surprise.

Then he was embraced and Aunt Lucy was saying things like ‘Corrie, welcome!’ and ‘Corrie, you’re so big!’ and ‘Corrie, your uncle couldn’t come but we’re driving straight home—it’s only five minutes! All those things were a bit jumbled up, not only for Corrie, who had said to himself that no, he wasn’t going to cry, but also for his aunt who had thought exactly the same thing as she waited for her sister’s only child.

Well, really, that’s Corrie’s story. One of the first things his aunt and uncle did was to go to the Family Court in Civic and get a Parenting Order. This was because they were very neat and tidy people and wanted to do the right thing by Corrie.

‘Didn’t used to have children.’ Aunt Lucy would say. ‘Now we’ve got you and you’ve got us and that’s about as good as it can get.’

Of course, Corrie always knew that when Aunt Lucy said things like that, they both remembered Corrie’s Mum.

‘I don’t want to take your Mum’s place,’ Lucy always said, ‘just have you as a member of our family.’

What Lucy and Ray did for a living was to grow vegetables and run goats and chooks on what they called a ‘smallholding’ in the beautiful and fertile green area along the Molongolo River at a place called Pialligo. Actually, it was about a five-hectare lot, which meant there was also plenty of space for three ponies and two cows that were kept carefully away from the rows and rows of vegetables in the plots. And Aunt Lucy had been right, it was only five minutes from the airport and not much further from the centre of the city. Corrie, who was used to the wide open spaces of Western Australia, soon found out that nothing much in Canberra is very far from anything else.

And just as back in his past life he had done a lot of hard work, so now Corrie helped as much as he could on Lucy and Ray’s property. In between school, that is, for Corrie now went to St Edmunds in Narrabundah. The maths and physics teachers soon found out that he wanted to be a pilot and took a special interest in this young man who seemed to know where he was going.

At breakfast on one Sunday morning, about a year after Corrie had come to live with his aunt and uncle and was really helping on the property, they all had a discussion.

Lucy started.

‘Corrie, we get on fine, don’t we?’

Corrie nodded, a bit puzzled.

‘Well, we think that you should be part of our business…’ Lucy hesitated and looked across at Ray, who smiled encouragingly, ‘…I don’t mean work here all the time. Goodness, you’re doing so well at school and we know you want to be a pilot.’

Again Corrie nodded, even more perplexed now.

‘How about we adopt you and you become our real son?’ Lucy said all this in a rush, for she was very nervous.

Now Corrie had to think hard. Would this mean that he would change his name? Somehow, he quite liked ‘Slight’. What about his father? He knew he had left nearly fourteen years ago and never had got into touch, not even when Mum was dying, but what about him anyway? Did Corrie owe him anything?

No! Thought Corrie, these are the people I love. These are the people who took me in. And now these are the people who want me to be their family.

All this went through Corrie’s head in a flash, but all he did was make a little joke, even if it was a bit sad.

‘Only if I don’t have to call you Mum.’

Lucy and Ray laughed out loud with relief and Corrie realised they had been planning and worrying about this for a long time and perhaps were frightened at what he might say.

‘Of course I would like it,’ he said, ‘I want to be your family.’

The business of his name could wait, he thought.

Ray stood up and put out his hand. For the first time Corrie shook hands with a man, like a man. He felt very grown up. And there was something else. For the first time he realised he was almost the same height as his uncle.

Lucy watched them shaking hands and she obviously noticed it, too.

‘Corrie, you’re going to eat us out of house and home!’ They all had a laugh at that and everyone felt relieved that the decision had been made.

So it was settled. Lucy and Ray went to the Supreme Court and the judge agreed that because Lucy was Corrie’s Mum’s sister and because she and Ray had done the right thing by getting a Parenting Order there was no reason why Corrie shouldn’t be legally part of their family. So he made an order for a ‘Relative Adoption’. That’s what it’s called when someone like your uncle and aunt adopt you.

So for the first time Corrie had a legal Mum and Dad all at the same time, if you know what I mean. But of course he never ever forgot his real mother, and that, as Lucy always said, is as it should be.

Now Corrie concentrated on working hard at school, in order get a good HSC then join the Air Force and fly supersonic jets, just like the airline pilot had said.

But funny things had already happened in Corrie’s life, and now another funny thing would come along to make him change his plans yet again. It sounds weird, doesn’t it, changing plans so often? But that is the good thing about being a kid (big kid or little kid.) You’re allowed to change your mind about what you want to do. As many times as you like, in fact, so long as what you finally decide is the thing that satisfies you and, if possible, your parents. Who, for Corrie, were now Lucy and Ray.

But to tell you about these latest plans, we first have to look back three years again, to see what we can find out about…

…Tu Ha’s story:

Until she was eleven and a half, Tu Ha lived a very simple and happy life in her village. Like Corrie, she really didn’t go very far from her home, even on holidays. This is because holidays in Vietnam are not the same as in Australia. The main holidays are more like festivals. There’s the festival of the full moon called ‘Tung Tu’ when the whole village spends the day singing and dancing and eating. Then there’s the most important holiday, the New Year festival of ‘Tet’, when the villagers play a sort of chess match where the chess pieces are people wearing their most colourful clothes, especially the ‘king’ and the ‘queen’. And, of course, there is a great feast, which is best of all.

The schools don’t work on the same sort of timetable as in Australia. The school in Tu Ha’s village was very small and had only four teachers, even though it was a commune school and took pupils from several villages around Hoa Long. So the children had to share the day. Half of them went to morning classes, the other half went to school in the afternoon.

Also, the school was very poor, because Vietnam is a country that has had much war, and the fighting destroyed many valuable things and killed many, many people. There were no computers in Tu Ha’s classroom and there were very few pictures on the walls. The children had only one pen and one pencil each, and they wrote their lessons on cheap paper.

On the half-day that Tu Ha did not go to school she helped her parents, just like all the other children in her class. Mostly this was working in the rice paddies or looking after the chooks and the pigs. The houses they built were not really like ours, though; more like wood and clay with thatched roofs.

But Tu Ha, as I said, was very happy and all the other children were too. They worked hard to learn as much as they could because that is the way that Vietnam parents want their children to be. Many of the children were intelligent, because really wanting to do something helps you to be clever. Tu Ha was one of the brightest girls in her commune and it looked as though she would be accepted into high school. For their kid to be chosen for is the wish of every village mother and father. Tu Ha’s parents even began to dream the big dream—that she might be good enough to go on to university in Ho Chi Minh City.

But then something happened that dashed all those brave hopes.

One morning Tu Ha, who went to afternoon school, was helping her father to clear some bamboo to make new ground to plant vegetables. This part of the bush around the village had not been used for years and years. They were pulling away a bundle of bamboo that they had cut and tied up. The bundle was heavy and Tu Ha and her father were straining to get it on to the track when there was a huge explosion. Tu Ha, who saw only a great flash of white light, was knocked unconscious. The next thing she knew was when she woke up in the commune hospital.

Looking down at her was her mother, and she was crying.

‘Tu Ha! There has been a terrible accident! Your father is dead!’

Much later Tu Ha found out that her father, whom she loved dearly, had stepped on a land mine that had been left over from the old war. A land mine is a sort of bomb that is hidden just below the ground with a little spike sticking up. If anyone touches the spike, the bomb explodes. These mines had been buried all over the countryside by armies of both sides to catch soldiers and blow them up. Every village always tries to find the mines and make them safe, but more than thirty years ago some soldier had buried a mine in that very patch of bamboo and there it lay for all that time, waiting for someone to step on it.

And that’s exactly where Tu Ha and her father were working that terrible morning.

Tu Ha was very, very upset. She cried a lot for her father and began to think about what he had told her about the big war. He was only a boy back then but he had been a soldier and although he never really discussed the fighting he always used to tell her that things done in wartime have a nasty habit of harming innocent people for many years after.

Now, sitting in her hospital bed, Tu Ha thought how right her father had been and how very wrong it was that he who had fought for his country should get killed by a mine near his own village thirty years later.  And then Tu Ha, who was also injured by the mine, had another thought.

It was that war is good for nobody at all. A pretty grown-up thought, really.

But something different happened to Tu Ha after her father was killed. She was a long time in hospital and when she came out her mother told her a very important thing.

‘Tu Ha, listen carefully. Now your father is no longer with us it will be difficult to live as comfortably as we did. Don’t forget you are my eldest child. I have to look after your little brothers and sisters as well.’

‘But I can help you, Mum’, replied Tu Ha, who was a bit scared at how solemn her mother looked. But she also knew her mother very well and could see that she had made up her mind about something.

‘Tu Ha, you are clever, and your father and I wanted you to go to high school and then perhaps to university. How can you do that if you’re looking after babies all the day while I’m working in the rice paddies? No, Tu Ha. I’ve made other plans for you. Do you remember your uncle Phuong?’

Tu Ha thought. Though she had never seen him, Mum and Dad had often talked about Mum’s brother Phuong. He had left Vietnam before she was born and made his way, with a lot of difficulty, to Australia. She knew that Uncle Phuong was happy there because he often wrote and sent presents for the children, on their birthdays and at Tet.

What Tu Ha didn’t know was that Uncle Phuong was doing very well in Australia. He had arrived with no money at all, had worked extremely hard and now owned a restaurant, Vietnamese, of course. Uncle Phuong and Auntie Thuy, whom he had met after he reached Australia, had no children of their own and this saddened them because Vietnamese love children and think family is the most important thing.

But the most important thing for Tu Ha right then was what her mother said next. Mum put her arms around Tu Ha and held her tight.

‘The thing is Tu Ha, that Uncle Phuong and Auntie Thuy have asked that you go and live with them and I’ve said yes. Of course I said I’d talk to you about it first, but it’s what I want. Even though I love you very much and don’t want you to go away this will be the very best thing for you. You will have a good education and live in a lovely house with a room for yourself and television and even your own bathroom.’

Tu Ha was astounded. Although no one in the village had a real bathroom, she knew exactly what it meant—taps with hot and cold water, and a real shower. These things she had learned from books. Tu Ha became very excited. Then, when she thought what it really meant, very sad.

‘Mum, I don’t want to go away from you and the others.’ Especially her sister Hahn, who was only one year younger and just her best friend. And, of course, there was the other reason.

But her mother, who Tu Ha knew was a strong person, would not discuss that.

‘It will be hard for me too, but we will be all right. The arrangements have been made. It is done, Tu Ha. Your aunt and uncle will look after you very well. Don’t forget that in this world people move around all the time. It won’t take you long to settle down and you can write to me every week.’

Then within days, and before Tu Ha could really think or worry too much about it, she found herself on a large jet plane flying high out of Ho Chi Minh City bound for Canberra, Australia. Just like Corrie. In fact, when I romanticise about it, I think it is quite possible that Corrie and Tu Ha were in the air on the same day! Tu Ha’s aircraft belonged to Vietnam Airlines and it was a long-range Boeing 767-300, so the flight was direct, with no stops. And on the plane Tu Ha received just about as much attention as did Corrie when he flew to meet his aunt and uncle.

She was a bit nervous when she first got on the aircraft, but the Flight Attendant soon made her comfortable and made sure she had lots to eat and drink. And plenty of things to do, because looking out of the window is fun when the aircraft is over land, but on this trip they flew over a lot of sea, which is pretty boring to look at after a time.

Also, Tu Ha had got up very early that morning to go with her mother on the bus to Ho Chi Minh City Airport. There they said their goodbyes, which made them both cry. So after about two hours on the aircraft the steady drone of the engines, the good food and all the excitement of the day made her fall into a deep sleep.

Then, all that way up in the air, Tu Ha had a very vivid dream. She was with her father and they were in a small boat. They had been sailing for days it seemed, just she and Dad. Suddenly he pointed ahead.

‘There it is, Tu Ha, your new country!’

Tu Ha looked where Dad was pointing and saw, on the horizon, the soft green and flashing gold of a new coastline, which they now seemed to be approaching faster and faster.

‘Dad, it’s lovely!’ Tu Ha turned to laugh with her father. But the seat at the back of the boat where he had sat guiding them for days was empty. Tu Ha’s father had disappeared. She was in a panic and thought he had fallen overboard, but the sea was very calm and there were no signs of anyone in the water.

Then she heard Dad’s voice again.

‘Wake up, Tu Ha. You must do the rest on your own!’

‘Wake up, Tu Ha, wake up! We’re nearly at Canberra.’

Tu Ha returned from her dream to find her friend the Flight Attendant gently shaking her shoulder.

‘Here’s a glass of orange juice and some fruit drops to eat. We’ll be going down to the airport in a minute.’

And, just like Corrie, when Tu Ha reached the Arrivals lounge there waiting for her were her relations, both Auntie Thuy and Uncle Phuong. They were overjoyed to meet Tu Ha and Uncle Phuong kept saying how much she looked like her mother.

Then he said, ‘Right! Let’s go to the car. Give me your bags, Tu Ha.’

But Auntie Thuy looked a little doubtful, and said to her husband ‘It’s quite a way to the car park, do you think it will be OK?’

Tu Ha understood immediately the question.

‘Don’t worry’, she replied, before her uncle could say anything, ‘I walk far more than that every day. No problem!’

Actually, she said all that in Vietnamese, but added the ‘no problem’ bit on the end in English. Tu Ha felt rather proud of that, because she had been the best English speaker in her language class at primary school.

Also, as we know, Tu Ha was very bright and she already had taught herself to understand some English. Mostly it was from talking to some of the older people in the village who had learned quite a lot of that language during the war, when many American and a few Australian soldiers patrolled the area.

Uncle Phuong was pleasantly surprised when he heard Tu Ha say ‘no problem’.

‘OK’, he said, ‘I can see that you will be speaking Australian as well as we do in a very short time.’

They drove straight back to the city, where her uncle and aunt had their restaurant. The scenery fascinated Tu Ha, it was so different from Vietnam. But she did shiver a little because although it was spring this was a typical Australian Capital Territory ‘cool’ day and that meant that it was much, much colder than in Hoa Long. But Auntie Thuy had thought of that and had bought a beautiful new coat for Tu Ha. It was long and heavy and warm.

‘It’s sheepskin’, said her aunt, ‘that’ll keep the cold out until you get used to our weather. And look, I’ve got these really warm trousers for you too.’

So Tu Ha, who was in the back seat of the big and comfortable car, changed her trousers there and then, and her aunt didn’t even look round to see how she was getting on.

‘Feel better now?’ she asked.

‘Yes thanks, Auntie Thuy’, Tu Ha replied, and she began to feel really safe and comfortable with these two kind people.

When they got to their home in Griffith, an inner Canberra suburb, Tu Ha thought she had never seen such a big house. Even though to Australians it would seem like any three-bedroom brick house, to her it seemed to have everything and a neat, tidy, organised garden with strange trees and flowering bushes. Inside was even better, and when Auntie Thuy showed Tu Ha her bedroom she couldn’t believe her eyes. She was used to sharing one tiny room with Hahn and her small brothers in the house at Hoa Long. This was so huge!

‘All yours’, said her aunt.

But it was her very own en-suite bathroom that made Tu Ha dizzy with delight. In her village they all used to wash outside, drawing water from the well then squatting and pouring it over themselves. Her aunt showed her how the shower worked and told her that they would go into town that weekend and choose a complete set of furniture for her bedroom. New bed, new dressing table—with three mirrors—and a new desk to put under the window for Tu Ha to do her homework.

‘And,’ added Auntie Thuy, ‘your uncle is determined to buy you a computer because he says everyone must now know how to keep up with the electronic communications age!’

Tu Ha was overwhelmed with pleasure and gratitude.

Her uncle was right about Tu Ha learning to speak English (or Australian!) very quickly. This happened because of going to school, plus the special language lessons for her and other immigrants. Not only from Vietnam either. In Tu Ha’s language class—children and grown-ups—there were people from China, Afghanistan, Iraq and Cambodia. There was even a boy from Russia, but he knew much more English than the others.

Tu Ha learned a lot there, but of course her real learning of the Australian language came from the kids in her class at school. You see, when Tu Ha first talked to the people from the Immigration Office just after she had arrived in Canberra they gave her an intelligence test. Although it was of course conducted in the Vietnamese language, they said her answers made it quite obvious that she could go straight into the first year of High School. They were sure she would pick up the language without much trouble.

Well, with all those people saying Tu Ha could learn Australian quickly, she couldn’t let them down, could she? And because, as I said before, Vietnamese children are used to working hard whether at school or after school, Tu Ha was speaking like an Aussie in months, not years. What had happened was that she absorbed the language almost through her skin rather than formally learning it, although the special classes were useful, of course.

And that’s not all. Tu Ha got on splendidly with her aunt and uncle and they were very pleased to find that she was so much help to them. For Tu Ha was used to cooking at home and knew exactly what real Vietnamese food should be like. She insisted in helping at the restaurant after school and found she enjoyed the work very much.

And for her work Uncle Phuong insisted in turn that she be paid the ‘award’ rate.

‘That’s the wages Australians earn by law,’ he said, ‘and you shall have the same.’

Well, that meant that Tu Ha had more money than she had ever seen in her life. At first she wanted to send it all back to Hoa Long and she asked her uncle how to do this. Uncle Phuong looked embarrassed when Tu Ha asked this question and seemed not to want to answer. Then Auntie Thuy took Tu Ha into her bedroom and explained some things. She told Tu Ha that her uncle was sending quite a lot of money to Tu Ha’s mother.

‘It’s what families do’, said her aunt, ‘at least Vietnamese families. Your uncle wants to make sure that his brother’s family does not live in hardship.’

Tu Ha felt a great love for these people but she said ‘I still think I should help, as well.’

For once, her aunt disagreed with her.

‘The money you earn in the restaurant is yours and I know young girls always want things. You must use the money on yourself. Or save it to use later. We insist on this, and that’s an end to the matter.’

When Auntie Thuy said that Tu Ha thought how very much she reminded her of Mum, back in Hoa Long. So she decided she would thank her aunt and uncle in a special way. And she did this by getting a big idea, one that changed everything.

This came about some time later and it involved Corrie.

Tu Ha and Corrie:

This part is not very long and it takes place when Tu Ha is fifteen. She speaks extremely good Australian and is very near the top of her class and she is very, very happy. The reasons?

Well, in the first place, Auntie Thuy and Uncle Phuong, helped of course by Tu Ha, have continued to be very successful in their restaurant business. So successful that they have opened two new restaurants, one in Tuggeranong and one down near Bateman’s Bay, where the tourists and fishermen come. So successful that they won first prize in the Vietnamese section of the annual New South Wales restaurant competition and now they are visited by food journalists from all over Australia and even one from America!    So successful that Uncle Phuong wanted someone special to keep an eye on the staff in the restaurant in Canberra, whilst he and Auntie Thuy looked after—‘established’ he called it—the two new ones. And because he was not only a good businessman but also Vietnamese, he knew that a family member would be best and most reliable. So he made all the arrangements, filled out all the forms and went to all the interviews with the Immigration people. Finally he was able to make an announcement.

One night, after the last customers of the day had left the restaurant, Uncle Phuong called Auntie Thuy and Tu Ha into the office. There they gathered around the small altar that people from Vietnam put up to honour their ancestors. Uncle Phuong poured a tiny glass of wine for each of them. Then, looking directly at Tu Ha, he said,

‘We have arranged for your mother to come to live here. And, of course, Hahn and your brothers. They’ll all be part of our business. Let us now drink to their success!’

Well, Tu Ha was overcome with delight. Although she had written regularly to her mother and Hahn she really didn’t expect to see them again, at least not for a very long time.

As for Corrie, well a lot is happening for him, too. He too is doing well at St Edmunds, where the coach, who didn’t give out praise very freely, was heard to mutter that, young as he was, Corrie was ‘the best lineout man he’d ever had’. When this got to Corrie, as of course it did, schools being schools, he thought back to WA, where the Rules matches were as rough and tough as they come. And that, he thought, probably had something to do with it, but he sure wasn’t going to discuss AFL at Eddies.

Now, though, the idea of being a pilot doesn’t somehow seem quite as exciting as before. Why? Because Corrie is rapidly becoming a good farmer. Well, not farmer, exactly, but a producer of goods for market.

Lucy and Ray had been delighted when Corrie showed a real interest in the business of growing vegetables and flowers. And, it turned out, he had green fingers. That’s what it’s called when something inside you makes you able to do the right thing with plants. Corrie grew the sweetest of carrots, the most tasty tomatoes, huge lettuces and masses and masses of beans and peas.

People really want to buy good produce like this because very often the fruit and vegetables you see in the shops are not only old but have been brought in trucks from very far away. And the big growers use much artificial chemical fertilisers. They have to, because there are so many other people with big vegetable farms trying to sell massive amounts of produce to the big supermarkets.

Lucy and Ray—and now Corrie—were not like that. They did not produce huge amounts of fruit and vegetable and eggs and goats’ and cows’ cheese and sometimes chickens for sale at the markets and to restaurants. They grew a lot, though, and it was all the very best of quality because Ray would not allow chemicals on his land. He made all his own weedkillers from plants and his fertilisers from cow and chook manure. He also produced new soil from kitchen waste mixed with the straw the chickens had used. Plus, very important, worms. He would put all the waste into fifty gallon drums, then put in handfuls of his favourite sort of earthworm, which he bred specially for the job.

Ray loved his worms and the worms loved the waste and the straw and the weeds. Multiplying into thousands they very quickly turned a rather smelly mess into beautiful dark soil. This was the soil they used for their market garden, and the plants grew like, well like the beanstalk that Jack climbed up!

And Corrie liked this, and he liked being a grower. So here comes the next change of plan.

The plan, an ending and a beginning.

Tu Ha, who was doing so well at St Clares, just across the road from St Edmunds, knew of Corrie because they were in the same year. But they really hadn’t become friends yet. Not everyone in the same year are mates, especially at different schools (even if they are nearby) and it’s not because they’re enemies but merely because they don’t really get together much or, more likely, don’t share the same interests.

Well, for Tu Ha and Corrie that was about to change

Tu Ha knew where Corrie lived and what his parents did. Girls know those sorts of things. And she had worked out a way that would benefit Uncle Phuong, Auntie Thuy, Lucy, Ray and, of course, Tu Ha and Corrie.

It was simple, as all brilliant ideas are.

You see, the success of Auntie Thuy and Uncle Phuong’s Vietnamese restaurants, especially the one in Dickson, the Canberra suburb famous for international eating, was because they tried to use really first class and absolutely fresh produce. Real Vietnamese food is always prepared from the very best fish, pork, chickens and eggs and, particularly, vegetables gathered that day, just like in the village of Hoa Long.

The problem was that a lot of stuff had to come from Sydney, where there was a huge market that sold produce from specialised growers that were often even further away. So some of the ingredients that the restaurants had to use were not always as very fresh as Thuy and Phuong would have liked.

Tu Ha’s big idea was that Corrie and his parents would grow only Vietnamese vegetables and the restaurants would take all their produce, including eggs, chickens, ducks and even some goat meat. Now, having a brilliant idea and actually carrying it through are two quite different things.

But Tu Ha was determined.

So one lunchtime at school she went across the road to Eddy’s, found Corrie and introduced herself properly.  Corrie was quite taken aback at the little Asian girl, for Tu Ha stood only about 145cm and he was pushing 200. But Tu Ha just happened to be very beautiful. As she looked up at him with her almond eyes and serious expression Corrie felt a sort of soft explosion somewhere in his brain and suddenly he didn’t want to talk to anyone else but her, ever.

Quickly Tu Ha outlined her plan. Corrie scratched his head.

‘I dunno. It would mean a big change for us. We grow western vegetables, if you know what I mean.’

‘Yes, but I also know how good they are. After all we do buy from you.’ That was true, Auntie Thuy often bought a fair amount of the produce Lucy had on her stall in the town.

‘No,’ continued Tu Ha, ‘what I mean is that we have a business meeting, all of us, and see whether it might work.’

So not long after, Lucy, Auntie Thuy, Ray, Uncle Phuong and Corrie all sat down at a table in the restaurant in Dickson. Tu Ha, feeling a bit nervous, stood up in front of them and explained what she had in mind.

They all had a long and serious discussion, then Uncle Phuong said:

‘If you can supply us with Vietnamese vegetables, fresh each day, then we can do business and you can be our regular supplier. Things like Asian Basil, bitter melon, white radish, water spinach, spring onions, papaya, perilla lemon grass, coriander, mustard cabbage, pandan leaf and garlic chives. Things like that. Fresh. It would solve a big problem for us.’

Lucy, Ray and Corrie looked at one another. Lucy said ‘Well, I must admit, a regular contract would solve a problem for us, too, although we’ve never grown those Vietnamese vegetables...’ then she smiled at Corrie and added quickly, ‘…but I’m sure we can do it, especially the coriander!’

‘Don’t worry, I know how good your produce is, you’ll do it, no problem,’ replied Phuong, ‘and don’t forget, we’ll be buying the fruit and carrots and peas and beans that you grow now, as well. But you will need much more glass to grow some things. Vietnam is tropical and the ACT isn’t.’ They all laughed at that. ‘However, I can arrange for new glasshouses to be put on your property and you can pay me back a bit at a time.’

Tu Ha butted in. ‘And I’ll come and show you how to grow these things, I used to do it all the time with my Dad.’ Then she stopped and was quiet, for the memory of her father came rushing back.

Now it was Corrie’s turn and if you looked hard you would have seen that his chin was held quite high. ‘I’ll be in that! Tu Ha and I will sort things out!’

And that’s what happened. Before very long Lucy, Ray and Corrie were supplying three busy restaurants with nearly all the fresh produce they wanted. Suddenly money became easier for them and Ray even started to look at the property next door whose owner was really too old to be working still and had often talked about moving up to Queensland to live with his daughter.

But on top of that, the most important thing was what happened to Tu Ha and Corrie as people. They found, as they worked hard together helping to get the new plan organised, that they were very happy in each other’s company. In fact, when Corrie, shy for such a big young man, asked Tu Ha if she would be his proper girlfriend (he almost said ‘and come to the school formal with me’ but stopped just in time), Tu Ha was bold enough to smile at him and say,

‘I come from a very poetic people, you know. If you had asked me that in Vietnam you would have said something like “Are you the only flower in your garden?”, and I would have replied “The garden awaits a single strong butterfly”.’

Corrie crinkled his brow. ‘Does that mean “Yes”?’

Tu Ha laughed. ‘Of course it does, silly! And I’d love to come to the formal with you. I know you almost asked me. And I’ll wear a dress, a long one.’

Tu Ha was well known for wearing jeans every day of the year.

Corrie blushed and hung his head.

‘Look, I didn’t mean….’

But Tu Ha had taken his hands and was looking up—a long way up—into Corrie’s eyes.

‘We make a pretty pair, don’t you think? After all, we both know what it’s like to be different. After all, you’re a Koori and look at me, I’ve only got one leg.’

Then Corrie felt tears sting his eyes and he swore for the first (but not the last, believe me) time in his life.

‘So bloody what, eh! So bloody what!’

And if you can imagine it, this is how this story ends: Corrie is now looking up into Tu Ha’s eyes, for he has lifted her in those strong footballer’s arms as if she was thistledown.

The next afternoon he gave her a little package. ‘Open it at home.’

That night, in her lovely bedroom, Tu Ha opened the package and found three dainty lace handkerchiefs, each embroidered with her initial.

Corrie didn’t tell her all about his Mum, Holly, until quite some time later.

So there!

Finally, who is the ‘I’ telling this tale? Well, stay with me, because we’ve moved on a few years and here comes the bit from right now.

My name is Ha too (little joke) just like Mum, though everyone calls me Tash. That’s from Natasha, a name I chose for myself. Dad comes from WA and Mum from Vietnam, but you know that already. People say I’ve inherited all her beauty and all his height (I’m a fair bit more than 145). I used to blush at this but my boyfriend has cured me just by repeating it over and over again. That is, the beauty bit, for nobody can say that to a woman too often. His name is Abdullah Amin, ‘Ab’ for short but known to all as ‘Boof’ for Boofhead because they don’t come much braver on or off the field. Dad always says ‘for a fancy-pants threequarter, that is’ but he’s only taking the mick. I reckon Dad sees in Boof the same toughness that he has. That is, only when it’s necessary.

You see, Boof and his Mum were refugees from Kurdish Iraq when he was little. He can’t remember his Dad, who never made it to this country, but he says he won’t ever forget a place called Woomera, way back in 2003. We have the same sort of feelings, especially about freedom. And football.

Thing is, I wonder what will our kids be like? 

Dinkum Aussies, I guess.