Patty and the Tet Offensive
(Or, the '70s revisited.)
I was there. And, despite the funny hair, I loved them. Of course I had no idea what was really going on. Did anyone know? I don't even know the chronological order of events now. But at the back of my mind there's a non-stop parade of headlines from those years. (Most of them are from the 'Melbourne Sun', a now defunct paper).
Patty Hearst wasn't at the Tet Offensive but those two names, to me, dominate the era. I have had dreams where those two names are the only things that I can remember at all. I know that I didn't understand what was going on in Vietnam or the arguments about conscription (introduced? not introduced? -- I can't even remember now). We had men in uniforms come to see us with slide shows of soldiers in jungle green leaping out of helicopters hovering just above ground level. There were maps on front of the newspaper and pictures of LBJ. At home, in the depths of the bush the F one-elevens would scream overhead on a training run from Kapooka or Forest Hill, loop the loop and fly away again. One day Saigon fell and it was sort of over.
But all of this heart-breaking earth-shattering confusing reality was only the background to the more ordinary but all-consuming life of an Australian teenager. You know, sex, drugs, rock'n'roll and early morning Geography classes. I had no idea when I was studying the sequential occupation of the Canterbury-Otago plains that I'd end up living in Canterbury for decades. In fact I would have scoffed heartily as I thought the only places then to live were Sydney or London. There was Hardy and Pol magazine and Harper's and Queen to read and the filthy letters I got from some of the boys from Yanco Ag.
I found my smallpox vaccination certificate just the other day. I had the vaccination before I went to Noumea on a school trip. Those were the days.
(To be continued. Or amended. Or maybe even deleted.)
I was there. And, despite the funny hair, I loved them. Of course I had no idea what was really going on. Did anyone know? I don't even know the chronological order of events now. But at the back of my mind there's a non-stop parade of headlines from those years. (Most of them are from the 'Melbourne Sun', a now defunct paper).
Patty Hearst wasn't at the Tet Offensive but those two names, to me, dominate the era. I have had dreams where those two names are the only things that I can remember at all. I know that I didn't understand what was going on in Vietnam or the arguments about conscription (introduced? not introduced? -- I can't even remember now). We had men in uniforms come to see us with slide shows of soldiers in jungle green leaping out of helicopters hovering just above ground level. There were maps on front of the newspaper and pictures of LBJ. At home, in the depths of the bush the F one-elevens would scream overhead on a training run from Kapooka or Forest Hill, loop the loop and fly away again. One day Saigon fell and it was sort of over.
But all of this heart-breaking earth-shattering confusing reality was only the background to the more ordinary but all-consuming life of an Australian teenager. You know, sex, drugs, rock'n'roll and early morning Geography classes. I had no idea when I was studying the sequential occupation of the Canterbury-Otago plains that I'd end up living in Canterbury for decades. In fact I would have scoffed heartily as I thought the only places then to live were Sydney or London. There was Hardy and Pol magazine and Harper's and Queen to read and the filthy letters I got from some of the boys from Yanco Ag.
I found my smallpox vaccination certificate just the other day. I had the vaccination before I went to Noumea on a school trip. Those were the days.
(To be continued. Or amended. Or maybe even deleted.)