Two Pennies

Two Pennies

Two Pennies
Illustration from the book Two Pennies

An old man sat with his daughter, his blue eyes twinkled as he opened a small wooden box and took out two pennies and placed them in her hand. ‘When I was a little boy, I raised money to help build a school in France. I have kept these pennies for you to take them to France and give them to the school for me.’

Eighty years earlier, just after World War 1, this little boy called George, who lived above his Mother and Father’s bakery in Albert Park, Melbourne, decided he wanted to make a difference.

So he woke up early to care for the horses that drew the carts that delivered the bread.

First, he led them from the stables, put their bridles over their necks and tethered them to the horse railing outside. Then he fed each of them a bucket of oats, so they would have full stomachs to do their day’s work.

After the horses had delivered the bread, George washed and brushed their coats so they were clean and shiny.

Soon he had earned his first two pennies to help build the school in Villers-Bretonneux which been flattened by war.

George was not alone, thousands of Victorian schoolchildren donated pennies. This initiative of the Victorian Department of Education became known as the Penny Drive.

The Victoria School, on the rue du Victoria in Villers-Bretonneux, was rebuild between 1923 and 1927. The school is a gift from the children of the State of Victoria, Australia, to the children of Villers-Bretonneux as proof of their love and goodwill towards France. Twelve hundred Australian soldiers, fathers and brothers of these children, gave their lives for the heroic recapture of the town in April 1918.

On the front of the school are two plaques, one in French and one in English, referring to this bond. In the quadrangle of the school, painted over a porch on a green background in yellow is written DO NOT FORGET AUSTRALIA. This inscription is also found in French in each classroom.

In 2012 I flew to France and found the little school in the village that my father had helped to build and gave the headmaster, Monsieur Hollinville, George’s treasured two pennies.

These two pennies are now proudly displayed in the French-Australian Museum in Villers-Bretonneux. They tell the story of a little boy who had a dream and made it come true.

A bond was forged between George and Villers-Bretonneux that was never broken.

Two Pennies is a powerful and poignant story about this little boy, my Dad, who, with courage, hope and perseverance, helped to build this school across the oceans.

This book is his story.

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Define Yourself By What You Love

29 Under Blue 1Recently I read Tim Minchin’s, Nine Life Lessons. The one that stuck: define yourself by what you love. So I set to it and wrote a list of what and whom I love. And everyday I move gently and carefully towards those things by engaging with them.

But my old friend cynicism can take hold if I leave the gate open, even a crack. Easy to get stuck in looking for what isn’t working. ‘It’s all very well,’ I hear my cynical self say, ‘we can’t just go around doing what we like.’ Can’t argue with that. But let’s start with a simple question. What gives real pleasure? Can it be done for an hour a day?

 

A friend’s mother is rapidly falling towards Alzheimer’s. The difficulties of this journey affect my friend and everyone in her family. She said her mother carefully explained to her that the people on the television see her; that they follow her around the room with their eyes, and asks ‘Can they see me?

 

The poignancy is deep and touches the centre of the heart. The metaphor is dynamic.

 

For my friend; is she really seeing her mother? Does anyone really see her any more? Or have they ceased to see her because they are dealing with her disease so diligently and single-mindedly?

 

For me the metaphor asks; do any of us see each other… really? Or do we project our reality onto everyone we talk with? Too full of our own thoughts and agendas; checking text messages as we talk to the ones we love, talking over our shoulder as we run out the door. Too busy to really hear and see the other with our hearts, eyes, voice, bodies and minds.

 

Merging these two insights I reckon life may be simpler than it appears. When one of my grandsons enters the room, I stop what I am doing and totally engage in his world. I am in his moment. Grandmother’s privilege? True. But isn’t this what love really looks like?