The Happiest Day of My Childhood

I’m reblogging this post because today is Friday 13 July, my lucky day! It was posted four years ago.

Irina's Poetry Corner

Today is 13 July. On this day 69 years ago, my dear father came home from a POW camp in Germany. I’m not superstitious in general, but that day was Friday 13 and I’ve considered it my lucky day ever since.

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Here he is (seated in the first row in the middle) with his mates, all of them doctors, from Great Britain, Australia and New Zealand. He was wearing a British uniform and that complicated matters for him on his return: he was imprisoned, suspected of being a British spy. That episode deserves a story to be written, of course.

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Here he is in the first row flanked by Dr Norman Rose from Australia and Dr Webster from Great Britain. Next to Dr Webster is Padre, but I don’t know his name. In the back row the first on the left is Dr Smith, next to him a Frenchman and a Russian, Dr…

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To an Unknown Bloom – Rhyming Tercet

You might be called a common weed
Yet, in my not so perfect garden
You are a blessed breed

Without much effort on my part
You thrive and smile
Each morning when I start

My rounds of greetings
With gifts of healthy drinks
Water crystal clear for our meetings

You might be called a common weed
But, in my multicoloured garden
You are a welcome breed

~

I composed this poem the day before my fall on Friday, 4 May 2018. I was gardening in my nightie and my dressing gown at 8:30 am, admiring my work and this lovely bloom, not paying enough attention to my feet as I was gently descending the stairs. On the last step I tripped on the dressing gown and went flying in the air, hitting hard concrete with my left hip. I tried to get up. OUCH! I couldn’t move at all. The pain was excruciating. I called my husband, but he was still asleep. Then I just called HELP, HELP, hoping passers-by might hear me. I looked at the sky, wondering whether the clouds would protect me from too much sun. The pain was getting worse and I was afraid I might pass out. I remembered then my mother’s agony when she had a fall and broke her femur in 1996. Then my thoughts wandered to the ANZACs, how they must have suffered just like this.

An angel came to my rescue. She lives in our house and was on her way to work, coming up the stairs about 9 am. She immediately called the ambulance, woke up my husband, and came all the way with me to the Royal North Shore Hospital. Sasha followed in his car.

The paramedics drugged me appropriately. In the emergency I was given more local anaesthetic before the X-ray. I think I was half asleep when I heard someone say: “Sorry to tell you, the bone is broken, you’ll need an operation. Dr Ruff will operate.”

“Dr Ruff! How wonderful! He operated on my mother some 20 years ago. Same thing.”

I was truly relieved when I heard the familiar name. Besides, Dr Ruff has a very good reputation.

The op was on Saturday at 11 am. Dr Ruff remembered me and my mother.

“I remember your face “, he said. “You make me feel so old… I’ll fix your leg, you’ll be able to stand on it again.”

After rehab at Greenwich Hospital I came home on Friday, 1 June, grateful for all the care by the doctors and nurses and physios and my loved ones. Grateful also I only broke my femur and not my neck.

At Royal North Shore Hospital in the evening after my operation, enjoying chicken soup made by a dear friend.

The view from my Greenwich Hospital bed

The view from my Greenwich Hospital window. The window was always shut. The air-conditioning was always on.

I just loved hospital food. Served three times a day and I didn’t lift a finger to put it on the table!

Sasha’s gift for Mother’s Day. He came to see me every day. Dear friends came, too, and brought me flowers and fruit and snacks.

It may sound strange but when I came home, I was just a tad homesick for the hustle and bustle of the hospital. I met so many lovely people from all over the world.

 

©Copyright 2018 Irina Dimitric

Posted in Australia, Blogging, Irina Dimitric, Nature, Photography, Poetry, Poetry/Photography | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 25 Comments

A Short Analysis of Emily Brontë’s ‘Love and Friendship’

Of Love and Friendship by Emily Brontë

Interesting Literature

When she died in 1848, aged just 30, Emily Brontë had written just one novel, Wuthering Heights. Of course, that novel was a classic and remains one of the most popular and widely read Victorian novels. But Emily Brontë also wrote many poems. ‘Love and Friendship’ sees Emily Brontë reflecting on the differences between these two pillars of our emotional lives.

Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree—
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most constantly?

The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild-briar fair?

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For Anzac Day 2018 – 25 April

I made this collage for my profile photo on Facebook to celebrate Anzac Day this year.

In the group photo my dad, Lt Col Dr Bogdan Stojic, is easily recognisable in his Yugoslav uniform. These are the brave POW doctors at Cosel, Lamsdorf, today Lambinowice, from the UK, Australia and New Zealand. They all came home safe and sound when WWII ended in 1945.

 

In the second photo my dad is 22 years old, a volunteer in the Serbian Army, working as a medical orderly and assistant to Dr Sofoterov, about to set off on the perilous journey through the Albanian and Montenegrin mountains in November and December of 1915, known as the Albanian Golgotha or Serbian Golgotha. About the same time, the Anzacs were leaving the Gallipoli peninsula.

The bottom photo shows Bogdan Stojic, medical student (he continued his medical studies at Moscow University when on leave) , in the Russian Imperial uniform with his first St George medal for bravery. He served in the Second Siberian Corps of the 23rd Flying Red Cross Unit from February 1916 to April 1918, having thus witnessed and taken part in the Russian Revolution. The memoir I’ve been writing about his adventures in WWI is almost ready for publication. It would be wonderful if it could be published by the end of this year, since it is the centenary of the end of the Great War. Wish me luck. 🙂

Here is the photo of the Cosel group again, so you can see everyone in it.

Such fine fellows! ❤  StalagVIIIB/344 LAMSDORF PRISONERS OF WAR

I am very grateful to them and to all the brave soldiers and nurses who put their lives on the line defending our freedom.

❤ LEST WE FORGET ❤

Copyright © 2018 Irina Dimitric

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Anzac Biscuits – Weekly Photo Challenge: Fresh

I’m reblogging this post to celebrate ANZAC DAY 2018 ~ LEST WE FORGET ❤

Irina's Poetry Corner

2015 is the ANZAC Centenary year, so I’ve chosen for this post fresh, crunchy, delicious and nutritious ANZAC Biscuits, sent by mothers, sisters, wives and sweethearts to soldiers in WWI. They were all volunteers as was my father in the Serbian Army. In November 1915, when the Anzacs were fighting bravely at Gallipoli, the equally courageous Serbian Army was forced to retreat under German attacks. They had heard of the extraordinary bravery of Australian and New Zealand soldiers and thought, if only the Anzacs were there to help, they would be able to beat the Germans. That retreat is known as The Albanian Golgotha or The Serbian Golgotha. The Gallipoli campaign could very well bear the same name – The Gallipoli Golgotha. The Anzacs withdrew from Gallipoli in December, but went on to fight in France, and the Serbs regrouped in Greece, in Salonika. The war was won in 1918…

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Pink Lily – Cinquain

~Pink Lily ~

My relationship with these beautifully sculpted blooms is definitely a strained one. Ever since I was struck down with that strange malady called Chronic Fatigue (some medicos don’t believe it exists!), my sensitivity to strong smells, even nice perfumes, has prevented me from enjoying these lovely flowers in my house. But what I have recently discovered pleases me beyond belief: the White Lily has a very subtle scent that I tolerate quit well and even enjoy! ❤

I love
Your exquisite
Porcelain look of pinkish hue
Yet your sweet scent in my poor head
Kills me

© April 2018 Irina Dimitric

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Sweet Memories – Cinquain

Moments

Of shared jokes and

Crazy laughs between us

Sweet memories when we were young

My son

 

Copyright © Irina Dimitric 2018

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The Girl With Dark Hair – Sixty Years Ago

Our love story began here, on Mount Jahorina in Bosnia in March 1958. ❤

He spotted her dark hair

And her chirpy chatter

Among the giggling girls

There was love in the air

 

He searched on the mountain

Clad in pristine white

Dotted with myriad figures fair

Swaying, swishing downhill fast

Where is she, the girl with dark hair?

 

There she was one fine day

Right at the top having fun

Resting on her crossed skis

Caressed by the sun

 

When from her not too far

He addressed her

Hello Miss, don’t you wear a bra?

The cheek, he didn’t get an answer

 

He pursued his love-struck pursuit

Throwing his bait, a witty remark

Whenever he crossed her elusive path

 

Until one day at noon

Paradise Valley all white and bare

The swaying figures gone to lunch fast

He waited for her, the girl with dark hair

Knowing she would be the last

 

Like a princess from a fairy-tale

She came down on a cloud

Descending exactly where he stood quite pale

“You have beautiful green eyes”, he said

And invited her for lunch

 

They skied together all day

Swishing and swaying down the mountain

Their charmed snowy love fountain

 

In the evening they danced

And continued to gently sway

While listening to the piano play

“My one and only love”

 

To this very day this is their song

The song of their winter love affair

When he spotted her

The chirpy girl with dark hair.

My One and Only Love

The very thought of you makes my heart sing
Like an April breeze on the wings of spring,
And you appear in all your splendor,
My one and only love.

The shadows fall and spread their mystic charms
In the hush of night while you’re in my arms.
I feel your lips, so warm and tender,
My one and only love.

The touch of your hand is like heaven,
A heaven that I’ve never known.
The blush on your cheek whenever I speak
Tells me that you are my own.

You fill my eager heart with such desire.
Ev’ry kiss you give sets my soul on fire.
I give myself in sweet surrender,
My one and only love.

Songwriters: Guy B. Wood, Robert Mellin
© Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
For non-commercial use only.
Data from: LyricFind

 

I like Sting’s version of our song.

 

 

©Irina Dimitric 2012

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Winky Blue

Time for a bit of nonsense! A tribute in verse to Winky Blue, who is going to keep me fit. I finally found the right ball in a two-dollar shop. It cost a bit more – $5, but it was worth it. I instantly fell in love with that cute face. And I love the colour, too. I named him Winky because he does kind of wink at me, calling me to start exercising.

Winky Blue

Tiddle doo

Winks at me

When I’m blue

 

Take me please

In your arms

Kiss me sweet

With your charms

 

Toss me high

In the air

Grab me back

That is fair

 

Winky dear

Have no fear

My arms are strong

Hear my song

 

Ne’er too old

To laugh and play

Just be bold

Enjoy the day

 

Winky Blue

Tiddle doo

Winks at me

I’m no more blue ❤

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What do you do to keep fit?

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Copyright©2018 Irina Dimitric

 

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Australia Day 26 January 2017!

Happy Australia Day 2018 to my fellow Australians!

Irina's Poetry Corner

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I wrote this poem in 2013, I think, and my Facebook friend Ag Nes created this digital photo.

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Citizenship ceremonies will be held all over Australia today. People will celebrate in green parks and on sandy beaches, in pubs and clubs and at home. They’ll put lamb chops, sausages and shrimps on the barbie, delicious Aussie tucker, and keep cool and merry sipping cold Aussie beer or any other Aussie beverage.

My hubby Sasha and I will be celebrating with our feathered friends.

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With colourful Rainbow Lorikeets

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With Magpies singing praises of this special day.

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These two rascals won’t be welcome. The Sulphur-crested Cockatoos were good fun until they decided to help themselves, in our absence, to our outdoor timber furniture.

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I’ll let you join the party, Mr Currawong, if you pop in at your hairdresser’s first.

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The Laughing Kookaburra is always welcome.

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Happy Australia Day to my fellow…

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