My Father's Wisdom
The Gold in your backyard
On day I asked my father why I had always worked hard, had always tried to do the right thing, yet I seemed to have stood still.
He looked at me for a long time before answering.
“Do you really want me to tell you, my daughter?”
“Yes, Fa.”
“This is because you have not valued the gold in your own back yard.”
I waited for him to continue.
“You are given the first gold. This is the teaching of your parents when they grow you up and teach you how to face the life.”
“I fear we are now living in a time when children do not value that gold, they do not value the wisdom and experience their parents have accumulated over a lifetime.”
“You, my daughter, did not listen to your parents when you decided to marry. We knew that to have a good chance of making a strong marriage you needed to have a similar background.”
“A strong marriage helps to make your life easy. During a strong marriage you are always making gold in your backyard. If your marriage is broken, then you lose that gold.”
“Your marriage broke, my daughter, because you came from such different backgrounds. It was not because either of you were good or bad. There was just not enough to build a strong marriage. So you lost any gold you had been built up during your marriage.”
“You earned your degree in finance through hard work. You got a good job in the Bank of China. That was all gold in your backyard. Yet, you wanted to be a teacher so you walked away from that gold.”
“You worked hard again and earned your teaching qualifications. You soon had a good job teaching. That was gold in your backyard.”
“Then your marriage broke and you walked away from your teaching job to come back to your home city. You walked away from that gold.”
“When you are growing up you make friends: in your street, at school, at university, at play, when you are all young and new to work. As you spend long years working you build up your ‘ren ji guan xi’. That is all gold in your backyard.”
“When you left your home town to go to Foshan you walked away from your home town gold. Then you build up gold in Foshan. When you left Foshan you walked away from that gold. Yes, there was still some gold left from your growing up time, so all was not lost.”
“My daughter, you have worked hard all your life. Maybe, if you had valued some of the gold in your backyard, you might not have had to work so hard.”
“Your brother could clearly see the value of the gold in his backyard. He stayed in his home city and build up his family, his friends and his ‘ren ji guan xi’. He came to me just a short time ago to ask my advice. He had been offered a very high paying job and a big promotion in another city. He thought a long time, however he decided not to take it. He knew he would have to make new friends, build up his ‘ren ji guan xi’ again and it would be a trouble for his marriage and his child. He stayed because he valued the gold in his backyard.”
“Your sister and brother-in-law are not rich in money. They have lived in the same small home all their married life. Your brother-in-law has worked in the same job all his working life. Yet they have a strong marriage, a beautiful daughter and many many friends. All that is priceless my daughter, it is gold in their backyard. Gold they have valued.”
“And now Fa, what now?”
“Be still my daughter. Find the gold in your backyard and use it. You will find that over your life you have put much gold in your backyard, you just can’t see it now. Find it and use it my daughter and let the gold grow over time so it will make your life easy.”
Thank you my father for teaching me how to face the life.
My Father's Stories
Use kind heart, but do the wrong thing
You can't see the mountain because you are in the mountain
From malt sugar remember the story
"What do you see as rich?" I asked
A genuine friend is happy when you are successful and happy
Why do you make yourself upset when other people do the wrong thing
From a small thing, know the other person's moral standing
You must first respect yourself, if you want other people to respect you
When people do a little thing for you, don't expect it, feel pleasantly surprised
Don't make your children become what you wish, what they are not
The responsibility that comes with giving
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Set in Zanzibar in 1910, it is the story of two people from different worlds falling in love. Susan immerses herself in Zanzibar. Asim falls in love with this woman from the nation that killed his wife. Susan is a spy. Asim is the chief advisor to the Sultan of Zanzibar. Germany and France are holding secret negotiations to form a Pan European alliance, which would isolate Britain and destroy her power. Susan and Asim are caught up in all this and their love is finally dashed on the cold, hard reality of international high politics.
Available on Amazon's Kindle $4.99 - Over 400 Pages
Chapter One
Zanzibar
'A maharaja’s ruby cast on a Persian carpet by the blackest of hands'
Their souls danced, honouring his promise.
The ancient dhow stirred in the soft morning breeze, moving through the water like a sated lion, snuffling about the other boats on the harbour; some scurrying, some at anchor, some darting before a brief gust of wind. The lateen sails a bustling panorama of blood-red and sun-bleached white.
Aft, the woman's eyes searched the skyline, drinking in the architecture of Stone Town, the heart of Zanzibar; its jagged, cluttered silhouette so familiar, so much a part of her soul.
Abruptly, her eyes ceased their restless searching, jagged by an invisible hook, transfixed by the grand buildings on the northern shore, Beit-al-Ajaib, the House of Wonders, Palace to the great Sultan of Zanzibar. The distinctive architecture captured in the tropical light: coconut white outlined by contrasting shadow plays of pepper black.
A smile, ever so slight, started to play on the edge of her mouth then disappeared. A memory that should have been fond instantly turned to sharp unbearable pain. Her eyes hardened and moved on.
Without warning the captain threw the rudder over. Stumbling, the woman barked her shin on a wooden box, a rough-hewn coffin. She recoiled, knocking over an untidy stack of cane baskets. Imprisoned in the baskets, rusty cockerels, their scruffy heads straining through the latticework, snapped at her, cried out to her; their raucous din overwhelming her, drowning her.
Dimly, through the fog of noise, the strident swearing of the sailors in Kiswahili seeped into her conscious. Understanding, she smiled mirthlessly.
The coffin had been carelessly stowed, a chore, rather than a labour of respect or love.
London 1910
“Hello, who are you? I am Oliver, is Edward at home?”
The words were spoken by a tall, impeccably dressed young man as he rushed into Edward’s flat shaking off surplus water and calling for whisky while shoving his umbrella into a stand. It was a blustery, grey, bitterly cold February afternoon in the heart of London. He brushed a curl of soft auburn hair from his forehead and smiled charmingly.
Susan laughed, her hazel eyes dancing with the exhilaration of the new. “Yes, he is having a bath. I think he is trying to get warm. I’m Susan, Susan Carey, his sister.”
“Ahhh yes, from Australia. How do you do?” said Sir Oliver, smiling broadly and offering his hand. He had noticed the laughter in her eyes, and the depth, particularly the depth, intensified by jade flecks that made them striking and alluring. “So, you have arrived, good trip I trust.”
“I am very well thank you, and yes, it was a good trip,” replied Susan.
He laughed and glanced at the sitting room, “whisky?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, please come in…….. that was silly of me, after all, it is your flat.”
Oliver smiled and gestured for Susan to lead the way. He followed her into the room, and after helping himself to a generous portion of whisky, walked over to the fire.
Shortly after, Edward, wrapped in a huge ruby-coloured dressing gown and wiping soap from his ear strode into the room. He was of similar age to Oliver, late twenties, well built, if slightly podgy, with dark auburn hair and a full moustache. Susan looked up and smiled to herself, she could see now where he had picked up some of his new mannerisms.
“Thought I could hear voices. I see you two have met, no need for introductions then.”
As he was speaking, Edward walked to the side table and grabbed a whisky decanter by the neck. He glanced at Oliver who nodded. A long finger snaked into one of the tumblers followed by the distinctive clink of crystal. He swept the decanter off the table and carried it to where Oliver was sitting. After pouring the whisky, he sank into a lounge chair and sipped from his glass, enjoying the warm glow as it spread through his body.
Suddenly he sat up exclaiming, “Sorry sis, would you like something to drink?”
“Kind of you to remember, but no thank you, and yes, Oliver has already inquired.”
Edward nodded and sank back into his lounge chair.
They chatted, tentatively at first, getting to know one another. Edward had not seen Susan for two years and was unsure how his sister would take his new relationship. Oliver was intrigued by Susan. An attractive, self-assured young lady of high intelligence with a degree was a rare find. And, as fate would have it, she was also a trained and experienced teacher. He suggested a picnic at Oxford, which was met with ready acquiescence. Arrangements were made for the following Sunday.
“I’ll see if the Rolls is available,” mused Oliver. “Must ring father, haven’t spoken to him in ages.”
Oliver, Sir Oliver Marchmaine, was an unaffected young man of intense intelligence who saw life as a great adventure to be lived to the full. He was also unyieldingly loyal to his country, England, which is why he had joined Military Intelligence on leaving Oxford.
It was 1910 and Europe was stirring. It was a time full of interest, intrigue and danger. The European chessboard was becoming increasingly complex, the moves more subtle. A time when an unexpected move or feint could have profound consequences.
Regaining her balance, the woman’s eyes were drawn, hesitantly at first, resisting back to Beit-al-Ajaib. She wondered if it was still the same. Still the same centre of power and intrigue that had been so much a part of her life all those years before; that had defined her life.
She remembered those first few moments, remembered standing in the foyer of the palace, .………… remembered the breathtakingly beautiful Persian tapestry ........
The sea breeze stirred her clothes. She smiled a little sadly, and in her mind the tapestry gently swayed. Two small apparitions ran giggling up the stairs: two small exquisitely rich burkas disappearing along the first floor landing. Childish squeals of mischief and joy left in the air.......
“Move to seaward, you accused of Allah! Move!”
Her thoughts were clawed back to the dhow, the captain crashing the tiller over to avoid another boat on the crowded harbour. The woman instinctively ducked her head to avoid the heavy boom as it swung over her, the rusty cockerels squawked their raucous indignation, their heads straining through the latticework, relentless.
The collision avoided, the dhow continued on its way. The cacophony dying down to the occasional command by the captain or the cry of a seagull.
The woman's thoughts returned to Beit-al-Ajaib
…………. laughing and giggling, girls of seven or eight. A door on the first floor slammed and all sounds of them disappeared. Silence. The woman smiled. She could see herself, a young woman, dressed plainly, unselfconsciously, her sexuality tantalisingly just out of reach, hidden beneath the thin veil of her clothing. She remembered standing alone in the foyer, looking around, perplexed. Asim came through a door to the left of the tapestry.
“Salaam.”
The woman started and looked around. Then, realising, was cold again. Alone again. Alone, rocking to and fro to the rythm of the sea. Alone, beside a rough-hewn coffin.
Now Available on Amazon's Kindle $4.99 - Over 400 Pages
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