Trying to piece together my family’s past from the handful of photos that remain – a family shattered by war and a failing marriage that sent three young boys (one of whom was my Grandfather) across the world to Australia. They never saw their mother again.
I was in Australia last week as part of Perth Writers Festival. Whilst I was there, I visited my Australian cousins for the first time, travelling north of Perth, high into the wheat belt – a landscape completely new to me, but one which my forebears have shaped.
I’ve decided to fictionalise this story. The past cannot be recovered, I know that. Perhaps fiction is a way to show just how out of reach the past truly is.