October 2025: Tapestry – Catriona Ling
The light on the sea off Colombo. You never get that colour anywhere else. The white sand and the edging froth of white on the breakers. I always loved my aquamarine ring, for that clear blue colour.
The soft urging voice of Amah, ‘Palle Yan’, I use it with my own children. “Come on, palle yan.”
I was eight when I left and I never got that sunlight back. Not properly. The dark slimy dankness of autumn leaves underfoot, as I made my way back to the boarding house. The bare Scottish hills glowing reddish brown in the last of the light.
“Anyone would think you had servants to pick up after you, Sheila Forbes.” The crossness of authority. Me, standing head bowed in the freezing dormitory. I’ve never been able to stand being cold again.
The terror of transgression. The crash as I dropped a goldfish bowl over the banister, craning to see what was going on below and losing my grip. The summons to see the headmistress. Any hope of help a six-week journey by ship away. Even letters took half a term to come.
The last laugh was mine, for I loved school. Robin throwing pellets of paper at me from the back of the class. Robin with his shorts and curly hair. That photo is us as prefects together.
Robin, we never stopped loving each other.
A student rag, dragged through the streets of Edinburgh in a cage, while we played bridge. Voted Miss St Andrews; it helped I knew so many boys from school.
Marrying Robin, three months after my father died. I didn’t say goodbye that day, and then he was dead.
My mother horrified, “You’re breeding like a rabbit.” How would she tell her friends? Three children in three years and then another.
Babies and toddlers in hand knitted jumpers and wellies, me with holes in my trousers from crawling round the floor behind them.
The carousel of family life, meals, washing, school. The entertaining; Sparkling in a black and gold jacket. New Year’s Eves with the house packed. A picnic on New Year’s Day, hot lentil soup and rolls, standing round the car boot in the driving snow.
Children grown to teenagers and then marrying, themselves. Grandchildren, my wedding dress in the dressing up box. Robin and me, a dynasty.
Robin, my friends, my books, my bridge, my family, my life, a glorious tapestry. But then the moths got at it. Nibbled away at the memories, created holes. Now, when you hold it up to the light, there’s just strands, only a flash of colour.
Today’s table is full of all those I love, the colour and decorations of birthday celebrations. I am past recognition now but I’m still looking for that clear bright light of my childhood.
I say, “I’m so happy.” Everyone’s head snaps round in disbelief at the coherence of the words, and for a moment the tapestry glows entire again.
Catriona Ling
Right Left Write’s October prompt was Fragments. New prompts are announced monthly February-November in QWC’s Pen & Pixel email newsletter.
Find out more about Right Left Write at www.queenslandwriters.org.au/rightleftwrite.
Right Left Write’s October prompt was Fragment.