THE LAST WORD MUST COME from home. The only thing I regret is that huge corporations have finally discovered Tasmania and we are now losing some of our legacy to high commerce. I suddenly thought of all the writers who have written about the old days and besides my father, made history there.
Nan Chauncy is a name most Tasmanian writers know well. My father knew her well, and as a child I remember our family driving to see her in her cottage just outside the village called Bagdad.
After her death, the cottage and gardens were opened as a Nature Reserve.
Originally from England, she settled in Tasmania after working in various parts of the world, including teaching in Denmark. She wrote children's books that mostly featured stories of the bush, nature, birds and exciting country adventures. She also organized the Girl Scouts and became a leader for further Scout packs across the Island. We would have afternoon tea with her and her husband, and it was fascinating to talk about the various birds and animals she had seen on her country walks. She went on to win all kinds of awards, and several films were made of her books, one of which won at the Venice Film Festival for Best Children's Film.
I remember how down to earth she was, and how much she loved writing about the island. My memory of Dad's friends were how they were still discovering and exploring the different flora and fauna of the island. Their spiritual life was bound up by their love of the land.
Since leaving Tasmania I have given a great deal of thought about where writers work the best. If we do have some kind of history in our souls, or believe in reincarnation, it seems to explain why most of us know when and where we are contented. Reading about my grandfather, even going back to my great grandfather's brother, who left Tasmania, went to England, studied to be a doctor, but then came back to New Norfolk and practiced there for the rest of his life. In those days, traveling back and forth took months, and in very primitive ships, battling storms and the heat of the tropics.
Maybe because Dad's ancestors originally come from Normandy, my brother, Roger lived there for the last 20 years of his life and he loved it. It seems strange that he never wanted to return to Tasmania, but felt at home in Normandy. Even though he was lonely at times, he said that the sky was larger there than anywhere else, and the landscape was more verdant and pleasing.
He did return when Dad died, and arranged that he be buried in Campbell Town, a country town in the Midlands, where we laid Mum to rest as well. They were both devoted to each other and I think their mutual love of nature and the pursuit of preserving the uniqueness of the island's beauty was their life's work.
Elizabeth Sharland