Hilltop Homage

In Silent Memory Of Those We Never Knew

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

One of the things that has always amazed me is how different and distinct each Australian state capital is from its counterparts. In the first week of this year, we were in Perth, Western Australia and despite a hectic three-day schedule that included a wedding, we still managed to savour some of the most famous sights.

I’d heard that the 400-hectare Kings Park is actually larger in area than New York’s Central Park and I enjoyed my first fleeting visit to the beautiful setting, situated high above the Swan River.

It was a scorching Sunday morning under a flawless blue sky and the symmetry of the State War Memorial was perfect against the tranquil backdrop.


Because it’s set on a hill, the design of the monument allows for a crypt, although this is not immediately apparent when looking downhill at the memorial.

The Cenotaph was unveiled in 1929 while the Queen inaugurated the pool of reflection and the flame of remembrance in 2000. In the crypt, along with a display of regimental colours, there are names of every serviceman and woman from Western Australia who were killed in the Boer War, the two World Wars, Malaya, Borneo, Korea and Vietnam.


When I first composed this shot of the eternal flame, I included the reflection in the water as well. Then I suddenly noticed that the intense heat of ignition was causing a mirage-like shimmer, just left of centre. In this shot above, you can actually glimpse the heat-induced distortion, even though this is a low-resolution copy.

Having seen several cenotaphs around the world, I didn’t realise the significance of this design until I flew back to Melbourne and began researching the background of the monument. The obelisk, I learned later, is based on the design of Australian Imperial Force memorials erected in France and Belgium.


This young visitor (see last photo, below) was walking across a narrow plinth in the shadow of the crypt, with the strap of his bicycle helmet in his mouth. He was in shadow and I was outside in the sunlight, about twenty metres away, when I realised what a great image it would make, because it is so different from a run-of-the-mill shot.

I only had time for one frame before he disappeared, but it's interesting to note that the position of his foot does not obliterate the word "name" in the engraved letters.

It’s fitting, I guess, that the names of those who lost their lives should be etched forever in an area of such beauty and silent contemplation.


Visit TNChick's Photo Hunt. Today's theme: "In Memory''.

One Single Greeting To Cherish

Treasuring The Spoken Word



Sometimes we treasure one spoken word more than any other. Permit me to digress for a moment. The feedback I had when I wrote the Alzheimer's post In Memory last week included some wonderful comments from around the world.

One of the comments was, ``I'm amazed at how some things draw blanks and yet other things stay fresh and ready for recall'' from Brian in Oxford.

That is so true, Brian. Alzheimer's is a roulette wheel of random loss. My mother, who was also fluent in Latin and French, had her effervescent personality slowly eroded by the disease. When she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, we were told that the one, inescapable fact is that Alzheimer's patients or those who suffer with dementia never get better. Never.

So we watched as our mother slowly lost many of her powers. Most poignant of all was the way she lost the power to communicate. Having written letters, immaculately constructed and presented, to family and friends for decades, this great communicator found herself unable to remember simple words. Spoken sentences were suddenly punctuated with silent gaps when she could not remember words like ``clouds'' or ``cars''.

Our son, now a strapping teenager who is built like a quarterback, was never blessed with a real conversation with my mother, simply because she could no longer speak by the time he was a toddler.

He was kindergarten-age when we drove home one evening after celebrating Mum's birthday at the aged care home. He asked his older sister, ``How come Granny never answers when I speak to her?''

Our daughter explained gently that Granny had an illness which meant she could not speak. But she pointed out to her younger brother that Granny showed her love by stroking his cheek, kissing him and hugging him in those strong arms of hers.

``I wish I could hear her speak just once,'' he said solemnly.

Three months later, against all odds, his wish came true. We all walked into a room and my mother fixed her eyes on him, held out her arms to put him on her knee and said, loudly, strongly and clearly, ``Hello''.

He has never forgotten that, and probably never will. It was 25 December and a woman who gave so many people of so many generations so many meaningful Yuletide gifts, had kept the most memorable of them all for her tiny grandson.

It was a Christmas gift he will never forget. Even though it did not come gift-wrapped, in the traditional sense.