Category: 10 – Listen to Stories

Yesterday all the Third Spacers got together for a Welcome home event – after a year of following each others stories and adventures online it was really lovely to share an afternoon of story-telling and wine(of course!). Having bored our friends and families to death with lines such as, “Oooh this one time in Paris” or “On my year abroad.. bla bla bla”, there was something refreshing and almost concluding about reflecting on our times abroad with others that had shared a similar experience.

What really resonated with me during the event was that despite the fact we all went to different countries and were doing different things there were noticeable similarities in all our stories – it was hilarious to share our unforgettable experiences of trekking around cities looking for accommodation; our “lost in translation” moments in the local supermarket or our “cheesy” moments where we found ourselves capturing incredible sunsets surrounded by our new group of international friends!

One of the Third Spacers I was chatting to reminded me that the time we have left at Edinburgh university is the same amount of time we spent abroad. Knowing how quickly last year went by I certainly want to make the most of this year and so she cleverly suggested trying some of the Third Space activities here in Edinburgh …. I’m not one to say no to a challenge!

Good luck with your final year guys!

I’m discovering that writing blog posts isn’t the easiest thing in the whole wide world ever. I have been advised to write down whatever comes to mind to get started, but I think I’m developing writers block, though perhaps I never had ‘writers flow’ or whatever, in the first place. It’s a challenge because I see this post going one of two ways; in option one I prattle on about the amazing experience that I had and the amazing things I did and the amazing food I ate (all true by the way) which I imagine isn’t particularly fun to read about. You’ll be left thinking, well, she had fun, lucky her, because nobody wants to read about how perfect someone else’s weekend was. On the other hand I could turn it into a lavish description full of poetic phrasing and delish descriptions, but I’m not sure I’m up to that. So what am I left with, I’m not sure, I had originally entered four categories for this post, so I ought to be able to come up with something. I’ve just remembered that it has to be understandable and interesting from the perspective of someone who doesn’t know anything about Third Space. Oh dear. Perhaps I should start again.

I have been feeling recently an increasing desire to fully understand what third space might actually mean. I may have just lived in Italy for 6 months, but did I really ‘live’ there? Was I a tourist on an extended holiday? Or did I live a slice of the real Italian life for a few short months? I went to University, I rented a flat, I caught the bus, I hired a bike, I babysat for a wonderful family, I went to the dentist, I almost had my own radio show, I went to the veg shop across the street, and I borrowed an iron from the nun across the hall! But my flatmate still as good as called me a tourist at the end of my stay. But the Erasmus student is superior to the tourist, we speak the lingo, we have semi permanent residences, maybe even native friends! I even had a loyalty card. However, my only post was postcards, my wizened cranky nonna didn’t live around the corner and I went out for pizza far too much.

There was a pretty lively Erasmus scene in Verona, but I never really got too involved. I would like to point out that I did however have friends, thank you. It was very partehpartehpartehbeerponglet’sgothebeacccccch #erasmus and my favourite #lovelovelove. They all had a good time but it wasn’t for me, it might sound dull, but I just wanted to do normal things, to escape that third space void and experience a lifestyle that is so different to my own. So I went to the cinema, I wandered around, I even went to Catholic mass a couple of times, trying to capture those quintessentially Italian vibes. But you always have too much fun to really live there, there’s far too much living life to the full for any normal person. That many life changing experiences is simply not sustainable! It must take years to full integrate yourself into a new culture, to adopt it as your own. However I do believe that after a few months you can gain an understanding and an appreciation of a place and its cultural differences, and I hope that that is what I achieved.

Bethan Evans

Every year, between June and December, magpie birds can become dangerous. Also known as ‘Magpie Season’. In this time, it is Magpie mating season, so there are plenty of birds securing their nests. The first sign of Magpie Season are the warning signs the Council puts up at bus stops in a known magpie areas.

When in Australia, people used to wear helmets with tall wires placed on top. This is a safety helmet  to scare Magpies and hope that they won’t swoop down and attack. Below is an example:


In the picture above, it shows the amount of magpie attacks in Brisbane from http://www.magpiealert.com
This year there have been 4310 attacks and 608 injuries.

Whilst living in Brisbane I didn’t witness any attacks as I left before the season began. However I have heard of many stories. For example, last year my friend was cycling to college. As she cycled nearby the trees and came to a sharp corner of the pathway, a large magpi flew down at her head which made her loose balance and fall. The bird didn’t attack again.
Apparently Magpi’s can attack you in many ways, including putting their claws into your eyes.

Another friend told me of stories that she heard…
‘Don’t look at Magpis in the eyes,
Don’t turn your back to them, otherwise they will attack,
Don’t run away from them,
Don’t try to fight a Magpi’

 
So if you are in Brisbane between the months of June to December and don’t want an experience like the men above, remember to protect your head and eyes, and try to avoid the ‘defence zone’. Or, if you do want to experience this… enjoy!

India, Brisbane

Volunteering at the museum I frequently met new people and listened to their stories, but one gentleman in particular stands out. He brought the ‘Toys Through Time’ exhibition to life through his own experiences and memories. We walked through the whole gallery together and he told me about the toys he recognised and what he remembered of them in his own childhood or, as the exhibition went on, in that of his children’s. His name was Paul and while I never asked his age, he had been happily retired for several years.

One of the first doll’s he remembered was given to him and his sister by their grandmother. He was always warned to be very careful with it as it was a traditional porcelain figure. He said this doll stood for years on the top of their wardrobe and was not to be touched. I’m not sure how much he personally liked the doll but it reminded him of an old expression they used to say at the dinner table. When they had finished their dinner they would often say that they were “full up to dolly’s wax”- the wax used at the point where the neck joined to the body. While now we would say something like “I’m full to the brim”, it was funny to see how such expressions have changed with the trends of the time.

Another toy he remembered fondly, like I’m sure many of us would, was the Monopoly set. Interestingly, he learnt about the city of London through this game and many years later, when he had the chance to visit, made it part of his plan to visit all the places he recalled from the board. He only failed to make it to one of the tube stations.

From his children’s childhood he looked towards the old soap box cart which was suspended from the ceiling. Every year he and his son used to build a car for the race, most years they painted the car a royal blue colour but he admitted, they never really came close to winning the race.

I really enjoyed walking around the exhibition with Paul as most of the toys brought up a little anecdote or story. It was lovely because these toys often had a generational character or meaning, like the toy passed down from their grandmother, or even the act of soap box racing which isn’t as popular any more. As much as they were individual stories, many other people had similar memories. These toys showed a commonality between different families and provided a sense of sentimentality for the visitors to the museum.

Every country has its legends and stories. People enjoy telling them and listening to them because they explain what they otherwise cannot understand, give them hope, educate them, entertain them. Some of them are purely fictional, others are based on a true story but might more or less change after being transmitted through too many story tellers. I have heard one such Australian legend when I was visiting Melbourne. As some of you might have already guessed it is about the most famous Australian bushranger and bandit Ned Kelly.

Edward ‘Ned’ Kelly was born in June 1855 as the first-born son of an Irish Catholic couple. His father, John ‘Red’ Kelly, was an ex-convict (transported from Ireland for the theft of two pigs). After his sentence expired he married eighteen years old Ellen Quinn. The Kellys settled in the Victorian ranges north of Melbourne and had five daughters and three sons.

Ned’s father died when Ned was only nine years old and since then Ned had to stop studying, was often in conflicts with police and was arrested many times. He was mainly accused from stealing cattle and horses. People still debate about which of the crimes he really committed and which he was just accused from because his family was not favoured by police officers. This probably never has been and never will be known with certainty. The real troubles started after so called Fitzpatrick incident. Although Constable Fitzpatrick was warned to stay away from Kellys, he decided to arrest Ned’s brother Dan that had just returned home from prison. It is said that he was quite drunk when he came to Kellys’ hut and assaulted Kate, Ned’s older sister. Ellen Kelly shot Fitzpatrick in the wrist to protect Kate but because she wanted to avoid any repercussions, tended Fitzpatrick’s wounds, fed him, gave him something to drink and sent him on his way, with an understanding that no more would be said. Nevertheless, Fitzpatrick testified he was attacked by Kellys and their sympathisers and shot at three times by Ned (who was probably not even present during the whole incident). After that Ned’s mother was sentenced to prison for three years with a breast feeding baby. Ned and Dan went into hiding in the Wombat Ranges and were soon joined by their mates Joe Byrne and Steve Hart. The foursome became known as the Kelly Gang. The gang did not try to break into the jail to rescue Ned’s mother as expected, instead they offered an ultimatum to the government which started a real war:

“…to give those people who are suffering innocence, justice and liberty. if not I will be compelled to show some colonial stratagems which will open the eyes of not only the Victoria Police and inhabitants but also the whole British Army…”

Consequently, the Kelly Gang committed two large-scale bank robberies to support themselves and to help their supporters and the poor. Therefore, many say Ned was an Australian Robin Hood. The police were determined to hunt down the Kelly Gang. In October 1878 a party of four fully armed police were sent out to find them. The Gang, however, surprised them at Stringybark Creek and three policemen were killed which even increased the price set on Ned’s head.

After more bank robberies, in 1880 the Gang took 60 hostages in the Glenrowan Inn and planned to negotiate the release of Ned’s mother Ellen and others jailed after the Fitzpatrick incident. 46 policemen arrived, surrounded the Glenrowan Inn and fired at the Kelly Gang for seven hours. Although all four were wearing homemade metal armour; Dan, Joe and Steve were killed. Ned was shot into both unprotected legs and arrested.

Ned was imprisoned in the Melbourne Gaol in order to recover. There he wrote a long letter to the authorities demonstrating the discrimination against poor Irish settlers. Then he was trialled and despite public protests sentenced to death. On his sentencing Ned reacted with famous words: “The day will come when we will all have to go to a bigger court than this.”

Ned Kelly died by hanging on 11th November 1880 at Melbourne Gaol. His last words “Such is life” as well as legends about his life became immortal.

Many years have passed but people did not forget Ned Kelly and his Gang. The criminal hated by police and authorities became one of Australia’s greatest folk heroes. His story inspired painters, writers, musicians and filmmakers. Therefore, for those interested in Ned Kelly’s Gang, or better say more or less real stories about it, there are plenty of resources to follow!

Photo of Ned Kelly taken the day before his execution

Yesterday I went on a tour of Buchenwald, a former concentration camp. We were taken round the site by a guide who told us a number of stories about the place and the people who used to be there – some of the stories had been told to him first hand by former inmates and others he had simply come across during his time working at the Buchenwald memorial site.

Goethe’s Oak

The picture above shows what is left of an oak tree which stands right in the middle of the grounds. The guide explained to us that when the camp was built in 1937, all the surrounding forest land was stripped away in order to make room for buildings. Everything was destroyed except this one oak. He said that there are two theories as to why this oak was never chopped down: Firstly, some people say that since the camp was built so quickly and little to no machinery was used, there just wasn’t enough manpower to move such a big tree. Secondly, people say that this tree was famous in the region as it is supposedly where Johann Wolfgang von Goethe sat and wrote some of his most celebrated pieces of literature. Since Goethe is such an important aspect of German culture and its heritage, it is thought that the SS decided the tree was too valuable to destroy.

The guide then told us about a legend amongst the prisoners of the camp regarding this oak tree. Every year this oak tree, like all other deciduous trees, would lose its leaves in the winter and the leaves would then bloom again in the spring. The prisoners used to look at this tree and say “the year that the leaves on this tree do not grow is the year that we will all be freed.” They used to say this as they never thought they would make it out of the concentration camp alive.

However, in August of 1944, the oak tree was hit by a bomb and caught fire, which caused it to almost burn down completely. As a result, in the following spring the leaves on the tree did not bloom, and sure enough in April of 1945 the camp was liberated and the prisoners were set free.

People still come and visit the tree today in order to remember their ancestors who were held in Buchenwald. Some place a stone on the tree stump as a sign of remembrance. The picture below shows part of the memorial at Buchenwald. It lies just around the corner from the camp itself. Out of all the concentration camps in Germany, the memorial here lies closest to the original site where people perished.

The memorial at Buchenwald. 

Vida, Germany