Jottings in an Oarsman’s Journal.

(Arthur John Trevor Briscoe..1873-1943..Sculling).

Jottings in an Oarsman’s Journal..#7.

Epilogue.

I was keen to get an early start as I expected this stretch of the river to be the final chapter in my journey..also, amongst the general conversation with Hector yesterday, he informed me that the river moves between steeper hills as it gets closer to The Murray River and I should be aware that the current may be stronger. I had allowed for just such an event so I brought along a spare rowlock that I could use on a block set in the transom at the rear of the skiff so I could scull the boat to have more direct control while being moved along with the current.

I set off after the Sun had comfortably settled in the morning sky and rowed across to the far side of the waters so as to catch the deeper stream there. I had not gone too far down the river when I passed what has been recently named “Shell Hill”, as it was discovered that there was an enormous deposit of shells there from millennia years ago…I could see a scruffy man there with what looked like some sort of machinery…I stopped near the bank to ask..and it turned out that he was intending to set up a crushing plant to turn the shells into a powder grit for some idea of fertiliser or something..I just gave him a nod of comprehension (which I confess to not having at all) and went on my way downstream.

The preparations I had made regarding the possibility of swapping from a rowing position to the sculling was soon to become apparent as Hector stated, the hills became steeper and the river channel narrower…not that it became a roaring torrent, because the waters had even in the past week or so dropped in both volume and current…so I was soon able to pull over to the bank and in tying up could easily and comfortably prepare the boat for this final run to The Murray River.

So the preparations once done, I set off once again with the sculling oar in place and myself standing at the stern of the craft working the oar in the usual figure eight pattern and found that the skiff responded beautifully to the prompts..and so it was a delightful and calming period that I slowly, under the power of the river itself that I proceeded..

Once a familiar pattern and method had settled upon me, I gave my mind over to reflecting on the thoughts of the last week..and I have to here confess..once again..to being a tad disingenuous with you, dear journal..for upon stating that I was reluctant to become involved in a relationship toward marriage, there was a time and a woman…a much younger time and a younger woman than Harriet, when I was swept off my feet to a place of rapture and deeper emotion than just physical desire…I was in my late twenties, she in her mid twenties..

The regular action involved in sculling gives a repetition conducive to contemplation..and the current not being too severe, I could quite comfortably control and steer the skiff where I wanted it to go while letting my thoughts dwell nostalgically on the delights of lost love.

 I believe it takes four different personalities to make a relationship work..: The one for material security..another for personal/emotional security…then another for intellectual compatibility so that leaves the fourth…perhaps the most demanding and important..; the lover…the sexual personality..but then, perhaps more than just sexual…for love is not just an emotion, it is a sensational experience…and to make love to one you love is, I believe, perhaps the highest plane of spirituality.

Of the four, three are provided via a pragmatic, realistic application.

The fourth can only be realised through the idea of a desire..and desire has infinity in its make-up..it can last forever..but it is like a wild beast and you have to hold it tight to your spirit..like a wild horse on a lead-rope..you hod the rope tight and keep the beast close..if you are distracted by jealousy, spite, possessiveness, it will see that weakness and break from you..only strong passion will hold it to you in full flight.

Somewhere..

Between the soul and the Divine,

Between that love you seek and the love you find,

Is a place of absolute beauty,

Is a place concealed and undefined.

You may not physically touch this place,

Like you may not touch the divine..

Only worship the possibility,

When there is no possibility..; only desire.

You cannot intellectualise this place,

Like you cannot intellectualise grace.

And like grace..once you think you have it,

You’ve lost it.

It is an avalanche of emotion..an ecstasy so nice,

It is a want of devotion, comes at a price.

You can never find this on the cheap rack,

You can never keep this with a half-filled cup.

And you ask ; do I desire thee?

What can I say to you..does the eagle the sky?

And you wonder; will I touch thee?

I say yes..yes, there, I will touch thy..

In that place with no name, no shame..

In that place where unfeigned lovers go,

Between love and the soul, between the soul and the divine,

Not of your body..but that subtle beauty in you..

Not of this world, but where pure delight is held.

not your body..but that subtle beauty within you…

not your body..but that subtle beauty concealed within you…

Where there is no name, no shame..

Only the Concealed.

I remember that love affair I had when in my twenties, it was a day at the horse races at Victoria Park, events which my father was both familiar with and would gamble at, plus join in with the bonhomie of friends there.. it was a rather windy day and it started with me brushing her long, thick dark hair….slowly, gently with my other hand trailing through after the brush….it was so beautiful that hair…that touch…she was wearing a white cotton dress..and we were talking while she brushed her hair..and I suddenly asked ;

“Can I do that…let me brush your hair?”…at first Diedre…”Dee” as I came to call her later…demurred a little..

“Do it carefully..don’t pull on it if it tangles…” of course I promised..and indeed I made certain to take extra care while I performed this extraordinarily delightful experience..for how many young women would allow a man to touch one of the most precious of her glories?

Diedre handed me the brush and we settled ourselves on the sloping green grass of the outer members area, with her back resting on my knees my knees while I took those long, thick locks of hair in my left hand and followed through most, most gently with long strokes of the brush…we had a lovely friendship for some time..although we could not meet in a private capacity as she was of an established Adelaide family and at that time, my family was of the new wealthy class of Adelaide..and even though my father had through his business acumen raised the family fortune to giddying heights, we were still of the ; “store-keeper” class.

Unfortunately, as I mentioned above with those four conditions for a relationship, I could not fulfill some of those necessities…and myself being most aware of my social and class shortcomings in that area, I slipped away from the friendship before it could descent into an acrimony of disappointment..perhaps I was more of a coward than I then realised..but I plead the innocence of youth and a desire for adventure in the world that a settled life could not satisfy.

But there was a time in that relationship where in meeting at a social occasion that allowed the mingling of status, where we would put our heads together in close conversation and in doing so, would look into each other’s eyes and there discover a “want” that could not be denied..if never possible to fulfill. we sometimes touched that place between the soul and the divine..it does exist, that precious place, that ecstasy that can be reached either through a loving moment of just the holding of hands or through a moment of mutual affiliation. But this ecstasy of fellowship was to come to an end with Diedre becoming engaged to the son of another wealthy family of the city…Diedre’s family were of pastoral and property stock and the new fiancé were into banking and mining, so it was an engagement of convenience between two influential houses while my family were still seen as “of the trade” of shop-keepers and suppliers.

The river swept me along at a favourable pace and with the oar working in the water, I could feel the strength of the current and the pulse of the river seemed to travel up the oar to my arms and then to my body in a connection with each other..it was as if the spirit of the river was talking to me and I could feel my body responding to the pulses with a gentle touch of the oar as it pumped through the water..I could feel the river gathering power from the compression between the narrowing channel between the hills.

In nineteen hundred and ten, I had returned from a six month long trip with my father to London, primarily to negotiate with a large supply company that my father had a contract with to deliver to our company at Port Adelaide, chandlering equipment as he had heard through his business acquaintance grapevine of an upping of the equipping of navy supplies in the Australian colonies and was betting on it. We had a successful trip and was returning to the city, in my self assured state from my recent business success alongside my father, I had made arrangements to stop and see Diedre on the way through..Fortunately, she had shipped off her no-account fiancé for the weekend to some horse-racing carnival so we were able have some time together at the country property in the Clare Valley. But this wasn’t just a sly weekend, for we had grown deep affection for each other and through regular correspondance had grown close..as I said, it had lasted for quite some time so the evening ahead was a planned thing with dinner at home, some wine and then to a bath to soak those long weeks travelling on the sea out of my pores…

It was while in this situation, post dinner, post conversation, in a resting euphoria that I realised that we were held in a different place than just resting..we had entered that mysterious place that holds lovers in a state of desire and euphoria, sheltered from intrusion from the outside world..we were here alone in a kind of bubble of peace and tranquility..

And that was where it ended, for the date of the wedding had been set.

I never was one of those dramatic lovers who would throw themselves into a canal at the loss of a treasured love. I was even then narcissist enough to look to my own needs, fully aware of the social status of a good marriage in those times before the war, when position and good form was vital for both the success of a marriage and the family…so upon the date for the wedding being set, I withdrew from familiar contact with Diedre and resumed my work at the company..I was not of their cut and kind..what Thorsten Veblen came to describe that elite status quite succinctly and correctly as a; “consciousness of kind”.

The river surface started to give signs of strength and turmoil, so at one point at the narrowing of the channel I had to resort to sculling across the river at a diagonal zigzag as I proceeded slowly downstream, as to simply ride with the current would mean to lose direction and control..and to turn broadside to the force of the river could result in capsizing the skiff…no..best to ferry myself back and forth across the water until I passed the narrow section of the channel..but I could feel the river flexing its muscle and wanting to take control of the craft, control of me…perhaps in the esoteric scheme of things, the river was like myself with the wrestling of emotions when Diedre passed out of my life and I was forcefully holding in my sadness.

But I did get to see Diedre one more time before she and her husband shipped out to go to live in Perth, Western Australia, as the family had large holdings in the Kalgoorlie Gold Mines there. I knew of the ship she was travelling in through contact in my field and I could gain access to the departure gates at the port..It was here where I learnt the lesson of love when Diedre was passing through the crowd of people choked at the gang-plank to board the ship…she was on her own at this juncture and I made my way toward her, myself passing one direction and her the other..as we passed, Diedre not expecting me to be there, I gently took her forearm as if a servant assisting her..she looked up to thank me and then saw me…we both paused, locked in a time frame that was fixed and intense..she in turn took my forearm and squeezed tight as signal to let me know of her feelings toward me..and that was all..no words, no other gestures, no tears..just that firm grip of our arms and that oh so deep intensive look in her eyes that I hope I did…yes..I’m sure I did match..and that moment is the one that will stay with me forever..not the others, not the talks, not the kiss behind the flats bookies stand at Victoria Park…none of the other meetings at social events..just that one slight moment that said it all and yet said nothing…but was “the concealed”..and perhaps was the moment that I consigned myself to a life of bachelorhood, not out of a broken spirit or heart, but because I did not feel I had it in me to wrestle again with the angel of passion.. or is it the devil of pain?

The river surge of current reached its peak at this juncture and I had to fiercely work the sculling oar for all it was worth to keep control of The Buona Fortuna …The good Fortune as it writhed and bounded over the swelling current…but it was not long before I could start to relax my grip on the oar and take a more comfortable standing position in the craft…the river once again started to level out to a smooth plane as it neared the mouth where it meets The Murray River..I felt a small victory of sorts, as much over the power of the river as over the power of sentiment of my feelings toward the lost love of Diedre…

Finally, we burst out of the mouth of The Marne into the wider waters of The Murray River, and it was with a skip and a jump that I celebrated the completion of my journey..I gave several whoops of elation and tipped my cap in a bow to the departed Marne in thank you for carrying myself and my craft safely home.

It was with calm elation that I set the oars back in their conventional position and took command of the skiff to peacefully row toward the township of Mannum, where I had arranged to be picked up by a workman from the company and myself and the faithful “Good Fortune” skiff transported back to my home in Semaphore.

Dear Journal…I can say that it has been a most delightful and enlightening journey, but I part with thee with no regrets…good bye dear friend.