Phnom Penh, Cambodia, waiting for the fish

Fishing in Cambodia on the Ton Le Sap River

Phnom Penh, Cambodia, waiting for the fish

The 15 minute horn sounds, spreading word among the locals that the Cruiseco river boat is about to depart. It is still early morning and I am outside on our cabin balcony, perched on a plastic chair. The tropical heat is already building, coating my skin with sweat.

Overnight, the river level has dropped so that we are now wedged against the concrete wall of the Phnom Penh wharf. At eye level, I face onto an enormous rubber tyre, which has been hung there to protect the boat's hull. Several metres above me a lone fisherman, wearing shorts and a black I love Cambodia T-shirt waits, with net in hand, ready to cast. He looks down, sees me and smiles.

'You like Cambodia?' he says.

'Yes, it's beautiful,' I reply. 'Are you going to fish here?'

'Yes, just wait for boat go.'

'Do you catch many fish here?' I ask him.

'Sometime yes, sometime no.'

'Well, good luck today.'

'Good luck you too.'

Our boat's starts engine up and, as we move away from the wharf, we leave a vacant patch of swirling muddy-brown water. My fisherman immediately raises both arms and casts his weighted net into free water. Meanwhile, two more men arrive on the wharf, nets in hand. And then a small wooden craft appears on the shoreline, carrying three fishermen with a much larger net, which they promptly drop overboard. They start up their boat's motor with a pop and an acrid-smelling smoke cloud spreads. Manoeuvring the craft, they work their way across the water from right to left before cutting the engine and poling back, dragging the net along the bottom. Experience must have guided them that, with the boat's propeller disturbing the river mud, this would be a fruitful fishing spot.

Many years ago, fishing along the banks of the Ton Le Sap River at Phnom Penh was unimpeded by large boats. But today, six fishermen are competing for one meagre space of river territory where the tourist boats moor overnight. I hope my fisherman caught something today in that window of opportunity, before the next boat moves in and claims his part of the Ton Le Sap.

Welcome to my new blog

Welcome to my new blog, Julia's Life Writing, where I plan to post pieces of my life writing and commentaries on other life writing. My life writing includes memoir, family history and travel memoir. 

I used to think the family stories on my father's side had all been told, because in 1990 members of our family contributed to a family history book that is now in the collection of National Library of Australia.

A Battle against the odds: stories of our pioneering families on Norfolk Island, the Hawkesbury River, Mulgrave Place, Green Hills, Box Hill and Nelson.

But now I realise that there are plenty more stories to tell.

My first piece of writing is a family snapshot about my paternal great aunt Eileen Smith. who also makes a brief appearance in A Battle against the odds. When I came across this fantastic photo of her as a young girl I had to write something of my memories of Eileen.

                                       Eileen Smith circa 1910

Childhood memories of Christmas Eve visits to Aunty Eileen

Every Christmas Eve in the 1950s, Dad used to take us to visit his aunty Eileen who lived above a shop on Parramatta Road in Ashfield, Sydney. Eileen was born in Nelson, New South Wales, in 1893 and married late in life to a teacher, Terence Beckett. They did not have children. Their home was in a old Victorian-era building and the entrance was up a long dark staircase. It had something of a gothic feel to it, with embroidered cushions and tapestries of lions and tigers on the walls and my childish imagination used to run wild. The adults would sit around drinking sherry, while we children would eat Christmas cake and stare at the old paintings and tapestries.

Dad had a legion of aunts and uncles as his father was one of 10 children. Eileen was the youngest and reputedly the rebel in the family. In reality all that meant was she was brazen enough to challenge the teachings of the Catholic Church and she loved shocking the more devout members of the family. On one occasion the parish priest came around with a vial of holy water ready to bless the family home. He proceeded to enter each room tipping the water into his hand and sprinkling it around. But Eileen was sceptical of the whole procedure and quipped: 'so does that mean we don't need to get the Flick man again?'

Aunty Eileen was very musical, played the piano and had an wonderful singing voice. She and her sister heard Dame Nellie Melba perform in Sydney the early days.

In 1946, when my mother and three-year-old Pat arrived from Canada, Dad took them around to meet his Australian family. All the clan were gathered in the front parlour of our grandparents' home in Churchill Avenue, Strathfield. As they entered the room aunty Eileen, seated at the piano, burst into song – a rousing rendition of O Canada. My mother was totally overwhelmed.

In the 1960s Eileen and her older sister, Margaret, moved into an aged care home in Rooty Hill, Sydney. Eileen was still a feisty, independent lady, even in her 80s and she would take the train alone all the way into the centre of Sydney, with a handbag full of cash for shopping. The family were always fearful she would get mugged, and begged her not to go, but that just made her more determined. Eileen died in Sydney in 1986 at the grand old age of 93.