Tag Archives: immigrant

1643. Foreign neighbours

My name is Margot. I don’t think much of the new neighbours. For starters, they are foreigners and don’t fit well into the area. In fact they lower the tone of the suburb considerably. Not that I’ve anything against foreigners, but when people come to a country that is not theirs they should make some effort to fit in; meld into the surroundings. You’d think they would; that’s what rats do. Peacocks strut around, and when a peacock shows off and spreads its tail you can see its arsehole. These people strut around like they own the place.

The new neighbours, so I heard, are Antoinette and Leon from Beijing or somewhere. China anyway. You can tell these things even though they’ve taken Western names. I thought communists were meant to be not so well off, but you should see their three cars! And the house they live in (I presume they rent and don’t own, though why the landlord thinks it’s okay to rent to communists I have no idea) is one of the most lavish houses in our neighbourhood. And that’s saying something. They’ve got three young children. No wonder the world is overrun.

Here comes the one called Antoinette up my path now. Presumably she’s going to ask for a cup of noodles or something! Chop! Chop!

Ching Chong Chinaman
Coming up my path
I shall pretend to be foreign
Just for a laugh.

“Hello. My name’s Antoinette. I’m the new neighbour. I thought I’d come over and introduce myself.”

“When you come from China?”

“Pardon?”

“When you come from China to dis place?”

“From China? I didn’t. My family have been here since 1824.”

1446. Just in case

The Second World War raged in Europe. Although she lived way away in New Zealand, she had three sons fighting in the war. One was in Turkey, she believed, and two in France.

Every Wednesday she would walk to town. It took about three quarters of an hour to walk there. While there she would get a few things for the coming week. She looked forward to the return of her sons. Besides, her knees were not too good, and she could do with a hand to carry the groceries!

Then she got a visit from a nice policeman who came to say that Sammy had died in Turkey. And a man in the army wrote a beautiful letter which made her cry even more. She continued of course to walk into town every Wednesday. How she longed for the war to be over.

Having the name of Catharyina Dodunski-Shultze meant she had to report to the Government office in town every Wednesday. They had to make sure. Just in case.