Discovery Creative
Discovery Creative
He sat lazily on the cold ceramic tiles of his bedroom, resting his back against the rigid wooden framework of his single bed. With legs outstretched, chest gently dipping up and down and his forehead submissively being supported by his fingertips, Jonas Schmidt reminisced upon the caring and affectionate figure of his father. He reflected upon their journey; a collage of memories flashed through his mind- from the struggle in fleeing Germany and the rise of Nazi power, to the hardships in attaining full Australian citizenship. Seeking refuge in Australia had eventually brought them peace- the beauty of the natural landscape, morphed with the laid-back and generous attitudes of their local community had endowed them with a new life. Together they were ready for a fresh start- until war broke out in 1939. The bloody war. The god-forsaken war. All that remained sat idly in his lap, symbolising the remnants of his father. Slowly, Jonas opened the box; he penetrated into what seemed to be the past, and lifted out the first piece of history - his father’s military uniform.
Harold Schmidt wandered into the mess tent of the army base, eager to fit in with the energetic cluster of young Australian men. As he pealed back the doors of the tent, a cacophony of excited noises filled the atmosphere. Thunderous laughter resonated through the room, as men told stories of their past conquests. The clink of mugs echoed, as they acknowledged each other and proceeded to down copious amounts of alcohol. The majority of the men, dressed in the same military uniform as his own, were of the traditional background- broad shoulders, bushy hair and cheesy grins. Ecstatic faces lit up the tent, reminding Harold of the same emotion displayed by his son when they were together. Nervously, he walked up to a group of them, craving to experience the sense of mateship, understanding and acceptance that seemingly emanated from their discussions. Yet at the same time, he was
He sat lazily on the cold ceramic tiles of his bedroom, resting his back against the rigid wooden framework of his single bed. With legs outstretched, chest gently dipping up and down and his forehead submissively being supported by his fingertips, Jonas Schmidt reminisced upon the caring and affectionate figure of his father. He reflected upon their journey; a collage of memories flashed through his mind- from the struggle in fleeing Germany and the rise of Nazi power, to the hardships in attaining full Australian citizenship. Seeking refuge in Australia had eventually brought them peace- the beauty of the natural landscape, morphed with the laid-back and generous attitudes of their local community had endowed them with a new life. Together they were ready for a fresh start- until war broke out in 1939. The bloody war. The god-forsaken war. All that remained sat idly in his lap, symbolising the remnants of his father. Slowly, Jonas opened the box; he penetrated into what seemed to be the past, and lifted out the first piece of history - his father’s military uniform.
Harold Schmidt wandered into the mess tent of the army base, eager to fit in with the energetic cluster of young Australian men. As he pealed back the doors of the tent, a cacophony of excited noises filled the atmosphere. Thunderous laughter resonated through the room, as men told stories of their past conquests. The clink of mugs echoed, as they acknowledged each other and proceeded to down copious amounts of alcohol. The majority of the men, dressed in the same military uniform as his own, were of the traditional background- broad shoulders, bushy hair and cheesy grins. Ecstatic faces lit up the tent, reminding Harold of the same emotion displayed by his son when they were together. Nervously, he walked up to a group of them, craving to experience the sense of mateship, understanding and acceptance that seemingly emanated from their discussions. Yet at the same time, he was