The old shed has no windows. At certain times of the day, a shaft of sunlight pierces the gaps in the weathered timber and lights up the interior like a laser sword in a science fiction movie. Right now, a sword of sunlight was pointing to a corner, shining on some old screenings and dirt.
It was Saturday, mid-afternoon. I'd been clearing the shed for next week's hard rubbish collection and had already removed a huge metal and timber structure that occupied an entire corner in the shed. The structure was made from an old gas heating unit and had a hinged metal lid over a metal tub with a floor of timber slats. There were two holes in one end, as if to provide ingress and egress for something. The timber slats were littered with old lead fishing weights. I figured that the thing was some kind of rudimentary smoke house. It weighed a ton. Somehow I got it onto the front lawn.
Then I went back into the shed. The shaft of sun shining on the old screenings and dirt had crept along a little way and it caught on the rim of something small and round and partially buried, something that glowed with the lustre of silver. I picked it up and blew some dust off it. It was a 1938 crown. I recognised it straight away, had one when I was a kid. I laid it on a bench, cleaned some more dust off it and took it out into the sunlight. It had been pierced at the top and the back had been ground smooth and was inscribed: D. A. Mathwin, VX51309, A2, A. I. F.
This was an easy guess: the hole was for a necklace so the coin could be worn by D. A. Mathwin as a good luck charm when he went off to war with the Australian Imperial Forces.
Five minutes research at the Australian War Memorial confirmed the theory: Donald Mathwin, born Brighton 1919, enlisted Northcote 17 March 1941, joined 2/6 Australian Infantry Battalion, discharged 1946. Next of kin, Joan. Wife or mother? Who knows. He was only 22 on enlistment, so probably mother. Five long years away, in Palestine, Ceylon and New Guinea, defending his country.
And the crown he wore while doing so turns up in a dusty tumbledown shed more than sixty years later, 17 March 2007.
Wait. Check that enlistment date again.
It was Saturday, mid-afternoon. I'd been clearing the shed for next week's hard rubbish collection and had already removed a huge metal and timber structure that occupied an entire corner in the shed. The structure was made from an old gas heating unit and had a hinged metal lid over a metal tub with a floor of timber slats. There were two holes in one end, as if to provide ingress and egress for something. The timber slats were littered with old lead fishing weights. I figured that the thing was some kind of rudimentary smoke house. It weighed a ton. Somehow I got it onto the front lawn.
Then I went back into the shed. The shaft of sun shining on the old screenings and dirt had crept along a little way and it caught on the rim of something small and round and partially buried, something that glowed with the lustre of silver. I picked it up and blew some dust off it. It was a 1938 crown. I recognised it straight away, had one when I was a kid. I laid it on a bench, cleaned some more dust off it and took it out into the sunlight. It had been pierced at the top and the back had been ground smooth and was inscribed: D. A. Mathwin, VX51309, A2, A. I. F.
This was an easy guess: the hole was for a necklace so the coin could be worn by D. A. Mathwin as a good luck charm when he went off to war with the Australian Imperial Forces.
Five minutes research at the Australian War Memorial confirmed the theory: Donald Mathwin, born Brighton 1919, enlisted Northcote 17 March 1941, joined 2/6 Australian Infantry Battalion, discharged 1946. Next of kin, Joan. Wife or mother? Who knows. He was only 22 on enlistment, so probably mother. Five long years away, in Palestine, Ceylon and New Guinea, defending his country.
And the crown he wore while doing so turns up in a dusty tumbledown shed more than sixty years later, 17 March 2007.
Wait. Check that enlistment date again.
Makes you think you should pay more attention to life doesn't it.
ReplyDeleteCool and spooky at the same time. I'm hearing the theme for Twilight Zone in my head!
ReplyDeleteI would be tempted to try and track down any children or grandchildren that he may have.....I am sure that the coin would most definitely be a real treasure to them. (You never know....he may even still be alive!)
ReplyDeleteAlready thought of that, Carmen. White Pages shows no Mathwins in Melbourne, a city of 3.5 million people.
ReplyDeleteIf anyone knows any Mathwins, let me know.