(1132) Atmosphere?!

Atmosphere! Lately I have been idly wondering how come I did not write when I was in Borneo.

One reason was because I did not invest in broadband. Another could be because I had an old cranky tiny computer that was rather temperamental. But I had had no excuse, there were many free hours, quietness, paper and pen. I certainly spent many long hours gardening and looking after my chickens. But as for writing, I did it whenever I flew home to the Peninsular.

I lived in a decent double storey house on a dead end road in a small "housing estate" within a km of the golf course - if you care to call two streets an estate. My left hand neighbour were a retired hospital personnel and his wife, the matron. My right hand neighbour were two newly weds. It was, however, not exactly peaceful at night. Dogs howled. "Squirrel" ran on wires at ten o'clock at night. It was a rather disconcerting place. Well, the rental was low, and the area rather safe. What more could I ask for?

Much later, when the land lord suddenly wanted to increase the rental, we gave notice and moved. Then a friend told us that the street in front of my old house was the exact route the death march was from town to the airport. The hundreds of prisoners-of-war trudged that route and a few died along the way, were buried in shallow graves. The survivors worked at clearing the air field and more died.

I was not afraid of the place. But I do know now that it was not a good place for writing.