Compost De’cay
I was talking to a friend about this blog the other day, and she told me a fascinating story. She said that years ago, when she had been working at the Women’s Health Centre in northern rural New South Wales, she had regular contact with women from the nearby all female commune, which was called (predictably) Herlands. The women were heavily influenced by feminist Gaiia spirituality. To them “Mother Nature” was not just a cliched phrase, but a daily reality and a serious spiritual belief.
Nevertheless, my friend got a shock one day when Dot, one of the women, came in and announced that she had a new partner. The new partner - another woman - walked in, and Dot introduced her by saying “Girls, this is my partner Compost.”
Compost, according to my friend, was thickset, wearing tatty shorts and a blue t-shirt with sweat stains under the arms and had large unrestrained breasts.
“And what happened then?” I asked, fascinated. She couldn’t remember. Nor could she remember whether or not Compost had a second name. I have ever since I heard this story been playing with the alternatives. Compost O’Flannery. Compost Heap. Or perhaps a subtle French name, like Compost De’cay.
My friend assured me that the story was true, and so I set about looking for Compost in the telephone directory, and also searching for Herlands. Sadly, if either existed, then they seem to have now disappeared, or at least not been properly recorded.
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