On one of the first warm days of spring I took myself to the Fitzroy Pool — the place made familiar in Helen Garner's iconic book Monkey Grip. The sign for deep water, Aqua Profunda, is still there. The day had a blissful warmth and I swam beneath a stretch of blue sky. I was gliding along and lifting my arms with gentle effort in the unhurried pace of the slow lane.
Next to the slow lane at the far edge of the pool was a bank of concrete benches where people lay reading or sunbathing or chatting. I could glimpse them as I turned my head to take a breath. I had a better view when I did lazy laps with the paddle board, my head lifted and arms outstretched for the length of the pool.
A young man was sitting upright on the lowest bench, his feet on the ground. A woman, I presumed his girlfriend, lay along the bench at his side with her head against his thigh: she lay very still reading a book. He was shirtless and she in her bathers. The man was holding an item of clothing; it looked like a lightweight woollen jumper in a soft grey.
The man held it in front of his chest with no apparent effort or impatience, away from the face of his reading girlfriend. With quiet attention he pulled a needle and long thread through it over and over again, gently re-positioning it as he progressed.
I did lap after lap and still the man was sewing. His easeful concentration was beautiful to watch and the relaxed presence of his companion gave the scene a lovely calm — a sense of things aligning, while he was mending and she was reading.
I felt a love for this moment and for this mending man. The way he was paying attention to realigning or reconnecting the weave of threads that have been broken or frayed.
From my slow lapping lane, I watched the man with affection; his shoulder length strawberry blond hair, his darker red beard, his hair falling across his face as he leant forward slightly, to better see his work. I was fascinated by his quietude. My sewing is lumpy. I do not have skill or patience with needles and threads. The last time one of my mending efforts was worn people asked 'What happened to your jumper?' But I love to watch the patient work I cannot master.
"I love people who are alert to damage and move towards it, who see injury or distress and meet vulnerability instead of withdrawing."
I wondered at my gratitude for this moment — for people who will labour with love. Somehow by mending even such a small thing as an item of clothing, they are taking part in the mending of the world. I love people who are alert to damage and move towards it, who see injury or distress and meet vulnerability instead of withdrawing.
A poet friend, Padraig O'Tuama, a peace activist and theologian, leads the Corrymeela community in the north of Ireland. It is a place committed to healing the social, religious and political divisions that exist in Northern Ireland and beyond. Corrymeela is an ancient Irish word. Padraig says they understood it meant something like 'hill of harmony' but recently they've discovered it is more like 'the lumpy crossing place'.
The community are delighted at this new rendering, so much closer to the impediments of working toward understanding between people and groups with the ragged experience of fierce differences.
I think of the work of peacemaking, the courage of not turning away from injury and anger but coaxing frayed edge to meet frayed edge. If we had a Corrymeela here in Australia, I wonder who would gather ready to make the lumpy crossings of reconciliation.
When my half hour of slow lapping was almost done, I swam towards the Aqua Profunda sign. As I turned my head to take a breath, I glanced towards the mending man. He was leaning back against the concrete bench, his arms spread wide, soaking up the sun. The grey garment lay beside him, the job apparently complete. His girlfriend still propped her head on his leg while he rested with his eyes closed; for the moment he had finished his work.
Julie Perrin is a Melbourne writer, oral storyteller and Associate Teacher at Pilgrim Theological College, University of Divinity.