“Nanna, what’s that tiny bit of material you wear around your neck?” my seven-year-old granddaughter asked.
I delicately fingered the leather pouch that hung around my neck and took out the scrap of material. “This is my teta*,” I said rubbing her dark hair. “Do you want me to tell you about it?” I couldn’t help but notice the other three children poking their heads around the corner of the kitchen.
“Come on you lot.” I wiggled my hips in a silly dance. “Nanna will tell you a yarn about her teta.”
I held up the dirty scrap of frayed material. “This is my teta and I’ve had it for a long time; ever since I was little. It was much bigger than this.” I spread my arms in a big circle as the children listened. “It used to be my baby blanket and I couldn’t go anywhere without it. At nights I’d cuddle it and smell it.”
“That’s gross,” Tammy said, pulling a face. She was very much like her older brother Taylor, dark hair and dark eyes. Her gaze now playfully mocked me.
“Do you know what happened one day?”
“What?” Tammy asked. Her lips pursed and dark eyes flashing she stared at me. She had always been a spirited child, questioning everything.
“Yeah, tell us Nanna?” Robert said, his chubby cheeks wobbling as he spoke.
“One day I went outside to play and when I went around into the backyard, my teta was all wet and hanging on the line. My Nanna had washed it!” I said, screwing up my face and looking sad.
“No!” the children all cried, except Tammy, who looked sceptical.
I stood up and mimicked my long-ago actions. “I ran to the clothes line, grabbed my teta and smelled it. It smelt like soap! All my memories had been washed away.”
“How could your memories be washed away?” Timmy asked, concerned.
“Soap had cleansed and made it smell fresh and new. Even the grass stains that had been on it were gone! Washed away forever. So, do you know what I did?”
“What?”
“When my Nanna wasn’t looking I took it off the line and rubbed it in the long grass!”
“You were naughty?” Robert asked. I nodded.
“My Nanna would keep washing it and I’d pinch it off the line when she wasn’t looking and rub it in the dirt to put some memories in it.” By this time Tammy had come closer to where we sat in a circle on the floor.
“You see, my teta still holds my memories even though my Nanna thought it was a stinky thing that should be washed every week. Every smell on my teta holds a memory. Even now when I smell this tiny piece…” I put the material up to my nose, “I smell damper and that’s my memory of my aunty making damper in her kitchen when I was small. Now I can smell sweat and dust and that reminds me of my father sitting on his chair on the veranda watching a summer storm brewing or cane fires burning far off in the distance.” The children oohed and aahed at me and waited with anticipation for me to carry on.
“When I smell grass on it, it takes me back to when my father mowed the grass and I rolled in it.” The children stifled a giggle. “Then when I smell perfume I remember my mother cuddling me.”
Their little heads nodded excitedly as I continued.
“Everyone has some sort of teta whose smells take them back to special memories. My teta is very old but it holds all my memories of my journey in life and when I feel sad or blue I just smell my teta and I’m happy.”
“Can I have a smell of your teta Nanna?” Timmy asked.
“Me too!” Taylor said reaching out.
I tickled their ribs and listened in delight to their laughter and handed over my teta. Tammy had inched her way over and sat down on the floor. They all inhaled the tiny scrap of material deeply.
“I can smell vinegar and chips,” Tammy said reluctantly.
“That must have been the time I took you kids to the beach and we ate chips on the sand with the seagulls.”
Timmy smelt it the longest. “I can smell milk, sweet milk.” He closed his eyes.
“What’s your memory sweetie?” I asked him.
“You, making hot chocolate for us but you forgot to add the chocolate.”
We all laughed, and I noticed that Taylor had disappeared. Carefully and with all their eyes on me, I folded up my teta, putting it back in its pouch and hanging it around my neck. Taylor came back into the room holding four pieces of material. I noticed they looked suspiciously like my old dilly bag that had been hanging near the back door. He handed one piece each to Tammy, Robert and Timmy.
“We all have our own tetas now for our memories. I’m going to add my memory first,” he said as he walked over to me. “Ready Nanna?” he asked, wide-eyed. I nodded, wondering what he was going to do. Gently he rubbed the material along the side of my face and then smelt his teta. “Every time I smell this it will remind me of your perfume and you. I love you, Nanna.”
“Me too!” Timmy yelled rubbing his material on my face.
Robert looked at his piece, his chubby fingers holding it tightly. Then he walked over to the biscuit container, got a chocolate biscuit out and rubbed the cream off the biscuit onto his teta.
“Not like that!” Taylor yelled.
“Don’t yell at him Taylor, people have different memories.” I cautioned, walking over to Robert whose bottom lip was quivering. I gave him a quick cuddle and kiss. “You can make any memory you like,” I whispered.
Tammy was back up on her feet just looking down at her teta. Robert walked over to Taylor and held his teta up to him. “Nanna said I can do it. I want to smell chocolate and it will remind me of the day Nanna told us about her teta,” Robert replied with tears welling up in his eyes. He had always been a sensitive but feisty little boy.
“Sorry,” Taylor said, smelling his teta. “It smells good.”
Tammy still hung back from the other children. I walked over to her and placed my arm around her shoulders. “What memory are you going to make Tammy?” I asked. She shrugged her shoulders. “You know everyone’s memories can be different, you can make any memory you like.”
She looked up at me with her dark eyes. “Any memory?”
“Yes, whatever you want and when you have grandchildren you can tell them all about your memories.” She smiled a delightful smile as if she had just thought of something special. “You ready?” she asked, then she rubbed her teta along the side of my face before running outside with the other children.
“Hey kids, don’t let anyone wash your tetas.” I yelled out. I noticed Tammy was dragging hers through the dust. Yes, she’d remember this special time: the day she was told about Nanna’s teta. I now knew that they all had their own keeper of memories to pass down to their own mobs.
*I am from Tharawal mob and ‘teta’ is my own interpretation of my keeper of memories. A teta is a baby blanket or any suitable material used as a comforter as a child and carried into adulthood containing scents from past life events. A tiny piece of a teta can be put into a locket and worn around one’s neck.
Cover art © Vicki Griffin
About the author
Vicki Griffin with her mob comes from the Shoalhaven area – Tharawal tribe from the South Coast of New South Wales. Her Indigenous heritage inspired her to investigate her cultural and artistic talents and she began writing and painting.
Discovering more of her talents in the realm of writing, she enrolled at the University of New England and in 2006 completed a Bachelor of Arts majoring in Communication.
She also completed a course in creative writing and Indigenous arts and crafts.
Her book, Nanna’s Storm, was published in 2010 by Black Ink Press.
Vicki Griffin is married with four children and lives in Queensland. In 2001 she became a guardian of a Torres Strait Islander child and is leading him into his culture.