The world from my window

In the migration museum of Adelaide, there is a verse by Mary Thomas, an emigrant in the 1800s: Yes, England, I have fled from thee Fast fades thy beauteous shore then flow my tears, for I shall see my native land no more In 1964, my father's brother took advantage of the assisted passage scheme and left Somerset for the heat of Adelaide, South Australia, as a Ten Pound Pom. He has returned several times since - for holidays - and the last time I saw him was twelve years ago. It is a hugely emotional experience for me to meet him and his family on the other side of the world. He walks out on to the pavement from his front door and playfully asks: 'Who's this then?' I hug him. I can feel the tears running down my cheeks. After 45 years or more, he hasn't lost that lovely and soft Westcountry burr. He tells me about my grandfather, who was an ANZAC and fought at Gallipoli in the First World War. He tells me about my great uncle, who left in the 1920s and never came ba...