January 15th

A blast from the past in the form of a jingle reminder to help you tan all over: Time to turn, so you don't burn. Once something like this gets into your head, the tune stays in your mind and plays over and over. It takes me back to the age of seventeen. I'm lying on the beach at Glenelg, South Australia. We've just moved from Victoria to stay with my Uncle Peter and look after his two young children after their mother left. Back then, families cared for each other. The new area excites me with its promenade along the beach, tramline between Adelaide and the coast, long jetty and excited people enjoying the seaside. Our family home is built several blocks back from the beach—a short walk to paradise because now boys watch me from the lifesaving building at the edge of the sand.

Out with the coconut oil. My skin prickles under their scrutiny while I rub the fragrant white lotion into my legs.  The song on the radio cuts off. The announcer's voice purrs and here comes the song again: Time to turn, so you don't burn. Screwing the plastic top onto the glass jar, I follow instructions. My breasts press into the towel, which accommodates the shape like memory foam without the automatic ease-back. The sun on my back makes me dream of a time when I'll make new friends of those boys above. In fact, I'm too hot. With the swift motion of a young cat, I rise and run into the water in my itsy, bitsy ...

 Listen to The Unforgettables sing: Itsy Bitsy Tinie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini:  

http://youtu.be/wxrD5NbZ9ns

January 13th

Last night I watched a BBC production called Oranges and Sunshine. The story horrified me. From the end of the World War II to the early 1970s, the British government forcibly relocated British children who had been placed in a children’s home and sent them around the world to Australia, Canada, New Zealand and the former Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe.

When the parents in England returned to the children’s home to retrieve their youngsters, they were told that they had been adopted by a good family in England. The children who were sent to Australia had been told that their mother or father had died and they were going to live the good life, filled with oranges and sunshine and a perfect family in Australia.

Instead, some of the children were sent to orphanages usually run by Roman Catholic brothers in Western Australia or Queensland, where they were abused and forced to work in the worst possible conditions.

Losing their mother and identity had a terrible affect on the children, which they carry to this day. The most poignant stories were about the victims seeking the love they lost and holding memories of their mother.

In the latest news, there is concern about the rise in child sex trafficking. Barnardo's, a child charity, said that a quarter of the 1,452 victims it had recorded had been trafficked for sex within the country. There is an alarming rise in the number of children being moved around the country by abusers.

The Home Office said significant progress was being made implementing an action plan to tackle the problem.  A Home Office spokesman said: "Child trafficking and child sexual exploitation are both abhorrent forms of child abuse and the UK government is committed to combating this crime in all its forms."

How can adults exploit children this way? And how can we, as a society, eradicate the warped outlook and tendencies in these criminals? I don't know the answer. Were the perps. born that way or did they develop their penchant as they matured? With both the exploited and exploiters on the increase, humanity is heading for a catastrophe.

I could cry for the children. With these life experiences, they can't dance with joy. I dread to think how  the loss of love from their mother will affect them.