Mother of Ten (13 page)

During
the months that followed Audrey’s visit, my father’s health continued to
deteriorate. In July 1964 he was admitted to the Alfred Hospital in Melbourne
for tests and blood transfusions. He returned home in August but was readmitted
on September 11, 1964 and remained there for almost three weeks. This
separation was difficult for Mum and Dad.

I
found two unused Alfred Hospital visitor cards in Mum’s papers. These cards
allowed her to visit Dad ‘between 3 p.m. and 4 p.m. on Wednesdays and Sundays
only’. However, it was almost impossible for her to visit him. There was no
passenger train from Melbourne to Orbost. The line ended at Bairnsdale ninety
kilometres away. A journey to Melbourne meant a 60-90 minute car drive to
Bairnsdale, perhaps longer depending on the condition of the road at that time,
followed by a long train journey of approximately five hours. Even if she could
afford it, having young children at home would have made such a journey
problematic. Although we did have the telephone on at home, calls to Melbourne
were expensive. The best Mum and Dad could do was to write to each other every
day.

In
his letter to Mum of September 17, 1964, Dad responds to one of her letters
with:

Yes,
Myrtle, I miss you a lot, too, but what can I do? It’s in the doctors’ hands
and they don’t tell you much...Now look Myrtle, you want to look after yourself
and don’t sit up at night because I’m quite all right. As a matter of fact I
feel pretty good, but I still sweat at night and I get a temp now and again.
Now, you get some sleep and don’t worry. They’ll probably get sick of me before
long. I hope so anyway. I weigh 10:10. That was last Sunday but I think I have
put on some now because they are giving me vitamin tablets and I am eating
pretty well. I better go now. Keep writing Myrtle. I look forward to your
letters. Look after yourself. Love from George. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
(10:10 or 10 stone: 10
pounds, is equal to 150 lbs or just over 68kg)

On
September 21 he writes with obvious excitement that he is coming home and asks
that Bobby or Maxie meet him at Bairnsdale Station:

It’s
Monday today. Three days and I will be on the train home, I hope, anyway. Dr
Paul told me that and Sister also told me, so I think it will be all right.

He
repeats his plea for Mum to go to bed early telling her it ‘does you no good up
all night’. The letter continues:

Got
plenty of money still, Myrtle? Not that I could give you any if you didn’t have
but just thought I would ask. Tell Peter I’ll be home on Friday. Funny he
should miss me so much.

My
youngest brother Peter was only four years old at this time and missed his
father deeply when he was in hospital. Dad’s next letter to Mum was on Friday,
September 25, 1964.

Dear
Myrtle,

I’m
sorry I couldn’t make it to Bairnsdale today but it wasn’t my fault - some
misunderstanding with the doctors. Anyway, Dr Standish said you rang up and
that you met the train in Bairnsdale. You couldn’t of got the telegram telling
you I wasn’t coming. Sister said she would send you one this morning but
apparently they missed out somewhere along the line. Anyway, I have to get
another blood transfusion in the morning and then if the Head Doctor is
satisfied with me I will be home about Monday or Tuesday morning so that would
be all right. If you have enough money I will hold this cheque until then, but
if it’s any longer I’ll have to trust the mail and send it back. I suppose
you’re tired after your wait for nothing at Bairnsdale. Well, I was pretty
annoyed about it myself, I can tell you. But it’s for my own good I suppose. As
long as you lot up there are alright, that’s the main thing.

The
cheque he refers to is a Social Services cheque which was possibly an allowance
he received because of his inability to earn an income through illness. It
would have required his signature in order for Mum to access the money.

 He
goes on to describe an incident in the hospital when the doctors and nurses
worked hard for over an hour to save a man but were unable to do so in the end.
He praises the hard work of the medical staff saying, ‘They sure work, these
doctors.’

He
finishes the letter as follows:

Anyway,
I should be on Tuesday’s train but as yet I am not sure. See you soon, Myrtle,
and it can’t be soon enough for me. I miss you too much. All my love. See you,
Myrtle. From George. XXXXXXXX

In
his next letter he wrote:

Dear
Myrtle,

I
am still here. There has been a mistake made. I can’t go today after all. Dr
Paul said I could and Dr Standish said I can’t and it looks like Dr Standish
must have won because I am still here. I could not write until late because I
was kept waiting until three o’clock in the afternoon. I don’t know if you got
a telegram or not, but you were supposed to - about 9 o’clock this morning.
Anyway, I am not sure what to do with this Social Services cheque. If I sign it
and it gets lost in the mail, it’s an open cheque. I don’t know why they are
keeping me. I’m alright. All I am doing is taking tablets. I reckon I could do
this at home, I’m sure. However, the head doctor has just examined me so maybe
that will decide them. It shouldn’t be much longer - would like to get it back
to you - this cheque, I mean.

Sorry,
Myrtle, I couldn’t get home today but it was out of my hands. I have been
sitting around all day in my clothes and I still haven’t got an answer. They
thought I might catch the seven o’clock train but it doesn’t look like it now.
Anyhow, I will just have to leave it to them, I suppose. I haven’t much choice
in the matter it seems. I was always unlucky. Have you got any money to carry
on a couple more days or not? If not, I’ll just have to take the risk and send
this cheque.

Two
or three went out today. I don’t know why they did not let me go today when
they said they were going to. It mucks everyone up. So I won’t bother to ask
them anymore. What’s the use when they give you the wrong date? I could have
blown the place up.

Anyway,
keep going if you can, Myrtle, and don’t worry, I won’t be long, I hope. So
long, Myrtle. Write straight back. All my love. George. XXX

Dad
was not released from hospital until five days later on September 30. However,
his stay at home was brief. He was admitted to the local hospital in Orbost two
months later. By this time he and Mum must have realised that he would not live
for much longer. It was common knowledge in Orbost that if a seriously ill
person was sent home from a Melbourne hospital and was not yet well they had
been sent home to spend their last days with their family.

It
was uncanny to see Dad quiet and listless. He did not eat much although Mum
tried her best to tempt him with his favourite dishes. We had to be very quiet
in the house and Mum sent us outside to play much of the time. As the weeks
passed we saw less of him because he spent a lot of time sleeping.

How
Mum managed to find the time and money to give us kids a ‘normal’ Christmas
that year I do not know, but she did. Bobby and Maxie had left home by this
time to find work in other places but there were still five of us, the youngest
being four-year-old Peter. Dad usually got our Christmas tree from the bush. He
would chop off a branch of the Cherry Ballard, a cypress-like tree with soft
green branches that reminded me of a willow tree. The small red berries of this
native cherry were gathered for eating by the Aboriginal people who loved their
sharp taste.  I don’t remember who got our Christmas tree that year but we
had a lovely one. It stood in the bay window. Mum kept us busy for days making
decorations from coloured paper to put on the tree.

“Let’s
make it look extra special to give your father a surprise on Christmas
morning,” she said.

 On
Christmas Eve she got us to bed early as she always did by telling us that we
had to be fast asleep before Santa arrived. He would know if we were awake and
he would not enter the house with the presents. Even though I had serious
doubts about the existence of Santa Claus, I went along with the subterfuge as
I always did. It was part of the excitement and the ritual. That night I heard
the rustling of wrapping paper as I lay in my bed pretending to be asleep.
 Mum might have had some presents already wrapped but she probably spent
hours wrapping presents for us that night.

I
awoke in the morning to the sounds of Georgie and Kevin fighting with each
other; each accusing the other of trying to open the brightly wrapped parcels.
They always fought with each other on Christmas morning. It was reassuring to
hear this sign of normality.

When
we were all out of bed, we opened up our presents with the usual noisy frenzy.
Dad, pale and thin, reminded me of Pop as he sat quietly watching us. When Mum
tried to tell us to be quiet he shook his head.

“It’s
all right, Mum,” he said. “It’s Christmas.”

Although
I did not realise it at the time, the unspoken message was ‘It’s my last
Christmas with them’. He would have known by then that he was unlikely to see
another year out.

When
the excitement was over, Mum shooed the younger kids outside to play.

“And
don’t make too much noise,” she called after them. “Your father needs to have a
rest before dinner.”

While
Dad was sleeping and the kids were playing, I helped Mum in the kitchen. As in
most Australian homes at the time, we always had a heavy, cooked meal for
Christmas lunch no matter what the weather. It was a meal more suited for a
Northern Hemisphere winter than a hot Australian summer but it was a tradition
brought over from Britain in the early days of colonisation. So, like other
Australian mothers of the time, Mum sweltered for hours in a hot kitchen with
the wood stove well stoked and a hot oven ready.

Our
main course of turkey, chicken, roast vegetables and peas was followed by plum
pudding with cream and jelly. Mum always made the traditional plum pudding in a
cloth with sixpences inside and had it ready and hanging several weeks before
Christmas. We all loved plum pudding and yelled with delight when we found a
sixpence in the piece on our plate. Christmas dinner that year was the same
raucous event as it always was. We blew whistle streamers, nudged and shouted
at each other, fought over our sixpences and ate every morsel that was put in
front of us. Dad sat in his usual place at the head of the table and carved the
turkey and the chicken. He smiled at us from time to time but he was mostly
quiet and sometimes seemed to have trouble breathing. He ate very little and
Mum helped him back to bed before we had finished our jelly and ice cream.

The
next day the ambulance came and took Dad back to Orbost Hospital. Mum visited
him at every opportunity which was usually two or three times a day. He was in
and out of the hospital during January 1965. Each time he came home he looked
less like my father.

On
Thursday 28 January when Mum went to visit Dad at the hospital, she stayed
there all afternoon coming home only to see to our evening meal before
returning to the hospital. She did not come back until later in the evening.

I
recall my mother arriving home from the hospital and standing for a long time
in the doorway looking across at us kids in the lounge room. We were absorbed
in a television show and barely noticed her presence.

After
a few moments, she spoke. “Your father died tonight.”

We
heard her heavy step along the hall to the room they had shared. Not knowing
how to react or what to say, we sat in silence in front of the television.
Mum
was alone in her room that night.

Our
summer that year was dry and hot. Fierce bushfires burned all around Orbost and
a heavy drift of smoke covered East Gippsland. Lightning strikes started new
fires in the tinder dry forests until all of Gippsland was ravaged by fire.
Conditions were so severe that the train line was closed for a period and, for
the first time since the 1959 fires, all timber activities in the Orbost
district were shut down for a short period of time. Homes and shops were
destroyed, thousands of stock perished, almost 10 000 hectares of grassland and
over 200 000 hectares of bushland were burnt. The fires burned throughout
February until mid March when rain finally arrived. The devastation would have
been even worse had it not been for hundreds of fire-fighters and support
volunteers who fought to control the fires and protect life and property.

While
farmers, timber workers and householders were coping with heartbreaking losses
as a result of the fires, Mum was coming to terms with the loss that had long
been looming in her life. The death of Dad left her shattered. He had been the
lynchpin, the driving force of our family. I feel sure his death also left Mum emotionally
vulnerable. Her ‘false self’ had been supported by his presence. The role of
George’s wife was central to this other self and had enabled her to start her
life again.  Her fragility, coupled with her grief, must have put her in a
state of despair, perhaps even depression. With all her family far away in
Albury, she had no-one to offer her emotional support.

In
a small community like Orbost there were many people offering practical
assistance but she did not have a close friend or relative on whose shoulder
she could cry; someone who might give her the strength to climb out of what was
doubtless a dark and solitary place. We, her children, were all too young to
understand what she was going through. Not only that, but our focus was on
ourselves. Knowing my mother, I think that is the way she preferred it. She
would not want us to bear her burden, or have adult troubles intrude on our
innocence or our carefree existence.

Somehow,
Mum managed to put aside her grief and loneliness and resume her role as
mother; ensuring we were clean and fed and clothed and got to school on time
each day. She made sure our routine was pretty much the same as before.
Although her commitment to her family never wavered, Mum did withdraw after my
father died. She did not have the emotional energy or perhaps even the physical
stamina to maintain the same level of engagement with her kids and her home.
This disengagement had started during the last months of my father’s illness.
It was as though she had entered a state of emotional numbness.

It
must have seemed like an answer to a prayer when Cathy, a local Salvation Army
member, appeared on our doorstop with her broad smile and arms open wide.
Generous in body and generous in spirit, Cathy offered friendship and support
to Myrtle when she needed it most. Cathy is a local Aboriginal woman, a Kurnai
woman. The Kurnai are the first people of the Gippsland area. In the 1960s some
of the Aboriginal people lived in the township and there were also Aboriginal
camps along the Snowy River near Orbost. At that time, many people in
Australia, including people in Orbost, did not accept the Aboriginal people as
equals; a legacy of the attitude and ignorance of the early English colonists
who viewed all peoples who were not ‘civilised’ as less than human. However,
there were Australians like my mother and father, who accepted people as equal
human beings regardless of race, status or colour. I am grateful for that
attitude legacy from my parents.

With
succour and encouragement from Cathy, Myrtle gradually emerged from her grief.
The two friends made regular trips between Orbost and Lakes Entrance, a
distance of sixty kilometres, selling copies of the Salvation Army’s magazine
The
War Cry
. Mum would wander through the men’s bar, rattling her money box at
the drinkers, smiling and joking and charming them into buying copies. Those
who pleaded lack of funds were quickly silenced with Myrtle’s rejoinder.

“If
you can afford to buy a beer, you can afford to buy a
War Cry
.”

Sometimes
Myrtle would be in the driver’s seat on these trips, much to the apprehension
of Cathy’s sons because Myrtle’s driving skills had not improved over the
years. The boys rode in the back often covering their eyes with their hands as
gum trees loomed close or appeared effortlessly and mysteriously in front of
the car.

Initially,
Myrtle’s involvement with The Salvation Army was probably a distraction from
her grief, her financial worries and the difficulties she faced in having to
manage the family alone. Although Bobby and Maxie had left school and were now
working, Myrtle still had five of us to feed, clothe and put through school. It
had always been important to her that her kids ‘got a good education’ and she
wasn’t about to let anything get in the way of that. However, she had debts to
pay such as ambulance costs, other medical expenses and rates arrears. Child
Endowment payments amounted to 10-15 shillings per week per child and her only
other income was the War Widows’ Pension. Even with generous assistance from
the community she was not able to financially support herself and her children.

It
would not have been an easy decision for her to make but she eventually sold
the house in Salisbury Street. By 1969 she had moved into a Housing Commission
house (public housing). A typical Housing Commission home at that time was a
simple fibro house on cement blocks. Mum lived in Ralston Court, Orbost in an
estate accommodating low income families.

By
this time, Bobby, Maxie and I had left home to explore new horizons but Mum
still had the twins, now teenagers, plus Irene and Peter living at home. With
the help of kind individuals, her own determination and resourcefulness, she
managed to take good care of all her children. Not only that, she sometimes
looked after other mothers’ babies when circumstances were difficult for them,
such as when a mother was in hospital having another child, or simply when a
mother found life with several children too difficult. She would also ‘harbour’
youths who had nowhere to live, offering them a place to sleep in an old
caravan in her backyard as well as providing them with meals. There was always
food available at her house for anyone who needed it.

As
time went by, Myrtle became more and more involved with the Salvation Army
where she found a supportive community and perhaps an escape from the pressures
of her home life. She accepted the role of Sunday School teacher and was much
loved by the children in her classes. Her Sunday School students and the
neighbourhood kids were always welcome at her home. They were constantly
visiting her, playing in her yard, enjoying the cakes she baked for them or
simply sitting on the floor watching television with her.

Her
friendship with Cathy remained strong. Apart from their church commitments,
they enjoyed social activities together like swimming, walking and riding their
bikes. Having fun with Cathy must have reminded Myrtle of happier times in
Albury when, as young women, she and her cousins shared similar activities. I
am sure her friendship with Cathy also contributed significantly toward her
improved emotional strength.

Myrtle’s
social life gradually extended to the wider community within the Salvation
Army. As her grieving subsided, her vivacious personality returned attracting
the attentions of a male member of the church community. He had the same name
as my father. Myrtle and the new George became close friends. She was not
interested in anything more than friendship but, although their relationship
was platonic, the new George remained by her side.

He
must have been a source of strength for her at a time when she had a great deal
to cope with.  My brother, Kevin, for instance, despite being on
medication to curb his epileptic seizures still sometimes suffered violent fits
which worried Mum. The other children were often hard to control and Mum had
difficulty disciplining them and struggled with their fluctuating moods. Dad
had usually been the one to administer punishments for misdeeds but now Mum had
to be the stern father as well as the nurturing mother.

Myrtle’s
friendship with George lasted several years. At one point marriage was
mentioned, but soon after that George made the mistake of trying to help Myrtle
discipline her kids. When, on one of my trips home from Melbourne, I asked Mum
why George was not around anymore her mouth set in a determined line.

“Hhmpf!
Telling me what to do with my kids! No-one comes between me and my kids,” was
her short answer.

Poor
George probably had the best of intentions but he could not have known that her
children would be an especially sensitive area. Any hint of outside
intervention would have jarred like a drill on an exposed nerve. Although their
closeness ended, Myrtle and George remained friends.

Throughout
the 1970s, Myrtle continued to divide her time between home and the Salvation
Army. She managed to steer the remainder of her children through their teenage
years and into adulthood providing for them remarkably well given her
circumstances. By this time I was living in Sydney where I met Dennis Barnes: a
young man from England whom I later married. Dennis’ parents had also migrated
from England and were living in Melbourne with Dennis’ brother, Brian, and
sister, Anita.

In
February 1971, I decided that Orbost would be a great halfway destination for
Dennis and me to meet up with his parents who could meet my mother at the same
time. Orbost was around seven hours by car from Sydney and four to five hours
from Melbourne. Unfortunately, that was the year that the Snowy River, which
floods on a regular basis along the rich alluvial river flats at Orbost, burst
its banks in a spectacular way to create the worst floods on record.

A
wall of water swamped the flats and swept everything in its path out to sea
including sheep and cattle. Giant gum trees thirty metres tall were torn out by
their roots and rolled along by the water. The Princes Highway Bridge over the
Snowy River was destroyed. Consequently, like other visitors to the area, my
new in-laws were stranded and could not return to Melbourne. Eventually, they
were able to manoeuvre a way out of the area via a circuitous and perilous
route and get back on the road to Melbourne.

For
me, the floods were a welcome distraction because I was not comfortable about my
husband and his family meeting Mum. Although I would not have acknowledged it
or admitted it at the time, I realise now that I was ashamed of my mother’s
Housing Commission home and embarrassed by her lack of attention to
housekeeping chores. I regret that I did not use the eyes of maturity to see
instead, a woman and mother worthy of the highest respect.

The
1980s brought Mum joy as well as more tragedy. The joy arrived in the form of
grandchildren. My sister Irene was by now in a relationship and in 1982 she
gave birth to a girl. Mum was as excited about Sally’s arrival as Irene was.
That was the start of a strong, loving relationship between granddaughter and
grandmother. Mum always had time to look after Sally, to encourage her
development by reading to her, talking to her and playing with her.

Fourteen
months after the birth of Sally tragedy struck when my brother, Kevin, was
killed in a road accident in September 1983. When I arrived home for his funeral
I was shocked to see the despair in Mum’s face. In her eyes I saw raw
vulnerability and a desperate plea for comfort; a look that still haunts me
today. She had always been stoic in times of difficulties but it was as if this
was one blow too many.

However,
she found the resolve to pick up the pieces and get on with her life. By this
time Kevin’s twin, Georgie, who had previously left home to work in Melbourne,
was now living at home with Mum and in a fragile mental state after the death
of a girlfriend. His use of drugs and
iHis
the
death of his twin deepened his depression and increased his unpredictable
behaviour. Mum tolerated his moods and tantrums. She would never have
considered telling him to move out even though his presence was disruptive and
negative and sometimes threatening.

In
April 1984, less than six months after Kevin’s death, Mum was blessed with
another granddaughter when Tanya was born. My youngest brother, Peter, by now
twenty three years old, was no longer living at home and was in a relationship.
One day, Peter arrived on Mum’s doorstep with his baby daughter in his arms.
Tanya’s mother had left and Peter was unable to look after the child because he
had to go out to work. Mum did not hesitate. She held out her arms for Tanya. From
that day on she became Tanya’s mother. She brought her up and nurtured her
through her early years, effectively becoming the first mother Tanya knew.

As
the years passed I suggested to Mum that she should request to have the
government family allowance for Tanya paid to her instead of to the child’s
mother. This would have involved applying for legal custody of Tanya. Mum
simply would not entertain the idea. Knowing what I know now, I can well
understand why she would not do anything that was even remotely perceived as
taking a mother’s child from her.

Whatever
costs came along in the care of Tanya she willingly paid for from her own
meagre supply of money and money from Peter. She also gave her time to Tanya
willingly and lovingly. With Tanya, she did the same ‘grandmotherly’ things she
did with Sally as well all the things a mother would do for her child. She
walked Tanya to kindergarten and later to school, made sure she had the right
school clothes and books, packed her lunch, helped her with school work and
read her bedtime stories.