JANE ANNETTE MARY

Mum - 86th Birthday - Cottesloe

I was going to regale you with the story of mum’s life, but having re-read the eulogy, I think a great deal of what I would say is covered there. I will include it at the end for you to read. The Eulogy gives you the public face of Jane but I would like to tell you about my mother. As you know, I am an only child. Unlike many single children I was not spoilt by my mother, oh no, mum was a great believer in children being seen and not heard. She really didn’t want children and although she did love me, I had not been a welcome inclusion in her life. She after all had very poor role models as parents. Her own childhood was very unhappy, the only bright spark being her maternal grandmother whom she loved dearly. She did not love her own parents. Whilst I loved my granny, mum obviously had a very different experience than me. She once told me that if she had to meet her mother when she arrived in heaven she was not going! Typical mum! She was absolutely no hypocrite – the fact that someone had died did nothing to temper her poor opinion of them. I have to tell you, mum had a poor opinion of pretty much everyone.

When I was a little girl, she was a wonderful mum, she cared for me when I was sick, she read me wonderful poetry, she taught me to love nature and animals and showed me an appreciation of the written word. All these are wonderful gifts and I am more grateful than I can express here.

Fish 'n Chips at the Tavern

She was always bad tempered and she always ruled with an iron fist. She would brook no argument about anything. I once became very upset when I was around 12 years old and claimed indignantly to have a ‘right’ to something or other. What it was in my youthful passion I felt entitled to has been lost in the ether of time. What never left me however, was my mother’s subsequent rant, advising me that I had no rights whatsoever in this world. I was shattered. I suspect looking back, Mother may have had a drink or two or ten at the time. Yes, when mum went back to work, she learned to drink – a lesson she learned all too well. It stood her in very good stead as it enabled her to blot out any feelings or reality she would rather not deal with.

That was mum’s way – she blotted out anything she didn’t like. She did a great deal of blotting. There were a few road bumps along the way in mum’s life, as there are for most of us. She ignored them and just blotted. Her blotting worked very well for her, but was not always pleasant for those around her, particularly myself and my father. Mum did not necessarily get happy after a couple of drinks, quite the opposite in fact. I spent much of my teens trying to make sure she did not make good on her numerous threats to kill herself. I also spent a lot of time just trying to stay out of her way and as far away from her as possible. What I didn’t realise then was that in a rather strange way, this was another gift from my mother. I learnt resilience, independence and the capacity to enjoy my own company. These gifts turned out to be some of the greatest she gave me. I also found that I had a great deal of strength – one needed it to cope with mum sometimes.

From the Lookout - Esperance

When mum went back to work, and learned to love a drink, she also broadened her already considerable vocabulary. As a little girl, she would horrify me with the word ‘bum’ – she would tease me with it and it would send me in paroxysms of delicious horror. She was always a lady and as a lady taught me that there were some words a lady would NEVER use. The main word here was the Eff word. Somewhere around her 40th birthday, Mum decided that the Eff word was wonderful! She started to use it with the greatest aplomb, much to the horror of yours truly. I was a prim young thing, heavily involved with the Church and much affected by mum’s new word. The thing was, mum had a strong, Australian voice – very clear, very well enunciated and impossible to miss. Her grammar, diction and vocabulary were exceptional. Her deportment and dress were impeccable. Her attitude was deplorable! Her best episodes were invariably very public. I became a cringe-aholic, shrinking away every time mum made one of her unforgettable statements.

Valiently across the Valley of The Giants - 85th Birthday

It is a sad reflection that I was not mature enough to appreciate the fire-eater that was my mum. I was too young and too concerned about what others might think (something incidentally I learned from her) – now I can see the richness in her personality and can appreciate, albeit through the distance of time, what an amazing lady she was. Yes, despite the love affair with the eff word, she was always, but always, a lady. Pissed maybe, crabby definitely, difficult, impossible sometimes, but always a lady.

Mum had a pre-occupation with sex. She was the original virginal woman. She only ever had one man ..................why am I telling you this? Because if I had a dollar for every time she told me I would be a very rich old woman indeed. Mum put an enormous amount of importance on chastity and yet she wasted no opportunity to talk to me about sex. Another reason why I became such an expert on cringing! Not many young women wish to be regaled about the sexual escapades of their parents, iew!!! Yet, I was very familiar with my parents’ sex-life, or should I say lack of sex-life, as I was constantly informed as to the status. This is not the venue to expand on this subject, suffice to say it was uncomfortable. I don’t think I can even begin to tell you about her efforts when I was 10 to explain the facts of life!! Dogs featured!!

Both of us at the favourite watering hole.

During out mutual lives, mum and I had a couple of major fallings out. One in particular caused me an enormous amount of grief. Mum was a fairly insular person, and viewed life pretty much from her own perspective and she found it difficult to see anything from anyone else’s position. She held grudges and never really forgave any perceived hurt. For this reason, despite her love for me, there were things she took to her grave and never really forgave me for. For my part, I recognise that within mum’s make up there were things over which she had little or no control – what would be the point of holding them against her. I have always maintained that we ‘love people despite’ not ‘because’ – I think perhaps having mum in my life was instrumental in that lesson.

Mum and I became immeasurably closer after the death of my Father. There are reasons for this that will not be aired here and now, suffice to say we became much, much closer. A great deal of the thanks here must go to my wonderful husband Doug. Doug came back into my life not very long after dad died. Thanks to DD, we had a great deal to do with Mum. As she became more and more frail, so we became more and more involved with her life. Doug was wonderful with mum and she was inordinately fond of him.

Uncharacteristically Maternal!

Mum didn’t travel, in fact until we intervened, I doubt that apart from one trip to Geraldton for her honeymoon and one trip to Norseman to see her mother in law, she had never been further than say 100 ks from the Perth CBD. She lived within a 15k radius from her place of birth. In many ways, she lived a very small life. We tried to broaden her horizons a little and took her with us on a few jaunts, Esperance, Walpole and Augusta featured. Of course, there was the infamous Mother and Daughter wildflower trip up to Kalbarri last year as well.

Mum with Daniel - the Young and the Old.

Due to our heavy involvement in her life in latter years, and my presence during her chemotherapy treatment, mum and I had the opportunity to mend many of our broken fences. We became extremely close towards the end of her life. It evolved that despite the fact we were diametrically opposed on many, many issues, we also had strong mutual beliefs in a multitude of areas. We also learned we could agree to disagree, well.................perhaps not, but after all we were Mother and Daughter!

I loved my Mother dearly and deeply and I will miss her immeasurably. She was difficult and often very hurtful, but she was My Mum and a ‘one off’. We are happy to have a measure of our freedom returned to us, but I have to say, the price is a steep one.

Just before I close this episode, I will briefly share with you some of the classic statements mum made during her 87 years on this earth. I hope you enjoy them as in retrospect, do I.

Comment made while showing one of my girl-friends around her garden.

Kim – “This is an unusual looking plant Jane”



Jane – “Yes, they look like little dicks don’t they?”

At a very upmarket restaurant my first husband and myself had mistakenly taken mother to – at a table close to us was a small wedding party – a very young and pretty blonde and a distinctly older gentleman.

Mother in very loud and audible whispers “Why is she marrying that old bastard? He’s old! Why would she marry him?”

At the airport in Perth as we were saying goodbye to my younger son who was returning to Victoria for his continued Navy training. The airport was filled with very large black American servicemen. Very loudly :-

“They’re all effing black!” (mother never abbreviated the eff word, so read in full if you will)

Sitting around my lounge room one evening in the presence of several of my best friends and my sons and mates. Reference to an ex of mine :

“I thought he had been thru’ all of you” – referring to what she perceived as his sexual experiences.

At a party my thrown by my first husband and myself not long before our marriage folded. Picture a deep ‘conversation pit’, filled with our friends, mother’s very late arrival, she, poised at the top of the steps, gently swaying, very loudly stating to my husband :-

“Yeeees, I saw the car with the eeeeeffffffing eye-lids” referring to John’s new sports car.

And last but by no means least, departing my eldest son’s 21st birthday dinner. Venue, very upmarket golf club, present, my best friend and her husband who was the president or some such thing of the club, all my other friends, all my sons’ best mates, around 50 or so other unrelated diners.

“My grandsons do not approve of my drinking, well, I don’t approve of their fucking”

Sorry, abbreviated, it just would have lost a great deal of its punch.

The Eulogy

Thank you all so much for coming to farewell my mother, Jane. Looking around the room I know how happy she must be seeing you here.

How on earth can I do justice to the amazing woman she was. Jane was a ‘one off’, an original and somewhat of an enigma. I can pretty much guarantee that each of you here knew a slightly different person to the mother I knew and loved.

Jane was born in 1925 in East Guildford. Her parents were Bob and Annie Horner. They were a young couple trying to establish a vineyard in Vine St Herne Hill. The house they lived in was at that time little more than a shack and totally unsuitable for a young mother and baby girl. Because of this Jane spent most of her early years with her maternal grandmother in Middle Swan. In Bishop Rd lived not only her beloved granny (who we all still know as ‘dear old granny’), but also a variety of aunts, uncles and cousins. Jane would often recall how this family group seemed very much to her as she would have imagined an English village. She loved being there.

When Jane was two years old she contracted diphtheria – it was an early indication of her tough physical make up that she not only recovered but became the bane of many of the Swan kids.

Jane’s father was a harsh and intractable man and had little love for his daughter. This made her home life tough indeed. More and more she gravitated to the family group in Middle Swan. Through this diverse and somewhat eccentric mob of Mountjoys Jane learned the love of literature, particularly poetry, the appreciation of the world around her and through the eclectic groups of folk that gravitated to the family, a keen and early interest in world events and politics. These interests were to stay with her for the remainder of her life.

By today’s standards Jane’s childhood would have constituted child abuse. She, her sister Suzie and their numerous cousins and mates had a freedom unparalleled today. The Swan Valley was their playground, and the River their swimming pool. Granny, Jane’s mother would pack them a dripping and onion sandwich and they would take off for wild adventures returning only with the setting sun and empty bellies. Houghtons was Fergie’s Forrest and Jane and her sister part of the Fergies Forrest Gang. Along with their four footed ally Peter they would wage many a war along the way.

Jane had a keen intelligent mind, an innate curiosity and a determination to succeed in all she undertook. She attended Herne Hill Primary and there developed a reputation as an excellent student and a fighter. She never received a mark below 90% and she sent many another child packing with a good belt or a ‘dong’ on the head with her trusty lunch box.

From Herne Hill Primary she moved on to Midland School and stayed there until finally moving to Perth Tech to learn shorthand and typing. Jane would have loved to go on to higher learning, or failing that, the services, but alas her father who never lightened his attitude towards his eldest daughter would hear of no such foolishness.

As with all her other pursuits, Jane dedicated herself to her secretarial studies and as usual passed every exam with flying colours. Early in the piece she adopted the practice of converting every word she saw into shorthand, even taking down the evening news. Right up until her passing, she would make shorthand notes.

Jane, by now in her late teens, was a classic beauty. Sadly she always considered herself to be ‘plain Jane’. Her lack of confidence combined with a somewhat prickly exterior doubtless discouraged many a young man intent on getting to know her better. She was still to some degree a tomboy, and she still believed she was as good as any old boy. A classic example of this attitude was one day at the Middle Swan Bridge – the one that has just been replaced – all the local boys and girls were swimming and diving off the bridge which even then was a considerable height above the water’s surface.

To prove she was tougher than all the rest Jane climbed to the very top rail from where she dove into the river. It seemed an eternity before she reached the water and as you do, she lifted her head to see just how far away she was from the water’s surface. You guessed it, just as she lifted her face, she met the water. Needless to say, despite the exquisite pain, she surfaced, red faced, but grinning.

Jane’s first job was with the very upmarket department store Bon Marche. Here she worked in the office and due to her usual diligence and strong abilities she moved up the ranks. Her great ambition however was to become a legal secretary and to this end she applied for every possible position in that arena. By now, the Second World War was being waged and Perth saw its first influx of American Servicemen. Jane recalled how on that first day all the office workers flowed into the streets at lunch time to gawk at the men, not quite knowing what to expect them to look like.

Jane finally achieved her ambition and secured a position with the legal firm Unmack & Unmack. The dearth of young men enabled her to progress there fairly quickly.

War time in Perth, despite it’s great distance from the rest of the world saw a frenetic night life. Jane and her sister loved to dance and both taught dancing in the evenings. You can imagine, it was no mean feat getting from the Swan to Perth for an evening’s entertainment in those days. Essentially the Swan Valley was country and transport sporadic at the best. Youth however is determined to party and so they coped.

Eventually Jane met her young man, Allen, and in April 1949 they were wed. They moved into a tiny house in George St Midland. The house belonged to Allen’s mother and was to be a temporary move until such time as they could afford a deposit on a home of their own. Jane was always a good money manager. Despite the meagre pay brought home by Allen, a coppersmith at the Midland Workshops, Jane was confident she could save the deposit required.

Have I mentioned that our Jane, was not necessarily a gentle or sweet soul? Hmm, her temper was within family ranks, at least, legendary. Despite all good intentions, in September that same year, she discovered she was pregnant. Thrilled? Hardly! She was furious, and of course, the blame was placed firmly at Allen’s feet. Jane was not the maternal type, and nor did she love children. Hardly surprising considering her own childhood!

The plans for a new home were somewhat delayed and as nature had planned, Jane gave birth in June the following year to a baby girl. Despite her reluctance to embrace motherhood, Jane discovered to her own amazement that she did indeed love her little girl and became a diligent mother.

In those early years of her marriage Jane applied her usual determination to being the best wife and mother she knew how to be. She became an excellent seamstress, a great cook, a keen gardener, a good money manager and her home was always immaculate.

Through those early years, even before the birth of her daughter, Jane’s constant companion was a big tabby cat named Tiger. Jane never knew half measures and she loved this puss dearly. Generally however, she was a dog person and for the entirety of her adult life, she had a serious of four footed children who were dear to her.

The little family did well, and did finally purchase a brand new Housing Commission house in Koongamia. Jane was not particularly happy about having to buy into a Housing Commission home, but being a practical soul, could see no other way of procuring a home of their own. The family moved into their home in 1955. Five years later, financial pressures came to bear, and Jane reluctantly returned to the workforce.

A rebirth of a sort happened here. Jane went back to being a legal secretary, working for Brian Smith solicitors in Midland. A succession of jobs followed this one, finally culminating in her becoming the personal legal secretary to one of the senior partners of the prestigious legal firm Parker & Parker.

A new found confidence, some pocket money, a new wardrobe and a degree of independence affected Jane profoundly. She learned to enjoy herself. As her daughter was now in her teens, some freedom was perceived and it was party time. Jane, who had until this time been pretty much a teetotaller, learned to enjoy a drink. Her confidence expanded exponentially. She loved her clothes and always was immaculately presented.

Jane’s daughter married and left home and in time had two sons, who later gave Jane 5 great grandchildren.

Eventually, Jane & Allen retired and moved to a new home in Swan View, where she lived until the end of her life. Allen pre-deceased her by 11 years. During those autumn years Jane and Allen joined the local garden club and after Allen’s death Jane joined the Midland Library Group.

The last couple of years were tough ones for Jane as despite good general health, Macular Degeneration caused a decline in eyesight and reading and driving became so much harder. Regardless of that, with the companionship of her beloved and insane Staffie, Sparky, Jane made the best of things.

That was the bare bones of Jane’s life. She lived her entire life in and around the Swan Valley. It may seem on the surface, pretty tame and maybe even a little boring.

All of us here know tho’ that there was absolutely nothing tame or boring about Jane.

She was an incredible, brave, stalwart, outspoken, sometimes abraisive, funny, amazing, verbally adept, highly intelligent and always interesting woman.

Jane was the eternal enigma. She professed to be racist – and yet her friends come from all nationalities and walks of life.

She was notoriously inhospitable, hating to invite anyone into her home. Yet – anyone who ever did enter her portals would attest to the fact that once inside, she never wanted you to leave. I can tell you all now, that the reason she never invited you over, was that she always believed her home was not good enough for visitors. It was most certainly not because she didn’t enjoy your company.

She professed to hate people – yes, many of you here would have heard her make that statement on many an occasion – Yet, she was the most social of people, she was interested in everyone and just loved to talk.

She was prickly, unresponsive and invented the term ‘stiff upper lip’ – yet, she loved deeply and craved love and affection from those around her. Sadly she didn’t express this well.

All these things were Jane, but what I haven’t really touched on was her amazing capacity to make people laugh. She had an incredible turn of phrase, and she used the English language and all the accompanying swear words like a true wordsmith. Her outstanding ability to tell a story, warts and all, in any company was legendary. Each and every member of the family, and close friends would have at least one hilarious story to tell of Jane’s statements.

I will close with the last of these, and I’m sure you will all forgive my lapse of good manners in the telling of this story, as it epitomises Jane and her personality.

When this illness first manifested itself, Doug and I were away for a couple of weeks and mother was compelled to take a taxi into Royal Perth Hospital. Her driver was Turbanned Indian Siekh. As was her practice, Jane took the front passenger seat next to the driver. This practice of hers must have unnerved many a taxi driver over the years.

Anyway, she, as was her way, became involved in an animated conversation with this worthy gentleman and he proceeded to regale her with the lurid story of his arranged marriage gone wrong. It seems his bride to be was sent out to Australia to marry him and he dutifully brought her gifts and tried to impress her with his very worthwhile character. It seems the young lady was not particularly impressed even when he purchased for her a mobile phone. The story culminated at the steps of RPH with the frustrated driver declaring in outraged tones, “And I even brought her an F’ing Mobile Phone” – you just know that mother didn’t abbreviate this story as I have, when regaling all and sundry of the tale. The next time I went into the hospital with her, we saw a delightful young registrar, who appeared to be the gently reared prodigy of an aristocratic English couple. I might add, he seemed to both of us to be oh, around say 16 years old! Jane greeted this young man with the words “Thank God you are white and Australian!” and then went on to regale him with the full unabridged story of the Indian Taxi Driver. The young Dr turned the prettiest shade of pink I have seen in a long while as he seemed to melt into his chair. I rather doubt he had ever heard a female use THAT word, let alone an elderly, elegant woman with the appearance of a retired school mistress.

In the last couple of months of her life, Jane became my Warrior Queen. She accepted the news of cancer with typical stoicism and courage. Although she knew chemotherapy would be tough, she sailed ahead full steam and gave it her best shot.

I hope that like me, you can only be happy for her, that it is all over, and she is now with those she loved so much. Cherish the memories you have of Jane for I believe our lives shall all be depleted by her absence.



Thank you for your indulgence in my reminiscences – I hope that I did not bore you too much and that you found a degree of enjoyment there. Until next time, love your mothers, or at least remember them fondly – like it or not, they are an integral part of who you are.

Steph

GOOD BYE MUM

Mum's Best Mate

The weeks following mum’s death were hectic to say the least. There was just so much to do. You have to remember here that I am an only child. There is nobody else to share the load, or I suppose, to fight over the spoils with. I will split this section into two, the first half I will deal with the day to day things that have to be done following the death of a loved one. Perhaps it will help someone else one day. I confess I had no pre existing knowledge here whatsoever and so it was all a big learning curve. The second half I will dedicate to Mum.

The first few days after mum passed were spent telling people. The number of sad phone calls were innumerable – just one after the other, telling pretty much the same story and fielding the same questions. The hardest task we had was dealing with The Wombat. Mum and I had many long discussions about what would happen to Sparky after she left. She had often expressed the opinion they were ‘running neck to neck to the finish line’. Mum, we felt often imagined Sparks to be much worse than he really was; he was however at least 12 years old and suffered many of the ailments old dogs suffered. Mum had found Sparks at the local vets and he had been picked up off a busy highway having been struck by a car. His hindquarters had been severely impacted. As an old dog, he felt the pain in his back leg particularly and like mum, could only walk short distances. He was a happy old beast nevertheless, like mum quite neurotic and extremely set in his doggie ways. As I was saying, mum and I discussed his future many times and her wishes ultimately were that when she went, he would follow. It’s amazing how easy that sounded when she was alive and it was only a concept! When it came to the crunch however, it was a very different reality. The only things that kept me on the straight and narrow were I suspected Sparks had a serious health issue himself, all to do with his Doggie workings. I could see a swelling where there should be no swelling and had been conscious of it for a little while. I had not mentioned it to mum as I didn’t wish to add to her troubles. He was in constant pain from his back leg and hip. All of this very practical stuff was further enhanced by my belief that when we reach the other side, our beasties can join us there. I know this is heretic by many people’s belief systems, but it is intrinsic to mine. Mum shared my belief.

So, Mum left us early Tuesday morning, by Wednesday evening, Sparks had joined her. As DD and I knelt on the hard floor at the veterinary surgery, cuddling the large black wombat like dog, whispering sweet nothings in his doggie ear, the vet wielded the green needle and I asked mum to come and take her best friend. It was one of the very hardest things I have ever had to do. Both Doug and myself were brought undone by our actions. The only good thing about it is that we knew it was the right thing to do and it was mum’s wishes.

Mum had expressly asked for a ‘nice funeral’. We happily complied with this wish. I tell you what tho’, Death is an expensive business and I suspect a very profitable industry to be associated with. We needed to hold the funeral in the Midland area so that all mum’s garden club and library club mates could come along, bearing in mind that the few she had not outlived, were limited in their own mobility. There are only two funeral directors in that area so we had little option but to speak to them both and then select the best package. We elected to use Purslowe Funeral Directors, partly because we instantly felt at home when we walked into their premises, and not a little because the delightful woman who assisted us was called Stephanie. It felt karmic somehow. Without being too crass, I would like you to know that a fairly simple funeral cost approximately $8,600 and that was with a discount for speedy payment. They did us proud tho’! The casket was not one of their more expensive models, but simple and elegant. We had a beautiful spread of flowers in pink tones that covered around two thirds of the casket. I wrote the eulogy and somehow managed to read it on the day. We had bookmarks made with mum’s photo on them – they were lovely – I still have at least 50 of them to pass on to people who did not make it to the funeral and for posterity.

As these things go, the day was a success. I suppose there must have been between 30 and 40 people there, largely from the garden club. I was disappointed that none of the older members of the family managed to attend, with of course the exception of mum’s sister Suzie. My boys and their wives were there, as was Doug’s son Trent and his wife. I really appreciated their attendance, and I was almost overwhelmed when my very good friends also came along to say goodbye, even some who had never met Mum. It is at times like that you really appreciate true friendship. We made sure we had ‘nice cake’ (long story) for the ladies and it was demolished with considerable gusto. The celebrant was delightful, a gentleman in the true sense of the word, and of our own vintage. All in all, the funeral was pretty, elegant and simple – Mum would have been very pleased. One of the most amazing things was the presence of an old boss of hers. I was absolutely blown away when he introduced himself. Mum would have worked for him no less than 30 years ago. Incredible! I am really peed off that I cannot discuss this amazing event with her. We would have spent many happy hours dissecting that one!!

Mum appointed The Public Trustees as her Executors and we duly went off to see them. I have mixed emotions about this. Certainly they make things pretty easy for us, but certainly also, they don’t miss with their charges. They will take around $6000 for their efforts. Considering mum’s estate is minimal, that is pretty heavy I think. All that is involved is the house, a single vehicle and a very minimal amount of cash (all absorbed by the funeral and the Trustees).

Mum bless her little cotton socks, had never dealt with my father’s ashes, and expected me to sort out both his and hers. She specifically didn’t want to be ‘scattered’ and left instructions in the Will as to the placement of her Ashes. She simply wished them to be placed at the local cemetery along with fathers’. Would you believe that a simple plaque on the ground covering the ashes costs in the vicinity of $1600!! Incredible! Especially as I don’t even believe in gravesites and the like! We still have to deal with that little task. Currently all three lots of Ashes are sitting in a cupboard in Mum’s house, Mum’s, Dad’s, and Sparkies. It is my intention to put Spark’s ashes with mothers. I dare say I will have to keep that a secret from the cemetery people!

The cleaning out of mum’s house is a monumental task and one that will take me quite a bit of time. We are currently taking a little break and have spent a couple of weeks in Kalbarri and are now visiting our ‘wedding party’ in GreenHead. When we get back to Perth we will have to resume this big job. I am not looking forward to it, but will tell you more along those lines at a later date. Mum’s house and belongings are a story in themselves.

OH MUM!!!!

This is very hard to write about, but the story must be told, so here I go. Monday morning, after being absent from mum’s for just over a week, I decided in desperation I just must go. Against all sensible judgment I drove down to see mum that morning. I was still coughing. I had told her I would be there as soon as the mucus cleared – each evening she would hopefully ask how I was and each time I would be compelled to tell her I was still unwell and that I would review the situation the following morning. Sunday evening I had felt a bit better and had given her hope I would be there in the morning.

One of the gauges we used, both Mum and me, as to her state of health, was her ability or inability to fetch the morning papers from the front yard. On Sunday she had told me she had not been able to manage that job. She had also told me she had fallen over on Friday evening, not hurting herself, but nevertheless giving herself a fright. Me too! DD had been there on the Saturday and she had seemed OK. I was desperate about her by now and determined to be there on Monday. I left home armed with a couple of masks, and lots of hope. I stopped on the way to mum’s to buy her a toasted cheese sandwich (one of the few things I could get her to eat). I also had various other little treats for her.

I can‘t tell you how many times that morning I thought I should turn back. I knew I really shouldn’t have been going there, but I felt powerless to stay away. She really did need me. When I drove into her driveway, my spirits were raised as there was no sign of either the Sunday or Monday paper in the front yard.

As usual I let myself into the house. All was in darkness. An overwhelming bad smell pervaded and chaos seemed to be reigning around the normally tidy house. Mum’s walking stick was lying across the sitting room floor, Sparks was behaving in a strange manner, Mum’s pink beanie was laying in the passage, as were both her slippers. With fear mounting I followed the chaotic trail to her bedroom. Across the bed lay all the newspapers, and Mum. She was only partly covered by a sheet, and it looked as if Sparks had been trying to pull the blankets and sheets from her in an attempt to waken her. The overwhelming bad smell was explained by the fact that she was covered in faeces. The whole bed seemed to be in trouble! Mum was breathing but unresponsive. I immediately called an ambulance. It seemed to take forever for it to arrive – I dare say it was only around 10 minutes. In that time I managed to move our car from the driveway to allow access and to put the manic dog outside. On the advice of the triple zero people I went back to mum and she had by now turned onto her back, so I moved her back onto her side. She was by now mumbling a few words.

The ambulance arrived complete with two very young male medicos. They seemed so very young to be looking after my mother. I have to say they were wonderful, especially considering the state she was in. It was not a pleasant task for any of us as one of the young men and I started to clean mum up a little prior to taking her in the ambulance. Buckets of warm water, an abundance of disposable gloves and the ability to breath without smelling anything were prerequisites. One of the young men absented himself during this process, ostensibly to arrange the stretcher. Mum’s nightie was cut from her and I have to say the young man was considerate in the extreme in his handling of mum. Mum was by now communicating with us a little. She was distressed to know she was going to hospital and bemused as to how we knew she had been ill during the night. She seemed at this point in time to be reasonably coherent. Blissfully for her she had no idea of the state she was in. I am so thankful for this mercy as she was a fastidious person and would have been horrified and mortified had she known.

I am not sure why I feel compelled to tell this sordid side of the story, but I think it is to let you know, because I didn’t, that death when it comes to those you love, doesn’t come in any way you might have previously imagined. As I was spending so much time with Mum, and as it had always been my intention to be with mum when the end came (I always promised her she would not be alone), I guess I imagined that the end would be a peaceful and serene experience for mum and one of quiet sadness for me. Not so!

The ambulance men felt the best thing would be to take her to RPH as that was where she was being treated. I sent with them all the relevant paperwork to make the transition easier on their arrival at the hospital. Neither they nor I felt there was any real emergency. They were even discussing the likelihood of her being discharged once she had been checked out. We all seemed to be of the opinion that the diarrhoea was an outcome of a bacterial infection and that once treated she would be OK. This belief I think was engendered by the fact she was more or less communicating with us.

I had called Doug and he duly arrived at Mums after the ambulance had left. By then I had thrown away most of mum’s bedding, washed what I felt was worth washing and generally cleaned up as much as I could. The still overwhelming odour was partly explained when I found two particularly large and revolting piles of dog poo in the lounge room. Once again the rubber gloves came out and once again I scrubbed. Sparks smelt of mum. I suppose he had been all around her trying to wake her. It was revolting and my mind was turning cartwheels imagining what had gone on before I arrived.

Anyway, with a change of clothes (DD bless him) off we went to the hospital. We were probably only half an hour behind mum and feeling confident that would be OK. When we arrived at Emergency we had a bit of a wait before I could talk to anyone. As we were in the grip of a flu epidemic, the ambulances were ‘ramped up’ out the front. I didn’t even know if mum had been admitted. Finally I managed to see someone and was taken directly into the Emergency ward to see mum. I was greeted by an extremely serious (and thank goodness, mature) Dr – he was the one in charge of Emergency that day. I was told that Mum was very, very ill indeed. I have to say, I was quite shocked. They were basically telling me to prepare myself for the worst. The diarrhoea was still pouring out of her, and I overheard them telling each other that her organs had all shut down.

The Dr in charge asked me if Mum and I had discussed ‘escalated treatment’ – I explained Mum’s attitude was absolutely no resuscitation – he agreed, we agreed. I was so shaken at this time. I had been standing by Mum‘s side in Emergency for probably an hour or so by now. Having had this very serious and scary discussion with the head Dr, I was then accosted by a young Registrar who worked under the Lymphoma specialist. He had been talking to Mum’s Dr and they wanted her to go to Intensive Care for treatment. This was diametrically opposite to what the other Dr and I had already agreed. Once again the Dr in charge and I discussed the matter. His opinion was unchanged and I really felt terribly conflicted about what was happening. Around this time the young Registrar came back to me and told me in whispered tones that he had been wrong earlier and that he hadn’t been able to speak openly. I think he was spoken to by the leading Dr and told a few facts of life that day. Ultimately, he and I agreed that we would most likely not send mum to ICU, but to confirm our decision, have a scan done to determine whether or not, as we suspected, Mum had suffered a major stroke.

The scan confirmed our worst and it was agreed that they would cease all treatment. Mum was to go to a quiet ward where she would simply be kept comfortable.

Finally in the early evening, this is what happened. I had spent most of the day at mum’s side in emergency and finally they had her transferred, with me at her side, to the stroke ward. There I kept vigil. We were told that it could be days or as little as hours. Mum’s breathing was quite laboured and I was promised that if it became too harsh, they would administer an injection which would make it easier for her.

I found I couldn’t leave Mum. I sent Doug home as he needed to feed Sparky and also to go home himself to take his medication. He left the hospital around 8pm. I stayed by Mum’s side, asking for and getting the injection to ease her breathing, somewhere around midnight. The various nursing staff were very kind, both to me and Mum. Having seen what had happened to her earlier in the day, I must confess, my words to Mum during that day and night were to leave. I didn’t want her to come back and find out how I had found her and what sort of state she had been in during the day. I just didn’t want her to ever have to deal with that. She had told me only a few weeks before that she was ready to go, looking forward to it and had no fear. I knew she wanted to go.

To comfort Mum the best I could, I just held her hand, rubbed her arm and generally tried to let love flow between us. At about 1.25 I took my eyes off her for a few minutes to rest my head against the bed and when I looked up, her breathing had ceased. I sought out the nurse in charge and had her come to see mum. She was very surprised it had been so quick and confirmed my belief that Mum had gone. She kindly left me alone with Mum for as long as I wished to stay and also had a Dr verify Mum’s death.

I stayed with Mum for 15 minutes or so, but I didn’t feel that she was still around. When I left her, I thought I would leave Doug to sleep for a while before calling him to come and get me, and wandered off to try and find a coffee or some such thing somewhere in the hospital. I should have remembered that not only is there nothing like that at night in that big old place, but it is locked up tight and it is almost impossible to find an exit that is open.

I meandered around that place like the lost soul I felt I was, standing in the big passage way above Wellington St, looking out at the lights and the late night traffic. I felt lost and empty. Nothing had been like I expected it to be. I had expected to feel some sort of passing when Mum finally left, but there was absolutely nothing. I found I couldn’t cry I was just numb. I am not sure how long I wandered around for, finally I found an orderly who directed me to an obscure exit near the Emergency Department. There I sat for a while and then finally called Doug to come and get me. It is a good hour to hour and a half drive from the farm, so I just sat, staring into space until such time as that good man arrived. We were I think, both numb. We stopped to get a coffee at an all night drive in servo and drank quietly as we drove home.

From Mum’s perspective, it was relatively quick, and she knew nothing of what was going on around her. I guess none of us can wish for a great deal better than that. I am just sorry I was not there for her in that last week. It seems unbelievable, when I was there so much for her, that I was not there then. I am sorry too that she had to endure that chemotherapy before dying. Her last few months could have been so much better.

One little shining light was that only a matter of weeks before she died, I rocked up at her place one glorious winter morning, announced it was indeed ‘a gradely day’ and whisked her into Zed for a drive in the beautiful sunshine. It was one of those wonderful mornings that make you happy to live in Perth, and more particularly The Swan Valley. White clouds skittered across the clear blue sky, throwing deep blue shadows dancing across the Darling Range. Gnarled vines resplendent in orange and gilded with gold danced in the light breeze. The day was a veritable gift, given for our pleasure and enjoyment.

I drove around the Swan and mum had a walk down memory lane. We finally bought lunch at a little cafe and took ourselves to All Saints Churchyard. All Saints is a pretty little church (the oldest in WA) sitting on the banks of the upper reaches of the Swan River. The walls and gravestones there are littered with names of our forbearers and their friends and relatives. The names there are the names of my childhood gleaned from the numerous stories told to me by mum. All Saints is and has long been one of my very favourite places on this earth. The churchyard is scattered with old gravestones, venerable rose bushes and lilies. Enormous old trees stretch their limbs to the sky in humble praise, the bare earth below them scattered with their leaves and gumnuts. The tiny church there has managed to stay humble – it is not over adorned with the ostentatious trappings that so many churches wear. Sitting in the pews there I feel the peace and communion shared by the other souls who have sat their backsides on those shiny wooden seats and stared at the simple stained glass windows with love.

Mum and I sat on one of the seats kindly provided in the churchyard and ate our simple fare. We were joined by a young woman who was there to try to capture the beauty with her camera. As she was also a mobile hairdresser, she and mum had an interesting chat. Mum was always very interested in other people and had an insatiable curiosity.

The day was a delight, and mum referred to it frequently in the following weeks. She and I agreed, it was indeed a gift from God, and I will be eternally grateful for that little break in the horror that composed the last couple of months of mum’s life.

THE WARRIER QUEEN



Verdant Green Velvet Dotted with Glossy Black Cows


After the first course of chemo mum was predictably pretty unwell. She didn’t have any vomiting attacks, but despite advice to the contrary, her beautiful silver hair did start to fall out and her energy levels were pretty much zero. The best she could manage most days was to walk from the bed to her favourite chair in her sitting room and there collapse for the remainder of the day. It seemed that the first week was the worst, the second week only marginally better before heading back to hospital for the next treatment.

I was there each day to keep her company and to do whatever needed to be done. I was not very successful at trying to get her to eat anything much. Not until that is, I stopped off one morning on my way there and bought her some hot chips – that did do down well.

Mum was so valiant...............even tho’ she had pretty much no energy she persevered to the best of her ability. By the time we went back to see the Specialist prior to the second bout of chemo tho’, she had had enough. She asked the Dr what would happen if she discontinued the chemo - he told her she would have around 2 – 3 months best. Her response? “Oh, Hip Hip Hooray!” – She was serious. She was at that point in time seriously not going to continue with the treatment. I was in full agreement with this decision, although I couldn’t tell her that. I didn’t wish to influence her in any way. Sadly, the Dr then added, “The Lymphoma will return however, if you don’t continue on.” Poor old mum, her face just fell at that piece of news, and she then opted to continue the treatment, not being able to bear the thought of the lump returning.

Back to hospital she went for the second and the third treatments. It was just soooooo hard for her. I really had hoped she would choose not to have further treatment, as I felt her quality of life (in the short remaining term) would be so much better. I had thought to treat her with all sorts of little trips and treats to make the time special. I always felt it was doubtful she would survive the treatment.

The trips down to mum’s each morning were a bittersweet experience. During the winter months the Darling Range between Bullsbrook and Swan View are just gloriously verdant, rolling hills covered with lush emerald green velvet. All along the way the paddocks are dotted with glossy black cattle and beautifully elegant thoroughbred horses. I enjoyed those drives, as I enjoyed mostly, my time spent with Mum. We had a special connection thru’ those awful weeks. We talked more than we had probably talked all our lives, and for the first time ever, I really felt mum was interested in my life too. I spent a considerable amount of time reading her favourite poetry to her. We both love poetry, but to her it was so much more. It reflected the few happy times from her childhood, pretty much the only common ground she had with her own mother and memories from my childhood when she would read to me.We shared confidences, bad moments and good and really now in retrospect, I feel that those weeks which were so awful for her, were in a strange way, a great gift to me. Due to those weeks, my more difficult memories of mum are tempered by those later soft memories. I felt bad leaving her at the end of each day, but she was quite insistent I go. As I mentioned earlier, she loved the farm at Bullsbrook and she vowed that she was happy for me to go, as she wanted me to have that break and the beauty and peace that came with the farm, she also said that as I was driving home, she would imagine herself flying up the highway with me. I must make a confession here, on nice fine days with the sky blue above me and white clouds scudding across the sky, I would open the hatch on Zed, turn the old Rock ‘n Roll up strength ten, plant the foot firmly on the pedal and just about ‘fly’ up that highway. Sad as I was for mum, I really did relish that feeling of freedom as I headed home each afternoon. Naughty girl I know!

Mum’s courage was amazing. She was having such a hard time of it. Her poor old head was almost bald, just a few wispy bits of white fluff left, what little bit of body fat she had disappeared and she literally shrunk before my eyes. She still managed to find things to laugh about tho’ and I loved making her laugh. Although she didn’t try to hide from me how hard it was, there were a few times when she thought I wasn’t looking and she let her guard down and I saw more clearly how much it was taking out of her. One particularly poignant afternoon which is emblazoned on my memory forever, as I was leaving, she thought I had gone and I peeked back thru’ the front door as I was going. She sat there looking so small, frail and dejected and so very, very alone. I know that mum’s lifestyle was her own choice and that she was on her own due to her own selection, but it was still heart wrenching to see her like that. Particularly considering what a ferocious person she had previously been.

During this time, I had mentioned to Mum that I had no idea how we would cope if I became ill. Some sort of intuitive thing I suppose. Because of this fear, I agreed to have a ‘flu shot’ – something I have always maintained I didn’t need or wish to do. Hmm, goes to show, deep down we all know what is best for us.

By now, sadly, Brett had temporarily parted company from Nom and was staying with us at the farm (100k round trip for him each day in his little ‘Muzz Buzz’) and due largely to being the dad of toddlers and also his frequent flying around this country, he seemed to have a perennial cough. After a couple of weeks I too started to cough. I ignored it. Still ignoring the cough, I reluctantly had a flu shot. Within the week, my cough was considerably worse. By the time mum came out of hospital after her third bout of chemo I was very unwell. This posed a double problem – not only was I pretty crook in myself, but as mum due to the chemo had no immunity, I could go nowhere near her. I worsened, but believed that as in most bugs, I would be fine after a couple of days, kept promising poor Mum that I would most likely be there ‘tomorrow’. Folks, I cannot remember a worse virus. I have never in my life coughed up so much gunk. And It Went On....and On........and On. I spoke with mum twice every day on the phone, and I send DD down a couple of times too. Someone needed to help her, to do what little bit of shopping she needed doing, to wash her dishes, feed the beast, and generally tidy up for her. I felt so bad not being able to see her and help her, but I certainly could go nowhere near her. That virus (now known, in Perth at least, as the 40 day flu) would have been the last straw for mum. She would have ended up with pneumonia at the very least. The whole situation was terrible.

In the middle of all of this Naomi also ended back in hospital with more of the same bowel problems she had experienced previously. The less said about the reasons why the better I guess. In the middle of me being super ill, she asked us to go and mind the children so she could go to hospital – she was not happy to get my negative response. Once again, I had no choice – but that is a long story and one for another time.

OF MICE & MEN

Blue Boy Drops In

I know I have spoken with many of you about my mum, her foibles and her very unusual and somewhat abrasive personality. I don’t know if I have ever however, explained her courage. She had to be one of the bravest people I have ever known. She sailed into this treatment with high hopes and amazing stamina for a woman her age.

When she was admitted to hospital the following Tuesday, we expected she would only be there a couple of days and then be sent home prior to returning shortly to commence treatment. Instead, they kept her there and commenced treatment pretty well immediately. The first treatment involved chemo to the site and steroid medication. The immediate results were totally dramatic. The lump disappeared literally overnight! All signs were super positive. After spending a week in hospital mum was sent home. The plan was 6 lots of chemo all 21 days apart. I have to say, they gave us very limited information as to what to expect. A few brochures and not much else; I had spent quite a lot of time at the hospital with mum, but nobody had bothered to fill me in on anything of real value regards what would predictably happen next.

Butchy checking us out

We picked mum up from the hospital late in the day, having been told to pick her up around 3ish only then to have to wait for another couple of hours for meds. The woman we picked up was a very different one to the one we had taken to the hospital some 7 days earlier. For one thing, Mum had never really been exposed to anyone who had a truly rough trot, either medically or any other way. Being a public hospital, the cancer ward where she had been staying had been full of women who were literally on their last legs. Full too of family members trying to spend what little time was left with their loved ones. Mother, to put it mildly, came away a bit shell shocked. I have to confess to being pretty peeved with her that evening as she harped on about all the awful people she had encountered in during the course of her stay. I was upset about her lack of human compassion. She had never really, until then, suffered any real ill health, nor any real awfulness in her life. Sure, her childhood had left a great deal to recommend it, but from that point on, she had pretty much cruised. When bad things popped into her life, she popped her head in the sand, or better still, into a glass of wine or beer. She had really been quite sheltered. I have to say that over the next couple of months she did respond much more kindly to the problems of others. I think a great deal of introspection opened up a whole lot of new ground for mum at that point in time.

BB (Big Beak) looking for a handout

During Mum’s first hospital visit, we stayed at her place. We pretty much had to as someone had to look after Sparky (the manic Wombat) who was so very accustomed to mum’s routines we couldn’t really take him up to the farm with us. In addition to my reservations as to the wisdom of taking Sparks up to the farm, Mum really didn’t want us to do that. She really wanted us to do just what we did, stay at her place looking after Sparks. Folks it wasn’t easy. We bought mum a big sofa-bed before we travelled, partly so she could have a lay down during the day (she would never lay on her bed during the day) and partly so we would have a bed if we had to return home suddenly. Well, who on earth designed these torture devices? It was diabolically uncomfortable on that contraption. The level of comfort was not abetted by the fact that DD point blank refused to remove the plastic cover from the mattress! Why? Who knows! Anyway, there was a fair degree of discomfort, but we managed. By the time Mum came home the first time, we had enough of that bloody bed and when she insisted we go home and leave her we were pretty pleased to do so. It was quite late that night when we took Mum home. She was exhausted, as were we and she insisted that she wanted to be alone, having had to put up with “all those awful people at the hospital” – I suppose I didn’t take a great deal of convincing, a – I was a bit disappointed with Mum’s behaviour and b – I was really needing a good night’s sleep on my own bed. With great guilt we drove to the farm that night, leaving my diminutive and unwell mother on her own. She was fine. I was back first thing next morning and spent the day with her, trying to tempt her to eat a little and generally keeping her company.

Now Don't Be a Galah

That pretty well established the pattern for the next couple of months. Mum had a total of 3 lots of chemo. After that first time tho’, we did stay at the farm overnight, heading down to mum’s early each morning to feed the wombat. Poor old Sparks, we stayed there every day just to be with him, leaving each afternoon after 4 and returning each morning around 8.30. Amazing what we will do for a dog! Anyway, as I said before, we really couldn’t take him to the farm, so not much choice.

Enjoying a Few Rays

While mum was in hospital, I tried to do a bit of cleaning out for her. You need to know here that she would never allow me to do that sort of thing while she was there, and indeed, up until that point in time, would never have allowed me to investigate her stuff in her absence either. I must admit, I didn’t warn her I was going to embark on a ‘spring clean’ for her, I simply started to ‘chuck stuff out’! My Mum never, but never, threw anything away. I cannot even begin to tell you the things she had accumulated over the years. Right down to all the bills over the past 10 years since my father died. Mum was afraid of identity theft and so was not prepared to put anything in the bin unless it was destroyed first – as she never managed to get around to ‘the destroying’, everything was preserved.

Just Where is New Hollland?

During my ‘cleaning’ exercise I experienced a peculiar thrill one day. I was cleaning out a drawer beneath the TV. I had been in this drawer previously on several occasions looking for sticky tape, envelopes and general thingies. Well my dears, imagine my surprise when amongst all the stuff I spied what looked like a rubber skeleton of a small animal, you know, the sort you buy the kids at the $2 shops. Not A Rubber Skeleton at all! Rather, an entire intact skeleton of a very real mouse! I was fairly un-thrilled at my discovery and very gingerly removed said dead rodent. Some years back Mum had a mouse plague of sorts. Mobs of the determined small creatures gravitated to her place from the railway reserve across the road. Their inroads into the house were probably aided and abetted by the fact that mum was very much inclined to leave the back sliding door open for Sparky – not being prepared to have a dog door installed due perceived security issues. I know, sounds Irish to me too, but there you have it. As much as I am against baiting, eventually in desperation, she did absolutely fill every conceivable nook and cranny with Rat Poison. This did finally pretty much solve the problem, although during the thick of the battle, one was prone to find small carcasses lying in the middle of the room from time to time. Sparks had enough brains not to touch the small poisoned beasts and Mum had no sense of smell, so she was never aware of their presence. Sparks would try to tell her by slinking around the corpses in a Strange and Mysterious Manner, but generally due to all the above and her poor sense of sight she was sublimely unaware of the little deaths.

Can you see me - down on the fence wire?

Every so often when we visited I would comment on an unpleasant odour and we would search, usually in vain for the culprit. One such event was most likely prompted by the death of the ‘drawer mouse’. When I mentioned my grisly find to Mother, her reasonably dumbfounding (and scary) response, was; “Oh well – if that upset you, I wouldn’t clean out the drawer beneath the little china cabinet then!” At my startled look, she continued “I know there is a dead one in there, I sprayed it with fly-spray!” Oh joy! Not only did I have that to look forward to (she wouldn’t let me do it while she was present), but we had reasonably frequently used the plates in that cabinet to eat from. Oh well, I suppose we all survived. When I did finally manage to get to that particular drawer, I discovered not a skeleton but an enormous ball of grey fluff. The poor little thing had actually been making a nest in the drawer, using mum’s old diaries etc for its bedding. Sadly, the books which recorded many of mum’s early poetry and thoughts were much the worse for wear. Hopefully I will be able to preserve at least some of the stuff therein – mind you I am not looking forward to handling the things knowing their recent history.

Multi Cultural Bathing

NB Hope you enjoy the birds of Bullsbrook!