A Mum’s Story
Born in 1935, I was unaware of WW2 until aged almost seven. Living on Awaba St, Balmoral, looking straight out to sea between Sydney Harbour Heads, I was woken close to midnight of 31 May, 1941, by urgent sirens. Three foreign (Japanese) mini subs had sneaked into the Harbour. Now I understood why Dad, though too old to be a soldier, had been training in army uniform as he led coastal fortifications from Balmoral Beach. For my family it was dramatic, as Dad immediately had to report to his base. Mum had just brought Baby # 4 home from hospital and the five of us had to take refuge in the air raid shelter Dad had built under the house, with provisions for whatever might happen.
It was an uncomfortable and puzzling night, forever fixed in my mind. I had just started at Loreto Convent after beginning school at Queenwood down the street, and so was managing walking up to Spit Junction to catch the tram to Kirribilli like a “big girl”. (I had ditched the senior girls I was supposed to meet up with along the way.) The “School Specials” trams were quite an education in themselves, catering as they did for Sceggs, Monte, Aloysius, Wenona, Shore, and Kirribilli students – fortunately, with reduced numbers, as most private schools had evacuated for the war years to more remote areas, such as the Mountains or country towns.
Post-school and the war, my parents took me overseas, where I met relatives recovering from the war in Belgium, Northern and Southern France, and then Canada. Transport was mainly by sea, which took up much time, so having postponed college, I took a job for six months before starting at Sydney Kindergarten Training College. College provided great “growing up” time, as we were sent to many low-income suburbs to provide help for parents needing childcare — a situation with which we young teachers were unfamiliar. Many of the kindergartens had been established during WW1 and the financial crisis years of the 20th century, to allow parents to work.
Few of us students had experienced the privations of these early years and close bonds were formed. Many of these friendships remain today.
One of my requested placements after graduation was for Darlinghurst, which happened to be propitious, I thought, being easily accessible to home. I was to care for three- and four-year olds — fifty in all – and to train student teachers. So I began as an assistant trained teacher under a director and with one untrained assistant. It seemed a perfect situation, but early in my second year, the director fell ill, and I was appointed to her position. The untrained assistant, a middle-aged lady was, fortunately, very level-headed and good with children, and we always had at least one student of either one-, two- or three-years training. Thus management of the children was covered, but staff management, financial bookwork, medical check-ups with uncooperative children, advice on marital problems, difficult teenagers, student encouragement and the lifestyle of the suburb in 1958-62 — all these challenges had to be met.
I had never before worked with social workers or accountants, nor dealt with drug addicts or police demands. Now decisions in these fields were exclusively mine. More learning experience, not really helped by my Catholic life experience!
Our pupils were established Aussie inner-city dwellers as well as migrants from Greece, Italy and a sprinkling of Eastern European countries, so there was plenty of variety. The government was trying to rehouse these people in newly established outer suburbs. One lady who agreed to have a look came back to say, “Yes, the houses and parks and train stations are lovely, but with no shops or schools, you have to catch the train to St Mary’s to buy a loaf of bread. I’m not going out there.”
An Aboriginal lady, proud of buying a home in Darlinghurst, came to tell us that she had to sell up because the neighbours blamed the blacks for causing violence as, of course, they said, “Aboriginals always share houses.” An intoxicated mum came to pick up her child by cab because it was Thursday, the day Dad bought his drugs. What would you do? Police visited seeking a young mum because a local shop had accused her of shoplifting. Again, what would you do? Moreover, we had the grandson of Tilly Devine attending our kindy. Fortunately, Tilly had moved to the next suburb. [For those who don’t remember the name, Tilly was famous for being an organised crime boss, running gangs and prostitution from Woolloomooloo to Central to the city. She was frequently raided by “Bumper Farrell,” a King’s Cross policeman who was decidedly aggressive and overbearing towards prostitutes and therefore towards Tilly and her empire. The ‘grapevine’ would warn of the threat and Tilley would quickly hide her girls with nearby friends.]
You had to learn quickly in that environment. It was a new world for me. After three years I decided I was not qualified for it, so took a job in a city accounting office doing share registration work, where I learned that actually the time to work and time to stop were absolute. You might take off time for a wedding and for holidays and you, as a person, were respected — until, of course, you became pregnant. It was then I was told to resign before wearing maternity clothes. A bit of a shock as well as an identity readjustment.
I was married to my beautiful husband Tom in February 1963, and we found a one- bedroom apartment in Neutral Bay. Post second baby’s arrival, however, after regularly pushing a pram up the hill to Neutral Bay Junction, I insisted we find a two-bedroom unit on flat land. The move to Cammeray helped, but it was two floors up and there were no gates to the grounds. We were permitted to leave the pram downstairs and Mark (No. 2) could sleep in a child’s cot instead of the doll’s cot we initially used. I had only one instance of chasing my eldest son Carl (aged two) up the street at 8 am while still in my nightie and hair rollers, with Mark, my one-year-old on my hip. Is that a learning experience?!
Come 1966, we found and bought a house in Willoughby that was marketed as derelict. Until Tom and his brother-in-law installed cold water pipes and a water heater and cleared some of the backyard jungle, it was hard to settle in. We continued to learn many practical skills. It was May of that year when we moved in, and Tom’s parents arrived from Holland in June. We found his mother had become desperately ill on board ship and was hospitalised in the only available hospital bed in Blacktown. She was discharged to Tom’s sister a fortnight later and we were able to visit her in subsequent months.
My brother, who had been cared for by my parents as he was suffering from brain cancer, died in July. Our third child Peter arrived in October, but we did manage to do some work on the house in that eventful year. 1968 I started Carl in preschool 1km away and at the end of 1968, sick of Mark protesting at having to walk Carl to preschool, we bought a car. My “angelic baby” Steven, No 4, arrived next, and quietly and patiently sat under my chair at the many different meetings I attended.
So family life and restoration of the house continued, and I assisted as much as possible in the schools, even though Baby No 5 was not at all accommodating… While my boys attended Marist Brothers High School, I collected a weekly charge at preschool, set up and ran a weekly gross motor program at St Thomas Primary for four years, and accompanied a child with Spina Bifida every morning at St Marys’ Primary in North Sydney for five years. As I seemed to be always around, I was asked if I would help run a year 7 remedial reading program, which continued for many years. In those days schools struggled to find assistants to support extracurricular activities. This too was quite a learning experience, because I was not aware so many children, even in more upmarket areas, lacked good early schooling, for all sorts of reasons.
Through our activities at St Thomas School and Parish, many of us formed good friendships and began weekly gatherings at a convenient home where our toddlers could play safely. Conversations grew around our life experiences, including our faith understanding. One mother introduced us to a Schoenstat Sister with whom she had connected at Marist Primary Mosman. We found the train of thought helpful and so continued the year trying to grasp the faith understanding of the Founder, Fr Joseph Kentenick.
In the hope of better understanding, a friend and I booked into the Aquinas Academy where, fortuitously, we met up with one Fr Michael Whelan, a gifted course presenter. Michael and his parents now often underpinned our group discussions. Another Aquinas presenter, soon to become Mrs Catherine Hammond, frequently addressed our group and led us in our endeavours. Discussions on what we practiced and why [not so readily answered] continued until about 2020, when Covid made its impact on society.
About 1984 my Parish became involved with a youth program known as Antioch. An earlier parish group for my two older boys had run out of steam, but Antioch had a given program that really took hold. An enthusiastic group formed, including my third son, and I was asked to gather a parent group to cater for the physical needs of the youngsters during their recruiting weekends two to three times a year and to provide accommodation, at least floor space, for two or three kids during these weekends. Our duties were to arrange premises for the various activities, provide accommodation, transport, three meals a day, drinks as required and to back up weekly meetings if needed. Our St Thomas Group proved very engaged, and our biggest weekend was for eighty young people (16-20 years old). Dealing with an unco-operative PP, it was a strong learning experience, which sharpened negotiation skills. I suspect that my belief in a loving God underpinned all my efforts.
A recent 40-year reunion Mass and gathering proved what an inspirational experience it had been for them [many now in their 50s] and for us parents, as singing their special Antioch hymns raised the roof of St Thomas Church. An unfamiliar experience these days!
From 1971 – 1993, after-school activities for my five boys were continuous, with transport needed for soccer training, games, athletics, tennis, cub scouts — not always at the same venue or same times. At weekends my husband Tom would share in all these joys…
Years passed and adolescence kicked in, so after Sunday morning Mass, friendly mums would enjoy comparing overnight visitors: ‘I have a fair, curly-haired and a short-cut, dark-headed boy this morning.’ The overnighters would skip off during the morning, but it was something of a consolation to know our kids were safe when starting their social lives.
Our parish-based discussion group continued, most members feeling that it was 100% worthwhile. I was unable to attend consistently at this time. At Aquinas, Fr Whelan crafted our Catalyst for Renewal with early members to explore the Faith. All were uplifted by his articles in The Mix.
By the 90’s I stepped away from school work to help my parents care for my Dad’s sister, my beautiful godmother, who had become part of our family, joining us usually for Sunday lunch. By the time we had to put her into a care situation, where she died in 1993, my parents required constant help. I spent Monday night to Friday morning at their unit, with my sister doing the weekend shift. Mum was admitted to care in 1999, so Dad moved into my house (which meant I saw my family a bit more). Dad and I visited Mum daily, until Dad had to be admitted also. He died in 2007.
Now with more time on my hands I concentrated on my physical health with physio classes and heated pool therapy. All my childrens’ activities were ongoing, of course. The Year 7 remedial reading classes continued, and also our Mothers’ Group discussions — with or without spiritual education apart from our spiritual reading.
Around 2010, I began to meet with another small group of parishioners to continue reflecting on the Sunday gospels and/or other Mass readings, as we had done with the MSC parents ten years earlier. Unfortunately, Covid put a stop to this, as to so many other activities.
Grandchildren were appearing in the family, so there were more lunches on weekends, birthday parties for littlies in my open garden and even some restaurant dinners. It was now that my husband Tom’s health began to deteriorate. He had been diagnosed to my dismay with a blood cancer in 1982. But there were no ill effects until about 2019, when more intervention was needed: more medication, more medical visits and hospitalisations. He liked to doze in his chair in the carport, listening to his radio. Feeding became a problem, but he still enjoyed watching grandchildren playing around him, until finally in September 2020, under Covid restrictions, he entered hospital. After two weeks RNSH rang to say they would put him into palliative care, so family could visit daily, two at a time..
His last week was a wonderful gift, as he was kept warm and mostly comfortable. He dozed a lot, but whenever he surfaced, he recognised one of his sons and me there, and for most days he was lucid. He had always insisted that he wished to be cremated. Under Covid rules only our boys and I and my sisters could attend his cremation. As the rules eased, with family help I held a wake for him at home on a ‘drop in’ basis, on his birthday in December. It was a marvellous farewell with loyal friends, who mostly stayed all day.
Two weeks later, having done a small shop locally and distracted by oncoming traffic, I measured my length on the road and, with some drama, ended up in hospital, followed by rehab. Two months after that, another fall repeated the experience. Eighteen months later, my health has basically returned, but with diminished mobility and a frustrating loss of independence.
For me, involvement in the work and ethos of Catalyst has been an ongoing gift — living and working with people who share a perspective of the love of God reflected by Jesus and those he has inspired. I see myself as having been supported through all my days. With this view, how could I not be content?