couldn’t remember the ingredients on his waking but we all feel certain that he would have put Castlemaine Perkins out of business if he had only been able to patent it. His favourite saying to anyone who would listen was, ‘I’m full of science.’
Dad would give me an exaggerated wink and say, ‘You’re full of something, you silly old fool.’
One night, Granddad didn’t arrive home from work and he hadn’t been seen at any of the hotels he was likely to call into to have a quick beer. After checking the hospitals etc Dad decided to go to the watch house. The cop at the gate asked Dad what name was granddad likely to be under
Dad ‘Jock Ireland.’
The Cop ‘Sorry no one here by that name, there is an Ireland but Jock’s not one of the many names this silly old bugger has given.’
Dad ‘That’s him, but don’t ask me what his full name is I wouldn't have a clue.’
The policeman laughed
The Cop ‘I thought he was having a go at me by giving a bodgie name.’
Dad was ushered down a long corridor to the cells, and to use Dad's description, ‘There was old Jock hanging on to the cell doors like Jesus Christ on the cross.’
Dad reckoned he couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the sight of him.
The Cop ‘He’s been there like that since four o’clock this afternoon and refuses to get off.’
Granddad explained later that the cell was lice infested and the other men in the cell had either urinated and/or messed their pants and he didn’t want to be contaminated by them. He had been booked for being drunk in a public place, (namely George Street, Brisbane) but he hadn’t had a drink since the night before and he was cold stone sober.
Granddad had had both of his legs badly broken in an accident many years before and had walked with a swaggering limp from that day on. The police hadn’t bothered to listen to his pleas as far as they were concerned, he was a silly old drunken fool and they were doing their duty by getting him off the street.
Mum was a born worrier and there wasn’t a day that went by she wouldn’t be worried about one of us. It was nothing unusual to hear her say as she wrung her hands together, ‘Where’s it all going to end? ’To which I would invariably reply as I grew older, ‘When we’re in our pine box.’
Looking back, I felt that we all created or at the very least over emphasised dramas solely to get her worrying. I believe now she enjoyed worrying over us and we in turn enjoyed the security of having someone as caring and loving to be there for us. Granddad would often say, ‘She’s a mighty woman.’
Mighty wasn’t the half of it, she was bloody fantastic.
Mum gave birth to three children. Cecil (1912–1987), Edith (1915–1999), and Wilfred (1916–1916), who survived seven short days. Wilfred had been a breach birth and I’ve been told in those days breach birth babies were very lucky to survive. Mum never spoke about Wilfred very often, but when she did it was always with reverence and a longing in her voice.
Mum was fifty-three when I was born and in the twenty-nine years that followed until she passed away, I think I aged her by at least eighty-five years. From as far back as I can remember she worked at two jobs for at least twenty years. From nine to five, seven days a week, she was assistant cook/kitchen hand/waitress at Mt Coot-tha Kiosk and from eleven to three, six nights a week she was a cleaner at the Wintergarden picture theatre. At least three nights a week she would indulge herself, Edith and I in an outing to the pictures. Nine times out of ten she would be out like a light before the interval. She was always very embarrassed to have fallen asleep during the picture and never failed to say when awakened,
Mum ‘I’m not asleep, I’m just resting my eyes.’
Amelia ‘You were snoring.’
Mum ‘Oh. I wasn’t, was I?’
Amelia ‘Yes, the people in the back were complaining.’
Realizing I was fibbing she'd say, ‘I may have dozed for a moment, but I was listening and I didn’t miss anything.’
Occasionally the conversation would be,
Amelia ‘Did you see the part where she fell on the stairs?’
Mum ‘No I must’ve missed that part.’
Most times when she dozed off, her head would nod forward and every so often she would nod her head back and forth as if she was agreeing with someone’s point of view.
One evening we went to Her Majesty’s Theatre to see the Ice Follies live on stage. ‘Aunty’ Lilly had accompanied us and we were engrossed in marvelling at the tremendous agility of the performers when the lady sitting next to Mum leant over and touched Aunty Lilly on the arm
Lady ‘Excuse me is this lady alright?’
We all nearly died of embarrassment and laughter as we looked at Mum who had her head tilted backwards as if she were looking at the ceiling and her mouth was wide open. Aunty Lilly nudged Mum and she awoke saying, ‘I’m not asleep, I’m just resting my eyes. I couldn’t contain myself and burst into gales of laughter. Mum, Aunty Lilly and Edith joined in much to the astonishment of everyone around us.
Mum loved to gamble, she’d have a flutter on the horses every Saturday, but most of all she loved to buy casket tickets. In those days casket tickets were like lotto tickets.
It was nothing unusual for her to go into the city on the nights we didn’t go to the pictures just to buy casket tickets from different newsagencies throughout the city. On these excursions I’d accompany her and I’d be rewarded with my favourite delights; chips, chocolates, peanuts, chewing gum, but most of all comic books. Never a week went by that I didn’t get my favourite fare. I doubt that I ever missed a copy of Archie and Jughead and Edward never missed out on his copies of The Phantom.
There was only one gift that Mum promised to buy me that she never bought, a beautiful diamante purse. It was displayed in a showcase window in the wall outside Allan and Stark’s in Queen Street. Every night when we went into the pictures or to buy the casket tickets, I’d stand in front of that window and admire that purse which to me was the ultimate in beautiful possessions. Mum would say, ‘I’ll buy it for you when you’re old enough to appreciate and look after it.’ No matter how hard I pleaded and protested I could never convince her I could look after it and appreciate it now.
Many years later
Amelia ‘You never bought me that diamante purse you promised me.’
Mum ‘You never became a diamante person. If I’d bought it for you would you have appreciated it and looked after it?’
Amelia ‘No I would’ve said what would I want this crap and left it in my duchess drawer.’
She just looked at me with her I knew that, look on her face.
Apart from being a peacemaker, diplomat and thorough lady,
