Yo, Mama

Today is Mother’s Day here in Oz.

So, have a happy day to every mother out there.

Oh, hey, I mean that in nicest possible way! It can’t be easy to raise children, no matter how cute they are as babies. And the Goddess knows, my own mother had six children, a rarity these days.

Her mother, my grandmother, had four kids. Raising them in Lancashire during the war must have been a challenge, especially with a disabled husband – he lost a leg during the First World War.

When the bombing proved too much, my grandparents decided Australia was a safer bet. Unfortunately, my youngest uncle – a baby then - kicked up a stink and they missed the ship. That ship was later torpedoed by U-boats. On hearing the news, Patrick and Ethel decided to wait until after the war, determined to start a new life in a new place.

Tragically, Australia wouldn’t take a disabled man and it wasn’t until 1948 that Patrick died. Two years later, my widowed grandmother and four kids arrived in Western Australia. On landing, Ethel turned to the sky and said: “I kept my promise, Patrick, we’re here.”

Ethel worked hard at two, sometimes three jobs, but it wasn’t enough, so my mother – the eldest – left school to work at the telephone exchange. Unhappy with that, she joined the Navy.

Yep, my mother was a Lieutenant in the Royal Australian Navy. She worked in the Signal Corps. Her job was to count the fighter planes coming back from missions in Korea and report who failed to return. Yes, she admits, she knew some of the men who didn’t return. Like most veterans, it’s something she doesn’t talk about much.

She met my dad while in uniform – he was a teacher at the Naval College in Victoria and engaged to someone else at the time. He was also in the Naval Reserve, but my mother outranked him – heh, heh.

Eventually, my dad, much to his parents’ dismay, broke off the engagement and started escorting my mother around. His mother was particular pissed off because a) my mother was the daughter of an immigrant; b) daughter of a widow and apparently c) spoke her mind, when she was supposed to agree with her future mother-in-law. Hah! As if. There’s also a suspicion that it was also because Mum was the daughter of an enlisted man, not an officer even though she was an officer herself. Simply put, my mother wasn’t good enough for my paternal grandmother’s eldest son.

As luck would have it, my dad didn’t listen, and ignored all the… more suitable women his mother paraded in front of him – good lad.

At their wedding, their Naval friends lined up outside the church, raised and crossed their ceremonial swords for my future parents to walk under. Some of those men would go on to become Captains, Commodores and Admirals and one, a Governor of New South Wales; not bad for the daughter of a poor, widowed immigrant.

I now look after my mother and I’m proud to do so. She’s full of the most amazing stories about England and the people she knows or knew. She’s extremely intelligent and sprouts all sorts of facts. I don’t think there’s one subject that she doesn’t have some fact about. If she’d had the opportunity, she could have gone to any University in Australia, or risen through the ranks (women weren’t allowed to serve if married during the fifties).

It is from both parents we kids got our love of reading, but it was she who encouraged us, read to us as children, gave us the opportunity to explore her library of books.

I know she’ll be thrilled for me to take it one step further: for her to have one of my books on her shelf – all I have to do make it happen.

No matter that sometimes, my mother can be difficult; most mother’s are in their daughters’ eyes – it’s a generational thing – but I’m at an age where I don’t lose my temper with that and work my way around the issue/s.

To every daughter out there whose mother still lives – give her your love, not only today, but for all the days ahead; she won’t be there forever and regrets can last a lifetime if not healed. If your mother has passed on, light a candle for her, buy her roses to place where she rests, or simply find a quiet spot in the garden or park where you can talk to her; guaranteed, she’s listening.

Happy Mother’s Day.