I had
the privilege of being the host and the principal eulogist at the memorial
gathering for my aunt, Edna Smith, on 30 July, 2004. This is a slightly edited version of the words
I spoke. I’m posting it as a Piece of
family history.
Welcome
Welcome everybody. I am Gary Andrews, Edna’s nephew. We are here today to pay our respects to Edna
Smith, and to remember her as she was, and for what she was. There are relatively few of us. This is not because Edna was short of
friends, but there was a loosening of the ties when she moved to Bendigo some
years ago having lived in Williamstown for 34 years; and the reality is that,
at 88, she had outlived many of her friends and acquaintances. And Edna had outlived all the family of her
generation, so her death is a poignant moment in family history.
Eulogy
Edna grew up as Edna Frances Joyce. She was born at Waitchie in the Victorian
Mallee country, to Agnes and Edward Joyce of Chinkapook, a little further up
the line. My grandfather, Edna’s father,
was known universally as Teddy; but granny Joyce (although her grandchildren
referred to her as Aggie – not to her face of course!) outside the family was always
Mrs. Joyce. Indeed I remember my grandmothers
- when women in their late seventies who had known each other for forty or more
years and whose children had married - addressing each other as Mrs. Andrews
and Mrs. Joyce……such were the formalities of their times. I mention this because it is a clue to Granny
Joyce’s dour nature. Pop Joyce was from
Irish stock and, at least as I remember him when an old man, was a jolly joker,
poking kids in the ribs with his walking stick, that sort of thing; never seeming
to have a care, and generally quite irascible.
With his beard, and the twinkle in his eye, he rather resembled George
Bernard Shaw.
Granny Joyce, of Cornish ancestry, was a
study in contrast. Life for her was a
serious matter. I never saw her smile,
not even for the camera, and I’m sure a joke – any joke – would have passed her
by without recognition. No discernable
sense of humour. However, she accepted
life, and I doubt that she was a complainer – other than to complain that Teddy
(at 85 mind you) was a lazy old goat, and why didn’t he go out and chop some
wood for the fire. But life could never have been easy for her, living with the hardships of life in the Mallee, becoming
the postmistress in Chinkapook and taking in boarders when Teddy couldn’t make
a living as a farmer, losing one child when a few weeks old, and bearing and
raising nine others.
Edna was the last child but one, and she
inherited, I think, more of her mother’s nature than her father’s. Edna was not dour - she certainly knew how to
laugh, and she had the sense of humour that her mother didn’t – but underneath
she was a serious soul. At stages of her
life, particularly in Numurkah and in Sea Lake and later in Williamstown, she
was a regular churchgoer, although she gave up attending the church in
Williamstown after her husband Sid’s death, because of unhappy
associations. She would no doubt have
entered “Christian” on the census forms, both from conviction and from a sense
of propriety. She had the moral precepts of her generation, but with a sharp edge. When my wife Anne and I were newly engaged,
and we embarked on a country tour to show Anne off to “the aunts”, we arrived
at Sea Lake to meet Edna and Sid and to stay the night with them. Edna without any provocation announced that
we had beds in separate rooms, and there would be none of “that hanky-panky” under her roof!
So the bright and bubbly ways of the Edna
we all knew were possibly something of a veneer that she had developed –
doubtless sub-consciously - to cover a more serious nature. Edna and Sid were married while Edna was
quite young, and perhaps she longed for the extra years of “freedom” that
others had. I say freedom in quotes,
because Edna was constrained only by circumstances. After marriage she was never in employment,
so maybe she had an unfulfilled dream.
Who knows? But she did express
regret at never having earned a wage.
Perhaps there was some resentment over
economic circumstances. In the early
years Sid was bringing home a junior bank officer’s pay – not the stuff of
dinners at the Windsor, but certainly nowhere near the bottom of the economic
ladder. Yet Edna was always so careful
with money, so concerned to make do and to save, and I suspect that this was a
reflection of her underlying seriousness. The carefulness with money stayed
with her long after money should have been of no concern.
After marriage Sid and Edna lived in
Chinkapook, Ballarat, Caulfield, Heidelberg, Numurkah, Sea Lake and
Williamstown; and then Edna’s final shift to Bendigo. The moves were triggered by Sid’s career.
Wherever she moved Edna accumulated and cultivated a new group of friends, and
she had a number of enduring friendships.
She was ever the loving and proud wife of Sid “the Bank Manager”, and
mother of Fay “the Hairdresser”, and Sue “the Nurse”. Sid didn’t live to a great age – retired at
65, dead at 71 - but during his happy years of retirement he and Edna travelled
a lot around Australia, and they spent winter breaks in Queensland and northern
New South Wales - a good time for them both.
Edna was a caring and community-minded
person – and always busy. Over the years
she did work for many charities – the Red Cross, the Blind Auxiliary,
Williamstown Hospital Op Shop, the Church coffee shop. And she belonged to the Country Women’s
Association, the Church Guild, the Williamstown Writers’ Group, and the ABC
Poets’ Corner. It is these latter
interests that reveal a special feature of Edna’s middle to later years. She had artistic talent, and it blossomed in
Williamstown. She wrote poems and stories, many of which were published by the
Williamstown Writers’ Group. She
completed HSC Art as a mature age student, and then attended art classes in
Melbourne. She became known for her
pencil drawings, typified in her hand-made greeting cards. She was proud of her talents, and rightly so,
but was also self-deprecating – “not good enough”. And in addition to these more formal artistic
pursuits, no-one will be surprised that she filled her life with sewing,
knitting, crocheting, pottery and gardening.
But, above all, Edna was focussed on family
– husband Sid, her two daughters Fay and Sue and their families: the grandchildren and great-grandchildren. And her sisters and brother, and nieces and
nephews. As one of those nephews I saw
quite a bit of Edna over the years, especially while growing up. My family lived in Richmond, and the Smiths
lived in Heidelberg. I can remember
numerous Saturday afternoons when Gloria, my mother, would take my sister
Margaret and me on a visit…….tram along Bridge Road, walk to West Richmond
station, train to Heidelberg, then the long walk along Burgundy Street and then
Cape Street to number 162. The afternoon
spent playing with Fay and Sue, our mothers chatting; Sid invariably toiling in
his large vegetable garden. And then the
time I stayed for some weeks at Cape Street recovering from an illness, Edna
always solicitous – although not so sympathetic that she didn’t hassle me to
eat my greens. I won.
From more recent years there are some
special memories, in particular a couple of occasions when I was able to take
Edna (with other family members) on a sentimental journey back to
Chinkapook. Edna’s brother who had died
as a baby is buried in a bush grave in a public reserve not far from the
Chinkapook township – a lonely spot, with a broken-down netting fence, known to
few. So we decided to place a
commemorative plaque to identify the grave.
Edna, who had never known this brother, felt deeply about the
appropriateness of the marker, and was so pleased to see it in place. The knowledge of the dead baby brother had
been with her all her life, and the plaque was for her, I think, the symbol of
closure.
Some other Edna memories: in addition to family and friends she loved
blue glass, babies, birds, books, lollies and colourful scarves! She really disliked smells, especially the
odour of tom cats – so to deter them she placed mothballs around her front
door…..but she had to give that idea up, because the grandchildren thought they
were koolmints!
The great tragedy of Edna’s late life was
the death last year of her daughter, Fay.
It is not in the natural order of things that parents should outlive
their children, and the death of a child – of whatever age – must be the
ultimate heartbreak. Fay had been in
serious ill-health for some years, and her death was not unexpected – and may,
in a sense, have been a relief for Edna.
But who can judge how deep the pain?
Speaking of pain, I should like to read you
an essay that Edna wrote some eight years ago when she was 79 or 80. It is evidence of what a skilful and
evocative writer she had become – notable for someone with so little formal
education. But more than this. The piece is biographical, and harks back to
Edna’s earliest recollections; and in hearing it you will, I think, learn of an
early shadow, something which Edna became reconciled to, but which was
nevertheless one of the threads of her life.
It is titled “A Special Bond”:
“On hot oppressive nights the brilliant
moonlight poured through the open bedroom window, lighting the room almost as
daylight. I shared a huge iron and brass
bed with my two sisters – we the youngest of a family of ten. I was the middle one – the others three years
each side of me, but somehow I was, or always seemed to be, the odd one out. I hugged my side of the bed along the wall in
my aloneness, for the others slept in the comfort of each other’s nearness –
the older arm protectively encircling the younger body. That is how it always was, and I suppose I
was envious, maybe jealous, for I always had a protective love for my younger
sister too. The older one and I, well,
we did battle often and never did see eye to eye. But growing up gave us a better perspective
and we became friends.
We all eventually married, became mothers and grandmothers. In earlier days, though miles apart and
living different life-styles, through our loving parents we always remained in
close contact. In later years the other
two lived in adjacent suburbs, so their closer bond continued.
But sadly with the years came a reversal of
roles. For it is the younger that (now)
keeps a protective arm over the older, who resides in a home for Altzheimer’s
patients. It is the younger who watches
over with weekly visits and continues the loving bond, taking happiness and
laughter to “the one that can’t remember”.
As I live on the opposite side of town
and do not use public transport any more, I feel as though perhaps I am still
on “the other side of the bed”! But with
the wisdom age brings I no longer feel the aloneness, for I know that, as the
last of the family of ten, we three share a special something. And I shall always be grateful and give
thanks for the other two – as they were – on their “side of the bed”.
How fateful that the three sisters have
died within 13 months of each other.
Several years
ago, after much persuasion from Sue, Edna agreed to leave Williamstown and to
move to Bendigo Retirement Village. She
loved the surroundings, especially the native trees and the bird life - the
blue wrens and the wattlebirds who splashed in her birdbath. She felt she was “at home”, or at least
nearer to her original home, her much-loved Mallee.
More recently, with increasing short-term
memory loss, and the need for care, Edna moved to Holdsworth Manor – not such a
welcome shift. But she was settling
in…….when she had to go to hospital for three weeks; and then seven weeks’
rehabilitation to deal with leg and hip pain.
Unfortunately this experience caused a further decline in her condition,
both physical and mental; but, thankfully, she was able to return to the very
caring and supportive surrounds of her home at Holdsworth Manor.
Towards the end Edna still occasionally
showed her sense of humour, her strength of will, her feisty spirit. And her gratitude - to staff, to friends at
Holdsworth Manor, and to friends and family who visited - also showed through.
Edna loved dancing, and once told Sue that
she would have loved to be in a chorus line.
To farewell her we are going to hear some of the little swan music from
Swan Lake, the ultimate dancing ambition; and Glen Miller’s “In the Mood”,
music that perhaps long ago Edna danced to in the Chinkapook Hall.
Rest in peace, little Eddy.
