THE BILL FILE – PART 1 of 2
William David Russell [Bill] Warren
Born 21 April, 1913
Died 6 September, 2004
Bill Warren was a significant figure in my life. Not only were we related by marriage (he was my father’s sister’s husband), but we had a close friendship for nearly sixty years. When Bill died in 2004 it was my privilege to arrange his funeral, and to be principal eulogist; and, given that almost twenty years have since elapsed, I recently posted on the Pieces to Share blogsite the proceedings of Bill’s memorial gathering. Bill was a man of little education, but vast curiosity, knowledge and wit, and these characteristics (and much else) were apparent from that eulogy and the other tributes. Now I have re-visited a document I compiled soon after Bill died, and have tidied it for publication. In essence it is a collection of Bill’s words, his letters to family and friends, Christmas and birthday cards (on which he was loath to leave any space unused), and assorted writings found in his effects. You will see that Bill Warren, the man forced to leave school at age 13, became a talented and amusing wordsmith.
Bill Warren at one of his favourite places, Wyperfeld National Park
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This fragment of autobiography was found in Bill’s bedside cupboard (the Club referred to is likely the Prahran Club):
At 7 o’clock every night my father would attach a clean celluloid collar to his grubby shirt, don his threadbare suit, plant a bowler hat firmly on his head, and sally forth to his Club leaving in his wake an odour redolent of dark plug tobacco, port wine, and B.O. With his ample corporation in the van he strode majestically down the narrow seedy street in which we lived, with his head held high disdaining to acknowledge the slatternly women gossiping at front gates. They in turn would eye his back malevolently, and mutter: “Stuck up Pommie bastard.”
At the Club he played whist incessantly for small stakes, albeit still beyond his means, and drank beer and port wine.
Around midnight he made the return journey, full of joie de vivre if he had made a small gain at the tables, or morosely if he had failed. On the rare occasions his fortunes took an upward turn he came home with a pocket stuffed with small dry biscuits and cubes of tasty cheese – which we children ate with relish once we had removed the pieces of fluff and flakes of tobacco.
Our deprived, neglected, and long-suffering mother would still be up, silently and stoically darning and mending by the light of a kerosene lamp, the electric light having long been cut off for non-payment of accounts. The gas had also usually gone the way of the electricity. The cooking was done on an open fireplace or a primus stove.
Our father, who was an excellent cabinet-maker and French polisher, must have been at heart a frustrated chef for, until the day he died, I can remember only he doing the cooking.
The nights he returned in a good mood he usually opened our only book, a tattered volume of the plays of Shakespeare, from which he would read aloud punctuated by sighs from our nodding mother and murmurs of: “All right, Charlie; come to bed Charlie”……until lulled by his sonorous readings, and my mother’s sighs, I fell asleep.
Out of all this came a life-long attachment to dry biscuits and cheese, port wine, and addictive reading!
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Bill’s 90th birthday speech (on 21 April, 2003) was not recorded, but these words have been cobbled together from several drafts found among Bill’s papers.
Friends! I suppose that would be about the best word in the English language.
As I stand here tonight, rather wobbly, and gaze around at this wonderful array of feminine pulchritude - and an average collection of male visages - I think how extremely fortunate I am, at the unbelievable age of four score plus ten, to be in such a heart-warming position. People say, “How do you do it?” And I say, “I haven’t the faintest idea!” I do enjoy the company of people, but with a leaning towards the feminine gender. As Professor Higgins was so fond of emphasising, I am just an ordinary man.
In 1927, 3LO, then a fledgling radio station engaged a retired sea captain, Captain Donald McLean, to give lectures; and when I read he was to give a lecture at the Prahran Library I went along. After a lapse of 75 years, I remember not a word of the lecture, but one phrase stuck in my mind. Every so often he would pause and say, “It’s all very interesting!” Well, it became a habit of mine to exclaim this every now and then – until my friend Georgie Lowe said one day, “What’s so interesting about not having four pence to go to the pictures.” So, I dropped it - until recently, when I sat down to pen this piece of oratory. Captain Donald McLean had been right……sixty years on and I’m standing in the drive at 4 Wynyeh Street thinking that life at the moment is flat stale and unprofitable, and wondering whether I should go down to Cheltenham Golf Club, break the course record, go home, have a bowl of gruel, put an axe through the TV, and go to bed – when up comes Margaret Telford in her Golf. Out she hopped, and exclaimed, “I’ve been to Chadstone. A horrid place. I intend never to go there again, and now I’m going to have a nice cup of tea.” And I cheekily said, “I hope you are including me in your nice cup of tea.” Six months later we were having a nice cup of tea in London. It’s all very interesting.
These days we are more sophisticated, and usually have a nice glass of wine.
Rosemary and Alison [friend Margaret Telford’s daughters] may have at first looked askance at my arrival on the scene, but I soon won them over with my wily charm. I get that from my English grandmother who was a gypsy; and as other Australians now brag about their convict ancestors, so I brag about my gypsy grandmother.
When I returned from England alone - I hadn’t fallen out with Margaret, she had gone to Venice with Ian, her son – I landed in Perth at three a..m and was met by nieces by marriage – two former Andrews – Margaret Rydings, and Judy Russell. I said, “I’ll have a couple of hours sleep”; and ten hours later I awoke and was handed a prawn and avocado sandwich. I knew I was back in a Sybarite’s own country.
Moving forward about 20 years from Captain Donald McLean I came into contact with Gary Andrews. I had craftily moved in with the Andrews by marrying Gary’s aunt. Gary, about eight at the time, was always going to the dictionary. Impressed by his curiosity and interest in words we became friends and have been ever since.
In 1987 Gary approached me to look after his three children for a few weeks while he and Anne took a trip abroad. “How many weeks?” I asked. “Seven,” he replied. “Seven!” I shrieked, “I’d be a nervous wreck by the time you got back. Laura has become a vegetarian, Dan would want his meals in front of the TV, and Tom refuses to eat his greens and wants chips only - by the bucketful. They drop their towels on the bathroom floor, and never make their beds.” Then Gary said, “The next time we go to Chinkapook I’ll let you have a drive of the new car.” “Put that in writing, and I’ll move in!”
I have known Judith Wines for over 40 years. Judith is a runner in her spare time. For almost all those 40 years she has run madly in all directions, and she has won so many medals in her age group that she has had extensions made to her garage to house them. Two weeks ago, Judith – who has been bossing me around for most of the 40 years – said, “I’m going to Perth to run in a few races, and as it’s right on your birthday you’d better come along too – look up your relations the Rydings and the Lees, and catch up with the Turners.” And, so it came about! I had a wonderful, non-stop, exhausting week…….and today, I’m sure, will top it off.
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Speech on the 21st Birthday of Bill’s great-niece, Laura Andrews (12 April, 1997):
Who’s doting on whom?
Two score and eleven years ago I made a smart career move and joined the Joyce/Andrews clan. Since then, over so many years I have enjoyed an unbroken run of friendship and affection from every member, whether young, middle aged or elderly.
Therefore, it gives me enormous pleasure to stand here today to celebrate Laura’s 21st birthday. Kipling, in a poem refers to woman as, “A rag, a bone, and a hank of hair.” Well, I think there’s a little more to it than that. As I gaze around at this splendid array of feminine pulchritude with not a nose ring in sight, I know that Mr. Kipling was talking through his deer-stalking hat.
Some time ago, while Gary and Anne blithely traipsed around the world, I acted as a surrogate parent for seven weeks to Tom, Dan and Laura. Tom and Dan were no trouble, apart from Tom’s peculiar tastes in food. But Laura saw it as a golden opportunity to express herself, and wore the most grotesque clothes to school, completely ignoring my plaintive objections. She was all of ten at the time.
So, Laura, let me say that you are my favourite grand-niece in Victoria – which isn’t difficult, for you are the only one. May you have a healthy happy extended life, a happy marriage or marriages, and any amount of offspring.
In short, Laura, happy birthday.
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Speech for the 60th birthday of Bill’s nephew, Gary Andrews (31 August, 1999):
On Thursday, accompanied by Gary, Anne his wife and Margaret his sister, I was taken to the Hyatt Hotel for a literary occasion which included lunch and liquor, an introduction by Terry Lane, and a talk by the author Isabel Allende.
A splendid claret was served, and a sympathetic waiter - who probably thought I was a pathetic refugee from some ghastly rest home - saw to it that my glass was never empty. When we left, I was at peace with the world. Gary parked me in Collins Street in the rain and said: “Don’t move from here, don’t talk to strangers, and don’t buy the Town Hall clock if anyone tries to sell it to you.” Heavens, he must think I’m a hayseed from the bush! (Well, I am, actually!)
So, off he went to get the car while I stood there getting wet, swaying slightly in the breeze, gazing benevolently at the passing throng, when a woman said rather loudly: “Are you all right?” and I replied: “Never felt better” - whereupon she gave me a funny look…………and I then saw she had a phone clamped to her ear. Oh well! A short time later a bloke going by said: “Hello,” and I replied in kind. He too looked confused and quickened his pace. Another phone user! Then in the distance was a bloke of hang-dog appearance, phone at the ear, and a look of despair. Ah, I thought: “He’s getting a serve.” As he drew level with me, I said brightly: “How’s the wife?” Fortunately, Gary reappeared with the car and I was rescued in the nick of time.
Have any of you people noticed that Gary has what I call a winning eccentricity? For instance, he has a passion for op-shops. Recently we were far away in the Mallee passing through Nyah when he screeched to a stop. “What’s up?”, I said. “That’s an op-shop,” he said, “let’s go in.” Well, he came across fifteen brand new records for $10 ......while I bought a small container for 10 cents!
A few weeks ago, on his usual Sunday visit to see if I’m still alive, he said: “I’ve come across in an op-shop a Columbia Encyclopaedia brand new for $6. Do you want it?” And I said: “Sure, if I can get an overdraft.” He came across the following Sunday lugging a crate of 23 volumes containing all one needs to know. I had to laugh. But I’ll have my revenge. I’ve added a codicil to my will.
Another eccentricity is his passion for going to his Chinkapook estate by different routes instead of the direct route up the Calder Highway. When we went via Deniliquin I thought that was a bit rich. How wrong I was. Eventually we went via Adelaide. The record now stands at via Broken Hill. But the one I’m looking forward to is via Darwin.
Noted for his precocity, at the age of nine he preferred Citizen Kane on T.V. to Sunnyside Up. In a discussion one time with my late wife on, I think, what relation had quantum mechanics to quantum theory he so enraged Catherine she called him “an egotistical little swine!” Whereupon he rushed from the room, we thought to dissolve in tears. But no! He couldn’t get to a dictionary quickly enough to find the meaning of egotistical. Ah, I thought, this lad will go a long way. Wasn’t that prophetic!
Now, at the age of sixty he can look back at his life until now, not with cosy smugness but with a certain satisfaction.
When his father Gordon died young, Gary assumed the role of a surrogate parent and with Gloria, his mother Gloria (Australia’s best scone maker), supervised the upbringing of his three sisters Margaret, Kathy and Judy.
He’s had an idyllic 30 years or so marriage to Anne, and three worthy children in Tom, Dan and Laura - who is in England at this moment. She’ll be home in October but I know she is going to be mortified at missing her father’s birthday.
In ten years’ time I hope, with a little assistance, to climb this dais again to congratulate Gary on becoming a septuagenarian.
In the meantime, happy birthday Gary.
Some jocularity, apparently, which Bill missed
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Parting words for Bill’s sister-in-law, Gloria Radnell (Andrews) (15 July, 2003):
In 1947 I became a member of the Andrews family by marrying Catherine Andrews, and automatically became a brother-in-law of Gloria’s.
It was a smart career move.
For the next 56 years, which ended last Friday, we enjoyed a most harmonious relationship – which was not endangered even when through some provocative remark of mine she would say, “You make me sick!” I enjoyed this so much there were times when I would dream up something outrageous to set her off – and she never let me down.
Another attribute of Gloria’s was as a maker of scones. She easily made the best scones I ever tasted. Whenever I held forth lyrically about the splendour of them other visitors would sagely nod their heads. I once foolishly asked for the recipe, and she said, “Don’t be silly. I don’t have a recipe. I just throw the stuff together, and that’s it”.
Gloria loved picnics, and so did all the Andrews family – while I learned to love them, and was never left out.
She enjoyed good health for most of her life, had an adoring family, and just faded quietly away. She will be sadly missed by her family, and by all who knew her.
Yes, a picnic. Bill and Gloria.
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Four favourite recipes:
Gingernuts Coconut Balls (excellent)
250 grams gingernuts
90 grams butter
½ cup condensed milk
2 tablespoons golden syrup
1 cup sultanas
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup coconut (for rolling)
Melt butter, add condensed milk, golden syrup, sultanas and vanilla. Mix together. Add crushed gingernuts.
Cool to room temperature, and roll into balls. Roll in coconut. Keep in frig.
p.s. Put gingernuts in plastic bag to pulverise them.
p.p.s. Everybody likes them, so they don’t last long.
Bill’s Sultana Cake
3 eggs
I cup caster sugar
½ pound butter
½ pound plain flour
½ pound sultanas
Soak sultanas overnight in cup of hot water and teaspoon of bicarbonate. Cook for 20 minutes at 375 degrees, then for an hour-and-a-half at 325 degrees.
Cheese Biscuits
(I hate the word “cookie”! American of course.)
½ cup butter or margarine
¾ cup grated cheese
1 cup flour
1 teaspoon paprika
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon mustard
poppy seeds (I use sesame)
Mix butter and cheese well together. Sift flour, paprika, salt and mustard and add to the butter and cheese. Blend well. Roll heaping teaspoons into small balls. Place on greased baking sheets, flatten a little, and sprinkle with seeds. Bake in moderate oven until ready
N.B. I slip in about a teaspoon of cayenne to make it more sharp; and always make a double mixture. I have a number of slavering hangers on!
Jubilee Cake
1½ cups self-raising flour
pinch salt
½ cup butter
¼ cup caster sugar
1 cup mixed fruit
I egg
4 tablespoons milk
Sift flour and salt, rub in butter, add sugar and the fruit. Beat the egg, add milk and stir into dry ingredients. Mix well. Place in a well-greased shallow round cake tin lined on the bottom with paper. Bake in oven at 180 degrees celsius for 20 to 25 minutes. (That’s what the recipe says but I’ve found it wasn’t anywhere long enough in my oven. So, watch it.) While still warm cover the top with soft icing and sprinkle with coconut.
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A fragment, simply headed March 2, 2004:
Margaret is having a new phone installed today; and her old bed replaced. Her cup of joy at the moment is overflowing. I arose at seven, goodness knows why for sloth seems to have taken hold of me in my twilight years. Everybody, especially new everybodies, gasp with astonishment when I eventually by hook or by crook – mainly crook – inform them I’m fourscore and ten. I also gasp when in reverie it occurs to me my time on this tortured planet is limited. My main fear is I might miss out on something exciting or unusual.
Judith hauled me to the Dendy on Saturday to see Master and Commander, with Russell Crowe. Magnificent film, with Crowe of course in the leading role, but with plenty of fine acting from other members of the cast. We met up with Beverley and Margery Elizabeth as arranged beforehand. Afterwards we visited a nearby restaurant for a moonlight dinner, a glass of a rather good red, and coffee. Margery and I sat on our hands when the bill came to be paid. Despite loud protestations from J and B we looked into the distance and said, rather cheekily, that our scintillating conversation was well worth the price of a modest meal and admittance to the cinema. (To those who find this behaviour intolerable let me tell them that all the foregoing is sheer invention, for I have found that Snow White truth can be rather boring. But it is true that they paid for the film and the meal out of the goodness of their generous hearts.)
The good news for money-hungry ex-servicemen is that Howard is increasing benefits for heroes like me – but if he accidentally finds out my contribution, and the contribution of all the 2nd Medium Battery, was absolutely nil he would probably reduce our pensions drastically.
Reached the end of this page, and so to bed - just like that seventeenth century scallywag Pepys.
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Amazed that nobody - especially golfing writers – seemed to remember the old terms any more, Bill made the following list…….for the edification of nobody in particular:
A 1 wood was a driver.
A 2 wood was a brassie.
A 3 wood was a spoon, or a baffie.
A 4 wood was a cleek.
A 1 iron was a driving iron.
A 2 iron was a mid-iron.
A 3 iron was a mid-mashie.
A 4 iron was a mashie iron, or a jigger.
A 5 iron was a mashie.
A 6 iron was a mashie niblick.
A 7 iron was a pitcher.
An 8 iron was a pitching niblick.
A 9 iron was a niblick, or a lofter (or lofting iron).
A sand wedge was a blaster.
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……..To his great-niece, Laura Andrews
Letter to Laura Andrews (undated, approx. 1987)
My dear Laura
I was delighted and, as you put it, I did get surprised to get a letter from you. Thank you very much for I don’t get many letters these days, for letter writing has become something of a lost art – but don’t give it up, because getting a letter is much more satisfying than a phone call.
It was also most pleasing to me to find that I was the first person you thought of when you wanted to write to someone to tell them what a wonderful time you were having at Somers, and of all the new friends you had made. At this moment I, and my new friend Margaret, are having a wonderful time, and you will be meeting her very soon, and I just know you are going to like her very much.
Lots of love, Uncle Bill
Around this time, near Chinkapook
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Letter to Laura Andrews (3 January, 1990)
Our dear Laura
Margaret and I hope that you are having a happy time with your two aunts and your two cousins, especially the younger aunt who is looking so comical at the moment. Margaret has had her son Andrew from England staying with us over Xmas. Well, he flew away on the 31st and is now freezing back home while the other son, Ian, dropped in out of the clouds with his most charming girlfriend on the 1st. My God! They are going to be here for a month!
M. and I have found life pretty strenuous of late and will be looking for a holiday by the time Ian and Andrea zoom away on the 31st – but we won’t be going to Nepal where your nutty parents are going to climb Mt. Everest. I don’t think Gary is too keen, but Anne wants Gary and her to be the first married couple to do so. But that’s not until October 1990 and perhaps they’ll change their minds and try to dog sledge to the North Pole, also the first married couple to do so. You could become famous, apart from becoming a noted cello player.
Poor Margaret and I were thinking of going trekking in Nepal, too, but there’s no special rates for indigent (ask your aunts what that means; ask Auntie M. first, she’s better on words than the pregnant one) pensioners; and Margaret can’t spare her time away from her Scrabble, nor me from my golf.
Gary rang last night about 10 and said that he and Anne were walking over to get my sultana cake recipe. It did occur to me that I could have given it to them over the phone. But, I think, the reason they wanted to come was because they’ve been lonely and bored since you went away; so, to cheer them up write them a short note or give them a long ring ‘cause you’re not paying. We wanted to drive them home last night but they scoffed at the idea. Perhaps they are practising for their hike in Nepal. So, I warned them of the danger from footpads but they scoffed at that, too. I looked in the paper today but there was no report of a middle-aged athletic couple being mugged, which was a relief to us.
Dan dropped in yesterday – he’d been over to a garage nearby. They said they’d let him know.
What’s the tucker like at the Russells? When I stayed with them last year it wasn’t so hot. Not once did they give me caviar, lobster, or French Champagne, and they weren’t indigent (have you found out what that means yet?) then.
I’ve just remembered why I started this letter and that was to thank you for your Xmas present. Rosemary is so keen on your gingerbread that she’s eaten all of it and we are left with the empty tin. Still, it’ll come in handy for my Tiny Tips card collection
I got 8 books for Xmas including the latest Oxford Dictionary & Reference book. Fabulous! Now I’ll be able to learn a few more words besides “indigent”.
Have been dieting since Xmas, for on Xmas night when I went to bed I felt like a boa-constrictor which had just swallowed its monthly meal of antelope. Now all I have for breakfast is fruit. Margaret asks if I feel better but I tell her how do I know, I always feel better; but I think I’ve lost about 1¼ lbs (I have no truck with metrics, a retrograde step, I say!) in 8 days. Absolutely abysmal!
I could go on for a few more pages for, unlike Iris, I can think of more to say. But, this is the last page of my good notepaper and I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to continue on crook paper.
Bill and Laura at the site of the Eureka School, near Chinkapook, before Bill’s extended visit to the West
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Letter to Laura Andrews [from Dunsborough, Western Australia] (24 October, 1991)
My dear Laura,
From where I am writing this letter I can gaze over a huge garden which is an absolute kaleidoscope of colour. Roses in profusion (Just Joey, Ophelia, etc., etc.) all in bloom, Peony poppies, Flanders poppies, daisies of all colours, nasturtiums, geraniums all colours, lavender, candy cuts, forget-me-nots, camomile, sweet peas 20 feet high, and numerous others whose names at the moment elude my aging memory. And you always thought I knew nothing about flowers.
Interspersed amongst all this horticultural splendour are peas, broad beans, silver beet, cabbage, tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, lettuces, parsley, and herbs of all varieties.
Margaret’s garden is quite famous and people come to look at it and to exclaim. I suggested she charge $5, with $2 for indigent pensioners like me. She does sell tree seedlings to aid the local fire brigade, and so far has raised about $1200.
The trip over was very smooth, the plane only about half-full, and did Gary tell you about my big quiz win when I was the only one who knew the answer. Gloria was quite beside herself with excitement. My prize was a can of beer.
First of all I stayed with your lovely Aunt for a couple of days. Wayne didn’t return from Sydney until late Sunday, and Judy, Jessie and I went for a long walk along the Swan on Sunday afternoon. I pushed Jessie in the pusher all the way just to prove I’m not as old as I look; and on the return trip we ran into Kim Beasley, and because he had made nasty remarks about the pilots strike Judy wanted to impale him with her umbrella. (Confidentially, I concurred with his views.) Fortunately, I was able to persuade her that if she wanted to avoid notoriety in the tabloids it would be best not to do so.
Eagle Bay is such an idyllic Eden where the air is so pure, the bush so attractive, the sea so blue, and all the locals so friendly and content, I could stay here always.
Several temporary millionaires have simple week-end shacks which they only use several times a year. One, who owns a gold mine, has chandeliers which cost $6000 each, and a couple of Tibetan monastery doors which cost $60000 each.
Another place we were taken over yesterday, a humble weekender, is owned by a high-flyer, Warren Anderson, who has been in the news a lot lately regarding his financial adventures. Everything is huge, the kitchen of ancient baronial size, the lounge large enough for Liz Taylor’s umpteenth wedding, the bedrooms huge, the bathrooms big enough for a conference, and the showers big enough for a communal pot party. This is the idiot’s idea of a week-end cottage; but I must confess we simple, humble folk were really derisive when we noticed this pretentious person had named it “Kennebunkport”.
Tomorrow Stephen & Wendy Turner arrive for the week-end so I will be making one of Iris’s sponges.
Dunsborough is a beaut little town and I’ve found to my amazement that fruit and vegs are cheaper than Melbourne. And a kilo block of good tasty cheese for $3.59 at Charlie Browns is remarkable.
Time for my frugal dinner. I hope to have a more attractive silhouette by the time I return.
Love to you, your parents and your siblings. Bill
p.s. There are also larkspurs in the garden, of the genus delphinium with spur shaped calyx. B.
p.p.s. You have permission to hand this screed on to the other family members if you so desire. B.
p.p.p.s. I’ll be here until the 31st when Gloria & Margaret arrive to try to prize me away to take me back to Perth. Believe me, I won’t surrender without a struggle. B.
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Postcards to Laura Andrews [from Perth] (10 November, 1991)
Dear Laura,
Thank you so much for your terrific letter. Everybody here has read it and made favourable noises. They think, despite your tender years, you have a talent for the written word. Would you please thank Emily for her thoughtful note. Today, Saturday, I am at Jane & Paul’s in Mt. Lawley. Greg, Cathy, Stephen & Wendy are coming to lunch – all Turners – and then I will resume my peripatetic (if you don’t know what that means don’t ask Gary, look it up) travels and go off with Stephen & Wendy for the week-end. Packing up and going off again is becoming wearisome but at least on Monday I’ll be back at Judy’s, my favourite place in Perth. (Don’t ever let Margaret R. see this card.) The previous 3 days I spent at Graeme’s & Kaye’s. They really have a thriving business. Yesterday I spent in the city with Jane. Daryl Braithwaite was performing in the city square in front of Dymocks; then we had a long, leisurely talk, a fine lunch - real “quality time,” Jane’s latest expression.
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As you can see I ran out of space on the other card, so read the other one first. Since I’ve been here I’ve become addicted to letter writing, and every spare moment I am writing. Margaret’s had about ½ a dozen letters and there’s been others to Beatrice, Ann, Beverley, Julia, Sheridan, Kathy, Alison & Rosemary &, of course, you, which I hope you have shared with the rest of your family. You will have noticed there are no males in that list so it is transparently obvious where my preferences lie. I am starting to pine for Margaret & all of you & although I’ve had a wonderful time I’ll be glad to get home. Although Judith insisted on picking me up at the airport she now informs me she has to go to her sister’s birthday party & wants me to stay until the following Wednesday. I don’t know! It was nice to spend this “quality time” writing to you. Love to you & yours.
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One time, for a school project, Laura was required to interview an “older” person, and to write an essay on their life. She interviewed Bill, and the following is their collaborative effort:
My name is William David Russell Warren. I was born on April 21, 1913, in Middle Park – Armstrong Street. I mainly lived in Prahran, living in nine different houses as a child because my father never paid the rent. We used to do moonlight flits in the middle of the night, and move on to another place. That’s true!
My parents came from England, so all of my relations are over there. I never met any of them, and never heard much about them. I grew up without uncles and aunts and grandparents. I have one sister, Beatrice, still alive; but I did have a younger sister who died when she was four, in about 1921. She has pernicious anaemia. That’s when your blood plays up. These days it can be cured, but even if it could have been cured then my father probably took her to the doctor too late. I don’t know if she could have been cured – maybe liver injections, nothing scientific.
As a child I remember following the ice cart and getting bits of ice on hot days. There was also the ice-cream cart. They were lovely cones, nice and thick, and the man used to give you big scoops with a wooden spoon.
I think the education used to be better than it is now. We knew more when we left at thirteen than now when they leave at twenty. These days nobody can spell, and children have very little knowledge of the English language or history or geography or anything. We used to take only one small exercise book to school. These days kids have to take big heavy bags. It’s ridiculous.
In 1941 I went into an artillery unit, and toured Australia from one end to the other. We were known as “The Cook’s Tourists”. Eventually we went from Balcombe to Seymour to Dandenong to Burwood to Western Australia to the Islands and Borneo. We arrived in Borneo two days after the War ended, much to our relief - but we became “returned soldiers” just the same. We went on a ship called The Both, a Dutch ship. It was very small, about 5000 tons. We called it “the hell ship”. It was a bit smelly. We struck some very rough weather up in New Guinea, and we all got sick. I spent about three days on my back in a life raft gazing at the sky. When we got to Borneo, of course the War was over, and people wanted to know what we were doing there. We were doing nothing, weren’t we? Except costing the taxpayer a lot of money!
I got out of the army. I’d got a lot of points, which meant I could leave. I’d been in the army for nearly five years. I left on the 17th of December, 1945.
I married your great aunt Catherine, and we lived in Richmond above the two shops, the cake shop and the delicatessen. We got the opportunity to buy my wife’s relations’ farm, so we did. I got first preference being a returned soldier. We spent five years on the farm, which I liked very much. In fact, I still go up to Chinkapook every year.
These days I mainly play golf (ha, ha, ha) and cook and read books and the newspapers, and criticize everyone else for not doing the same – and correct people’s spelling, yours in particular, Laura.
I live with a friend, Margaret Telford. We met about four years ago, and we’re very contented. We’ve visited England together, and I met her two sons, Ian and Andrew. She also has two daughters, living in Melbourne.
A couple of funny stories from my life………..um, oh yeah, one of my earliest recollections was when I was about four years old – when I lived in Prahran, Pridham Street, before we got evicted. I was up at the lolly shop – as we used to call it then, milk bars weren’t invented. I went up hoping to buy a stick of lolly for a ha’penny, which is less than a cent; and I saw a pound note on the ground, which I picked up. And I dimly had the idea that it paid to be honest, so I told the woman behind the counter that I’d picked it up from the floor – and she snatched it from my hand, and said: “I just dropped that.” What a lie! And then she produced the coin drawer (they didn’t have tills in those days) and said: “Take any coin you like as a reward.” And I’d somehow been taught that you always took the smallest, so I took a thruppence. So I went home and told my father, and offered the thruppence to him; and he said: “*#”%?*!” Of course, I was young and innocent then, and I’d never heard swear words, and words I found out later were swear words. And he bellowed at me, and took the thruppence and rushed to the door and threw it out into the street. I was very confused about that. I took the smallest piece; and found that day that in my father’s eyes it didn’t pay to be honest. By the way, that night I went out with the lantern and searched for hours for that thruppence, and never found it.
There was another occasion. This was during the First World War. We had a woman living next door, and her husband was at the front in France. He’d been there for three years, and she’d had several children, the youngest of which was three months old. It seemed quite illogical, since her husband had been away for three years. Anyway, one day she staggered into her garden with a telegram, and called out to my parents: “My husband has been taken prisoner by the Germans!” Then she fainted, or simulated a faint, and fell on the pavement, and rolled into the gutter – and, to my astonished gaze, she didn’t have any underpants on. My mother rushed out and put her hand over my eyes, and said: “Come inside, Willie, don’t look.” And my father guffawed – he was always guffawing. He said: “Huh, what an act! Here she is with a three months old child, and fainting because her husband’s been taken prisoner.” That was when I was about four.
I haven’t had a dull life. I think most things happen by chance. Serendipitous things happen, good things. If I hadn’t seen my wife on the platform of Flinders Street, smoking one of her innumerable cigarettes, going crook because two drunks on the opposite platform were having a fight and she was wondering why somebody didn’t go over and stop them, I might never have married her. I thought: “What a stupid woman.” I never thought for a moment that I’d end up marrying her.
One of the things about being married to Kath was going to the Mallee. I’d never have been a farmer and enjoyed the bush, and I never would have met all the Andrews, would I? There you are. All the people you meet through a chance happening. I wouldn’t have been plagued with the Andrews family, would I?
My wife already had a son when I met her. He was about eight years old. He now lives in Perth. My wife, Kath, died in 1975. I’ve been pretty fortunate in my life. It could have been worse!
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Letter to Laura Andrews (7 April, 1997)
My dear Laura,
Sorry I haven’t replied to your kind invitation to your 21st before now. But the truth is I got involved in trying to solve what The Age people laughingly refer to as “The General Knowledge Crossword.” I doubt if Barry Jones could solve one of these without going slightly dotty. Anyway, last week after several days I emerged from a pyramid of reference books, bleary eyed and ravenous, but still chagrined because the only clue that eluded me was the name of the Australian writer of children’s stories, Eleanor Spence. I got the Eleanor but not the Spence. Have you heard of her?
If you are still with me, I have written the foregoing because a one sentence reply such as, “Will be there on Saturday,” looks rather lonely on an otherwise pristine sheet of writing paper.
Love, Bill
p.s. After all that I nearly forgot. Yes, I will turn up on Saturday. Might even make a couple of sponges.
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Letter to Laura Andrews (undated)
Dear Laura
Some days before my ancient birthday I issued a stern edict: No presents! Somewhere along the way you were unaware of my admonition, or chose to ignore it. But, whichever it was, I’ve got to admit I’m glad because of your superb intuition of my taste. The cheeses, the Belgian chocolates – the last one disappeared down my gullet just before I started this letter – the biscuits, the fruits, everything was to my taste except one thing, the hot peri peri sauce. I just opened it and tried it. Just a tiny spot and I nearly exploded. I sneezed six times, drank two glasses of water, and miraculously recovered. Do people use this lavishly and survive? Any takers?
The great thing about this hamper is that it will keep me from lining up for a week, at the Salvos, for my evening meal.
Thank you.
With love, Bill
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Letter to Laura Andrews (16 December, 1998)
My dear Laura,
At the Cheltenham Golf Club which I grace with my imposing presence Tuesdays and Thursdays (not with impressive golf) before the game I usually hit away from behind the seventh green 2 or 3 old balls across several fairways. (Make that one fairway.) This is contrary to the rules, and regarded as playing on the course before a competition, With supreme arrogance I ignore such fuddy duddy rules secure in the knowledge they would never penalize an octogenarian and unquestionably the oldest member.
Numbers of my cohorts are aware of me thumbing my nose at such rules, and keep me well supplied with ancient balls.
The other day a bloke with the rare name of Bert Jones tossed me a ball and said, “Whack this away Bill”. Then I noticed, as I teed up, that everybody else was taking unusual interest. “Probably want to admire my classic swing”, I thought modestly.
A sample of Bill’s handwriting. Part of his 16 December, 1998 letter
As I lunged at the ball there was a minor explosion, and I was left standing in a fog of white powder. The crowd of onlookers collapsed in hysteria, laughed so long and loud I thought some of them would have seizures. The funniest thing to have happened to me on a golf course.
Have been following your adventures with great interest. It’s a rather fascinating world out there, isn’t it? I’m sure you will make the most of it.
The only trouble with writing to you, Laura, is that with the Andrews efficient espionage system you are already aware of everything I’ll tell you. Nevertheless, I shall continue undaunted.
Tonight, I go to a Xmas barbecue at Beatrice and Margaret’s, an annual affair for all the residents. There’s always a few blow-ins, of which I’m one. Come to think of it I’ve been to the last 10. Have made a tray of cheese biscuits to take; also, a loaf of bread, but that’s not to take. Oh, all right, I’ll take that too! God! You’ve become a bit of a standover merchant since you made your exit, haven’t you?
You know, of course, that Gary and I went to Chinkapook just the other week, and naturally I prepared the egg and lettuce sandwiches, also ham, and made my latest sensation, a mixed fruit and pineapple cake. Gary nearly swooned when he hacked off an enormous slice; he doesn’t believe in small helpings. Then Margaret from across the road came over with all the gossip within a radius of 50 miles. So, Gary hacked off an enormous slice for her too, and I thought: “My God! I won’t be getting any of this!” Your father, besides being a hot shot accountant is pretty astute in other ways. He knows if he goes on praising my sandwiches, being rhapsodical about my eggs and bacon, and grunting with pleasure at my cheese biscuits, that this will appeal to my narcissistic tendencies and that I’ll go on making them until I croak.
That wouldn’t stop him shoving me aside and still having his eggs and bacon.
Well, Laura, I hope you are enjoying England as much as I did. I thought it was a most tolerant and civilized country, and if I wasn’t so ancient I would like to return to see more of this sceptered isle. I could go on with a lot more but I believe today is the last day if this is to reach you before Xmas. Would you believe that I seem to be more busy these days than ever. My life is full. Are you still waitressing? Gary comes every Sunday, but didn’t turn up last Sunday. Perhaps my Chinkapook eggs and bacon weren’t up to standard last time.
Have a most happy Xmas and a bright prosperous New Year.
All my love, Bill
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Letter to Laura Andrews (11 March, 2004)
4.30 p.m.
My dear Lass Laura,
You referred to me as Billy Boy which pleased me no end for vanity is no small characteristic of mine.
I arose this morning at 7 am – some unkind critics would say more like 7 pm, but I felt something was in the air. So I consulted my horoscope which stated, “Recycling is necessary for your spiritual health.” Well I had my reefer jacket dry cleaned the other day but all I know about that is it cost $7.20.
Judith Wines hauled me off to the Dendy several Saturdays ago to see Master & Commander. Magnificent film. We met up with Beverley and Margery Elizabeth, who is Beverley’s cousin. She broke her hip last year while hanging out the washing.
Afterwards we visited a nearby restaurant where I ordered Atlantic salmon something. When it arrived I gazed at it with horror. It consisted of one roast potato with a bit of spinach on top, and a small piece of salmon. It all looked so lonely and forlorn in the middle of a big plate. We all gazed at it fascinated but nobody, including me, said aught. The others all had the same thing and when Judith said, “I can’t finish this, Bill, will you?” I snatched the plate out of her hand.
With a glass of red and coffee things improved. Margery and I sat on our hands when the bill arrived and gazed into the distance and said rather cheekily that our scintillating conversation was well worth the price of a modest meal with only one glass of wine and coffee. To those who find such behaviour intolerable let me tell them that all the foregoing is sheer invention, for I have found that snow-white truth can, at times, become rather boring. Flights of fancy I enjoy. The truth is they paid, despite our protestations, bless their generous hearts.
The good news, now an election is looming, is that Howard is increasing benefits for heroes like me, but if he finds out my contribution and all of the 2nd Medium Regiment was nil he would reduce our pensions.
The end of the page looms, so thanks for the card, Laura, and calling me “boy”
Lots of love, Bill
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…….To his long-time friend, Judith Wines
Letter to Judith Wines
(June 1975?)
Dearest Judith
There are insufficient words in the English language to express my appreciation of the manner in which you have stood by my side during the last trying fortnight. You are a modest person who doesn’t look for praise, so I won’t embarrass you by composing a lyrical essay. So, I will say “thank you” dear Judith, and you and I know that it comes with all my sincerity. Thank you also for the gorgeous letter you wrote me on the 15th. I shall treasure it always. -
Last night I was at Joan and Trevor’s and had a reasonably pleasant evening. Met the lover and his wife. He is a pleasant good-looking man and his wife, while reasonably good looking, is a dummy. Her contribution to the night was constant laughter – at anything at all. I think if I had told her about Cath’s death she would have laughed herself silly.
I simply must tell you this incident, which almost reduced me to a giggling attack! Somehow or other the conversation turned to washing machines during which Val, who was seated next to me, turned and said, “my automatic is so complicated that I am the only one in the family who can manage it”. “Oh, I said airily, I have no problems at all with my washer.” “What sort do you have?”, asked Val. “Well actually, it is a Judith Wines”, I replied. Val thought hard for a few moments then said, “Judith Wines, no I’ve never heard of that make, what’s it like?” “Well,” I drawled, “it’s blonde and slim, of medium height, and has never at any time let me down.” Val by now is gazing at me in bewilderment. “Judith Wines”, I said gently,” is a very good friend who kindly does my washing occasionally.” The light dawned belatedly on Val, and she collapsed in another mild attack of hysterics! Anyhow I must have made a favourable impression on her for, when we left, she gave me a warm kiss. Maybe she too is looking for a lover?
Campbell, the Smiths’ eldest son, whom I haven’t seen for a number of years, is now a tall – about 6’ 2” - handsome, charming lad doing a law course at Melb Uni and a devoted ALP person. Beatrice and I during the night managed to get together with him and indulge in some really interesting conversation.
The Smiths also have a beaut German Shepherd who knocked on the window, until let in to bound around the room. You would have loved him. I wonder how Fritzie would have coped.
Eventually got to bed around 2.00 and was up again bright as a button at 8.00. Looking forward to seeing you on Saturday.
Love, Bill
Judith Wines and Fritzi, Bill, and Bill’s sister Bea
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Letter to Judith Wines
(undated 1984?)
Dear Judith
Do you use Fritzie on the end of a stick to clean your windows? I don’t suppose you do for she wouldn’t be woolly enough! Thanks for the cuttings – most enjoyable. Sat up until 4 or 5 am watching the golf for four consecutive nights and haven’t noticed a deterioration of physical well-being as a result. But I must say the BBC should study Australian videos to learn how to do it properly. Being so frightfully British they would, of course, scorn learning anything from us beastly Colonials. And the wretched ads! They played the same ones over and over again until my screams and curses had lights coming on all over Malvern. Inspired by all this golf I managed to win a few balls and a lottery ticket yesterday, despite having developed a tennis elbow - or should it be golf elbow?
Apart from all this frivolity, there have been some dismal happenings this week. Joyce’s brother died on Sunday. He’s had a shocking heart condition for years so at least it wasn’t unexpected. Then on Tuesday, at the Club, I learned that another member had gone clunk! He had given up golf years ago, had already had one heart attack, was grossly overweight, and used to spend his time sitting at the bar drinking whisky and chain smoking while I and my cohorts speculated on how long he would last! Well, he didn’t last long; and, if anybody committed suicide, he did with his appalling lifestyle.
Today Beatrice rang me to tell me Johnny Maher’s sister Barbara died yesterday from cancer. Made me think of making the most of what I yet may spend, before I too into the dust descend. Superstitious Gloria would say: “There, I’ve always told you, such things come in threes!” A lot of slothful people are sniggering about James Fixx hitting the deck while jogging at the age of 52, but as was revealed, he would have snuffed it earlier had he not run. How is your ticker these days? I shall watch with greater interest from now on your constant pursuit of unreachable horizons – repent Judith, before it is too late, and take up knitting. I have a great heap of socks in need of darning.
Still making superlative bread and rolls, apple pie, pea soup; and last week, I had tripe - so delicious I even had it for breakfast. But will have to adopt stern measures for I’m finding it harder to put my socks on. Got most of the Thursday lads making bread now, and over beers we have a clinic on kneading and rising and texture. But I’ve been the recipient of several nasty complaints from wives via husbands saying “tell that bloody Bill Warren, since you’ve been making that delicious bread all my frocks have become too small”.
See you Friday, but with a certain amount of trepidation regarding the Indian meal. So, in the words of Trevor Sykes…pip pip!
Bill
p.s. My birthday card from Margaret Rydings arrived exactly 3 months late. There was a letter in it which she started on the 6th June, but never finished until the 16thJuly!
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Letter to Judith Wines
(undated, 1984?)
Dear Judith
Yes, I do agree! Those juicy bits from Howson’s book make me want to read more – but not at $40. The piece from The Spectator was delightfully mad. In case you didn’t know and didn’t research it, fenugreek seeds are indigenous to Asia, but extensively cultivated elsewhere. Chiefly for forage and for its mucilaginous seeds which are used for medicine. Botanical name…trigonella foenumagraecean. I am now eagerly combing the plant nurseries of Melbourne for some to put about my person in the hope of exciting all, or some, of the women I come in contact with! As of now, without fenugreek seeds about my person, female contacts tend to remain calm, stolid, unemotional, indifferent – so what have I to lose!
Jeffery Bernard has a gaudy technicolour imagination. I couldn’t imagine anything more imaginative than being served cold bubbly in a bubble bath by a bubbly waitress. The Poms undoubtedly are past masters at doing these daffy pieces of journalism. Thank you for it. I think I will send it to Jane.
Joyce rang me on Monday to see if I was still in the land of living and complaining she hadn’t sighted me for about 8 days, so I grumpily muttered she’d better come to dinner. (I think I must be a natural anchorite.) Fortunately, I had a pot of leek and potato soup made, ¾ of that scrumptious meat pie left, and a frozen baked apply roly-poly. She accepted naturally, with alacrity. Later I looked out the window and noticed Deidre, Mary Anne and baby Alexandra had turned up. So, I rang again and invited them too. They all came and we had a nice family night, the only friction being when the girls called for tomato sauce to go with my classic pie. Despite my stern lecture on the barbarism of people who belittle good grub with a splosh of sauce they still sploshed. I have the feeling Deidre and Mary Anne don’t take my position as the local doyen of civilized living at all seriously.
Joyce leaves for Sydney tomorrow by bus and I am driving her in to Bourke Street at 6.10 tomorrow morning – she won’t be back until the 26th.
Yours as ever platonic admire, Bill
p.s. You probably know, but just in case it’s slipped under your guard, mucilaginous means moist, soft, viscid - from mucilage; any various gummy secretions or gelatinous substances present in plants.
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Letter to Judith Wines
(4 November, 1984)
Dearest Judith
After the magnificent meal you produced so skilfully last Wednesday evening, I ate frugally the following day in order to reduce my increased corpulence to more manageable dimensions. A slice of toast and an egg, The Age and the crossword knocked off but for one word, and then off to golf where I took your advice and adopted the Jack Nicklaus attitude to good effect. My co-conspirator and I efficiently dealt with the opposition for the Tatts ticket and, if my putting had been as good as the rest of my game, I would have gone close to winning. I was nearest the pin on the short hole (2 balls) for most of the day only to lose later on by a couple of inches. Still, I did snare a ball out of the comp.
Being in a reasonable state of mind when I returned home I decided to give Joyce the bonus of my company and, as I approached her domicile, found to my horror she was cutting the lawn. It was too late to retreat for she had seen me, so spent the next ¾ of an hour raking up grass and putting things away. We then sat around with several glasses of wine until 7.45 when she announced she was now going to have some cold chicken but was too tired to give me any!! Funny woman! I imagine you saying that to me or me saying that to you – sometimes wonder if she’s a tight arse! I happened to be there the other Saturday when Deidre arrived to help her paint the lounge room and Deidre brought a loaf of bread and several cheeses and said, sarcastically, that she had to bring her own food because she knew Joyce would have nothing prepared.
If I had two lovely daughters like Deidre and Mary Anne, it would give me the greatest delight to have them around and to prepare meals for them. But not Joyce!!
As you were entertaining last night, I don’t suppose you saw An Englishman Abroad– a sheer delight – but knowing you, you would have recorded it? I would like to see it again. Coral Brown and Alan Bates are superb.
Most interesting article by James Michener don’t you think? Pleased to discover that I’m not a primordial ape type for I don’t have sloping shoulders, nor do my elbows stick out, and I don’t have diabetes, and I’ve never had gout – and my blood pressure is now excellent! My only disability is my girth but I take comfort from Mike Royko who says you don’t need to be able to see what’s below, you already knew what’s there! Thanks so much for Wednesday night. I always come away from your company at peace with the world, for our rapport is really remarkable.
All my love for now and always, Bill
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Card to Judith Wines
(9 March, 1985)
Dearest Judith,
Thank you so much for your appreciative letter. It’s always a great pleasure to have you as a guest, for you are unfailingly good company and even regard lowly sausages as gourmet food.
Just as well I’m not going on 43; if I were I’d be doing my best to snatch you from Arthur’s grasp.
You should be here tonight, for chicken is on the menu instead of the humble snags. Your letter with its ego boosting content shall be filed away with the rest of my JLW memorabilia.
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Letter to Judith Wines
(3 May, 1987)
(Glen Iris for the next 7 weeks)
My Dear Judith,
I am writing this with a contented Sheff at my feet. Speak to a cat and it either ignores you or turns a disdainful eye, but throw a kindly word at Sheff and he thumps his tail, opens idolatrous eyes, and rolls on his back. Great ego boosters, dogs! They make even the most woebegone characters feel better. I am wary of characters who cannot abide animals, especially dogs.
So much for today’s philosophic thought! The main reason for this letter is to thank you for the splendid golf shirt you gave me for my birthday. I wore it, naturally, last Thursday and played the best first nine I’d played for at least twelve months; 40 strokes and 22 Stableford points, much to the discomfort of my adversaries who punctuated murmurs of admiration with anguished cries of “you old bastard”. Sweet music to my ears!
Perhaps this stylish shirt has magical qualities akin to the plus fours in P G Wodehouse’s The Magic Plus Fours, wherein a complete duffer becomes a scratch golfer by purchasing a pair of garish plus fours. Unfortunately, in the process he becomes unbearable and is in danger of losing all his friends and his winsome fiancée by his obnoxious behaviour.
Then just when he’s becoming a social pariah, he absent-mindedly puts a smouldering pipe (everybody smoked in Wodehouse’s day) in his pocket and sets himself on fire. He has to dash into a lake to put out the blaze, but his plus fours are ruined. He immediately loses all his skill and reverts back to being a duffer, regains his agreeable manner his friends and his winsome fiancée, and everybody lives happily ever after! Should such a situation arise with me, Judith, I give you permission to surreptitiously set me afire, but make sure a lake is near-by.
Gary and Anne got away on Wednesday for their 7 weeks tour. Gary, ever the meticulous accountant has left me a 13-page typewritten screed which covers every contingency. Also, a cheque book and a $2,000 account. That’s about $285 a week for living expenses. At that rate, with Laura living on vegetables and Dan content with sausages, chops and mash (Tom is staying with Gloria), I will be able to live a sybarite lifestyle of oysters, lobster and French Champagne, with the occasional gourmet meal delivered from one of our leading restaurants. More practically, being fond of caviar, I might treat myself to a small jar when nobody is looking!
Gary also suggested an emolument of $120 a week while I am here. I’m only allowed to earn $40, so I’d better not let the pension people find out.
Now I would like you to come to dinner whenever you can, preferably a Monday or Wednesday – just you and me, for it’s a long time since I had you to myself and we never seem to have a decent conversation when others are around.
Last night I had Margaret, Beatrice, Judy and Jill (Anne’s sister) for dinner. I got another splendid piece of corned beef from your former butcher, George. Had a golf discussion with him and discovered he’s a member at Keysborough and loves the game, even though he’s on a handicap of 32. Naturally, like all golfers he had to give me a ball-to-ball description of his last round where he surpassed himself.
Having obtained bread mixes on my sojourn in S.A. I made bread rolls and a loaf and, by using a slightly different method, am making better bread. Even harsh critic Beatrice says they are the best rolls I’ve ever made. Carrot and Orange soup, and corned beef, and Dutch Apple Cake which Beatrice brought.
Jill is very interesting and vivacious, and Beatrice is impressed. She is doing a Behavioural Science course at Uni, having eschewed a boring marriage with a dull man, for the intellectual life. She comes every Thursday to do Anne’s housework and to earn some money, and when I came home from golf on Thursday found she had done the washing too. I’ll see that you meet her in the next 7 weeks. I’m sure you would like her.
Laura is a good kid and helps a lot. She always loads the dishwasher and at the moment is cleaning up and washing the pots from last night. Dan as usual is glued to the TV! Fancy Mia Farrow having Woody Allen’s baby at 45!
Hope you are fit and well – be in touch per Telecom. Tons of love…Bill
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Letter to Judith Wines
(29 October, 1995)
Dearest Judith,
Your eulogistic comments about my modest virtues would have had me blushing if I hadn’t agreed with all you said. I shall keep this letter in my strong box to be produced if ever I need a character reference.
Glad to hear you’ve added to your numerous trophies on such a dismal day. Anybody who ventured out on such a day deserved a medal for courage; or a head examination from a reliable alienist.
Gary, Margaret and I ventured forth the Saturday before last on an expedition to Walhalla, taking enough supplies for a week in case we got lost amongst the mountains or the trackless bush. Ever been to Walhalla? Well worth a visit. How they fitted 4000 people, 15 pubs, and a couple of breweries into this deep narrow valley defies logic. About 75 tons of gold turned out over the years, worth about 400 million dollars at today’s values. Cemetery up among the clouds on a steep hillside. God knows how they got up there to bury anyone. Very cold day at Walhalla, but most enjoyable.
Margaret and I saw The Bridges of Madison County the other day. If you haven’t already seen it go right away. Marvellous.
All my love as usual.
Bill
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Postcard to Judith Wines
(31 March, 1997)
Dearest Judith,
Being not short of vanity I was delighted to receive your eulogistic card. But, let me say that preparing a dinner for one as appreciative and charming a dinner companion as you, is a labour of love. The fact that I love you dearly and always will is quite inspirational. I look froward to the next time you arrive on my doorstep looking a picture of health and beauty.
I cursed myself after you left last time, for I forgot to give you the Doug Aiton tape. This is the third one Margaret has been so good as to get for you so we can only hope.
Hope you are well and radiant.
Endless love,
Bill
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Letter to Judith Wines
(28 October, 1998)
Gorgeous Judith,
As you didn’t know the meaning of “anhydrous” in Simon Hughes column today – I can enlighten you. It means destitute of water. But I presume. Perhaps, you knew it all the time. Anyway, it’s not in the Oxford. I found it in a very ancient dictionary. Simon has a great propensity for using the most unusual words in his articles and puts a lot of wear and tear on the dictionaries of Age readers of his articles. Is he showing off or is he simply trying to extend our vocabularies?
The main reason for writing this note is to inform you that Gary, Dan, Cathy and I are heading for Chinky at 5 pm Friday night. On Saturday we start off home via Mildura, Broken Hill and Menindee (some via!). Efficient Gary called tonight with 3 hand-written itineraries, written I’m afraid in his inimitable execrable scrawl. I immediately called for an interpreter. I think he does it on purpose just to get me going!
Ever thoughtful, the other two copies are for Beatrice and Margaret. I am amazed at the rapid recovery from his prostate operation. Only in hospital for two days, and on the 3rd day (Sunday) invited me for lunch. It’s just struck me that you probably don’t know about this drama. It happened so quickly. When he told me he was going to the Mercy for a rebore the next day, you could have floored me with that allusive feather. Then he confessed that he’d had trouble with his prostate for years and the urologist had been keeping it under control with medication for years, but never a peep out of Gary.
You’ve got to call in some day to look over Gloria and Cathy’s unit. It’s fabulous. Everybody’s rapt. We were there for Gloria’s birthday a couple of weeks ago, for afternoon tea with all the relatives. Everyone was most impressed.
Ian is here from England for several weeks, much to Margaret’s delight, and a friend has loaned him a Golf (car) for the duration. Alison, like you a person of great resource, got in touch with all his friends, especially those he knew from his Lorne Life Saving days, some of whom he had not seen for nigh on 30 years, and they all turned up - about 60 in all. It was held at Allison and John’s in Brighton Road.
Margaret Telford and Bill. Old friends.
Margaret made several quiches and I made three sponges, which made Alison nearly hug me to death. The food was marvellous, everything you could imagine to eat and drink. One of Ian’s old friends rang from Adelaide and said he could meet Ian half way to Hall’s Gap, so Ian blithely drove there in the Golf. Another friend, a Frenchman, drove down from Canberra for the party, so Ian is driving to Canberra tomorrow to see him again. Can you imagine it?
Judith dear, do you realise it’s 11 pm and I’ve got to be up at 5.45 tomorrow to go to golf, so I’d better finish this brief note and call it a day. The older I get the more hectic my life seems to grow. I hope everything is right with you health-wise, job-wise and running-wise. I must see you soon – I need a fix of your company.
Everlasting love…Bill
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Card to Judith Wines
(13 June, 2002)
Gorgeous Judith,
I bought this card and envelope when wandering along Chapel St with Judy Russell and her first offspring, Jessie, about 10 or 11 years ago. Thought it about time I used it.
Many thanks for both the cards, especially the one with the 3 kittens. I thought any artist who could paint so brilliantly would surely be in the Columbia Encyclopaedia, but I’m afraid he wasn’t.
I would think that Jackie wouldn’t have much difficulty in selling the property. It would appeal to many people. I wonder what she wants for it?
Glad to read you had an enjoyable time at Kuranda. The Skyrail trip looks spectacular – must make a visit just to have a ride on it.
A hunk of corn beef is frozen in the frig. Just name the night when it shall be unfrozen.
Undying love,
Bill
p.s. Have just made another batch of “Jude’s Yummy Brownies”. Julia and Ann Watkins are visiting Margaret for afternoon tea on Saturday, so will take some of them. The first lot I made went in flash.
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The Bill File – Part 2 contains Bill’s correspondence with other family members
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