Neville and Dulcie

'The greatest gift my parents gave my brother and I was that they loved each other'. I was being sincere when I spoke these words at Dad's funeral in January 1999. I do not pretend that my parents and that which they taught and modelled were perfect. They were, after all, fallible human beings, products of the time, culture and families in which they were raised. But they gave their boys a home where we were always safe, well fed and clothed, cared for and, above all else, loved. As I look back on my childhood years I realise how fortunate I was, for that which I took for granted back then was and remains far from the reality of many.

 

'Till death do us part', a vow they kept

Mum and Dad weren’t well educated - at least in the formal sense - cultured or sophisticated. Dad left school at the end of primary school for a life on the farm. Mum completed three years of high school, earning the Intermediate Certificate. In those days that gave them all the education they needed, and that should always be the aim of education – to prepare us for life. Education and intelligence are not the same. I have met and worked with people who have achieved far higher levels of education than my parents would ever have dreamed of that lacked the ability to 'make do' and adapt possessed by Mum and Dad. One quality they did lack was the ability to upset others to the degree of some of my more learned friends.

My earliest memory is of the day Dad took delivery of a new grey Ferguson tractor. I still remember the truck being backed up to a small bank, and the tractor being reversed off on planks. Mum was in hospital at the time for this coincided with my brother's birth. But the memory of the tractor is stronger - sorry David, it was obviously the more memorable of the two events.

In those day’s farm life relied on horse power - the type fuelled by grass. It wasn’t transformed over night by the arrival of the tractor. I recall Dad rising early during the cane harvesting season and harnessing the horses to the cart to haul the cane to the derrick where it was loaded onto punts for transport to the sugar mill at Harwood. But change did come and Dad adapted to the changing technology of the times.

Early on sugar cane stalks were cut into pieces about 20 cm long for planting. A planter was drawn by horse over the prepared ground. One man stood behind the planter driving the horses while the other sat on the planter with a long trough on either side filled with plants. As the planter was drawn over the ground it would separate the soil to allow the plants to be laid, and the soil would fill the furrow as the machine passed. Dad adapted this so that it could be pulled by the tractor and raised at each end of the field by the tractor's hydraulics. As farming became more efficient planters became available that enabled the cane stalk to be cut into shorter lengths as it was being fed into the ground. These machines also enabled the plants to be sprayed with pesticide as they were fed through the planter, removing the step of having to dip the plants before they were placed in the planter. Dad liked the idea, so he made his own, largely out of old machinery and material that he had available.

That was Dad. Why buy it if you could make it for less. He bought an arc welder and taught himself to use it. With this he made a hoist to operate from the back of the tractor. No engineering drawings or calculations. Weld it together, and when it bent from the weight of the load, weld on a bit more steel. Dad, like many farmers of his generation, turned their hand to most things. They learned to service and repair their own farm equipment and vehicles, build what they needed, and rely on their own resources.

When Nana and Pop Skinner retired Dad helped them build a house on Yamba Road. When Pa Marsh died Dad decided to build a two bedroom house next to ours because this made it easier for Mum and Dad to care for Nana Marsh. This was built largely from material scavenged from the house she lived in with fibro - yes, asbestos cement sheeting - used for the walls. Fibro was also used for Nana and Pop Skinner's house. When Dad went to the council - it must have been for a certificate of occupancy - he had to tell them how much the house had cost. They wouldn't believe the cost he gave them so he had to lie - and inflate the price.

Mum and Dad met at a dance. For Dad, it was love at first sight. Mum took a little longer to be convinced. They were married in September 1949 in the Chatswood Island Church of England. Mum's cousin Osman Causley was best man and Dad's sister Aileen bridesmaid. They honeymooned at Southport and I came on the scene 12 months later.

They always respected each other. I remember few cross words - there were some - but that is all. Their commitment to each other, to their children and the wider family was rock solid.

 

That cute look on my brothers face - it was a ruse.

Feminism and the struggle for female equality is something I have had some difficulty understanding. Mum and Dad filled what could be seen as largely traditional roles when it came to the division of labour. But during the busy periods on the farm - at planting and harvesting time - gender made no difference. If you were fit and able you pitched in. When it came to work around the house Dad did his share, more so during the slack times that always came with farming. Rarely did Mum do the dishes on her own.

Nothing was 'mine'. It was a partnership in the true sense of the word. Mum cared for the family finances. The idea of separate accounts would have been an anathema to both of them.

Mum was a great cook. When she was around 12 years of age she decided to enter some shortbread in the Maclean show. She came home from school and busied herself with the task without telling anyone. Her endeavours won her first prize much to the disgust of one of her neighbours, a Mrs MacReay, who had always won the category. She accused Mum of cheating, telling everyone it must have been Nana Skinner, or her sister Maud who lived with them, who did the cooking.

As her own mother got to the stage she needed support Mum and Dad took her to live with them. By this time Nana Marsh was also requiring more care and the burden for looking after the two old ladies fell largely on Mum. Loyalty is a value strongly entrenched in Mum and this commitment was taking its toll on her health. One day the doctor told her quite firmly that if she did not put the two mothers in the nursing home she would beat them to the grave. Fortunately she took his advice.

Only the once do I remember Mum and Dad having a holiday without us. It was probably only a week and I stayed with Mum’s parents. Holidays were for the family, and we had many a great one. These were generally in the May school holidays as it was the only time that farm life allowed. Mainly we tented and often didn’t go too far from home – Yamba or the Sandon were both popular though at times we went further afield.

Always proud of her two boys.

Dad died in January 1999 when we were on holidays in New Zealand – right at the end so we didn’t have to fly home early. He is buried in Hervey Bay, at the end of the street where they bought when they moved to the Bay after they retired. David and his family had moved there a couple of years earlier and so, when Mum and Dad sold the farm, they followed.

In 2007 Mum sold up and moved into a retirement village in Cooranbong which is approximately an hour’s drive from where I live. Now Mum is almost ninety, and being the closest to her the responsibility for taking her to doctors, dropping everything when she has been taken to hospital and the like has fallen on me. But I wouldn’t change things if I could, for over these last few years I have spent more time with Mum than I have at any time since leaving home at 16. The chance to talk about family, Palmers Channel, her family and her memories of Dad’s, and just to spend meaningful time with the woman who gave me birth, have been very precious. My only regret is that it was not Mum and Dad.

Thank you Mum and Dad. You may not have been rich in worldly goods, you may not have been highly educated and sophisticated in worldly terms, but you gave your sons something beyond value.