Flower Power

The decade from 1960 to 1969 was often known as the decade of the flower power children and in this assignment I am going to try and capture what  that meant to the majority of people.

Top of the list was, of course, fashion, music and the reason for what seems a pipe dream today of peace, love and freedom in the world. Needless to say, this was never achieved and we are still looking for that magic way of life that will bring the flower children back.

The leaders of fashion in the sixties were the British. Carnaby Street and Kings Road Chelsea was a veritable feast of fashion. Markets sprang up throughout London, pushing the “Modernistic” style of fashion which was embraced by the young men and women of Britain and eventually went worldwide. Gradually, fashion changed for men in particular. They began wearing single three button suits with Neru collars and then to double breasted suits of velvet with brocade waistcoats and shirts with frilled collars.   The fashion also changed for their hair.    From short back and sides to hair worn below the collar and longer/

Women were inspired by top models like Jean Shrimpton and Twiggy. From the austere fashions of the 40's and the new look of the 50's where skirts were flared to almost ankle length and jackets had a peplum to swell the hips, came the Mini dress with lace collars and cuffs, tent dresses and culottes.

False eyelashes and pale lipsticks were also in vogue.   Hemlines lifted and continued to rise.  By the mid-sixties the hemlines were well above mid thigh and known as the micro mini.   One had to be very careful not to bend over rather a very lady like squat to pick something off the floor or footpath!

Fashion was being carried into the general youthful population by the group known as the Beatles with their three button suits, narrow pants and winkle pickers which were elastic sided boots with pointed toes and Cuban heels.  These were known as “Beatle boots” and were widely copied by the young men of Britain.

The First Lady of America, Jackie Kennedy, was also a fashion leader, with her princess line dresses and matching coats and pill box hats.

The designers of the era – Mary Quant who was the first to produce a mini which stayed in fashion throughout the sixties, getting shorter by the season until it was barely long enough to be called a dress. Another notable designer of the time was Andre Courreges, who designed footwear for ladies and became famous for his white knee length leather boots during this time.   He also introduced slacks suits for women and the very popular shift dress, almost straight from the shoulder to the hem and again very short, often above mid thigh length.

By 1968, the hippie culture became a fact of life, together with psychedelic rock, the sexual revolution (hence free love), LSD, cannabis and magic mushrooms in order to explore states of consciousness. The fashion for this culture was almost totally linked to the Flower Children.  Sandals became the fashion for men and women, often women would go barefoot.

Flowing caftans, peasant blouses and gypsy style skirts were worn and for decoration, scarves, bangles and more bangles and love beads were added.

Peace, Love and Freedom had become the slogan of the Flower Children. Ponchos, moccasins, love beads, peace signs, medallion necklaces and chain belts were also essential items to their wardrobe.

Hippies embraced the symbolism by dressing up in clothing embroidered with flowers and vibrant colours, wearing flowers in their hair and distributing flowers, thus, becoming known as the Flower Children. The term later became generalised as a reference to the Hippie Movement and a culture of drugs, psychedelic music and social permissiveness.

Music was also very much a part of this decade, such performers as The Beatles,  folk singer and activist Joan Baez, the Supremes scored twelve number one hits, John Coltrane released A Love Supreme in 1964 considered among the most acclaimed jazz albumns of the era, Bob Dylan and the Rolling Stones also appear on the list of celebrates.   But of course, the King, Elvis, also reappeared on the scene after serving with the American Army.

Flower Power was a slogan used by Americans during the 1960's as a symbol of passive resistance and non-violence. It was started in the opposition to the Vietnam War.  The expression was coined by American poet Allen Ginsberg to transform war protests into peaceful affirmative spectacles. Flower Power originated in Berkeley, California, in the U.S.A,. as a symbolic action of protest against the Vietnam War.

“The cry of “Flower Power” echoes through the land.  We shall not wilt. Let one thousand flowers bloom.”......Abbie Hoffman 1967

WHAT WAS THE REASON??

One can only take an educated guess.    The Vietnam War was raging;  nuclear war was a possibility;  assassination became an often read about affair.  John F Kennedy, President of the United States of America;  Martin Luther King assassinate in America; Robert Kennedy also assassinated in America, just to name a few of the violent crimes that took place.

The Flower Children had plenty to oppose.   Why did they suddenly die out? Could it be that they became adults and parents and had other priorities, I can't say, can only wonder??

BIBLOGRAPHY:

Wikepedia – The Internet – 16 November 2011.

THE FOUR GOLD RINGS FOR JOYCE MARY

INTRODUCTION

The four gold rings for Joyce Mary represent my four marriages and I am going to attempt to describe to you what each marriage gave to me or perhaps even took away from my life.

THE FIRST GOLD RING

My first gold ring was given to me with love from F/Lt Bruce Sheasby, RCAF, a pilot that served on the same base as my Dad, RAF Odiham in Hampshire.

After working in London for a year I decided to return home permanently and find myself a position close to Odiham.   I had thoroughly enjoyed my stay in London with my new friends, seen quite a few London shows, dined in nice restaurants but for the most part, sat on the park benches with those same friends planning our futures.  At 19 years old I wanted to travel, the closest friend I had was a fellow called Derek Ketteringham.  Not a boyfriend as such, he was a bookkeeper in the same company, but someone I shared my dreams with and he shared his dreams.   Derek's dream was to make as much money as possible and retire early. He was just 20 years old.

However, conditional upon my staying in London, my parents had said that I had to return home each Friday evening and return to London on Sunday evening.  They never actually said as much but I feel certain they were aware that I would soon get tired of the travel and perhaps decide to come home to stay. Which I did within ten short months.

I found a position in Basingstoke just a short bus ride from Odiham.   I had to ride my cycle to the village, leave it with the General Store and catch the bus to my workplace. I had been working for approximately six months when news came that in January 1951, 421 Squadron of the RCAF would be arriving on the base. The first Canadian Air Force Squadron to arrive in England during the post war era.   They were nicknamed the “Red Indian Squadron” as they had an Indian Chief in full regalia painted on their flying jackets.

When they finally arrived, a cocktail party was held for them in the Officers' Mess and all Officers and their wives (including me as I was one of the few offspring over the age of 16years) were invited to come and welcome them to Odiham.

One evening I was riding past the Officers' Quarters when a fellow was hanging out of the window upstairs and yelled out “If I buy a bike will you come for a ride with me?”.    I looked up and didn't really recognise him but from his accent assumed he was one of the Canadian pilots.   My response was “You buy the bike, then ask me again” and I peddled on to home.

The fellow hanging out the window did buy the bike; did ask me if I would go for a ride with him and I said “Yes”.  And so began six months of cycling around the village, buying fish and chips and eating them perched on the curb of the road.   421 Squadron were to leave the United Kingdom in November of that year and in early September Bruce asked my Dad if we could become engaged.  The Squadron was due to return to Europe, France in fact, in 12 months.  The answer from Dad was “absolutely not, Janey-Flip is not sitting here in England for a whole year engaged”.   Back to the drawing board!  Within a day Bruce was seeing Dad again with “Can we get married then before I go and we will return to Canada together”. The answer delighted us both – a firm “Yes” and so it was we were married on the 20 October 1951.  Our union was reported in the London Evening Standard with the headline “English Girl Marries Red Indian”. With co-operation from both of us we managed to produce five beautiful children but alas all ended abruptly on the 24 October 1963 when Bruce crashed in Germany and was killed instantly.

I was devastated, I had lost my soul mate, my best friend, my husband, my lover and the father of my children.  I returned to England the day after he crashed without waiting for his funeral – at his insistence over a number of years. The first night I was there I put the children to bed at my parents' home, tucked them in and knelt down to turn off the gas fire. Just for an instant I considered turning it off and then back on without lighting it up again.  I didn't do it because I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to see Bruce standing behind me and he said “You don't need to do that, you can rear these children”.


What did I take away from the first gold ring​? – happiness, complete fulfilment and contentment with my life, tragedy which although it became easier to bear has always been  with me but most of all I take away that someone could completely and totally love me.

MY SECOND GOLD RING

I have written earlier in this course about the second marriage to John, an Englishman, well educated, well presented but an accomplished “con” artist.  He managed to get gaol time in Australia for 12 months and I was silly enough to take him back on his release which proved to be a very poor decision.

Our marriage lasted from mid 1966 to 1972 when I sued for desertion and obtained my divorce in the Alice Springs Court.

What did I take away from the second gold ring? A beautiful baby girl called Nicola-Sue, commonly known as Ni.    Adored by all my other children and also me.  I can never say I regret this marriage because of Nic, she is my positive bonus in the whole disaster and arrived in this world with all love a child can bring and has continued to spread her love to her own children and any other person who is in need. On the negative side  I learned a person could be a skilled liar; I learned forgiveness which cost me dearly; I could say my self respect and esteem suffered but I found an inner strength I never knew I had which guided me out of the financial disaster John left behind. I was left with a huge debt but I made a promise to myself when the divorce went through that it would never happen again unless I was the one that did it.

MY THIRD GOLD RING

My third gold ring was from Norman, a died in the wool outback Australian.  Generous, kind, sleeves rolled up above his elbows, just a typical Australian from the country.   Born in Melbourne but ran away to the Northern Territory when he was 14 years old. Loved the outback and all it had to offer.  Never said a bad word about anybody.

You are probably thinking “Why did this marriage fail?” Well it had some help.

In December 1979 I was exercising in the bedroom before showering ready for bed when I felt a lump in my right breast.   At that time I was Secretary to the Alice Springs Show Society as well as running the Information and Access Centre on Todd Street, the main street of Alice Springs.

I went to the office next morning and a girlfriend of mine, a Steward of the Alice Springs Show Society and also a double certificated sister called in about Show business.  She said “you don't look great this morning”, I told her about my discovery the night before.   She leaned across the desk and picked up my phone, dialled a number and handed the phone back to me. It was Dr Peterkin's office, so I had no choice but to make an appointment to see him.

Twenty-four hours later I was on a plane heading for Adelaide and the Royal Adelaide Hospital.   I presented myself next day to the Out Patients Department; I was admitted, examined and operated on that same day and told by the surgeon, Dr White, “we will do the biopsy on the operating table, if it is cancer, we will make a decision as to what we should do.   When I came too I was minus my right breast!

It seemed to me that my life had been upended within a day or so with virtually no warning.                  I had to return for further treatment and then an amazing thing happened.   My life was brought into perspective with a capital “P”. All colours seemed brighter, the childrens' faces seemed to be etched clearly on my mind, the range that surrounds Alice Springs seemed to be a brighter shade of ochre and last but not least I looked at Norman each evening for a few weeks.   He used to start work early with Ansett, finish early, go to the Federal Club with his work mates and return very happy and content for dinner and then fell asleep on the lounge. I decided that if I only had a few months or years to live, then I could not spend them with Norm.

I spoke to him and said I was going to leave with Nic, explained why and he was devastated but I didn't change my mind.  He wouldn't let me leave the home, said he would leave and eventually did.

What did I take from my third gold ring? An appreciation of country life and how country people lived. An understanding of myself and the realisation that sometimes for no other reason than two people are not suited in their outlook goals and ambitions, that is a good enough reason to part.

Norm has passed away but he managed to find a lady that suited him so much better than me and I was very glad that he did.  We were to remain friends for the rest of his life.

MY FOURTH GOLD RING

My fourth marriage was to Ted.  Ted was the Head of the Department of Community Development in the southern half of the Northern Territory.  I met him through that Department when I applied for the position of Co-ordinator of the Alice Springs Information and Access Centre.

Ted took a very personal interest in our activities and before very long, in me too!  Within a few months he was transferred to Darwin to head up the Financial Section of the Northern Territory Housing Commission.  He was also tasked with investigating suspected payola to senior members of this organisation from IBM. Ted managed to get to the bottom of the mess and on investigation he found that the buck stopped with the Chairman of the Housing Commission.

To make a long story short, the Chairman transferred Ted to a new office, complete with telephone, new car but no staff and no work to do. It is commonly known as being shafted. It took a terrible toll on his mental health and eventually he was advised by his G.P. to leave the Territory.

We left the Northern Territory for Western Australia, he bought a transport business and I had a tearoom and gallery.  Ted's mental outlook was deteriating to such a point when we had to sell both businesses and the house and head east to Queensland to obtain good medical help.

For the next several years Ted was under a Psychiatrist on Wickham Terrace in Brisbane, I set about getting him a Government pension under the Workers' Compensation Act whilst I ran the training business in Toowoomba.   Eventually, he was well enough to take on a degree in psychology at the local University and help in the business when he could. The business was wound up in 1992 and I took on contract work from home for what was then called Workers' Compensation. The business of obtaining a pension for Ted took a couple of years but I was eventually successful and as far as I know he is still collecting it.

In 1996 I went back to the Northern Territory to visit Robyn, Nic and Keith.  On my return it became evident that something was wrong, finally after being asked on several occasions what was the problem, Ted said “I just need some personal space so while you have been away I have found a unit and am moving out”.  The reason he gave was that as he had had a mental problem and had now recovered, he felt he really didn't want anything to do with anyone connected with this part of his life.

To say I was devastated is not true – the years of dealing with Ted whilst he had suffered from the mental illness had taken its toll on me – there had been times when he had slammed out of the house and I had hoped that he would never return! But, of course, the reason for him wishing to leave was not about personal space but rather about a rather wealthy lady he had connected to during my trip to the Northern Territory.

What did I take away from the final gold ring? That once trust is destroyed it is very unlikely that it can be repaired.  Maybe I should say that I could not find that sort of forgiveness.  Ted tried  to get me to change my mind whilst I was still in Toowoomba and even after I left for Bundaberg but we could never have made it back together.   It confirmed to me that it was time to rely on myself and to date I have never extended to anyone the sort of trust I consider should be  enjoyed by two people. 

FLYING DOCTOR FUND RAISING

The principle player in this tale is Mr Lance Rust. He found his way to Ayers Rock long before the road was bitumised; buildings were built; the only thing that was standing in those days was the wonderful red rock known as Ayers Rock, now called Uluru and the Olgas showing their beautiful faces in the distance.

Lance saw the opportunity of promoting the area as a destination for tourists and since he was recently married to a lovely English girl, decided to run the idea past her. His bride's name was Pam, a really good sort and when you hear tales of Rusty as he was known by one and all and the antics he got up too, you will agree that she must also have been a pretty good sport.

So, after much haggling with the Federal Government he got permission to start building; the first building was to be a watering hole, the Ayers Rock Pub. With little or no labour other than the odd Aborigine who would work spasmodically to gain a few shillings, Pam and Rusty set about building their dream.

Since there was no other dreamers at the time, they had no alternative but to build some temporary accomodation, which they did. A home built of branches and grass, very primitive but it served the purpose until they got the first part of the Pub up with a roof and walls. To make a long story short, they eventually had a building with a small general store, a bar selling all kinds of wines, spirits and beers and a huge dining room with kitchen attached.

Of course, all this activity did not go unnoticed and so the Inland Motel was built, the Red Sands Motel and a couple of smaller ones came to being.

A small community sprung up and Rusty started the first bus run to Ayers Rock. Of course, eventually the Federal Government got involved and a chain was errected on the Rock to enable the climbers to climb safely.

Once the Pub was up and running, Rusty took it upon himself to raise funds for the Flying Doctor, called frequently for tourists and aboriginal people alike. Any excuse for a raffle or the like and it wasn't long before the name of Lance Rust became linked in a serious way with fundraising.

I had an opportunity to see just how resourceful he could be in 1971 when I arrived in Ayers Rock. On evening the Pub was full of visitors, four coaches had arrived just before dinner at the pub and the diningroom was going full tilt. Word seeped down to those dining that there was to be a grand fundraiser held at 9 pm that evening. No one seemed to know what the event was but it meant that those that were interested would be asked to donate to the Flying Doctor Base and then go outside the Pub at the appointed hour and wait.

After dinner had finished there was great excitement. What could it be? No one had heard even a whisper. Pam was in the bar serving and denied having any knowledge of such an event. So everyone headed for the bar, registered their names and the amount they had put in the bucket under the watchful eye of Lofty the Ayers Rock Guide, making sure that the money matched the sheet.

Everyone ordered a drink, four coaches meant 4 x 44 people plus the drivers and other locals who might be interested so the crowd reached over 200 heads. Lucky that the Pub sat in the midst of a huge parking area, plenty of room for the 200 waiting with bated breath.

Obviously, it wasn't the raffle for a new car but Rusty had done some weird things in the past to raise funds.

Time was getting close. Only five minutes to go and no one knew where to look to see what was going to happen. The Sgt of Police from Kulgera duly arrived and announced “No cameras will be tolerated for this event. Please put them away and I will be patroling to see that this order is not ignored”.

There was the sound of a small motor bike coming toward the Pub foreground, could this be the surprise?? All eyes turned to the noise, it was very dark so everyone was wondering whether they would be able to see the surprise.

Then the motor bike seemed to hit the dirt on the far side of the Pub and started to drive around the perimeter. The Sgt from the Kulgara Police, announced “you are about to witness a first. We can now see the Bike we have been waiting for – sitting astride are the first streakers ever to perform at the Ayers Rock Pub”. The motor bike did two rounds of the Pub, the driver and passenger waived and disappeared into the night.

The only concession to the sandy conditions was that the lady driver on board wore white kneehigh boots.

One member of the group attempted to take a photo of events but unfortunately his elbow was knocked, accidentally of course, and his camera fell into the sand in the dark.

Great cheers rose from the crowd and everyone said it was worth the wait but just who was on the bike, no one had said.

After all the excitement had died down and the tourists and locals had returned to the bar, the money was counted and reached many hundreds of dollars. Rusty joined the tourists and locals to thank them for their support of the Flying Doctor Base and Joyce Mary, who had manned the kitchen during dinner also joined the group. Joyce Mary was wearing a white dress but had overlooked removing the knee length white leather boots which had stood out against the night sky– a dead give away as to who was driving the motor bike!

Walking with Dinosaurs or maybe

In 1998 I sold the house in Toowoomba, settling on the 8th August and set off for Townsville, Northern Queensland where my youngest daughter Nic was located. The reason for my departure from Toowoomba was the breakdown of my fourth marriage! Apparently, my choice of partners had not really been a total success.

Garage sales were a thing of the past and all other furniture and treasures were put into storage until I found a place to stay that I felt would serve as my final resting place! I had a suitcase, a bag of lawn bowls and a 1987 Nissan Pulsar.

Maroochydore was my first stop. Not by choice I might add. I had a verbal agreement with my ex-husband that I would call at his bank as soon as settlement was completed to deposit one half of the proceeds of the sale. I also needed a few groceries as I had booked a unit at Peregian Beach for a week. On entering the car park of the Shopping Centre, a man driving a four wheel drive came out of a lane in the car park and struck my front bumper. Luckily I saw it coming so was able to pull up just as he collided with me. Damage was non existent on his vehicle and a slight rub on my bumper. His comment “I have only just purchased this vehicle” as he drove off muttering and I was left to wonder how this journey was going to end.

I spent one week on the Sunshine Coast at Peregian Beach. Very restful after selling the house, garage sales four weeks in a row and putting all my gear in storage. I played bowls at the Noosa Heads Bowls Club, walked the beaches near and far and had the odd glass or two or wine on the balcony of my unit. Finally, it was time to move on up the coast.

I was very excited at the idea of finding a new home in a new place and set off full of enthusiasm for my new task.

Next stop was Hervey Bay. As I arrived at the hotel to register I noticed the sea in the bay was very flat – maybe I could see the whales today. Not being a good sailor the state of the sea was very important to me. I asked at Reception and was delighted to hear if I hurried over lunch, they would arrange for a small bus to pick me up at Reception and transport me to the embarkation point.

Yes, I did see the whales - I went out on a boat trip at 1 pm and came back to shore after dark, having seen 14 of these magnificent animals and one calf. A scene I shall never forget was of a Mother and Calf swimming alongside the boat with a line of whales on each side of them for protection. The Captain of the boat said “just wave your arms, do not shout, and the whales will come over to the side of the boat”. In they came close to the boat and spent quite a long time diving under the boat and out the other side. It was breathtakingly beautiful to watch. I was a very happy but very tired tourist when I arrived back at the hotel.

Now it was time to be on my way again and to Bundaberg this time. I called in a Real Estate Agent there and felt it was my lucky day. There was a unit available in about three weeks, situated close to the CBD and I could see it on that day and if I liked it, make arrangements to move in three weeks to the day. The unit was excellent and well kept and I said yes right away. Now my time was all my own. I knew where I was going to live and could now concentrate on having a long overdue holiday with Nic, so I headed north to Townsville but that is another story for another time.

I returned to Bundaberg early in September. Hard to believe only four weeks almost to the day from the time I departed from Toowoomba.

I spent 10 years in Bundaberg and during that time discovered that the residents were fortunate enough to have a Zoo of native animals in one of their parks. The Council were responsible for the care of these animals and the Zoo was situated in a lovely park area by the Burnett River.

Each morning I would walk around 7 am and once I found the park and Zoo it became my favourite walk each day. I would take time out to walk around all the cages of birds and the enclosures of the larger animals. My favourite animal was Mary, the Emu. Her enclosure was quite large and as I came near, she would come over to the fence and I would say “Come on Mary, let's take a walk” she would walk alongside me all around the enclosure. When we reached the River, I would say “let's go back Mary” and she would turn with me and we would walk back to the start again where I would say “bye Mary, see you tomorrow”.

To have such a large animal respond to a human being seemed incredible to me. I recalled trying to get a photo of an emu on a trip around Australia a few years before and could never get close to them. Each morning I walked with Mary for the rest of my stay in Bundaberg. I left Bundaberg and returned to Toowoomba on the 1st April 2008. Shortly after I returned I received a telephone call from a friend of mine in Bundaberg to say that Mary had been hacked to death by a group of teenagers over the week-end.

There have been films produced where people walked with Dinosaurs but I felt privileged to have walked with Mary, the Emu and saddened by her loss.

My fist Christmas alone

Christmas Day 1999 was a day I had approached with some fear and trepidation as it was to be the first Christmas I was to be alone. It had been my decision to stay in Bundaberg for Christmas but I wondered how I would feel when I awoke on Christmas morning.

The media was responsible to some extent for this feeling; the appeal for funds at Christmas being run by the local paper had depicted the aged as “lost and forgotten”. The latest headline “Granny dumping has started early this year”. I brushed these comments aside telling myself that I had chosen to stay alone; I had a lovely unit, lots of music, good books to read, my health; what more could I want? I had two bottles of champagne in the refrigerator, one for Christmas and one for New Year. I wasn't sure I would drink them but felt that if there was any pain of loneliness I could open a bottle and loose myself in the contents. I had myself in a state of expectancy, expecting to be sad!

I awoke to a perfect summer day; birds seemed to be in special voice, starting at 5.30 am. I lay in bed listening to the sounds of nature and thinking about all the Christmases I had had in the past.

I remembered Christmases in Canada with the snow piled high each side of the driveway, of the day we erected the Christmas trees, one inside and one out. Bruce would put up the tree outside, sit it in the snow and pack it tightly around the base, the cold sufficient to keep that way long after it was due o come down. The baubles and coloured lights making a fairy land of our snow covered garden.

The inside tree was another matter. We always had a real Christmas tree, put up the first week-end in December. Mum and Dad would come around for the afternoon and there would be drinks and nibbles for the grown-ups; popcorn and lolly water for the children.

Once Bruce had the tree in position, the decorating would begin. Granddad would put on the lights and then the children were let loose with paper chains, popcorn strung on cotton, plastic baubles, tinsel and cotton wool for pretend snow.

The afternoon started off with smiles and laughter but a few hours later the children would be squabbling as to where their particular decoration should go. Granddad and Nana became wearier by the minute, Bruce had retired to the kitchen with a beer and I was trying to remember that it was the festive season. Finally, succumbing to “Enough is enough, time for your bath, dinner and bed, in that order”. At this point I could feel a huge sigh of relief that swept over Mum, Dad and Bruce.

Christmas Eve was another great occasion, excitement almost too much to bare, there was a letter to be written to Santa with special requests, the stockings to be hung over the fireplace and cookies and milk left out. Bruce and I would put Santa's presents under the tree about midnight and had to remember to dispose of the cookies and milk, leaving only the crumbs on the plate. The children couldn't wait to get to bed on that night. Christmas morning started very early and we tried to contain their excitement with the contents of the stockings and Santa's gifts so that the wrapped parcels could wait until Nana and Granddad arrived later in the morning.

The first Christmas after Bruce was killed is etched in my mind forever; I was living in Torquay, Devon, with my parents. Dad decided we would go out for Christmas lunch. The children opened all their presents and everything was as it should have been but the joy of Christmas was not with me that year. I remember very little about that Christmas day except that Dad insisted that I go and buy myself a new outfit for Christmas. The pink woollen suit I bought at my Mother's insistence was only ever worn once because it became synonymous with my loss.

We spent three Christmases in Devon. I bought a house in 1964 and continued to be awakened by small feet hurtling down the stairs to find out what Santa had brought. I remember one Christmas Eve spending hours putting together a car racing set for David.

Keith was the first one day the stairs that year, it was just after 4 am and dark and he stepped right into the middle of it. Back to the drawing board.

In 1966 I remarried and came to Australia. My first Christmas in Australia; the sun was shining, the temperature was “hot” and I wanted to bake mince pies for Christmas. I closed all the curtains, put on the carols, pretended I was still in Canada and did my baking. I was very homesick that Christmas; not so much for the people I had left behind but for the climate I missed.

For the two Christmases we spent in Adelaide, the Christmas fare was the same, mince pies, turkey and Christmas pudding. It seemed that old habits died hard.

In 1969 we moved to Alice Springs. We were living in a small three bedroomed house but at Christmas time it was overflowing with our new friends. Anyone who was on their own for Christmas knew there was an open invitation to 33 Bloomfield Street. The turkey was cooked in the morning but very often, over the next fifteen years, the turkey was devoured cold after the sun went down as the centre of the buffet garden party. There were too many people to fit into the house.

One memory that comes back is watching out of my dining room window, there were about 40 people in the garden having a great time. One young man was devouring my mince pies but not before he had picked up the tomato sauce and put a dob on each pie. Finally, Deb enlightened him as to the contents of the pie! The fun times we had with the bush base, the comb, the bongo drum, the washing board and latterly a portable organ that Keith had saved and bought.

Whilst I remained in Alice Springs, the family congregated each Christmas although as the children grew up and moved away, the crowds dwindled..

I remarried in 1983 and Nic and I went to live in Darwin with Ted. Again my Christmases were to change. December in Darwin is very hot and humid so Christmas as we had celebrated in the past was out of the question.

It was time to start the day with a champagne breakfast, a siesta to recover and then Ted would prepare a sumptuous seafood spread for the three of us consumed late in the evening. Finally, Nic was ready leave home, she had won a scholarship to the N.T. University and wanted to share a flat with three other students.

Ted and I left Darwin in 1986 and headed for Geraldton, Western Australia. We spent just one Christmas in the West. We had great neighbours, the Cray fishermen who spent six months of every year on the Abrolhos Islands off the coast of Geraldton, living in wooden shacks and fishing for the crayfish. Their homes in Geraldton were magnificent as is befitting the millionaires they were and our Christmas with them was an occasion to remember.

Finally, in 1987, we headed for Queensland, spending the first Christmas in Noosa and then until 1995 celebrating Christmas in Toowoomba. No Christmas compares to those spent with the children growing up, Christmas is a time for them.

I thought my first Christmas alone would be sad, it wasn't, today I have been celebrating the years of happiness I have been fortunate enough to experience.

To my children go my thanks for all the happiness they brought over the years; add to that some aggravation they have caused me and I think I have experienced the mix that most families enjoy – what more can I ask for?

The Gift

Following my return from Ayers Rock, I quickly settled to life in the Alice. My first priority was to find a position in town within easy reach of home so that I could walk to work. John, the second husband, had relieved me of the family car when he absconded with most of our funds some eight months earlier. The car was eventually found but by this time numerous payments had been missed and it was re-possessed!

I had only been in town a day or so when a gentleman who I will only name as Bob telephoned me and asked me what my plans were. Since I had none to speak of, he said “Well, I have a proposition for you”. His offer was of a well paid Office Manager at his property, Desert Motors, the Agency for Chrysler Australia in the Alice. My response was “but isn't that leased to two young men?” His reply “Yes, it is, but if I don't get someone into that business within the next few weeks to manage it, they will go bust. What about it?”

I decided that I had nothing to lose, the money was good for that time and he offered me a second hand car to go with the job as Desert Motors was on the other side of the Alice.

And so began an interesting and lively association with Bob, some of those stories will have to wait for another time, because this story is about the Gift.

I worked for Bob for nearly three years and then he moved his operations to the Gulf Country and it became impossible to keep tabs on him, so I reluctantly resigned as his Personal Assistant.

On receiving my resignation, Bob rang and said how upset he was but what was I going to do, I said “I am going to work at the Alice Springs Hospital as an Administration Clerk on the Women's ward”.

He was not impressed by my effort to assist the community where I could, however, eventually calmed down and then he asked “would you keep my cheque book and if I need anything, you are the signatory so I will be able to ring you and ask if you would get things for the Normanton base. ” “Not a problem” I replied and so it was, the arrangement stood in place until I left Alice Springs in 1982. Now the stage is set, I can get on with telling the story of the gift.

I had been working at the Hospital for probably eighteen months and one evening I received a call from Bob. He said “June and I have been trying for some years to conceive a child. June is now 45 years old and we have decided to adopt. Could I ask a favour of you​ ​?There is a young mother and baby in the Maternity Ward at this time and I would like you to go and look at the baby and call me back this evening. I understand it is a boy”.

Next morning at morning tea time, I left the Women's ward and walked over to the Maternity Ward. Sister in Charge and I knew each other and I mentioned that I had come to see Baby ??? She was kind enough to take me to the nursery and show me the baby. A lovely boy weighing in at just under eight pounds. Whilst we were standing at the head of his crib, the Sister started to tell me the story of the young mother, just 17 years old, from Adelaide and that she had not seen the baby nor did she want to.

When I got home from work, I rang Bob in Normanton and his first question was “Well, what did you think?”. I said it was a lovely healthy little baby and told him the story of the young Mother. Bob made little comment and thanked me very much for taking time out for him.

A couple of weeks later, I was working in the Women's ward when the Sister in Charge of Maternity asked to see me. Her question was “what do you know about that young mother and her baby that you came to see. They left the hospital almost two weeks ago and no one can trace her in town?. “I have no idea, you did mention to me that she intended to return to Adelaide”. Finally the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place for me. Bob wanting me to look at the baby. The sister in charge telling me of the predicament of the young mother. I wondered what Bob had been up to to gain perhaps a son.

A few years passed, the only personal contact I had with Bob or June was to help as they set out to move to Cairns. Bob would still be at his base in Normanton and yes, I was still buying and shipping stuff to him with his cheque book in hand.

Several years later I was working for the Department of Community Development and was at the Information and Access Centre on the main street of Alice Springs. One day June walked through the door looking very drawn and holding the hand of a six year old boy. “Joyce, we need your help again.” I asked why and the reply was “This is Peter, he is now ready for school, he has just turned six and due to enrol in private school in Cairns within the month, but we have a problem”.

“What is that?” I asked and “how can I help you?” “Peter needs a birth certificate to present to school. I have no idea how to obtain one but thought you might know someone who could help”

I gave June the key to my house and sent her there to wait while I made a few enquiries. I first contacted Mr Bob Cowper, Head of Welfare, made an appointment and went over to see him. Bob Cowper and I had had a good relationship since he had first interviewed me for my present job. Needless to say he had some tough questions to ask and I didn't have all the answers. An appointment was made for June to visit him that afternoon and take Peter along. However, he said to warn June that once this was in the public forum, it would mean that if we failed to help her Peter would become a ward of the State!

I took time off and went home and broke the news to June. It was a hard decision for her to take, the thought of losing her little boy seemed almost too much. However, after an hour of soul searching and gentle talk, she decided that she would have to go through with trying to get the birth certificate. Arrangements were made that I would meet her back at my place after I finished work that evening.

All afternoon I wondered how she was going and finally five thirty pm came and I was free to go home. June had arrived just a few minutes before me.

As I walked through the front door, she burst into tears, I feared the worst. Luckily, Bob Cowper had talked with her, discussed Meter’s future and had rung the Magistrate serving in Court for the day and explained the situation to him.

June had to attend Court and tell the story, Bob Cowper presented Bob and June's case to the Magistrate. Then it was the Magistrate's turn. He did not mince words and June got the biggest tongue lashing of her life but in the end the Magistrate relented and instructed that the birth certificate be issued with haste showing Meter’s parents as Bob and June ??????

Certainly, Peter proved to be the “Gift” of a lifetime for Bob and June
but there was a second Gift to this scenario the monetary gain for the biological mother who had her return fare from Adelaide to Alice paid and $10,000 to start a new life.

The Tourist

What started out as a beautiful English summer day, sadly, ended in a disaster but perhaps I should tell you the story.

I was living with the children and my parents in what is known as the Riviera of England, Devon, which is located in the south west of England. I had returned from Canada three weeks earlier to tidy up my affairs and make arrangements to take over the house in Ottawa at the end of the lease. It became apparent that I would probably be better to remain in England until my house in Ottawa became vacant so I decided that the next thing I needed to acquire was a car. This is where my tale begins.

I had decided on a Ford Cortina Estate Wagon, I would have liked a Jaguar Saloon but my Dad had something to say about the cost of servicing and parts, really boring stuff and so I turned to the Cortina. I met with the Sales Manager of the local Ford Agency and placed my order for the car; it had to be left hand drive because at this stage of my life I had every intention of returning to Canada and the other advantage was if I took the Car to Canada within 12 months, I did not have to pay the English tax on it. The car took several weeks to arrive, complete with sign on the rear saying “Left Hand Drive. After becoming conversant with Dad's car and his words of advice “Janey Flip you must be sitting on the centre of the road, remember we drive on the left hand side of that road; I now had to get used to driving a car with me on the gutter side of the road.

Some days after taking delivery of the car, the Sales Manager, Brian, asked if I would like to take a look around the areas of Torquay, Brixham and Dartmouth at an afternoon convenient to me. I thanked him and then consulted with Dad; he gave the thumbs up. After all what could happen during a trip through the countryside.

To say the countryside of Devon took my breath away was an understatement. The green of the trees and grass, the red of the soil, the dry walls at the side of the country lanes and the huge oak trees were a delight to view. It was a bright sunny day and Brian decided we would start with the Cockington Village, just 15 minutes drive from Torquay.

The village was filled with stone walled cottages in the palest pink and all the roofs were thatched. We parked the car and had a leisurely walk through the village. Among the cottages were unique shops built in the same manner with the same thatched roofs, there was even an open old fashioned blacksmith's shop with the working anvil and the blacksmith not making only horse shoes for the visitors but very attractive bric-a-brac. A fascinating start to our tour.

We spent a very happy hour strolling through Cockington, hard to believe we were actually living in the 20th Century. From Cocking ton, we drove to the edge of Dartmoor National Park, a total contrast to the village we had left behind.

The moorland seemed to be a bleak unforgiving landscape with exposed granite tops known as tors, providing habitats for the local wildlife. Can't say I saw any, I suppose most of the “wildlife”: would have been incarcerated in the notorious Dartmoor Prison. A forbidding looking building. The moor had very bleak area of rocky outcrops and peat bogs which are very dangerous and undetectable unless you are a local. It experienced a much higher rainfall than other areas in the locality and where water accumulates, dangerous bogs and mires can result. Many stories have been told of prisoners escaping Dartmoor never reaching the outside world, they were either captured or disappeared from sight forever. The grandeur of Dartmoor was not lost on me whether it was summer or winter after this visit. I didn't know at the time but the children and I were to spend many happy hours over the next year or so exploring the lower tors and nooks and crannies of the moor, always keeping the car in sight. Many a ghost story has been told by Mum on the moorland to the delight of the children.

The sun was going down on our journey and Brian suggested that we adjourn to a village pub he knew and have a meal and then head home. Sounded like the perfect end to a perfect day.

We drove a short distance, passing Buckfastleigh, home of the Abbey and came to a River. Alongside the river was a carpark. Brian pulled over. My question was “so how are we going to get across the river?” His response was “this is the River Dart and we are going to leave the car here and get the ferry across.

I saw no sign of the ferry but then I was looking for some sort of boat to allow us this journey. Not so, just then a raft like pontoon started to come from the other side and we walked down to the water's edge; there was a gentleman on the end of a large wheel which he was turning to pull the pontoon towards us. Finally it arrived and we jumped on board.

The pontoon started to head to the other side. When we reached the middle of the river we could see a second man winding a wheel on the other side of the river to pull us across. The cross was uneventful and reasonably narrow so I treated it as a Devon experience. We thanked the second man and made our way up the hill to the local pub. Very ordinary from the outside but magical inside as so many are. With shiny horse brasses on every wall, large polished pumps for serving beer and their very well known brew cider.

We decided to have a drink before dinner, Brian had a beer, I decided to try one of their ciders. The cider I knew had always been clear and served in a small glass, I received a pint of cider which you couldn't see through, they called it rough cider. One was enough! Dinner came next and it was delicious. We were making out way out when one of the locals invited us to join him in a game of darts.

Much laughter later, a gentleman said “Hey, you two what about the ferry?? You know the last one left about half an hour ago!” I looked at Brian and said “Now what?”. The local who had told us that the last ferry had gone, said “Don't worry, I have a dinghy down at the River and you can get across with that, I will pick it up in the morning”. So off we went. I wasn't too concerned; the River wasn't too wide and you could see the car in the car park had a light over it.

I was sitting in the dinghy facing the other side of the River, Brian was on the oars. As we started across I saw that we were going further and further right of the car park, I said to Brian “Hey, you are going crooked” he replied “don't worry, the River Dart is a tidal river and we must have caught the turn of the tide, we'll get there”. Well, Joyce panicked to put it mildly, I saw us getting closer and closer to the estuary, going out to sea and never found again. That couldn't happen.

We were about half way across on a slant to the right, of course, when I made a decision to jump over the side and swim for the car park. I left my shoes and bag in the boat and over I went and swam like my life depended on it. I made the other side, soaking wet with a white skirt and top which had turned a muddy ochre colour. I didn't care, I just sat on the bonnet of the car awaiting the “man” who said “don't worry” – luckily he arrived about three quarters of an hour later when I was almost dry although very bedraggled.

The only problem left was to get home, get inside the house without my parents eyeing their daughter and asking those awkward questions that parents do. Needless to say that was my first and last trip with Brian.

In touch with the unknown

Zweibrucken, Germany, 24 October 1963. It was the evening Bruce, my husband, crashed his F104 Fighter whilst practising circuits and bumps under the hood of his aircraft to pass his quarterly instrument test.

The time was 7 pm when the doorbell rang at our married quarters. I thought Bruce had forgotten his key as he had said he would be home around 7 o'clock.

I answered the door to find the Commanding Officer and the Padre standing there. I knew immediately that Bruce had crashed! They came into the lounge and the C.O. said “we have no details of the accident at present other than the location of the crash site. When we return we will give you an update”.

How did I feel. I can't remember. I was in a fog.. I was aware our home was filled with pilots and their wives who had come to keep me company, bringing food and asking what they could do to help. The base Doctor arrived and offered me tablets to get me through the next few hours which I refused. All I can remember thinking was how was I going to tell the children that Daddy had crashed. All five of them were sound asleep but the morning would come soon enough.

Coffee was being made and sandwiches were handed around. I sat in the corner of the lounge on an armchair with polished wooden arms. I seemed to have been sitting there forever. I felt my life was in tatters and then I remembered the fishing tackle box. Bruce had put all our important papers in it saying “if anything should happen to me, grab the fishing tackle box, the children, pack the bags and head for home. Don't wait for the for the funeral”. How often had he told me that over the past twelve years of our marriage?More times than I cared to count.

The C.O. and the Padre returned as promised around ten thirty with the news that the crash was fatal. The Padre said we should offer a prayer for Bruce.

The words were no sooner out of his mouth when I found my myself on the ceiling of the lounge, looking down at a room full of bowed heads including my own. Once the Padre had finished His prayer, I was somehow back in my chair. I remember thinking I mustn't tell anyone of my experience tonight, they will think I am having a nervous breakdown. I did not say one word about that event until December 1979 when it happened again but that is a story for another time.

Finally the crowd started to thin out, it was almost three in the morning. Just Bruce's close friend, Scotty and his wife Jean were left. Scotty started telling stories of his exploits with Bruce during their early flying days, believe it or not he had me laughing at their escapades.

It was just after four the morning when Jean convinced me to go and lie down. I couldn't sleep. A cockerel crowed somewhere in the neighbourhood and to this day if I wake very early and hear a cockerel crow it transports me back to that night of tragedy forty nine years ago.

I wasn't sure of the best way to tell the children. David was 10, Keith 8, Debbie 6, Michael 4 and Robyn 14 months. The two youngest just wouldn't understand but I knew I would have to tell David, Keith and Debbie. The only way I could tell them was to just say “I am so sorry children. Daddy will not be coming home again, he crashed in his aircraft last night.”

To this day I am not sure whether I got the telling of the tragedy right. I tell myself grief played a part in the conversations that took place. These are but a cloudy memory now.

The children and I flew from Zweibrucken to Exeter, Devon, on the day following the accident accompanied by a WAAF Officer. A RAF car was waiting for us there and again the WAAF Officer accompanied us to Preston in Devon. I was carrying the fishing tackle box and the WAAF Officer was carrying the suitcase.

My parents were living there and once the tears had stopped flowing, the WAAF Officer said her goodbyes. I can't remember whether I said “thank you” to her but I am sure Mum and Dad did. Now I had the odious task of ringing Bruce's Mom and Brother regarding the accident.

I can't remember much of that evening. The children ate dinner and made ready for bed. They were all sleeping in one large bedroom. I do remember it was a very cold night because I lit the gas fire in their room to heat it up before they went to bed. Time came for me to go to retire but before doing so, I went to turn out the gas fire in the children's room that I had lit earlier.

The children were all fast asleep and as I knelt down to turn the gas tap off, my grief overwhelmed me. I could not see how I could rear these children without Bruce. I looked at the gas tap; all I had to do was turn it off and then turn it on again without lighting the fire and we could all join Bruce! Just as this thought slipped into my mind, I felt a hand rest on my shoulder.

I looked up and there stood Bruce, in his uniform just as he was the previous morning when he left after breakfast. He looked down at me and said “you can do this Hon”. He was gone in a second.

I knelt in front of the gas fire stunned. Was that Bruce? The ghost of Bruce? I had no idea or was it Bruce unable to rest until he had spoken to me? Of course, I didn't know then and I don't l know now.

I do know that from 1964 to 1994 Bruce appeared in my dreams at least once a year. He was always dressed in his battle dress, looking exactly as he did in 1963. However, when he appeared the final time in 1994, he was an older man, not in uniform. He never spoke in any of the dreams until the last time when he said “You are fine now, Hon”. David would have been 41, Keith 39, Deb 37, Mike 35 and Robyn 32!




Written for the 26th April 2012