Eulogy for a special Mum

This is the tribute I shared today at my mother's funeral. I wasn't sure that I'd be able to keep it together, but somehow I managed it. 

We’re here today to celebrate the life of my mother, Isobel Ann Field.

It’s impossible for me to do justice to her life in the little time available (or even if I had hours), so I hope that what I can offer here will maybe spark some memories you have of Mum’s life, or maybe fill in some gaps and tell you something you didn’t know about her. I encourage you to share your own stories and memories of her life with each other over afternoon tea after the service (and toast her with some of her dreaded legless lexia).

Isobel was the youngest of eleven children born to Bessie and William Jones, on May 22^nd, 1936. As with many large families in those days, life was hard, and the family was poor, especially when Isobel’s father became too ill to work, and eventually died when she was only 11 years old.

Despite that, Isobel had some fond memories of her father. Even though he was a very harsh taskmaster on the older children, especially the boys, Isobel was the baby of the family, and the favourite. She got away with much mischief, her older sisters often getting the blame for things she got up to.

She told me of times when she was very young and her father was still working, when he’d come home on pay-days, and sit her on his lap, and tell her to dive into his coat pocket. There she would find a lolly pig (a sweet which some of you may be old enough to remember), and this was a special treat for her every pay day.

Isobel did very well at school, and came top of her class at Asquith Primary School every year. Dad often commented that I got my academic prowess from Mum’s end of the gene pool, rather than his. But after Isobel’s father died, it was like a switch turned off in her brain, and she really couldn’t be bothered with school any more. So at the Home Economics Secondary School she attended (because girls didn't go to 'high schools' in those days), in most of her classes, the teacher’s opening line would be, “Miss Jones, up the front!”

Isobel also spent some time in her teen years living with her sister Phoebe and her husband on their farm in North Queensland. It was there that she learned to ride a horse, and became quite proficient at daredevil horseback stunts.

She left school at the age of 15, and started working at Woolworths, where her oldest sister, Mona (21 years her senior) also worked. Out of all of the Jones girls Isobel and Mona were probably the most alike in looks; and their Woollies co-workers often mistook them for mother and daughter rather than sisters.

One of Isobel’s jobs on the lolly counter was to weigh up the bags of mixed chocolates for sale. Her mother had a particular favourite, and so Isobel would be sure to make up a couple of bags exclusively of these particular chocolates (with a secret code mark on the bag) so that when her mother came in to buy her chocolates, Isobel could sell her these special bags, instead of a standard mixture.

Around this time, Isobel joined an amateur theatrical troupe, known as The Merrymakers, who rehearsed in the Beecroft Community Hall, and performed revue-like shows for local nursing homes and hospitals. At 5’8”, Isobel was the tallest girl in the company, and as she told me (and anyone else who would care to listen) on many occasions, she had the longest, and best legs in the company too.

It was in the Merrymakers that she met the man she would spend over half a century with, Neville Field. Their first date was the Woollies staff Christmas party. Of course, Neville was such a shy, retiring little thing when it came to the fairer sex, that Isobel had to take the initiative and ask him out... but it all took off from there.

There was a bit of culture shock on both sides, I think, as Neville, an only child, was indoctrinated into how things worked in a larger family, and Isobel was boggled by the privilege and plenty of Neville’s upbringing.

The Joneses were great practical jokers, and Neville found himself the victim of such a joke played by Isobel’s sister Lew, the first time he went to meet the family. But later on, it was Isobel’s turn- on one occasion when she went away with Neville and his parents to the Central Coast, she short-sheeted Neville’s bed, AND sewed up all the arm and leg holes of his pyjamas. Neville’s mother thought this was just outrageous, and especially scandalous that Isobel should be touching his unmentionables since they weren’t yet married, only engaged. Of course, it is usual when this particular joke is perpetrated, for the PJ arm and leg holes to be roughly hand sewn to enable them to be quickly unpicked when the joke had run its course. I’m not sure whether Isobel didn’t realise this, or was just a bit bloody-minded about doing the job properly, but she used a sewing machine, and it took quite a while before Neville was able to actually put on his PJs that night (adding to the disapproval of his mother).

But despite all this, Isobel and Neville survived all the practical joking, and got married, on 26^th January, 1957. Eight years later, their life was made complete when they became the parents of the most wonderful, gorgeous, intelligent child ever born ...

... and trust me, you don’t want to know some of the things Mum told me about those eight years of waiting, about the lengths she and Dad went to in their attempts to become parents. Suffice it to say, in her later life, Mum made a particular point of never asking young couples, “Isn’t it about time you started a family?” as so many people said things like that to her when she was young and she found it dreadfully hurtful. She often said to me, “If only they knew how hard we were trying to start a family, and how painful it was when they asked that question.”

Of course, this didn’t stop her from making comments to me about such things, and on one occasion, when I was in my early 20s, she came out with, “Don’t you think you should think about settling down soon? Dad and I aren’t getting any younger you know, and we’d like to be grandparents before we’re too old to enjoy it.” As an only child, of course, I was their only hope for grandparenthood.

After I picked my chin up off the floor, my reply to her was, “well, if you want to be a grandmother, that’s easy. I can do that for you, no worries. But if you want to be a mother-in-law first... well, that might be a bit harder.” I don’t think I’d ever seen Mum lost for words before, but she certainly blathered a bit, and once she found words, said, “oh, yesyesyes, I definitely want to be a mother-in-law first!” and strangely enough, she never hassled me about procreating again.

But I’m getting ahead of myself a bit.

Having grown up in Parklands Rd Mt Colah, it was rather fitting that the place where Isobel made her home to raise her own family was also in Parklands Rd, this time in North Ryde. Neighbours were an important part of life in Parklands Rd. When Isobel and Neville were building the house, they ‘borrowed’ power from John and Kay next door, and that was the start of a lifelong friendship, and many long conversations over the side fence. I know that Mum was especially grateful for the love and friendship of Kay and John in the years since Dad died.

A strong sense of community developed among the young families. We had street parties on Christmas Eve at the Standens’, on NYE at our place and there were many games of cricket on the street, and other things that we all did together over the years. The mums in particular enjoyed a good chat in the mornings after we kids left for school. Apparently there was one day when Dad came home from his postal run in the early afternoon, and found Mum and co still chatting in their dressing gowns out the front.

Time marched on, kids grew up, and people moved out of Parklands Rd. But people also moved in. When Michelle and Justin were first looking at the house next door with the thought of buying, after being bailed up by Dad doing his ‘Neighbourhood Watch grumpy old man’ thing, they commented to each other how nice it was that the old man next door had his daughter there putting his washing on the line for him. Of course, I wasn’t anywhere near the place, and the person they’d seen was Mum, in the usual skimpy shorts and singlet top that she wore when she mowed the lawns, put the washing out, or did any work around the yard. Needless to say, many years later when Michelle and Justin shared this story with Mum and Dad, Mum was rather chuffed that they thought she was Dad’s daughter, probably a bit moreso than Dad was.

I am eternally grateful to the Listers for taking the pressure to procreate off me, by providing Mum and Dad with three delightful surrogate grandkids in Jessica, Beth and Joe. Mum loved to babysit when they were younger, and took special delight in going to watch them play sport. Is loved you guys so much, and having you in her life made her so happy- don’t ever forget that.

I could go on, outlining various things that Mum did in her life- how she worked as a cleaner, a parcel contractor, hospital switchboard operator and domestic engineer, but I want to tell you about the kind of person she was.

Mum was a very quiet and shy person, especially when she was young. She inherited her mother’s droopy eyes (as I did), which meant that if she wasn’t concentrating on smiling and looking happy, her neutral facial expression could look a bit like a frown or a scowl. This, coupled with her shyness, meant that people who didn’t know her often mistakenly thought that she was a bit aloof or standoffish. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Mum was kind and generous and a great friend to many people, and also incredibly humble about it.

When she first got sick, she received many cards and phone calls from friends, including some people she hadn’t seen for a long time, who commented on what a great friend she had been to them through the years, and she was genuinely surprised by this, and said, “I don’t know what they’re talking about, I’m nothing special.” But the reality was that she was special, and many of her friends have told me of the times they have been able to talk to Mum, to tell her things that they couldn’t share with others; knowing they could rely on her to listen, maybe give advice, but most importantly, that whatever she was told was “in the vault”. It was never shared any further.

Mum was also extremely generous. If ever there was someone who needed something, she would go out of her way to help, and supported numerous charities. On one occasion when she was visiting me in Victoria, there was a family in one of my congregations who had a granddaughter who had been chosen to sing with the Aust Children’s Choir on an overseas tour, but because of difficult family situation, her mother wasn’t able to afford the cost of the trip. Her grandparents had asked the church if we could auspice some fundraising events for their granddaughter, and when Mum heard about this, she quietly pressed a $50 note into my hand and asked me to give it to the family to help the girl (whom she had never met).

She was also very active. Her house was always spotless, and she often wondered out loud whether I had been swapped with her real child at birth, because I am such a slob around the house. My grandfather (Dad’s father), who lived with us for many years, once commented that Mum would catch the dust before it had a chance to land, and that’s how she was.

She also loved her sport. When I was young, she loved going to watch my cousin Stewart play 1^st division soccer for Marconi. Dad and I kept well clear of her at the matches, because she was an embarrassment to be around as she yelled things like, “Kick it!” and made various comments (usually not positive) about the ref. She also loved her Aussie Rules football. As a teenager, every Saturday, all afternoon, I had to endure the VFL Match of the Day (as it was then called) on TV as I was doing my homework on the loungeroom floor. And of course, her joy knew no bounds, when the South Melbourne Bloods relocated to Sydney, as the Swans, which was her team for many years. It was a special gift when they won the premiership for her last year.

She wasn’t just an armchair sportswoman, and played tennis with a group of ladies from the time I was in late primary school, until her illness meant she could not longer play. That group of ladies have been very special friends to her for many years. And many of them are here today.

When Dad’s health declined, Mum cared for him with very little external support (mostly because his stubbornness wouldn’t allow it). It was a stressful time for her. When Dad died, just over five years ago, it was a very hard time for Mum emotionally, but it also freed her up from the responsibilities and stress she had in caring for him.

During the past five years Mum and I have indulged in some ‘Girls’ Own Adventures’. We went to the Boxing Day Test, took a trip to Western Australia, where I introduced her to the Monastic town of New Norcia. She loved the town, and was a bit excited to shake hands with one of the monks at a social event in the monastery whilst we were there.

The next year, we went to New Zealand, which was the first overseas trip for both of us. When I was planning our trip with my local travel agent, he asked me if Mum would need a wheelchair, being in her mid-seventies. I looked at him and said, “My mother plays tennis every week. I will need a wheelchair before she will.” She was also a bit dark that, at the age of 74, she had to pay full price for a regular passport, and was one year shy of qualifying for a ‘seniors’ passport for half price. I told her that she just needed to make sure she got her money’s worth out of it, and make a few more trips overseas.

Unfortunately, this was not to be. After months of mystery symptoms and many many tests showing nothing out of the ordinary, Mum was finally diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in February last year. When it was discovered that she already had secondaries in her lungs, this dealt a devastating blow, as we had hoped that surgery might provide a cure, but that also wasn’t to be.

Mum was always very pragmatic about her illness, and said many times that at her age, she had lived a long and good life, and was not afraid to die. She felt sorry for the younger people she saw who came for treatment at the chemo day infusion centre, as they should still have their whole life ahead of them, but the cancer was robbing them of that. However, pragmatism aside, I remember the day we received the news that Mum’s prognosis was terminal, Mum, Kay and I collapsed in tears in the corridor outside the oncologist’s rooms and sobbed all over each other.

In this past year, and especially the last six months the focus for Mum and me particularly, has largely been on Mum’s illness. And it has been a huge thing for us both to deal with. I have been especially grateful for the support we received from some great doctors, the Northern Sydney Home Nursing Service and the wonderful community palliative care team from Greenwich Hospital, which supported us to keep Mum at home for most of that time, and Catholic Community Services who have provided domestic assistance and other support.

I’m also personally grateful for all the love and support that I have received from friends, family and colleagues. Especially for the graciousness of my home congregations and presbytery in freeing me up to be here with Mum for the past six months.

It would be really easy to let the hugeness of Mum’s illness define how we think of her and remember her today. But that was just one year, out of 76½. So when you think of Mum, don’t think of the cancer, don't let it win - think of her generosity, her wicked sense of humour, her obsession with sport and her beloved Sydney Swans (and her excitement when they won the flag for her in 2012), her love of cheap sweet wine, and her birds in the back yard; the many Melbourne Cup lunches she hosted, her love for those around her, but most of all for a good life, well lived.

Whilst Mum was not a regular churchgoer, and probably wouldn’t have called herself a ‘Christian’ (and often boggled at the direction my life has taken in that area), she is the kind of person who was always selfless and generous and loving, and I could certainly see the light and love of God shining through her, even if she might not have been aware of it.

She’s now set free from the pain and tears and frustration of her illness, and reunited with Dad, who’s probably had a few things to say to her about all the money she’s spent, and things she’s bought in the years since he died.

Rest in peace, Mum, and thanks for the fond memories you’ve left for us.