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 22nd, 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 26th 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 1st 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.
