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I walked from East Melbourne to Parliament station today. Through Fitzroy Gardens. Past the spot where Chris and I had our family engagement bash. Well not really past the spot, rather I altered my route so I passed within site of the spot. I realised where I was when I was half way through the park. It was one of the last times I saw dad either not in his house or not in hospital. I remember dad perching himself in a wheelchair (it's arguable as to whether he really needed the wheelchair or not....) next to the park bench. Sports coat on over a faded and hole-riddled polo shirt and a pair of faded jeans that were too big for him now. His feet in the sandals that were the only shoes he could wear owing to a badly fused bone in his big toe (or something....)

Passing through the park, turning away from the spot, I realised I was skirting the Peter Macallum Cancer Institute. To go past or not...? My feet seemed to decide for me, as they took me to St Andrew's Place, and I passed in the shadow of that white cubic building, knowing nothing had changed within. I know what the inside of that building looks like now. In many ways I wish I didn't. In other ways I'm glad I was there as much as I was.

I don't know what the point of this post was, just that places and memories are always intertwined for as long as either exist.
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check this out.

It's about a family morg has been working with. She gets a plug about 3/4 of the way in

Posted via

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My cousin just had his second son, George. I liked the name Maximillian (for their first) much better.

All going well. 8lb 6oz. Why are babies always quoted in imperial measurements?
shamo: (Default)
There's a new Magee in the world. His name is Maximilian.

Maximilian Magee - now there's an eccentric billionaire/superhero name if ever I heard one....

(A cousin of mine just had his first baby - first boy of the new generation too)

Granny Nora

Mar. 9th, 2006 06:35 am
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I mentioned earlier that I buried my grandmother on Tuesday, and that she was an old woman. I just wanted to record some of the Eulogy (which dad gave) because her story's worth telling.

My grandmother Nora was born in 1912 in a small hamlet in county cork in Ireland, as the 9th of 10 children. 9 of them survived childhood, and her family got through relatively unscathed in spite of 'The Troubles' and the Civil War that followed Irish independence. After she got through that her father died in 1924, leaving her mother (Granny Connor - it's the only name I've ever heard her called) to fend for herself and her 9 little ones on her own.
When she was 14 she had to drop out of school and start working as a domestic. Something she kept doing her entire life. at 18 she moved to London to keep her family afloat, and to try and start earning a decent living herself. She worked and lived with her sisters who had already made the move in the years before. Then the war came. She got a job in a munitions factory working the night shiftthe day shifts went to English girls. At one stage she got hauled before the Magistrate's Court because she showed up late to work - in the war industries that was an offence during WWII. She was frequently so tired after work that if a bomb raid came, she wouldn't have the strength to make it down to the air raid shelters. She lived close to the munitions factory where she worked, and close to a major rail exchange in London - prime bomb raid realestate. One night, a nearby bomb literally knocked her out of bed.
In 1943 she married my grandfather, a man from Belfast who served in the Royal Navy continuously during the war. Once the war was over, they settled in London and started their own family. There were 4 children - and 2 unskilled Irish workers trying to get by in a world that displayed 'Irish Need Not Apply' in job adds in the paper. My grandmother sometimes worked 3 jobs at a time to get by in those days. My grandparents were always employed, and always dirt poor.
My dad came to Australia when he was 17, on his own - it was 1960. My family followed 2 years later, and settled here. My grandmother kept working - holding jobs in the Melbourne University Cafeteria, and as a cleaner for years - and watched as one by one her children made their own way in this country. She left us last friday - but in reality her mind had left us a good 8 years ago. Up to her final days, in spite of whatever she'd been through: the depression, wars, prejudices, extreeme poverty and other hardships, she never got angry and never complained
And that's 92 years in 2 minutes.... makes me wonder how I would have done in those days....


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