Vale Molly

The last week seems a blur of travel, emotion, nostalgia and hard work. Lib and I left for Wangaratta last Saturday morning. We took Ian's Subaru, Lib's old car, as I'd had it serviced during that previous week, a run would do it good, and Lib's Hyundai had a fault with the electonic locking/unlocking, we couldn't open the tailgate at all and doors other than the driver's door which needed a key because the button wouldn't work, could only be opened from the inside. Yet another case of modern technology causing more trouble than it is worth.

The roadsides and farmland was lush and green after the wonderful winter and spring rain and Eildon reservoir was full to the brim, a sight to behold at Bonnie Doon. I had strong memories of my introduction to fishing there with Billy Edward's family in late 1967. We were camped on one side of the Bonnie Doon arm of the lake and Billy and I took the dingy to row to other side to sneak a smoke too far off to be detected. We took the fishing rods as part of the ruse, tied up to a tree near the far bank, dangled a couple of worms over the side and lit a fag in bliss. Bang went the rods, we caught over 50 redfin in an hour which astounded Bill's dad, who said, "Remember this well because in your lives you'll be lucky to see such once more."

Lib's sisters Pat and Marg and Marg's Phil were at Molly's house when we arrived. They said Moll was lucid but in pain and discomfort and wanting to sleep all the time. When Lib and I arrived at the private hospital we went to room 8 where her husband Bill had died eleven years earlier. One side of her face was still scarred by the shingles and the other bruised by her fall that had caused a brain haemmorage causing her to lose her cognitive ability for a day or so. She was a skeleton with skin. She said she had a constant headache from which she could not get relief. Conversation was difficult as the shingles made the hearing aid too painfull to wear. I stayed in the background but she recognized me and gave a smile and small wave. After an hour or so I went to the tea room for a cup of black tea, which I enjoyed uncustomarilly with a half a spoon of sugar. On returning to the room Lib suggested I go to the supermarket and buy some salad and penne pasta to go with the meat sauce we had brought from home for dinner that night.

I took the shopping back to Molly's house and gave the others an update and when I returned to the hospital Lib told me Molly's GP had been in. I was sorry I'd missed him as Molly had spoken so much of him over the years, she was friend's with his parents and knew him from boyhood and was besotted by him too it seemed, a not uncommon thing I'm told in the circumsances of Molly's long slow loss of health and self reliance.

In my absence a morphine injector had been installed on Molly's thigh, part of the palliative plan she and her doctor had agreed on. As we left I kissed Molly on the cheek and she clasped my hands in her beautiful hands, which I had admired earlier, twitching and wringing as she fitfully slept and dreamed. We shared an intimacy at that moment, her eyes conveyed her love for me and I knew it was the last time I would see her. It was goodbye.

Next morning I walked early with Lib. We took Molly's binoculars to observe birds. The case had an inscription, "Presented to Clarence Browne to recognize 50 years service to the British Footwear Company September 1954." Clarence was Molly's father and must have started work there in 1904. Molly was born in 1919. Lib went to the hospital with Pat. Molly was in less discomfort but still lucid, it was expected her death to be some days away.I rang the railway station and booked a ticket to Melbourne, catching the 1.20pm coach to Seymour. Just north of Violet Town I thought of my old friend Norm Jenkins, a recluse old beekeeper whose house was right where the freeway now runs. His house was compulsorily acquired, he refused to leave, but died of a heart attack well before a final confrontation. Awaiting the train on Seymour station I remembered standing there on first week end leave after a month national service training at Puckapunyal, 39 years ago. The express train to Southern Cross rolled through new housing developments into the northern suburbs of Melbourne. I was struck by the general look of industry and delapidation for the most part.

A half hour wait for a connecting train to Belgrave was followed by more than hour stopping at 27 stations on the way through Melbourne's eastern suburbs. The railway reserves, once we left the inner city where nothing much of anything grows, were a mass of weeds, low growing like blackberry in particular, and many tree weeds like pittosprum and cotoneaster. If you had a beehive at each station I reckon you'd have a blackberry honey flow, such was the rampant growth and proliferate flowering. A unkempt man carrying a bulging laundry bag sat near enough to me so that I could fill my nose with his scent resembling a municipal tip. He picked up a paper cup with a lid and straw that had been discarded by a previous traveller and consumed the remaining contents. Then he took a spray can of deodorant out of his laundry bag and sprayed his face and hair and torso with it. Fortunately he alighted at Surrey Hills. I hoped he was aware that soon he'd be able to have his fill of wonderful fresh blackberries if he could compete with the birds.

The train pulled into Belgrave at 6.20pm. I had a half hour wait for a Gembrook bus. I knew there was left over home made soup at home in the fridge, but by now I was hungry so I snacked on four steamed dim sims from a noodle shop in Belgrave's main street before the 695 bus came. I took a leak in the bushes behind the station, rather than find the Belgrave public toilet. Gord told me a while back when he was in there some queer tried to lure him into a cubicle. I was in no mood for rubbish like that.

Six hours on the road, I was home at 7.20. I'd rung Gord from Belgrave and he was waiting at the bustop which saved me a twenty minute walk home, not that I minded walking but I rang him to let him know I was coming so he didn't have to worry about feeding the dogs or putting the chooks away. The ticket in Wang cost me $22.90 and covered me on Metlink so I paid no more to get to Gembrook. Good value I think.

I'd booked the Hyundai in for a service on the Monday at Clappo's garage. I told him to have a quick look at the electric locking but not to spend time on it if it couldn't be rectified easily, as it was a warranty problem and Hyundai wouldn't charge me but I'd have to go to Dandenong. He fixed it, it was a loose connection at the fuse box.

I had a lot of picking to do on the Monday and then an appointment with arborist Steve Major in Nobelius park to appraise tree work. Lib rang Monday night to say Molly was comfortable and still communicating. Marg and Phil had left on the Sunday as I did and Pat went back to Bendigo that day. Lib, having taken a weeek off work, was to call them to return as Molly approached passing.

I went for a walk Tueday morning and the the light on the answering machine was flashing when I came back. Molly was in my thoughts on my walk. It was Lib's voice on the message, telling me Molly had passed away at 2.00am, peacefully in her sleep. I had a lot of picking to do, beech foliage, they're all screaming for it this year, and a Park Advisory Group meeting at 3.30 pm, followed by a meeting with the Emerald Village Committee at 4.30.

Lib came home Wednesday afternoon and cooked roast lamb. We played Molly's CD's of her old 1930's music that she loved. The busy week continued to a crescendo yesterday in 35 degree heat with a horrible north wind that left me exhausted. It rained overnight and continued this morning with a peaceful calm that has allowed me to reflect on the last seven days which saw us heading of for Wang this time a week ago.

Molly is survived by three of her sisters, all in their nineties. She lost her oldest sibling Nell last year aged 99 and brother Lin a couple of years ago at age 94 I think. Lib has been now four days without her mother alive and I can see it has shaken her to her core. I'll miss the lady who has been mother-in-law since 31 Jan 1981. She was an amazing intellect, well educated, well read, well travelled, a lady of strong opinion who could mix and match with people of all ages and backgrounds. We loaned Molly my grandmother's photo album when 'Old Nanna' was still alive, which contained letters and postcards from my grandfather from France during WW1. This family treasure is now held for safety by Meredith's Annie and it contains Molly's letter to "Annie" (Old Nanna), thanking her for sharing it with her, and saying how wonderful it must be for her to look at the the letters and photos and feel 18 again. Molly was all class.

Molly's death notice was in Wednesday's Age and is as follows-

MEEK
Ina Mary (Molly)
07.01.1919 - 15.11.2011
Beloved and loving wife of Bill(dec) much loved mother, mother-in-law and grandmother of Margaret and Philip- Alexandra, Lizzie and Pippa; Pat and Michael- James and Jonty; Libby and Carey- Gordon and Robbie.
Dearly loved sister of Nell (dec), Cath, Lin (dec), Pat and Margaret.

There will be a Memorial gathering on Molly's birthday, January 7th, 2012 at 16 Willow Drive Wangaratta, 2-5pm. All Molly's friends and acquaintances are invited to attend.

Elvie's Birthday

It was Elvie's 83rd birthday today. I had a present for her but I forgot to take it when I left for the farm in rather a hurry. It was an oxtail, which she adores, as do I. It remains in our freezer. I'll take it tomorrow unless I forget again, but it doesn't matter, Elvie is not one to be worried about who does what for her birthday.

She made me a posy of flowers at my request, as I was boked as guest speaker at the November meeting of the Emerald Garden Club to talk about the story of Chamomile Farm. I was approached a couple of months ago about it, of course the date struck a chord, and I accepted thinking I'd have no trouble talking about the family's work over nearly four decades as I'd lived it.

So my preparation was over the last three evenings, mainly in my head, mind mapping as I did other things, or lying in bed after having fallen asleep in the chair when I should have been organizing it.

It went alright I think, they were such nice people so it couldn't really have flopped big time. The posy was a big help, it gave me a start then something to go back to right up to the end.

I didn't have dinner. I was asked to be there at 7.45 pm so I worked picking and bunching beech to help for tomorrow, till 7.15, then after changing clothes I went up to the Silk Palace Chinee and ordered a Singapore noodle box, thinking I'd eat it after I got home, reheated. There's a lovely lady, Jayne, who works there some evenings. She asked me about my day and what I was doing and she suggested why don't I come back after my talk and get the noodsles on my way way home, then they will be fresh. Good idea! They shut at 9.00pm, that should be no problem. I paid in advance.

So I go to the venue, find there's a bit of business before I'm on, do my stuff, have a cuppa, give my nod for speaker's choice of display, then head home knowing I'd missed my noodle pick up.

Here I am enjoying a glass of red wine, satisfied that I gave the talk a go, even if there were many things I left out by accident. Chamomile Farm has played a role in Emerald's history. The wonderful Elvie has been a major driver.

On a less happy note, Molly is fading fast and not expected to live past the weekend. I think Lib and I are going up on Saturday. I'm trying to help Lib through without being obvious about it. How does it feel when your mother dies? Lib is a brave soul and working in an aged care facility death is no stranger to her. But this is her mother. When Bill died, after the funeral, in bed that night, Lib cried and cried her heart out for hours. I am prepared for a similar reaction but am hoping it's easier this time given we're eleven years on and Molly is 92 and has been so frail and failing for so long.