Mamma Mia

World War 1 had just finished and the family were still mourning their dead. Manned flight had been a possibility for a mere thirteen years and William Morris Hughes was the Prime minister. Born into a pioneering family in Pemberton, Western Australia on 28 November, 1919 was one Phyllis May Guppy, my mother. Mum’s father and Grandfather built the first timber mills in the town and her father, John Luther Guppy, went on to become the champion tree feller of the state. She Left school by 1931 and helped on the farm milking cows, by hand, morning and night. Other duties including looking after younger siblings (10 kids altogether) and helping her father in the vegetable garden. In the mid 30s, at only 16 years of age, she went to the Gold fields in Kalgoorlie looking for work. Employed as a waitress in a boarding house she met and married Leslie Albert Gillett, a miner, on 1 May 1939. Dad was a Naval Reserve Rating and in the same year he was married he answered the bugle call leaving Mum at home with first one daughter born in 1940 and then another in 1942 while he served in the Royal Australian Navy. He was drafted to HMAS Sydney and in November 1941 was sent to the Flinders Naval Hospital for treatment from problems associated with his last voyage to Singapore on convoy protection duties. The next day the Sydney sailed without him and sunk with all hands. The memories of that lucky escape and the tragic loss of all of his mates stayed with him for life as did his medical problems. After years of fighting the Repatriation Department he was granted a TPI pension in 1959. At one stage he was denied a pension because he actually owned a car. I remember it well as I played on it as a boy while it was up on blocks at the farm. A 1927 Chevy from memory, it only worked until it needed repair and as there wasn’t enough money to feed the family, there certainly wasn’t enough for car repairs. It did serve some purpose though as the goats fed on the seats and canvas. Trips to Hollywood Repat Hospital to try and treat his medical problems and regular fights with the bureacrats formed the basis of Mum and Dad’s struggle for survival and it was here that her strengths came to the fore. Left alone on a farm for months on end with now three children to feed, Mum opened a shop to try and bring money for food into the family. Working long hours under a Tilley lantern on the farm to have stock for the shop impacted on her health and subsequently ours as well. Fights with Repat took up a lot of her time as she fought for her man and his rights as a veteran. I would imagine that eventually Repat simply folded under her relentless attacks, although they did refuse the full pension for a long thirteen years. We moved to Albany to be nearer to doctors in 1959 and Mum’s fighting abilities came to fore again as she drove us to finish our education. Both Mum and Dad, although largely uneducated themselves, were both smart enough to recognize that a good education made all the difference. Looking after an increasingly sick husband and the demands of three kids to educate with limited funds brought out the “tight money manager” Mum. The move to Albany also produced another daughter, much loved and welcomed by us other siblings she brought some light into an otherwise difficult life. Being a child of the depression Mum had grown up in a virtually cashless society, not because of computers like today, but simply because there was hardly any spare cash around. When I sold her home about ten years ago all the light bulbs were 20 watts and the gas heater hadn’t been used since Dad had passed away. The year before I went to pay her electricity bill and the guy behind the counter said “Pay for three months – don’t be mean! On her average usage it’ll only cost you $60!” She is a prolific writer, intelligent but condemned to leave school early during the Depression, she nonetheless could communicate beautifully. She wrote mostly about the Karri forests where she grew up, her early life on the farm, her childhood and her children. Her books, mostly poetry, are in all the libraries and schools in the South West of Western Australia. She still gathers like minded people about her in her mature years. You would be amazed at the backgrounds of the elderly in the Nursing Home where she now lives. Afternoon teas at the home produce a bevy of the enlightened and professional. Published and/or successful Artists, Painters, Marine Engineers, Businessmen, successful farmers and Marine Captains to mention a few of her friends I’ve met over the years. As an aside, if you visit an “old Folks” home be careful of expressing your own perceived self importance. The old guy in the wheelchair may have a PHD in your field and the old woman in a Zimmer frame may be an accomplished author. I spoke to Mum this morning. “Had an angina attack last week but feeling better now – in fact for a woman 90 years and six months old I feel pretty good.” Well, in that case, so do I.