(This first
section written approx. 1993)
Introduction
I am often
incredulous at the indifference shown by my offspring, now in their
early twenties, at what one might term the “better” things of life,
like classical music, works of art, good books, etc. It’s recently
made me realise that I was even worse at their age, and it wasn’t
until I went overseas and was exposed to these things, that I even
knew they existed. However, in my case I had lead a particularly
sheltered and insulated life in Australia - maybe the world suddenly
“became my oyster” when I went overseas.
Just to get a
time frame in mind, I was born in June 1941. I came from Botany, a
working-class suburb of Sydney, where one associated it with
factories and black smoke that covered the washing on the line. It
wasn’t really that bad and we did at least boast a huge backyard -
well at least huge compared to anyone else’s I knew. In later years,
when explaining to people I came from Botany, I was always
mentioning “We have a huge backyard - like a tennis court”.
Coming from
Botany was I suppose akin to coming from somewhere like Port
Melbourne in Melbourne, or Carrington in Newcastle. Many families
lived there for generations and were proud to do so but once I had
left it I’m afraid I dreaded telling people I came from Botany. No
comment was ever made when I did, and I often longed to say I came
from somewhere else. I noticed often when other people said where
they came from, invariably someone would say what a lovely area that
was, or they knew relatives or friends living there. No one ever
said that about Botany. (I don’t think Heather ever really felt this
way - to her credit.)
I did try
sometimes saying I came from “near the airport”, or when overseas,
would say, “Botany Bay”. My best friend at Botany told me that her
Mum always told people she came from “Bow-tani”. If anyone ever took
it any further and asked where “Bow-tani” was, she would say “near
Banksmeadow”. Botany and Banksmeadow were so merged they were really
one and the same, but no one ever seemed to have heard of
Banksmeadow. I was never quite game to say “Bow-tani”, but many
times in my naive longing to be somebody else from somewhere else, I
was very tempted.
I never
hesitate now to tell people about Botany, or that my parents still
live there. However, a bit of my adolescent snobbery or hang-up
still lingers, as I do often find myself telling people how it’s
changed out of sight.
I wonder if I
was born with a restless soul as I’ve moved house so many times in
my life, quite opposite to the atmosphere I was brought up in where
all my family and the people I knew, grew up in their family home
until they were married, then moved into their own house on
marriage, often in the same suburb, and that’s where they stayed for
the rest of their lives.
The first
inkling that there was something “better” in life came when my best
friend, Jill, mentioned above, moved to Botany during my primary
school years. Her parents built a new house, not a very common
occurrence in Botany at the time, and although it was only fibro
like ours, it seemed like a mansion to me. They had a separate
dining room (until then I didn’t know such things existed), carpet
instead of lino, and three bedrooms. We only had two as did most
people I knew. And the piece d-resistence was that they had a
pianola. How I was in my seventh heaven when allowed to push the
pedals.
High School
possibly brought my background to my attention more. I went to Dover
Heights Girl’s High School, a new school at the time, and “the”
school in the Eastern Suburbs as far as public schools went. My
primary teacher had wanted me to go to Sydney Girls’ High, but my
parents decided to send me to Dover Heights because a cousin was
already going there and also shorthand and typing were taught there.
This would not have been possible at Sydney Girls’ High where it
would have been necessary for me to learn a “useless” foreign
language! Ninety five percent of the girls at Dover Heights were
Eastern Suburbs girls, with a few extras like us from the Southern
Suburbs. I guess I felt like a fish out of water from day one. I
hated High School and was glad when I left. However, for the first
time it did give me something I felt proud of. I might have cringed
telling people I came from Botany, but how I loved to say I went to
Dover Heights Girls’ High School. How pleased I was when early
prospective employers appeared impressed that I had attended the
school. Now, of course, I don’t know whether to cringe or chuckle
over my whole attitude at the time. (By coincidence, two of my very
best friends in life are girls from my same year at Dover Heights
High School - Lyle and Judy, yet although I knew who they were at
the time, I doubt I ever spoke to either of them during my time
there. It’s lovely to have such long term friends)
I did want to
better myself and over several years of office positions I was
always on the lookout for a better position. What a different world
it was then work-wise. Right from my first position and onto
subsequent ones, I usually went for interviews for three or four
positions and then I would choose which one I would take. My
children find this harder to believe than most things I tell them.
My daughter, a final year Business Degree student, recently managed
to get a part-time job as a shop assistant from 200 applicants and
thought that she was lucky. So did we!
I was reading
an article one day and came across an item on a girl working as a
Secretary in the Department of External Affairs (now Foreign
Affairs), and how she had just come back from a posting overseas. In
a flash I knew that that was exactly what I wanted to do and from
then on aimed for it. I found out the requirements, even found out
about someone who worked there, and as soon as I was 21 I applied
(you had to be 21 years of age). It wasn’t as straightforward as my
previous job interviews. The interview itself went o.k. but my
medical was the problem. I was failed because I was one pound
underweight according to the height/weight/sex chart the Government
doctor had. He was particularly curt and told me that I was
like most young girls today - if I didn’t have a cigarette and black
coffee for breakfast I would be the right weight. I can remember to
this day my frustration and embarrassment that he should say such a
“scandalous” thing. I assured him I’d never had a cigarette or black
coffee in my life and always had a proper breakfast, but I could see
from the expression on his face that my sins had been compounded by
also being a liar.
Fortunately
this was only a short-lived set back. I was soon able to reapply and
pass my medical. The day the letter arrived saying I had been
accepted I was over the moon. It was like all my dreams had come
true. Now I had not only attended Dover Heights Girls’ High School,
but I was to join the Diplomatic Service. Unfortunately, I still
came from Botany!! At this stage I was 21 years old.
Early
Remembrances
Before I start
with when, in many ways, I felt my “life” began - that is, going
overseas, I should pass on some early remembrances.
One of my
earliest ones would be playing with the Shirley and Scott kids, who
were neighbours. I can clearly remember how I loved playing with
Edna Scott with our dolls and our tea-sets in the backyard. Edna and
I would be “Mrs. This” and “Mrs. That”, and we would chat over our
cuppas, and then take our babies for a walk around the yard.
I know starting
school was a wonderful experience and I loved it from day one.
Kindergarten, Infants and Primary school were virtually all happy
experiences. I did well scholastically and in 6th class I
was one of the House Captains that were elected. I’ll always
remember how proud I was of this. Of course I have to remember
something bad, and it was rainy weather! This was because when it
rained Dad insisted I couldn’t wear my shoes to school (had to take
them in my bag to keep them dry), and the misery this caused me by
having to walk to school barefooted. Now this is a memory that
Heather might have quite different from me. Firstly it’s possible
that by the time she went to school Mum and Dad were better off and
she didn’t need to walk to school barefooted, however, if she did, I
can imagine Heather would actually think of it as fun!!
I used to go to
Physical Culture, which I enjoyed, and was taught the banjo, which I
hated and detested but was forced to do so. How I begged and begged
to not do it, but to no avail, and how I begged and begged to be
allowed to join the Girl Guides instead, but also to no avail.
Heather was allowed to join the Girl Guides and I was always miffed
about this.(I will admit that possibly re the banjo it might have
been me that begged in the first place to learn an instrument, but I
certainly never envisaged a banjo! I think I had visions of learning
the piano - just goes to show how unrealistic kids can be.)
I’ve already
mentioned how much I hated High School. There were 6 classes in my
year and I was always in the “A” class, but I did struggle to stay
there - but stay I did. Apart from not really having any friends
much at High School, except one girl from my class who was also a
bit of a loner like me, the worst part was never having the correct
uniform, which was a vital part of fitting into Dover Heights in
those days. I can remember when the Queen visited Australia, our
school was going (like virtually every other school in Sydney) to
the showground to see her. There were only 4 girls in the whole
school (out of about 1000) who didn’t have the correct uniform, and
I was one of them. My pleas to Mum and Dad (or at least Dad, who
controlled the money) fell on deaf ears. In front of the whole
school assembly the Head Mistress singled out us 4 girls and said
although we were a “disgrace” to the school, she was going to allow
us to go and see the Queen, but we would have to be kept together in
a small group and out of sight as much as possible. Can you imagine
this happening at a school today? No wonder I hated High School.
I think maybe
Heather’s remembrances of Dad would be somewhat kinder than mine,
but my early years, right through my teenage years (even when I was
working and once in front of my friend from work, Lyle), are full of
numerous occasions when I got a belting. I often felt that Heather
could answer back and get away with things, whereas I only had to
give a wrong look and I was in trouble. I clearly remember one
instance where I was sent up to Aunty May’s to borrow a casserole
dish. On the way back I tripped and broke the bowl. I immediately
ran back to Aunty May’s in tears, but she said not to worry - she
knew it was an accident - and gave me another bowl. When Dad found
out (Aunty May unfortunately blabbed), I got the biggest belting of
my life - not only for breaking the dish but also for not telling
Mum and Dad. I also lost my pocket money for a month (possibly a
whole shilling in those days), and was grounded indoors for a month.
Yes, I was definitely a wicked child - wasn’t I??
There were also
happy memories, and one of them is about my Nanna Tovey. I just
loved her to pieces and possibly was her favourite grandchild as I
used to visit her so often. I also loved being able to stay
overnight with her, and going to the local pictures with her.
Grandpa was just like Dad - maybe even worse - and Nanna and I used
to have a sort of conspiracy to avoid him as much as possible. It
was so sad she died when I was overseas. I’ve also regretted not
talking to her about her early years in England.
Other happy
memories are of Crookhaven Heads where we went for many Christmases.
It was always mainly just Mum and Aunty Ivy (the two people I
possibly loved most in the world in those days). We always had great
fun down there. I know it was Mum’s favourite place.
Possibly my
happiest memory when being at home, was my 21st birthday.
Mum (and Dad) gave me a surprise party - and it really was a
surprise. It was just family, but it was one of the loveliest nights
of my life. I can still clearly remember every gift I was given, and
still have most of them. Mum and Dad gave me a sapphire dress ring
which we had made by a jeweller Aunty May knew. It remains one of my
most treasured possessions.
With Mum being
one of 11 children (the youngest of 9 girls), I had lots of Aunts,
Uncles and Cousins – though some of those cousins were as old as Mum
and I was brought up to call them Aunty or Uncle – children in those
days were always polite in this respect. They all got on extremely
well – I never ever heard that any of them had had an argument with
each other. Aunty Ivy, mentioned above, was by far my favourite. As
far as Dad was concerned, he had a brother and two sisters living.
One was Aunty May, also mentioned above, and the other was Aunty
Phyl – who was quite a bit younger than the others. Aunty Phyl and
her husband, Uncle Norm (I am so polite I still call them Aunty and
Uncle even though I am now in my late sixties) are now in their
early to mid-eighties. I mention them as they are remarkable role
models – still go dancing, swimming, and even playing tennis up till
recently. As for holidays, there must be nowhere they haven’t been.
Setting off
overseas
Now back to my
commencement of life with Foreign Affairs. A very happy three months
ensued during my being based with the Department in Canberra. There
were three other girls who started at the same time as myself and
from the beginning our main topic of conversation w
as wondering
where we would be posted. We had the opportunity to talk to other
more senior girls who were back in Canberra between postings, though
I would have done better to listen to them more carefully and maybe
wouldn’t have made as many mistakes as I did in subsequent years.
The big day
came when we were given our postings. Mine was to Dar es Salaam and
I am sure it wouldn’t have mattered where it was to, we would have
all been equally as thrilled and sure it was exactly the place where
we had been hoping to go. That’s a bit of an exaggeration in my case
as at the time I didn’t even know where Dar es Salaam was. I soon
found out and my enthusiasm wasn’t dimmed at all.
I doubt I will
ever forget the excitement of that next month preparing for my
posting. We were given a huge luggage allowance (60 kgs. we could
take on the plane, then another 60 kgs. we could airfreight, then
other household goods that could be shipped in cabin trunks). Not
only did I have to equip myself with household goods, none of which
I possessed, but the post report said many items were not readily
available in Dar es Salaam and it was advisable to take two years’
supply. Shoes were mentioned, and I went out and bought six pairs. I
can still clearly remember taking over the back verandah at home and
having on display for all my family and friends to see what I was
taking overseas - including things like my dinner service (from
Woolworths, but a plain colour so I hoped no one would know),
cutlery, towels, etc. etc., and of course my six pairs of shoes and
other clothes.
In those days
even secretarial staff travelled first class, with passports marked
“Official”. These were “higher” than ordinary passports, but not
Diplomatic ones. The first time I had ever been in a plane was to
fly to Canberra for the position. Now three months later I was
flying off first class in Qantas for Africa. Things have changed at
Sydney Airport since those days. All my family came to see me off
and they were right with you till the end, when you simply walked
across the tarmac and got on the plane. They were only a hundred
yards off and time and again I kept coming to the top of the gangway
of the plane and waving goodbye to them for the “last time”.
We were no
sooner airborne than I was into making my first boo boo. Not only
had I never had black coffee in my life, but I had also never had
alcohol. However, I had heard the girls in Canberra say you were
served with alcohol on the plane and being in first class you could
even have champagne. The thought of not having something, or
ordering a fruit juice, never occurred to me. We had barely undone
our seat belts when the stewardess came to ask us would we like a
drink. I was in the very first seat and the first person asked. With
all the sophistication in the world I could muster, I said “I’ll
have champagne”. To my mortification (in front of all the other
first class passengers, and all complete strangers) she told me that
was not possible. Champagne was not served at that time of day
(admittedly it was only 9 a.m. in the morning). If I particularly
wished to have it with my lunch she would arrange it for me.
Needless to say when lunch came I made no further mention of
champagne.
I would have
gladly hidden under the seat if it was possible and spoken to no one
the whole trip. However, I was fortunate to be sitting next to a
very kind gentleman who had his wife and daughter in the seat
behind. They took me under their wing and made me part of their
family for the trip - including a stopover in Manila - until we
reached Hong Kong. By coincidence, and to my amazement, he was the
Managing Director of a large International company based at Botany -
around the corner from where I lived. Never in my wildest dreams did
I think I would be associating with such an important person. And to
think he was treating me as an equal. I’ve never forgotten his
kindness. He must certainly have queried the Department’s policy of
sending such innocents abroad.
I had a couple
of days in Hong Kong and doubt I and my three suitcases would even
have reached the Hotel if my above friends had not insisted on
transporting me in their chauffeur driven car to my destination (we
were all staying at the same hotel - another classy surprise).
Travelling alone with three suitcases is akin to a nightmare but
travelling first class I could never resist the temptation to use my
full limit. Even a couple of years down the track I still hadn’t
learnt my lesson. I can remember being stranded at Manila airport
with my three suitcases, unable to find a porter or a trolley, and
needing to use a public telephone (no mobiles in those days!) to
ring my friend who I was to stay with there - and who I had stupidly
forgotten to give my flight arrival details to. I’d carry two cases
a few yards, walking backwards to keep a watch on the remaining one,
put them down, then race back for the other case, frantically
keeping an eye on the two I’d just left, and so on, and so on.
Botany had many
Chinese vegetable gardens at one time and my parents had befriended
many of these Chinese people. By coincidence my stay in Hong Kong
coincided with a visit by one of them to Hong Kong. His name in
Australia was Happy, and most aptly named he was too. He was
flamboyant and eccentric, and not at all like any of the other
Chinese we knew who were so quiet and polite they verged on being
subservient. Happy liked fast cars, fast women, loud clothes and
carrying big wads of money - and was by then operating a Chinese
restaurant. He wasn’t like that when my parents knew him on his
arrival in Australia, but he developed like that. However, he was so
genuine with his friendship and of such a happy disposition it was
impossible not to like him.
I had no sooner
arrived at my Hotel when Happy was knocking on the door. After a few
words of greetings he wanted to use the bathroom. He had just gone
in there when another knock came to the door. This time it was the
secretary from the Australian High Commission in Hong Kong, who,
knowing it was my first time abroad, had called in to see if
everything was o.k. She must have been about 40 years old but to me
then she seemed no different from my mother, and in fact she quickly
took a mothering attitude to me giving me lots of advice, no doubt
having had little difficulty in immediately summing me up as a
greenhorn. It seemed we were talking for ages when suddenly the
bathroom door flew open and out walked Happy, still adjusting his
fly from his bathroom trip. To say she looked shocked would be an
understatement. Actually maybe she only looked surprised. It was me
who looked shocked. I couldn’t credit what she would think of me
having a man in my room alone - let alone someone like Happy who
even now would be considered flamboyant - even in Hong Kong. Why I
didn’t just introduce him I don’t know. Instead I embarked on a long
stuttering ramble as to why he was there. Happy pressed (and
re-pressed, as was his style) her to join us for a night out, but
she was insistent she had another appointment and left soon after.
Happy was
generosity itself - both with his time and money. Nothing was too
much trouble for him to show me, to take me out for meals, etc., and
finally to see me safely on the plane for my next leg of the trip to
Africa. I enjoyed my stay but to my shame remember only too clearly
all the times I was embarrassed at being seen in his company. I only
hope he never knew what a thoughtless ungrateful young person I
was.
As far as Hong
Kong itself was concerned, it was even then an exciting city, and by
Australian standards had lots of sky-scrapers (I then thought a
sky-scraper was a 10-15 storey building). The harbour was possibly
twice the size it is today as so much of it has now been reclaimed
for “real” skyscrapers. The hill-side leading up to Victoria Peak
was covered with hovels. There were, of course, loads of Chinese
restaurants, and several big ones anchored out in the harbour. Hong
Kong was also possibly then the world’s biggest duty-free shopping
centre. It was here I bought my record-player - how flash I thought
that was!
Next stop was
Bombay. Fortunately I was expecting to be met at Bombay Airport
otherwise I would have been very doubtful of the Indian man who
approached me on my arrival. Or I should say, Indian men. There were
three of them, all looking more as if they had come straight from a
day’s work in the factory, not as if they were representing the High
Commission. In fact only one was, and the other two were his friends
who had come for the ride. The car we got into also didn’t look like
one you would expect from the High Commission and all in all I
wasn’t too happy about being whisked off by these gentlemen. They
mainly talked to themselves in their own language during the trip,
with the main spokesman directing a few pleasantries to me.
It was about 8
p.m. and although not late, quite dark. Half way to Bombay we pulled
up by the side of the road and I was told I would soon see something
special. We just sat there in the dark for a few minutes, though it
felt much longer at the time, and then finally out of the darkness
loomed the bright front light of an express train which quickly sped
past. Apparently it was some new and important long distance train
and my companions were very proud of the opportunity of showing it
to me. I’m afraid I was more appreciative of getting under way again
than seeing the train.
I was taken to
the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel on the waterfront at Bombay. My escort
accompanied me into the Hotel and quite a heated conversation
developed with the gentleman on Reception as my companion told me
the room I had been allocated was not satisfactory. The Receptionist
prevailed and I said goodbye to my escort and was shown to my room.
The room certainly seemed o.k. to me, in fact, exceedingly nice. I
was proceeding to settle in when the telephone rang. I answered it.
It was the Receptionist. He said he had just had a call from the
High Commission and a confusion had arisen in my booking. Porters
were on their way to my room to move me to my correct room. Wow! My
heart nearly missed a beat when I saw the new room. It was so huge
that I’m sure the whole of our house at Botany could have fitted
into it.
THE FIRST PART
OF MY STORY WAS WRITTEN APPROX. 1993. IT IS NOW EARLY 2009 AND I AM
CONTINUING. (MICHAEL PARTICULARLY ASKED ME TO COMPLETE “MY STORY”)
Since starting
to write this “story”, the Taj Mahal Hotel in Mumbai (the new name
for Bombay) has been the scene of a terrible terrorist attack with
many people killed - lasting many days. Such things as terrorists,
or terrorist attacks, were simply unheard of when I set off to
travel the world - I was 21 years old and had no fears for my safety
wherever I travelled. What a different world it has become.
My room
overlooked the Gateway to India and was a wonderful sight.
Unfortunately, looking down into the street below, it was lined with
beggars, some deformed - including children - calling up to the
windows pleading for money. After saying how safe I always felt, I
must say I was very hesitant about going downstairs out on the
street by myself when I saw this. However, I was saved from this
decision, as once again someone from the High Commission collected
me quite early to take me to the airport for my next connection.
It’s strange some of the things you remember clearly (and what you
don’t). My main recollection of this event was that the gentleman
concerned (an Australian from the High Commission and in his early
40’s) stopped at the airport to briefly talk to a passing Air India
hostess - whose beauty I thought was quite dazzling. However, he
quickly told me she was a “half-caste” and therefore although he had
met her on a few occasions and she was a very nice person, under no
circumstances would he mix with her socially because of her being
“half-caste”. He also added that full-blooded Indians felt the same
way about these half-caste people. I was rather shocked by this -
but realised I had also been guilty of something similar in Hong
Kong when I had actually felt embarrassed by being escorted around
by a Chinese man. I think these were common feelings in those days
and thank goodness generally no longer exist. (In our extended
family we now have an Italian, a Vietnamese and a Brazilian - not to
mention me marrying an Englishman!!). I mention this, because
Michael has told me over the years his grandfather didn’t like
Australians, so no doubt would never have approved of Michael
marrying a “foreigner” like me.
The drive to
the airport, this time in daylight, was also an eye-opener - and
heart-breaking. Bombay was a very poor city, and it seemed most of
the population lived in what appeared to be cardboard or tin humpies
on bare dirt - and as it was the rainy season, this bare dirt had in
places become akin to green slime.
We refueled at
Aden and I can remember people saying how ghastly the place was, but
how from the air it looked quite picturesque, and even around the
airport I thought it looked fine. It was possibly a long way from
the city.
Next stop was
Nairobi. Here I was met by the Secretary of our Trade Commissioner
there. It was a very fortuitous meeting, as she said her best
friend, a Joan Hutchins, was based in Dar es Salaam, and she had
already told her about my forthcoming arrival. Joan was about to
become my best friend during my time in Dar es Salaam, and I am
pleased to say she still is a very dear friend. Nairobi was really
only a change-over of planes. Before I knew it I was on my way to
Dar es Salaam.
Dar es Salaam
This proved, at
first, to be some sort of anti-climax. I was suddenly overcome with
home-sickness, the reality of being a million miles from home and
all by myself hit me, and I had also managed to bring with me the
“Delhi-belly” from the Taj Mahal Hotel. To boot, my flat was not
ready (was still being built) and I was to be accommodated in a
Hotel for the first 3-4 months. Also our High Commission (this and
my flat shared the whole of the 4th floor of Barclays
Bank Building) was likewise still being built. We were operating
from a couple of bare rooms in a near-by building, my office chair
was a fruit box topped with a couple of phone books to give it
height, there were no filing cabinets………I remember for the first
week I was in such pain from my Delhi belly that I spent innumerable
times in the toilet, and each lunch time I would return to my Hotel
to sob my eyes out - feeling most sorry for myself. I feel ashamed
to say about how sorry I felt for myself - after all, I was
realising my life’s dream and was buckling under the first little
bit of unpleasantness. Fortunately by the end of the week I snapped
out of it, and never looked back. I actually loved my time in
Tanzania.
The race
question again raised its head in Dar es Salaam. Tanzania (or
Tanganyika as it was called then, before it united with Zanzibar to
form the name, Tanzania), like so many other African countries, had
just got their independence. Yet we were not encouraged (certainly
not us girls) to mix with the local Africans. There was no apartheid
as in South Africa, but there was certainly an unspoken accepted
behaviour that the two races did not mix socially (though of course
the higher rated diplomats did in their official capacity). I never
came across anyone who had an African as a friend. (The actual
handover of independence did not take place until after my arrival).
I am sure there is a much more open intermingling of everyone now.
I finally did
get my flat - and being brand new with brand new furniture I thought
it was wonderful. I also bought a little car - a Fiat 500, which in
fact had been around East Africa in a famous rally - you might bear
in mind that a Fiat 500 is not much bigger than a sardine tin! There
were two of us girls in the High Commission - Patti (later replaced
by Margaret) and myself - then the High Commissioner, a Second
Secretary and an Attache (Denis). Denis was another fast learning
experience I encountered (what a sheltered life I had lived) - he
was gay. I remember being absolutely astounded about this when I
first found out. However, he was the nicest person to work with -
and socialise with. Unfortunately I heard about 10 years later he
had died early - and I have always suspected it was AIDS.
He and Patti
gave me some driving lessons (bearing in mind I had come from a
family who didn’t even own a car). The day of my test came along and
I passed, but must admit this was because a white person was still
in charge of licences at the time. I went down a one-way street the
wrong way, and through a stop sign, yet my licence was freely handed
over. (I might add that on the basis of this, I was later issued
with a Russian driver’s licence - never used - and later still with
an Australian driving licence, and never once have I ever had to do
another test.)
Like everyone
else, I had a “house-boy” - Eleven. Me with a servant - that took
some getting used to. However, he must have had the cushiest
house-boy job in Dar es Salaam (and I am afraid to say I heard of
many expatriates - mainly English ones - who treated their houseboys
terribly). I also paid him the top rate. No wonder after I left he
employed a professional letter writer to send me a letter saying his
dearest dream was that one day the Australian Government would say -
“Miss Tovey, you are to return to Dar es Salaam”. I do wonder what
happened to him and his family.
Despite not
personally mixing with the Africans, I still felt I got a good feel
for Tanzania, and East Africa generally (East Africa was the
official name for Tanzania, Uganda and Kenya combined). I did a
great safari trip to Uganda, and visited Kenya twice. I would
mention that on my safari trip I went by train in Uganda to some
deserted place in the middle of Uganda and was let off at a small
siding - only as long as one carriage of the train, and just a
platform with no shelter. The train then pulled away. There was no
one to meet me and I was starting to wonder if maybe a lion or tiger
might appear from somewhere before my pick-up arrived. I ended up
with a small group of seven people (including the Duke and Duchess
of Bedford - who as you can imagine, got the “lion’s” share of
attention from our guides) and most of our safari was along the
Congo border. Sounds exciting doesn’t it? I doubt anyone would want
to actually go near the Congo these days. On the way back to Dar es
Salaam I went via Nairobi and Mombassa, where I went by liner down
the coast to DSM. It was my first time aboard a cruise liner and I
had no idea you had to pay and reserve deck chairs. I was sitting on
one the first day when a group of English people came up and sat
down beside me. They started talking in loud voices about how
incredible it was that some people just think they can sit where
they like. It took me a little while for the penny to drop, and
being the shy person I was I fled. I fled into the bar and ordered a
gin and tonic. The bar tender looked me up and down and wanted to
know where my parents were! After these two experiences, I spent the
trip (fortunately only two days) standing up and only drinking
water!
Tanzania in
those days was by far the most underdeveloped of the three
countries. It’s hard to realise now (2009) that I once thought the
capitals of Uganda and Kenya were quite cosmopolitan compared to Dar
es Salaam. All three capitals had a lot going for them, possessed
some nice streets and buildings, and had the feel of being up and
coming places. Their independence was meant to herald in progress,
but unfortunately in many ways these three countries, like virtually
all of Africa, have actually deteriorated since the day of their
independence. Africa is indeed a very sad Continent now.
But as far as
my story goes, it was to me a very happy place. I had never lead
much of a social life in Australia before I went overseas and
suddenly (like the African countries being given their
independence), I was suddenly thrown in the deep end. Parties and
possibly too much alcohol were the rule. There were more young men
than women there (mainly Englishmen who were seconded from their
Government departments in England to serve 2-3 years in Africa, or
others from private firms who were running branches in Africa.)
Because of this I suddenly found I was getting lots of invitations
from the opposite sex - something I had definitely never experienced
in my life. I had previously once had a serious boyfriend in
Australia but that had fizzled out - I think because the thought of
“serious” had scared him off - we were both only in our teens.
The main person
in my life eventually became an English guy called Bill. He was out
from Unilever in England as their Branch Manager. We really did
everything together but it was very much an above board
relationship. I was a bit “proper” myself in those days, so was
quite happy at first for this to be the case. However, I could sense
there was more to it than that but never knew the real reason until
just before Bill left to return to England. He was engaged to a girl
in England and possibly his behaviour to me was his way of remaining
faithful. He definitely was a nice decent guy. But I must admit I
was very hurt at the time. (He has recontacted me - 2008 - by
finally tracking me down through a Tovey Family website. He said he
had always felt he owed me an apology. He said he had been
railroaded into his engagement before he left England, and his
marriage on his return had been a disaster. It broke up after 4
years and he had tried to find me but to no avail. However, since
then he had remarried, was very much in love with his wife, but had
still felt if he ever did come across me he would like to apologise.
We now periodically keep a brief contact - he’s told me all about
his family, as I have told him about mine, and it’s just like
rediscovering a dear friend from the past.)
Though when he
did leave, I did meet someone special. We both quickly entered a
relationship with each other for possibly the wrong reasons - mine
to get over Bill and to prove that at least someone found me
desirable, and Derek, I think at first, to fill in time - he had 4-5
months left of his time in Tanzania and had moved from up-country to
Dar es Salaam for this period. Despite our false start, we both
found we liked each other very much. He was 10 years older than me,
an agriculturalist and wanted to get his own farm somewhere - he was
thinking of Australia. I quite shunned the idea of living on a farm.
Surprisingly, Michael and I eventually had a farm for close on 15
years at Vacy. When I told Michael about Derek, his first reaction
was “You would have made a good farmer’s wife”. I told him that I
had occasionally thought of Derek when we did have our farm at Vacy,
and sometimes had thought, “if only Derek could see me now”.
However, we did say goodbye and I have had no regrets. I hope he
found his farm, and his farmer’s wife.
Although I
travelled a reasonable amount in Tanzania - including a 48hr.train
trip from Dar es Salaam to Lake Victoria, a trip to Zanzibar, and
several “up-country” trips, most of my time was spent in Dar es
Salaam. It was a seafront town (or small city) and the beaches were
lined with palm trees, and offshore it was a familiar sight to see
dhows. Shopping wasn’t as restricted as I had been lead to believe -
and additionally, you could buy some nice materials and get Indian
tailors to make up dresses for you. I can’t count the number of
dresses I had made - all very cheap because of our rate of exchange.
It was rather fun going to one of these tailors - they wouldn’t
actually touch you when they measured you. However, their end
product always turned out fine. Virtually all the shops were run by
Indians.
There was also
a large population of Arabs - we had two working for us at the High
Commission, plus an African girl. The High Commissioner lived in a
huge waterfront house out on a point in the harbour - it was a home
built for the Aga Khan, but apparently never used by him. Every room
was the size of a ballroom. We were rarely invited to it - not that
we minded as none of us liked the High Commissioner or his wife - or
his three spoilt children.
One little
memory I have is that I had a dog called Trudy (a dachshund) and
unfortunately, like all dogs in Dar es Salaam, she had constant
fleas. I must say none of us ever felt we had fleas in the house,
but the dogs did. I used to wash her in the High Commission
cleaner’s sink, which adjoined my kitchen on the 4th
floor. I was doing this one Saturday morning when I suddenly heard
voices approaching. I was, by the way, standing there bare footed in
my night-dress. I quickly grabbed Trudy, and rushed to my own
kitchen, leaving a trail of water and suds behind. Lo and behold it
turned out to be the High Commissioner showing our Governor General,
Lord Casey, around our High Commission. Heaven only knows what they
thought of the trail of water and suds leading to my kitchen.
However, nothing was ever said. That’s as close as I ever came to
meeting Lord Casey. (It would have been below Mr. Gilchrist’s
dignity to ever dream of introducing him to the staff working
there.)
There was one
exciting event during my time there when the Tanzanian army
mutinied. I remember waking very early one morning to what sounded
like booming gun fire (later found out it was from British war
vessels off-shore). Apparently the Army mutinied - I think because
of poor pay or something similar. I also don’t think anyone was
killed. The next thing I knew was the High Commissioner was banging
on my front door (possibly one of the few times he even condescended
to speak to me) to let me know what had happened, and to tell me the
High Commission would not be operating that day and for me to stay
indoors at all times. Well it only lasted a day or two, and the next
thing you knew we had convoys of British troops driving down the
streets, being cheered by all the British ex-pats. Two days later it
seemed all back to normal. (Poor troops - I wonder if they ever got
any more money, because I am sure they were underpaid.)
Though I must add that the initial welcome for the British troops
was short-lived. They had shore leave in Dar es Salaam and for a few
nights took over the few nights spots and clubs available. Many
fights and unpleasant incidents were reported due to excess alcohol
and we “permanents” were all glad to see them go. There may have
been an excess of alcohol normally, but never once did I ever see a
fight, bad behaviour, or an unpleasant incident otherwise during my
whole time in Dar es Salaam.
Moscow
I was at this
stage near the end of my tour of duty in Dar es Salaam, and couldn’t
believe my eyes when a cable came in from Canberra saying I had been
posted to Moscow. Wow. To say I was dazzled would be an
understatement. I was to go home, have a week’s holiday, then go to
Canberra for a week for briefings, and then onto Moscow via London.
After the mainly sunny climate of Australia, and then the tropical
climate of Dar es Salaam (right on the equator), I had never really
ever experienced cold - certainly had never seen snow. I literally
owned no warm clothes. Now I had a week to quickly buy up a winter
wardrobe - and once again was told you could not buy anything in
Moscow so at least a year’s supply of clothes were required. I
would be given a fully equipped flat so no household goods were
required - mine were packed and put into storage. It was late
February so there were not many shops in Sydney with winter clothes
around. Fortunately I was going via London and was able to buy quite
a few things there.
I was given
days of security briefings in Canberra and quickly realised the
paranoia that existed re our security with the Russians. We were the
first people back into Russia after the Petrov affair (where a top
Soviet diplomat had defected to Australia) and the Russians and us
had broken off diplomatic relations. I was actually on the tail-end
of the first lot back in because there had already been “dramas”
aplenty at the new Embassy. Our top diplomat there (the Ambassador
came later - the same time as me) had been declared persona non
grata and kicked out of the country; one of our Federal Police
security guards had defected to the Russians; the other Federal
Police office committed a suspected security breach and had to be
sent home; the secretary, who I was replacing, had had a nervous
breakdown and had also to be sent home;………………Because of this
paranoia, even lowly secretaries like me, all travelled with
Diplomatic passports, so we could be quickly got out of the country
should any problems arise. I must say that travelling first class
with a Diplomatic passport was quite a treat.
I first had a
few days in London, and once again I had to attend security
briefings - this time with MI6. Not that they told us (I did my
briefings with our newly appointed Ambassador, John Rowlands)
anything that Canberra hadn’t told us. Admittedly this was 1965
and Russia was at the height of its communist era (Brezhnev had
just taken over from Kruschev), but it also signalled what I could
expect from the Embassy in Moscow.
(Not sure where
this should be inserted, but in London I met up with Bill again one
evening. Not sure why either of us did so, as nothing had changed.
Neither of us said one personal thing the whole evening - hence I
didn't even know if he had married his fiancee, or what the
situation was.
But why I am
mentioning the above, there was a special thing that happened. He
had a younger brother who was a policeman and on that evening he was
on duty (by himself - just the one person!!!) at 10 Downing Street.
Talk about laid back security. After dinner we went around to join
him. It was absolutely freezing cold and we actually all huddled in
the front door porch for protection from the wind and cold. After
about 10 minutes he got a message on his 2-way that the Prime
Minister was returning home from a dinner engagement. We
"respectfully" took ourselves to the bottom of the stairs. The Prime
Minister, Harold Wilson, pulled up in his car, got out and greeted
us with a "good evening" before entering through the front door.
These days nobody can even get into Downing Street itself, let alone
huddle on the Prime Minister's doorstep. It was also nice to think
that the Prime Minister had said "good evening" to us.)
Can’t complain
about my welcome from the staff at Moscow - it was very much like a
close knit family. There was the Embassy compound which comprised
the Ambassador’s residence plus the Embassy building. Apart from the
Ambassador, our Counsellor lived in the compound. The rest of us (3
diplomats and 3 secretaries) all lived at 45 Leninsky Prospect
several kilometres away - it was the main thoroughfare leading from
the airport into Moscow city. I had a well-appointed flat on the 7th
floor - the only funny thing being, I shared a front door with one
of the male diplomats - Greg Clark, our only Russian speaker - you
entered a foyer, and off this you entered each of our flats. He,
over the years, became quite well-known as a foreign correspondent -
he left Foreign Affairs very disillusioned by Australia’s policies -
so I felt it was one of my little brushes with fame! Later I moved
downstairs to the 2nd floor with my own front door. (All the male
diplomats were married, except for Greg, but once he left he was
replaced by another married diplomat. The policy was not to send
single male diplomats to Moscow in case they got compromised. The
British, American and Canadians all followed this policy as much as
possible, making a great shortage of possible bachelors in Moscow.
However, us single girls thought maybe we were picked because of our
“bad” looks so we wouldn’t be compromised!! The only reason Greg was
chosen was because he was the best Russian speaker the Department
had in Australia at the time. He was really able to lead a life of
his own over there despite what anyone said, because he was
essential to the running of our Embassy.) (He now has his own
website and has written his life story among other things - from it
I have at last discovered the secret life he was leading in Moscow,
whilst the rest of us were leading our confined lives.)
Living and
working there was certainly a unique experience, and as I said, it
was almost as if we were a large family. We all worked together, and
lived together. We travelled together to work and back again - each
evening we would alternate between each others’ flats for pre-dinner
drinks, and often this lead to dinner itself. Maybe once or twice a
week we would all go to a concert, the ballet or opera.. Friday
nights we would often go to the British Club where they showed a
movie. Weekends we socialised together with picnics, visits to Red
Square, or something similar. All jolly good fun you might say!! I
sometimes thought it was a bit like a plane crash and we were the
survivors who had been thrown together in an isolated place.
The male
diplomats were allowed to travel around Russia (though none, except
Greg, ever seemed to take advantage of this - I just don’t think
they were interested, which was a sore point Greg had with them),
but us girls were strictly restricted to about a 5 km. radius within
Moscow. Wendy and I did wrangle a weekend trip to St. Petersburg -
however, the Russians weren’t happy about this and we felt we
struggled to do anything there (Russia was certainly not set up for
tourists in those days), and I cannot remember much about the
experience. Each six months we could leave Russia for a holiday, and
I chose Helsinki for mine. It was interesting but a rather lonely
holiday. The men could go with their wives on holidays, but the
Embassy could only spare one secretary at a time so we always had to
go by ourselves.
Our Government
was right about needing to take everything with us. The few shops
there were virtually empty of goods, or what was available was just
dreadful quality. I remember whenever we went out on buses or the
metro, people would actually touch or stroke the coat or jumper we
were wearing. It was a strange experience. As for food, we imported
absolutely everything except for bread. An order was placed each
week with an outlet in Helsinki and all our fresh food, milk, eggs,
meat, fish, fruit and vegetables, were freighted in by train. Then
each three months an order was placed with an outlet in Denmark for
our grocery items, tinned food, toilet paper, personal effects, etc.
We all had huge freezers in our apartments. The bread our maids
would get, or sometimes, for a great adventure (!), we would buy it
ourselves. Just to get one loaf of bread you had to join a queue
(always queues for everything in Moscow) to select the loaf you
wanted (sign language in my case), you then joined another queue to
pay for the bread, and finally another queue to actually collect the
loaf you had chosen. At least it filled in time!
There were
hairdressers there (the wives of our diplomats went to a private one
at the British Embassy), but us girls found them so diabolical -
after our only experience we came straight home and washed out
untold lacquer from some ghastly artificial style - that we ended up
just cutting each other’s hair. I often wonder now how we must have
looked.
At the Embassy
we had quite a lot of Russian staff - all supplied by the Russian
Government. We were not allowed to employ Russians except through
them and were given no choice of candidates. Hence the British and
our Government told us they were all “spying” on us and we had to
keep them all at arm’s length - which we dutifully did, except Greg
who actually befriended them. He just used a commonsense approach.
We had two secretaries (Olga and Svetlana), four chauffeurs, a
cleaner, and two yardmen/handymen. All of them spoke English, hence
once again even though we were given Russian lessons, none of us
were ever in a position to speak to anyone in Russian. Despite the
above, we did get reasonably close to the chauffeurs - we spent an
inordinate amount of time in their company. Whenever we went on
picnics, for example, they were always included in our lunch.
On the home
front Wendy and I shared a maid (Anna) - she spoke no English and
was about five foot wide and five foot tall, and I suppose about 50
years old. She and I would ring Svetlana in the office to act as our
interpreter. We were obliged to provide uniforms and meals for our
maids, and in fact, uniforms for all our staff. They may have been
KGB or Russian Government plants, but they certainly knew how to get
what they wanted. We had a catalogue from Helsinki and they all
chose street clothes - not uniforms. The yardmen even chose suits.
Wendy and I would provide lunch for Anna on alternate days. She
would have what we had (and as we had a long lunch hour it was
always a hot cooked meal), but I would cook mine and she would cook
hers. The only way she liked her food was deep fried in lots of fat.
This covered every type of meat, fish or vegetable. I would then eat
my meal in the dining room, and she would eat hers in the kitchen. I
think we both felt comfortable about this - after all we couldn’t
talk to each other. Once again she had one of the cushiest jobs in
Moscow as neither Wendy nor I ever wanted her to work on weekends,
and weekdays we often cut her hours short.
We were all
avid readers in Moscow and each month we all ordered from London
approximately six books each - usually Penguins or similar. These we
donated to the Embassy to form a library. The local Russian staff
were also allowed to borrow from the Library. It amused us to note
that books like “1984” and “Animal Farm” quickly disappeared never
to be seen again. I have recently discovered our library has fallen
by the wayside - it has been replaced by a DVD library. That’s
progress I guess!
We were told
that all our flats were bugged, as were our telephones. The biggest
no-no was to ever speak derogatively about another staff member. If
this were overheard, that staff member could be identified as a weak
link, and could possibly be “worked on” by the Russians. The Embassy
was swept for bugs about every 3 months from a team from London. We
also had a secret “safe” room in the Embassy. This was virtually a
shipping container inside a room. We often went into this to take
dictation, or the diplomats would use it to have confidential
conversations. Very claustrophobic.
We were not
encouraged to mix with anyone other than British, Americans or
Canadians, but none of us even did that except for brief movie
excursions to the British Club. Hence it caused a bit of a stir when
I received an unexpected phone call one day at the Embassy from
someone from the Austrian Embassy saying they were having a small
party and needed a couple of girls, and they had got my name from
the diplomatic list (why me out of maybe a hundred or more names
listed) and would I like to go. Well I had to get permission (it was
reluctantly given because Austria was a neutral country), they
wanted full details of time and place, and they arranged my
transport. Must say one of the other secretaries was nearly as
excited as me and gave as much thought as me to what I would wear,
lent me some jewellery, and did some finishing touches to my hair.
What a lovely friend. It was almost as if I had been let out of
confinement into the big world. Needless to say I had a wonderful
time.
It was here
that I met the most special person in my life up till then - Rolf,
an Austrian diplomat. Possibly because of the circumstances of
living in Moscow and my new found freedom, I was smitten right from
the start. He was 8 years older than me but just the loveliest
natured man I had ever met. He spoke 5 languages fluently, had a
doctorate degree, was a member of the International Commission of
Jurists, and generally had a bright future in front of him - I
actually felt inferior at first in his presence (“inferior” was the
word I used in a letter to Lyle at the time - she kept it, plus all
my overseas letters, which she has now given to me.) Though I must
add that he always treated me as if I was special - and still
thinks I am special (see a later paragraph). Over the months I
became head over heels in love with him, but must admit he never
misled me in his intentions – we both knew “it” could not be. We
experienced many happy times together. The Embassy was never really
relaxed about this relationship and because of this I voluntarily
gave up knowing the safe combinations just to ease their paranoia.
When it was
time for me to leave Moscow, Rolf insisted I go home via his Vienna
to see it, and arranged for his sister to look after me for 5 days
there (she organised my hotel accommodation, which I paid for). She
and her partner were exceptionally kind to me, though I’m sure they
must have wondered what they had done to deserve being landed with
such a grief stricken waif! Once home, Rolf and I did write to each
other for a long time.
Apart from
anything else, I spoke not one word of German, I was uneducated, and
definitely still somewhat immature. I realised this, and also
realised that a life of love-affairs in distant countries followed
by disappointment, combined with possibly too much alcohol, was not
the life I was looking for. During my brief time with Foreign
Affairs I had seen how the lives of many secretaries became a series
of this lifestyle. Shortly after returning home I resigned from
Foreign Affairs, bought a flat in Sydney at Marrickville, and got
myself a good job in the city.
(Actually Rolf
and I have resumed contact - the circumstances of which Michael is
fully aware of. Michael, in fact, has been a husband in a million in
this regard. Rolf’s career did turn out as I knew it would - he was
an Ambassador for many years; also in this role he chaired many
international conferences (because Austria is a neutral country)
between the World’s Heads State - he has sent me pictures of himself
with some of these, like Presidents George Bush Snr., Gorbachev,
Kohl, Mitterand, etc. He didn’t get married until he was 66.
However, his wife, Milena, seems a lovely person. Rolf has described
her as a wonderful human being - and I can’t think of a higher
compliment. She always sends me her best wishes. He is still the
loveliest natured of men – recently he said “You have found your M.
and I have found my M. and we are both very lucky.” Michael
appreciated this. He is now another dear friend I have added to my
list.
Return to
Australia
Before telling
more of my life back in Australia, I must mention I did have a
wonderful trip home from Moscow. I paid for all my own
accommodation, but the Department willing paid for all my first
class air fares on a very indirect route home and with lots of
stopovers. First was the 5 days in Vienna, then a week in London -
and from there I popped over to Paris for two days with a
girlfriend, then 2 days in Rome, then 3 days in Cairo, visiting the
pyramids, etc., then 3 days in Hong Kong, where I met up with Joan
Hutchins who was on her way back from another stint in Dar es
Salaam; and finally 4 days in Manila with Patti who I had worked
with in Dar es Salaam. I might add that like at the beginning of my
story I was still travelling with 3 large suitcases (60 kgs.) -
utter madness.
Rome I of
course thought a beautiful city but it wasn't 2 full days I had
there and I really can't remember much about it - except seeing the
Pope. I am completely unreligious, but it was still a bit of a treat
to just turn up in St. Peter's Square and have the Pope come to the
window (yes, that was as close as I got!).
In Cairo I was
particularly thankful I was travelling on a diplomatic passport,
because as a single girl I certainly never felt very comfortable
there. Being by myself and not with a tour group, I requested the
Hotel to find me a guide to take me out to the pyramids and around
Cairo city. The guy turned out to be the biggest sleaze I have ever
encountered to this day. All he mainly wanted was for me to give him
more money, and to exchange whatever dollars I had into Egyptian
currency. By the time I reached the pyramids all I wanted to do was
to get back to Cairo. I remember I really only took a brief look at
them and asked to be taken back. Before taking me back to the hotel
I had his “tour” of Cairo, which mainly consisted of a visit to a
hole in the wall where I soon worked out they were selling drugs. At
this stage I more or less panicked and raced out onto the street by
myself. I did get back to the Hotel o.k. but vowed I hated Cairo so
much I would never ever return there. Needless to say that in recent
years Michael and I have had a wonderful holiday in Egypt. However,
you still wouldn’t want to be a single girl by herself!
Re my short
stay in Manila, that was a particular eye-opener because of all the
guns around. I remember going to a couple of restaurants with Patti
and her friends, and what you did when you entered was hang up your
guns on a rack near the entrance and then collect them again when
you left. Like Cairo, I have been back for a longer stay in Manila
in recent years, when Ruth worked there, and there still seems to be
a lot of guns around, though this time semi-automatic rifles held by
security guards outside every building imaginable, even 7-Elevens.
Shopping malls (a favourite target of terrorists these days) are
heavily guarded, and even to go up and down escalators, you have to
continually go through electronic security checks; at the airport
you also have numerous ones of these, plus on two occasions you are
manually frisked as well. What a society. Kidnappings are the norm
these days: it was the one thing we worried most about Ruth when she
lived there.
Back home,
buying my flat was not straightforward. Loans were simply not given
to single women unless under exceptional circumstances. My Dad was
definitely not willing to stand guarantor for me, but eventually an
Uncle did with a bank he had good standing with, and they
(reluctantly) gave me my loan. The mortgage was such that I really
only ate baked beans on toast at least several nights a week. I
always took a cut lunch to work - never able to afford to buy
lunch.
Michael
Michael is now
about to enter my life - though this was 9 months after I had
returned home. That 9 months had given me quite a bit of time to
think things over and I became more convinced than ever that I had
done the right thing by resigning from Foreign Affairs. It was also
a rather lonely nine months - there was certainly nobody in my life.
It was then that Joan and Bill Jay offered to introduce me to a
young man working for Bill. They said he was an English guy who had
migrated to Australia several years earlier (just as I was first
going overseas, he was arriving in Australia - and by an amazing
coincidence, the first job he ever had was at Botany). He had
recently built himself a house at Careel Bay, near Avalon, on
Sydney’s Northern Beaches. I must admit we just clicked - I think we
almost knew at once we were kindred spirits and wanted the same
things out of life. Michael said he more or less decided on our
second date that I was the girl he had been looking for. It took me
a bit longer, but not too much. Within 6 weeks Michael had proposed
to me and I had accepted. We were married 12 weeks from meeting.
I mentioned
earlier my lack of education. It was in Moscow that I first
discovered literature and classical music. I found Michael was a
source of all this - he already had a good collection of books and
classical music, and he was willing to encourage my interest in
these fields and share his knowledge with me. He was also in much
the same position as me financially - except he had two mortgages (a
second mortgage as well as the first). Hence our maybe once a week
dinner out would either be just one course, or a take-away. However,
we never minded. We enjoyed cooking at home as much.
There’s not a
lot to say about “our courtship” as before you knew it we were
married. Under no circumstances would I have my father give me away,
or accept any sort of wedding from him - and in any case we really
just wanted to be by ourselves. (In case this seems harsh, I must
say I never got on with my Dad, and to boot, Michael had insisted on
asking him for my hand in marriage, and the only response he got was
“She can marry who she b…… likes”. Despite not being religious, we
decided to get married in a church rather than a registry office as
Michael thought his Mum in England would be more happy about this.)
At this stage I must tell you, that at about the 6 week mark of our
relationship, when we first decided to get married, we rang
Michael’s Mum to let her know. What a palaver to make an overseas
call it was in those days. We had to go to the GPO in Martin Place
and book the call. When they had finally got the number, you were
called and sent to a booth. You then shouted down the phone to each
other and had to wait after each person spoke as there was a time
delay in the sound. However, I will always remember how lovely and
welcoming Michael’s Mum was to me - maybe she trusted his good
judgement! Re my Mum, it was most unfortunate she couldn’t join in
with us but as it happened she was down at Crookhaven at the time
with Aunty Ivy, and we rang the two of them straight after we got
married.
We chose St.
Matthews at Windsor. The Minister even had to provide our witnesses.
It was of course very nice (the Minister even insisted I walk down
the aisle with him to join Michael), but we must have been more
nervous than we realised as afterwards we went out to the park
opposite to take some photos (set the camera up on a tripod) and it
was only days afterwards we discovered we had no film in the
camera.
I am writing
this in 2009, we have just had our 42nd wedding
anniversary; how can I cover 42 years without adding another 42
pages!!
Instead, I
will just give a brief summary, as I am writing this for Matthew and
Ruth, and their children, and from the time of their births my life
(that is, mine, Michael’s and theirs) is what you might call an open
book. Hence, below I will just give a brief summary up to now -
2009.
We obviously
moved into Michael’s house at Careel Bay - and what a lovely view we
had. It was a tiny house, but we were very proud of it - and I was
especially impressed with how Michael had furnished it. You might
describe it as being very “with-it” for the times, yet it had been
done with second-hand furniture (we still have the table and chairs
he bought from Tempe Tip in our family room - and these days they
are quite valuable), a couple of pieces Michael had made himself,
art work he had done himself, floors covered in sea-grass matting,
etc……
Moving,
building or renovating houses became our life for the next 30 years.
We went from Careel Bay to Bayview Heights (an acre block where we
built a two-storey clinker brick house), then had our early
“sea-change” but it took us to the country instead and we
temporarily bought a house near Maitland whilst we built a new home
on 100 acres at Vacy. Here we did a lot of the work ourselves, like
laying beautiful parquet floors, timber ceilings, all the painting,
etc. Then it was to another property in Vacy, again 100 acres, but
this time on the Paterson River. We designed (or at least Michael
did) a lovely house and had it built by the same builders who did
our first house in Vacy, but once again we did lots of the work
ourselves. It was here we ran a small Murray Grey stud.
Then we decided
to move back to the “big-smoke” - this time Waratah, a suburb of
Newcastle. We bought an historic home that had once belonged to the
Lord Mayor of Newcastle. Again we did a lot of work on the house. It
was possibly a moment of madness in buying it, as we quickly
realised it was not what we wanted, or where we wanted to live. We
were able to buy another historic home at Bolwarra (just out of
Maitland) and we rented this out until we were able to sell the
Waratah property. This took 2-3 years. We then had approximately 9
years living at Bolwarra. It was a beautiful house (designed by
Walter Pender - and mentioned in many historic houses of Australia
books). We loved living there, yet we soon discovered we were not
utilising the whole house and spending most of our time in the back
section of the house.
When we were
finally due to retire we realised we didn’t want to stay there and
started looking for somewhere to retire to. After even considering
places like Launceston and the Blue Mountains, we finally decided on
Bolton Point - a waterfront on Lake Macquarie. We literally re-built
the house there, and are now still living in it. Fortunately it is
our most favourite house we have ever lived in - we do love it. We
use every bit of it, never get tired of our view, and generally
enjoy our time in it. We now jokingly say they will have to carry us
out in a box from here. Let’s hope so as we don’t want to be
separated or for either of us to ever go into a retirement home.
Back to much
happier things, the two main highlights of our marriage were the
births of Matthew and Ruth. We have so many happy memories of them
from day one and have many memorable photos of their growing years.
Maybe our only regret is that in those early days we didn’t own a
video camera or movie camera. They have been a joy to both of us and
we feel particularly blessed that we are all close to each other. A
family can ask no more. Matthew has now been married for nearly 10
years to the most wonderful daughter-in-law anyone could want -
Giuseppina, and we have been blessed again with two gorgeous
grandsons, Gianluca and Giacomo. Ruth this year has married Wes, and
again we couldn’t be more happy with her choice and to welcome Wes
into our family.
Michael (your
Dad and your Grandad - whoever is reading this) has been the most
important person in my life and has in many ways made me the person
I am. I really had no formal education (left school at 14-½) and I
know I was very lucky to get into Foreign Affairs.(I did work hard
to get there, and it says something for our egalitarian society in
Australia that they would accept someone like me into Foreign
Affairs. I know for a fact a lot of other countries wouldn’t have.)
It was then that my life really started - socially and
education-wise. I said earlier that it was in Moscow that I first
discovered good literature and classical music - two things that had
been completely absent from my life until then. When I met Michael
he was very knowledgeable about literature, history, art, classical
music, ………… and to boot he was willing to share all this with me. I
often felt it was like having my own live-in University tutor. He
has always encouraged me - and thanks to this I think I have spent
the past 42 years with a book in my hand. I can even remember
feeding babies with one hand, and having a book in the other!! He
has given me the self-confidence in myself that I certainly never
had until I married him.
Like all
couples who have been married 42 years we have had our good and bad
times, our ups and downs, but the good times and ups were always the
important things and we have increasingly become melded into one.
When Ruth was married this year, I silently re-said my marriage
vows. Michael and I feel we love each other more than ever, and that
truly is something special after being married for so long. We know
it’s something precious, are very conscious of it, and plan to make
sure we tightly hold onto it till the end.
I would
particularly like to add about what a lucky life I feel I have lead
- I sometimes can’t credit why I should have been and still am so
lucky. By luck, I don’t just mean money - we are comfortably well
off, but certainly not rich. I mean in every aspect of life: the
various freedoms I have always had in life - to choose whether or
not I wanted a religion (and then I could have had the freedom to
choose any I desired); the freedom to love and be loved; the freedom
of choosing how many children I wanted to have; the freedom of
choosing where I worked, where I lived, where and when I wanted to
travel to, …….. I could go on. There’s the luck I have had
healthwise (and if I do get sick, knowing what a good health system
we have here.) Then there’s the incredible luck of being an
Australian - I’m still convinced this is by far the best country in
the world - and definitely the luck of having English as a first
language - what a bonus this is. There’s also the luck of having so
many dear long-term friends. And last but not least is the
incredible luck of having such a lovely family. I am sure I could
think of more things why I am so lucky, but the above will show you
why I am so grateful (and wondrous) at the luck I have been given.
And that brings
me to the end. I do hope that one day someone will read this. Matt
and Ruth already know that my family is the most important thing in
my life, and I hope Gianluca and Giacomo (and Ruth’s children) will
also come to know this.
Michael has
read this - and encouraged me to write it. I will sign off with lots
of love from -
Helen, Mum and
Nanna