MY LIFE STORY By Alice May Nash I was born on the 23rd of July, 1925, in Nurse Kerr’s hospital situated in the main street of the small village of Woodstock, in Central Western New South Wales. I was the second child of Charles Philip Graves and Elizabeth Ann Graves [nee Hicks]. My siblings were Harry Thomas [1924], Russell John [1926], and Neville Charles [1936] – all born in that same Woodstock hospital. In 1999, we stood in the same main street of that same small village and gazed at the now derelict building where our lives had begun. We marvelled that, in spite of seventy plus years of great changes, this building, and this small village were still so recognisable – it made us feel as if we had stepped back in time. Our home was at Pine Mount, eleven miles from Woodstock on the Darby’s Falls Road. Our father worked on the properties owned by The Milburn Creek Pastoral Company, headed by Mr Sam Oliver. He was designated as a stock man, I believe. He had a tremendously strong work ethic. He respected his employer greatly, both for the position he held and for his quality as a man. He strongly believed in a fair day’s work for a fair day’s pay and showed total loyalty to his ‘boss’. His parents had been small farmers in the Neville-Norton district near Blayney and Dad and his brother, Jack, had spent many years ‘carrying their swag’, working wherever they could find employment, both in New South Wales and in New Zealand. In later life he loved to ‘yarn’ about his experiences on farms, working in shearing sheds, building haystacks, working on threshing machines and chaff cutters and participating in all aspects of country life. As a consequence of this nomadic existence, he did not marry until he was in his early forties, when he met his brother-in-law’s [Alf Bennet] niece, Elizabeth Hicks, who had come to Norton to help his sister, Janet, when her twin girls were born in 1921. Their courting was carried out by letter and by Dad coming to visit whenever possible, driving his lovely black horse in a sulky. They were married in the Hicks family home at “Lagoon Farm” at Waldegrave in the Orange district, in March 1923.An interesting sideline to the wedding was that a member of their church [which was the Waldergrave Methodist church, situated on the neighbouring property] came to the home to “counsel” Mum and her family about the unsuitability of the relationship as Dad was 22 years older than Mum. Whether this was done out of genuine concern, or plain “Busybodying”, I guess we will never know, but Mum was so incensed that she elected to be married at home instead of in the church as planned, so that none of these people could witness the wedding as would have been usual. The honeymoon was one week in Sydney, staying at The People’s Palace, and then they returned to “Goodview” at Pine Mount. “Goodview” as I remember it was a spacious old house; It had four large rooms at the front, separated by a long narrow hall. There was a verandah on the front and my parents slept out on this verandah, always as I remember, protected only by canvas blinds. The weather had to be rough to make them retreat into the adjoining bedroom. This part of the house was made of Pise, or rammed earth. The walls were very thick and the rooms were cool in summer and warm in winter. There was another wooden verandah on the back and adjoining, and built at right angles, were three large rooms, built of narrow corrugated iron with a wide verandah running down the side. As the back was built fairly high my father netted this verandah – I guess to keep us from falling off. The rooms were the kitchen, with a fuel stove and an open fireplace, then a dining room and a “shaving” room on the end. This was the bathroom in later years. My early remembrances of bathing were in a round galvanised tub [which was also the washing tub] in front of the kitchen fire. There was no laundry as such. The washing was done in these same tubs on the veranda, with a copper outside, in which the white clothes were boiled. My mother took great pride in keeping her clothes sparkling white. There was no water in the house – it was carried from the tank at the end of the middle verandah, and jealously guarded as supply was limited and droughts common. To this day, I cannot bear to see water wasted. Beside the tank, under a kurrajong tree, my father built a rough bench where we all performed daily face and hand washing, using a roller towel fixed nearby. I have vivid memory of having to wash in very cold water on frosty mornings. Sometimes there was even ice on the dish. Bath night was Saturday and sometimes during the week.. Surrounding the house were several fruit trees – some orange trees which I can never remember producing any fruit. [When we visited in 1999 we were amazed to see these trees still there and still flourishing. The people living there told us that they grow beautiful oranges. Nature is truly wonderful.] On the western side of the front was a large old loquat tree which grew the most beautiful, large loquats in season. This was my domain. I loved the tree and retreated to a high spot where I could comfortably sit whenever I felt life treated me badly. Being an inveterate reader from an early age, I often disappeared there with a book when I should have been doing something else. Much of my early childhood dreams and longings were heard by the leaves of that tree. I also loved eating the juicy loquats in season. It was a source of real regret to me that in later years growing loquat trees was discouraged because they were very susceptible to fruit fly infection. Because we lived a distance from the nearest school, [Darby’s Falls or Holmwood] our education was a problem. Our parents heard of The Blackfriars Correspondence School run by the NSW Department of Education for children in our situation, so our mother investigated the possibility and when my older brother, Harry, turned seven in 1931, she applied for the lessons. From then on we received a week’s lessons ahead, which we executed with our mother’s help. These we sent regularly by mail and returned, corrected and commented on the next week. We thrived on these lessons. As we lived a very isolated life we soaked up learning and information, and there was no difficulty in keeping us focused on the work. We owe a great debt of gratitude to those faithful teachers who kept us interested and encouraged by their written word. We also owe an immense debt to our mother, who without much formal education of her own, piloted us through five and six years of our schooling and gave us a foundation we have always been grateful for. More valuable to us still was the wonderful teaching our mother gave us about the reality of God and His claim on our lives. From babyhood she taught us, using her Bible as her textbook. She had not had much Christian teaching herself but had given her life to Jesus Christ as a young person and wanted for us, above all else, that we might know God and follow his Way. She obtained material from the Methodist Mail Bag Sunday School and taught us faithfully. I well remember her preparing us for the Sunday School examinations – telling us to memorise the Bible readings – ‘you will answer correctly if you know what the Bible says’, was her watchword. She must have been right as I remember that we used to get high marks and sometimes a prize. It was a highlight when we went about once every month to church and Sunday School in Woodstock, travelling in the horse and sulky. One of my very early memories was of an occasion when the horse fell in the sulky and we were thrown out, I couldn’t have been very old as Russell was a baby on Mum’s knee – possibly eighteen months old – and she held on to him as she fell and the wheel of the sulky ran over her, but he was unharmed. My most vivid memory of the event was being fascinated because my older brother, Harry’s nose was bleeding and the pocket shirt became filled with blood. In later years, I learned that Mum had suffered a miscarriage after that event Later on, my father purchased a second hand Model T Ford car and we travelled in much greater style. The small country Methodist Church at Woodstock was a lodestone in our lives in those days, The Minister was only a few degrees less important than God himself. The singing and the organ playing would have been our first introduction to any kind of music, and the lovely people who taught in the Sunday School were such gods and goddesses. Myra Goodacre was my first teacher and I thought she was the most beautiful being I had ever met. I can still feel the thrill of my first knowledge of romance when she was being courted by the handsome Harold Gosper. Then, after church came the highlight of our week when we often went for tea to one of my three aunts’s houses, and played with our cousins. These aunts were my father’s younger sisters whom I loved dearly, right up till their passing. Because I pined very much for a sister and often felt badly done by because I was a girl between two boys, my mother used to have some girl cousins out to stay in the school holidays, or I would go into Woodstock and stay with them. I have wonderful memories of the happiness of these times, although we would not have had any sort of entertainment – we made our own fun. Aunty Janet had twin daughters – four years older than me and I really worshipped them. Still today they are the nearest thing to a sister I have. They lived in a small cottage built of corrugated iron and we often used to sleep on the floor on the verandah. I loved to hear the steam trains as they huffed and puffed up the hill past their house. Sometimes as a special treat we were allowed to go down to the station and watch the train as it passed through. It was while staying with them that an older cousin, John, took his sisters and me to my first movie – a travelling cinema showing a film in the local hall. It was called “Wagon Wheels”, [probably a Western] but to me it was a glimpse of a different world. I can still visualise some scenes from that old movie. Our early childhood, although very isolated, contained many interesting and happy activities. We learned to play happily together and our dependence on each other forged a bond which has stayed with us up to our older years. I remember exciting hours collecting tadpoles at “the spring”, which was really out of bounds because of our mother’s great fear of water and drowning. One memorable occasion we brought home a bucket full of our “treasures” and hid them in a bush in the garden, and then promptly forgot about them, until one night we awoke in the middle of the night to hear our father’s irate comments about the mass of croaking frogs that were keeping him awake. We played lots of hide-and-seek in the five feet high marshmallow grass that used to grow in the sheep yards A favourite game was playing “Overs” with a tennis ball over the shed roof. Sometimes, if our parents were not watching we climbed on the shed roof, which was forbidden, and played sliding down the steep roof. It didn’t seem worthwhile when we got caught out. We had a white pony which we used to ride bareback and he afforded the three of us much pleasure. When we were getting older we were allowed to go with my eldest brother, Harry, up into the hillside and set traps to catch rabbits, which we skinned and then sold the dried skins to the skin merchant for a little pocket money. From an early age we were expected to pull our weight helping where ever there was need. Harry, being the eldest was expected to do a great many tasks which would certainly be considered too difficult for a twelve year old boy today. I helped my mother with the housework, probably not very willingly, nor very well, I know I used to often get reprimanded because I was in some hidden place reading a book when I should have been doing a task. I have sinful memories of poking my book under the mattress of my bed when my mother came up to the bedroom area to check on my progress. Sometimes, my punishment for transgressions was to sit on the sofa in my mother’s bedroom and learn to sew, while my brothers were outside playing. How I hated that! I remember well, too, the arguments with my brothers over whose turn it was to wash up. Washing up, of course was done in a dish on the kitchen table with hot water from the black kettle on the open fire cooled by water carried from the tank outside. How we longed to be rich enough to have a ‘Fountain’ like our grandparents had, because it had a tap to get the hot water out of. When I see these old black Fountains and kettles in Antique shops, with exorbitant price tags, I do not pine for the “good old days”. The washing up was all the more difficult because we only had homemade soap which my mother made from the fat collected from the sheep killed for meat. It was strong smelling and did not lather very well. Still, I do not remember any of us getting sick because of poor hygiene. Sickness was, of course, a real spectre to mothers in those days. Medical help was many hours away and never engaged lightly as we could not afford to pay doctors. I remember when there were some cases of polio in Cowra and our mother did not allow us to go near the town for about six months, in case we picked up the germ. It was a dread disease. In later years, when my father had a great deal of illness, the problem of paying for medical care became a real trauma. There were no medical funds and no free medicine in those days, but many country doctors were very generous in waiting to be paid, and in giving unselfishly to those in need. This kindness enabled many honest, poor people to survive. Holidays were virtually unknown to us, but sometimes at Christmas, we travelled in our Model T Ford the whole sixty [approx] miles for my mother’s parent’s farm and orchard at Forest Reefs near Millthorpe. There was much excitement as we prepared for this arduous journey and a very warm welcome when we arrived. We children hero worshipped our mother’s younger sisters who ran the home as the mother had died early, from Hodgkinson’s disease.. May, the youngest, after whom I was named, had been and still is very special in my life. We have been like sisters and our husbands developed a strong relationship, too. I can still remember the taste of the beautiful apples our Grandfather grew in abundance, apples like yellow Five Crowns, which disappeared from the market because they bruised easily, lovely crisp, juicy Jonathons, and huge tangy Delicious. A special memory is the taste of the lovely stewed cherries and custard served for Christmas lunch, the particular smell of the Apple house[ in which we slept before the new house was built], a wattle and daub construction, part of which is still there to-day.. We loved to watch our Grandfather robbing his beehives and distilling [or whatever it was that he did] the honey in his honey room. On Sundays we walked with our aunts and uncles across the orchard, climbed the stile over the fence and traversed the neighbour’s potato paddock to attend the little country church called Waldergrave. In 1936, many troubles beset our family. My mother found herself pregnant with a fourth child and, at the same time my father received notice from the job which he had held for many years. This was a severe blow, as it meant we had to leave our home which belonged to his employer. He was now fifty-six years old and the effects of the Depression were still making getting jobs difficult. He had saved a small amount of money and our mother’s father loaned him some so that he was able to buy a small property of about forty acres of land three and a half miles from Cowra on the Boorowa Road. This was not available until the middle of the year so for about four months the family was split up. Mum and we children lived at Forest Reefs with her family and Dad tried to get farm work wherever he could. We all remember this as a time of great difficulty. The new baby was sick a good deal having pneumonia twice. The rest of us wore out our welcome in someone else’s domain and did not have much security. Dad did not get much work and so he felt depressed and a failure. So it was with relief that we took possession of the new home in June. Unfortunately, the home was very poor and there was no money to effect the planned renovations. My father, who had always been a keen gardener, had plans to grow vegetables to sell to greengrocers in Cowra, and make a good living. This did not come to fruition as he had hoped. The soil was poor and needed a great deal of building up. The never-failing water supply from a well, which had been one of the big attractions o had f the property, proved to be brackish and plants did not thrive on it. And so, the next ten years were very difficult for us all. Dad felt a failure and became progressively depressed, as well as having a lot of physical illness. Mum had loved her comfortable farmhouse at “Goodview” and did not find the primitive conditions easy. Money was very scarce and my two older brothers left school as soon as they neared fourteen years of age and went to work on neighbouring farms to earn their own living and to bring home part of their pitiful wages to help the situation at home. Our little brother, Neville was again a victim of pneumonia and he suffered because of the worry and tension in the home. One of the big bonuses from our move to Boorowa Road was the fact that we had access to a small one-teacher school, Noonbinna East. The teacher there was a remarkable man called Mr Hester. He was a teacher par excellence. In a little under two years for me, and less for Harry, he not only widened our knowledge and experiences, but imbued in us a tremendous love of learning that has stayed with us into old age, and as well helped our self-esteem. He believed in us and taught us to believe in ourselves. He remained a friend and mentor for me until I was over sixty years of age. Because of his teaching and influence, I was able to win a Bursary on the old Qualifying Certificate Examination, which financed my attendance at Cowra High School. Even with the financial side taken care of, my father did not want me to go to high school. Education for girls, in those days was not often encouraged – domestic service would probably have been my lot. However, Mr and Mrs Hester came out to our home and managed to convince my father to allow me to go to high school, and even took me into their home to board from Monday to Friday to make this possible. As I write this, I am quite overwhelmed by the magnitude of their gift to me. All my life I have appreciated it, but feel now that perhaps I could, and should have expressed that appreciation more. This gift was all the more remarkable because Mr and Mrs Hester were devout Roman Catholics and we were Methodists, and these were the days when the gulf between Protestant and Catholic was ridiculously wide. My five years at Cowra High School were a kaleidoscope of experiences for me. I was shy, naïve, poorly dressed and bigger than anyone else in my year. My social skills were very poor but my thirst for knowledge great. I learned to respect and admire many of my teachers and eventually made some good friends. It was a real thrill to meet, not long ago, when I was in my seventies, the lovely blonde teacher who taught me French in my first year and to share many reminiscences with her as a real friend. Early in my second year I became involved in the School Debating team and I have been very grateful for the skills I learned and the confidence established by this activity. I struggled always with Sport and Physical Education as my early experiences had not given me much coordination or expertise in these areas. I remember well the thrill it was in Fifth Year, when I finally made the A Basketball team. Even then, I was not able to go on Inter school visits because I did not have the money needed. During these years the situation at home was often very difficult. My father grew older and had a lot of illness. He was a very proud man and would not apply for a pension, even when he became eligible. The dread of illness was accentuated by the difficulty of having to pay the doctor – there was no bulk-billing in those days. Money was very scarce and my mother even did washing and ironing for the neighbours at times to keep the house going. Life was often very difficult for her as the money to improve the home did not eventuate and she laboured under difficult circumstances. This was a source of real anguish for me but there was little I could do to help, and I am sure I was not always as sympathetic or supportive as I could and should have been. Again, we have cause to be grateful to Mr. Hester who encouraged Mum into taking office in the Parents and Citizen’s Association connected to the school and this gave her a certain standing in the community and augmented her self esteem. She also gathered the neighbouring children together at different times and taught them Sunday School. It was during these years that we became part of the fellowship of the Cowra Methodist Church and there we young people found real acceptance and nurture. In my second year of High School there was a youth rally at the church and Rev. George Wheen was the visiting preacher. He based his address on the text” Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works and glorify your father in heaven”. I was very touched and made a firm resolve in my heart to follow Christ. Over the years, and indeed at the end of that very service, I have heard men criticise the speaker and make many noises about ‘Modernism’ etc. but I know that for me, God spoke through that service and I thank Him for George Wheen. That experience, added to by my mother’s faithful teaching from babyhood, gave me a foundation on which my life has been built. Some of the Godly people at that church nourished and encouraged my brothers and me in ways for which I have been eternally grateful. Laurel Williams, a young widow opened her home and her heart for us, and her love and support had a great influence on my life. Mr and Mrs Bert Tucker took me in to board during the week for school, after the Hesters moved, and Mrs Tucker was a real mentor and adviser. For many years she was leader of the Methodist Girls Comrades and many girls would pay tribute to her strong Christian teaching. She helped to rub off some rough edges for me, and her support gave me a sense of dignity and self-worth that was most helpful in my future life. We made friends with the Gruber family who lived at Morongla some miles further out than us and they, as well as being loved companions, often gave us transport to enable us to attend church activities. These were war years and a large Military Training Camp was opened at Cowra and many men passed through the camp. Many worshipped and worked in our church during their sojourn there. Two brothers, Lynford and Wiltshire Smith, dairy farmers from Gloucester, were in the Administrative Staff for an extended period and Lyn who was married and had trained for the Methodist ministry, led a lot of the Youth work in the church and had quite an influence on my life. Many years later Lyn became the much loved minister of the Canowindra Methodist church. Wilt, who was younger, was a very quiet helper in the background. I was very honoured, after I had gone to Sydney to Teacher’s College to receive a letter from him asking me to marry him. A most interesting phenomenon was that, more than forty years later, when our youngest son David, became involved in working for the Board of Mission of the Uniting Church, he became very good friends with one of Wilt’s sons. who had significant input into the Church’s work During our teenage years, we lived under the shadow of World War 2. Australia was at war from 1939 till 1945 and although we in the Southern States did not suffer actual bombardment, we were always very conscious of the awful spectre that hung over our heads. The progress of the war in Europe was closely watched; we scanned the newspaper casualty lists anxiously each day and were always very conscious of the need to support the War effort. For the most part we accepted rationing of tea, sugar, petrol and clothing with good heart as a small contribution to the welfare of our “boys” fighting overseas. Housewives donated household pots and pans and all kinds of metals and the constant appeals for funds for war bonds seldom went unheeded. As the Japanese war machine swept close to our shores, we all felt a terrible sense of foreboding. So many of our loved ones were battling against, what often seemed like, unsurmountable, odds, as they tried to stem the tide that flowed from the north. In later years, I have heard contentions that we glorified war and that our “larrikin” soldiers had a great time. Anyone who really knew, realised how most of our men hated the awfulness of war – their lives could never regain their precious innocence and peace of heart. At any time, Australia would have laid down their arms if the enemy ceased to attack. We did not instigate the fighting and most of our men went to war with the high ideal of defending their country and protecting their people. No-one denies the awfulness of the dropping of the atomic bomb which ended the conflict in the Pacific, but in reality it saved thousands of lives as the Japanese soldiers were fanatical and would have fought every inch of the way and many more thousands of lives would have been lost. One remarkable side-effect of the war was the way it united us as a people. Most Australians at home endured shortages and did uncomplainingly. They learned to be innovative, to make-do, to fix and improvise. There grew up voluntary services where men, women and children sacrificed and worked unselfishly for the good of others. Many older people, women and children took on tasks almost beyond their abilities and served wherever there was a need. Vegetables were grown in every backyard and the Women’s Land Army came into being to keep the farms productive, and help feed our soldiers. We forgot to be engrossed in ourselves and cared for others in a way that could well be emulated today. Then in our darkest hours, when hope seemed lost, our leaders called Days of Prayer and people flocked to our churches to pray for God’s help in saving our nation. I still get a lump in my throat as I sing the words: O God, our Help in ages past, Our hope for years to come. Be Thou our Guide while troubles last, And our eternal Home. It was the beginning of 1943 that I travelled to Sydney, on the train, by myself, to be interviewed at the Department of Education Office in Bridge Street, Sydney, to assess my suitability as a schoolteacher. I had gained quite a credible pass in the 1942 Leaving Certificate, and had won what was called an Exhibition to Sydney University. As well, I was very honoured to be Dux of Cowra High School that year. I did not take up the scholarship to the University as that meant four years of training, and I needed to get out into the workforce as soon as possible, so I opted for two year teacher training. Over the years I have marvelled at, and been very grateful for my parent’s sacrifice, in letting me go so far from home to cope in, to them as well as me, much unknown circumstances. My grandfather had a long-time friend living at Lane Cove, and my mother and I finally went into Cowra to the Post Office and rang them, asking them to meet me at Central Railway Station. This family, Mr and Mrs Les Bowmer, and their three beautiful daughters, Dorothy, Win and Shirley were wonderful friends to me, a seventeen and a half year old raw, country bumpkin, and I will never forget their love and friendship. They taught me what Christian love, acceptance and hospitality were all about, and introduced me to the magic of the big city and the wonder of my first ever glimpse of the sea. I remember very vividly that first train trip to Sydney. My family was at the station to see me off, and not only were they nervous, but so was I. Again, I am amazed at particularly my mother’s courage and sacrifice, to let me board a night train, filled to overflowing as they mostly were, because there was a large military training camp at Cowra, and the troops moved a great deal on the regular train services. My mother was always a “worrier”, and it must have been very difficult for her! I arrived at Central Railway Station about 7am, crumpled, tired and bewildered and was met by this attractive, smiling young lady. To my consternation, while struggling up the steps with all my worldly goods in an old suitcase, the handle broke, making it very difficult to carry. I was acutely embarrassed, but Win (Bowmer) laughed delightedly and we tackled the problem with hilarity. That lovely attitude of that lovely person has been a blessing in my life ever since. My children for years called her “the aunty who laughs a lot”, and eagerly looked forward to her visits. With the help of the Bowmer family, I endured a whole day of interviews at the Department of Education Offices at Bridge Street and eventually found myself enrolled at Sydney Teacher’s College and settled in a hostel for girl students. The hostel life was intimidating at first, sharing a room with five other girls and realising how much of a ‘country bumpkin’ I was. However, I learned how to find my way around, and before my training was complete, I appreciated greatly the friendships made during those years. I also learned to love the city of Sydney and on fairly rare spare days, I would walk its streets and soak up its atmosphere and its sights. I never tired of watching the endless flow of people and making up stories about their lives. This I still love to do. For the first year, I did general Primary training but in my second year I participated in a special Small Schools training programme, instigated by Professor John Braithwaite, designed to fill vacancies in many small country schools where male teachers had joined the Armed Forces. So, in September 1943 [a term earlier that it should have been], I found myself Head Teacher [the only one] at Sterling Provisional School, set in the corner of a paddock, four miles from a main road and not even a house in sight. It was halfway between the villages of Cudal and Cargo and twenty-six miles from Canowindra. There I taught the thirty-six children from Kindergarten to High School age, in one room with very little in the way of resources. I also cleaned the school [and the toilets], killed snakes in the playground, helped the farmers fill in their forms etc. and boarded with the parents. The first home I went to live in was a Roman Catholic home, and in that day of sad prejudice, this was like putting my head in a lion’s den. How glad I am that I learned a different story. I learned to love and respect that lady and her Christian commitment. My experience at Sterling was a wonderful and maturing time, although I did not always realise it then. I was nineteen and a half when I began, and it was often a difficult and lonely road. I was helped greatly by the School Inspector, based at Forbes – his name was Mr Ransley and he visited whenever he could and encouraged, advised and helped me in a myriad of ways. I owe much of my gifts in teaching to him. He spoke to me one day in a very fatherly manner, advising me to never let myself get caught up in marriage as I should not waste myself on one man and family because he believed I had a future in education. I did not dare tell him that there was already someone who was beginning to be important to me. At Sterling I learned to love the children and to respect the parents. I walked to school in all weathers and it was a red letter day when, in my second year, I was able to finance a second-hand bicycle. One weekend, when troubled by toothache, I rode the twenty-six miles into Canowindra and stayed overnight to visit the dentist. The only transport from the school was to close the school early [having opened early] and go with the mailman [who passed the school three days a week, I think it was] into Cudal and from there, catch the coach to Orange. Some of the parents had cars, but, as it was wartime, the petrol was severely rationed, [four gallons per month for private transport] and they could not help. Besides, I did not have funds to pay fares unless necessary. I held a full Teacher’s Certificate and my salary was five pounds fourteen shillings per fortnight, and out of that paid two pounds ten shillings a fortnight board. So, there was not much to play with, especially as I tried to send money home because my parents were in need. During my three years there I often had passers-by call and fill their waterbags at the school water tank. They were mostly local farmers, often parents. Being isolated, I welcomed the break in the monotony and the chat, and was always well chaperoned by the children gathered around. One visitor became quite a regular. He was a drover, who lived in Molong and he seemed to often bring his mob of sheep past my school. He would come down to the school, water his horse and his dogs and fill his waterbag. He was a real character – not always very clean and often bewhiskered, but he loved to talk about his home and his garden. One day, however, he arrived all clean and spruced up, and asked me if I would marry him. He offered me his house and a horse for myself. I was completely flabbergasted, but managed to thank him for the honour he had paid me, and to tell him that I was sorry, but there was someone else I cared for [which was true by that time]. It was in my second year that I went to board at “Rutherfield”, the family home of the Balcomb family. They were stalwart Methodists and took me to Cranbury church to worship. This was a strong Methodist centre – a church set in the corner of a paddock, and was the spiritual, social and sporting centre of the lives of many families. There was a large Youth Group and I enjoyed the fellowship and friendship. Norm Balcomb used to lend me his horse to ride the four or five miles to weeknight meetings and later on I rode my bicycle. Many of the young people were talented musically and organised concerts and entertainments which meant a lot of fun for the participants at rehearsals and in taking the programmes to neighbouring centres. During my time at Cranbury the war ended and several young men returned home after active service. Among them was Ken Nash, the middle of the five Nash boys from “Wollombeen”. He was brash and noisy and we clashed in a ‘men versus women’ debate where he led the men and I led the women. The women won, much to his chagrin, and he cried all sorts of vengeance. He was not my sort of person at all – he was passionate about sport, and I scarcely knew how to use a ball. I loved books and gardens and nature – he was practical and unobservant and loud, and I loved correctness and quiet. However, something kept drawing us together and we had lots of long discussions where I found a gentle, genuinely good, young man who, underneath all his noise, was hurting badly because of some of the things he had been forced to do to survive, as he fought the Japanese in the Solomon Islands. For him, war was not glorious. He had enlisted because he believed it was his duty to protect his country and his loved ones. He was wounded at Bougainville and had spent almost a year in hospital because a 303 bullet had shattered his foot and he carried a legacy of pain throughout his life. Today we hear lots about the need for trauma counselling. I think often of the hundreds of returned servicemen who had to get on with their lives, after enduring unspeakable horrors, without help except for that given by family and loved ones. It was at a concert at the Cudal Community Centre in November 1947 that we announced our engagement and we were married on 3rd April, 1948. Our wedding was held in the Cowra Methodist Church and I was humbled by the love and support given by the people of that fellowship, to make the day special for me. The church was beautifully decorated with flowers, the minister loaned his motorcar and lots of people came to watch and wish us well. I wore a lovely, satin wedding dress loaned to me by a much loved cousin, Heather Bennett, who was a tailoress and had made it for her own wedding some months previously. With it, I wore the Nash veil, made and embroidered by Ken’s sisters and worn previously by three of them. They were days when lots of things were shared and we were grateful for the generosity. Even if money was available, clothing was still rationed and difficult to find. The service was conducted by Rev. Norman Bradshaw, assisted by my brother Harry, who was not yet ordained. It was very meaningful to us both, although we shocked some of our correct aunts because we talked to each other during one of the hymns. We had been apart for a week and were glad to see each other. The Cowra church ladies supplied afternoon tea in the church hall for which I paid with my last 25 pounds. We travelled to Young, then Canberra and on to Huskisson for our honeymoon. It was an enchanted time for me and I sorrow for today’s sophistication that will never know the joys and wonder of our naivety. Arriving home, we took up residence at “Felton”, a farm on Murga Road, where Ken was in partnership with his brother, Vic. There we lived in the workman’s cottage, a small fibro cottage with two main rooms and a kitchen, sun verandah, and bathroom/laundry combined. This was a paradise to have our own home, as many of our peers lived in garages, shared rooms, or with their parents. Housing was very difficult in those post-war years. What was more, we had electricity connected – we were among the very early farms to be electrified. Although I had only taught school for three and a half years, and loved my calling, I well remember how thrilled I was to be able to stay at home and be a housewife, AND have someone else paying the bills. When I married, I had to resign as the Department of Education did not employ married women. Their philosophy was that if married women were employed, it would deprive young people of jobs. Besides, Ken would have been horrified if I had worked. It was a strong matter of pride that a man should support his wife. We had only been home a few days when we experienced our “Tin Kettling”. It was a custom in the country that newlyweds were visited by their friends, at night, who approached silently, with lights doused, surrounded the house, and then proceeded to make an unholy din by banging tins and whistles etc. The unsuspecting couple were then expected to welcome their “guests” and entertain them. A barbaric idea you might think, but we probably would have been disappointed if we had not been “Tin Kettled” and I remember that we enjoyed a hilarious night of fun and friendship. I also remember our visitors brought a delicious supper. And, so, we settled down to life together on the farm at "Felton". The day after we came home from our honeymoon, our car, a Hudson Terraplane, had to go to the garage in Canowindra for repairs so Ken said to me, "You can drive the car in, and I will come behind you in the utility." I looked at him, dumbfounded, as I had had one driving lesson of about ten minutes duration. "You'll be right," he said, "I'll be right behind you. You do this, this and this." So, away we went and I have been driving ever since. It is now fifty five years down the track, and, so far, thank God, I have not had a major accident so my teacher must have had some skills. On the fifteenth of May, 1949~ we welcomed Robert Kenneth to our family. It is difficult for me to find words to adequately explain the joy and delight I found in this gift of my very own baby. While very conscious of the awesomeness of the responsibility of the nurture and training of this precious little person, I often felt almost unable to contain my love and pride. Two years later, after a difficult pregnancy, [I had German measles at six weeks], Paul was born. He had a serious heart condition and some deformity, and only lived four days. We grieved bitterly but, with the gift of hindsight, we know how good God was to take him at that time, for Peter Charles arrived in 1952, Phillip Sidney in 1954, Mary Alice in 1956, Timothy John in 1959 and David Anthony in 1962, all beautiful, strong babies, all different, but all welcomed with much love and pride. Life took on a new dimension with this young family and I enjoyed [most of the time], the challenge of coping with the management skills necessary and the many emergency situations that arose. When heavily pregnant with Paul, I looked out the back door and saw Robert, two years and a bit old, sitting in the circle at the top of the wheat silo, twenty feet above the ground. Fortunately Ken was home and gently persuaded him to sit still while he went up the ladder to help him to safety. Subsequently, all wheat silo ladders were started three or four feet from the ground to prevent adventurous little farm children coming to harm. When Phillip was ten months old and crawling, I had to fish him out of a five gallon bucket of soap suds. There was a serious drought on, water was scarce, and I had saved the soap suds from the washing to scrub the dairy after I had put the baby to bed. He had crawled outside the laundry door after his brother, pulled himself up on the side of the five gallon bucket which tipped towards him allowing him to slide in and then sat back on its base. When I found him there was one little red slipper showing above the soapsuds. He was blue and unconscious when I pulled him out. I had learned the old “thumbs in the middle of the back" method of resuscitation at Teacher's College, but didn't know if it worked or not. It seemed an eternity before he started to cough and splutter. I was on my own as Ken was at the hospital at Orange where his mother was seriously ill and had the car, so I rang the doctor after he began to breathe noisily. He offered to come out to the farm, but said there was nothing more that he could do, and told me how to prop the foot of the cot up so his lungs would drain, and what symptoms of danger to watch for. I hung anxiously over the cot and listened to him breathe stertorously until early morning when he slept and then sat up and enjoyed his bottle. He didn't have any ill-effects but his brothers have teased him ever since about his damage from 'the bucket'. He is a respected Headmaster of a Sydney School today so there has been minimal, lasting harm. Peter as a lively, enthusiastic 3 year old, came running into our room, early one Sunday morning delighted with his prowess, "Mummy! Mummy! I’ve lit the fire for you!" He had! Right in the middle of the living room floor on the new inlaid lino I had been waiting so long for. The day Phillip turned 15 months our unplanned event happened - the arrival of Mary Alice, a beautiful dark haired, rosy cheeked GIRL - all my dreams come true. Our efforts to give her a sister resulted in Timothy John and David Anthony so she had to grow up surrounded by five large and, most of the time, adoring brothers. During our years of farming we experienced joys and sorrows, successes and disappointments, good years and lean, droughts and floods, bushfires and dust storms and learned, I think, some of the adaptability and resourcefulness that characterises many of the men of the land who live close to nature and learn that life depends on a Higher Power than oneself. I enjoyed being a farmer's wife and learned with some pride, the skills of cooking for a large family and often for workmen. We ate mutton three times a day as we always killed and dressed our own hoggets. To this day, Ken prefers Iamb, as is eaten now, to any other meat Sometimes, in the winter, a young vealer was killed and shared among two or three families and how I enjoyed a change in diet. Ken milked a cow and separated the milk each day, so that there was always a bountiful supply of milk, cream and butter - home churned, of course. I learned to preserve fruit whenever it was available, by the Fowler Vacola method and rejoiced in pantry shelves filled with bottles of peaches, pears, cherries and sometimes, blackberries. It was a picnic day out to go up near Orange to some of the blackberry patches and come home laden with bucketsful of these much prized fruits, which were turned into jam and preserves. We reared chickens and pet lambs and I always endeavoured to have a garden, which I guarded jealously against marauding rabbits, pet Iambs and often a hungry house cow. The children always had pets -a loved cat and a pup, sometimes a budgerigar and once [never again!] a beloved pet goat. At about eight or nine Robert had mowed my mother's neighbour's lawn, and as a reward had borne triumphantly home, a dear little baby kid which he loved. Unfortunately, it loved Robert just as dearly, and would eat its way through all the gauze doors and windows to reach him, wherever he was. It grew to be a large billygoat with an insatiable appetite for any thing it could reach, preferably any plant in my garden or the washing on the line. When my endurance became exhausted, he ended up in a neighbour's back paddock as a pack guide for his thousand merino wethers, and lived, I believe, a long and useful life. During our early years on the farm, we lived on "Felton" in partnership with Ken's brother, Vic, but in 1952 we purchased "Glenhurst", on the Cudal Road and dissolved the partnership. Ken and I, with Robert, moved up into the "Glenhurst" homestead. It was a huge, historic, old home that had been built by the pioneering Craven Family and had been renovated by the Grant family from whom we had purchased it. It was built of pise [rammed earth] and its exterior walls were 22" thick and its inner walls 11" thick. It had 12' verandahs all around - wonderful play areas for children! The rooms were very large with 14' Wunderlich ceilings and were always cool in summer and warm in winter. There were fireplaces in several of the rooms and the kitchen, bathroom, sun-room and laundry had been re-modelled on the back verandah. The original kitchen, we used as a garage. Kitchens in the early days were built separate from the main homestead to prevent fire This one had a scullery, [which we used as a separator room] with a cellar beneath it, and a maid's room. There was a "Canberra" fuel stove which I loved but an electric one as well. A centre hall ran through the house -it was 8' wide and 40' long. The lounge room was down at the end of the long hall near the front door, but like many farmhouses no one used the front door - everyone came to the back of the house. We had many happy times in that lounge room -- family gatherings, Christmas celebrations, Bible Studies and church mee1ings. The large fireplace with its beautiful wooden surround and mantel shelf was, in winter, often filled with a roaring log fire. There are many happy memories of our years at "Glenhurst" of the children growing up sturdy and strong, of the many friends who shared with us there, Ken’s Army friends, Perc and Mary Russel and their girls, Bob and Sybil Frail and family who lived with us for some months while waiting to buy a property, the Colebrook family and the Laurie family-- my friends from Sydney Teacher, College days -- Aunty Win Bowmer [ the lady who laughs] Mabel Millthorpe from the Science faculty at Wagga Wagga Teacher's College whose premature death from cancer left a hole in my life, and my aunt and uncle, May and George Affleck, and Jan and Valerie with whom we shared many memorable holidays camping at Wyangala dam. In 1957, Carol came to live with us. She was a member of a large, disadvantaged family and lived with us for more than three years. She became like a daughter to us and was a tremendous help to me with the children, who all adored her. We were among the very early discoverers of the delights of camping at Wyangala. We took the Austin lorry laden with Norman's Army marquee and a roll of Hessian for its walls, our bed which we sat on four petrol drums, the cot for the current baby and lots of necessities, I remember what a red letter year it was when we acquired an Electrolux kerosene refrigerator and could have a cool drink and keep meat to eat. May and George, [my Uncle and Aunt] and the girls, slept in his school bus which he was driving at the time. George had a speedboat and taught Ken and the boys to ski. It was reputed that Robert was then, the youngest child west of the Blue Mountains to be able to water ski. Having grown up with an almost pathological fear of water, it was not easy for me to see my loved ones away out there ‘in the deep’ but I determined early to try to not pass on my fear of water to my children. I asked Robert once, "Aren't you frightened when you fall off the skis away out there? [In 100 feet depth of water]. I remember that he airily replied, "Oh no, I just tread water until Uncle George comes back in the boat." We used to sit around a big bonfire built at the edge of the water at night, and enjoy each other's company after the very tired children were soundly sleeping. The love of boats and skiing has remained with all of our children; they have owned boats and skied in many places, A very exciting memory is of the entire family meeting at Windsor to watch Tim arrive across the finishing line, driving his boat "Plus Tax" with his two friends having skied the 70 kilometres from Brooklyn behind him and coming fourth in their division of the Bridge to Bridge Race. Another year, the whole family spent Christmas at Del Rio on the Hawkesbury River at Wiseman's Ferry and Robert and Peter had boats. Now the grandchildren enjoy the sport and we still sit and watch sometimes while Mary and Daryl share their boat with many others. During these years Ken was very active in the Canowindra community. He worked for, and was President of the Canowindra Show Society, He was President of the Parents and Citizens Association of the local school, worked closely with the then Country Party and was nominated [after our seventh child was born] as Candidate for election in Federal Parliament. He was very active in the Pony Club, was President on the Local Hospital Board for some years and was elected as a Councillor of the Boree Shire Council. As well, he was always active in the Methodist church firstly at Cranbury, then in Canowindra, as a steward, a Trustee, a Sunday School teacher and Superintendent of the Sunday School. All this meant that he was away from home a great deal at nights. Most of the time, I was quite happy about this. I saw my role to be the homemaker and mother and believed I was doing my part to serve by managing at home and allowing Ken to represent us both. Looking back, those nurturing years represent only a small part of my lifetime and there has been time before, and after, for me to be the doer. They were very precious years and passed very swiftly, and can never be recaptured. There were many activities in which we were involved as a family. The church was our social centre and we all enjoyed the friendship and fellowship of like-minded friends. Being members of close - knit families much time was spent with family members. For many of our early years we went to "Wollombeen", Ken's family farm, after church and Sunday School, for a special Sunday night tea where the children delighted in playing with some of their 29 Nash cousins. That gathering was typical of the times. The men all gathered in the living room around the fire where they talked crops and prices, or droughts and bushfires, whatever was happening at the time. The children were glad to escape outside and played together under the pepper trees or around the red verandahs while the women fussed around preparing food and waiting, hand and foot on expectant males. I don't remember that we ever minded - it was just how it was, and we enjoyed our time for "women's talk". There were always school activities to work for, concerts, fetes, school sports etc. Our two older boys were keen members of the Pony Club and competed in riding sections at the local show and Pony Club Gala days. Life was always busy and we enjoyed being part of these activities. The local Canowindra Show was always a big event in the community calendar, for young and old alike and eagerly looked forward to it. Many local people were committed to making it the shop window of the district and spent much time and toil in its organisation and execution. There was one occasion when Drama plus came to Canowindra, and we made the front page of the Sydney Morning Herald. In these days there were few food stalls and catering for the Show was a big money spinner. There was a Refreshment Booth and the churches of the town took it in turns to supply sumptuous morning and afternoon tea and lunches. Months of work and preparation proceeded the time - turkeys were bred by the farm ladies, the best hams were kept and cooked to perfection and all sorts of salads and desserts made. It was a lot of work and all hands were encouraged to help. The food was prepared beforehand and an assembly line set up to serve all the plates, which were then put into bags made by the ladies on their sewing machines, from greaseproof paper. This was pre-plastic times. On this particular occasion, about two hours after lunch, people started to collapse everywhere with griping pain, acute diarrhoea and vomiting. Pandemonium soon reigned. Families became split up - some were taken to Canowindra and Cowra hospitals - wives couldn’t go home as their husbands had the car keys, others set off for home and were taken ill on the side of the road. Ken was Show President so carried the responsibility. He told me to go home and he would come when he could. I marshalled my four children, only to find that our car had been parked into a comer by someone who was in hospital twenty miles away. I eventually found four strong men who manhandled the car to let mine out, but I got into the car to find my precious, eighteen months old, daughter being violently sick in her big brother's arms. I headed for help to my mother’s home on the outskirts of the town, to find her in a similar state on the side of the road. She was being looked after by a friend from the church so I set off home. Less than halfway home, Mary started to spasm so I stopped and got her out in the fresh air. A neighbour came along just then and seeing my predicament, he parked his utility and drove my car home for me. I hung over her cot until Ken finally arrived home about one o'clock, and she was sleeping peacefully. It was a hideous experience -our first introduction to Golden Staph. It was all made worse for us because the Methodists were catering, capable ladies paranoid about cleanliness, fussy about everything. No-one died - all recovered in about twenty four hours. The town talked about it for years - there were many humorous tales told but it really wasn’t funny while it was happening. It was one time the little town of Canowindra made the headlines in the Sydney Morning Herald newspaper. Early in our married life I was spending a good deal of time at Cowra trying to help my parents, who were suffering much illness. Their living conditions were not conducive to recovery. The home was inconvenient without electricity, running water or telephone and transport was difficult. After much discussion with my father and others, he agreed, to come and live at Canowindra on a small property Ken had bought, on the outskirts of Canowindra, where we were able to help more. The move was made in 1951, and their health improved greatly. They lived there until Dad’s death in 1963.Mum always loved her grandchildren and helped me greatly with minding them in emergencies. She mended their clothes, knitted warm jumpers and played games with them. She stayed on at “The Ranch” as the property was called, after Dad died but found it very lonely and spent a good deal of time with one or another of us children. She suffered from a depression for some years until she was taken off some medication she had been on too long. At the same time, she believed she had a new experience of God and there was a miraculous change in her attitude and spirits... She became an Elder in the church and was teaching Sunday School when she was 90 years old. Instead of keeping to herself she began to act as a carer for folk in the Moyne Retirement Village at Canowindra where she had entered in 1971.She died in 1998 in her 97th year. In 1962 Robert was ready for High School. Canowindra was only a District Rural School and did not offer courses that would allow students to go on to Tertiary education so we moved from the farm into Canowindra so that Robert could go by bus from Canowindra to Cowra High School. Ken leased the farm and worked as a wool classer and managed the local wheat silos. Living in town was a new experience but we had a lovely home on three blocks which gave the children room to play. In 1965, after much thought and deliberation Ken accepted the challenge to be the farm manager at the Iandra Rural Centre. The Methodist Church had purchased this beautiful property at Greenethorpe with its magnificent castle of 67 rooms and opened it as a home where boys were brought from the courts, and sometimes from risk situations, and were trained in farm work and in Christian living. We elected to live in Young where there was an excellent High School, and Ken travelled 16 miles to the farm each day. He had been very involved with “Iandra “from its inception in 1955. Before it opened, he had travelled for some weeks in western N.S.W. with a man from the Social Service Department of the church, on deputation, in an effort to raise money for the venture. As a member of the farm committee, he had travelled to farm planning meetings once every month and had headed a voluntary team of men who had done the shearing each year. Ken and I both enjoyed the work with the boys. Some had come through the courts and some were from vulnerable home situations. We soon learned that most of the lads had been much more sinned against than sinners, and we still have contact with middle aged men who have led worthwhile lives and pay tribute to the care and training at Iandra. A new era in our lives began with our move to Young. Leaving the familiar cocoon of family and the small community of Canowindra was frightening, but we soon settled into our new world. We had been able to buy a lovely home on the southern outskirts of the town on four blocks of land, which had a well established garden .This became my pride and joy and I spent many happy hours working in it especially in the early days when I was a bit lonely . We soon became involved in the Methodist church where we made some wonderful friends and enjoyed fellowship as we served God together with them. At this time there was an acute teacher shortage in N.S.W., and the Young High School, where our children were being educated was badly affected. The Headmaster, Mr. Earle McGann had taught me Mathematics at Cowra High School, and he persuaded me to help out by Casual Teaching on his staff even though I was only Primary trained. So began a very steep learning curve in my life. Not only was I trying to teach Science, [I had never liked Science and had dropped it in Third Year at Cowra] but I had not ever worked in a staffed situation before, and found the interaction in the Staff room a challenge. I often felt intimidated by some of the seemingly confident teenagers and very aware of my lack of qualifications. I was greatly encouraged by the Science Master, Dennis Dinning, and by the Girls Supervisor, Mrs Allie Catlin and others. and at times thoroughly enjoyed the experiences. I also enjoyed the extra income. My first cheque netted me $11 + per day, but it rose fairly quickly, as I remember. With a growing family of six teen-agers this was very welcome. One of its benefits that everyone enjoyed was that sometimes we could have fish and chips for Friday night’s evening meal. To-day, my Headmaster son, Phillip, tells me of Casual teachers being paid over $200 per day. During those seven years at Young we became involved with a family living in a shack on the road out to Iandra. The mother was part aboriginal--- her gentleman friend, white and old. There were five children under about eight- all having different fathers. Together they went on drinking sprees, leaving the children often at home alone. The mother became ill and I looked after Caroline, who was a delightful eighteen months old for six months. I loved her dearly and tried to adopt her but the powers that be disallowed it. I have often wondered what kind of life she has had... She would be in her 30’s now. It was during our years at Young that we discovered the Far South Coast as a holiday destination. We had previously been to Tathra and liked it very much so headed in that direction one Christmas holiday. I remember it as a disastrous journey. The harvest was late and everyone became impatient waiting for Dad to be able to leave. Travelling with six children in one vehicle was always stressful. We made Bateman’s Bay and stayed overnight. Ken became very ill during the night with a blood poisoned arm. We sought help at the little local hospital where they advised us to go to Bega where better facilities were available. Ken was admitted there for treatment and the children and I settled in the Tathra Caravan Park. With good treatment Ken recovered in a few days and we began to enjoy our holiday. It was that year that the children discovered Merimbula where our friends, Arthur and Hilda Beasley were camping and for many successive years that became our holiday destination. There was nowhere else anyone wanted to go. We progressed from an old, small caravan with a tent to a lovely new six berth with an annexe. Then! Wonderful luxury! We were able to have a site with private shower and toilet. What Bliss! The older boys began to spear fish in the “Back Lake” and often brought home good catches of fish which were a great addition to the family meals. At night we played games in the caravan. Ken and the boys used to enjoy Five Hundred. Competition became quite fierce, and it was a bone of contention that the older boys played with their father too much and, as the younger ones became keen, they didn’t always get a look in. Many years later, when they were supposed to be staid married men, two of them travelled to Canberra one Saturday afternoon, from Sydney, played five hundred all night with the two brothers living in Canberra at the time, and then travelled back the next day! Much change came into our lives in 1972. We could see that Iandra was winding down. The original plan was to train boys in farm work so that they could get jobs in the country as farm hands. Mechanisation took over from labourers on farms and the boys were not getting jobs. Eventually the Church sold Iandra and bought group homes in Sydney, where work was more readily available. Ken did not want to go back on his farm so he looked for something else to do. He took the position of farm manager at the “Marella Mission Farm" [for aboriginal children] at Kellyville on the outskirts of Sydney. It was run by Keith Langford Smith, who had been a missionary with the Church of England Missionary Society in inland Australia. He was known as the Sky Pilot as he was an early pioneer of aviation in the inland. Robert was married to Nancy Lacey on Easter Saturday in the Young Methodist Church. Their wedding was a very happy occasion with a great get together of family and friends. On Easter Monday Ken and Mary and Timothy left to take up the new position at Kellyville .Mary was in Year 11 and Timothy in Year 7 so we wanted them to get settled in the Castle Hill High School as early in the year as possible. David stayed behind with me and we began the task of packing up and selling the house. Phillip was in Year 12 so he finished the year at Young High boarding with very good friends Graham and Denise Gilbert. Peter was working in the Commonwealth Bank and due for a move so we left him behind in Young too. I found the breaking up of the family very difficult and really grieved because my family situation had suddenly changed so dramatically. However, sometime in June, after a harrowing night drive with the dog and the cat in our car, and Peter following in his car pulling a trailer loaded with my pot plants we finally arrived with the removalists van, {which immediately proceed