Eulogy To Ethel Standen.
By Michael Harris.
Firstly, some of you may have noticed that Pa is not here…I am sure that under the circumstances you will understand why. Those of you who know me well enough probably know that I never have notes for my speeches, and may be a little surprised that I have notes today. Well, today’s different. You see, I have always believed that if I felt strongly enough about someone to make a speech about them, then I could say all I needed straight from the heart. Well, that’s especially true today as well except for one small problem. My heart is little shut today, and hard to prize open, because today I want to talk to you about… Gran……..Some of you also knew her as Gran, Mum, Aunty Et, Et, Ethel, Mrs Standen, or maybe even ‘the lady down the road’. For those of you who don’t know, she had 3 children, 5 grandchildren, and to date, 6 great grand children. But no matter what you called her, she was ‘Gran’.. My Gran! And she was as good a Gran as you could wish for. Gran came from a harsh background. She was born at Waterloo in Sydney, the youngest of 4 children. After the death of her father in 1919, her family returned to Broke to be with her mothers’ family. She married Pa in 1939. That’s 61 years ago! 61 Years! That’s longer than a lot of people in this church have been around. Can you imagine the type of person it takes to be married to someone for 61 years? (Especially a farmer..) Well please allow me to tell you about that ‘type of person’ from my point of view…. Gran was proud. In fact she could be downright stubborn. But she was always well dressed, and had her head held high. Just a couple of years ago while my young family and I were visiting with Pa and Gran, we stayed for ‘Tea’. Gran loved to have us stay for a meal! This day she wanted to give us the added treat of garlic bread. So she carefully got the garlic bread from the freezer and put it under the griller. Don’t forget that by now Gran was about 80, so she wasn’t quite as sharp as she used to be (although her tongue hadn’t seemed to lose its edge), and she had turned on the oven not the grill. When she served the bread, it was, of course, still frozen. Now, my son loves garlic bread, and wasn’t old enough yet to recognise frozen garlic bread when he sees it, so he tucked in. Well the look on his face was priceless! Being a well brought up boy, he quietly said to me ‘Dad, this bread is cold & hard’, to which I whispered ‘I know, you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want too’. Gran saw all this and asked what was going on. I looked for some tactful way of saying that the bread was frozen (knowing the result would not be pleasant if I came straight out and said it). Gran told me not to be silly, that the bread was cooked to perfection, and proceeded to eat a piece (which was no mean feat for someone with false teeth). ‘See’ she said ‘it’s not frozen at all’. Now through all this, Pa (who had also made the mistake of grabbing a piece from the plate) had been sitting quietly observing, and about now he looked up slowly at Gran, and with a wry smile on his face and a wink to us said ‘well mum……it’s bloody cold!’ Gran never heard him of course. Gran was generous, especially with her time…Christmas eve has always been ‘The Day’ on that side of my family, and I’ve always cherished ‘That day’. In fact, at the risk of being called a big kid, Christmas is my time of year! Gran always had a ‘live’ tree, and to this day, when I smell a fresh pine tree, I am transported back to Christmas eve at Gran’s. We would go to Pa and Gran’s in the middle of the day, and it would be the longest time until after dinner when the really good stuff started to happen (I’m talking about the presents of course!) But Gran seemed too know how long it was for us. She always had a small Christmas tree just for us grandkids (there were only three of us then) which had some little presents on there for us. We all got a mouse made from jubes, and a 50 cent piece wrapped. Gran would grab the toy santa who was standing beside this little tree and hand out these little gifts. Can you imagine where Gran found the time to do this in amongst running a house and a farm, and preparing for Christmas with a houseful of guests? But it was never a problem. And then when the time came, well what a night we had. We always got great big bags full of presents. Now I know that they were probably small ‘nothing’ presents, but we didn’t think so.. they were wonderful gifts. How did she find the time to choose and wrap them all for us? I guess love can find a way of doing anything it wants can’t it? I fondly remember going to Newcastle at Christmas time, and walking the street. Looking at the nativity scenes, and electric puppet show in the windows of the ‘Store’ building. Those memories are intrinsically linked with Pa and Gran. We would walk right down Hunter street, and look in all the windows. We would go into David Jones, and have lunch in the cafeteria. I can still hear the Christmas songs they played. I can remember scores of times when Gran would finish her work in the kitchen, and throw a blanket on the table and play cards with my sisters and myself. Or maybe scrabble, or some other thing that we wanted to play. Now I know how tedious it can be to play with little children, but Gran never saw it as a chore. Gran loved us, and she knew how to show it. She was never an ‘affectionate’ person, but she didn’t need to be, love came from Gran in other ways. Gran loved to tell the story of when I was a little boy at a time when there was obviously a little stress in my parents life. She recalled that as a little boy I looked up at her with big soft blue eyes and said ‘Gran, I love you; and you must say I love you too…not BIG DEAL’. I always knew Gran loved me. Not because she said so.. she didn’t need to. But because she ALWAYS made me feel special, even if just by recounting memories that told me I was special to her. Gran was fun…. She was in every thing…even the proverbial sandwich! You only had to say the word ‘Picnic’ once and ‘she’d be in it’! My childhood memories are filled with memories of picnics around Broke and Bulga.. all with Gran featuring in them somewhere. I can recall Gran showing us the caves that as a girl she played in. The little shelves that she and her sisters had carved out were still plain to see. The cave was eroded, but the feelings of excitement were not. Gran was always able to impart her feelings of ‘goodness’ to you. Even just a few short years ago, while visiting her for her birthday on Easter Saturday, someone mentioned the words ‘Picnic’ and ‘Broke’ in the same sentence. Well we were off! And what a wonderful afternoon that was. It was one of those beautiful autumn afternoons we get in April. I’m sure you know the type of day I’m talking about. The kind of afternoon where the sun has that wonderful warm feeling that never gets hot.. with the really long shadows, and the hint of the cold morning to come. We looked in caves with aboriginal paintings, around the township of Broke itself, and Gran took the opportunity to tell us about her own special memories. She showed us where her pony ran when she was just a girl. She pointed out where her grandfather lived in the hills. We looked at the old police station, and drove past her old school. We sat and ate an ice cream together. It was a special day! I felt warm and nostalgic then… you can imagine how I feel now when I remember that day. I can remember as a little boy going to the beach with the family, including Gran. A favourite family memory is the time when Gran got caught in a rip on Newcastle beach. Dad swam out to save her, and after a long struggle, they were both brought in by the lifeguards. The headline in the Newcastle Morning Herald the next day read ‘Elderly couple saved on beach’. Dad wasn’t real impressed, but Gran thought it was just wonderful. As a little boy, when both our family and Pa and Gran lived at Lower Belford, we would often have to drive past Pa and Gran’s place to get home. To this day I can remember that EVERY time we drove past, I would try and ‘Will’ dad into veering into their road. Pa and Gran’s was a very special place. When I grew a little older, and after we moved away to Lochinvar, I was allowed to ride my bike around. While other kids my age were doing their thing I would ride the 20 or so kilometres to go and have lunch with Pa and Gran. You see, I just wanted to be there. I remember that it wasn’t that I needed to say anything. Just the smell of her kitchen was enough to make me feel good, and to sit with Pa and Gran on the north verandah on a winters day was just heaven. Birthdays were extra special BECAUSE we often went to Pa and Gran’s for our birthday tea. Gran was strong! I guess it came from her upbringing. In all the years I knew Gran, I can honestly say that I NEVER saw her cry. Maybe this was a good trait, and maybe not? Either way, it was a trait that Gran carried with her to the end. Gran was never the kind of person you would go to for a grizzle. She was never sick.. to a fault! Pa mentioned yesterday that just last week he commented to her that ‘they were old now’ and that they could die. Pa laughed a little when he remembered that she retorted ‘you speak for yourself, your not getting rid of me’. That was typical of Gran…tough to the end. That’s not to say she wasn’t compassionate! Because compassion comes with love….and Gran had more of that than I would have imagined a soul could hold. I remember being at Pa & Gran’s on holidays and becoming sick. I vomited all night and Gran never became short or impatient. As a parent now, I know how much it takes be ‘Kind’ all night! I will never forget the times I would lay with Gran at night while we watched TV, and she would scratch my head for what seemed like hours; or crawling into bed with Gran after the boys had gone to the dairy of a morning and having stories read to me. The rainy nights when ‘all the boys’ would be cold and wet, and I would go back to the house while the ‘Big’ boys finished of in the dairy. The fire would be big and warm, and my tea would be ready.. always something yummy and warm (like bread and soft boiled eggs). In fact all my memories of Gran are ‘Warm’ memories. Perhaps that tells you more about her than any words I can string together. The best thing about my memories of Gran is that I don’t just remember them and her now. These are memories that flow back to me every day of my life, especially if I’m feeling low. And I’ll continue to remember them every day. The only sad thing about my memories now is that I can’t share them with Gran any more. Those of you who know me know that I am not a church goer, but if you will indulge me I would just like to say this… God I hope she’s happy; because she deserves to be…I hope she knew how happy she made us while she was here. You know, I’m a lucky person. I had Gran longer than many people have their own mothers. And yet, there’s a big, selfish part of me screaming out…I’m not finished with her! You see, I always knew today would come…..but I never thought it would!