FRIDAY FUN

While I am busy working on others bits and pieces I thought maybe a few more bird photos to put a smile on your face which I hope you will carry into the weekend.....and do have a good one.  These pics all came to me via email and the name of the photographer is shown to be Greg Licandro.   The captions don't come through so I have to type them in separately.  Here goes:

                                "I'm just keeping an eye on those noisy magpies next door."

                  "But honey, what makes you think I had a little too much to drink at the office party?"

                                          "Oh hello! Are you the photographer from Vogue?"

                                                  "Wow!  That was one elusive fish!"

          "No, I don't remember the part in the bible about breaking bread together, so just let go!"

             "O.K. girls, I think we are finally ready for "Dancing with the Stars....whoops Birds".

                          "With this disguise, they'll never figure out who robbed their nest!"

 

"Really?  My mother flew south without me?"

You have to feel for that wee chick don't you?   Let's hope someone was able to care for it until mum came back.

THINKING ALOUD ON THURSDAY

As we headed for Rockingham yesterday through this area, with bush on each side of the road, I commented to Phil how nice it was to have these buffers where you couldn't see any houses and it was like driving in the country.   Incidentally, the traffic lights in the distance are on the intersection of Stock Road which is part of our National Highway 1 (more of that in a later post).

 School holidays are in full swing here and Phil responded by saying "When I was young you'd see children playing in there, making cubby houses and just generally having fun".  This brought to mind an article last week in our local paper "The Cockburn City Herald" and I quote:

"PLAY SCHOOLS IN" (by Steve Grant)  As Principal of Baldivis primary school John worthy saw first-hand the transition of students from free-range country kids to caged city slickers.  As high-density housing swallowed up the farmland and the urbanites moved in the local tradition of dropping kids off at the school gate and letting them run down the driveway came to an end.  Instead there was a chaotic jam of parents trying to chauffeur them to the front door.

After school, kids once disappeared into a world of make-believe in bushland and paddocks till nightfall and hunger brought them home.  They then started disappearing behind the telly instead.  Mr Worthy noticed his charges becoming less socialised, increasingly aggressive and more likely to struggle in class.

It fired his interest in how children play, particularly in nature and the seed of his current thesis was planted.

Now based at Beaconsfield primary, the 32-year veteran of teaching is being given the opportunity to try some of his ideas on a grand scale, with the school about to create Fremantle's first large scale nature playground.

Two derelict houses have been demolished next to the school, making room for a playground that will link classrooms to the school oval.  The houses' presence meant the kids used to go on an excursion simply to play footy 20 metres away.

Mr Worthy says the aim of the finished playground is to be a community facility.  He has the enthusiastic backing of the P and C President who has two young sons at the school. She said (and this is the part that got me really thinking) "We have a tiny backyard, so it's a great opportunity for my kids to get outside to play and we'll be coming here on the weekends too.""

There was more about planning and how the local politicians and a local firm were becoming involved and that the Council will help in any way it can with the project.  The firm CODA has already donated $20,000 of designs to help develop the playround and integrate it into the existing site and local MP's donated saplings (young trees) and trowels. 

I remarked on the President of the P and C saying how tiny their backyard is with no room for children to play.   In Perth these days there are some building blocks less than 400 square metres and for some reason there is this tendency to build huge double storey homes with barely enough room to walk around them.  We have a quite big front garden here and a large back garden and all our grandchildren used to have fun climbing trees or just doing what kids do outdoors.  They were also fortunate to have room in their own gardens to play. 

These days children seem to spend much of their free time in front of the TV set or computer and most seem to have smart phones and keep texting each other often about quite inconsequential matters.  Another thing is the lack of decent footpaths in suburban areas.  We have a concrete footpath on the other side of our street but not on our side.  When I was a child there were bitumen footpaths on both sides of nearly all suburban streets.  You could use chalk to draw hopscotch on them and most houses also had front fences (these days very few do) and you could tie one end of the skipping rope to the cyclone fence and, with one friend on the other end of the rope, you could skip to your heart's content, taking it in turns to be the one on the end of the rope.

When Perth was much, much smaller than the urban sprawl of modern times I remember going into the bush and picking wildflowers or going to the local park to play.  We have several parks near us with beautiful play equipment but I seldom, if ever, see that equipment being used.  I am sure it's not just stranger danger that keeps children away but they've lost the art of really having fun and keeping healthy by just being out there....doing stuff.

I take my hat off to Mr Worthy and hope his project gets off the ground really quickly so that children in the area learn what it is like to really enjoy being outdoors again.

WHISPERS FROM WARICKSHIRE

When Phil first told me this story I said "how gruesome!" but he said "It's all part of life in the country.  These things happen and have to be dealt with."

It seems a neighbour of Cyril's (Phil's dad) called over one day to say one of his horses had died and would Cyril please come over to his farm and help him dig a hole so the horse could be buried without delay.

Cyril agreed and after much time spent digging a huge hole they used the another horse to drag the body of the dead horse into the hole.   It took them quite some time to fill the hole in again and, to their horror, when they had finished putting the earth back there were the dead horse's four feet sticking up well above the ground.

What to do?  Only one solution....a hacksaw was brought from the shed and the horse's feet had to be sawn off and buried separately.

Fortunately there are no graphics to go with this story and I am sorry if it upsets you but as Phil said when he told me "It happens."

I love horses and strangely enough Philip's name means "Lover of horses" and I not only love him but horses as well and I don't know why I wrote that but it just sort of came into my head so there it is.

TELLING IT ON TUESDAY (Part 25...the 1970s)

This is another event in the 70s that very much affected our lives, especially my mum's life.

While living in Mosman Park I received a telephone call from my half-brother, Len, to say he'd received a call from Royal Perth Hospital to say mum had been seriously injured.  We hot footed it to the hospital and found her unconscious in the emergency ward.  It seemed it could be touch and go and I talked to her not knowing if she could hear me or not but hoping with all my heart she knew I was there.  (Len was the only other Ruston in the telephone book apart from mum and that is why he received the call from the hospital).

Mum was in hospital for SEVEN months, many of those months spent in the Rehabilitation Hospital in Shenton Park.  At the time this happened Mum was (I think) 72 and the Director of the Citizen's Advice Bureau which she had first begun in a tiny office in Boans Store some years earlier.  As mum had never driven and didn't own a car she used taxies to and from work each day.  She lived in North Perth which was only a few miles from the city so not too expensive (at least not back in 1970).

On this particular June afternoon taxis were at a premium in the city and (although I think it was not  actually legal) mum agreed to share a taxi with two people going to Leederville, if she could be taken home first.   Then followed a series of events with a calamatous outcome.

When the taxi arrived a few doors from mum's house in Fitzgerald Street the taxi driver asked her if she would mind if he turned left into Farmer Street so he could head straight to Leederville.  Although mum wasn't at all that happy about the idea, as the driver should have taken her to the front of her house, she agreed as she didn't want to be difficult.  My goodness, if only she had insisted he drop her at her front door which she would have been within her rights to do. 

This now meant mum had to walk about 15 metres and then cross over Fitgerald Street to her house.  As she went to cross a car heading north up the road stopped and waved her to cross over.  As she did so another car, also heading north, stupidly passed the stopped car swerving on to the wrong side of the road and hit mum square on.  Poor old mum apparently flew into the air landing extremely heavily on the road.  Her next door neighbour, Mrs Michael (a doctor's wife) heard the commotion and when she ran out and saw mum lying on the road she thought the worst.  She told me afterwards that she honestly thought my mum was dead.

The man who was driving rather fast and swerved around the stopped car had just collected his wife and new baby from the hospital .  He was obviously anxious to get them home.  Perhaps the baby was crying and he was concerned.  Nobody knows but the manouvre he made was one that very few would think of doing normally, at least without slowing down to see why the other car had stopped and if the way were clear.  It certainly meant he was delayed in getting his wife and baby home and I am sure this was on his mind for many years after the 'accident'.

It seems mum received a fractured skull, a half inch split in her brain (the fluid that surrounds the brain had drained out through her ear), fractured ribs, a leg broken in two places and, worst of all, a shattered right hip.   After the leg was set (I still have, as a memento, the steel rod that went through that leg) she was placed in a ward and we were then able to see her the next day.   Her memory seemed to have been impaired and, although she appeared to know who we were, she was very vague.  We only stayed for a few minutes and promised to be back the next day.

We visited her each day and realised that she was, somehow, going to pull through but the orthopaedic surgeon rang me and told me there was little hope that mum would ever walk again.  He said she was indeed fortunate to still be alive.  He made three attempts to fix the shattered hip but there was nothing they could do to set it nor could it be replaced because the pieces that remained were too small.  These injuries would have been life threatening for a younger person but to a woman of 72 one could expect them to be fatal.  What always saddened me was, only a few weeks prior to this incident, my mother was riding Karen's bicycle up and down outside our house in Boundary Road just to show she still could.  She was still a very active woman even with a diphtheric heart she'd had since a bout of diphtheria when she was 15 in England.

Several years prior to this accident a doctor (not mum's regular GP) had told her if she didn't give up work....she should not even use a broom to sweep the floor....he couldn't vouch she would live much longer.  She had an irregular heartbeat (all doctors picked that up upon examination) but whatever it was, this stubborn lady had decided it was not going to kill her.

After several weeks mum was transferred to Shenton Park for rehabilitation.  While there she developed thrombosis in her leg which necessitated administering blood thinners.  They of course monitored this treatment and then found her blood had become too thin so more medication to reverse that.  She eventually asked to have her portable typewriter brought to the hospital and she continued with some of her responsibilites but alas, she was never again to return to the position of Director of the CAB which I think was a real heartbreak to her as it had always been her 'baby'.  This is mum at her desk at the Citizen's Advice Bureau office in Murray Street, Perth.

The man who was driving the car that hit mum actually visited her in the rehab hospital which I thought rather splendid of him.  It must have been very embarrassing for him to do so but I think mum appreciated the visit and his very sincere apology.  She said he was very upset and she could tell how sincere he was when he said "I am so sorry".

She followed all instructions at the Rehab Hospital and was progressed well.  She was fortunate to have a private room as she could then get on with some typing and other work she insisted on doing.

Prior to mum's accident we had arranged for our trip to Carnarvon and she of course insisted we go as planned.  We set out and sent postcards etc from various destinations which unfortunately took ages to reach mum and I felt from what she said when we arrived home, she felt we had neglected her.  I think a couple of items arrived in the mail after our return home but of course we had been visiting her so regularly she must have missed us more than we realised she would.

Eventually mum confounded all the medicos and was up and walking with the help of crutches to begin with and then two walking sticks (I still have one of those sticks and use it daily.  The other was lent to someone in the family and was lost somewhere).  After some years her right leg became much shorter than her good leg and she had to have the heels of her shoes built up a few inches.   I think she was in much more pain than she would let on about but 'cracked hardy' most of the time.  She was certainly a very stoical person in more ways then one.

Mum received dozens of get well cards as well as letters and telegrams as she was so well known in Perth and I sat and pasted them all in a scrap book and took them to her in the hospital and she was so delighted to be able to look at them all in that way.  She also decided she could not return home to the house in Fitzgerald Street and began looking for a simpler place she could move around in easily.

A new duplex in Hertha Place, Innaloo was on the market and mum decided this would do her very nicely.  The house in Fitzgerald Street was sold and we moved mum into her new home with the help of family and some young friends of ours.  She made the place very comfortable and seemed happy there for some time.  This is the duplex a few weeks after mum moved in.  Phil and I had planted a lawn for her and there were plants in a garden bed by the verandah and several  beginning to grow quite well along the fenceline. 

Mum was quite comfortable here until she began to think about becoming a burden on us because of her disabilities.  She then chose to enter a retirement village in Joondanna.  She was, in fact, one of the very first to live there.  She had a corner downstairs unit consisting of a bedroom, living/dining room with a kitchen and a bathroom.  She had a box made to raise her recliner/rocker off the ground so she could stand up more easily and used several 'helpers' (clickers and hooks on sticks) to pick up items from the floor or from high up and even to help her put her stockings on as it was very awkward for her to bend down.  She used one stick when at home but always used the two whenever she went into the city. 

With her love of gardening it was not too long before mum had a beautiful garden growing in the small plot outside her unit as well as several containers of cimbidium orchids.  It never fails to amaze me when I look at this photograph, the variety of plants and flowers she managed to fit into this tiny area.   When the sweet peas were in bloom I would often be given a bunch to take home with me.

No matter what the problem was, mum never allowed it to get her down for too long and just got on with life.

There is more to mum's story but I may continue that in a later blog as she went on to do more social work, became a Justice of the Peace and received the MBE and the Queen's Silver Jubilee medal as well.

KEEPING IN TOUCH

Will be back soon I hope and in the meantime I thought you may enjoy these (sorry River if I sent the email to you).  Hope all in your world is going along swimmingly.  Lots of lovely rain here so no swimming but really enjoying the winter weather, even though it's been rather cold.

Row, row, row my bod, gently down the stream:

Quick, I need some floss.  I think I've got a seed stuck in my beak:  (we have that type of weed growing at our place; not sure what it's called...rye grass perhaps?)

Hey guys, what do you think I am, a houseboat?

Where's my Prozac, I'm feeling so blue:

So?  I'm just not into sock.  I like the wind on my ankles:

Landing check list: gear down...check; full flaps....check; runway clear.....check; alignment correct......check.  (I'm told flamingos do have problems landing).

Wish I could build a nest like that: (don't you love the colour of those socks?)

WHISPERS FROM WARWICKSHIRE

Another little snippet that Phil remembers from his life as a youngster in Warwickshire.

His mother's brother (Phil's Uncle Jeff) often popped over of an evening on his bicycle to visit his sister and her family.  He would stay and have a cup of tea and piece of cake (on special occasions possibly to even share a pork pie) and then he would set off home again on his trusty bike.

On this particular evening he apparently went to sleep while riding his bike home and woke to find he had ridden a good half mile past his front gate.

Phil doesn't know if his Uncle Jeff made a habit of falling to sleep when riding his bike but he certainly did on this occasion and I believe the family teased him about it for quite a while afterwards.

How fortunate it was he didn't fall off his bike or ride too far past his home.  I imagine he was rather surprised when he did wake up.

TELLING IT ON TUESDAY (Part 24 ...the 1970s)

I am changing the format somewhat as a number of events occurred during the 1970s and I am trying to get them in some sort of chronological order so please bear with me.  As you know this story is as much for me and my family as it is to share so if I am somewhat self-indulgent at times then please be patient.

On 12 June, 1971 my dad died, he was 85.  I am telling this story, bones and all, as I loved this man dearly and still miss him so much to this very day.  Hard to believe he would now 128 years old.

He had been born Henry Thomas Ruston on 8th October, 1885.  His father, Joseph Ruston, was a wheelwright and employed several men in his business and I believe the family were quite well off.

Dad married Nora Johnson in the Registry Office in Hackney, London, on 8th March, 1911 and his son, Len, was born on 17th March, 1911.  Yes, you did the maths correctly.   No error there.  Len's mother became very ill and died of her illness in 1916 when she was only 32, and Len was 5. We understand it was a serious kidney problem that had developed over some time which lead to her death.  After his mother's died, Len was cared for by two of his aunts (presumably his mother's sisters).

Dad and mum were both working at the Sugar Commission when they met and he wooed her quite seriously and they finally became engaged, and were married in the Woodberry Down Church, Edmonton, London, on 22 December, 1917 during WW2 (dad was 32 and mum was 20).  For some reason dad was estranged from his entire family and not one of them attended this wedding.  Even his best friend changed his mind about being dad's best man at the last minute.   I never did find out why this occurred but often wondered if it had something to do with dad's first marriage and the delay in it taking place.  You don't ask questions when you are young so this will remain and big secret forever more.  He had no contact with his family from that day on.  Did they perhaps consider him their black sheep?

Dad became very ill with the Spanish flu following the cessation of hostilities  in 1918 and the doctor was very concerned for dad's health and recommend him emigrating to warmer climes.  The decision was made to go to Western Australia and start a farming life which was rather ambitious for two people who had clerical positions all their working lives and had been brought up in quite large houses possibly with at least a housekeeper.  I know mum and dad had a housekeeper when they married and mum's mother and father had a housekeeper and a gardener in their 3-storey home.

Mum and dad arrived in Albany Harbour, Western Australia on 9th May, 1920 and during their farming lives lived in Chorkerup, Redmond and Narrikup.  Mum was seriously ill after a major operation and they were forced to leave their farm at the end of 1937, with almost no possessions.    If you have followed my story at you will know that for some reason they were unable to have children so they adopted me in 1932; they were wonderful parents and I shall always be grateful for their love and care of me.

They separated in 1954 when I had only been married a short time and I saw little of my dad for some years.  I did pay him a visit for his birthday on one occasion but shortly afterwards mum said she had received a noted from dad asking me not to visit him again.  I found this very strange as during that visit I was made to feel most welcome but I had to take mum's word at face value.  I have often regretted I didn't challenge what I was told but in those days you always trusted your elders.

I am not sure when, but my brother and his wife decided dad should go into a nursing home and they chose Braemer in East Fremantle.  At that time Dad still had his Morris 8 tourer but my sister-in-law told him he wouldn't be able to keep it and if he gave it to her she would trade it and her old car in for a better one and then she would be able to take him (and her mother who was also resident at Braemar) for a drive occasionally.  Dad told me sometimes later that the matron of the nursing home told him he could have kept his car as there was provision for parking for residents. 

One Christmas, A few years prior to dad's death, we were going to Len and Jean's place for tea.  I received a call from Len saying dad wanted to see me and could Phil please bring me over after they'd had lunch so we could have a chat.  Phil agreed, and dad and I had a lovely long chat during which time I discovered he had partly blamed me for mum wanting a separation from him.  I quickly explained to him what had happened and he realised mum had made it appear I had been spying on dad which was absolutely untrue but I put two and two together and realised she had used something I had told her as part of her reason for wanting them to separate.   Len took dad back to Braemar and Phil returned later with mum so we could have tea with Len and Jean and their family.

From then on we visited dad regularly at Braemar where he shared a very nice room and bathroom with another gentleman and we occasionally took dad for a drive as well.  It was great that my two children got to know him although not all that well, and I regretted all the years they had missed seeing him when they were younger as he was a wonderful grandfather to Len's two girls (my nieces).  This is the only photo I have of my children with their 'grandipops'.  It was taken in the garden of Braemar.  I think dad would have been about 83 when this photo was taken.

We were  holidaying in Denmark (W.A.) when I received a telegram from mum telling me that dad had had a stroke.  She said there was no point in us rushing home as he was being well cared for in the hospital section of Braemar but she thought I should know what had happened.  I appreciated that she had let me know what had happened.

As soon as we arrived home we paid dad a visit to find him in bed and the stroke had rendered him virtually unable to walk so he was more or less bedridden although he could be taken out of bed so he could sit in a chair in his room, which he shared with another patient.  I think dad lasted for about one year after the stroke and during that time his inability to walk really upset him.  One of the nurses told me confidentially that he had one day asked if he could go to the bathroom.   They assisted him out of bed but it apparently took him about 15 minutes to get there and then there was the journey back to his room.  The staff of course just didn't have this amount of time to devote to each patient which dad was back to being bedridden again.  Dad had always been a very private man and being dependent on the nursing staff for all his personal needs must have upset him terribly.  I somehow feel he made up his mind that this was it for him.  Why bother going on?  For a man who had been a goalie for Tottenham Hotspurs soccer club as a young man and had farmed for 17 years it must have been very demoralising to now be so weak.  He faded very quickly and one day Len rang for me to come to Braemar quickly.  I arrived to find dad looking as I'd never seen anyone look beforeand I thought he had already died.  Len said dad didn''t recognise anyone but when I took dad's hand and spoke to him, he opened his mind and tried to smile.   Even remembering that now brings tears to my eyes.  Dad passed away the next day and Len and Jean arranged  his cremation and his ashes were placed in the Rose Garden at Karrakatta Cemetery.  RIP Dad.

P.S.  Dad was awarded the MBE for work he performed during WW2.  I remember mum telling me how they went to Buckingham Palace where dad was presented with the medal by King George V.  One day I may try to find out for what reason he was awarded the MBE.