e. Book week in Australia

My seven year old son, Ollie, went to school today dressed as a knight.

He wore a red shirt, grey pants, brown boots, a chain mail coat of armor, a chain mail hood, and he carried a sword. He also wore a huge smile on his face.

Arriving at school, he strode across the oval to his classroom passing, along the way, many other children dressed as fictional characters: There were numerous Harry Potters, Sleeping Beauties, Cinderellas, Robin Hoods, princesses, wizards ... and, the most popular with the children, numerous Minecraft Steves.

The reason for the unusual school-wear?  Well, it’s not Halloween or some bizarre school-uniform experiment. It’s Book Week in Australia. And the children get to go to school, for one day during this week, dressed as a character from their favourite book. Well, theoretically it’s from their ‘favourite’ book - but realistically it’s whatever is easiest for their mum’s to prepare.

For this reason, I’m not surprised that Minecraft Steve was so popular.  He’s the central character in the computer game, Minecraft, (yes, technically that’s not a ‘book’ character but the kids love him, so, Oh well!).

 All that’s required to look like Minecraft Steve is to wear: a pair of navy trousers, a sky-blue tee-shirt, and a square box on one’s head. You see the Minecraft characters are all ‘box-y’. So the head-box can have a face and hair painted on it with eye-holes cut out and … voila! … You’re Minecraft Steve. Easy! Or relatively easy compared to the complexities and expense of making costumes for other book characters.

Book Week has been celebrated for 71 years now.  It was started by the Children’s Book Council of Australia (CBCA) - which was established in 1945.  The CBCA is a not-for-profit, volunteer run organisation which aims to celebrate Australian Literature for children and young people.

Even when I was a child - many many … many moons ago (when stories were still being written on animal skins) - my school celebrated book week.

Although, when I was a child I never felt a part of the ‘celebration of books’.  You see I never actually bothered to read them. Not unless I was absolutely forced to by a teacher with the threat of a ‘fail’ grade. I was, back then, a television addict. I thought of books in the same way as I thought about medicine, vegetables, or maths lessons: Yuck! Books, for me, were dull, dreary, and unpleasant. They were to be endured only by force. And, even then, they were to be rushed through the way one would like to have any noxious situation dealt with - finished and over with as quickly as possible.

My mother was an avid reader.  Although, she started to read as a child during the 1930’s and 1940’s when there was little else to entertain oneself with on a rainy day. There were radios but no televisions. So, I presume reading books was easier back then.  The alternatives were few and there were less distractions. (Today with computers and so many other forms of entertainment, I think it’s even easier for children to avoid reading).

My mother tried to encourage me to read during my childhood in the 1970’s and 1980’s. She read me fairy-tales and children’s novels at bedtime. She even made up the most wonderful stories of her own to tell me when she washed my hair, or when I helped her to dry the dishes after tea. However, I still refused to ‘read’ books. Although I did developed a love of stories. It’s just that it was so much easier to ‘watch’ stories on television. 

My Primary-school report cards made the comment: ‘Robyn has no interest in reading.’ That was no surprise to anyone at home. My nickname was ‘square-eyes’ (because I was always watching the ‘square’ television set).


At High-school my Year 10 English teacher saw some sort of ‘potential’ in my writing.  She even said something, early in the year, about me helping her to mark the English papers for the rest of the class. However, I felt like a fraud when she said this. I knew that it wouldn’t take long for her to discover how truly inept I was with words. Needless to say, I never helped her to mark a single thing. I felt bad that I had disappointed her.

My mother often edited my essays and prose, at that time, and she would say to me, ‘Robyn, you’re not trying! You’ve written a whole page here and I don’t see a single full stop. Commas everywhere. Dashes everywhere.  Just no full stops.’  Sadly, I was trying really hard. 

Creative stories and interesting ideas would come to me all the time.  But there was an impenetrable barrier between me and the paper. I couldn’t put my thoughts into words to put on the page. And once my words were on the page - I had no idea about grammar.

So, I gave up on writing just as I’d given up on reading.

Instead, I turned to the science subjects at school. I dropped out of English, in year 11, and pursued only the Science subjects from that time:  Physics, Chemistry, Maths, Economics. And, even in those subjects, I wrote no sentences. Just words with diagrams and graphs. I didn’t even use a pen. I wrote everything in pencil - as was the practice in Maths. 

I studied Medicine after I finished High-school and, once again, I avoided any form of writing.  All answers were written in bullet point form and I threw graphs around wherever I could fit them.

In my leisure I watched television.

Then, at the age of 21 - in my 5th year of medicine, I met my future husband, David.

David loved books.  He bought me books as gifts.  Not Literature or complex novels with numerous dark characters and complex themes and five-syllable words which required a dictionary to finish each page.  But, to start with, he bought me funny novels. In fact, the first book he ever bought me was ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’. Not the sort of book I would have read in school. Not a book my mother would have known about. But I loved it! It was so funny and engaging and creative!

David then bought me the rest of the books in the Hitchhiker’s Guide series. More books as gifts followed these and, eventually, he had me reading the great classic novels:  Thomas Hardy, The Bronte sisters, D.H Lawrence … and so many others.

I would sit at work, if I got any spare time, reading these novels.  Gradually, I watched less television because I wanted to finish my books.

I was never driven with a stick to read. Instead, I was inspired to love reading. And, like all forms of learning, to inspire a student with a love of an activity is much more effective and enduring than to drive them to do it with punishment.

These days my favourite genre is ‘non-fiction’ - probably because I’ve done so much study over the years and I’ve read a lot more non-fiction than fiction.

Interestingly, I rarely watch television in my leisure time these days. I mostly read. I particularly love words:  Their sound, their power, the interesting way you can style them. And, with reading, the impenetrable barrier between my thoughts and the page has gone.

So, this Book Week I have celebrated books along with my children, the schools, and the community in Australia.

On the weekend, I attended the annual Salisbury Writer’s Festival (which is a part of Book Week). It’s the third year I’ve gone. And, it’s a two hour round trip to get there. Six hours of driving over the weekend - sandwiched between work on Friday and Monday. The housework crammed in around it. But it was great fun!

The authors speaking at it this year were Stephen Orr and Mark Dapin.  They were both really interesting, entertaining and eloquent.  Clearly they have mastered the craft of writing and the use of words.

And, this afternoon when I picked Ollie up from the Book Week ‘dressing-up’ day at school, I found him swinging from a Monkey Bar in the playground - still dressed as a knight and carrying his sword. He ran breathless to my car and, as we drove home, he told me all about his wonderful day.

‘I got to stand up in front of the class and talk about my favourite book,’ he said.  ‘I told them I don’t have a favourite book ‘cause I love so many! And my teacher read the book I brought from home.  She’s a nice teacher.  She uses her ‘inside voice’ when she talks.’ (I presume an ‘outside’ voice is yelling or using a loud angry tone).

He then laughed and added, ‘She smiled at me, Mum. She asked me to stand in front of all the Princesses for a photo.  I had to hold my sword up like I was protecting them all.’

‘So, you like book week, Ollie?’ I asked.

‘Yes!  And I love reading, Mum!’

I’m glad he’s found a love of books and reading so early in his life.  My other children have too.  And, it shows in their writing and the ease with which they can express themselves.

I hope that with Book Week, and other similar events, children of today become inspired to love books.

Computers can sap the time and imaginations of children the way television did for me when I was young.  Finding a balance between reading and other forms of electronic entertainment is probably the key. Moderation and balance. Like in other areas of a happy and healthy life.

And it’s never too late. The inspiration to love books and reading can come at any time and any age.  And, from there, the joy of words will reward you for the rest of your days.

d. Parenthood: The 'easy' years.

When are the 'easy' parenting years?  

Never. That's the short answer.

I was having coffee with an old friend last night after work.  I went to her place and her two little boys, aged four and two, were climbing all over her while we drank tea and ate the delicious orange cake she'd cooked - still warm from the oven.

We've been friends for many years - since we met at university as teenagers. My friend has since then become a Professor, won awards for her medical research, become the head of her medical department in a large tertiary hospital, and she has shouldered the responsibilities and work-load of the role of President  in numerous different committees and organisations. She also speaks four languages and she cycles in long-distance marathons! (I'm exhausted just thinking about all that). 

She's a dynamo and also a dear, sweet, and kind person who constantly puts other people, especially her patients, ahead of herself.

Her latest 'job', however,  has been 'motherhood'.  She entered this field of work a little later than many of her friends - in her early forties. And initially she threw herself into the role with the same determination and energy that she brought to her other career roles:  organisation, determination, hard work, vision, and a plan.

Very quickly - within weeks in fact - her 'organisation' and  'planning' fell apart.  She quickly learned that working with children (and animals they say) is very hard and unpredictable.  Children do what they want.  They get sick when they do. They don't follow plans.  Not anyones.  Trying to 'organise' them is like trying to 'organise' the wind or the ocean.  And,  speaking of oceans, you can often  feel like you're drowning in one. Struggling to stay afloat.

But, you've got to learn to swim.  And, as mothers, we all do.  Eventually.

We eventually learn to 'go with the flow'.  Which is like following other paths in our lives.  We stop fighting and struggling. We stop trying to 'control' situations and our children - because we can't.  We learn to work with them.  Adapt. Choose our battles.  We also learn that very few things really matter in life. Spilled milk - or cordial or cake  - isn't worth crying over. 

My friend has been a mother now for almost five years.  Like the rest of us mothers, she has learned to put her career second to her family.  She has adjusted her work and her work-load to fit around her children and their schedules. She has now left most of the committees she was on.  And she's fine with that.

Actually, I read once a  description of what it is to be a mother:  The 'burnt chop phenomenon' :
This refers to the fact that if, as mothers, we were cooking tea and we burn one of the chops - we would give the burnt one to ourselves. We just do.  We don't want any applause for that.  We just want to look after our families - and if that means we eat the burnt chop, we go without food if there's not enough, we give our time to our children and take whatever is left at the end - then we do.

My friend sat drinking tea while her two little boys spilled toys and DVD's and crumbs over the floor and over her lap and she hardly noticed.  She was a picture of calm - although there have been many challenging times she has struggled through, and adjustments she has made to her life and her mindset - to get to this point. But she got there.  And she's sailing along quite contentedly now.

My old friend is also a great Mum.  I know this because her little boys love her so much.  They kissed and hugged her so many times, while we sat chatting, and they did the same to me.  They are secure and loving and happy and they have beautiful manners.  What more could a mother want?

I know that Motherhood is probably the toughest and most challenging 'job' my friend has ever had. it certainly has been for me.  The 'hard times' never end - although they're balanced out by the even more frequent 'wonderful times'. 

One tip I'd give any new Mums: do try to make time for yourself. Put yourself on your own 'to-do' list somewhere.  Occasionally pamper yourself. Motherhood is a challenging marathon - with no first prizes.  You don't have to be perfect. If you're happy your children will more likely be happy.  They can sense when a mother is stressed and sad.

So pace yourself and know it's a tough 'gig' for all or us. But the rewards are wonderful.  Love - for your children and from them- would top that list I think.

c. Lessons learned

Some people think that we are on this earth to learn 'lessons'.

Not lessons about capital cities and maths formulas.  Thank God!  My memory is not particularly good and my interest in those rote-learning topics is non-existent.

The lessons we learn relate to the more complex and difficult ‘life-lessons’ for personal growth and the getting of wisdom:  Compassion, kindness, helping, love, tolerance, patience - for others and for ourselves.  In these lessons we learn how to find happiness and contentment.  No lottery wins necessary.

Primary schools in Australia are also trying to teach children lessons related to life-skills - separate to facts and figures - which might help them find success and happiness in their lives. These include the five ‘keys’: Confidence, persistence, getting along with others, resilience, and organisation.

Last night, as I was driving my seven year old son, Ollie, home from school he learned a little about one of these life-skill lessons: Organisation.  And he learned another thing - which I am already fully aware of through my own extensive experience in ‘lessons learned’ - learning lessons is painful!

Negotiating the busy 4pm traffic, I was vaguely listening to Ollie who was sitting in the back seat of the car emptying papers and books and other ‘stuff’ from his school-bag.

He was chatting to himself - or possibly me - as he extracted each item.  He’s recently learned to read, so for him reading is still such a novelty he reads everything he can: street-signs, shop-signs, cereal-boxes … anything.  On this occasion he was reading each school news-letter as he pulled it from his bag. As his voice filtered through my busy thoughts I became aware of a word I wasn’t expecting: ‘Bowling,’ he said.

‘Bowling?’ I ask. ‘What bowling?  Are you going bowling with the school?’

He reads on.  ‘There’s numbers … 210816 -’

‘That was last Sunday! The 21st of August 2016! Is that a birthday invitation, Ollie?!’

He hesitates. ‘There’s more numbers, Mum … 100816 -’

‘Ollie!  That’s the RSVP date! The 10th of August 2016. Weeks ago. You missed the birthday party!  Did you leave that invitation in your drawer at school?’  

Ollie is silent.  I know he's upset.

I am aware, through lessons learned with my older three children, that seven year olds can leave birthday-invitations at the bottom of school bags for months. Eventually these are retrieved at the end of the school-year when school-bags are emptied and cleaned out before the next school-year.  Usually the old news-letters and invitations to the long-forgotten-never-replied-to-or-gone-to-birthday-parties have biscuit crumbs and squished banana all over them; they are screwed up and torn; and they often contain information which explains all the subsequent chaos and disappointment and urgent phone calls from teachers and other parents which followed during the year.  All too late.

For this reason, I make it a habit of mine to check my primary-school aged children’s school-bags at the end of each week.  I look for old forgotten fruit (before it starts to ferment and turn black), uneaten sandwiches (before they go mouldy and turn green), and forgotten newsletters and birthday invitations (before chaos and tears follow). 

So, now I can’t understand how this invitation got missed.

Ollie then explains:  ‘I put it in the front pocket of my bag, Mum.  The ‘secret’ front pocket.’

‘Who was the invitation from?’ I ask.

‘Tasha.  He’s my good friend.’

I hear him quietly sniffing and sighing.

‘Well, we’ll buy him a birthday-present anyway,’ I say consoling him and a little upset that little Tasha was probably hurt when Ollie didn’t go to his birthday-party, or even reply. ‘I can get him some Lego when I go shopping tonight. And a card. You can say “sorry”. You can tell him you “accidentally” left the invitation in your bag.’

Ollie doesn’t reply.

‘Ollie, that’s just a lesson you’ve learned. From now on -’

‘I don’t like lessons,’ he says softly.  I know he’s hurt. Especially the part where he thinks he’s disappointed his friend.

‘I know,’ I say gently. ‘Lessons hurt.’

‘That lesson is even worser than the ‘other’ kind of lesson.’

‘What other kind of lesson?’

‘You know.  When rough kids say “I’m gonna teach you a lesson.”

‘You mean it hurts more than getting punched?’

‘Yes.’

‘I know, dear.  I don’t like learning lessons either.  But the fact they hurt us helps us to remember them and learn from them.  We need to make mistakes to learn.  But they hurt … a lot.  I know.’

And I do know.  I was only recently thinking of the many painful lessons I’ve learned in my life.  Some of those lessons took years to learn and endure.

So, my seven year old son has learned something else today:  Life is filled with painful lessons.

But, I can say - after decades of living through so many life-lessons - once they pass and all is right again with the world … or as right as it’s going to get … we are often glad those lessons happened.  They bring ‘wisdom’ to us.  We learn to sail through life’s violent waves more capably because of them. Through future storms. And, we learn to more fully appreciate the good times: The peace and love and sunshine in our lives.

Ollie cheered up a lot when we worked out how he could try to mend the feelings of a friend he had inadvertently hurt. And I became aware that he had mostly been upset about hurting his friend’s feelings - rather than missing the cake or bowling.

So, while Ollie might need another decade or ten to master the school lesson of ‘organisation’, he seems to have come a long way in mastering the life-lessons of kindness, love, and compassion. 

And those are wonderful lessons to have learned.

b. Rush

My life is a rush

I built this rushed life.

My seven year old son commented, while standing in the doorway of my car at this morning's school 'drop off', 'Don't press "go", Mum.'

'What?' I said.

'Don't press "go",' he repeated.

My puzzled face pushed him to explain what he meant. 'Remember, Mum?  Remember when you drove off with me in the doorway still? You drove off and I fell over. I nearly got runneded over.'

Ashamed, I recall the event.  He was still in the doorway collecting his school-bag, his raincoat, his reading folder ... and my mind was already driving to work. I looked ahead into the traffic and I pressed "go".  My foot pressed down on the accelerator and then I heard the shout of a seven year old boy ... followed by crying ... intruding on my rushed thoughts.  My foot pressed "stop!" I turned in my seat to see him caught in the doorway and half fallen over with his bag caught in his arm. Horrified I called to him to get back into the car.  Other mothers in the car park were glaring at me.  The woman in the car behind even started to get out of her car ... to help my son ... clearly because his own mother (me) was so incompetent and neglectful and rushed.

I 'over-compensated' in my apologies to my little boy:  He got the day off school; he got to go to the nearest 'home-made cake shop' and choose whatever he wanted - as much as he wanted - donuts for breakfast, lunch and tea that day!  He got snuggled up under a blanket on the couch and he watched television and played Lego all day.

I've never done that before. Not that that is any excuse.  And, Ollie, my seven year old son, wasn't hurt. Thank God.  Although, the memory of when I pressed "go" too early might be one of those topics for conversation years from now when he discusses with me how rushed I was during his childhood.  And, I'll probably then rush out to the kitchen and try to make it up to him all over again:  Donuts, coffee, home-made cake (If, by that time,I've slowed down enough to actually cook.  For now my rushed life is packet food and 'home-made cake shops')

During the rushed years of my life - currently - my mind is so often existing in a time ahead of the moment in which I'm living.  I'm ten steps ahead:  I'm paying for groceries, but I'm thinking about driving home and getting the dinner started.  I'm walking to the letter box to collect my mail, but I'm thinking about when I need to pick the kids up from school; how I'll get to work tomorrow; whether I'll call a friend next week for coffee. My son is getting out of my car to go to school, and I'm already pressing "go" and doing 6o kilometers an hour up the Anzac Highway driving to work. My mind is doing 80.

I'm rushed.  I've built such a rushed life. 

Even now, I'm writing for this ... while I watch the clock in my office at work.  My first patient for the day is arriving half an hour later than usual - so I'm filling the time writing this. 

The day won't be my own:  I have patients all day, then I pick my seven year old son up from school; then I drive my 16 year old son to his  guitar lesson; then I drive my 13 year old daughter and her friend to Scouts ... after I cook everyone dinner ... then I have a little  intermission (a bit of 'me time') while I clean up the house (well, only sort of  'me' time) ... then I drive to pick the girls up from Scouts; I drive the friend home; I sort out homework for the kids ... sleep per chance to dream for a short time (I don't get to really experience that because I'm asleep and probably dreaming of rushing with other activities) ... then I  get breakfast sorted for the family of six, school-lunches made, drive my seven year old to school, drop him off ... and try not to press "go" before the little dear is actually free from the doorway. 

Then I repeat everything again in another day. 

I'm rushed!

I have five minutes now to live in the moment.  Live in the now before my 10am patient. 

I must learn to meditate sometime.  Seriously. 

I must learn to press 'pause' in my life.  But, not today!  Today is too busy!

Better rush - my next patient is waiting!

a. David

I don't remember the first time I saw David.

Friendships can be like that.

He remembers the first time he saw me, however. He tells me that I was standing with the other fifth year medical students on the surgical ward of the tertiary hospital where he was working as an intern.  I appeared shy and quiet and I stood at the back of the group. (Actually, I just didn't  want to be asked any questions by the tutor.  A rule for students:  Don't let the teacher catch your eye if you don't want to be pounded with questions.  Find something - anything - fascinating on the floor or in your note book to study.  Intently). He liked my long dark hair and 'something' about me. Just something which made him feel he had to get to know me.

David told me years later, long after we were married, that he'd made a 'swap' with another intern, a girl called Geraldine, to have me, with another girl, as the students he'd mentor -  instead of the students he'd been assigned.

Soon after this, he says, he saw me reading medical charts. He approached me.  He made some comment about what I was reading - just to talk with me - and the thing that he remembers most is my smile.

'Your face just "lit up",' he says now ... and then he pauses, quietly, to reflect.  I notice him smile, when he tells me about this memory - as he has many times over the years - and I can see that he is in the past again, in a memory in which I was a part but which I cannot recall.

What I do remember, is that from the time David entered my life, when I was 21, I began to see myself holding some sort of 'value'.  I'd previously felt unwanted,  unloved, and lonely. Life was to be endured.  Happiness and boyfriends were for other people.  I watched on and listened to their stories. However, David brought all of those wonderful experiences of life with him into my world. Gradually, I began to feel almost good enough.

Years after our first meeting - although many years in the past for me now - David bought me a small print, the size of a square tissue box, in a rough wooden frame. My first impression of his gift was how ugly it was.  It was my birthday and I remember looking at the blurry painting of two people in a hot air-balloon and wondering how soon before I could throw it away, or give it to the Goodwill shop.
  
Seeing the disappointment on my face,  David told me what the picture meant to him:  'That's us,' he said 'travelling through life together on a great adventure. That's how I see my life with you.' 

With those words the picture became more valuable to me than any masterpiece or expensive piece of jewellery.  The picture of the couple flying high above the world on an adventure became the way I, too, saw our life together.

I keep the picture in my study now - as treasured as the pictures and cards my children have made me. (Research has shown that the sentiment behind a gift is a large determinant of the gift's value to the receiver.  That is certainly true for me. An expensive gift, for example, given with no card, no kind words, and maybe even purchased by someone other than the giver - would mean far less to me than a handmade card or a flower given with kindness and love).

So, it is with David I have become the best version of myself. He makes me a better person:  Kinder; happier; more energetic,more loving, and more able to help  others.

David is my safe place, my cheer squad, my best friend, my soul mate, and evidence to me that the world is a loving place.


Wherever David is - when I'm with him I'm home.

h. My grandmother's journal (non-fiction) - Pt 8

The years that followed the Great Depression were busy and mostly happy  ones for Hilda.

The Depression had taught her to appreciate many things in her life which she had previously taken for granted:  A secure roof over her head - even if that roof was just a small three-room worker’s cottage in the industrial part of the city; a steady job with a regular wage for her husband, Fred - even if that job was poorly paid and heavy work in a factory; and motherhood to three lovely children - even if one of those children had a serious and chronic medical illness.

Anne (my mother) was the 'baby' of the family, born in 1933. She was nine years younger than her brother, Ronny, and twelve years younger than her sister, Dorothy. She was a pretty and bright child with fair skin, green eyes, and, like her siblings and her mother, she had auburn hair. Sadly, it was soon discovered she also had a potentially fatal medical illness:  Bronchiectasis.

Bronchiectasis is a relatively rare lung condition affecting less than 0.1% of the population.  In up to 50% of cases the cause isn’t known, and this was the case for Anne. In patients with ‘bronchiectasis’ the airways (bronchi) become permanently enlarged and unable to clear secretions. This leads to recurrent chest infections - which further damage the lungs - and it creates a vicious cycle of infection with spreading lung damage. Eventually, if left untreated, the condition results in death for the sufferer due to either critical lung injury, overwhelming infection, or both. Furthermore, chronic infection steals away the appetite of sufferers resulting in severe emaciation and wasting, which further increasing their susceptibility to infections.

During the 1930’s, bacterial infections were especially dangerous because antibiotics were not yet available.

Hilda, however, coped with her daughter’s illness as best she could. She followed the directions of the doctors meticulously.  Every day she performed 'postural drainage', a form physiotherapy, on her daughter's little chest.  Anne would lie face down across the kitchen table while her mother pummelled her upper back, for about half an hour at a time, to help her cough up the thick infected secretions from her lungs.  In addition, Hilda spent hours each day pushing and pleading with Anne to finish her calorie dense and highly nutritious meals - which Hilda spent much time planning and preparing. And, with every cold that Anne caught, Hilda worked extra hard to help her recover and reduce her risk of developing pneumonia.

Yet, in spite of all of Hilda’s best efforts to take good care of Anne - she remained thin and pale and prone to frequent severe lung infections. Related to this, Anne required many admissions to the Adelaide Children’s Hospital, and the Junior Red Cross Children’s Convalescent Home at Henley Beach, where she would remain an in-patient for many months at a time.  

The medical plan for Anne, as explained by the doctors, was to reduce the spread of lung damage and keep her alive until she reached the age of five.  Then, it was hoped, she might be strong enough to cope with the definitive major surgery, under a general anaesthetic (ether), to remove the rogue segment of lung: A lung ‘lobectomy’. This would potentially cure her.  Although, her lungs would always be vulnerable to more severe infections than other people.  And postural drainage physiotherapy would need to be continued indefinitely.

There was one catch, however, to the surgery: Assuming that absolutely everything went ideally well and as planned, the chance that Anne would survive the operation was estimated to be only 50%. The surgery was dangerous. Alternatively - with no surgery - Anne would never survive into adulthood.

Hilda accepted the situation as it was. She had no choice. She chose to be grateful for the positive things: The world-class medical facilities and highly skilled doctors available in Australia; the kindness of the nurses and allied health staff to both Anne and herself; the time she got to spend with Anne - even if it wasn’t for as long as she hoped; and the fact that all of the health services were provided free of charge. Health care in Australia was, and still largely is, covered by the Australian government. If it weren’t, as a low income earning family, Anne would never have received the treatment she needed.

So it was that, until the time of the operation, Hilda chose not to focus too much on survival statistics. Those numbers were not in her control. Instead, she chose to take each day as it came. And she tried as hard as she could to fill Anne’s life - for as long as that might continue - with as much fun and happiness and love as she could squeeze into it.

For young Anne, her long admissions to hospital and the convalescence home were improved by the fact that she had developed a lovely friendship with a little boy called Tom.  He was the same age as her and he also suffered with bronchiectasis. Tom was like a second brother to Anne. She’d known him since before she could remember. And they spent many months of each year together situated, as they were, in adjacent beds. 

With Tom beside her Anne never felt lonely or bored. Her best friend was always there. On many long afternoons Anne and Tom would engage in all sorts of fun activities: Standing-on-your-head-the-longest competitions. Imaginative pretending games. Sing-a-longs. Picture drawing and painting. And, at night before they fell asleep, they would chat about all sorts of things and tell whispered stories to each other. Then, when the night nurse came by, they would lie still and feign sleep. Once she’d gone they would giggle and whisper together some more - until sleep carried them away into a world free from walls.

At other times - awful times - they would help one another.  A particularly unpleasant and difficult time for them was meal-times: Sloppy eggs, thickly buttered slabs of bread or toast, and large greasy portions of red-meat would sit on their plates for hours until every last mouthful was finished. Only vomiting would be accepted by the nurses as a reason to leave food uneaten on their plates. So it was that during meal-times Anne and Tom would encourage each other to ‘keep going’.  They would take mouth-fulls together. They would keep each other company until both had finished. Then they would leave to play together.

So, with her best friend, Tom, by her side Anne coped life in the hospitals during her pre-school years.

Visiting hours were, at that time, only permitted on two days of each week for one fleeting hour. Hilda made sure that she never missed a single visiting session. Nothing would ever be allowed to stand in the way of those precious times. Ever. In addition, she always made sure that she was the very first mother to walk through the ward doors on these occasions.

A common sight for Hilda, as she entered the ward, was to find Anne standing on her head with her feet resting up against the wall. ‘Hi Mummy!’ she’d call out, waving with her one free hand. ‘Look! I’m helfy now! I’m gooder than everyone now!’ Hilda would laugh - although it broke her heart that she couldn’t bring Anne home. She missed her so very much.  The saddest part of her week was leaving her daughter behind. Conversely, the happiest times were seeing her precious face beaming from across the room as she approached her bed for each visit.

Hilda would always start her visits with a big hug for Anne and also for little Tom. She would then give both children a tin of freshly baked cakes and biscuits. Tom had become very dear to Hilda. She’d known him since he was an infant and, over time, she’d come to love him just as Anne loved him. She often felt that she had two sons in her life.

The years passed and finally, in March 1939, it came time for both Anne and Tom to have the lung surgery which would either save them, and improve their lives forever … or it would kill them. 

Tom went first. 

His surgery was booked for the day before Anne’s. The surgery was so difficult and demanding, taking hours to complete, that the surgical team could manage only one such operation on a each day’s surgical list.

Hilda prayed for Tom.  She thought about him for the entire day of his surgery and most of the night before and after.  She pictured Tom’s little face:  His short dark hair and his blue eyes. She tried to imagine him well and recovered.  She pictured him leaving the hospital and beginning a life free from suffering. Starting school.  Playing sport. Strong and rosy cheeked and happy. She wished and prayed for all of those things for him. And for his family - all of whom she had come to know well.

The following day it was Anne’s turn.  Hilda, Fred, Dorothy and Ronny were permitted to wait at the hospital while Anne was in theatre. They were also allowed to see her briefly before she was wheeled into theatre. Hilda ran to her daughter’s side and held her hand. ‘Mummy’s here, darling’ she said softly - smiling and trying not to show her fear. ‘We’re all here. And, we’ll all be here when you wake up, dear. You’ll be fine. We all love you very very much.’ Fred, Ronny and Dorothy also stood beside Anne’s bed.  They gave her their love, patted her hand, stroked her hair, and waved to her as she was finally wheeled away.  

The hours of waiting then began. The hands on the wall-clock dragged so very slowly around the dial. Hilda found it hard to focus on anything. She read the same line of her book fifty times before she finally put it down and paced the room instead. Her hands were sweaty and her heart raced.  A heavy pressure squeezed in around her skull.

Ronny, 14 years of age now but always wise beyond his years, put his arm around his mother’s back and comforted her with words of encouragement and hope.  He made numerous trips to the hospital cafeteria to get his mother cups of tea. He even made her laugh a couple of times. Although, tears welled in her eyes as she laughed and dropped her stoic mask momentarily.  And, throughout the entire time that she waited - she prayed.  In her head - over and over - she pleaded and begged God, whatever and whoever God is - to look after little Anne and help her through the surgery.

Every time the waiting-room door opened the entire family would jump in their chairs and look up expectantly; their faces filled with both hope and fear. Hilda wondered also how Tom was.  She’d not heard from anyone yet.  Although, she thought, ‘No news might be good news’.

Finally, midway through the afternoon, the waiting room door opened yet again, but this time a weary looking surgeon, still dressed in his surgical scrubs and carrying his face mask, walked through it. Hilda immediately noticed the broad smile on his face. Hope - like warm sunshine - flooded into her soul. Although her heart continued to race and she was aware that she’d held her breath until he spoke. ‘She made it,’ he said. ‘It all went very well.’

Hilda was speechless. She’d never allowed herself to imagine this moment. All the years leading to this point. She’d not dared to imagine those words; if she had she would never have coped if the surgeon’s smile hadn’t come and his words had been different.

‘Thank you doctor,’ Fred exclaimed as he jumped out of his chair and rushed to shake the doctor’s hand. ‘Thank you so much.’ Hilda noticed tears in his eyes. He was patting the surgeon on his arm and shaking his hand.  Ronny ran to his mother and hugged her. He held onto her tightly and Hilda realised how worried he’d been all the time he’d been comforting her. That was so much like Ronny - always taking care of others. Dorothy, sitting alone in a corner of the room, nodded her head and took a handkerchief from her handbag.  She wiped her eyes.

Hilda smiled at the surgeon. She found her voice and managed to utter a few words. ‘Thank you so much, Doctor.’

The surgeon then continued, ‘She’ll be in recovery for a while.  She won’t be well enough to see you today. You may as well go home.  If you leave your telephone number with us - or a neighbour’s telephone number if you know anyone who owns a telephone - we’ll call if there are any changes. Otherwise, you can come back after nine in the morning.’

The surgeon’s expression became more serious as he looked at the happy faces in the room. ‘She’s not out of the woods yet. Just know that. We’ll take each day as it comes. This was the largest hurdle … but it’s not the last one.’ He then turned to leave.

‘Doctor!’ Hilda called out before he left. She realised that she still had a vital question to ask. ‘How is Tom?’ The surgeon paused and appeared confused.
‘He was Anne’s best friend,’ she added. ‘His surgery was yesterday.’

The surgeon looked to the ground for a moment. ‘No-one’s told you then.’ He sighed and paused before continuing. Hilda noticed that he wasn’t smiling. ‘He … Tom … didn’t make it through the surgery.’

Hilda gasped and sat down again. She felt like she’d been punched hard in the face and the stomach. Tears ran down her cheeks. Sadness and disappointment overwhelmed her.

‘Don’t tell Anne for a while,’ the surgeon added gently. ‘She’ll need all her strength to fully recover from the surgery. Wait a few weeks until she’s more able to cope.’

He then turned and walked quietly from the room.


                            *


The year 1939 brought great changes into Hilda’s life:

The first big change came with Anne’s surgery - in March of that year - which changed not only Anne’s life but the lives of everyone else in her family. As her health drastically improved - the rhythm and routine within the family became easier and brighter. Life was no longer centred around Anne’s illness and constant worry about her health. The house was no longer filled with the noise of coughing, the smell of medicines, and the sense of misery related to recurrent fevers, night sweats, and a constant fear of death.

Instead Anne was enrolled to start primary school the following year, where she would go on to excel academically, and the house became a happy one filled with laughter, cheerful voices, and Anne’s bright and bubbly presence back home for good.

The second major change happened on the world stage. The events preceding it all seemed horribly familiar to Hilda and Fred. It had only been a couple of decades since the world had experienced a Great War which was hoped to be the war to end all wars. Now the newspapers were again reporting escalating tensions and threats to peace overseas. This time, however, it was not only in Europe with Germany - but also in the Pacific with Japan.  

Finally, on the evening of Sunday September 3rd 1939 at 9.15pm Fred called Hilda into the kitchen to listen to an important radio broadcast: The Prime Minister, Robert Menzies, was making an announcement on every national and commercial radio station in Australia. 

Hilda and Fred brought their kitchen-chairs closer to the large wood cabinet which sat on the floor against a wall. Fred adjusted the dials, to improve the crackling reception, and they listened in silence:

“Fellow Australians,” the sombre voice began, ‘it is my melancholy duty to inform you officially that, in consequence of the persistence of Germany in her invasion of Poland, Great Britain has declared war upon her, and that, as a result, Australia is also at war …’

Those words marked the end of an era. 

Life would never be the same. Not in Australia or anywhere else in the world. Although, at that moment, no-one knew this. All they knew was that the lessons for peace had not been learned following the First World War.

And, related to this, they felt deeply sad, bitterly disappointed … and scared.


                                                 *


The Second World War (WW2) was arguably the most significant period of the 20th century.  It was the most destructive war in all of history and, while the exact cost in human lives isn't known, it's thought that around 70 - 80 million people (military and civilians) died.

The First World War (WW1) had been called the ‘war to end all wars’ but by the 1930’s dangerous tensions were building up around the world. The threat of another large scale war was escalating.

In Germany (population: 70 million), the post war years were especially difficult: Hardships related to the heavy burden of large reparations to the victors of the Great War; poverty and hunger associated with the Great Depression; and hyperinflation. Furthermore, many Germans had trouble accepting that they’d lost the Great War, and they were angry about the severity of the terms forced on them at the Treaty of Versailles.

The serious problems for Germans of this era led them to support Adolf Hitler and his Nazi party who openly advocated the expansion of German territory into Europe through military conquest. In this way it was thought that Germany could reverse the punitive terms imposed after the Great War and avenge them. Also, the German people could reclaim their prosperity and sense of pride.

Meanwhile, in Italy (population: 44 million), the dictator Benito Mussolini had assumed power with plans to restore Italy to the status she had during the Roman era.  He wanted to expand into Africa and Greece.

And, far to the east of Europe, Imperial Japan (population: 73 million) had  started on a campaign of conquest with plans to expand into Asia and the South Pacific.

Through the late 1930’s Germany, Italy, and Japan (the ‘Axis’ powers) pursued their expansionary goals initially aided by an ‘appeasement’ approach by Britain (population: 47 million) and France (population: 42 million) - both of whom hoped to avoid another Great War. (The First World War was thought to have been, at least in part, the result of failed diplomacy between nations); and an ‘isolationist’ approach by the USA (population: 131 million) - a reaction to the high casualties the USA took in the Great War while gaining little of significance for America - although that sentiment disappeared after Pearl Harbour.

The fighting in Europe began on September 1st 1939 when Germany invaded Poland. Previously, Germany, led by Hitler, had annexed Czechoslovakia and Austria without provoking a military response from France and Britain. Then, after securing a secret pact with Joseph Stalin, dictator of the Soviet Union (population: 110 million), to divide Poland between them, Hitler felt confident launching the ‘blitzkrieg’, a lightning fast invasion, without fear of Soviet intervention. It was the last straw for Britain and France, and they declared war on Germany.

At 11.15 am on Sunday 3rd September 1939 the Prime Minister of Britain, Neville Chamberlain, spoke to the British people on national radio:

‘This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final note stating that, unless we heard from them by 11 o’clock that they were prepared to withdraw troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us.

I have to tell you now that no such understanding has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany …’

The Australian Prime Minister, Robert Menzies, similarly addressed the Australian people on national radio that same day at 9.15pm: ‘Britain is at war and therefore Australia is at war,’ he said. He then asked London to notify Germany that Australia was an associate of the United Kingdom.

There was never a question that Australia (population: 7 million) would not join the Mother Country in war. Australia’s interests were inextricably linked to those of Britain, and British defeat would destroy the system of imperial defence which Australia relied upon for security against Japan.

While the declaration of war in Australia received almost universal public support, there were no cheering crowds or patriotic flag waving as there had been in 1914 at the outbreak of the Great War. Instead, the mood was one of shock and stern resolve.

At the onset of WW2, the Australian armed forces were less well prepared than they had been at the onset of WW1. Government spending on the Defence Forces during the Depression years had been limited. So, although the Commonwealth Government began a large military expansion and transferred some Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) aircrew and units to British control at the outbreak of war, it was unwilling to immediately send an expeditionary force overseas due to the threat from Japan. Although, after 1940, and during the first two years of the war, relatively few Australian military units were stationed in Australia and the Asia-Pacific region.

Australia was reassured that they still had the ‘Singapore Strategy’ in place for defence. From the 1920’s Australia’s defence planning was dominated by this strategy. It involved the construction and defence of a major naval base at Singapore from which a large British fleet would respond to Japanese aggression in the region. Australian forces were positioned there as well, and these numbers were greatly increased during the first two years of the war.

Within a fortnight of the declaration of war, on September 15th 1939, Menzies announced the formation of the Second Australian Imperial Force (AIF) to assist Britain. This expeditionary force initially consisted of 20,000 men. However, on November 15th 1939, Menzies announced conscription to increase numbers further. 

Recruitment for the AIF was initially slow, but 15% of men of military age had enlisted by March 1940 and a huge surge of volunteers came forward after the fall of France in June 1940. And by the end of the war almost one million Australians, both men and women from a total population of only seven million, had served in the armed forces.

The war started badly for the Allies. German forces quickly took Norway, Holland, Belgium, Denmark and surged into France. On June 25th 1940 France signed an armistice that divided the country into occupied and unoccupied zones. The Germans controlled the occupied zones in the north and north-west, which comprised 60% of the country.

Italy’s leader, Mussolini, hoped to get in on the spoils and declared war on France on June 10th 1940.  Italian forces attacked southern France on June 21st.

Germany then moved to conquer Britain.  An air war over England began on July 10th 1940.  British Prime Minister, Winston Churchill (Neville Chamberlain resigned as Prime Minister in May 1940 after a disastrous Norwegian campaign) called this air battle the ‘Battle of Britain’. The German Air-force planned to knock out the British Royal Air Force (RAF) in preparation for ‘Operation Sea-lion’ - the proposed naval invasion of Britain, or force Churchill to seek a negotiated peace.

Although the RAF (including 500 Australian air-crew) was out-manned and out-equipped (the German planes and armament technology was far more advanced than England’s) - the Germans couldn’t defeat the British. Finally, on September 30th 1940 Hitler abandoned his plans to invade Britain and instead turned his focus to the east: Russia.

Britain, with Australia and the other Commonwealth nations, were meanwhile opposing German and Italian forces in the deserts of North Africa, and the waters of the Atlantic (where the Germans with their submarines tried to sever the island nation’s supply lines: Isolate Britain).

All through 1940 and half of 1941 Britain, with Australia and the other Commonwealth nations, stood alone against the German military.

However, on June 22cnd 1941 Germany and its allies were finally ready to launch a massive invasion of the Soviet Union. Hitler committed two thirds of his forces to the invasion. He had long had his eye on Soviet resources: The huge oil fields and the ‘food bowl’ he needed for his Third Reich. The Russian people he described as ‘sub-human’ and he planned to eliminate millions of them while he took their country.

Germany was now fighting on two fronts and Britain had established a new ally in Russia. Hitler would soon discover that he’d bitten off more than he could chew and this would prove to be a fatal mistake.

Initially, the Soviets were caught by surprise. Although Stalin and Hitler had earlier signed a mutual ‘non-aggression pact’ in August 1939 - neither of them trusted the other. The agreement merely gave each of them more time to prepare for a probable war. The invasion, however, happened sooner than Stalin anticipated. Furthermore, in the Russian military purges of the 1930’s, Stalin had removed, often killed, many of the most effective commanders, and replaced them with political stooges. This decimated the Soviet military leadership and crippled their early defence.

The Axis (Germany and Italy) invasion of Russia was initially a dramatic success.  The invading soldiers swept steadily eastward, reaching the gates of Moscow by December 1941. They then laid siege to the city. But the notorious Russian winter had set in - and with it came the beginning of the end for the German invasion.

Early in 1942, the German soldiers were forced to retreat. This was to be a major turning point in the war.  Ultimately, the Soviet determination, greater numbers of men and equipment, vast distances, and severe weather had proved too much for the German army. The Soviet forces then advanced westward, entering the German capital of Berlin in April 1945.

                           *

Meanwhile, Japan had been expanding its territories since the late 1930’s throughout Korea and China, and it planned to extend territory through South-east Asia but realised that would not be tolerated by the USA. So Japan engineered a pre-emptive strike on the US Naval base at Pearl Harbour, Hawaii, on Sunday December 7th 1941.  Japanese military planners hoped to cripple the US Pacific Fleet in order to buy time to capture and fortify the region they sought to control, then negotiate an armistice from a position of strength. 

War had not been declared between the two nations before the attack. The Japanese embassy in Washington, D.C, took too long decoding the 5000 word message from the homeland; however the plan was to deliver it just 30 minutes before the bombs started to fall.

The Japanese plan failed to cripple the US Pacific Fleet as none of the American aircraft carriers based at Pearl were in harbour that morning. But now Japan was at war with China, the USA, the UK and Commonwealth nations, and the Netherlands.  Russia had signed a ‘Soviet-Japanese Non-aggressive Pact’ with Japan in April 1941, two years after the Japanese forces were defeated in the brief Soviet-Japanese Border war (1939).  The pact would last until the final weeks of WW2.

America’s president, Franklin D Roosevelt had long wanted the US involved in the war on the side of Britain. Although, while the US had been technically neutral before this time, they had provided Britain and Russia with supplies since March 1941. After Pearl Harbour, however, Congress declared war on Japan. Germany, honouring its pact with Japan(as one of the ‘Axis nations’), then declared war on the US.

The USA was now a member of the ‘Allied nations’ (led by Britain, and including the Commonwealth nations and the Soviet Union). America would bring to the allies the full weight of its industrial power, vast natural resources, and large population - and fight in both Europe and the Pacific region.

Following the bombing of Pearl Harbour, Japan swiftly achieved a series of victories resulting in the occupation of most of south-east Asia and large areas of the Pacific by the end of March 1942.

Singapore fell to the Japanese, in February 1942, with the loss of an entire Australian division. It had been thought that Singapore was an impregnable British base - but the Japanese stormed in capturing thousands of Australians and British - killing them or taking them prisoner.

After the bombing of Darwin that same month, the new Australian Prime Minister, John Curtin, immediately transferred Australia’s focus from fighting for Britain against Germany, to defending Australia against the Japanese. Curtin recalled most Australian troops from Europe and now looked to America to help defend Australia. The Australian government also expanded the army and air-force, and changed economic and domestic policies to mount a ‘total war effort’ at home.

Still, the Japanese pushed south taking Indonesia and moving into Papua new Guinea.

Then, just when things were looking very bad for Australia, Australian soldiers had the first victories against the previously ‘unstoppable’ Japanese after March of 1942 - weakening the Japanese advance. Further allied victories followed in 1943. Australian and American forces won numerous battles and the Japanese were finally in retreat.

While Australia’s major war effort from 1942 onwards was directed at defeating the Japanese, with Australian troops mainly engaged in land battles in New Guinea with the Japanese, thousands of Australians continued to serve in the RAAF in Europe and the Middle east. Australians were especially prominent in Bomber command’s offensive against occupied Europe.

                                *

In Europe, June 6th 1944 was D-Day: The Allies landed along 50 miles of coast at Normandy in France. By the end of the first day over 75,000 British and Canadian troops, and more than 57,000 Americans held the beaches. Those numbers grew to over a million within a month. The Allies then advanced towards Germany. As they moved into Germany they couldn’t believe the evil horrors they discovered in the concentration camps: The murder of six million Jews.

The Nazis had to be defeated.

On April 29th, 1945, Hitler committed suicide.  Germany surrendered on May 7th, 1945.  The surrender was to take effect at midnight on 8-9 May 1945.

The war in Europe was over.  V.E (Victory in Europe) Day was May 8th 1945.

                          *

But the Japanese fought on. Its soldiers committed suicide rather than surrender. 

The United States, Great Britain with the Commonwealth nations, and China officially called for Japan to unconditionally surrender on July 26th 1945.  Japan refused.

The Allies (United States and Great Britain with the Commonwealth nations) then appealed to the Soviet Union to join them in the continuing war against Japan. The Soviets agreed (ending the ‘Non-aggression Pact’ they had with Japan through the war) and on August 9th 1945 the Soviet government declared war on Japan. The Soviets then invaded the Japanese puppet state of Manchuko. They rapidly defeated the Japanese army there and this is thought to have helped to convince the Japanese to surrender soon afterwards.

From mid-1945 the Allies had been planning a massive invasion of the Japanese homeland to end the war - with an anticipated loss of one million Allied soldier lives, and a similar number of Japanese soldiers and civilian lives lost.

However, eventually an alternative plan was chosen; one which would result in a fraction of the deaths of an invasion: The US, with the agreement of the British, dropped an atom bomb on Hiroshima (August 6th 1945) and then, when the Japanese still refused to surrender, Nagasaki (August 9th 1945) three days later. 

On August 15th 1945 Japan accepted the Allied demand for unconditional surrender.

The war in the Pacific was over. V-P (Victory in the Pacific) or V-J (Victory over Japan) Day was August 15th 1945. 


In 1982 the Japanese Government ruled that the official name for the day, on August 15th in Japan is ‘the day for mourning of the dead and praying for peace.’

                             *
Soon after the end of WW2 (between around 1946 - 1951) the Allied powers held military tribunals to try thousands of Germans and Japanese indicted for war crimes.

These tribunals for the German war criminals were held in Nuremberg, Germany.  The trials for the Japanese war criminals were held in numerous Allied countries: The United States, Great Britain, China, Soviet union, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, France, Netherlands, and the Phillipines.

For German war criminals some of the war crimes related to the Holocaust, in which millions of people were systematically murdered or died from abuse and mistreatment, between 95-100% of them were Jews.

Also the Germans mistreated great numbers of the Soviet prisoners of war (POW’s).  At least 3.3 million Soviet POW’s died in German custody out of 5.7 million captured (57%).


For Japanese war criminals some of their crimes related to evil offences which have been called the ‘Asian Holocaust’ or ‘Japanese war atrocities’.

There were many Japanese war atrocities but many relate to the torture of POW’s.  For Australian POW’s with the Japanese at least 36% died in captivity - murdered, deliberately starved, over-worked on projects like the Burma-Siam Railway in which more than 100,000 civilians and POW’s died.

The Japanese also massacred millions of civilians and soldiers on many occasions. For example, in late 1937, over a period of six weeks, Imperial Japanese Army Forces brutally murdered hundreds of thousands of people (estimates murdered: 40,000 - over 300,000) - including soldiers and civilians - in the city of Nanjing (then the capital of the Republic of China). Many Japanese soldiers later said that, on the battlefield, they no longer saw the Chinese as human.

The Japanese also regularly used toxic gases in battle (such as chlorine and mustard gas).


The numbers of deaths from war crimes will never be known since much of the evidence was deliberately destroyed by the perpetrators.


Casualties of WW2:  Axis - over 12 million dead.
                  Allies - over 60 million dead.


                             *

Auschwitz survivor, Viktor Frankl, wrote in his famous book “Man’s Search For Meaning” (it sold over 10 million copies around the world):

He believed that … ‘there are only two races of men: Decent men and indecent men.  No society is free of either of them.’  He had found both types of men amongst the German soldiers and the other prisoners in the concentration camp.

                            
The Second World war changed the world dramatically in many ways. Here are some of the ways:

- Foundations were laid for:
the end of European colonialism (European nations were seriously weakened and their people were war-weary); the civil rights movement in the USA; modern women’s rights movement (women went into the work-force in large numbers during the war and demonstrated that they could handle non-traditional jobs such as welding); programs for space exploration; End of the German Third Reich.

- The USA and USSR became global superpowers and began the Cold War with each other - which defined the rest of the century;

- Founding of the United Nations.


- Technologies developed or improved upon for war:
nuclear power; improved radar and sonar, microwave ovens; the expansion of chemical and plastics industries; computers - Colossus was a series of early computers (the world’s first programmable,electronic,digital computer) developed by British code-breakers to help at Bletchley Park (Govt. Code and Cypher School).


- Discoveries:
Penicillin (By late 1943 mass production of penicillin had commenced. As such, penicillin was available for the D-Day invasion in June 1944. It saved the lives of thousands of men; it saved many men from requiring limb amputations; and it probably influenced the outcome of the war)

- Changes in Australian policies:
Military policy - the war led to the development of a larger peace-time military. 
Foreign policy - Australia began to shift the focus of its foreign policy from Britain to the USA.
Immigration Policy - the war contributed to the development of a more diverse and cosmopolitan Australian society - with the mass immigration of people from many different countries.


                            *


During the early years of the war, life continued much as it had before.  Hilda and Fred tried to protect their children from worrying too much about the war. The government helped, to this end, as it strictly censored information about troop movements, enemy attacks, and Australian losses - partly to reduce information getting to the enemy, and partly to improve the morale of the general public.

In March 1940, Hilda and Fred finally moved from the tiny worker’s cottage, in the industrial part of the city, to a lovely three-bedroom blue-stone villa in the ‘middle-class’ suburb of Fitzroy - only three kilometers out of the city - so still an easy distance for Fred to get to ride his bicycle to work.

Fred had found a second job working on the ‘pie-cart,’ two evenings each week, in addition to his factory job. The extra money meant that they could now afford to rent a larger suburban house with a garden. Hilda, meanwhile, continued to save for the deposit to buy a suburban house of their own.  They had lost the last house-deposit during the Depression years.

Dorothy left home in 1938, at the age of 17, to train as a nurse at the Royal Adelaide Hospital. Twenty years earlier Hilda had been refused a similar position, at the same hospital, simply because she’d previously worked as a domestic servant. This had apparently made her too ‘lower class’ to become a nurse. Her academic grades and glowing references counted for nothing.

Dorothy came home from the nurses home on her free weekends - mostly to rest - and Hilda was more than happy to do her daughter’s washing and ironing, and let her sleep and relax.  Hilda knew the long hours Dorothy was working in the hospital and studying between shifts. She also knew that Dorothy struggled with study - she had never excelled at school like her siblings - and so Hilda knew she would need to regularly study past midnight after her long nursing shifts.

Hilda knew succeeding academically was terribly important to Dorothy.  But, no matter how hard she tried to reassure her daughter that she had many wonderful talents, she was loved regardless of her achievements, and not everyone was academic or had to be - Dorothy wouldn’t listen.  She could never get past the fact that she came from a family where everyone - including her two younger siblings - excelled academically and she didn’t. 

Dorothy would go on to fight her whole life to be ‘good enough’ academically - and she would study and work for more ‘nursing certificates’ for decades.  She would never get married and she would fill the walls of her house, years later, with many photographs of herself receiving more and more different nursing-certificates. She refused to believe that none of us cared about those certificates.  We loved all the other qualities about her which she never thought were important.

Ronny, meanwhile, continued along his happy teenage path. He had always been such an easy child. He reminded Hilda very much of her beloved father, Nils: Loving, funny, kind, clever, and easy-going. 

Ronny was so far ahead of his class at school that he was pushed ahead a year, just as Hilda had been when she went to school.  Although, sadly for Hilda, her mother had forced her to leave school when she turned twelve.  Hilda wanted to ensure that her children would all get to study for as long as they wanted - even if that meant she took in laundry, or sewing, or even got herself a cleaning job to pay for it. 

Ronny graduated from High School at 16 years of age and, with little effort, he came top of the entire state of South Australia.  However, he refused to go on to University to study because he knew that it would mean his mother would struggle financially and he’d always said that he would love to help her and his father purchase their own home:
‘I want you to get your own house,’ he’d say, ‘ where you can put all the nails you like in all the walls and hang pictures everywhere, if you wanted to - and ask no-one’s permission!’

Ronny was determined when he set his mind on an idea.  However, he loved to study and so he promised his mother that he would study by correspondence in the evenings after work.

In 1941, at 16 years of age, Ronny set off for his first job-interview for the position of clerk at the Adelaide Electric Supply Company (AESC). Hilda thought how similar he looked to his father twenty year earlier.  He was tall, around 5ft 10, slim with an athletic build, and his features were even and handsome. Although, unlike his father, his hair was auburn. 

He wore his best suit, a smart hat, polished leather shoes, and he carried a briefcase.  Hilda knew the only thing in the briefcase was a sandwich and a banana, which she had packed for him, but he looked ‘dapper’.  She hoped that he would succeed in getting the job; he had wonderful references, and his academic record was excellent.  

However, a horrible memory came to Hilda as he opened the front door to leave. She recalled the humiliating interview she had at the Royal Adelaide Hospital all those years earlier.

‘Ronny!’ she called out and quickly followed him to the front door.
‘I’m running a bit late, Mum.’
‘Just one last thing, dear.’ Hilda tried to find the words which wouldn’t disrespect his father, Fred. ‘When they ask you what your father does for a living … say he’s a carpenter.’
Ronny looked at her puzzled and then he laughed. ‘Why a carpenter? Working in a factory breaking up wooden boxes doesn’t exactly qualify him as a “carpenter.”  And, it’s got nothing to do with me - what my father does for a living - or them!’
‘I know, dear.  Your father is a good and honest man.  He’s a hard worker.  He’s a decent hard-working man, Ronny.  But … it might ruin your chances for the job if they knew you were from a ‘working-class’ family.  If you said your father was a carpenter … it would sound like your family was more … ‘middle class’.  Trust me on this. It shouldn’t matter … but it might.’
Ronny hugged his mother and left shaking his head.  ‘Ok, Mum. Wish me luck then! And ask dad if he can whip me up a new polished oak wardrobe for my room this afternoon,’ he was laughing as he closed the front door.  Hilda crossed her fingers for him.

Anne, through these years, remained a happy and bright child.  Like her brother she excelled at school with a minimal amount of effort. She came top of her class every year in spite of the fact that her protracted chest infections kept her home from school for weeks at a time, and occasionally she still required admissions to the Convalescent Home at Henley beach

As Anne grew older she came to adore her mother and her brother more and more.  Fred and Dorothy remained cool and relatively distant from the others.  They preferred to be left to themselves and, during Anne’s entire childhood, her father never took her on a single outing.  He’d listen to the radio for hours, ride his bicycle to watch the football on Saturday afternoons, and he’d seem annoyed if Anne tried to tell him about school or anything much happening in her life. 

So, by default, Anne, Ronny, and Hilda spent hours of their time everyday chatting by the fire in the evenings, chatting in the kitchen over cups of tea and glasses of milk, and chatting while Hilda cooked the tea in the evenings.  They also took regular outings together.  A favourite was the trip into the city on Mondays for Hilda’s shopping. On those Mondays, Hilda often met Ronny, in his lunch hour, or Anne, after school.

Every evening, Anne would also wait for her brother at the bus stop.  Ronny had got the job of clerk at the Electricity Supply Company and when he got off the bus his little sister would run to him for a hug. He would scoop her up in his arms and give her a ‘whizzy’ along with a big hug. ‘Hi there, “Noocoms”’ he’d say. Then, together they’d chat about all sorts of things on the walk home.

Hilda often thought that they were even closer than she’d been with her twin brother, Walter, growing up. ‘Two peas in a pod’ she often thought - despite their nine year age gap. So much alike.


Enduring the war years had been, until late 1941, a matter of trying to stay positive and making an effort to keep things as close to ‘normal’ as possible in Australia. This had been what Australians, who remained at home, had done during WW1 while battles were fought so far from Australia’s shores.

However, this all changed when Pearl Harbour was bombed by the Japanese in December 1941. From that moment the war came to the Pacific at lightening speed. And, for the first time since Australia was colonised 150 year earlier, invasion of the continent by another nation was imminent.

The newspapers reported the events which seemed to fly by one after the other over weeks:  Singapore fell in February 1942; the Japanese were occupying New Guinea and storming south; Darwin was bombed with almost 250 people killed in February 1942; and submarine attacks in Sydney and New Castle occurred in May and June, of that same year, respectively.

Fear was palpable in the streets, work-places, and in homes over dinner-tables. Japan had a population more than ten times that of Australia (73 million vs 7 million).  Britain couldn’t help much - they were struggling to keep going in Europe, and the ‘Singapore strategy’ - in which British troops stood by with a naval fleet to help us - had been destroyed.

In response to the heightened threat, the Australian government expanded its army and air-force, and called for an overhaul of economic, domestic, and industrial policies to give the government special authority to mount a ‘total war effort’: This included the rationing of food and clothes, blackouts, trenches dug in the parks and schools, air-raid shelters in public places and in backyards, sandbags around hospitals, barbed wire strung along beaches - especially on the east coast, conscription increases for soldiers and for workers in munition factories.

The newspapers, at this time, also brought some wonderful news to Australians: American soldiers, men and women, began to arrive on our shores - to help us fight to defend our nation, and the Pacific region - from December 1941. Eventually, almost one million American soldiers would pass through Australia before the war’s end. They would bring some of their culture to us: coffee, burgers, colourful American phrases and words.

It was around this time that Ronny began to argue with Hilda and Fred for the first time in his easy-going life.  He wanted to enlist.  He wanted his parents to sign the papers to allow him to go.  His Uncle Walter had served in WW1 at the age of 19.  However,  Hilda and Fred argued that he was too young.  

Finally, a few months after his 18th birthday, and just before his final ‘Accounting correspondence-exam’ - which would have qualified him to be the youngest chartered accountant in the state - his parents finally gave in to his endless arguments for ‘why he should be allowed to help the war effort’:  They signed the papers and on May 22cnd, 1943, he enlisted.

Hilda had one stipulation, however: She didn’t want him fighting in the army in New Guinea against the Japanese. She was terrified that he would be taken prisoner. Even with the heavy government censorship of newspapers and information to the public, Hilda had read horrible stories about the brutal treatment of prisoners by the Japanese:  Forced labour camps building railways in the tropics where men died of exhaustion; prisoner deliberately starved to death, tortured, or killed by Japanese soldiers. An Australian soldier had a much greater chance of surviving a POW camp in Europe than with the Japanese where more than one third were killed and many of the others left with terrible psychological scars from the torture and their experiences.

Ronny didn’t want to upset his mother more than he was already doing by enlisting.  So it was agreed that he would join the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF). Large numbers of the RAAF airmen were flying in Europe with the British Royal Air Force (RAF). Hilda thought this would be safer for her son.

Ronny soon passed his initial training exams, as a Flight navigator, at the Victor Harbour RAAF Training School. Soon after this he left Australia, with the other trainees, to continue training and flying with the RAF in England.

Ronny’s letters to his mother, and his sister, Anne, never mentioned danger. He told them about his friends in the squadron, his bicycle rides in the English countryside, funny stories from his own experiences and ones he’d heard from other people. He spoke of the different cultures and customs he’d come to learn about. And he always told them how much he loved them and missed them.

Hilda looked forward to her son’s letters like they were Christmas and Birthday all rolled into one.  She carried his letters in the pocket of her apron like they were an extension of him in some way.  And every week she would write him a long letter telling him all the happy news from home. She tried to make her letters as cheerful as she could.  Whatever funny stories she’d come across during the week -  they would find their way into her letters. She also tried to comfort her son the way she did when he was little.  She knew that he was missing home and he was more scared than he let on. He was still only a teenager. She told him that in spirit she was always with him. And, in every letter she sent him her love. Anne also wrote her own letters to her brother each week. Meanwhile, Fred would ask Hilda to send his regards to his son in her letters.  Likewise, Ronny would  add a short PS to his mother's letters: ‘Say Hi to Dad’.

Hilda knew in their own ways Ronny and Fred loved each other. The distance between them, however, had just grown too large to be easily crossed.

The time passed slowly for Hilda after Ronny enlisted and moved to Britain.  She missed him so much. At first she used to expect him home every evening for tea … then sadly remember he was far away. During the early months she sometimes thought she could hear his happy voice in the yard or in the house … then she would remember that it couldn’t be him.

Late in 1944 Hilda became more hopeful that the end of the war might be coming soon. It was becoming more and more likely, from what the newspapers reported, that the Allies would win the war, Australia would remain safe from invasion, and Ronny would come home like her brother Walter had after WW1.

Hilda began to imagine the ‘Welcome Home’ party she could make for her son on his return. She thought about saving her ration stamps, over a few weeks, and baking a wonderful feast for the first night he came home. Many of the neighbours would want to see him too.


On the morning of Tuesday January 9th, 1945, Anne, now 11 years of age, was dozing behind a shed on a visit to an paternal Aunt’s farm during the summer-holidays. Her cousin was out somewhere - so she was feeling bored at that moment. 

Half asleep, but still aware of the farm noises around her, Anne watched the sunshine beneath her lids flicker pink as the leaves above her moved with the breeze.  Then, quite unexpectedly - out of the blue - she experienced a strange scene in her mind.  It felt more ‘real’ than any dream or thought she’d ever had.  It was like she was somewhere very distant in a confined space in the dark.  It seemed to be night. She could feel herself spinning.  She was moving fast and spinning and every so often faint distant lights could be seen - like the lights of a town of city far away. Then blackness again. A thought came into her mind.  Not so much words as a powerful idea:  ‘I will never see my family again’.

Then it was over.

Anne sat up and felt confused.  She wasn’t sure what had just happened but she would remember it all of her life. The following day she would be called home urgently.  Her mother would need her home: There would be news about Ronny. 

On Wednesday January 10th 1945, around midday, Hilda was on the front porch of her blue-stone villa in suburban Adelaide. It was a beautiful warm summer day and she was admiring her pretty garden. Fred had taken the day off work because he had a cold. However, he was at that moment checking the mail box. The inane details of that moment would become burned into their memories for the rest of their lives.
 
As they stood in front of their house, a young man marched down the road toward them. He was slim and wearing a three piece suit with a hat.  Fred saw him first and, catching his eye, Fred smiled. The young man then approached him and pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. He stood on the asphalt footpath beyond the low front fence of the garden and handed the paper to Fred adding: ‘Sorry mate, your son’s dead.’

Fred held the telegram with shaking hands. He managed somehow to open it.  Hilda was now by his side. The words swam on the page as Hilda tried to focus through her tears:

442280  FLYING OFFICER R MITCHELL MISSING  STOP  REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR SON FLYING OFFICER RONALD MITCHELL IS MISSING AS A RESULT OF AIR OPERATIONS …

Fred dropped to his knees holding the crumpled paper in his fist. He rolled himself up into a ball, as if in severe physical pain and, with his hands to face, he sobbed. ‘My son …’ he repeated over and over.

Hilda’s head spun. She felt a large part of herself die with her son. Her fingers tingled and a severe pain exploded in her skull. She collapsed to the ground.  She had her first stroke at only 48 years of age.

                         
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The events of Ronny’s death were explained over time:

Late on the night of January 8th, 1945, Ronny had an evening free from flying and training - so he was relaxing in his dormitory. His friend Bert, however, asked him to take his place as navigator for ‘night training operations’ as Bert said he didn’t feel well.

Ronny readily agreed and went up with Bert’s crew flying off the UK coast.  The plane never returned and it is thought it ditched into the sea off the coast near London.

Bert made it back to Australia and lived to an old age.  He sent a Christmas card to Ronny’s parents every year for the rest of their lives. No one ever blamed him.  He had no way of knowing the plane wouldn’t come back.

The timing of my mother, Anne’s ‘vision’ coincided exactly with the time when Ronny’s plane crashed.  Anne’s ‘dream’ occurred in the daylight in Australia - while, for Ronny, that same time would have been the night before in England.  The lights my mother saw may have been the few lights visible of London from out at sea in the dark.  The plane very likely went into a spin as it ditched into the sea. 

Ronny and Anne were always exceptionally close.

For many years Hilda didn’t want to give up hope that her son may not be dead. ‘Missing presumed dead’ with no grave is hard for those left behind to grieve and let go.  Hilda sometimes hoped her son was alive, somewhere, but he had amnesia and couldn’t remember his family. 

Finally, Hilda had to accept the sad truth.  Her dear son, Flight Sergeant Ronald Walter Mitchell, aged only 20, had died.


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A few last words from Viktor Frankl's book, ‘Man’s Search for meaning’:

 ' … a man who has nothing left in this world may still know bliss, be it only for a brief moment, in the thoughts of his loved ones.'


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I will continue with the story of my grandmother’s life, after the war years, in the next blog.

But now here is an excerpt from her journal (1948 - 1963) written to my mother Anne.


HILDA’S  JOURNAL


Friday  February 29th 1952

Uncle Bill came today and brought two passion fruit plants and some figs and tomatoes.  He was interested to hear Lambert’s place was for sale and has gone to look at it on his way home. If it is not already sold I bet he will find a buyer for it.  I like seeing him every three months when he comes out this way to pay lodge.

Today you wore your latest sun suit, the one in white and blue mostly, with garden things on it: rakes, baskets, shady hats, and shoes.I love that sun suit. Mr Chapple was going to wait for you to give you a lift to work.

I am part way through my mending but not through my washing. Well its one thing that has to be done so I must away to my little tin shed.  It is not a smart enough place to call a laundry or even a wash house.

This diary business is becoming a habit.


Tuesday March 4th 1952

The lovely weather continues into March.

I am writing sitting in the lounge chair so it will be more of a scribble than ever.  I am tired after my day out town yesterday.  I didn’t buy anything interesting but tramped about in and out of shops mingling with the crowd and enjoying myself. Met you lunch time, we looked at winter costumes then I walked back with you to your office, a dingy little place from outside and you enter it by four or five steep steps with a hand rail.  As you walked in I saw a haze floating in the air.  I don’t know if it was from dust on the floor (perhaps the floor boards are rickety) or it was someone smoking.  It is a distinct contrast to the North Terrace headquarters but how much happier you are there where you are now.

I wonder how you are getting on today with the latest heart throb John Patterson and if the flirtatious Mr Burdon has to be quelled again.  Also I wonder if Alan sees it is “no go” and if poor George waits in vain to walk to the car with you.

I remember the words of the Matron in the Convalescent Home at Henley Beach when you were seven years old. She said, “ She will lead the boys on a dance when she grows up.”

Dorothy leaves tomorrow.  I think for a holiday in Tasmania.

I must go out and get the tea on, Irish stew.  The desert, blanc mange and stewed plums, is already cooked. I will just about have time to read the paper before going to the culinary department.

Milikans left a couple of days ago for a holiday in a caravan.


Wednesday March 5th 1952

I feel very tired today.  This writing is becoming a habit. You wore a grey skirt, yellow jumper and scarf today.

Fred went to see Flo (Fred’s sister) after work yesterday and took her some grapes and tomatoes. Tom was there, he spoke of getting married in September when I suppose there will be another meeting of the clan.

There is a lovely bowl of perennial aster and zinnias on the table.  The clock that ticks away and keeps me company has ticked away fifteen minutes since I sat here with a gentle cool little breeze playing with the curtains and refreshing me, so having had a little rest I must get on with my work.


Monday March 17th 1952

Having a rest in the lounge chair while writing.

We went to Belair Saturday. It was a nice change for us both. I found the sun too warm but it was lovely in the shade and there was a cool breeze.  The air there is lovely.

We did some shopping in the morning.  You bought a lovely little black velvet hat.  It has a touch of gold on each side and you look bewitching in it.  You bought it to wear with your new grey and lavender winter dress. You also bought two pretty little posies of flowers - one little white flowers, the other forget-me-nots.

You have been invited to a 21st birthday next Saturday evening.  It is one of Aunty Myrtle’s (another of Fred’s sisters) boys.


Tuesday March 18th 1952

The weather is hot now.  The old sun hasn’t let up altogether on us this summer, but we can’t have much more. It has not been a bad summer like last summer, thank goodness.

Lamberts are leaving on April 2cnd.  Mr Nicholls (Rev.) had his fiance at church Sunday night and Paula was sniffing all through the service.  When the service was over she made a dash for the door and away home.  Other times she always stops to talk awhile.  When she got home she caged herself in a room with her mother and Shirley for an hour while you talked to Nancy and the others. The company there is small now.

Aunty Flo and Uncle Jim were there. You wore your blue linen suit with little white flower spray and your new little black velvet hat.

Mr Nicholl’s fiance I imagine must have looked pretty.  She wore pink with two roses drooping from the back of her pink hat.  Paula was dowdy in a red jumper and a skirt and had little or no make up on. 

Patty Golding got married last Saturday or the Saturday previous.


Monday  August 11th 1952

It is nearly six months since I wrote last.  It was hot then, now it is cold, a dull grey day.  I should be going into town today because it is a Monday but am going tomorrow instead and am having a perm then.

You have been going to a few dances and you have had a marvellous time.

You are back at kelvin Buildings now and like it there.

Milicans (neighbours across the road) left here and went to live at Blackwood. We have a family called Noak or some name like that living there.  They have two little girls.

Mrs Tham had a stroke, her sister looks after her with the help of the district nurse and of Alison when she is home.Lovely girl Alison.  She and you have become very friendly.  She is an unusual girl, clever, good, and I think one with a mission in life. By that I mean I think she will influence many people for good.  She seems inspired.  There are no airs about her.  Her talk is not “preachy” and she is good fun.

Mr Reedy has been much better under a different doctor, a heart specialist called Dr Phlaum.

You have met a very nice little woman called Mrs Raw who catches the tram when you do sometimes or gets into Mr Chapple’s car with you (to his dismay as he likes to have you to himself and to talk nonsense).  She teaches at Walford House. She is rather dear, has a husband and two little boys, and does her own work as well as teaching. She teaches, she explains to different ones, because she feels “the call”, but at her we just smile.

You looked very pretty this morning in your blue check winter coat and little navy hat. I am looking forward to spring and early summer.  Particularly because of the bright annuals that will be blooming and more sunshine.

There is a bowl of pink stocks in front of me.  So pretty and bright.  How glad I am I hung on to two insignificant looking little plants at the end of last summer.  They have filled my flower bowl with their pretty sweet scented flowers when there has been little else in the garden these last few weeks.

(My grandmother here drew a picture of her garden with pen: She writes ‘almond blossom time’ next to a picture of tall almond trees with blossom floating to the ground, like snow, on a breeze. She labels an orange tree, wall flowers, alyssum, path, fallen petals).
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