Dad used to say "Rosie, it's a good thing the girls got your looks and my brains, because if it was the other way around, it would be a disaster." And that totally sums it up!
Once, I have heard from an aunty who was there, mum was going on and on, entertaining a crowd gathered in our living room, that while dad was known as "Peter bloody Ward" because he swore so much, he had never said, and never ever would say "the F word". Everyone challenged her noisily, but she stuck to her guns and refused to accept anyone else's arguments. The phone rang in another room, and mum went to answer it. As she passed through the doorway and shut the door, dad said to anyone who would listen "She's a silly fucking bitch sometimes." That sums it up!
Mum looked after the kids, the food, the housekeeping, and was the social coordinator (aka party animal). Dad worked to earn the money to pay for things. He was an un-qualified but competent carpenter. He'd worked with builders, bricklayers, and watched and learned. When I was born, and he was only 26, he'd had 27 different jobs. Not long before I was born he left a good office job and took one at the Tisbury Cheese Factory as a delivery person. His good friend, Les Macaskill (career teacher and school principal) questioned his judgement. Dad was quick with his reasoning. "I need a vehicle to get Rosie to the hospital when the baby comes. This job comes with a van." Pragmatic.
Mum made a career out of being ditsy, and it was something I really didn't like about her. She thought it was funny to be irrational and twist reality. If she bought a pair of shoes for $10, on sale from $20, she would proclaim proudly, "I earned $10 today!" And she would argue the point, for the fun of it. She did this constantly. Shopping for a bargain wasn't just a hobby, but it was a way to show off, flaunt this silly side.
She would often say outrageous things, drop her false teeth out of her mouth to scare the kids, make her eyes so crossed she looked horrific. Just do stupid things.
This reminds me of the day she got all her teeth taken out. They were doing that in the 60s. Cosmetic purposes I think. I was very small. Three or four at the most. Mum left me with Nana Baird, and went to the dentist and got her teeth pulled out. All in one go. She came back to nana's place looking horrific. Totally. She went to lie down in nana's bed. It must have been quite physically traumatic, but lots of people did it. I was in the little bed -- Joanne's bed -- beside her. I didn't want to look at her. She was scary. I said "Is your mouth looking?" And she said "No." And I peeped out from under the covers, and there was her caved in, collapsed, ugly mouth grinning at me. I screamed and dived back under the covers. It was a game. Like a lot of the games in our household, I didn't like it. Fortunately I was too young to know about being a good sport, so I just stayed under the blankets and cried.
Mum used to drop her teeth as a party trick. I always found that excruciating.
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When I turned 18, my friend Greg McIlhinney threw a party for me. I think he knew that any birthday party held at my home would be my parent's affair, not mine, and he was determined to do something for me. So we had the party at his home -- he lived alone with his mother, who we called Maude -- and invited a load of people. We had loud music, dancing, and alcohol. I remember at one point toward the end of the evening saying to Greg that I thought someone had spiked my drinks because I felt really woosy. I'm sure now it was just that I didn't expect the alcohol to affect me the way it did... get me drunk!
Anyway, around 10pm, there was a rucus in the front room, with a lot of hooting and hollering, so I went to investigate. My parents had shown up. Dressed in long dressing gowns, wearing ape masks, dancing around like lunatics. At first, I was the only one who knew they were my parents. I recognised the ape masks and the dressing gowns. I was supposed to think this was funny. Everyone else thought it was hilarious. I withered. I'm totally sure mum harranged dad into doing this, or waited until he'd had several beers and was up for it. Whatever. It was mortifying.
People thought my parents were great, especially mum. When friends came around, there was always hilarity and pranks. Someone always got thrown, fully clothed, into the swimming pool. Someone always ended up wearing a stupid wig or mask or a wedding dress or knickers on their head. There would be chickens in the house, or someone trying to walk up the stairs on their hands, or on stilts, hiding, chasing and shrieking, mum playing moonlight sonata in the wrong key three times too fast, dropping her teeth... boozing and laughing, and mortification.
We lived in a party house. Well it was a party when there were visitors. Which was too often, in my not so humble opinion.
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Dad always made mum a cup of tea in the morning and delivered it to her in bed. I insist on this treatment myself, even now! As we all got a bit older, he would bring us all drinks in bed in the morning. Coffee or tea, however we liked it. He'd come upstairs with the tray, make all the drink deliveries, and so started the day in the household. That was very civilised. Things usually degenerated into chaos fairly quickly, with scraps over clothing, school lunches never made until the last minute, flat tires on bikes, running late and the car not starting if mum was driving us to school.
The title for this post is a quote from my sister Julie, who recited that wonderfully funny poem at the dinner table one night, and got in trouble for it. That was grossly unfair -- her poem was true.
NEXT: Filing the Underwear
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