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1.
CENTENNIAL PARK CEMETERY, ADELAIDE 19
SEPTEMBER 1997 'To
us, Grannie defined the word "family".'
Frai's voice broke on the words and she turned from the gathering in the
chapel, pressing her hand to her heart to regain composure. After a long
pause, she turned, breathed deeply and continued with the tribute from
Olive's Canadian family. 'We
will always cherish greatly her visits to Canada. It meant the world to all of
her grandchildren that she made those trips and kept up the Aussie connection.
The lessons we learned and the feelings she invoked will be passed on to all
her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. We say a fond farewell to our
beloved Grannie Down Under and send our love to our family in Australia.' Frai,
still struggling to control the quaver in her voice, concluded with a tribute
from Olive's Australian grandchildren and great-grandchildren. 'We
will always remember her cheerful and positive attitude to life, her sense of
humour, her ability to find the best in every situation and, above all, her
strength and determination. These things will stay in our memory forever.' The
words that followed, from Malcolm McArthur, family friend and the officiating
minister, faded like campfire smoke drifting into the air, the attention of
the congregation drawn to the front of the chapel where Olive's
flower—draped coffin lay basking in the sunlight of a early Spring afternoon.
The glass wall of the chapel behind the coffin gave onto an enclosed
courtyard, the golden light of the sandstone walls highlighting the rich green
of the fernery. As
people had gathered for the funeral, Chalien and Ricki had handed each one a
small spray of flowers, tributes prepared by Charmian. Slowly Malcolm's
words began to enter consciousness. He was speaking of the 'language of
flowers', recalling Biblical references to their beauty and their ability to
heal, and linking the idea to the earlier reading by Lorene: 'For every
thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven: a time to
be born and a time to die …'.[1]
The silence in the chapel was respectful, even reverential, as I walked to the
lectern and stood for a moment gathering myself, before I looked out at the
small gathering of friends and family. 'Mum
hated funerals,' I began. 'As far as I know she hasn't attended one for
80 years. She also wasn't one to seek the limelight. Well, she can't
escape this funeral, and she can't escape being the focus of our loving
attention. 'Olive
Myrtle Scott was born on the 8th of March 1905, the fourth child of Fred and
Lily Scott. Her mother's family was a large one and she had the pleasure of
being surrounded by many uncles and aunts. Her aunts Maudie and May were
especially dear to her. She had many stories of her childhood at Mile End,
every one embroidered with fine detail. She could tell you what dress she
wore, the design on its collar, what the weather was like, and what flowers
were in bloom, reporting, if not verbatim, then with remarkable consistency,
who said what to whom and when. And every story spilled over with humour and
laughter. Mum was our oral historian and her stories gave shape to our lives. 'Her
father, Fred, served in France in World War 1 and, only weeks after he
returned, her mother Lily died in the influenza epidemic of 1919. Mum reports
that she decided, by herself, that it was necessary for her to leave school
and go to work to help support her father and younger sister. This action was
typical of her throughout her life — the readiness to look for practical
solutions to life's problems, and the acceptance of realities without
complaint. When confronted by life's conundrums, Mum simply and cheerfully
"got on with the job". 'Her
youth and early adulthood were spent in the golden era of the flapper and the
Charleston. Photos of the time show them on picnics at Belair National Park,
Victor Harbor and other places — a carefree time full of promise and
possibilities. 'In
the Spring of 1928, Olive married Norman Quintrell and, on their second
wedding anniversary, my brother Bob was born. The early 1930s were formative
times for many people and equally for this young couple. They had a new baby
and my father had only part—time work, so it needed all Mum's practical
skills to weave their way through the maze of the Depression. In 1937 I was
born and, by the time I was old enough to form memories of my own, war had
been declared and my father had enlisted in the Air Force. My father served in
New Guinea and it's not easy to imagine the level of stress that Olive would
have experienced with a husband in the war zone and two young children, one
given to bouts of asthma, to bring up herself. My earliest memories of my
mother are of a young woman under strain, yet always there for me, always
concerned and involved with her children's needs. I was then, as I am now,
easily moved to tears and what I remember most is Mum's hands—the cool
hand on a fevered brow, the gentle touch that soothed distress. 'The
war ended and Dad returned home. I remember my late childhood as an exuberant
time, as if society was experiencing a delayed adolescence, or enjoying a
particularly beautiful Spring after a long, bitter Winter. There were family
gatherings, picnics and parties, barbecues and sporting events, and my parents
were often the organisers and energisers of these. 'And
Mum smiled again. And danced. And threw herself into new things with renewed
and wonderful energy. She started a florist business from home—my father had
to dig up the whole backyard and put it under flowerbeds—and when Mum went
to work at Central Florists, they smoothed it all out again and made a tennis
court. From that time on and forever, it's with flowers that I associate
Mum. She delighted in growing things. Plants had personalities for her. She
described plants that weren't thriving as 'sulky', or 'just needing a
bit of encouragement', or 'having their hearts broken', or of 'not
getting a fair go'. And plants grew for her. She knew about the need to give
care and encouragement, and gave it generously. 'She
was a generous woman, but not irresponsible or wasteful. She had learned hard
lessons during the Depression and the War, so she was thoughtful in giving,
but never grudging. Gifts of goods, praise or encouragement were given
generously, wisely and unconditionally. If anyone broke the stereotype of the
mean-spirited mother—in—law, it was Mum. Charmian remembers receiving clothing
for the children — never one singlet or jumper, but always three or four at
once, and always one size too large so they would grow into them and they
would last longer. Trish, Olive's Canadian daughter-in-law, often spoke of
Mum's consistent, non—judgmental support through many difficult years. 'Which
brings me to her Canadian family. They cannot be here today, but as you have
heard, they dearly loved their Aussie grandmother. My brother, Bob, married in
Canada and had four children who still live there. During the long and
difficult period of my brother's divorce and subsequent estrangement from
his children, Mum never let go of the family ties. Patiently and
unconditionally she wove strands of love and care across the width of the
Pacific Ocean and, after my father's death, she travelled to Canada to spend
a critically important time with her Canadian family. In the story I wrote
about my brother's untimely death in 1988, I use another metaphor in a scene
in which the character representing Bob is about to return to Canada. 'Our
mother has built a bridge,' Bob's character says, 'and I have to cross
it.' And he did cross the bridge — built with Mum's patient, loving and
unshakeable commitment to family—and did re-establish relationships with his
children before he died. 'At
her 90th birthday, I said something like, "History is mainly
written about emperors and queens and politicians and explorers and suchlike.
But the vast majority of us live our lives in circumstances in which we have
to learn to deal with the everyday realities of life: how to laugh when
we're happy and cry when we're sad, how to have fun, and how to celebrate
successes and deal with failures. We learn these things not from books, but
from those who go before us and deal with life's problems practically and
successfully, who celebrate the simple pleasures of life and patiently endure
its pains and struggles. It is from them we learn loyalty, compassion,
generosity and love". 'Over
the last few days, the thing that moves me most often to tears is not so much
the sadness of Olive's passing but when I try to find words to express the
gratitude for what she has given to me and my family. The Canadian Quintrells
have said it for me: "Grannie defined the word 'family' for us." 'When
I've spoken to various ones of you over the last few days, the words you
have most often used to describe Mum are "generous", "welcoming",
"supportive", and "a beautiful person", and almost all of you have
made reference to one quality of hers that we all remember—her laughter. One
of our family jokes has been that Grannie will never die, she will just get
smaller and smaller and disappear, and all that will be left are the echoes of
her laughter. 'Well,
now she is gone. But after the tears have been shed, the echoes of her
laughter will remain in every one of us who knew her and loved her.' I
picked up my notes and returned to my seat and to the comfort of Charmian's
hand on mine. The funeral director cued in the chosen music, a harp and flute
duet. The music floated in the chapel, as gentle as an autumn breeze, as soft
as the petals of a rose, the flute soaring over the rippling harp, each person
left to contemplate the effect of the deceased on their own finite lives.
Malcolm gathered up the thoughts of the mourners into final prayers,
committing Olive's remains to the elements as the coffin was lowered into
the floor. A
blessing having been conferred, people moved slowly from their seats,
exchanging wordless hugs of comfort and affection. I had chosen "Autumn
Leaves" as the final musical piece, and as I left the chapel wondered again
about my choice, the memory that prompted its inclusion still elusive. The
symbolism of beauty at the end of flowering was obvious, but there was also
some connection with childhood that could not be contained in words—some
trace memory of the family of childhood sitting around the radio on a
winter's evening with the fire burning, evoking feelings of security and
peacefulness. I shivered, the held-back emotion breaking through. I wiped
tears from my eyes. 'You
OK?' Charmian enquired softly. I
nodded mutely. She
took my hand and we walked into the side room where afternoon tea had been
laid out for Olive's friends and relatives.
2.
CHILDHOOD YEARS: ADELAIDE 1905 — 1914 Olive
was born in the years history has named 'the Edwardian era' which
stretches from 1901 when Edward VII was crowned, to the outbreak of war in
Europe in 1914. It is seen as a time when the world moved from one of
established order to the beginnings of the modern world, encompassing social
reform, technological invention and philosophical and artistic exploration and
expression; a world trembling on the brink of changes that would affect the
course of history in profound ways. Two years earlier Wilbur and Orville
Wright had made their historical first successful powered flight and, as 1905
opened, their improved plane made a flight of nearly 40 km. The revolution in
transport would see the times of travel shrink from the months it had taken
Olive's grandparents to sail from England to Australia in the 1860s to less
than a day by the time she died. In 1905, a revolution of another kind was
brewing in Russia and a succession of events during the year paved the way for
the Bolshevik revolution of 1917 that ended Tsarist rule and ushered in what
would become the "Cold War" and dominate political realities for much of
the 20th century. Australia had gained its own identity in the
world with the formation of the Commonwealth of Australia in 1901, but
national allegiances were still strongly oriented to Britain, the 'mother
country'. One item of local interest that Olive's descendants may like
noted is that competitive netball was played in Adelaide for the first time in
1905!
On March 8, 1905 in Adelaide, world events would have been far from
Fred and Lily Scott's minds as they cradled their newborn daughter Olive
Myrtle, a sister for Alice, Arnie and Cyril. She was probably named for Olive
Alice, Lily's younger sister who had died in infancy in 1888, and Eva
Myrtle, a younger sister of Fred's, who had also died before her first
birthday. The recycling of names was not uncommon. Lily herself bore the name
of an older sister who had also died in infancy.
The Adelaide into which Olive was born was a small, well-laid out city,
a grid of streets within its literal 'square mile', bounded by parklands.
Cars would have been few and, although the first electric tram was introduced
in 1909, horse-drawn trams provided public transport through Olive's
childhood. Street lighting for the city had arrived some years earlier. Olive's
childhood was happy and unmarked by tragedy. She is seen in photos with the
family dog, on horseback, climbing trees with her brothers, at her
grandfather's knee in a family photograph, and watched by a smiling Lily as
she picks fruit from a tree in the back yard of her grandparents' home. She
is carefully dressed, often in flounced white dresses with knee-high white
socks. Her hair hangs to her shoulders in ringlets and is caught with ribbons.
Both Lily and Fred had eight siblings, so Olive was surrounded by aunts and
uncles, and the extended family gave her plenty of opportunities for loving
attention and play. Her mother's youngest sister, Linda, was only 5 years
older than Olive, and her brothers Arnie and Cyril, 5 and 3 years older, were
imaginative and mischievous playmates. The aptly-named Mile End where they
lived provided easy access to the city and its markets and plenty of room to
roam. Grandfather Edwin owned a butcher shop on Fisher Terrace (now South
Road, a busy arterial highway), and kept chickens and sheep for slaughter on
neighbouring fields[2].
At what would now be seen as a very young age, the children were allowed to
roam the fields, climbing trees, running with Rover, their pet border collie,
or on horseback on Dolly the family horse. The era was gentler, slower paced,
and the city safer than today. It was not unusual for Olive to be sent alone
across the parklands to the city on errands for her mother or grandparents and
some of her early childhood stories revolve around the horse trams and visits
to the Central Market in the west end of the city. One
of her first clear memories involves the departure of her grandfather, Edwin
Pearce, for England to be at the coronation of King George V. Olive recalls
being puzzled about his leaving. 'Why would anyone want to travel so far,
just to see someone place a crown on the King's head?' she wondered. The
family waved to Edwin, dapper in his new suit and bowler hat, as his ship
pulled away from the wharf at Port Adelaide. He promised to wave a white
handkerchief so Olive could see him from the wharf. 'I waved and waved,'
she reports, 'but whether I was waving to his handkerchief or not, I
couldn't tell.' As they turned to go, Olive, holding on to her mother's
hand, thought to herself, 'Well, that's the end of Grandpa. I'll never
see him again.' Edwin
would have been 50 years old, having left England, at age 17, on March 1876
aboard the 'Northern Monarch'. He arrived at Port Adelaide on the 12th
of June 1876. It seems likely that he felt a strong connection for the place
of his birth, and, for him, the coronation would have been an important event.
In spite of Olive's dire prediction, Edwin did return to Australia and
continued to operate his butcher's business at Mile End until his death. He
was patron of the local football team and, it would seem, a loved father and
grandfather. In the infamous 'Lily and the potted palm' photograph[3],
taken a few years after his return, Olive is seen seated comfortably on his
knee with his arm around her waist. In the only photographs I have of him, he
looks calmly at the camera exuding a sense of quiet and dignified composure,
seemingly confident of his place in the world.
Olive's childhood
memories are unremarkable. 'It
was hard for him to make a go of it,' Olive reports, 'with all the
relations expecting free fruit and veg. Cyril was a real tattletale. If any of
the relatives came and took anything, he'd pipe up "I'm going to tell
Dad you took that".' She
remembers the organ—grinder man who made his living as the sharpener of knives
and scissors. He would announce his presence by playing on a small barrel
organ. On his shoulder was perched a small monkey, dressed in cap and vest. On
some occasions, she was allowed to collect the eggs from the fowls kept at her
grandfather's house. She recalls collecting 72 eggs on a particular day, an
unusually high yield. Carrying her bowl of fresh eggs triumphantly back to the
house in expectation of praise, she tripped and fell, breaking more than half
the bounty. Was she punished? I asked her. 'A severe scolding for being
clumsy', she said, ' but no, I never got a hiding.' Olive
and her sister, Alice, on Dolly their horse, about 1910.
Olive
and her mother, Lily, about 1910
One
of Olive's early tasks was, on a Saturday, to go on the horse tram from
their home at Hilton to collect meat from grandfather's shop and a can of
chicken broth from the west end market. She was given the penny fare for the
tram, and sixpence to spend on sweets. The
trams ran on rails and the carriages had two levels. Normally, women and
children sat on the lower, enclosed decks and men on the upper deck, which was
open in summer but with canvas sides that could be rolled down in poor
weather. The trams were drawn by a pair of horses and, given their heads, the
horses could get the trams rolling at a fair clip. The track ran dead straight
for most of its run but curved as it entered the city. If the horses had
picked up too much speed, and the top deck was crowded, it was not unusual for
the carriage to jump the tracks, bringing the horses and tram to a sudden
halt. Everyone would have to descend from the tram and the men would push the
carriage back onto the tracks before the journey could be continued. Colin
Thiele in The Adelaide Story describes the horse trams, which were in
use from 1878 to 1917, as …
an acquisition in an adolescent city — passengers leaping aboard and
alighting flamboyantly while they were still in motion, ladies in crinolines
missing high footsteps or losing sunshades at the entrances, young blades
jumping off at the Kent Town rise to help the hard—pressed horses by pushing
from behind.[4] Olive remembers
one particular visit on a warm December day, a couple of weeks before
Christmas. Dressed in a light brown cotton dress, with lace appliqué at the
collar, and carrying her can for the broth, Olive boarded the horse tram. She
offered her penny to the conductor for the ride and checked that her sixpence
was securely knotted in the corner of her handkerchief. The lower deck of the
tram would have been crowded with mothers and their children going to shop at
the market. On the top deck, the canvas awnings would have been drawn back and
men, in their shirtsleeves, but waist—coated and hatted, would have enjoyed
the breeze as the horses trotted along. On this day, the tram held to the
tracks as the corner into Grote Street was negotiated. Olive
alighted with the other passengers near the Post Office in Victoria Square.
She may have dallied for a time in the shade of the spreading Moreton Bay fig
tree, listening to the Salvation Army band. Her attention would have been
drawn to a ring of people near the Post Office and she wormed her way to the
front to see what was happening. In the centre of the ring a man sat on a low
stool. On the ground alongside him was a pair of crutches. Crippled, whether
from birth or by misadventure, he eked out a living from a troupe of trained
dogs, some of which were attached by chains to the legs of other stools. On
command, they would perform tricks — leaping from stool to stool like
miniature circus lions, standing on their hind legs, or kneeling to 'pray'
while the man recited the Lord's Prayer. Other dogs trotted around the ring
holding tins in their mouths into which people threw pennies. Olive's hand
closed over her sixpence, but it was too great a sacrifice and she resisted
any temptation to contribute. There
was a sudden commotion. A stray dog had entered the ring and launched itself
at one of the smaller dogs. There was a pandemonium of barking and growling
and some of the dogs took off down the road, upsetting water dishes and
scattering money and trailing their stools behind them as they fled. The
crippled man shouted at his dogs to return and a couple of men tried to
separate the brawling dogs. Gradually order was restored. Some of the crowd
retrieved the fleeing dogs while others collected the scattered pennies. The
marauder was dispatched, howling, with a kick to its rear. Olive
made her way back across the square to the market bearing her billycan and
with her hand clasped over the sweat—damp corner of her handkerchief where her
sixpence burned to be spent. What lay in wait for her in the alleyway to the
side of the market were the touts for Bruce's cheapjack, selling tickets for
sixpence for a turn on the wheel. This may have been the day when Olive's
life-long enjoyment of the small wager began as she yielded up her sixpence
for a chance on the wheel. The
prizes on offer ranged from a pair of shoelaces or a box of matches to a giant
Christmas Stocking and a Christmas goose. The required number of tickets
having been sold, the cheapjack man called out to the players to gather as he
spun the wheel. Partly in fear, realising she was participating in something
forbidden, and partly in excitement at the possibility of winning, Olive
watched the numbers rush past the pointer as the wheel turned. 'Number
29! Who has number 29?' the man called. 'She's
won the goose! The young girl's won the goose!' There,
staring at Olive from its cage as if she was its mortal enemy, was a live
goose. The enormity of her action was now apparent. How could she get a live
goose and the chicken broth home on the tram? How could she explain to her
mother that she had failed to buy sweets but had gambled her money on the
cheapjack? 'Please
sir,' she stammered to the man who towered above her, 'can I come back in
a minute?' 'Certainly,
young lady,' he bellowed, his voice booming across the market. Then to her
retreating back as if in accusation, 'She won the goose! The young lady won
the goose!' 'I
walked around the market for a while,' Olive told me, 'and then I thought,
if I could exchange the goose for a Stocking for my baby sister Lily, mother
couldn't be cross at me. So I went back to the man on the cheapjack and
asked if I could have the Stocking instead. I was mortified because he
bellowed out to the whole market "What do you think of that? She wants a
Stocking for her baby sister instead of the goose". But he gave me the
Stocking and I got Bruces' the butchers to wrap it up so Lily wouldn't see
it, and struggled home with the stocking, the broth, and the bag of meat from
Grandpa's. I got into trouble for being late, but when I told Mum about the
cheapjack and the goose and the stocking for Lily, I got off light. I think
Mum had to actually stop from smiling and Dad laughed out loud. The Stocking
stayed on the top of the wardrobe, wrapped up in butchers' paper, until
Christmas. Lily got her Stocking, and I may have missed out on my
sixpenny-worth of sweets, but I avoided a hiding.' In May 1910, soon
after Olive's fifth birthday, The Advertiser reported 'heavenly
distractions'. Halley's Comet made its once in every 78 years return to
the morning sky, and the paper rhapsodised that it was …
a splendid ornament of the morning sky. The nucleus glows like a flame, and
the tail is assuming the portentous sword—like form that has made the
mysterious visitor a terror to the nations on its reappearance through the
ages.[5] On
the same day, the newspaper also reported a partial eclipse of the sun.
Although Olive did not know it, portents of problems in her parents'
marriage were also appearing. A year or more before, her mother had begun an
affair with a family friend and her young sister, Lily, was born of that
liaison. In the manner of the time, Lily was brought up as a child of the
marriage, but what effect this had on the marriage relationship can only be
guessed at. Other family members believe that the affair continued and, when
war was declared in 1914, Fred enlisted to distance himself from the affair.
Whatever his motives for enlistment were, the facts are that by the time Olive
was 10, her father was absent in France. Soon after Fred returned from the
war, her mother was dead. As Olive tells it, her mother died in the influenza
epidemic of 1919. But more recent stories suggest another possibility … Fred
Scott, in his army uniform, about 1915.
[1] Ecclesiastes 3:1,2. [2] See ch 18 'C'arn the Bloods!' [3] See 'Lily and the potted palm' ch. 3 [4] Thiele, C. The Adelaide Story. Peacock Publications, Frewville SA. 1982. [5] Lord, P. 125 Years of The Advertiser. Advertiser Newspapers, Adelaide. 1983. |
