Mum was born in the early 1920s so her life was interesting to say the least.
The depression struck when she was a small child with a father who could not find secure work, ultimately leading to him leaving the family home like so many men did to find work anywhere. He never really came back.
She left school at 13 like many of her age in those days. Secondary education was not a given then. She then spent her days caring for younger siblings while her mother worked nights as a railway carriage cleaner to try to make enough to feed the family of six children. No benefits in those days.
Mum eventually, as soon as possible, joined her mother working in the railway carriages in the middle of the night cleaning them for the next day’s commuters.
Her older brother and sister were also working as young teenagers in an attempt to keep the family afloat.
What I describe was not unusual for those times. The times were very tough for everyone back then. Work was done where it could be found.
Just as her family were raising their heads above water World War II started.
Mum was a teenager still. Her older brother ended up in Greece along with thousands of other young New Zealanders only to get booted out by the Germans.
Her mother worried and prayed daily, as did the whole family, for his safety. Mum worked at the Ford factory, set up as an ammunition factory, and also as a land girl.
Her memory of that job was not good. Not all farmers were appreciative of the young town women who came to their farms to help them.
By the time Mum was 21 she had lost her first serious boyfriend, a young US Marine she met whilst he was training in New Zealand.
He was killed on one of those awful land-borne invasions the brave American lads undertook to rid the Pacific of the Japanese military in an effort to protect New Zealand and Australia.
Coincidentally her younger sister’s fiancé, an American sailor, died in battle also.
Despite leaving school at 13, Mum was an intelligent and well-read woman. I always wondered what she could have done with herself if she had the chance to stay at school. She became a buyer for Briscoe-Mills, the forerunner of Briscoes.
Mum’s life was not special. Thousands of young New Zealand women had similar stories, so unlike anything my generation faced.
Mum met my father and stopped work when I arrived, never returning to the workforce. She ended up a solo mum in her 50s on the DPB raising my youngest brother.
From there she moved in with my sister’s family and remained living with them until a few weeks before her death when she needed more intensive cares.
Mum was never rich. She never left New Zealand. She only flew once in her life, to and from Christchurch to visit one of my sisters in Templeton Hospital.
She never got her driving licence until her 40s. Then she drove like a demon, the local traffic cop’s best friend. Stop signs and the speed limit were only guides to mum. Telling the traffic officer her son was a cop cut no mustard but didn’t stop her mentioning it.
She was a wonderful nana to her brood of grandkids.
I would visit her at my sister’s place or in the home she went to when on business trips to Wellington.
My days were very full and busy but I made a point of always calling in. I knew we would not have her forever and I wanted to talk to her as much as possible.
It sometimes involved her telling me off for working too hard, asking me about the family, giving me sound advice about money, something she always did despite my life being so much more comfortable than hers had been.
One day she told me to give up work. I was only in my 50s. I laughed at first but thought about her words later. Always mum, always wanting the best for her children.
She suffered the pain of having a child born with a brain injury and also of losing another child far too young. Something no parent should have to do.
Mums, treasure them, never forget them. They brought us into this world.
