ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

As real Aussies, fourth, fifth and sixth generation, we don't know what hardsip is.
My greates hardship was being Irish, give or take a lot, please read my story about Aunty Peggy in the yarns.

I did Frank, a good tale thank you ....

My Mother was married before she met Dad. Her then husband, a Pole, was fighting on the Russian front, reported missing in action and never heard of again. She had a child by him, Annemie, my half-sister. When Dad came along he stepped straight into a ready made family. When Annemie was six years old, she was hit by a bus and killed. Mum, unfortulately was witness to this tragedy.

When we came to Australia Mum began drinking heavilly. Her drinking never abated. She had periods in Royal Park and out to Sunbury (mental institutions) to no avail. She died at age fifty-four of a cereberal haemorage. In between the bouts of alcaholism there were also good times. I remember Mum coming to school one afternoon to walk my sister and I home. She was waiting at the school gate, wearing a beautiful floral dress - yes, I'd seen her wear it before. But this day she looked radiant. I still remember that day well.

As a kid I was frequently in trouble and developed a bit of an attitude (that took me years to overcome). I'm sure I didn't make life any easier for Mum (mea maxima culpa). When I was old enough to go out I'd come home at all hours. But no matter what time I arrived home, Mum would be there greeting me with a pan of fried eggs a smile and a "Nu nu sonni" (Well well sonny).

Mum's condition got worse and she became increasingly difficult to live with. I remember a conversation with Dad, we were talking about Mum, and I said to Dad, "Why don't you leave her?" He looked at me with cold steely eyes and said, "ANT WHO VILL LOOK AFTER YOUR MUZZER???

That was the day my Father bacame my hero.

Manfred were you brought up in melbourne by any chance and did you have a cousin Fredric Vijaras. There was a friend of mine in my youth by that name when I went to state school at Moorabbin in Victoria.

Bill the old battler

A very sad and beautifully told story Manfred. What your poor mother must have gone through. Thank you for sharing it.

Heather

I reckon the fruit never falls far from the tree Manfred. Post a picture of you as a young bloke and I reckon we might have a near perfect match.


Bob