From a number of perspectives, it is amazing – or according to Mum, ‘ridiculous’ – that she had such a long life. Born in 1927, four and half years later, the WA Govt deemed the family to be destitute and declared Mum and her older brother Joe, Wards of the State, and placed them in St Vincent’s Foundling Home, a Catholic orphanage in Subiaco, (now Catherine McAuley Centre). At the same time, Mum’s mother Vera (Veronica) was placed in the neighbouring Good Shepherd Convent, a refuge for troubled women and troubling young girls. According to State Government records, Vera was suffering from a nervous breakdown, and I believe that she was almost certainly pregnant, and our grandfather, Joseph was described as an ‘unemployed farm hand’ who was of ‘good character’, ‘poor’ but ‘sober’. He was attempting to survive the Great Depression by rabbit trapping somewhere on the outskirts of Perth.

Mum and Joe lived in the orphanage for three years.

The single most telling memory of her time in St Vincent’s foundling home and orphanage is of frequently climbing onto a ledge from where she would look through a window in an attempt to see her mother.  These exercises were in vain because she never saw her mother during this period.   How confusing and painful this must have been for Mum and Joe. 

Fortunately, just in time for Christmas in 1934, the family was reunited and a period of relative normality followed for the next 8 years.

In December 1943 aged just 43, Mum’s mother died. Mum had just returned to live with the family in Toodyay after spending three years as a boarder in St Joesphs College in Victoria Square, her fees paid for by her uncle Johnny Corry. Mum passed her Junior Certificate with flying colours and went on to work as a bookkeeping clerk for Dalgety’s.

In 1946, aged 19 and 22, Mum and Dad married. They parented six children and there were also two miscarriages and a still born. Theirs was a solid partnership. There were the innovative meals that they both produced: Mum’s favourite was Mexican rice and Dad’s was mutton curry. Mum sewed all of my clothes and many of my brothers’ when they were little. Then there were the jumpers that dad produced on a huge knitting machine, and the fancy dress ball costumes that they produced together, not just for Peter, Phil, Tony and me, but also for the other 7 kids that made up our sets at St Mary’s and CBC Leederville annual fancy dress balls. For many years they played tennis together and sang in a choir led by renowned WA musical educator and choral leader John Christmass OAM. And of course, there was our place at Mandurah which, with the help of Peter and Phil and a couple of rellies, Dad built and Mum fitted out with curtains that she made on her Necchi sewing machine. This was our other home – where we spent all of our school holidays and many more weekends.

Perhaps because of her very frugal childhood, Mum and Dad were always on the lookout for a bargain. One of the central elements of this thriftiness was Mum’s fortnightly grocery shopping expeditions. Carried out for many years with her close friend Doreen Beeson who would drive (Mum only got her driver’s licence when I was about 17 and my boyfriend Steve Meyrick taught her to drive) the two of them from one supermarket to another armed with a shopping list that circled the specials advertised in the West Australian by shops such as Matheson’s, Charlie Carter’s, Tom the Cheap Grocer and Freecorns.

When Mum was in her early forties the ravages of nine pregnancies left her seriously ill and culminated in her nearly losing her life to a massive haemorrhage. That she accepted this as her lot was a consequence in part of her tough no-nonsense upbringing and also sadly in keeping at the time with societal and church attitudes to women’s health. But quite fortuitously, the doctor on duty in the hospital was unusually sympathetic and insisted on a hysterectomy. Apart from saving Mum’s life, he also unknowingly unleashed in Mum a huge change in direction. 

First, she completed her Leaving Certificate at night school at Perth Modern. One teacher in particular really left his mark on Mum; my brothers will recall her oft repeated refrain, ‘Mr Tomlinson said’ as an endorsement of an argument or a point she would make about an issue.

Three years later she had completed a teaching degree at Churchlands Teachers College (aka Edith Cowan University). And while this is truly remarkable, our tough no-nonsense mum who couldn’t draw for nuts (Dad was our clever craftsperson and watercolourist) blew us out of the water by becoming an accomplished artist. Under the tutelage of her college lecturer, the famous WA impressionist artist Elizabeth Ford, with whom Mum made many trips to WA’s outback, our Mum produced outstanding abstract and impressionist paintings that depicted landscapes and beach scenes, industrial and mining sites, sacred images, and a wonderful composition showing five well rounded women sitting on the retaining wall outside the Scarborough Hotel at the Sunday session. Many of these grace the walls of homes including throughout WA and are proudly displayed in our homes both here and in the eastern states.

Mum faced another tough challenge when Dad passed away in 1979, aged just 55.   But, not long after, one of the ways that she moved through her grief was to embark on her first overseas trip. It was just an easy little tour – to India where among her adventures, she collided with a cow while riding a bike – almost certainly her first and I am pretty sure her last time on a two wheeled vehicle.  Many trips followed to the Seychelles, Europe, the UK and Ireland – including with her beloved friend Sheila Doran.

After working for many years teaching young boys at Aranmore College, Mum’s retirement years were not spent in a rocking chair. This inspirational woman continued with her art, tutored many young people, volunteered for charities including by teaching refugees, and sang in the Spirit of the Streets Choir until well into her 80s.

I’m sure that many among Mum’s family and friends will have memories that they cherish. Three come to mind that I think capture Mum’s sense of fun and love of life. When our three girls, Dom, Bron and Tess were very little, one of Mum’s favourite tricks was to chase them around the house, usually on all fours, and always with her false teeth suspended outside her mouth, shouting  ‘I’m goin catch ya and I’m goin to eat ya’. And of course, they would scream in a combination of fear and delight as they ran ahead of her.  Twenty plus years later, the same scenario was then played out with our grandchildren in Melbourne.

When Mum was in her early 80s, and at a family wedding, she could not handle sitting out while other guests, all much younger than her, were dancing.  There was nothing subdued about the music or the dancing. It was pumping.  But, this was precisely what was making her feet itch and the desire to join the crowd irresistible.  She jumped to her feet, joining a huddle of younger women that were already on the floor, and danced as if she was doing an aerobics session for the next 15 minutes or more.    

Just as Mum loved to dance, so too she also loved to swim. 

Also in her 80s, at the end of a hot day in the Hunter Valley where Mum was holidaying with Sue and Steve, Tessa and me, she was enviously watching us cool off in the pool. Unfortunately, she had not brought her bathers.  No more than five minutes passed before she had stripped to her underclothing and was in the pool.

The next day was just as hot and so we all made use of the pool again to cool off.  This time Mum borrowed shorts and a T shirt, so we were deprived of the novelty of her outfit of the previous day.   However, we were not disappointed.  Steve was adjudicating a mock display of ‘Olympic standard’ synchronised swimming that Tessa and I were practising.  Mum decided to join us by copying the routine. This involved her fearlessly duck diving to the bottom of the pool and doing a handstand.  The challenge was to keep her legs straight for a few seconds and then move them in a series of three scissor kicks.  Worried that she was under the water for an inordinately long period of time, I encouraged Steve to pull her up.  With hair and water streaming down her face, she asked ‘did I keep straight?’.  All we could do was laugh because she is so short that we could not see her legs at all beneath the water. 

No doubt you will have your stories and cherished memories about Pat; Mum; or Nana. Please do not hesitate to share them. That’s a good way of honouring her memory. But perhaps an even better way is to recognise in yourself those life engaging characteristics that you may have in common with Mum and grab hold of life with the tenacity, courage, quirkiness and love that she displayed during her 99 years.