Dad and my last journey together - over a few posts!

This isn't an easy post to write and I have been thinking about it for about two weeks now. It has been three weeks today since I sat with my Dad, stroking his head, watching as a mother does to a child, as he lay in a semi-comatosed state. Breathing which during the day had been more like gasping and distressing was now becoming easier, each breath a little shallower, further apart but with no effort. Dad was finally comfortable! And I knew that this would be the last time we would be together, just the two of us, and to make him comfortable was all I could do for him. I sat and talked to him trying to re-assure that I was there while he took his final breath.

Let me go back a little so that I can give value to a man who managed to touch so many lives... 

Many of you remember that earlier this year, during my morning run, I tripped and broke my wrist. This was at the same time as Dad was in hospital having had radiation treatment to a couple of tumors on his brain. We decided that if he was up to it then we would takeoff to visit the cousins down in Central New South Wales. That proved to be a fantastic journey which if I hadn't had my fall would never have happened, and that "road trip" to Mudgee with my father was one that gave us both the opportunity to re-kindle a bond both as father daughter and also as close friends.

 We had never spent time together at length as I have always been too busy raising 3 kids mostly as a single parent. Working as either a registered nurse with shocking shifts, or a poverty stricken aerobic instructor, and finally having my own business as a Remedial Therapist (and we all know the hours "on tools" when you own your own). The fall was a blessing in disguise as that week in April gave a bond that we both cherished and one that I will take to my grave. 

Well in my latest MRI we found a cyst on a bone in my wrist and cartilage still torn so I decided to sort it out for good! I went in for  surgery on the 27th of June to have an Ulna Osteotomy and tidy up. The next few weeks were supposed to be time to heal and allow my wrist to finally mend. What it turned out to be however was yet another journey with Dad, but this one locally in St Andrew's War Memorial Hospital and not with an ending that any of us expected!!! 

But more to come....

Memories from my childhood

My kids have been lucky to have spent a lot of time with their grandparents on my side of the family at least. The oldest two probably not as much as Harry who has spent  much more time with my father than probably I did as he was so tied up with running his portion of Brett's. 

I was not as lucky to have anytime with my grandfather, Gerald William Nutting, he died in 1951 years before I was born. The only memories I have of him are reflective from my parents and elder siblings, but from what I can remember he was a wonderful man strong and steadfast in his resolve at all that he did. 
He was in the 4th Light horse brigade and wrote extensively of the battles in Gallipoli 1914 -18 and the Egyptian battles in 1919. He was shot through the neck at some point in the Egyptian campaign and my Aunt Rae had kept the bullet safe in a jar till her death (god knows where it is now?).

G.W Nutting was given an immunization shot in the arm on his way back to Australia after the war and this is where his world changed forever. The needle was dirty and he was to develop gangrene which led to his right arm begin amputated. He later met my Grandmother Eileen a woman made of stuff that would have made Margaret Thatcher look like Princess Grace!! But this is for another installment....

The Light horse brigade into action

My grandfather learnt to to do everything with one arm, the daily tie that all men wore, carrying bags to and from trains, boats and motor vehicles, tie his shoes, even change the grandchildren's nappies with the old-fashioned pins and cloth. My Aunt made comment of how terrified she was of her father changing nappies, putting safety pins through the white fluffy fabric just missing her child's precious skin and then throwing the same child into the air to catch the cooing babe with the one arm available. 

My grandfather GW Nutting in the back right with my
grandmother nursing Uncle Jim in front.

My father learnt to write at the same time as his dad learnt to write - the two of them using their left hands, to this day my father does everything right-handed, that is with the exception of his penmanship which was taught to him by old Gerald William Nutting. My grandfather was etched into portions of the 1st WW but also forged into parts of Queensland's timber history with the development of Brett & Co P/L. My Grandmother was sister to the great J.F Brett the founder and brains behind the start up of not only Brett's Timber and hardware, but also how the timber industry would be shaped in Qld and Australia. My great uncle J.F had always taken care of his family so the business was family owned and run as it still is today. My Grandfather had set up Standply timber Co P/L in 1922 from monies loaned from J.F and from that time on sawdust has been etched into all the children down the line of us Nuttings and Bretts and will carry on for eons to come. 

I still remember to this day of times when my younger sister, brother and I would run through the old mill on Newmarket Road kicking up the sawdust on the cement floors and the heady scent of freshly cut timbers as they lay out to dry. Memories I fear that my children may not get a chance to live...

And so we say goodbye to another part of history!

Brett and Co Pty Ltd established since 3rd October 1923

ON Friday my father and I spent time together for morning tea and a chat post our Mudgee road trip. He was understandably low as that morning in the wee hours his cousin William James Brett had died. We chatted about how he felt both about loosing Uncle Bill and also as the remaining pillar of that "reign" of the Brett's empire. He remembered many things of their childhood including the weekly trip dad would make up to the home of Bill where he would be offered a chocolate as a treat. The walk wasn't very far as they lived only a few blocks away and it was always great incentive to see his cousin each week. Dad sipped on his chocolaty cappuccino and a smile crossed his face. He then said that Uncle Bill was "his best friend", "Bill was my best man and I was his" "we shared all the work that went into Brett's and did everything together". 

Dad wasn't aware that his cousin was unwell till a week or so after Uncle Bill went to hospital, when my father discovered that his long time friend (and I expect mentor) was there he made it his duty to visit as often as possible which amazed me as Dad is still recovering from radiation himself. Today we saw the laying to rest of my uncle William (Bill) James Brett at the age of 89. He was part of the foundations of the empire of Brett and Co Pty Ltd taking on an executive role after the passing of the great James Fairlie Brett  in 1966. "JF" was referred to often in the family discussions, he was my great uncle and was the one who was most responsible for making the timber industry in Queensland what it was and is today.

Uncle Bill Brett with Wayne Goss at Brett's
Wharves

"JF" Brett, as he was known to friends and family, had a long and varied business career starting from the age of 10 years helping his builder and carpenter father after school and by the age of 13 was employed in a sawmill in Granville.


Never married nor siring children, "JF"'s legacy was passed down to his three nephews, Uncle Bill was Hardware Manager, James Brett  (Uncle Jim) Nutting  was Plywood manager and my dad William Gerald Nutting succeeded WS Brett as Sawmill Manager after serving as manager of the Windsor Joinery

All three of these amazing men had been groomed and nurtured for over 20 years to take on these roles and as from last Thursday when Uncle Bill passed away in hospital, my father holds the last of this first hand knowledge of a family company rich and full of history of not only the business but also of the changing landscape of Queensland and Australia.

 Many of these stories I have heard dad re-living to family members and friends most of these just distant memories for me now. When you are 12 years old there is not much interest in the events that occurred in the past with your "rellies" but as I have grown I have become intrigued by how three generations have managed to keep Brett's afloat. 

Dad bottom left and my brother Bill centre top. Uncle Bill bottom
right with his sons Ian and Bill above him.

The writing of this blog is all about my need to pass on some pretty interesting stuff, mostly it is only interesting to me but somewhere in my thoughts I believe that you may get a kick out of our past. I will try to keep it tidy but there is some nasty infighting that went on along the way which I think occurs when you have such a hefty lineage of head-strong personalities.

The hardest time is how to say goodbye

438 kilometers was all the time that Dad and I had left to spend our time together.....
I know it might seem funny but I think that we both had a touch of disappointment that by sunset we would be back doing exactly what we were doing a week ago. 

Setting off from a not-so-good sleep for Dad due to the volume of bikers and truckers rolling on in; the fact that we were beside the kitchen and possibly that Dad had not shut his window so the cockroaches were putting him off. Rather than having breakfast in "Goondi" we opted to travel about 45 minutes and eat at the best cafe at Inglewood. 

This country town is really were the empire of Brett's began, or at least where the last of the major timber yards is housed. We stopped at the familiar cafe where Dad goes for smoko when he is here and we introduced ourselves to the owner, a lovely lady called "Grandma", chose the special of the day - the savoury mince on toast - which is often the choice of the hungover. She listened with intent when Dad told her that he lived there from 1948 - 50 and lived in the pub, that my Mum worked at the Inglewood hospital for a time when they were courting and that my brother still travels up once every week or two to oversee the timber yard. Funnily the Inglewood pub advertises "Pub Grub" @ "pub grub prices" which is something to note if you are ever passing this way!

 
Off we went to the yard so that Dad could show me the ins and outs of how he has made his livelihood, which is all the many the processes from the cutting of the trees, to the de-barking to the slicing,drying, laminating,  chipping, and packing. Now for a bloke closer to 90 than 80 he was recalling memories as if they were yesterday, his body is far from nimble and his voice no longer booming, but the knowledge was in keeping with a master of his trade.
Comfortable with showing me around the yard and the nitty gritty of how it worked we walked back to the car, programmed home via Toowoomba into the sheila in the car that we must obey, and in 3 hours we were unpacking our goods and chattels in Mum and Dads garage.

I suppose the hardest part of this Blog is the ending, I have spent a week with a man that through my 50 years on this planet I have either admired, feared, loved, hated, avoided, yearned for, wanted approval from, pushed away and this list goes on. None of this I believe is a bad thing, for as we grow as children into adults we  push the boundaries when we feel we can but sometimes it is not when our parents believe we either should/or have the right to do. My father was always a busy man and spent more of his life at work and less at home so for a lot of my life he was an enigma. The one thing that I was sure of was that I was never molly coddled, there was no doubt about his love and that was certain. He would let me stumble but never let me fall, he would stay in "the wings" of my life's performances but I kinda knew that his essence was always watching. 

Now that he is officially old, his tread is not so stable, his footing not so precise and his movements not so nimble; his pride however is as steadfast as the Black Butt trees that have been part of his life and my love for him meant that I would not brandish this at all. Dads role this week was to be my co-pilot, my mentor, the historian on the trip, my role was to be pilot of our vessel, ask for instructions from my navigator and to be close enough to catch him if he fell but NOT to treat him like an invalid, and I believe we fulfilled our roles.

 As the Redwood's roots penetrate into the earth to give strength and support so does the history of my fathers heritage penetrate into all his children his grandchildren and I guess the cousins' at a cellular level. Dad may not be on this planet in a year, or three, or even ten but I will always remember this time with him as one of the most precious times where a father and daughter come together as one.
I love you Dad and I know that you love me too.

Last night in a foreign bed and sad goodbyes

So this morning we got up just a little slower, a little wearier and with a few less brain cells, well me at least. Each morning we tousle on who wakes first, normally I hear Dad move and then try to fall back asleep and most mornings it is true for me too. 7 hours seems to work for us both and today, our second last, had him thinking about our last opportunity to sample the flavors of yesterday's breakfast. 

Off we went thanking the management and staff (as he ALWAYS does) of the Lodge Hotel, whilst checking out any bargains at their garage sale, and back to the Butcher Shop Cafe for more of those mouth watering buttermilk pancakes. The funny thing was that when we entered the shop the same waitress welcomed us and ushered us politely to a table, and was generally appreciative when Dad said how wonderful she was and how clever it was that she knew our order. When paying the bill the owner of the cafe inquired whether Dad liked the meal as much as yesterday, the whole experience from this small country town was engaging and positive.

lunch outside Wee Waa

We said our goodbyes via phone and text to all of the wonderful family in Mudgee with promises that we won't leave it so long between visits next time, and hit the road for our 6 hour and 17 minutes plus 2 small break journey back towards Queensland and home. Dad decided we should take the Newell highway - which most people avoid like the plague, it is renown for flat roads and trucks, lots of trucks and the type that are driven by sleep deprived, caffeine overdosed, mildly paranoid men hungry for good income. They power these metal monsters across Australia and are supposedly  in control of rigs that sway from side to side as they scream along in convoys of 2 to 3 terrifying other motorists, so that it takes the fortitude of Shackleton to pass the mother f***ers. 
But soldier on we did.... going through townships that I have only read about in books or seen on tele-movies, places with names that make me realize why Australia IS Australia. I felt like an observer at an ANZAC day march watching in quiet awe of places (and those who carved their personalities into them) that produced men and women brave and strong enough to live in our hungry landscape. People and buildings belonging to Gulgong, Dunedoo, Mendooran, Coonabarabran, Narrabri, Moree (where we were going to stop till we saw the social skills of the locals),through Boggabilla and finding the "Jolly Swagman Motel" in Goondiwindi.

The hotel is probably quite typical of a 3 star joint in our Rural regional aka country areas, long and flat with a restaurant that serves enormous portions of protein and lashings of mash at ridiculously high prices. We were happy to bring Dad's aged Heggies Riesling to enjoy with the meal but we could have snapped up a noice glass of Fruity Lexia for the same price. The upside of the dinner beside our time together, was the couple who were also staying at the Jolly Swagman and dined at the same time. I am almost certain that many of you reading this have all had the experience to engage in banter across the dining room with other weary travelers,  ours were driving from Victoria to Gladstone to be present prior to and for the birth of their 6th Grandchild. It is funny how when you are in your own environment you wouldn't even look sideways in a restaurant let along say hi, yet after 30 minutes we knew their life stories and they ours.
As if on cue Dad started yawning again, and not because he was disinterested in the evenings stranger exchange, but simply because he had run out of steam. We excused ourselves, wished the imminent grandmother a happy birthday and took off; Dad will undoubtedly be in slumber and me finishing off this Blog and sipping on the cleansing Baileys with ice and saying "Good Night to you all"!!

Day 3 of our adventure

Today comes in two parts primarily because we are back in the spacious town house design of The Lodge formerly known as the Mudgee Valley Hotel Motel but also because we are off to the family dinner aka the Nutting piss up!!

Dad and I had what we agreed was the BEST breakfast ever, both ordering the mouth-watering fluffy flavorsome buttermilk pancakes with fresh seasonal sliced fruit and the local creamy silky yogurt with short sweet hot coffees. This was at the Butcher's cafe on Church street in the heart of town.

After filling tummies and thanking owners we took off to Rylston which is about 40 minutes out of Mudgee to meet up with cousin Brett and his gorgeous partner Jen. Rylston was founded in the mid 1840's and 100 years later Kandos township was developed as the infrastructure of the cement works that created a booming community. The Councellors of Kandos tried to pass a vote to have Rylston burnt to the ground as it was only filled with the ferals of the area but this was quashed (thank god). The cement works have recently closed and now the valuation of the area has skyrocketed as Sydney-ites are streaming up to this quiet haven in the hills.
The tour took us through Brett's furniture business "AdHoc Designs" where he makes fantastic tables, chairs, sideboards, dining tables, bed heads - you name it, and all with recycled timber from Redwood, Cedar, Oregon pine and many types that he and Dad were very familiar with.

close

We finished off the afternoon with Yum Cha in one of the oldest buildings in the town which is run by the Historical Society, what a contrast where East meets Aussie. The food was sensational with fresh prawns, other seafood and duck steamed in wantons and served with chili, soy or other Asian flavors and all served up with cold Chinese beer.
Finally back to the house and offering Dad the well needed rest that both his body and mind need. 

Well it's now close to midnight and Dad and I are back in our room chatting about the night of frivolity each sipping on a Bailey's whilst he loads up the next 6 CD's for the journey north tomorrow and I write up this Blog. We left the dining experience standing in my cousin Lucy and her partner Colin's friggin' awesome home made shed singing "That's Amore" by Dean Martin (who is my father) (but that is a TOTALLY different story of my mildly dysfunctional childhood)... downing the 5th or 10th bottle of wine, champas, whisky and 4 hours of mind opening tit-for-tat family stories about our childhood's, my Dad's childhood and what he could recollect most probably his brother's childhood was.What a wonderful time we have when we allow ourselves to fall back into the innocence of our childhood memories and all the laughter that they afford us. 
I don't really know if anyone can match the memories that we can recall whilst sitting around a dining table probably lovingly made my Brett. I love to watch strangers as they hear our stories and see them squirm uncomfortably in their seats whilst we recount the memories of our past. What others may hear and condemn I know as our histrionic past and take at ease, but laugh when re-told which taps on my memory banks. 
Amongst all of the madness of the evening, the fabulous food, local wine, eclectic music and intellectual banter the thing I found most appealing was when Lucy said "Uncle Bill tell me the most interesting thing you know about my father" chirped up by someone asking him to tell us about his world war II memories, and another inquiring about our Grandmother. 
My Dad's eyes lit, not into a light as one would suggest, but as I see him when he is recalling memories of a long time ago. For the rest of the night he was included into the conversation, not as one who says "yes" or "no" but one who is adding spice and dimension to the evening. When he spoke we would hush and take time to listen and all of us learnt more by the opportunity.

We called a cab once the night was closing but not because he was ready for bed. This will be a night that I will remember and in decades. I will recall the music, the soft animal skins on the floor, the rustic yet homely feel of both the building and the time spent with those of my my family that I see so rarely but still am comfortable to I call my own.

Day two in our NSW adventure

Today we woke to a drop in temperature and overcast conditions but this did not deter our spirits and off we went under the ever diligent guidance of the "Sheila" in the car calling out things such as "turn right in 300 meters" or "take the first exit at the round about" or "when possible please do a U turn".

We fueled up on the outskirts of Armidale and then looked for a suitable place to have a truckies breakfast, we were not disappointed when we found the Matilda Servo in a very small country town called Moonbi. I ordered poached eggs after the waitress advised me that the scrambled eggs were microwaved and Dad ordered the Sausages, bacon and eggs, OMFG what came out could have fed a small African country!!

The trip down the New England Highway is actually quite remarkable, there is many changes in the landscape which meant that Dad recited what most of the vegetation was, pines, eucalypts, soft wood, hard wood, where saw mills had been located and logging history from days of yore. As a timber and hardware man for over 60 years of his life I have always treated him as an expert.

We did tousle the idea of turning off at Scone or going down as far as Musclebrook but our lady friend preaching her knowledge from the GPS sent us on a short cut that took us onto dirt road, over winding hills with precipitous fall away edges. Had we not gone this way we would have undoubtedly still debated what way was the quickest but would have missed the two beautiful deer that we met up with on the mountain trek.

Finally we have arrived into Mudgee and spent a few hours with my cousin Brett, had a guided tour of the city and its sprawling urban developments and tried the fine red wines at Botobolar winery. 

 Vintner and good friend of the Nutting clan Kevin showed us some of his best organic  Shiraz, Cab Sav and blends new and aged, and we witnessed some of Brett's amazing carpentry using restoration timber materials which formed many of the tables and chairs at Botobolar. We finished off the afternoon in Mudgee's microbrewery and sampled 4 of their most famous ales and porters.


At last we took the advice of the cabbie and went to a delightful little restaurant called the "Wineglass Bar and Grill"  where we had a glass each of what Mudgee had to offer and some amazing food. Dad plowed through a char-grilled fillet of Kilcoy beef and I had pork belly on a bed of rubarb and cranberry dressing. YUM!!! Hoping to actually do some exercise to work off the calorie loading of the break but it is difficult not to love the time Dad and I are spending together.

Stay tunes to the crazy cousins tomorrow...