What do you give someone who has everything???

I know that this is digressing a touch but worth a small article on. When Dad hit the ripe old age of 80 he decided to have a very large get together of all those that he felt close to. Which meant that the venue had to be large enough to take all those who actually felt honored enough to attend. So 100+ enjoyed a magnificent afternoon of wine, food and speeches (ugh) at Royal Queensland Golf Club.

A year or two passed with each year getting harder and harder to find that something special to give him. He always said "please don't get me anything" Mum would say "hankies or a scratchy will be fine" but he was amassing a handkerchief tower that Mallory couldn't have climbed over and I hate buying gifts of luck! I finally came up with the perfect gift..... Something that almost all men would appreciate.... not too costly but always memorable. 

Wine, women and song (well chocolate petite fours actually). Dad has always loved to be both in the presence of pretty women and loved to spoil them. Four years ago I called my great girlfriends Debbie, Elizabeth (Lob), Tracey and Janet and asked if they would mind joining me in surprising Dad for a few hours on the evening of his birthday to help celebrate yet another year on this planet.

"Yes" was the reply and so still a secret I arrived a little before 6:00 to say "Happy Birthday" to him. "Dad I have a present for you but it's not here yet "- the front gate buzzed, "oh here it is now", and with that a gaggle of gorgeous girls entered the house with Moet, tulips, fine chocolates from the boutique store in the city and enough energy to light up a small country township.

Tracey, Deb, Dad, Lob and Janet

Both Mum and Dad sat in surprised silence followed by Dad breaking into his big gummy grin that filled the room with an excited eagerness of one who really didn't have a clue about a surprise party." Glasses, we must get the champagne flutes" and "you really shouldn't have", and "what a wonderful present". Mum standing and getting a vase for the flowers that would sit in prime position on the kitchen ledge to catch the morning sun. Hugs all round and the chatter of women discussing what they are doing with their lives now, who is married to whom, how old are the children, what holiday's has Dad planned for that year, what car did he have now and when was he planning to "model up".

Deb, Dad, Lob, Janet and Moi 

It feels like yesterday that we stood together there in that kitchen like one big extended family sharing all the memories whilst Dad would be refilling flutes with the champagne which would merrily bubble in our glasses as if responding to the atmosphere in the home. A tradition was born.

Not always all of the girls could be in attendance but would always give their best wishes to be passed on. Deb, Lob, Janet and I had always managed and we would travel round Brisbane to maintain the birthday ritual. One year we had to steal our way into St Andrew's War Memorial Hospital boldly parading the champagne and cake. As all of us were ex-Registered Nurses we knew the ropes, if you could find that ONE cool nurse on the shift then you could get away with almost anything. Next thing we had make-shift wine glasses.plates, forks for the cake and one very happy father who was nursing fractured ribs and a sorely bruised back from falling down a huge number of steps exiting from the Brett's timber yards near the golf club.

31st of May this year was Dad's 87th birthday and we all embarked on the sojourn to Mum and Dad's place. This time we had savories to nibble on many thanks to Deb, Vintage Moet courtesy of Lob, of course a second bottle of French had to be opened on such a special occasion. Janet brought the bouquet of flowers that Mum again found prize place on the kitchen ledge and "little Tracey Gillinder" bought oodles of memories up with Dad regarding the time she worked in after sales at Mercedes Benz . 

We all knew that Dad was struggling by this stage, as the post radiation side effects had made his speech a little challenging. But the more he drank the easier it became to hear and understand him. Maybe our ears were all tuned into the alcohol or maybe the bubbles in that exquisite nectar picked up on the loving energy within the atmosphere and helped us de-code Bill Nutting's speech for his last birthday hoorah??

Traditions start for any number of reasons, many well planned and executed, others whimsical yet maintaining an impetus that keeps the event rolling like that perverbial stone that collects no moss. I am not quite sure what caused a group of girls 30+ years younger than the birthday boy to decide to share his precious day but I am very, very glad of it. 

A tradition which is sadly now at an end...

Life for me equates to an EverReady battery!

Quite a long time ago, I was talking to a dear friend of mine about life in general. We have been great friends since I first arrived into my new primary school when my parents moved from the South side of Brisbane to the North side. Grade 4 came and into my life so did Janet C! The hip term is "BFF" or "besties" but we have been that for 40+ years. 

Janet C "BFF"

She has known my father as I have known hers, since we were 8 years old. The Eulogy at Dad's "Ceremony of Life" was given by people that our family respected in which they recounted tales from four different annuls of his life and included many, many memories of things that would now be frowned upon. One such reference regarded him driving a group of young girls to a venue for a birthday party... my party! Five innocent 10 year old girls from St Margaret's  squeezed into the back of a "Pontiac", Dad behind the wheel and driving at a speed that he loved but probably not one that my older sister in the front seat applauded. 

We approached one of Brisbane's first round-abouts, which retrospectively was more like a swerve in the road, Dad slowed slightly on entry and managed to spin said Pontiac a full 360o! "Impossible" he said, "ridiculous" he mumbled and to prove a point that it could never happen again he retraced his steps and drove the car back up the road to prove to us all how it should be done. 

Sister Penny sweating in the front seat, he took off to demonstrate that his American Cadillac was made of sterner stuff and this kind of automotive behaviour was not going to happen again, especially as he was such an experienced driver. We hit the same part of the road at the same speed with the same sister in the front now showing signs of apoplexy and all of us still giggling in the back seat. WHEEEEEE as we spun again the full 360o ...... Sister now in complete silence, Father furious with the Qld road system and five little girls thinking this was all inclusive of the party frolics, we headed to the final destination and I am pretty certain that none of the birthday invitees mentioned anything at all to their parents' and nor did Dad. 

When we left St Augustine's Church for Royal Queensland Golf Club where his Wake took place Janet said - "I was in that car and remember the whole thing". Funny how little memories travel with you for your whole life and manage to get passed down the line to others.

Missing Felicity who was taking the photo and Bill who would have been
hiding somewhere

Back to the chat with Janet and sitting together at one of Brisbane's many cafe's sipping Flat White's discussing this intermingled life we share. We were talking about our parents and how when we were young thought that they were bullet-proof (it now seems looking back that our parents believed that too), and at some stage in life we look at them again and re-appraise our points of view. 

Mum and Dad had moved from Hillside Crescent to Sykes Street Hamilton before he had his first "turn", Janet and I had written our initials in the newly wet cement pathway directly out front of this family home which was something that no-one was happy with including the council workers who had to repair the vandalism. Janet said "how are your Mum and Dad?" to which I would normally say "good" or "the usual" or "cranky as ever". This time however I had a slight sea change in the way I looked at someone I never thought would leave us. 

The house on the hill at Sykes Street, Albion

"Janet, I thought that Dad would always be an EverReady battery - bright, strong and that he would just simply go on and on forever, but lately I am concerned that he may have morphed into a normal, slightly less than perfect alkaline cell, you know the one that has lost a little of it's shine." What I was worried about was the time when he would eventually change from that dependable but slightly tainted type of battery to the "Black and Gold" variety. You wake up one day and realize that your father has a "use by date" he is a little slower and you know in your heart that some day hopefully not to soon unlike like the battery, he will simply just stop working...  

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"!!