#but when my mum went to church as a kid it was to a Methodist church and my parents married in a Methodist church

[bottomoftheriverbed]

Both sides of my family view religion as an incredibly personal thing so even if they're religious they tend not to talk about it a lot and church attendance is very much not mandatory and there is no greater example of this than the fact that we don't actually know whether or not my dad was baptised. He has an invitation to his uncle asking to be his godfather so we know what church he would have been baptised in (interestingly it's an anglican church in his mother's hometown rather than his local church - presumably a compromise between my (anglican) grandfather and my (baptist) great grandmother) but because his uncle hasn't signed it we're not actually a 100% sure he was in fact baptised.

[thisisheffner]

Clubbing: ‘I can’t bear the idea that there is an age at which you should stop’ | Music | The Guardian

Nightclubbing is seen as a young person’s game. Sightings of older clubbers – such as the elderly Polish couple who went viral after a night out at London’s Fabric in 2016 – are considered a novelty. But the septuagenarian tourists – who partied until 5am – are not alone.

A recent poll by ticketing platform Eventbrite found that more than 3.7 million Britons aged over 45 go clubbing every week. The nation’s nightlife may not be in rude health overall, but certain DJs, clubs and clubbers have endured. Fabric turned 20 this year, and DJs such as Danny Rampling and Terry Farley are still drawing crowds 30 years on from the summer of love that made their name. From nostalgia nights to dance festivals, older clubbers – such as Mick Jagger, 76, spotted at gay club night Horse Meat Disco earlier this year – are finding their second wind.

Typically, clubbing loses its appeal in our early 30s; 31 is the age at which most give up, according to a 2017 survey. But for those who do keep dancing, it can be much more than just a night out. What starts as an act of teenage transgression becomes radical in middle age. We talked to six older clubbers who refuse to hang up their dancing shoes. Have they still got the moves?

‘It’s like galloping across the universe in a spaceship’

Brett, 70, and Sylvia Van Toen, 69, retirees (above)

Sylvia Our first love is hard house – it attracts a different, much younger crowd. We go to hard house clubs and festivals, after discovering psytrance at Glastonbury in the mid-90s and thinking, “This is it.” The music builds up tension; you’re waiting for this particular tune and then suddenly it drops in and you’re going yes, yes, yes! Then it carries you along. It’s a bit like galloping across the universe in a spaceship.

I got married at 18 and had children young. I was a housewife. I didn’t know a lot about music, I didn’t dance. Brett and I were in our late 30s when we got together. I had two young children and so we decided to live apart, and we’ve kept doing that. We see each other during the week but get excited about going clubbing together on Fridays. It’s like going on a date.

Brett We are very lucky. Many couples we know don’t like the same music. We go clubbing once a fortnight. It’s intense. It’s hard work. The clubs often run from 11pm to early morning. There are more afternoon clubs now, which I love.

If we go to a dance festival, we make as much effort as we can to get sleep. We take a campervan, which is good because parking tends to be away from the main field. We don’t drink alcohol, just water. We don’t do afterparties; that would hurt. We don’t have any plans to retire, though that might change as we age.

It’s a social thing. We went to heavy techno clubs and it was too dark to dance because you couldn’t see what the hell was going on. So that didn’t work for us. Dancing with other people is important. Clubbing has taught me a way of being I don’t think I would have found otherwise. I used to be curmudgeonly but I have learned a lot of acceptance from hanging around young people. There is much to admire about them. They are also complimentary and it’s a lot of fun. It gives you energy.

‘There’s no judgment: it’s utopia’

Roy Brown, 56, songwriter and club host

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I’m a Brummie lad. I went to my first shebeen [unlicensed bar] in Birmingham, aged 13. It was this small venue behind a shop with huge sound systems in dark rooms, pumping with reggae and ska music. Seeing guys and girls dancing really close to each other, the music pounding, the smell of weed, a lightbulb went off in my head. I thought, this is amazing. That’s why I’m still doing it.

I knew the music – reggae, jazz, funk, blues – because that’s what my parents played at home. My parents were Jamaican and every Caribbean house has these family gatherings with music and food and dancing. That warm place they created in their houses is what I’m trying to emulate when I go clubbing: that womb, that happiness. No one can hurt or harm you because you are with like-minded people.

I moved to London at 18 in 1981, where my cousin Claudette introduced me to a group of fashionistas and club kids. They are still my friends. My aunt lived close to a huge club called Bolts. I walked past it one evening and there was a long queue of clones: gay men dressed identically in check shirts and Levi’s 501s. I had the same epiphany as in the shebeen: I saw like-minded people.

Some of Claudette’s friends sussed me out. Juicy (real name Ronald) came up to me and said: “What’s your game then?” They took me to my first gay bar and it was full steam ahead after that. My motivation was really good music. If there were hot guys there, brilliant. Drugs were a huge part of it. The majority of clubbers were white men but the only thing that mattered was that you stuck to the dress code.

I’m still on the clubbing scene. I started out on the door at the central London club Kinky Gerlinky in 1989. Now I’m a host at the Eagle in south London, where I have my own night, Soul on Saturday. I was MC and host for a club in Ibiza a few summers ago. They fly you out Friday morning for Saturday and Sunday night. I thought, can I do this? I am not 19. I’d aged 20 years. But because of the music and the amazing time, I lost 40 more.

I grew up Methodist and clubbing is like going to church. I still go out now if a night is euphoric. It’s human nature to look for something uplifting. There’s no judgment, just inclusivity. It’s my idea of utopia.

‘That moment a beat drops and everyone’s smiling: it’s wicked’

Victoria Saunders, 50, hairdresser

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I still want to go out and listen to good music played loud. But now I’m older, I don’t want to go to a big busy nightclub. I think, I can’t be arsed, actually. You walk in and you’re told you’ve got to queue here or go here if you want to smoke a fag. I’m an adult, I can manage myself.

When I first went clubbing, it was lawless. In 1988, I was 18 and Ibiza was happening, it was the summer of love. That kickstarted it for me. When I went to Houghton dance music festival in Norfolk last year, I saw people from different points in my clubbing career. It’s nice to see people who still have that affinity.

I’ve always been more of an afterparty girl; I prefer it when all the wallies have gone home. I’d rather take my time and go out at about midnight, ease myself in and then hit a dancefloor.

Hairdressers like me are like Vikings; we can just do it. I remember coming home, having two hours’ sleep, then getting up and going to work. Now it shows more, on my face, after a couple of days. I hit Wednesday and I think, oof. But people tell me I look good for my age. I’ve pickled myself. When you’ve had so much fun and such a laugh going out, that also shows.

I go to a club called Pikes in Ibiza, where Wham! shot the video for Club Tropicana. I like to properly lose myself in music – that moment a beat drops and everyone’s smiling because they know it, that feeling of oneness: it’s wicked.

I was at a house party recently and my friend was up dancing. She said, “If I don’t do this now, I’ll be dancing in the aisles of Tesco.” It’s rare to find those moments as you get older, but 30 years of clubbing means it’s something that’s deep in you. You hear good music and you just want to dance.

‘After we scattered my stepdad’s ashes, I needed to get to Horse Meat Disco’

Amanda Freeman, 56, music publicist

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I’m straight, but I prefer gay clubbing. It started in the early 2000s, when I went to places such as the Joiners Arms in east London with gay friends. It was a completely different world.

My friend Dan opened a gay bar in east London, Dalston Superstore, in 2009; by then I had been single a long time. It was a nonjudgmental space. There was no stigma attached to being a woman of my age as there could be in a straight environment; at a straight club, I’d be lucky if they let me in.

I’ve had a couple of difficult years. My mother has multiple sclerosis and my stepfather had dementia. I’m an only child, so I’ve been juggling all of this. My stepfather died in March. The weekend we scattered his ashes, I remember thinking, when I get home I’m going out to Horse Meat Disco. If I’ve been through a tough time, going out is the way to put myself back on track.

A lot of the younger people I’ve met out clubbing have been incredibly supportive. Not to say that my older friends haven’t, but they have kids and their own stuff going on. It seems easier for millennials to make those approaches, to ask me how my mum is doing, how I am. I’ve been hugely grateful for that.

I am happy to go out on my own, which is empowering. I can go to regular places and see people I know, or chat to people I’ve not met before. The music is important. My nickname is Lady D’Amanda because I’m very forward about asking the DJ for certain tracks. I’m first on the dancefloor and get people to dance with me. It’s always done in a joyful way.

I can’t bear the idea that there is an age at which you should stop. I feel more comfortable in my 50s than I did in my 40s. I chose not to be in a relationship and nobody in this community has ever questioned that. They admire people who have ploughed their own furrow, and a club night was held in my honour in January.

I hope I am an ally. I’m a music publicist and I am always available if LGBTQ artists or acts want help or advice. I’ve suddenly acquired a tribe: the community is made up of many different people, ages and persuasions. It doesn’t matter. It’s about what you bring to it. It’s a small world but it’s a really important one to me. A doorman once said to me, “You’re an icon”. That’s a lovely thing to be.

‘Drugs aren’t my thing. Someone asked what I’d had and I showed them my sandwich’

Suddi Raval, 49, music technology teacher

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Acid house took over my life at 15, in 1986. The music was on the radio. Smiley faces – the acid house symbol – popped up on the news. House music has melodies and basslines but acid house was abstract, bendy, weird. It was like music from another world. It just grabbed my attention.

There was a week that changed my life. I was walking down the street in my home town, Ashton-under-Lyne. I was too young to go out but I dressed as if I was on the acid house scene: long hippy hair, a jumper by French brand Chipie. This guy called Kelvin came up to me. He could tell from my clothes that I was into that music and said: “You need to go to the Hacienda and the Blackburn raves warehouse parties.” I said: “I’d love to but I wouldn’t know how.” He said he’d take me, and he did.

I couldn’t believe it when I set foot in the Hacienda in Manchester. There were a couple of thousand people as into it as I was. I didn’t know everyone was off their heads, drugs were not my thing. One time at the raves, someone asked what I’d had. I didn’t know they meant drugs. I reached into my bag and pulled out my butty box, a pile of cheese and ham sandwiches and a can of Coke – you can’t dance all night on an empty stomach.

The only nights I wouldn’t go to the Hacienda were when it was closed. I’ve never stopped. As I get older, young people think I am either the DJ, a promoter or a drug dealer. I’m usually the only brown face in a club. I’ve always been in a minority; there were so few Indian, Pakistani or Asian clubbers. But I’ve always felt 100% safe.

I live in London now and go out a couple of times a month to clubs across the UK. I pick up my friend Sarah and drive to the Attic in Liverpool. It’s not about nostalgia; I go to dance to new music. It’s difficult to get back to normality if you stay up to 6am, so I don’t stay out late. I’m a teacher, so I have to function at 100%. My clubbing gives me credibility with my students. I’ve not been clubbing with them, though they’ve asked.

I met my wife when I was in London for an acid house night. She was concerned I might be into drugs. She’s come out clubbing with me, but she’s a doctor so she’s usually on call. She’s not a convert but she’s not against it. Our wedding in 2017 turned into a rave. It couldn’t have worked if she’d thought, who is this man-child obsessed with dance music?

My mum found it really cute that I had smiley faces all over my bedroom as a teenager. When I visited her up north recently, she showed me a smiley face emoji on her phone. “Look, Suddi,” she smiled, “acid!’” I said, “Yes, Mum, you are bang on! That is acid!” I was so proud.

• If you would like your comment on this piece to be considered for Weekend magazine’s letters page, please email weekend@theguardian.com, including your name and address (not for publication).

This content was originally published here.

[zoedart-blog]

Gran’s Story

Grans Story

 I was born in Kensington, Melbourne on 5-1-1923. My family lived near the Flemington Racecourse. My mother Agnes Grey McKissock and father- Joseph Purcell Brown had a lolly shop next door to the theatre. My mother came to south Australia by sailing ship- My grandfather George McKissock was 6ft1in, He came from Paisley, Scotland and had lovely snowy white hair and beard and a beautiful accent, he was a sailor on sailing ships. Stephen has a couple of signing off certificates in his possession. They came to live in Port Melbourne where his wife Kate Lavina Grey rented a double fronted house and the front rooms were turned into a midwifery hospital. Kate took on women who wanted nursing whilst having babies. My grandfather eventually got a job on the wharves. My father’s mother and father apparently had over time a few country inns around St. Leonards and Sussex Way. He was a sailor in the British Navy, I think he left the navy in Sydney and joined the A.I.F his number was 206. I remember living behind a lolly shop next door to a theatre in Racecourse Road, Flemington. I can remember at the age of 3 kneeling on a chair in front of an ice cream can digging ice-cream out with a spoon at theatre intervals. My sister Betty Ellan was born there and not long after we shifted to Ascot Vale to a delicatessen shop where my mother did ALL the cooking- (pies which we had for lunch every school day) fish, cold meats etc etc.

 The Depression was on and sadly people owed them a lot of money, the shop was situated in an area where there were a lot of horse trainers, jockeys where they used to tick up everything, so once again we shifted. To Brunswick where I went to school, I was about 6 years old. We had to wait till our house was ready in Merlynston, North Coburg. We had enough money for a deposit on a three-bedroom weatherboard house at 39 Orvieto Street Merlynston, eight hundred pounds and my mother paid 1 pound a week till they paid it off.

My brother Donald George Harry was born here, and we were all so happy. My father at that time was employed on two ships going back and forth to Tasmania, hit his war wounds were a big problem and he eventually received the TPI pension. We bought a car, at least my dad did and each weekend in the spring and summer we ALL mum, dad and 3 kids, uncle and aunts etc would go to Seaford. The car had a big front seat and two dicky seats on the back of it and a big back seat. So, held quite a few bodies. We also went to Hanging Rock for New Years Day and picnics in the autumn a wonderful time for us kids.

It was such a sad time for my mother and father, our long-awaited brother wasn’t doing to well and it was found he had double cataracts in both eyes and some double mastoids in both ears. My mother had measles whilst carrying him for so many years he had to have many operations, the result was vision- 16 inches and partly spastic. My poor mum had to do so much for Don and my Father, taking Don to a private school 3 days a week. My dad was also in and out of hospital.

At the age of 58 years my mum collapsed and died.

The doctors said, “there was nothing they could do for her, she was worn out”. My dad went on to be manager of the Masonic Club dining room in Flinders Street, all voluntary and he died at 72. During all that time mu aunt Kate looked after Don and Dad. She died at 64 in 1963 and then Allen and I took over the care of Don, looking after him. He was living in a cottage environment for many years he had spent 5 years with us. He was 18 when he came to live with us.

So much for my family.

My sister and I went to church 4 times a week each Sunday, 10am Christian Endeavour, Church, Sunday School and church again at night. My dear grandfather would give us threepence every Sunday if we had been good, many a time I would only get a penny. Bet seemed to manage a threepence. We sang in the choir in the Methodist church in our street and each summer and winter we’d get a new dress only to be worn on a Sunday or for something special. I was also a Sunday school teacher until I got ticked off for wearing lipstick at 16 years old.

 My life at home- I always had to clean the brass. Perhaps that was how I got to love it so much. I can remember 4 brass candlesticks they had been given to my mother as a wedding present, I had them dated 17th century. I have them here and Tina’s put her name on them, Brass taps, plates etc. We would as kids have to set the table, always a white cloth and a vase of flowers in the centre, a big oval table and then we had to wash up after tea. In those days no dishwasher, only children. As we did that, we would sing our heads off until dad told us to shut up. I also had to mow the lawns, with a hand mower of course and that took hours. For pocket money on Saturdays we’d get sixpence to go to the local pictures and threepence to spend. If we bought our lunch on Friday whilst attending Merlynston Primary school another threepence- one penny for a pie. 1 penny for a luscious family ice block and a lolly. Bliss. I made many long-life friends at that school, 23 of us met in Melbourne 1st Monday in December. The girls who live in Melbourne met monthly, but there is always the phone, not short cats, they’re lovely long ones. Of the 23 girls present last December only three were under 80 (only just). We met at school, friends through teens, dances, shows, weddings and babies. We all knew each other’s families, husbands, some children until we all went off to different places but now, we are mainly widowed, sad really. Some of the girl’s names- Val Creighton, Lil Westwood, Peg Woods, Clarice Roberts and Norma Joyce the only one of us to marry a yank and head odd to the USA but came back here eventually Olive Stubbs, Peggy Cash, Lorna Watts. We played cherry bobs, basketball, have school reports, concerts exams. My dad gave me my first watch when I passed my merit certificate at 13 1/2 , I could leave school then. My first job was at Allen’s music shop, at the information desk, a bit boring, seven shillings and sixpence a week.

Then I got a position at the posh end of Collins street to learn Millinery at Thommy Harrisons. It was the most exclusive salon in Melbourne where I learnt to make hats and sell them. Only people with lots of money could afford to shop there.

My girlfriends told me that first night after I said after I had a few dances with him “hands off he’s mine” and he was. We had a wonderful time together dancing, dinners at lovely places, theatres etc until he went overseas. We got engaged before he went to Manus Island with the 79th Spitfire Squadron on active service. Allen’s brother Jim was in the Navy, he served in some dangerous countries for 37 years, his brother George was in the 6th Division Middle East, Greece and was captured in Crete and was a POW in Germany and came home safely after the war. Arthur was also in 6th Division and was sent to Malaysia, was captured and died on the Burma Railway. Four sons in the forces, his poor mother she has such a lot to bear. Allen came back to Australia to pick up more spitfires and was given leave to come home from Oakey, Queensland. Two days to get home, three days here and two days back there a week and they let him come home again. We married on the 31st of January 1945 at St Linus Church of England in Merlynston at 5pm, I arranged the wedding in 3 days and we had 4 days honeymoon- I don’t know why my granddaughters had to take 12 months or more. We had the reception at the Federal Hotel in Collins Street, and I wore a lace dress with a train and a veil borrowed from a Catholic Convent. The nuns made them and lent them out to all who would like them. They asked what time we were to be married so they could pray for our future happiness. I thought it was a lovely thought perhaps that is why Allen and I had such a long (58 years) wonderfully happy life together. Everyone has their ups and downs and to succeed one must give and take and look after one another in sickness and health. Then whatever setbacks one can always get above them if there is plenty of love about. We had part of our honeymoon at the Hotel, room 21 with a bathroom, very posh and then had two days at the Georgian Inn. So, we had seven days of married life then Allen went off again to Moratie and several other islands. The war ended in August 1945 and Allen was discharged in Bairnsdale 1945.

I went up there to live and keep house for two months. I couldn’t cook much, but I soon learnt, not like you girls- we weren’t allowed in the kitchen, perhaps because of food rationing. I don’t quite know why as my mother was a lovely cook. We had three honeymoons altogether and between postings it was at Bairnsdale I learnt I was pregnant, thrilled to bits we were. When Allen left the air force, he went to Tech school at night to brush up on his carpentering. We lived with mum and dad in Merlynston. Ian was born 19th of August 1946 and by then we had bought a block of land for 55 pounds at 14 Edward St, Fawkner and were planning our home. Materials were very hard to get, and one had to go on a list to buy things. We gad enough money to build the back of our house, one bedroom, nursery, big kitchen, sunroom, laundry and bathroom combined. Allen worked very hard to get it ready for when Stephen arrived on the 17th of October 1948. We shifted in when Stephen was three weeks old, we furnished our house very comfortable with bits and pieces relations gave us and were quite happy to do that. Later on, we built on a bedroom, hallway, bathroom, and lovely big loungeroom. In 1950 Allen decided to join the police force, he did very well in all his studies often coming 1st or 2nd. He was the only married bloke in No.5 squad and lived out. The single fellows lived in barracks, he even learnt to swim. Allen’s first police station was in Brunswick and by then we decided we’d like a little girl. Ian was at Lynch Road School and Stephen had just started, Stephen and Ian shifted into the middle room, us in the front one (even had a walk-in robe!) The nursery was empty, Robbie John arrived on the 11th of May 1955, and so we gave up the idea of trying for a girl. Allen’s mum had 9 boys and two girls; the girls arrived last. Allen finished off our house and we even had a road made by then, he was doing very well in the police force. Allen was promoted to uniform to plain-clothes detective and went to Airlie College and came out 4th of 36. It was very hard demanding work, all shifts life was a struggle in those days, but we managed to buy a car, a Morris for 100 pounds then in 1952 an A model ford for 50pounds, Allen’s pride and joy. What fun we had picnics, rabbiting, mushrooming, wood gathering. A picnic consisted of a cooked leg of lamb, jar of beetroot, pickles, loaf of bread, butter, tomatoes, white onions and fruitcake- wonderful. Pop and Gran Mumford lived 5 minutes away across the paddocks, we all used to go to Sunday school night tea. Geoff, Dorrie, Jean were home enough to have a footy or a cricket team, great times.

Then, Allen was talked into trying for a country station, Wedderburn the first, what excitement, had to rent out my lovely family house everything just right. Garden was lovely- we shifted just after Christmas 1958. Allen had the Ford all done up as he had to use it for the Police work and away we went with the trailer on the back, on board more incidentals plus bikes, dog, dog kennel, 4 bantams on eggs, 1 possum and I imagine a lot of pot plants. I was his unpaid offsider, After Wedderburn we went to Violet Town the Yarra Junction, each town provided for all us new experiences. Wedderburn was a small town, 3000 people all very friendly, a lovely big old house and an office looking out onto a village green where cricket was played in the summer. Stephen went down to the local milk bar, he was breathless when he got back, the man said we could have a loan of a cow and he had two and not enough feed as we had a Lucerne paddock we accepted. Me on the condition I did not have to milk her. Flossie, A jersey cow. I did learn how to milk later as Allen would sometimes be caught up with work and the boys would be playing sports etc. I also had a piglet given to me for Mother’s Day, when sold 5 months later $79 came my way. I mothered in the first 6 months, 5 baby lambs, a clucky hen who sat on 10 duck eggs, rosella parrots and galas on my combustion stove hearth who all had to be hand fed. We had a possum who ate roses, fruit and chocolate. I even made my own butter, separated the milk and supplied everyone who called in with jars of cream and homemade jams. My town friends could hardly believe but it’s all true.

Our inspector came once a month for lunch and this day Allen had Fred, a simple lad in the lock up. He was caught flashing himself off to school girls. I had to give him lunch also, so inspector said “what are you going to give Fred for lunch?”, same as you I said, but I put a bit more bacon on yours” and the inspector said “are you going to put it on a plate with a fork and knife?”. “yes” I replied. “well” said the inspector “He could break the plate, cut his throat, stab himself with knife and four times with the fork” so, Fred’s lunch was on an enamel plate with an enamel cup and a spoon, one soon learns. Another time, a runaway boy who I had already made him a great heap of sandwiches, Allen came in and said “he was still hungry”, we had, had a flower show and cooking competition, I won the lamington prize and I bought the prize fruit cake, I don’t know if Allen told him what he was about to eat but he never left any.

Next stop Violet Town- Allen’s mother and father were born at Boho and Warrenbain in time we found we were related to half the town. We’d have weekends when Allen’s parents would come up and have open house and all wonderful stories these relations would tell. The Hume Highway was very bad for accidents, dreadful ones- trucks-many times I’d have injured people to look after and feed till their relatives would come and pick them up. Once, Allen and the shire engineer (he said he would help) a truck with milk powder and a truck with 250 sheep collided, what a mess. Both trucks caught fire and by the time Allen got there the sheep were running up and down the highway with their wool on fire. All the sheep had to be destroyed, nothing much left of the two truckies but the shire engineer never offered to go with Allen again.

Next Stop- over the mountains to Yarra Junction. What a difference. Mountains. Huge gumtrees. Ferns and a house on the side of a mountain and facing Bencairn near Donna Buang. Within 3 days it was all on fire. I didn’t see Allen for four days and then I saw him on the TV. Allen and a ranger tried to get two boys and their grandparents to leave their house as it was in a valley surrounded by trees, but they said “they would stay” so Allen couldn’t do much about it. After the fire they went back to find them. They had all perished on the way out in a ute. The house was still standing, so very sad. The fires were over by Wednesday and Dianna Trask’s wedding was on the Saturday. Allen in one car containing a policeman, his wife, myself, 3 boys and two girls in the back of our station wagon, we were the crowd control.

People came from everywhere to Warburton it really was a circus, church windows full of faces, the brides father had his wallet pinched out of his pocket, after all that Allen had to make way for the bride and grooms car to the reception with a green Holden station wagon with all of us in it and one of the kids yells out “look they’re kidding!” what fun we all had. After the fires the ferns grass and trees were all starting to shoot after 10 days. Plenty of snow in the winter to play in.

After two years Allen and our family had to shift back to Melbourne to Seaford to take up a promotion what a shock to our systems, the people were so rude, always in a hurry and didn’t care about one another. After a while I was a bit lost after having been so busy for several years. I was lucky to meet with Winifred Moss a well-known dressmaker for the wealthy, also did beautiful society weddings, entered the gown of the year 7 times and won 3. Winifred wanted someone to do beading and bridal headgear. I started at 3 ½ days a week and ended up doing full time. I was offered a position at Haileybury College looking after 700 boys and masters in sickbay. I loved it, I also had to show overseas visitors over the school and do flowers and decorate the reception rooms when needed.

Allen was not at all well and became very ill and was discharged on medical grounds, as a family his boys and I were very proud of our policeman and the wonderful life he had provided. I retired from Haileybury and we bought an old house on a big treed block near the beach in Rye. We spent many happy years renovating and creating a lovely garden. My garden was featured in Home Beautiful as the best CWA garden on the peninsula.

We decided six months after finishing the house to move to warmer climes, to Maroochydore where we had, looking back 5 ½ years of holidays. But we returned to Victoria as our granddaughters were growing up without us around.

Ian, Heather and four granddaughters in Tinamba

Stephen and June and two granddaughters in Canberra

Rob and Sue in Lakes Entrance

We settled in eagle point and the mozzies made us move to rosebud, where the traffic made us move to Maffra, just the right type of place we were looking for. Lovely little town, very caring people, loving friends and I hope I have many more years among you all.

Sadly, Allen passed away in April 2003, a brave man.

We now have 6 granddaughters and seven great granddaughters, and hopefully someday maybe a great grandson.