Eulogy of a Storyteller

Nola Gwenneth Jones was born 19 March 1925 in Cowra. She died just two weeks ago, 29 Nov 2014. She was 89 years old.

I am her eldest grandchild, and I am also the family historian. I like the facts and figures of births, deaths, and marriages, and counting up the siblings, and trying to work out who’s whose second cousin twice removed.

But Grandma was a STORYTELLER. So in her honour and her memory, I’ll try and tell you a few stories about her and her grandchildren, and keep the dates and numbers to a minimum.

If I asked her where she lived in 1927, she didn’t just say “Thirroul”. She told me a story about toddling after her four older siblings down to the beach. They lived in Thirroul for a while. Their father worked on the railways and they moved around a bit. At Thirroul, they had to cross a creek to get to the beach, but little Nola slipped and fell in. She almost drowned. That was why she never learnt to swim.

Funny how I can picture her wearing a swimming costume so many times, but I really can’t remember her swimming. She often took us to the beach, Long Reef most often. We’d walk the dog in the marine reserve (hmm, Grandma didn’t follow ALL the rules, really), collect shells, and ride cardboard down the grass hill at Fishermans Beach. We still like to go there (but we don’t take a dog!)

Grandma was born in between the Great Wars. She enlisted for the WAAAF in the second, age 20. I’m still not entirely sure what she did (I’ve been meaning to get her service records from Canberra) but when I asked her about it … well, Grandma was a STORYTELLER. She said,

“The day I was discharged, I looked around and there was Beryl Chew…I hadn’t seen her since I’d slept with her!”

Anyhoo…at age 45 Nola became a grandmother for the first time. Grandma has FIVE grandchildren and TEN great-grandchildren. You can tell us by the fact that we’ve been branded with the RED lipstick kiss mark, every time we saw her. I’ve worn red lipstick today, and will be happy to brand you as you leave, in her memory.

We knew grandma as a seamstress and a great cook.

She made my christening dress, a beautiful little frock in white broderie anglais. I wore it, my sister wore it, my daughter and nieces have worn it. She made many more things for us all including formal dresses for me and my sister. She made comforters and library bags for her great-grandchildren. She made a bag for me to carry at my wedding.

Grandma taught me how to sew. And if I started something, and hit a snag, she’d help me out. And of course she made things for herself. One of my favourites was her jockey jacket. Shiny, colourful satin. She’d wear it for the Melbourne Cup party or to go around the TAB and teach the once a year punters how to fill out their tickets. I hope they weren’t fool enough to ask for a tip, because although she was good at picking a winner herself, her tips never did any good. If she won the trifecta we were treated to a dinner out at Long Reef Chinese.

Melbourne Cup day was a highlight of the year. I remember rushing to Narraweena after school to get to the party which had been going since lunchtime. I don’t think back then I was particularly interested in the race, except Grandma always bought us grandkids a ticket or two in the sweep, so there was the potential for a payout. It was the FOOD I was after. Could the ladies have left a prawn or two, an oyster for my brother? 

Grandma always threw a good party. There were many. Curry parties were particularly good. She had learnt to cook curries from her cook in India. I remember competing with Bruce to see who could get through a vindaloo without having to take a drink of milk.

The great-grandkids remember that she always gave them biscuits. Patty cakes, raspberry pineapple slice, roast pork and fruit platters at Xmas (we’ll miss that this Xmas).

Anyhoo…Beryl Chew…you are dying to know, right?

When Nola was about 12 she went back to Cowra with her father for a visit. They went by train and then a horse and wagon. Miles out of town. He had something to do back in town, so he left her with friends for the night – the Chews!  Nola had to sleep with young Beryl Chew – top and tail – as there wasn’t a spare bed. So when she saw Beryl again in 1946, she hadn’t seen her since she’d slept with her!”  Nola was a STORYTELLER.

Thanks to my grandma for the STORIES. Thanks for teaching me to sew and to enjoy curry, for looking after me when I was sick, for taking me to the zoo & Long Reef, and the Chinese when you won the trifecta. Thanks for the bawdy renditions of “Knees up Mother Brown”.  Mostly, thanks for my mother. She has asked me for this poem today.