Quote for the day

Monday Miscellany: Odds, Ends and Personals

Kate remains in Canberra to spend time with her dad and to assist in arangements relating to the death of her mother, Margaret.

As I have previously mentioned, Kate was with Margaret when she passed away, was holding her hand and was fortunate to get to Canberra in time to be able to do so.

It reminded me of a story that I had read many years ago and I have tracked it down. It was written in 1964 by Roy Popkin but since then other versions have been circulated on the internet, some with additional paragraphs at the end that serve only to make the whole thing saccharine or to give a modern connection with the war in Iraq. Those additions lessen the original story, which now follows.

Night Watch

by Roy Popkin

"Your son is here," the nurse said to the old man. She had to repeat the words several times before the man's eyes opened. He was heavily sedated and only partially conscious after a massive heart attack he had suffered the night before. He could see the dim outline of a young man in a Marine Corps uniform, standing alongside his bed.

The old man reached out his hand. The Marine wrapped his toughened fingers around the old man's limp hand and squeezed gently. The nurse brought a chair, and the tired serviceman sat down at the bedside.

All through the night, the young Marine sat in the poorly lighted ward, holding the old man's hand and offering words of encouragement. The dying man said nothing, but kept a feeble grip on the young man's hand. Oblivious to the noise of the oxygen tank, the moans of the other patients, and the bustle of the night staff coming in and out of the ward, the Marine remained at the old man's side.

Every now and then, when she stopped by to check on her patients, the nurse heard the young Marine whisper a few comforting words to the old man. Several times in the course of that long night, she returned and suggested that the Marine leave to rest for a while. But every time, the young man refused.

Near dawn the old man died. The Marine placed the old man's lifeless hand on the bed and left to find the nurse. While the nurse took the old man away and attended to the necessary duties, the young man waited. When the nurse returned, she began to offer words of sympathy, but the Marine interrupted her.

"Who was that man?" he asked.

Startled, the nurse replied, "He was your father."

"No, he wasn't," the young man said. "I've never seen him before in my life."

"Then why didn't you say something when I took you to him?"

"I knew there had been a mistake by the people who sent me home on an emergency furlough. What happened was, there were two of us with the same name, from the same town and we had similar serial numbers. They sent me by mistake," the young man explained. "But I also knew he needed his son, and his son wasn't there. I could tell he was too sick to know whether I was his son or not. When I realized how much he needed to have someone there, I just decided to stay."

Remembering Margaret

In memory of

Margaret Wicks

Last Thursday evening Kate received a telephone call from her father, Noel, that her mother had suffered a massive brain haemorrhage and was not expected to survive the night. Thomas and Elliot immediately drove Kate to Canberra but could not stay themselves because of Sydney examination commitments.

Kate was with Margaret, holding her hand when sadly Margaret departed this life at 4.30am Friday morning.

My sincere condolences to Noel, to Margaret's daughters Catherine (Kate), Marian (Marn), Philippa (Pip) and Roberta (Rob), and to family and friends affected by her passing.

My thanks to those persons who sent emails and text messages, I have read them all to Kate and she was very moved by them.

The photo above is of Margaret on her wedding day to Noel.

On this Mothers Day 2015, in memory of two remarkable mothers and in recognition of Margaret's effect on so many, many people by something very simple, I repost an article from Bytes 26 June 2011.

Antoinette and Margaret

Antoinette

Margaret

"Remember there's no such thing as a small act of kindness. Every act creates a ripple with no logical end.”

- Scott Adams (1957 - )

Scott Adams is the author of the Dilbert comic strip and the author of several works of satire, commentary, business, and general speculation.

I do not often include personal items on this blog unless they are in the nature of reminiscence, information or humour. Yesterday I provided an amusing anecdote about my father in law, Noel. Today I would like to share with you something personal to me, the story of two amazing women, my mother Antoinette and my mother in law, Margaret.

My mother is aged 88 and she is near the end of her time. My brother Hans, who lives in Sydney, myself and our families do what we can but daily she becomes weaker and closer to the end. She is now receiving pain relief and appears to be comfortable, most of her time being spent in sleep.

She is an amazing woman. Born in Holland in 1923, 5 years after World War 1 finished, she experienced the Great Depression as a child with her family, recalls the Hindenburg flying over their backyard and has often described the chill she felt at the sound of jackboots on cobblestones as Holland became occupied in WW2. She carries the scars of Nazi shrapnel on her leg and heard the sound of VI and V2 rockets overhead.

Only 5’ 2”, or 157.5 cm, she raised 3 strapping sons and looked after a husband, my father, who was killed in a car accident in 1979.

My mother and my father were born and raised in a time when emotion was seldom shown. Our household did not have hugs, compliments, praise or displays of affection. Everyone knew that there was love present but no one ever mentioned it. When I was at university, I found out only from others that my father was proud of my achievements, he never told me but he did tell others.

Equally diminutive is my mother in law, Margaret. She was raised in a similar environment by a mother who was strong but equally lacking in family displays and declarations of love, affection and pride. Margaret decided from an early age that her children would be raised differently. The four daughters she and Noel raised grew up being told “I love you” from birth. They grew up not just knowing that they were loved but being told and shown that their parents loved them and were proud of them. They also grew up with lots of hugs.

My wife Kate raised her sons, Thomas and Elliot, the same way and they in turn said “I love you” to me, to my daughter and to my mother.

At first I found it strange and disconcerting, such frequent and public declarations of love. I even suggested that occasional declarations of love would be more meaningful than frequent declarations which would end up being a hollow sentiment akin to simply saying goodbye. I eventually came to know that there was no limit on declarations per person, that an “I love you” that comes from the heart and is meant can never end up being hollow or lose meaning and value.

Eventually I started saying it to those closest to me. It felt strange at first. Although I had said that it should be spoken less often and thereby have more meaning, the truth is that we had never said it in my family. I had never told my father I loved him before he was killed. I don’t think I ever told my daughter that I loved her except for writing it in her birthday cards.

My wife, Thomas and Elliot regularly said “I love you” to Acacia, my mother and to me. The words were freely spoken from the heart, without expectation of an equivalent response. In my mother’s case, the kids referred to her as “Oma”, Dutch for Grandma. 

Initially the response was a self conscious “I love you too” but then an amazing thing started happening. Not only did the replies become less awkward, sometimes the comment was first made by my mother and by Acacia.

My mother and my mother-in-law met only a few times, Margaret living in Canberra and my mother finding travel difficult. Nonetheless the two remain linked by the ripple effect. When I am told that one person can’t make a difference, I am reminded of Margaret’s decision to raise her children differently to how she had been raised.

Kate and I visited my mother yesterday and spent some time at her bedside. She knew who we were but she has now reached the stage where she remains lying down, eyes closed, and is unable to talk.

At the time of leaving we said our goodbyes. Without opening her eyes, she mustered what strength was left to her and, in a faint voice, said “Love you heaps.”

No Bytes for the moment

Dear Readers

My wife's mother is gravely ill, there will be no Bytes for a few days at least.

Otto

Quote for the day

“Trickle-down theory - the less than elegant metaphor that if one feeds the horse enough oats, some will pass through to the road for the sparrows.”

― John Kenneth Galbraith (1908-2006)

Canadian and, later, American economist, public official, and diplomat, and a leading proponent of 20th-century American liberalism.

Matilda

Time to bring a little culture to the table: a spot of poetry. 

Remember this from school?

MATILDA
who told such dreadful lies.
by
Hillaire Belloc

Matilda told such Dreadful Lies,
It made one Gasp and Stretch one’s Eyes;
Her Aunt, who, from her Earliest Youth,
Had kept a Strict Regard for Truth,
Attempted to believe Matilda:
The effort very nearly killed her,
And would have done so, had not she
Discovered this Infirmity.
For once, towards the Close of Day,
Matilda, growing tired of play,
And finding she was left to alone,
Went tiptoe to the telephone
And summoned the Immediate Aid
Of London’s Nobel Fire-Brigade.
Within an hour the Gallant Band
Were pouring in on every hand,
From Putney, Hackney Downs and Bow,
With Courage high and Hearts a-glow
They galloped, roaring though the Town,
"Matilda’s House is Burning Down"
Inspired by British Cheers and Loud
Proceeding from the Frenzied Crowd,
They ran their ladders through a score
Of windows on the Ball Room Floor;
And took Peculiar Pains to Souse
The Pictures up and down the House,
Until Matilda’s Aunt succeeded
In showing them they were not needed
And even then she had to pay
To get the Men to go away! . . . . .
It happened that a few Weeks later
Here aunt was off to the Theatre
To see that Interesting Play
The Second Mrs. Tanqueray.
She had refused to take her Niece
To hear this Entertaining Piece:
A Deprivation Just and Wise
To Punish her for Telling Lies.
That Night a Fire did break out-
You should have heard Matilda Shout!
You should have heard her Scream and Bawl,
And throw the window up and call
To People passing in the Street-
(The rapidly increasing Heat
Encouraging her to obtain
Their confidence)-but it was all in vain!
For every time She shouted "Fire!"
They only answered "Little Liar!"
And therefore when her Aunt returned,
Matilda, and the House, were burned`

Quote for the day

“Well, George, we knocked the bastard off!”

- Sir Edmund Hillary (1919-2008)

First words to lifelong friend George Lowe on descending after he and Tenzig Norgay were the first to climb Mt Everest in 1953. Lowe had climbed up to meet them with hot soup.

Hillary (left) and George Lowe (right) with Governor-General Sir Willoughby Norrie at Government House, Wellington, 20 August 1953.

Aniko Kolesnikova

If I were to mention the name Aniko Kolesnikova you might well think that I had incorrectly spolet the name of Russian former tennis ace Anna Kournikova.

Not so.

Aniko Kolesnikova is a Latvian artist who loves making sculptures, especially book covers, from polymer clay. She also designs jewellery but it is her beautiful and striking book covers which have brought her to prominence and delighted many.

Here are some of her works . . .

Frog:

Owl:

Indian Elephant:

Nature's Footprint:

Seduction:

Starry Eyed:

Insect:

Floral Journal:

Blue Dragon:

Jewellery:

Quote for the day

"My Aunt Minnie would always be punctual and never hold up production, but who would pay to see my Aunt Minnie?"

- Billy Wilder (1906-2002)

Film producer, director and screenwriter on Marilyn Monroe's unpunctuality

Wilder directs Marilyn Monroe in THAT scene from The Seven Year Itch

Tuesday Trivia

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Rudolf Hess (1894-1987) was Hitler’s Deputy Fuhrer and the last surviving member of Hitler’s inner circle. He served as Deputy until 1941 when he flew to Scotland in an attempt to make peace, was taken prisoner and eventually was convicted of crimes against peace, serving a life sentence. Hess was transferred to Spandau Prison in 1947, where repeated attempts by family members and prominent politicians to win him early release were blocked by the Soviet Union. Still in custody in Spandau, he died of an apparent suicide in 1987 at the age of 93 by hanging using an electrical cord from a lamp. After his death the prison was demolished to prevent it from becoming a neo-Nazi shrine. Initially buried at a secret location to avoid media attention or demonstrations by Nazi sympathisers, Hess was re-interred in a family plot at Wunsiedel on 17 March 1988, and his wife was buried beside him when she died in 1995. The town of Wunsiedel became the scene of pilgrimages and neo-Nazi demonstrations every August on the date of Hess's death. As a result the parish council decided not to allow an extension on the grave site's lease when it expired in 2011. With the consent of his family, Hess's grave was re-opened on 20 July 2011 and his remains exhumed, then cremated. His ashes were scattered at sea by family members; the gravestone, which bore the epitaph "Ich hab's gewagt" ("I have dared"), was destroyed.

Hess in his cell at Landsberg Prison awaiting trial

Hess's grave marker in Wunsiedel, destroyed in 2011.

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The 1970’s band Spandau Ballet, which split up in 1990 and re-formed in 2009, went through a number of name changes before settling on Spandau Ballet: The Cut, The Makers, Gentry. The name was changed to Spandau Ballet after a friend of the band, journalist and DJ Robert Elms, saw the phrase 'Spandau Ballet' scrawled on the wall of a nightclub lavatory during a visit to Berlin. The expression "Spandau Ballet" was slang used by Allied troops in the trenches in the First World War to refer to the twitching of the corpses hanging on the barbed wire and repeatedly hit by Spandau machine gun fire from the German lines. The name also refers to Spandau Prison and the many hangings there, especially in 1945-46 of Nazi war criminals, when the victims would twitch and jump at the end of a rope. 

Spandau ballet’s tour of Australia (Soul Boys of the Western World tour) begins in Brisbane on 13 May 2015, hitting Sydney on 15 May.

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New South Wales’ coat of arms.

The motto "Orta recens quam pura nites" means "Newly risen, how brightly you shine".

Sydney, Australia’s current largest city, is named after Lord Sydney, the Secretary of State for the Home Office. Lord Sydney was the man in charge of deciding where to send the convicts from England and he decided upon Botany Bay. When the First Fleet arrived in 1788, they discovered that Botany Bay wasn’t suitable, so they explored a bit further up and found fresh water and a cove which was later named Sydney Cove after the lord. The city that was eventually built up around the cove was called Sydney by association with the cove.

Captain Cook, discoverer and claimer for England of Australia, never explained the name that he gave New South Wales in his journal. It is thought something about this state must have just reminded him of the coast of Wales. Up for debate is whether he meant it was similar to South Wales, or if he was reminded of Wales as a whole and named the area New South Wales because it was in the Southern Hemisphere.

Queensland’s coat of arms. 

The motto, "Audaxet Fidelis", means "Bold and Faithful."

Starting in the 1850s, the people living in Queensland—then part of the New South Wales colony—started petitioning for independence. The seat of the colony, Sydney, was too far away, and future Queenslanders wanted to govern themselves. They petitioned to separate, and in 1859 Queen Victoria granted them their own colony. They named it Queensland to honour her, as the colony of Victoria had already been established.

Queensland’s capital is named after Sir Thomas Brisbane. The city started being settled in 1824, when the penal colony at Redcliffe was established. Free individuals started arriving in the 1840s. Originally, the name was Edenglassie (a combination of Edinburgh and Glasgow), but residents started to favour the name Brisbane after Sir Brisbane, who happened to be the governor of New South Wales at the time.

Quote for the day

This has been attributed to numerous persons, there is no definitive known author.