Part 3 - First jobs, meeting Alf and religious differences (1945 to 1951)

The year is 1945. And amongst Mum’s memorabilia I discovered a letter to her from a Monte school friend. The letter was dated 5 September 1945, and Mum’s friend signed it as “’Birdie’, which I assume was a nickname. Just three days prior to the letter being written, the war had officially ended with Japan’s surrender, with Birdie saying, “Isn’t it lovely about Peace?”. I like the fact that she capitalised ‘Peace’. After six long years of war, I’m sure that everyone felt Peace deserved a special place.

Birdie also noted that her mother had decided that she “had better stay at school and do the Leaving”. From that comment, and the fact that Birdie’s letter asks Mum, “How are you? Not working too hard, I hope. Are you still at the same place? Have you been promoted”, it seems that Mum had left school by the time this letter was written. She was 17.

If you’d like to read Birdie’s letter, then click here. It gives some insights into school excursions 1945 style.

In her talks with Kate, Mum shared her recollections of the time straight after she left school.

At the end, when I’d done the leaving, I was offered to go ‘into service’. Mum and Dad wouldn’t allow this, and I eventually found a position in Madame Germaine Rocher’s - one of the two top fashion houses of the day – and there I learned my trade as a seamstress, a tailor.

Now look, I hesitate to disagree with my Mum, particularly since it was her life she was recalling, and given that she’s not here to correct me. But, from the information I found, I’m pretty sure her first job was at Saks, where she was initially employed as a ‘Dressmakers Apprentice’. I found her tax returns from the late 1940’s, with the first one (shown below) being for the 1946/47 financial year, and on which Mum had recorded her place of work as Saks. Maybe she had another tax return before this, but it wasn’t with her documents.

Mum was 19 years old and earning £113 at Saks, at a time when the average wage was around £7 a week or £314 a year, but of course that was the average FOR MEN!! We talk about the gender pay gap now, still stubbornly high at 11% plus, but back in the 40’s women generally received around 50% of a man’s salary for doing the same job, so the average wage for women was around £165 a year. What a crock.

Mum was still at Saks the following year, but she’d obviously completed her apprenticeship, as she recorded her occupation as ‘Dressmaker’, and she earned £176 that year.

I remember Mum telling of the time when her Dad intervened on her behalf with an employer who was underpaying her. I’m guessing this may have been at Saks, particularly given the jump in pay in 1947/48, although that could also be explained if Mum had only worked part of the previous year.

Whatever the case, Mum was working at Saks as a Dressmaker for almost two years, from sometime late in 1946 through to sometime late in 1948, when she moved to Germaine Rocher.

I tried to find out some more about Saks, but without much luck. I did find a short ad in the Positions Vacant section of the Sydney Morning Herald on 11 May 1949, which said:

Dressmaking. Experienced, full-time Dressmakers, used to high class model work. Good wages. Apply, SAKS, 109 Elizabeth Street.

During her time at Saks, Mum was living in the family home at Earle Street in Cremorne, where there were some important milestones.

Debut

First, Mum made her Debut aged 18 in 1946. Dring the 1940’s and for a long time before that the Debut was a significant social event and was generally seen as where a young woman was formally introduced to society with the goal of making a favourable marriage match. Mum’s brother Frank accompanied her, and Mum made her own outfit.

Gwen at her debut

Gwen and her brother Frank at her debut

Gwen's Mum (Irene), brother (Frank), and Gwen at her debut

The Debut was a rite of passage for wealthy and high-status families, symbolising their daughter's transition from girlhood to womanhood and reinforcing her social status. Whether the O’Brien’s saw it that way is hard to say – they were certainly not a wealthy family.

Whatever way you look at it, The Debut had a limited life, and as the post-war era progressed, particularly by the late 1950s, this tradition began to decline as society became more egalitarian, evidenced by its eventual abolition at the British court in 1958.

Gwen’s Debut is referenced in the Catholic Weekly of 1 August 1946 in an article I’ve transcribed and attached below.

Picturesque Presentation At Catholic Ball
THE launching of young ladies upon society in a fitting manner, the main function for which the annual Catholic Ball is organised, was beautifully carried out when 160 debutantes were presented to his Eminence Cardinal Gilroy at the Trocadero on Tuesday night of last week.
More than 1500 dancers watched the presentation, which lasted for more than half-an-hour, and concluded with the dancing of the traditional gavotte by debutantes and their partners. The debutantes wore matching top-knots and carried matching bouquets, but their gowns were individual, and as they passed under the spotlight each presented a picture of youthful loveliness. It was their night of nights.
Each table, representative of parish or a prominent Catholic society, entertained debutantes, and each debutante had a cake to mark the occasion. She carried a dance programme, which partners were quick to fill. The presentations were made by Mrs. J. C. Crowe, matron of honour.
The official guests were received by Mr. and Mrs. M. J. O'Neill. They included the Vicar General, the Right Rev. Monsignor R. Collender, P.P., the Right Rev. Monsignor J. Toohey (Cardinal's secretary), the Venerable Arch deacon E. McAuliffe, P.P., V.F., the Rev. Father J. Freeman (Cardinal's private secretary), Mr. G. M. Scarfe, Mrs. M. G. Scarfe, Mr. and Mrs. P. E. Dalton, Miss F. Howe, Mr. M. Casey, Mr. and Mrs. B. L. McGowan, Dr. H. H. Nowland, Mr. E. Hollingdale and Mr. D. Clyne, M.L.A.
Following are names, of debutantes omitted from the list recently published: Marcia Allen, Monica Bond, Marie Bourke, Patricia Burbage, Elizabeth Burbage, Dawn Corrigan, Catherine Colbran, Gwendoline Dallis, Joan Dagg, Pauline Dawson, Margaret Dykes, Aileen Doolan, Shirley Down, Patricia Doherty, Phyllis Evans, Eileen Doherty, Joan Farrell, Mary Gray, Margaret Guillini, Dorothy Anne Garty, Anne Hatten, Theresa Hynes, Phil Holohan. Joan Hayes. Margaret Hornery, Patricia Hurney, Marion Higgins, Maureen Healey, Mary Harper, Marice Konz, Joan Konz, Betty Kennedy, Kathleen Keating, Monica Kelly, Mary Kirkland, Elizabeth Lewis, Betty Lacey, Norma Luxford, Betty Murphy, Clare Mennie, Cecily Mulheron, Nita Miller, Marie Moran, Aileen Mc Nally, Patricia Mclntyre. Lynette McManus, Elwyn McCann, Patricia McDonald, Joyce Newman, Heather Northey, Olga O'Malley, Ruth O'Brien, Gwendoline O'Brien, Joan Oliver, Loyola Redmsan, Pat Rippingill, Moira Ryan, Margaret Rock, Norma Richards, Joan Salmon, Kathleen Smith, Ellen Spruhan, Lily Stacey, Josephine Wall, Lorna Wiles, Mary Whitfield, Dorothy Wright. Patricia Wynne, Veronica Ward, Elizabeth Walker.

The Trocadero in 1948

Catholic Weekly write up of the Debut

Smaller article on Gwen's debut

Meeting Alf

While I doubt Alf and his family regularly read the Catholic Weekly or saw it as a source for Debut driven matrimony, Gwen’s second big event was meeting our Dad, Alf Landsberry, at a tennis club in Neutral Bay. Mum referred to that when she recalled:

Dad [that’s Bill, not my Dad] got a job as an insurance salesman and was really successful. I loved it in Sydney. It was different to country living. We had a billiard room. Our home had a lovely comfortable feel and was very social – filled with family and friends and often later, as I got older, with our tennis crowd, which is where I met Alf.

My Dad also referred to the billiard table at the Earle Street house. He thought that anyone who had a billiard table must have been wealthy, and he always reckoned that Mum had tricked him into marriage by allowing him to continue to court her, believing that they’d someday be living on Easy Street rather than High Street.

I’m pretty sure that Mum and Dad met during 1948. I say that because I have a copy of Mum’s tax returns for the 1947, 1948 and 1949 financial years, and the first two are written in Mum’s hand, while the third one, is written in my Dad’s hand. This probably should have been a bit of a warning sign for Mum, as Dad continued to control the finances through their married life, albeit with all the frustration that comes from allowing a world class procrastinator to take the financial reins.

Both Mum and Dad had always said that they’d met at a tennis club in Neutral Bay. Dad had also added that he’d tried to impress Mum in those early days by jumping over the net at the end of a set, only to catch his foot in the top of the net and come crashing down at her feet. Ah, the folly of youth and the course of true love!

Madame Rocher

1948 saw Mum make the move to Germaine Rocher, one of two premier Sydney based fashion houses. Rocher’s had the entire 5th floor of the St James Trust Building, at 185 Elizabeth Street in Sydney, opposite Hyde Park. Coincidentally, my stepdaughter Amanda worked in and managed that building on behalf of the owner much later on.

I’ve always thought that ‘Rocher’ was named after lady who owned the fashion house, and that Madame Rocher (as Mum often called her) was French. Turns out neither of these was true. The owner of the business was Vera Fels. Vera had arrived in Sydney with her husband Charles after escaping Bolshevik Russia in the 1930s, and they’d brought two French seamstresses with them, as you do.

Vera also brought a knowledge of Parisian styling and couture skills, and together this group created Germaine Rocher, no doubt believing that a French name would carry much more weight in the fashion industry.

The Rocher name quickly developed a strong following among fashionable society women. It was known for bringing Europe’s best styles and fabrics to an Australian clientele. At one point it was believed that 95% of Sydney’s glitterati was dressed by Rocher.

Fels, herself, was the epitome of French style and grace, despite her Russian heritage. She would visit Paris each year for the major collections and select outfits from Christian Dior, Courrèges, Balmain, Givenchy and Venet, bring them back to Australia, and have her dressmakers (including Mum) copy them in limited numbers for her wealthy clientele.

At the Rocher shows, the Paris original would be displayed next to the copy, to show that the quality of the workmanship was as good as the best of Paris, but available in Sydney at less than half the price.

Mum always spoke very highly of her time at Madame Rocher’s. She loved the work, and was in her element, having been a keen sewer in her teens. Working at Rocher’s saw Mum’s dressmaking skills move to a whole new level of professionalism, skills that remained with her well into her 80’s.

She not only made clothes for all of us, but for the extended family and friends. Below is a photo showing David and me in our matching Gwen Landsberry made waistcoats.

In the snippet below from the Mirror of 14 February 1949, we can see that Dad has noted that the dress on display was made by Mum. I’m sure this would have been a proud moment for our 20-year-old Mother, and no doubt for Dad as well. Thank God he added that arrow, otherwise I could have missed the whole thing. 😂

Of Madame Rocher’s Mum said:

We had huge wooden tables and cutters to cut the patterns and fabric. My job was to tack them before sewing. I was doing the tailoring – suits and coats – and Claire was in another area doing dresses. Madame Rocher’s was up near to St Mary’s Cathedral in Sydney. I caught the bus to Wynyard with my new friend Pat Binns, and we walked arm and arm up George Street to work.

Pat’s name was really Joan, Joan Binns, but they already had a Joan so they said, ‘you can be called Pat’ and that was it. You didn’t question that in those days. So Joan became Pat, and I always called her Joannie, but my children called her Aunty Pat.

Pat/Joan married John Struck, and she remained a lifelong friend of Mums. Our family spent a lot of time with the Struck family. In fact, in 1969 the Strucks hosted us in Narrabri on what I believe is the only holiday we went on as an entire family.

The Narrabri Team 1969

Mum and Dad gadding about

But meanwhile, back in the late 1940’s, Mum and Dad had started to go out together, playing tennis, going to the movies and heading to the beach. It’s clear that they LOVED the beach and that they were keen photographers, as I found a heap of shots of them at a variety of beaches with friends and family.

The odd thing is that neither of them were good swimmers. Much later in life, Mum did address this, taking swimming lessons and joining a swimming club. And she was ruthless when it came to making sure we kids had swimming lessons every school holidays at Lane Cove pool.

As far as Dad goes, while I have photographic evidence that he and I were actually at the beach at the same time when I was a toddler, my only recollection of him actually being IN the water, was when he’d pop up for a day trip to Avoca when we were doing our two-week annual holiday there during the 70’s and early 80’s. But when I say, ‘in the water’, he’d be standing on the shore up to his ankles in water, while his protruding stomach and balding head would be working their way towards a nasty sunburn. But even these moments were rare.

But again I digress. We’ll come back to those fabulous Avoca days a little later.

Gwen’s 21st Birthday

In the meantime, back in 1949, it’s Mum’s 21st birthday - the invitations go out, and the acceptances flood in, including this one from my Dad, where he writes that he “will no doubt see my friend at the party”, and I think we all know what THAT means. Nudge, nudge…wink, wink. Actually, it’s 1949 and the 21st birthday for a strict Catholic girl from the country, so it probably just means he hopes to see his friend…that’s about it.

I’m guessing Mum’s 21st was held at the family home in Earle Street, Cremorne, although I don’t have any evidence for that. But there are a couple of items worth looking at.

Given the poetic lengths that my Dad is about to go to in order to win back my Mum the following year, his card to her on this milestone birthday was a relatively poor effort, as you’ll see below.

And then there’s this telegram. It’s 16 words, which oddly enough includes the addressee and their address…imagine having to pay for emails by the word. I don’t know who it’s from, unless it may actually be from EVERYONE in Brookvale, like the whole suburb.

But my favourite is the ‘card’ from Aunty Ada, who is Irene’s eldest sister. By the time of Mum’s 21st, Ada was 72, and either she’d fallen on hard times, or it was a sort of last-minute thing, given that her birthday message is actually written on one of Bill’s business cards. Still, it’s the thought that counts.

The last item is Mum’s wooden 21st key, signed by those at her party. When I saw this, I thought “oh wow, it looks like a small affair”, but then I remembered my own 21st. I didn’t want a party at all, but Mum and Dad insisted. I think there were ten people there. I do remember getting a Philishave from Mum and Dad, and shortly thereafter deciding to grow a beard.

During Mum’s recollections with Kate, she said this of Dad:

Our home [that’s the Earle Street house] had a lovely comfortable feel and was very social – filled with family and friends and often later, as I got older, with our tennis crowd, which is where I met Alf. He was a lot of fun and very popular. Always there was a piano in those days in homes and Alf would spend the whole night playing the old war time tunes with everyone gathered around singing and dancing.

I can remember Dad at the piano at parties from when I was quite small. And it’s true, he would play all night if people wanted him to. He was self-taught and played piano in a stride stye similar to Mrs Mills, with the left hand laying down a thumping rhythm, and the right hand playing the melody in chord form. Dad had a solid repertoire of singalong favourites, some of which he recorded and which I converted to a CD after his death.

But well before that, Mum and Dad were grappling with bigger issues as their relationship became more serious during the late 1940’s and into the 1950s. In Mum’s own words:

There was such a difficulty because Alf was protestant, and I was Catholic. In those days to get married, he had to go to lessons with the local priest to understand Catholicism. They ended up having great debates and talked for ages beyond the lesson.

Religious Differences – Round 1

We’d always been told that religion had been an issue for Mum and Dad, as Dad and his parents were non-practising Anglicans. In fact, when you think about it, it would have been hard to find a couple considering wedded life together who were from such different backgrounds.

Mum was from a family of 12, had been brought up in the country, had an Irish Catholic background, with a very strong faith, and was 20 years old. Dad was an only child, born and raised in Sydney, with an English background, was Anglican, but not actively religious, and was 11 years Mum’s senior.

AI sums up the Australian experience like this:

In 1950s Australia, religious differences, particularly between Protestant and Catholic communities, were a significant source of social tension that could make relationships and marriages difficult. Family protocols discouraged inter-faith marriages, which often led to deep divisions, social exclusion, or disinheritance, and children of mixed marriages could face a confused identity. These attitudes reflected broader societal divisions rooted in colonial history, though overall religious importance was very high during this post-war era, particularly with strong church attendance and adherence to moral standards shaped by religion.

It was only a matter of time before religion would become a possible deal breaker for Gwen and Alf. It’s funny, because when Mum spoke about the issues around religion, she’d generally do so in terms like those in her quote above: that Dad had to go to special classes, and that he’d had quite enjoyed the intellectual argy bargy with the local priest. I’d always imagined that they’d resolved any potential difficulties during those sessions, and that they moved on to engagement and marriage without too much angst. But it turns out it wasn’t so.

If you click here you’ll see Dad’s transcribed shorthand notes from mid-1950. They’ve been transcribed by a UK shorthand expert, Tracey Harding. Reading this transcript I’ve realised that the issue of religious differences was much bigger than I thought. Dad had some strict rules including no church during the honeymoon, and the children had to be raised under The Church of England, NOT as Catholics.

It’s interesting to note that Mum stands firm, saying NO to those demands. She was always seen by us as the much younger and weaker of the two of them, but religious issues such as these were more important to her than we knew. Dad initially wanted Mum to give up her religion all together…but he realises that’s never going to happen. In fact Mum says they’d have to part if Dad continued to insist on no church during the honeymoon, and we yet to be born kids being raised as Anglican. The argy bargy went on and the couple struggled…a lot, as you'll see.

At one point Dad notes that:

During today at work it occurred to me that I had not at any stage actually proposed to Gwen so I decided to see her tonight on the way home and do so.

Being the old romantic that I am, I figured his ‘proposal’ would be an effusive declaration of love delivered on one bended knee with a sort of doe-eyed romanticism. But no, no, no...not from the master of the bullet point. Instead Dad delivered an 8 point ‘proposal’, with point 5 being further broken into two subparts.

a) I would not consider any papers signed at the order of the Catholic Church or promises made by me to the Catholic Church binding on me at all. I would only consider my agreement with Gwen herself binding.

b) I would not interfere with Gwen in her practice of her religion itself in any way but would expect her to use discussion in its application.

c) She must not try to influence me towards her religion.

d) As regards birth control, I must have the say.

e) As regards any children we may have, they must :-

a. Go to an ordinary school and not a Catholic school.

b. Be brought up in my religion, not hers (being Christened in my church).

f) She must not nag or argue with me and thus try to alter any of the above arrangements either before or after we are married.

g) I would be married in the Catholic Church and would attend some of their instruction purposes beforehand.

He said he MAY change his stance on these issues, but only once Mum had agreed with him. Subjugate first, and only then a possible compromise. Dad was tough. Eventually Mum agreed to Dad’s proposal, although from her behaviour later, I believe it was with a great deal of reluctance.

Shortly afterwards Mum received a letter from her Dad, who was in Leeton on a work trip. I’ve included the letter below, because it’s the only letter I found from Bill to Mum, but I’ll also transcribe it here just to make it a little easier to read.

4 – 7 -1950
Dear Gwen
I received your card with its flattering message, and I thank you and Alf for the thought.
I was pleased to learn that you and Alf had reached an agreement You have not to be told how highly we think of Alf and that I have every confidence in him.
I realise and appreciate that he is making a concession with regard to the requirements of our Church which he would not be able to view in the same light as we do.
I am told that you were prepared to forgo your future happiness for what your conscience told you was your duty, and I honour you accordingly.
I wish you both all the happiness you deserve.
Your loving Dad

Mum would have swelled with pride as she read her Dad’s words, “and I honour you accordingly”.

A couple of days after Bill’s letter, Mum and Dad also received notes from Mum’s sister Mary and her husband Arthur, who were living in Lae in Papua New Guinea, wishing Mum and Dad well.

Rather cryptically, Mary says: “I’m sure that with your experience and common sense Alf, in conjunction with Gwen’s youth and pleasant disposition you will go ahead swimmingly.” I’m not 100% sure just what ‘experience’ Dad brought to the marriage, although he was over 11 years older than Mum, and I’m sure he’d had the odd dalliance with the female of the species before he met Mum. How far such a ‘dalliance’ had ‘dallied’ would be a matter of conjecture.

And Arthur offered these wishes to the newly engaged couple: “Please accept, Gwen, my best wishes for an extremely short engagement and a long and delightful married life; and Alf, my heartfelt congratulations on having chosen so wisely and so well.” In doing so, Arthur drew from a poem by Edna St Vincent Millay, although I’m not sure whether it would have been so well received had the whole stanza been provided:

Yet women’s ways are witless ways,

As any sage will tell,

And what am I, that I should love,

So wisely and so well?

You can read Mary and Arthur’s full letters below.

Mary's letter to Gwen and Alf - p1

Mary's letter to Gwen and Alf - p2

Arthur's 's letter to Gwen and Alf

But by late August and into early September, even as Mum’s Mother continued with the October wedding preparations, Mum did a complete back flip on her commitment, and was clear about her strong and unwavering belief in all the Catholic teachings. This came after Dad’s assertion earlier that day that he believed she didn’t know what she wanted and that her religion was a lot of rot. Woah! Clearly both Mum and Dad were VERY pissed off, as they retreated into their respective corners.

After months of discussion and argument about this deep and troubling issue, and with things having been called off many times, I’m pretty sure calling my fundamental belief system ‘a lot of rot’ would be it for me.

By mid September 1950, the whole thing is a complete mess, with Dad writing:

My main trouble is in my mind in that I do not want to fight all my life and that I am thinking all the time to myself that I would be better to give Gwen up and try and find someone else I can feel the same about without any religious obligations. However, when it goes to the actual giving of her up, I cannot bring myself to do it. I am now satisfied she will not change her views at all and therefore I must give in.

And with that, the wedding plans were in full swing. The wedding invitations went out, with the nuptials set to take place on Saturday 28 October 1950.

But hang on. Mum and Dad weren’t married in October of 1950. They were married in February 1951. Well, it turns out that an October wedding was the original plan, but Mum pulled the pin on it, as she believed there were still unresolved issues around religion, and she couldn’t go ahead until they were sorted out. I don’t believe that Mum or Dad ever mentioned this to us, and I only worked it all out when I found the original wedding invitation, and an amazing cache of letters that passed between Mum and Dad during the very month they were supposed to have tied the knot – October 1950.

Mum and Dad almost broke things off completely during the middle to the end of 1950…many times, as you’ll see. Such were the doubts on both sides. It was an EXTREMELY close run thing. They just managed to stay the course, although it took its toll on them both, with Mum becoming increasingly ill and eventually taking a break from it all and heading to Austinmer with her sister Claire.

Religious Differences – Round 2

That was an amazing day for me, coming over 70 years since the events it covered. I’d been wading through all sorts of documents and photos, sorting and cataloguing them, when I found a manilla envelope containing 19 letters – nine from Dad to Mum, and ten from Mum to Dad. They covered the period from Saturday 7 October 1950, through to Thursday 19 October 1950, during which Mum had travelled to Austinmer, taking Claire with her. The goal was to distance herself from Dad and give herself time to think things through. At the time Mum was 22 and Claire was 20 – if those two wise heads couldn’t crack this issue wide open, while swanning about by the seaside, then who could?

During that time, Mum and Dad wrote to one another every day, aside from the middle weekend, when Dad and Harry (soon to be Claire’s husband) came down by train to Austinmer to stay.

I’m not going to include the contents of all those letters in this document. I think you’ll understand why when I tell you that Mum and Dad exchanged over 12,000 words. That said, if you have some spare time, they make for interesting reading. I’ve included the transcribed versions of them here, and the original letters can be found by clicking here.

What I do want to do, is quote some key bits from them, both to shed some light on how Mum and Dad were working through the big issues that threatened to keep them apart, but also because they shed so much light on my parents’ relationship. For those that knew either or both of them, I’m sure you’ll enjoy seeing another side of them. I know I did.

It didn’t come as much of a surprise to me that Dad wrote two thirds of those 12,000 odd words. He always had a love of words, and he loved to write…a LOT! Had it not been for the depression and WWII, and had he been a little more willing to take risks, I believe he would have made an excellent lawyer. As it was, he did help a lot of people through a variety of legal issues on too many occasions to count.

I believe I inherited Dad’s passion for the written word. Earlier this year, I was out with my stepdaughter Amanda and some of her friends, and she said to one friend that if she asked me if I could help her out by writing a one pager on something, I’d send her back at least 5 pages. The curse of the Landsberrys!

Dad’s first letter on Saturday 7 October included a gift of a set of rosary beads, about which he said:

You will by now also have opened your mysterious parcel and seen the contents and read the note. You will have also realised why I kept impressing on you why it was so important. It is meant to be a symbol of my acceptance of you as you are, and I hope that you will accept it and use it in the realisation that with love and understanding on both our parts - which I feel we both have, one for each other, beneath all the turmoil which has surrounded our thoughts in the last few months especially - we can and shall build a loving partnership and family in the future.

In this letter, Dad had also had some time to ponder about a few things that Mum had said just before she left. And they worried him. He recalled that she’d said that she wanted to be with him always, but then he recalled that Mum had said not to cancel their order for the bed – she could do that when she got back, if it needed to be cancelled. And he also realised that, although he and Harry were planning to come down to Austinmer the following weekend, it was Claire who had suggested that, and not Mum.

So, he put two and two together, and came up with a query as to whether Mum wanted him to come down at all, or even to write to her. This made him desperately sad, and he said:

Without you, life is empty and with you it is full, rich and glorious. I cannot imagine myself without you. Your voice and expressions and mannerisms keep haunting me. If I got a message now from you to come to you, I would get there if I had to walk all the way.

And bear in mind that this was a man who in later life wouldn’t walk a few hundred metres to go to the newsagent for his papers. Such is the fresh bloom of love.

Dad’s gift of the rosary beads was already at Keswick House in Austinmer by the time Mum and Claire checked in, and Mum’s letter of the same day referred to them:

I opened a parcel which a very charming and thoughtful young man gave me. I was never so thrilled in all my life - it was the most wonderful gift I have ever received. They are really lovely Darling, and I have always wanted a rosary of Mother of Pearl.

Mum hadn’t yet received Dad’s somewhat plaintiff letter, so was unaware of his concerns about her love for him, so it was fortuitous that she did say: “I am wearing my ring Darling, so don't panic”, although that was immediately preceded by “our room is quite comfortable, and the beds are not too bad” in the same paragraph. Make of that what you will.

Mum also used a fabulous old word, when she told Dad that:

After lunch two wolves asked us if we would like a game of tennis, so of course we accepted.

So swings and roundabouts for Dad on receiving this letter. She had the rosary beads, which she loved, and was wearing her engagement ring, but she was also referring to a pack of wolves sniffing about.

Dad’s next letter was the following day, Sunday 8 October, which he opened with “My sweet darling”. Now, although I recognise the handwriting as Dad’s, I’m struggling a bit to remember a time when Dad referred to Mum as ‘my sweet darling’ while I was about, unless he was being sarcastic.

Of course there’d been no post, so he was still in the dark as to Mum’s feelings, and she was yet to receive his first letter. I’m starting to see the benefits of email in situations of the heart that warranted an immediate response, although there’s something about a physical letter that seems more ‘important’.

Dad refers to the fact that he’s had a sort of epiphany moment, and he taunts Mum by saying that “tomorrow in my next letter I will tell you all about it”. He refers to the fact that, “my feelings, as well as yours, have been mixed up for so long that I want to be sure that I can put into words just what I am thinking right now.”

Dad also mentions popping down to the convent to see Anne. Anne was living as a novice Nun, having entered the convent the previous year when she turned 18. Dad reassures Mum by saying that he went to see Anne:

…as I knew you would be thinking of her and felt that it was through me indirectly that you were not with her. She is looking quite well, and I spoke to her alone for a moment and asked her would she say some prayers for you. She said she would, and also that she would say some for me too.

That same Sunday, with neither Mum nor Dad being aware of each other’s prior letters, Mum wrote again, referring to Dad as ‘darl’.

Darl?? Seriously, these may not be my parents at all.

Mum had gone and got herself badly sunburned, but that hadn’t stopped her having a good ol’ time of it all, news which I’m sure Dad would have received with some degree of annoyance.

She’d been to the movies to see Bitter Springs and “…one of those dreadful jungle pictures - the first one was quite good.” Although she was sensible to add that “there was one thing wrong though – my right hand was cold and lonely.” Nice save Mum!

Below is one of the movies that Mum referred to. The ‘dreadful jungle pictures’ she talks about are the Jungle Jim series of 16 movies made between 1948 and 1955, starring Johnny Weissmuller as Jungle Jim. Captive Girl was the 4th in the series. The Cinema was the Kings at Thirroul, which has since been renovated and renamed as Anita’s Theatre.

Bitter Springs Poster

Anita's now - was The Kings Theatre

Forget your 3 hours and 12 minutes for Avatar: The Way of Water. This double was an hour and 29 minutes for the feature, and just an hour and 13 minutes for Jungle Jim.

Mum added that she was off to a dance that evening with Claire, where in Dad’s mind, there would no doubt be a VERY large pack of salivating wolves circling about.

Anyway, the good news was that Mum had arranged accommodation for ‘the boys’ (Harry and Dad) for the following weekend. They’d all move to the Astrea, as the Keswick couldn’t accommodate the two additional visitors. This would be music to Dad’s ears, but first he had to actually get the letter.

Things took a turn towards the slightly absurd in Dad’s next letter on the Monday, when he opened with “Dearest Honeybunch”. Your parents in the early days of their relationship appear to bear little resemblance to them once the shine has somewhat tarnished as the years take their toll.

Anyway, despite Dad’s excellent start, he was somewhat despondent that no letter had arrived from Mum. He hoped it was just the “way the mails are working”, but he did also lament that “perhaps you may be having too good a time to write to your old mate.” Awww!!!

Despite the lack of return correspondence, Dad was surprisingly cheerful, saying that what he’d hinted at in his previous letter was that “I really feel that our religious troubles are over after Friday night, Saturday morning and all the thinking I have been doing since”. He promised to reveal more in a subsequent letter, but in the meantime, he said that for the first time in a long time he was feeling quite chipper, which was a fabulous feeling given that “for what seems to have been an age past, whilst all our troubles have been going on, I have awakened worried about our religious differences”.

Religious Differences – STILL a big issue after all this time!! Months and months.

Dad had one of his sessions on the Catholic faith with Father Stone, following which he’d called Nana (Mum’s Mum) and Harry, but they’d had no news from Mum or Claire either. And just to add more misery, he also mentioned that he’d cancelled the hall for the kitchen tea as well as the wedding photographer. I can feel the sadness in his letter, but then wait!! A bright spot, as “the 10 shillings that Mrs. Saul paid on the hall can be used to pay if she wants the hall at a later date - so here's hoping, anyway.” Dad always did love a financial win.

He ended with a thinly veiled reminder that he’d better get a return letter shortly, “I shall exist until I hear from you, and I can then start living again.” Oh, the angst!

That same Monday Mum was still suffering from sunburn. That said, she’d managed to enjoy the dance the night before, where Claire was asked to sing, which she did. Apparently, the group wasn’t aware of Mum’s Certificate III in music. She’d also managed to squeeze in a game of rounders on the beach, some French cricket and some more tennis.

For the second time in her letters, Mum mentioned how well behaved the children staying at Keswick House were, something that made me think of our own upbringing. It was very much Mum who was the disciplinarian. And it was she who stressed the basic rules of behaviour in public – we should be seen and not heard, always say ‘thank you for having me’ even if we’d had a hideous time, and NEVER take the last of anything – biscuit, cake, sandwich, rites – anything. Since then, cousin Wendi’s husband Steve has taught me that this last rule is just silly, something that he’s proved to me on too many occasions to count.

Mum insisted on us being THE BEST children in the entire world, and perhaps even beyond. If one of us stepped outside the well‑defined social boundaries, she would never make a big fuss. She would simply smile and lean over until she was so close to your ear that you could feel her breath, and whisper, “you are in SO MUCH trouble when you get home”.

Anyway, the Keswick House kids had apparently cottoned on to Mum’s rules all by themselves, which delighted her no end.

And as if Mum’s sporting and dancing activities weren’t enough, she also mentioned that ‘the gang’ were off to see Duck Soup, the Marx Brothers movie the following evening. Oh my God, when Dad received this letter and found out Mum was now in a ’gang’ which probably included some ‘wolves’ he would be devasted. And to expose his wounds to even more sodium chloride, they were off to see the Marx Brothers without him, when Mum KNEW that they were Dad’s absolute favourites.

I could see that trouble was only barely being held at bay by the tardiness of the postal service. But it was coming.

So, let’s recap. Dad was on his own in Sydney and had a bad case of the lovesick blues. Despite that he spent his time researching increasingly extravagant terms of endearment to be used in successive letters. He’d set the bar high with ‘dearest honeybunch’, but where to now? Ma petit chouchou? Punkin-wunkin?

Not only that but he was being dutiful and caring - checking in on Mum’s Mum, visiting Anne, and making sure he continued to have his educational sessions with the priest. And all of this while holding down a job.

Mum on the other hand, seemed to be treating this whole thing as a bit of a ‘holiday’. Gallivanting about the south coast, dancing, fighting off wolves, forming gangs, catching movies, dancing, swimming and working her way through more sports than an Olympic commentator. What had happened to the need for deep religious reflection and contemplation? Dad seemed to be putting in all the hard yards

But back to the correspondence. So, Tuesday came, and Dad was over the moon. So much so that he elected to open his letter with a little European flair, “My Darling Gwendolina”, he said as he told Mum that he’d received “not one, but two letters and a postcard”, and he took this as a clear sign that Mum still loved him, and that her “love for me is sincere and true, as it always has been and always will be”.

Looking back on the correspondence that had passed between Mum and Dad so far, I think Dad may have been reading a little too much into Mum’s letters. His missives were full of flowery talk of love and solving their religious differences so that they could live happily ever after. Mum’s were full of swimming, cinema, sunburn, sport and just generally having a hoot with Claire and their newly formed gang.

Although Mum had decided to postpone the wedding so she could decide whether the demands of Catholicism would drive a permanent wedge between she and Dad, it seemed to be Dad who was giving the whole issue the most thought, not to mention his ongoing work with the priests.

Nonetheless, Dad powered on, asking Mum whether she realised “that once again you and I have done something together for the first time? I mean our first real love letters to each other”, and that he had never “bared his soul” to anyone to such an extent.

Of course, he was delighted to hear that his gift had been well received, noting that “I shall not be really satisfied until I see you kneeling in our bedroom on our wedding night [hang on, hang on…this is the 50’s], dressed in that beautiful nightgown you have been making, saying your prayers with that very Rosary, and then becoming my own Snuggle-bunny in the truest and completest sense.”

I was still grappling with ‘honeybunch’ and ‘Gwendolina’, and now I had to deal with ‘snuggle-bunny’ as well. Every man has his limits.

Dad also praised Mum’s letter writing skills, saying that she was “the bestest letter writer ever”, although adding in parentheses “(after me, of course)”.

So, this is the letter where the rubber met the road (if you’ll pardon the atrocious pun) around the significant religious issues confronting Mum and Dad, not the least of which was Birth Control, which interestingly, Dad capitalised.

Dad starts by reminding Mum that he’d been telling her that he was going to “tell you why I think our religious difficulties are almost, if not completely, over and I shall now do so”. Then, with inexorable, almost legalistic logic, he proceeds.

His primary concern was whether Mum still loved him, and he felt that “of this I now feel certain from your letters - as certain as I know that I love you and will always”. That was the ultimate deal breaker, but at least in his mind, that was settled now. Love - and it was still ill-defined - conquered all.

He then tackled Birth Control and the schooling of we three children. Well, of course, we didn’t actually exist at this early stage, but nonetheless, this all needed to be sorted out.

To Dad, Birth Control was a no brainer, if they were to work towards getting on their financial feet before children. He briefly mentioned ‘abstinence’ but dismissed any thought of this being the only option. Ironically, I believe that abstinence became a much more significant issue in later life, but more on that a little later.

So, Birth Control…tick. Dad then pointed out that he’d made his position clear on schooling the previous Friday before Mum left. He wanted the kids to go to ‘ordinary schools’, by which I believe he meant ‘non Catholic’ schools, rather than schools that were a bit drab, dreary and mundane. But in a major concession he added that he “will endeavour to see your point of view on this, although I cannot promise anything definite”.

But then removing his red rag and preparing to wave it, he doubled down on these two issues with this thought, something that only a true renaissance man from 1950’s Australia would say, “I expect you to abide by my decisions as your husband on these two points and not to nag at me about them, but leave their solution entirely to my sense of consideration and love for you and our family to be, and what I think at the time will be best for all of us.”

Brutal.

But his logic went like this. I told you ALL this last Friday, and yet your letters continue to express your love for me, mentioning wedding rings and the like, ergo, ipso facto and ceteris paribus, you must therefore be in full agreement with me. It was only logical…well, to Dad at least.

While this was being written, Claire and Mum were probably gallivanting about with ‘the gang’, with Mum totally oblivious to the meaning that Dad had found hidden between the lines of her letters, and to the legal implications they were now causing.

But wait – and in a truly K-Tel moment – there’s more. Dad followed this by pointing out a major light bulb moment, inasmuch as “I no longer wish to change you from what you are, or stop you from doing what you want to do, such as going to Mass on our honeymoon and so on for example”.

Good move, as I’m sure Mum would have seen denial of Mass at any time as being VERY serious, while Dad would no doubt have had in mind a ‘service’ more aligned with bedroom antics that would allow little time for religion, unless it was someone shouting, ‘oh God!’.

Continuing with this somewhat forensic examination of how their differences could be resolved, Dad points out a bunch of key points:

·Why would he want our children to be different to their Mother, when he was in love with their Mother?
Why has he been trying to force his beliefs on Mum, when she wasn’t trying to force hers on him?
Why was he always trying to find flaws with Catholic beliefs in his work with Father Stone and Mr Mackay, when he wasn’t being asked to accept them, merely to let Mum continue to accept them.
Why was he insisting on his children NOT being raised Catholics – well, it wasn’t because he KNEW Catholicism to be wrong (“not having made or wanting to make a study of the subject at this stage in my life”), but more out of “damned pig headedness”. Although he had earlier, and no doubt in a fit of anger, called Mum’ belief system a load of rot!!

So, if he could just dump all this thinking, which he was sure he could now that he could see it for what it was, then it seemed to him that they were in agreement, that:

Mum loved him, and he her.
There would be Birth Control of some sort at some time. And given that it was over three years before Kate was born, I’m guessing this was enforced.
The children would go to non-Catholic schools.

Then BAM…the deal was done. At least in his mind. The logic was impeccable, so the conclusion was incontrovertible.

He was going to abandon any more work with Father Stone and Mr Mackay, and just rely on prayers instead, “for they are most powerful and have helped more than anything”. Dad strangely believed in the power of prayer, yet he was against organised religion.

And Dad ends with this:

Can we now once and for all, dispose of our religious troubles and make a truly new start based on our love, consideration & trust for each other. There will be minor differences and adjustments which can be overcome by each of us helping the other, but you will find there is not that calculating bitterness in me anymore. You are worth ten of people who give way, because you have risked what is, I hope, precious to you for your principles. May I be worthy of you.

Although there are a few PS’s, including this PPPS, “I cancelled Chatswood Town Hall and the Alexa - both were sorry about you, and we can get both later and use deposit paid then”. Always the conservative one regarding money, I can almost feel the pleasure that he would have felt, knowing that their deposit wasn’t lost forever.

Mum wrote that same Tuesday, although of course she was yet to get Dad’s letter which pretty much saw everything resolved – from one side at least. But she had received his previous, somewhat plaintiff letters, and assured him that he should continue to write, and that…

…I still miss you my darling, so don’t think you are forgotten - you are far too sweet to me, and I have several treasured things in which to remember you (not that they are necessary).

Other than that, her letter was full of more of the good times that she and Claire were having, with nothing from her side regarding her thoughts on resolving their differences. Dad was putting in the hard yards on that front, no doubt. He used to say that Mum was lucky that he’d come along and ‘taken her off the shelf’, but perhaps that boot was on a different foot altogether – after all, he was 33 and I guess men could reside on shelves just as easily as women.

When Dad wrote again the following day, Wednesday 11 October, he’d received Mum’s letter from Monday, so he was well pleased. Everything was organised regarding his and Harry’s trip down on Friday night, when Dad promised to “turn on a big passionate kissing session as soon as I see you then, no matter where we are when we meet - do you approve?”.

He seemed in much better spirits, I’m guessing because everything seemed to be resolved in his mind, he even referred to one of the ‘wolves’ who’d been stalking Mum and Claire, with this comical warning, “By the way, keep well away from that wolf down there. Remember I'm a much better wolf myself, and after all, a De Soto is so much better than a miserable Ford Prefect, don't you think?”.

And he ended this much briefer letter with this original poem:

To Gwendoline

Yours is a beauty and a grace

Of soul and mind as well as face.

Darling, I love you - you are mine.

Let love unite us till the end of time.

Mum’s letter that day was also a short one. She wouldn’t have received Dad’s ‘light bulb’ letter by the time she wrote. She and Claire had been to see her Aunt Ada (Irene’s eldest sister) and her husband Uncle Mick.

Mum had been having problems with her eyes that were ongoing, and she was still sunburnt, but now also peeling, commenting that “you can imagine how beautiful I look”.

No letters were written again until the following Monday, the 16th of October, because Harry and Dad had come down on the Friday night and stayed for the weekend. That’s a bit of a shame, because Mum never responded to Dad’s lengthy letter explaining how everything had been resolved in accordance with sections 45(a) to 52(e) of the Alf Landsberry Resolution of Religious Disparity Act (1950). I guess they spoke about this over the weekend instead.

Harry and Claire

Alf and Gwen

So, Dad writes his next letter on the night of Monday 16 October. He and Harry came back on the early morning train that morning, and he could hardly stay awake at work because of the late nights they’d all had down at Austinmer.

Remember that Dad had been writing these lengthy letters addressing the very issues that had driven them apart, while Mum’s letters were all about fun and games. Well, it would appear that Dad had got a bit miffed about this disparity, and had spoken to Mum about it, because in this letter he said:

I've just been reading some of your previous letters and I'm a silly‑billy for criticising them. They are filled with sweet expressions and love for me. Take no notice of me, but help me by keeping on looking at me as you do – you are the only one who can – you are the only one I want.
As I'm writing, I keep looking at your picture - you are so sweet, my dearest! I just go weak at the knees when I think of you (don't you dare call me a lovesick prawn, either).

And even though Dad thought it had all been sorted out with his lengthy letter from the previous week, having spent the weekend with Mum, he “was surprised and hurt when you said on Saturday night and Sunday morning that you still felt some doubts.”

What were these, I wonder? Uggghh…and yet it STILL goes on!

But he barrelled on regardless, saying that “after last night I do not really think you can have any doubts, do you?”. Now I’m not sure what had happened the previous night, but it must have convinced Dad that he’d somehow managed to get things back on track. He ended his letter saying that he “will write you some poetry later in the week. The trouble is the English language does not possess words sweet enough to express what I feel in my heart for you.”

He was still well ahead of Mum in the whole “baring your soul” stakes. And I’m guessing that he was struggling with the fact that Mum was not nearly as effusive. The thing is, that really wasn’t Mum’s style, certainly not back in those days. And by the time that side of her had developed, I think Dad had kind of given up, and Mum was more interested in her kids and the O’Brien Family Festival, as Dad was fond of calling it.

Dad was always the more analytical. I come back to that thought I mentioned earlier – he was the more “legal”. He loved to tease out tricky issues and write about them. Mum was far more practical. Just another of the many differences between them. They say that opposites attract, but I guess there can be too many “opposites” sometimes.

Mum also wrote on that Monday, saying how she and Claire had hopped back into bed again after seeing the boys off at the station, and they’d slept until 12:30pm, springing up when they saw the time, because, as Mum said, “I had no desire to be late for lunch again after our two sessions (I mean lunch, my sweet)”. See, now that right there is just crying out for a wink emoji or the like. There are quite a few moments through their letters when Mum and Dad would have benefited from a smiley face, or a wink, or even something a little raunchier. How much richer all our lives are now that those whacky Scientists at the International Emoji Institute have provided us with the simple ability to express all the emotions we’ll ever need?

Mum knew that Dad was disappointed that she couldn’t (or maybe wouldn’t?) express her feelings as strongly as he did, which made me sad when I read it. She said:

I am sorry I am not able to write a letter as romantic as yours, Darling, but I’m afraid It is impossible as I would be using your terms of endearment, and that wouldn’t be fair to you. Perhaps someday I will be able to write you a beaut, but until then you will have to be content with this effort (not too bad either I think).

She was doing her best, a fact that she must have wanted Dad to know, because they spoke on the phone on Tuesday the 17th of October, and Dad noted in his letter of that day Mum’s “remark about putting your best into your letter last night”. Awwww!! Dear Mum. She was bending towards Dad as much as she could, given their vastly different backgrounds, experience and levels of maturity.

Dad had been feeling a bit glum that day, commenting that “all day I think I must have been mentally plucking petals from daisies and saying ‘she loves me. She loves me not’. What I was thinking really was ‘Will Gwen set the date with certainty and without doubts for our wedding when I see her next weekend’".

Hence why Dad had called Mum – as said, “since speaking to you tonight, dear, I have been floating along feeling that you are all mine and always will be.”

There was more literary love making from Dad, including:

I guess I never realised properly how much you and your love really mean to me until this time when we have been parted. It is awful when you are away, and I never want to be apart from you again my darling.
Do you get sick of me telling you how sweet you are or much you mean to me? I could go on for ages and honestly, I mean every word.

He signed off with this rather short poem: “Oh how I long for Gwendoline, I hope that she’ll be always mine”.

And then in a PS, Dad asked Mum to remember him to Claire, “I hope she has recovered from her, shall we say, indisposition”, another of those times a wink emoji would have been most appropriate.

Mum’s letter of the same day, started with her saying that she was a bit down in the dumps since Dad and Harry had left the day before, but that she’d cheered up when Dad had called.

Then there’s a few observations that I’ve tried to imagine my Mum saying or writing as I knew her in later years, and I just can’t hear her “voice” in these:

My word the word the crowd here are terribly dull darling. We get most bored. You remember the couple from New Guinea? Well if he talks very much more, we will be forced to leave the Astrea.
You remember that young boy sitting at the next table to us? Well he has practically driven us crazy too. He talks and his mother never stops him. I’m sure he wouldn't get away with it from me (aren’t I hard, my Pet).

There it is again…that pointer to the future for we three as yet unborn children. Mum must have been fighting off the urge to smile, lean over and quietly tell the young lad that he was in SERIOUS trouble when he got home.

But this one is an absolute cracker:

If Claire’s pimple gets any worse, I think we will probably come home.

My God, just how big was this freakin’ pimple?? I’m guessing this is what Dad had referred to as “her, shall we say, indisposition”. If it was going to warrant an early departure, I can only assume that it was large enough to be causing concerns amongst the other guests: “Here comes that dreadful girl with Mount Everest on her nose…I say, look out… that thing could take one’s eye out!”.

Anyway, I assume that things subsided as they stayed on until the appointed day of their departure.

And with that, Mum signed off as, “your fondest mate, old Gwendoline”.

Wednesday saw Dad writing again – not that surprising, I guess. He was delighted that it was only a few more days until they would be reunited and he could “snuggle my nose into your cobwebby hair again”. Look, I like a simile as much as the next man, but I’m just not sure that “cobwebby” would have been the term Mum was looking for when it came to her hair. What was next? “I can’t wait to wallow about in the massive folds of your chins”.

Dad was actually full of good humour, commenting with regard to Mum’s penchant for Passiona, that she should be careful as “it packs a mighty dash of the pash”. And he outlined his plans for their first date when Mum was back on Saturday, which included such delights as eating at the “Hole‑in‑the‑Wall, where there was nothing over 1 and 6 pence, and then being entertained by watching the George street trams go by. What a wag he was!!

And then, at quarter to midnight, he committed to writing this poem which he included with his letter, signing off an hour later at quarter to 1am. Always the night owl:

To My Gwendoline
Into my life one sunny day, there came a girl so sweet and gay
With dancing eyes and ready smile, that in a very little while
I knew that I must make her mine until the very end of time.
Slow was I to start my plan, for through my mind there always ran
The thought that such a one as she could never look at lowly me
I felt unworthy of her love, she seemed to me so far above.
Taking courage in my hands and with the help that others planned
I approached this Queen of mine and, slowly, with the help of time
I came to know that she felt, too, just as I had wanted her to.
Slim and lovely is my Queen. Pure & sweet she's always been.
Innocent, yet full of fun, I know that she's the only one
To be with me as my Dear Wife, for the balance of our life.
Storm clouds gathered - they are past. Soon you will be mine at last
With the help of One Above, let us glory in our love
Let us marry, you and me, and build a happy family.

Mum wrote the same day, so was yet to receive this poetic effort. After some news, Mum noted that Harry was coming down on Friday night, I’m assuming to accompany the girls back to Sydney. In case Dad had thought to do the same, she was quick to say that “although I would like to see you, my sweet, I think it would be an awful waste of money, as we will need all we have got to keep us going.”

Well, when Dad got this, I’m sure he would have felt all his Christmases had come at once, as Mum was fond of saying in later life. I mean it’s not just about the fact that Mum refers to the need for them both to save all they can to “keep us going” in marital life. But it’s the fact that Mum was being frugal, a quality that Dad would turn into an art form in later years.

Mum did refer to something that Dad had mentioned in his earlier letter – the fact that he had criticised her letters, and probably more, as on the Saturday and Sunday Mum had also told Dad that she still had some doubts. She reassured Dad, saying, “You needn’t apologize for anything that happened at the weekend, dear. I deserve everything I got. But I have been so lonely to-day, and even if you were here rousing on me, I am sure I wouldn’t mind.”

Reading between the lines, my guess is that Dad had just about reached the end of his tether, having bared his soul, proclaimed his love too many times to count, bent over backwards to accommodate Mum’s beliefs (well, at least leant over backwards, which was about as far as he was willing to go), and even written poetry for God’s sake. I mean, what did this woman want!?!

And so, he likely had some sort of dummy spit about Mum’s indecision, and then that led into a rant about her lack of skills as a writing companion, and on it probably went. In later life, this was something that developed into another “skill”, and which sadly David and I learned quite well during our younger years. The ability to deliver sarcasm and verbal attacks when our ire has been prodded is something of a Landsberry curse, and one that I’ve worked hard on controlling, as I’m sure David has.

Anyway, Mum appeared to have taken it in her stride, and on this very rainy Wednesday night, she wished that she “was there tucked up in bed with you dear, with my head tucked on your shoulder (and bobby pins scratching your face) ha ha”. And no doubt some of that annoying cobwebby hair flapping about in Dad’s face as well.

Thursday saw the last letters being written, as the plan was that Mum would return on the Saturday morning train. And once again, Dad was in a chipper mood: “I skipped away to work happily and sang my way through most of the day.”

Dad had been making sure to drop in on Irene (Mum’s Mum) several times while Mum and Claire had been away, as she’d been largely on her own because Bill was away in the country for his insurance work. But this particular night he amped this up:

Well, Darling, I arrived at your home tonight with a bunch of roses for your Mother (don't you dare say "Crawler") and had a nice tea. Joan, who was supposed to be out, came home for tea after all and so the three of us had a yarn until ¼ past 9 when I left. Your Father is expected home tomorrow morning (a week early – as it is raining so much in the country).

Dad promised to give his “snuggle bunny” 1,001 kisses on Saturday and signed off saying “How much I have enjoyed receiving your letters and writing these of mine. I know you feel the same.”

Mum wrote back, largely in response to Dad’s Wednesday letter saying this of his poetry, “My word your poetry definitely is a bit classy darl - you ought to do something about it. I honestly don't know how you think of it.”

She also told him of their day’s activities in this fabulous paragraph, with all the verve you’d expect of two sisters in their early 20’s.

You have no idea what an awful day it has been here my dear. This morning we took off in raincoats, hoods and no shoes and proceeded down to the shops, paddling in the water as we went along. You can imagine how we looked. The water felt cold on the streets but on the way back we tried the surf, and it was beaut, so we then decided to go swimming, which we did. Of course, everyone thought we were crazy, but who cares. We had a lovely swim, and then went to Keswick and dragged the others, and we had a beaut ball game in the pool. Pity you weren’t here dear. The waves were just about like the surf in the pools, and Max got carried right out of the baths.

And with that, their correspondence ended, at least for the time they’d spent away from one another. Actually, I don’t recall anything like this amongst either Mum or Dad’s documents. There were lots of cards and short notes, but nothing with this level of detail or in such loving terms.

As I said at the beginning of this chapter, they were good days when I found Dad’s shorthand and these letters. A lot of couples would never have written them. And, even if they had, I’ve known many people who’ve destroyed their love letters for one reason or another. So, it was exciting for me to find a complete set that covered such an important time in Mum and Dad’s lives.

But on reading them and putting this chapter of Mum’s life down on paper, it struck me just how sad they are in some respects. There was Dad at 33 years of age, pouring out his heart to Mum, and trying to find a logical way through what was essentially an emotional problem for her. I was so like him, and not in a good way. Dear me!!!

It was as though Dad had a whiteboard out when he was writing some of these letters to Mum, following the logic of his arguments as though he’d flowcharted the whole thing – if this, then that, else that. It all seemed so clear to him.

For Dad it was like this: You say you love me and want to marry me, and that should be enough for us to marry, in my mind. But I know that you have reservations. Well, let me address those one by one, which he did.

But you see, for Mum, this was never about logic. It was about what was in her heart about her faith and Catholicism – not what was in her head. Mum’s upbringing had been steeped in Catholicism and faith. It was the very foundation on which her life was built. As much as Anne wanted to honour God by entering the convent and devoting her life to Him, Mum wanted to honour God through marriage to someone who shared her beliefs, and with whom she could procreate according to God’s will.

You could present Mum with as much logic as you wanted to, but if it didn’t feel right in her heart, none of that would matter. The way Dad’s mind worked, made no sense at all to Mum.

Reading these letters again, I can feel Dad’s angst. I believe that Mum and Dad were in love, although I also believe that “love” is a difficult thing to accurately measure. Hence why Dad’s letters were so passionate, and so relentless about having resolved their differences, and wanting nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with Mum.

Mum’s letters were full of news of movies, dances, frolicking on the beach, and such. She didn’t need to put time into working through their issues. She just had to give herself some space and God would provide her the answer in His own way, and in His own time.

And so, on reading these letters so closely, it became clear that Mum and Dad’s marriage was built on rocky foundations right from the start. There was a chasm between them that was spanned by the flimsy bridge of compromise. Dad compromised to accommodate Mum’s religious beliefs, at least as far as he could, while Mum compromised in accepting a husband who didn’t share the beliefs that were at her very core.

And sadly, over time, that chasm widened, and the flimsy bridge was stretched beyond what it could take, and that’s how Mum and Dad “as a couple” just gradually disappeared, and they reverted to their opposite sides of the divide. But more on all of this later.

For now, there was a wedding to arrange. And this one was real. And thank God for that, because without that EXTREMELY unlikely event occurring, who would be writing this? A philosophical question that’s way too hard for me to grapple with just now.

I’m reminded of Dad’s fateful words from early 1951 – ‘For better or worse. For richer or poorer. God be with us both.’

But was He?