Part 4 - Marriage and children (1951 to 1965)

While I don’t have anything to back up the final resolution of Mum and Dad’s religious differences, from the letters that passed between them the previous year, details of which you can find here, I believe that the gist of the settlement was along these lines:

That contraception would be allowed while the couple established themselves.
That Mum would be ‘allowed’ to practice her faith, including going to church during their honeymoon.
That any children would be raised as Catholics, but that they (or ‘we’ as it turned out) would go to public schools, or as Dad had referred to them in his letters to Mum the previous year, ‘ordinary schools’.
And most importantly, that Mum would allow Dad to manage these decisions and not ‘nag’ him about them.
And thereby the deal was signed, sealed and delivered, with their wedding scheduled for Saturday the 3rd of February 1951. By today’s standards the ‘deal’ seems very geared towards the man, but such were the times.

The service was to be held at St Joseph’s Catholic Church in Lindsay Street, Neutral Bay at 3:30pm, with the reception at Chatswood Town Hall.

Page 1 of Gwen and Alf's marriage certificate

Page 2 of Gwen and Alf's marriage certificate

St Joseph's Church, Neutral Bay

Chatswood Town Hall 1950s

Mum’s two bridesmaids were her sisters Claire and Joan, and the groomsman were Dad’s cousin Vere Stephenson and one of Dad’s mates, Jack Sherwin (who would later sell 34 Laurel Street to Dad). Of course, Mum made her own wedding dress, and I’m guessing that Claire and Joan made their bridesmaid’s dresses.

Front cover of handmade wedding card from Anne

Inside of handmade wedding card from Anne

If you’d like to see some more of Mum and Dad’s wedding and reception photos, they’ll be posted up very soon.

Mum and Dad honeymooned at Austinmer, which was ironic given that it was the place Mum had escaped to when she needed to work through the religious differences that had caused she and Dad to break off their engagement so many times the previous year. Maybe they both saw this as the place where everything was resolved, clearing the way for their marriage.

Mum recalled the early years of their marriage when she spoke to Kate:

When we were first married, Alf and I lived with his parents across the road from the pair of semis we bought. We’d all scraped together literally our last pennies to buy them. But we couldn’t get the tenants out due to the tenancy laws of the day.

Alf’s mother called him Alfie. If he got up in the middle of the night, she’d be up to check nothing was wrong. She always had to check if he had his singlet on. It was hard as a newlywed.

The house Mum talks about was 106 High Street, Willoughby. At that stage in 1951 Willoughby was becoming a bit of a Landsberry stronghold. My Dad’s grandmother (Lottie) lived at 42 Laurel Street, his Mum and Dad at 106 High Street, and Mum and Dad had just bought the pair of semi‑detached houses opposite at 121 and 123 High Street. Later, Dad would purchase 34 Laurel Street from his groomsman and long‑time friend, Jack Sherwin, using his superannuation from Burns Philp. All these houses were within a couple of hundred metres of one another, and that suited Dad down to the ground as his family was all around him in a sort of self‑contained Landsberry bubble.

Mum mentions the inability to remove the tenants in the semis. In 1939, national rent and eviction controls were imposed for the duration of the Second World War, and some states (including NSW) continued to apply them in the post-war reconstruction period.

You may remember the letter that Mary, Mum’s oldest sister, sent to her just after her first engagement in 1950. It referred to my Dad’s “experience” and my Mum’s “youth and pleasant disposition”. Rather uncomfortably, this made me think of their wedding night, something I don’t believe any of we children ever discussed in detail with our parents. Let’s face it, the sex life of your parents is a subject best skirted around at worst, and totally ignored at best.

The left-hand shot is the front cover of one of Dad’s “Radio Servicing” books. Of course it is. It says so on the brown paper cover on which Dad has written those very words. But wait. Open it up and inside the REAL title is “Life Long Love- Healthy Sex and Marriage”. The wily fox! No parent would go snooping about in a chap’s radio books, now would they?

When I came across them after Dad died, I realised just how determined he’d been to understand the mysteries of marital harmony. The 1950s were hardly the age of enlightenment when it came to such things, but Dad clearly hoped knowledge might help bridge the emotional divide. There were a LOT of these books!!

Life-Long Love: Healthy Sex and Marriage by Mr MacAndrew, offered this observation:

Unfortunately, or fortunately, man differs from woman in this respect: he can, for a time at least, experience physical pleasure with a female for whom he has no real love, whereas most women get no thrill from physical union with a man who does not appeal to them spiritually.

Given the gulf between Mum’s religious beliefs and Dad’s more worldly approach, this seemed to capture their dilemma precisely. With chapter titles such as: Glimpses Into the General Human Physiology of Sex, Sexual Communion – Technical Considerations, and On Flirting and Free Love, it was clearly Dad’s logical, readerly attempt to make sense of something that, for Mum, was guided more by faith than by any textbook.

I’m sure they both tried to understand each other’s needs, but their different backgrounds and beliefs made that difficult. And for the first months of their marriage, their shared bed was in Dad’s parents’ home — a circumstance that would have made any close bond awkward at the best of times.

Mum (and I’m sure Dad also), was much relieved when they were able to move into their own place, which was one half of the pair of semis opposite Dad’s parents’ house. The couple had little money, having stretched both themselves and Dad’s parents to their absolute limits to buy the semis. Mum said they literally had about one pound left between all four of them when the deal was done.

In the middle of the year following their marriage, my Dad’s Dad became very sick. He was taking APC powders, which were Aspirin, Phenacetin and Caffeine for pain, although I’m not sure what had caused his chronic pain. He’d been a painter all his life, so perhaps it was something to do with that.

My Dad was buying these APC powders in the hundreds. Amongst my Dad’s papers I found one order for 500 APC powders on 16th Feb 1951, followed by a second order for 500 just two months later on the 2nd April. I’m not sure whether my granddad was taking them at the rate of 8 a day, or whether Dad was possibly stockpiling them. Twenty years later, during the 1970’s, two things became apparent – firstly that these APC powders were addictive, and secondly that the Phenacetin caused kidney disease and cancer. And while all of this was unknown in the early 1950’s, many years later my Dad was always at pains to tell me that it was the APC powders that had killed his Dad, who eventually succumbed to kidney failure on 14 August 1952. Ironic, given I had my own issue with kidney cancer in 2014, resulting in removal of my right kidney.

On that day 19 1952, my grandfather was at home in bed and very unwell. Dr Magill came to check on him in the morning, and my Mum was there with Nana (Dad’s Mum). Dr Magill told Mum that he didn’t think Alf senior would last much longer, and she should call Dad, who was at work, so he could be there when his Dad eventually passed away. My Mum called my Dad, and told him the news, and he said he understood and that he’d get the bus straight away. Mum told me that she said, “For God’s sake, Alf, get a cab”, but even with his Dad at death’s door, Dad refused, and took the bus. He made it before his Dad passed away...but only just.

As far as I can remember, I don’t believe I ever saw my Dad get a cab. That would have been the absolute ultimate wasteful indulgence for him.

Although this is primarily the story of my Mum, I mention my grandfather’s death because I believe it had a profound impact on Dad, and consequently on Mum. Dad was an only child, and very close to his parents. He was living with them right up until he was married at 33 years of age. Mum said that Dad changed after his Dad’s death.

She’d known that he had a tendency for what would probably have been called ‘odd behaviour’ during their courting period. Things that may now be seen as ‘obsessive compulsive’. Making carbon copies of everything he wrote. Being heavily focused on security and money. Writing lengthy letters of protest against various things. She probably thought these were admirable qualities – he was cautious, cared about justice, and wanted their family to be financially secure.

But amp those behaviours up tenfold, and you have a different beast altogether. This was the trajectory that my Dad was on, and Mum felt strongly that it all started when his Dad died.

Meanwhile, it seems that Dad’s ‘special radio’ books had done the trick as Mum fell pregnant late in 1953. I believe that she would have wanted to start a family straight away – Irish Catholics…it’s part of the breed – but maybe Dad held that at bay for as long as he could, as he’d mentioned contraception and the need for the couple to establish themselves financially before starting a family.

Dad chronicled the pregnancy on the foolscap sheet shown below.

I find this document quite amazing for several reasons. First, and foremost – who would write something like this? It’s like a bullet point report from the front during a war. But this is all about the joyous birth of your first child.

It’s headed up ‘Re Gwen’s Pregnancy and Kathleen’s Birth’. It all sounds so formal – I think it’s the use of ‘re’. Then there are 15 numbered points which take us through the key events across the pregnancy. And the top right corner refers to it being filed under 21 July 1954 (the day of my sister’s birth). Throughout his life, Dad was absolutely committed to filing things by date, and this was the cause of many ‘robust’ debates between he and I in later years when I’d try to assist him to catch up on the myriad of ‘pending’ items he had on the go. Subject filing, THEN date seemed so much easier. But ‘no’. Not while Dad had breath left in him.

Point 1 of the note starts with: ‘Gwen’s last period 17/18/19/20 Oct 53’, with the last point (point 15) bookending this nicely with ‘13/9/54 Gwen’s period commenced again’. Dad would have liked the symmetry of that.

It’s all very business‑like, with about half the numbered points covering the financial aspects of the pregnancy, including point 7 which said, ‘4/1/54 Gwen will keep record of pregnancy and baby expenses’. You see, Dad would likely have wanted a record of costs, so that he could somehow look to recover those from Kathleen at a later date! I mean alright she was tiny and oblivious now, but later on she’d clearly see the costs were hers. Wouldn’t she?

Even the actual date of Kathleen’s birth gets a sort of Telex or Telegram treatment: ‘21/7/54 5:20am baby girl born. 8lbs 14oz, 22½ inches long. Both well. 11am saw Gwen – ok. 3:45pm saw baby – OK (black hair).’

You old softy Dad. Just look at the flood of emotion as his first child is born. “Here is the news – baby born – all OK…more at 6”.

Anyway, that turned the couple into a family. And away they went.

The latter part of the 1950’s saw unbridled joy, balanced against two sad events for the couple. First, Mum became pregnant with me (hence ‘unbridled joy’ of course). I was due in September 1957, but it was at around that time that my Dad’s grandmother, Lottie, became ill. She died on 2 September 1957. Lottie was 91 years old.

My grandmother Bessie, Lottie’s daughter and my Dad’s Mum, had moved in with Lottie to take care of her after the death of Dad’s Dad in 1952. That was at 42 Laurel Street in Willoughby, the house that Bessie’s parents had built in the 1920’s. This is the only house I remember my Nana living in, and she lived there until her death in April of 1975, aged 86. Later, during the 1980s, Mum and Dad did 42 Laurel Street up, and Mum lived there until moving into care at Lansdowne in 2015.

The death of Lottie was another heavy blow for my Dad, as he was also very close to her. That said, at 91 it would be hard to say that her death could have been that much of a surprise. Of course, it wasn’t that easy for my Mum as the whole thing happened right as she was approaching full term with me. In fact, it was at the funeral that Mum’s waters broke, and she was taken off to hospital. Truly, the circle of life.

My Nana (Dad’s Mum) didn’t go to one funeral aside from her own. Not even her husband’s back in 1952, or her Mum’s in 1957. I never found out why, but I can kind of get it, as I have the fear of death that Woody Allen put so well – I find it difficult to imagine my life without me in it.

And so, on Wednesday 4 September 1957, unto Mum and Dad a son was born, and they shall name him Robert. Look, I’m not bitter, but I never found the single foolscap sheet covering the stages of Mum’s pregnancy with me. I’ll put it down to the fact that my birth coincided with the death of Dad’s grandmother, but still…

But death was to revisit the couple just 16 months later, with the passing of Mum’s Mum, Irene on 29 January 1959. Of course, Irene and Bill are at the centre of this whole project, and you can read more about their lives (and deaths) here. Mum’s parents had just sold the family’s home at Earle Street in Cremorne and purchased a semi at 10 Stephen Street, Willoughby. In fact settlement on both properties had literally happened just the day before Irene had a heart attack.

So, the 50’s were a mixed bag for Mum and Dad. They’d almost not been married at all, not once but many times, but they JUST managed to snatch wedded bliss from the jaws of abject loneliness. Mum had endured chapter after chapter of ‘radio’ details aimed at getting her in tune with Dad’s more sensual side. Dad had lost his Father and his Grandmother. Mum had lost her Mother. And the couple had had two children.

What would the swinging 60’s bring to the couple? The new decade started with Mum hitting the swimming pool. I mentioned earlier that neither Mum nor Dad were particularly strong swimmers, although they both loved the beach.

I also mentioned that Mum was committed to making sure that we three kids learned to swim, with two weeks of daily classes every summer school holidays (followed by honeycomb in those cellophane bags – if we were good).

Well, pardon the pun, but in 1961 she decided to take the plunge herself, undertaking a program of swimming lessons culminating with the award of the certificate shown below.

I question the need to point out that this was an award from the Amateur Swimming Association, given that it was an award for swimming 25 yards. But hey, at least Mum was making an effort.

April of the following year saw the Landsberry Family filled out to its final number, with the birth of David Frederick. David was always fond of saying that Mum and Dad stopped at three kids because they simply couldn’t better him.

I always had the feeling that Mum may have wanted more children, and that the 3 and 5 year gaps between us were due to her having some difficulty getting pregnant. That said, I never talked to her about that, and I’m not sure that Kate or David did either. Whatever the case, we were now a family of five.

Mum had given up work when she was pregnant with Kate, and as the 60’s kicked off she was a full time Mother and Wife, as most women were during the 50s and 60s. As far as I remember, Dad was happy with this. He had a couple of sayings that he delivered in a slightly humorous way, but underneath the wink, for him they contained more than just a modicum of truth. These were inappropriate back then, but they seem far worse now.

“Women should be barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen” was a favourite, along with, “When you look at history, you’ll see that women are really second‑class citizens, and should probably never have been given the vote”.

Yeah, not that funny. And not that great to be saying in front of your growing children. I can put some of it down to ‘the times’. And Dad did like to throw little one liners like these into conversations just to get a rise from people. I believe that gradually wore thin with Mum.

Mum did pretty much all the domestic chores. I only ever remember Dad doing anything domestic when Mum left him for a short time in 1985, and even then, I never saw him actually doing any household jobs. Apart from that time, he never did the shopping or any cooking – proudly boasting that all he could do was boil water and make toast. He never ironed, did the washing, or did any cleaning. You may think I’m making this up, but you can see in the photo below that, such an oddity was it to see Dad do any household work, that some witty wag thought the sight of him wiping up was worthy of a photo – and these were the days when a photo was expensive!

Dad liked routine. Dinner at 6pm every night. Simple predictable food. In fact, he wasn’t keen on change of any kind. Mum slotted into the role as best she could, but it became harder and harder as Dad became more entrenched in his odd behaviour, and as the women’s movement during the 60s became stronger.

Back then a housewife and mother generally didn’t go back to work until the children were all at school, and sometimes not even then. And generally, the husband was in charge of the finances, doling out what was called ‘the housekeeping money’ to his wife, so that she could buy what she needed to run the house. Mum and Dad were no different…there was no way Dad would consider giving Mum unfettered access to a bank account.

I always felt that Mum’s housekeeping would have been on the meagre side. Dad used to cut out and keep newspaper articles on all manner of things financial – he used to get all 5 newspapers every weekday, and all the Saturday and Sunday papers, so there were a LOT of articles. Somewhere in there would have been articles on what it cost to run an average house. He would have done his research, come up with an average amount, and then thought “I’ll just take 10% off, and see how Gwennie goes”.

Mum ALWAYS struggled to manage the house on what Dad gave her. She was frugal because she had to be, and as a child of the depression who’d seen what an impact it had had on his own family, Dad was all in favour of frugality. It was a ‘quality’ that he carried with him his whole life. Some would say he was tight. I’m his son, and I’d say he was tight.

Mum was more than adept with a needle, so she’d make most of our clothes and hers as well. She was a good cook, particularly in the dessert and baked goods areas. She was frugal during these years, mainly because she had to be.

By the time David was born, Dad was 45. In later life he said to Kate that he was never really into children, and that certainly wasn’t helped by his advancing years and his increasingly poor mental health.

But many people around him either didn’t see this, or they chose to see only Dad’s good qualities. Of course, they didn’t have to live with his bizarre behaviour.

Kate recalls Mum’s love of the ocean, the beach, and family life. There were swimming lessons at Lane Cove Pools — Mum ‘dragging’ her out after yet another lap — and the dash to the pool shop, huddled in a towel on cold days, for a hot sausage roll with tomato sauce. There were bus trips to visit relatives or into ‘town’ (Sydney) for picnics in the Botanic Gardens. “We were always dressed in our best, with Mum making sure we stayed neat and clean. I remember Rob neat as a pin with a little bow tie!”

With so many cousins the same age, there was never a shortage of playmates or new babies joining the O’Brien tribe. Looking back at photos from that time, Kate says,

it’s amazing to see the beautiful dresses Mum made for both of us — the hand smocking, the matching bonnets. Growing up surrounded by family and faith was a wonderful way to begin life. I’m so grateful to Mum for creating that foundation of love and connection.

There are photos of our family, including Dad’s mum and Dad at Balmoral Beach, with Dad building sandcastles or giving piggyback rides, and memories of ‘foot rides’ down the hallway at home. And the occasional Freddo Frog or Caramello Bear from Dad.

Freddo Frogs

Caramello Bears

But beyond that, things become hazier — perhaps because life soon became overshadowed by the increasing changes in Dad.

As Kate reached the age of about twelve, the brightness dimmed. The fire-and-brimstone tone of the church weighed heavily, and Dad’s mental health — OCD, depression, anxiety, and what’s now known as hoarding disorder — began to escalate.

His moods grew unpredictable, his anger more frequent, as Mum tried to negotiate ‘a better deal’ for us all — physically, emotionally, and financially. I remember him sectioning off corners of the house and stacking newspapers and other things. I don’t think Mum or Dad understood me: this strange person they had created, always deep in thought, and so affected by the growing tension in our home.

Meanwhile David and I lived our lives, and as the eldest Kate bore the brunt of Dad’s negative impact, and she was the first to have to try to make this work, as Mum moved to the next phase of her life.

To go to the next section of Gwen’s story click here.

To be re-directed to any other part of Gwen’s story, click on the applicable blue text below.

Introduction

Part 1 -The Cooberang years (1928 to 1941)

Part 2 - Move to Sydney and the War years (1941 to 1945)

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

Part 4 - Marriage and children (1951 to 1965)

Part 5 - Taking control and drifting apart (1965 to 1991)

Part 6 - Life after Dad (1991 to 2011)

Part 7 - The Alzheimer years (2011 to 2020)

Part 4 - Marriage and children (1951 to 1965)

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

Part 5 - Taking Control and Drifting Apart (1965 to 1991)