RUTH JEAN NELSON

Memories of Ruth Jean Nelson, delivered at her memorial service, Pine Ridge
Chapel, Coochiemudlo Island, Queensland, Saturday 2 April 2005,
by her son Colin Field

I am here to talk to you on behalf my sisters Maureen and Marilyn and myself about our mother, Ruth Nelson. Ruth was born as Ruth Jean Slack in the New South Wales coal mining city of Lithgow on the 10th of June 1920, the eldest child of Matthew and Amy Slack. She was married and widowed twice. Her first husband, who she married in 1940, was our father, Edward Field. Her second husband was the Rev. Harold Nelson, who she married in 1968. Ruth died peacefully last Monday evening, aged 84, at her home here on Coochiemudloe Island. That is the stark genealogical data on our mother. I now want to try and give you some feel for Ruth the person, our mother who we loved dearly and, though we don't begrudge her leaving us, will miss deeply.

Ruth was born into a very much working class family in the immediate aftermath of the Great War. She was the eldest of three children, the middle one of which died at the early age of 13 months. When she was four, her family relocated from Lithgow first to St Marys and then to Westmead in the Parramatta district of Western Sydney. Her second and only surviving brother, Kevin, who is here this afternoon, was born when Ruth was aged 6.

By the time she was ten, the great depression had put her father out of work and times were really tough. Ruth's kindergarten and primary schooling was at Girraween, her secondary schooling at the then quaintly named Parramatta Home Science School for Girls. As she approached her intermediate certificate examination, her mother was dedicating most of her time to caring for Ruth's by then dementia afflicted grandmother and Ruth was carrying much of the burden of running the family home. This greatly affected Ruth's ability to cope with her schooling and so she left school at the age of 15 and became a shop assistant at that Sydney retailing institution, Anthony Hordens. A couple of years later as World War ll broke out she was a factory worker at the Bond's spinning mill.

At the age of 20 she married our father, the boy next door from her St Marys years - by that time her mother was in poor health and so my mother was unable to leave home. Her new husband simply moved into our grandparent's home and we children, as we came along, were raised in that three-generation environment. Ruth had found her essential roll in life - she was "a carer".

Ruth's other priority was her Christian faith and what time she could spare from raising us kids and her caring duties was put into her church life. She was one of the pillars of her Baptist Church and the long term Secretary of the Ladies Christian Fellowship.

As I entered into my teenage years, Ruth added to the burden of raising children, an active church life and caring for her mother by taking on a job - she became a school cleaner, commencing work each day at 6.00am. It was a job which allowed her to continue to fulfil her caring role through the day. Her husband, our father, commenced the downward spiral of an asbestos related death, and Ruth simply extended her job as a carer. At age 44 she was widowed for the first time.

Three years later she married the Rev Harold Nelson, previously Baptist evangelist and missionary, and by then a regular church pastor. Ruth's father having by then died, she took her mother along with her into her life of being a lady of the church manse.

Though by that time I had married and left home, my fundamental impression is that in becoming a minister's wife Ruth had found her ideal niche - she could more fully carry out her calling as a carer to a wider flock while satisfying her need to fulfil what she termed her work for the Lord. Ruth and Harold served in churches at Cowra, Hurstville and Bega and shared a short term of mission work in remote South Australia.

Shortly after their retirement to the New South Wales central coast in 1976, Harold's age related confusion refocussed Ruth's caring tendencies. After his death in 1998, it progressively became clear that Ruth, the lifelong carer, was becoming increasingly in need of care herself. In 2001 she relocated to Queensland and the loving care of Maureen. In 2002 mother purchased the house in Carefree Street and she and Maureen became Coochie residents. Her twilight years on Coochie were wonderful. She was at home. She had by that time bought what I would term the whole Queensland package - to my bitter disappointment she became a supporter of, in order of loyalty, the Lions, the Broncos and the Maroons. Ah well - sometimes not even a mother is perfect.

I say she was at home on Coochie. She was very much at home in this warm supportive community and I can only express my overwhelming gratitude to those of her friends here who enriched her life and supported Maureen. She was at home, but she did not know it. She was always insisting that she couldn't stay any longer and needed to, in inverted commas, "go back to my home". The "my home" she needed to return to varied in location depending upon what part of her life her mind was at that time inhabiting. But now she has truly gone home, to be with her Lord. When we are thinking a little mischievously we wonder whether she is saying to him "I can't stay long - I didn't bring my address book and I must go home". But we know that she is not - she is finally at peace.

We rejoice in the fact that our mother died peacefully without ever knowing she was ill. Whenever I would ask her "how are you mother" she would respond with "Oh sick as a dog and fading away to a shadow". It was her idiosyncratic way of saying "there's nothing wrong with me". As late as last Monday afternoon she assured a visitor that "I'm fine - there's nothing wrong with me". What a wonderful way to go. Though mother is "with her Lord", her earthly remains will always be on Coochie. Her ashes will rest in the memorial wall out the front of this chapel.

I have wonderful memories of my mother and of a happy childhood. My sister's and I have been sharing favourite remembrances of our childhood. Maureen tells me hers are of summer beach holidays when we used to go to The Entrance. Mother always swam with us, and never swam anything but sidestroke. Marilyn fondly remembers the times that she dropped in after school to help mother with her school cleaning task, and the opportunities that provided for long, one on one conversations. My favourite memory is of when we were kids in our grandparent's house at Westmead and our mother used to play roughhouse with us on the kitchen floor. Our dog used to bounce about us in excitement over all the fun. But, if our father joined in, the dog would attack him. Treasured memories of our mother, Ruth Nelson. We will never forget her.

Ruth was deeply loved, and will be sadly missed, by her brother Kevin and sister-in-law Gladys, by son Colin and daughter-in-law Yvonne, by Maureen, by Marilyn and son-in-law Brian, by Colin's daughter Julie, her husband Markus and their children Peter and Sarah, by Colin's son David, his wife Candice and their children Tegan and Conor, by Maureen's son Adam, by Marilyn's daughters Susan and Kellie and Kellie's daughter Alana, and by her step-children Graham and Ruth and their families.

CHARLES MALCOLM MOBBERLEY

Memories of Charles Malcolm Mobberley, delivered at his funeral service, West Chapel,
Rookwood Garden Crematorium, Rookwood, New South Wales,
Thursday 24 April 2008, by his daughter, Yvonne Field

Today we are celebrating the life of Charles Malcolm Mobberley. He was a loving husband, a much loved Dad, a Pop to his grandchildren, a Pa to his great grandchildren, Malc to the family and many of his oldest friend's, Charlie to most. I trust you'll understand if I refer to him as "Dad".

Charles Malcolm Mobberley was born on 2nd of February 1918 at what was then 131 Coronation Parade Enfield. He was the third son of the family and was followed by two sisters and another brother. He is survived by the younger of his sisters, Betty. With the exception of his time with the AIF during World War Two, he lived and worked his entire life effectively in the Enfield/Croydon Park/North Strathfield local area. He died about 500 metres from where he was born.

In his younger days he played cricket and was a talented competition road cyclist. He was a very successful fisherman, taking out many prizes at the fishing club at the bus depot and feeding his growing family on lovely fish meals. He was a qualified St John's Ambulance instructor. He was a driving instructor during his time in the army, and continued with this talent back in civilian life, teaching many of the young people at his Church, often with one or more of his children in the back seat. When it came to teaching his daughters to drive he wasn't quite so successful - all of us eventually got our licences, though usually other men had to step in and take over. He became a Christian as a young man, taught Sunday School and was a long serving and dedicated church deacon.

Dad had two lives. His "Malc" or Malcolm life which was his home, family, and church life and his "Charlie" life which was his work life. As children catching buses we asked every bus driver, conductor or conductress "do you know Charlie Mobberley?". We were excited when they said "yes", volunteering proudly "he's my Dad".

Dad was very enterprising and capable, turning his hand to whatever he needed to. He was good at carpentry, supplying doll's furniture and other toys for Christmas and birthdays at a time when money was tight and toys few and far between. I remember as a young child sitting with him as he did a valve grind and decoke on the engine of the car, helping in simple ways and being happy just "being" and "doing" with my father. As the eldest, I had more of my father than the rest of my sisters and I therefore have the happiest memories. My other sisters have fewer memories of time with Dad. Ruth craved time with him and was regularly awake late into the night as he returned from shift work, waiting to see him and calling to him as soon as he came in the door. I bet he was sorry he taught me to make tea and cut bread, thinly, as at age 7, I remember taking tea and bread and butter in to Mum and Dad VERY early in the morning when Dad had probably got home from work at 2am. Brenda inherited his piano playing skills and still plays the piano. She and Gwen enjoy fishing. Singing around the piano which Dad played by ear was a regular happy experience for the family and we all learnt to sing parts while we were quite young.

Dad served in the AIF during the Second World War and though he remained in Australia he moved about quite a lot. My favourite story about his war effort was that he smuggled Mum into Queensland at a time when cross border movement was strictly controlled - while there Mum became pregnant with me.

I have happy memories of Dad, the cricketer, Dad, the fisherman, Dad the handyman. Our house in Coronation Parade was renovated several times as the family expanded. When Leone was due, Mum had gone to hospital on the Saturday and as we drove home from Church on the Sunday, I ventured the view that it would be nice if the new baby was a boy, there already being four girls. Dad's reply was, "I hope not - if it's a boy I will have to add a room to the house". Just as well number five was also a girl, though I think he would have been proud and happy had she been a boy. He was certainly very pleased when his first grandson arrived. In fact, with both grand children and great grand children boys very slightly outnumber girls.

The Malc and Charlie planets, which had been moving in quite separate constellations, came together when in 1952 our family and Marj's family had a holiday in almost adjoining holiday cottages at North Haven. A memorable occasion for me, though I don't know whether the rest of my family or any of Marj's family remember it. I had my eighth birthday during that holiday.

In 1976 Colin and I flew out to live in London for three years and I didn't think I would ever see my father again - he had long impressed on us that he did not expect to live to see old age. How wrong he was. He retired from his time with the NSW Transport Department in 1978, having completed 40 years with them and risen from bus cleaner, through driver to Depot Master and Inspector, though I think it was some time later that the Gold Watch and Gold Pass arrived. Dad and Marj travelled regularly during the early part of his retirement - they holidayed in New Zealand, made a number of trips away with the retired transport workers social club and even did a camping coach trip around Australia. Dad caused me the biggest worry when he insisted that, as I had climbed Ayers Rock two or three years earlier, so could he. He was 70 when he climbed it on my 44th birthday.

He loved talking, to anybody and everybody, and would proudly tell everyone about his numerous grandchildren and great grand children and their achievements. He was a brilliant conversationalist when ever the conversation led, as it often seemed to, to bus routes and bus timetables.

Let me indulge myself by telling a favourite story which I believe says just so much about my Dad. I had spent a few days on the Central Coast and was returning to Canberra by train via Sydney. The timetable indicated that I would have about 40 minutes stopover at Strathfield between trains, so I rang Dad and suggested he meet me there for a cup of tea. When I got to Woy Woy station, the train I had planned to catch had been cancelled and the next one was going to mean I'd only have about 8-10 minutes at Strathfield between trains. I rang Dad and told him it wasn't worth his while coming to meet me. When my train arrived at Strathfield at precisely the time the Canberra train was due to leave I was resigned to having to spend a night in Sydney. Not so. My 70 year old Dad was waiting at the top of the ramp when I got off the train. He grabbed my bag and said "come on the train's waiting on platform 2". We ran down the ramp, along underneath, I puffed up the ramp to platform 2 behind Dad and he pushed me in the nearest door of my Canberra train. I gave him a quick hug and kiss, then he bustled along to the guard's van and said "right mate, you can take it away, she's safe on board". Turns out my Dad had explained about the cancelled train and managed to hold up the Canberra train just for me. How could you not love him?

For many years Marj has been just so important, jollying him along following his heart bypass surgery in 1991 and through other illnesses. I know he would not have survived anywhere near so long without that continual encouragement and we are very grateful and thankful to her for that. I and the rest of my side of the family are also thankful to Marj's extended family, especially Jan and Sue, for their love of, and support for, Dad.

On 2nd February this year we celebrated Dad's 90th birthday and had a wonderful day. People who weren't there but to whom he spoke afterwards tell us of his recalling to them what a wonderful day it was and telling them in great detail how many people, daughters, grand-children and great children were there.

He was still mowing his lawns until very recently and raked his leaves up even on Sunday, the day before he died. Colin and I were blessed in having time with him that afternoon, less than 12 hours before he died. He was alert and involved. As we left him I put my arms around him and told him I loved him. His final words to me were "I love you too sweetie". What a wonderful way to separate

Marj rang us just before 5am on Monday morning telling us that she had been unable to wake him. When I got off the phone I said two things to Colin. The first was "I'm so glad we are here in Sydney at this time". The second was "well, he told us he was sick".

He leaves a wonderful legacy with his five daughters, 16 grand children and 22 great grand children, a whole collection of nieces and nephews, and just a few old friends. There would have been many more old friends had not he so comprehensively outlived almost all of them.

Vale Charles Malcolm Mobberley, my ever so precious father.

YVONNE MARGARET FIELD

Memories of Yvonne Margaret Field, delivered at her memorial service,
Hughes Baptist Church, Hughes, Australian Capital Territory,
Monday 31 October 2016, by her husband, Colin Field

his celebration of the life of the beautiful, the smiling, Yvonne, my Princess, should be a happy occasion. While we are deeply saddened at her leaving us, she didn't want today to be a sombre occasion and wanted us to remember the good things. In that spirit I am going to share with you some stories of the woman I knew and love that perhaps few of you have ever heard before and most would probably never credit. I believe these stories in some respects give a good insight into her personality.

As some of you know, a couple of years ago she wrote her life story. Perhaps the best commentary on how she saw her life comes from the title of that story, which is, in inverted commas, "Truly Blessed".

She was only 15. Yes, she was only 15 when she and I met. It was at a party. You see, some of the young people of our different Baptist churches had, in a boy/girl sort of a way, discovered each other. One of these discoverers, a girl from my church, had an eighteenth birthday and invited all the young people from both churches. I really only have the vaguest of recollections of Yvonne from that first meeting. But I do remember being attracted to her girlfriend, a redhead. I was lucky though. My best mate beat me to the redhead. As the party ended, I was doing what I saw as a comedy routine at the door, begging for money to support a poor penniless student, namely me. I only received one donation that evening, and that was from Yvonne. She put threepence into my hat. For the younger of you, I should point out that back in those days threepence was not an inconsiderable sum of money. I've done a quick back of the envelope calculation and though I may have got a few too many noughts along the way, I figure that in todays money it would be something like thirteen thousand dollars. Well you get my point. But still, she made no impact on me. Anyway, there was general agreement that the two groups would meet again the next Saturday evening, at BYF (that's Baptist Youth Fellowship). It turned out that Yvonne and sister Brenda were on the program, singing a duet. Later that evening, some of us were going off to have a milkshake and I remember Yvonne dancing backwards down the footpath beseeching her father to let her go too. He didn't let her, but I had finally noticed Yvonne and I was smart enough follow up.

The 15 year old Yvonne I had discovered was more experienced than 18 year old me. For a start, she had a penchant for sitting on the laps of guys, older guys who drove cars, and taking charge of the steering wheel. She was lovely even then and I was, I guess, smitten.

She was strong even back then. I was in first year at university and going through a crisis with chemistry. I was contemplating quitting mid-year and getting a job, but this slip of a fifteen year old girl supported and encouraged me and helped me make it through.

We courted for almost five years. We were Sydneysiders. As I recall it much of the courting took place on trains as I travelled from Westmead to University and she travelled from Strathfield to her work at Leichhardt. She has another slant on it. As she recalls it in a note I found on her computer.

And I quote

"Colin was part way through first year at University when we met and this made our courtship something of a challenge. Colin was working in the holidays to pay his next term fees and any equipment and books he needed. This meant that money was scarce and while Yvonne was fine with window shopping or ferry rides for dates Colin found it a bit frustrating not having money to do the things young couples like to do. When Colin was awarded a cadetship in February 1964 we got engaged and were able to afford to get married in February 1965."

End of quote

I don't believe I ever formally ask her to marry me. It was more a case of we both just knew that we would marry. Now I'm not saying she deceived me - well, not really - but once we were married I discovered that she was not the person I'd assumed her to be. It wasn't so much a case of false marketing but more a case of me being too much in love with her to read the product disclosure statement. You see I had been raised to expect that I would be the head of the family and my wife would recognise my authority. In fact I seem to remember that our wedding vows included her committing to "love, honour and obey". But what I quickly discovered was that I'd married an independent minded young woman. What can I say other than that I was lucky beyond belief.

When we married I still had the final year of my degree to go. Yvonne quit work and we moved to rural Camden. By that stage I was getting a cadetship wage, but we rapidly ran out of money. Yvonne got a job by travelling back into Sydney on a daily basis, and we survived. I recall that for that year we had a household budget of ten pound a week. Five pound went on rent and the other five pound fed us. Whatever was left out of that five pound food money was put aside to pay the electricity bill.

When I graduated we relocated to Queensland and over the next six years we moved frequently. We were actually evicted twice. Every time we had to move Yvonne dutifully packed up our meagre belongings, including the cat.

Talking of the cat reminds me that Yvonne could really show initiative. In those early days I was still doing a bit of clinical work in the evenings. Yvonne of course was my veterinary nurse. I recall that on one occasion I had a cat that did not come out of the anaesthetic as well as it should have. In fact I thought it was going to die and next day at work I sought out the owner of the cat, told him it hadn't tolerated the anaesthetic well and warned him it would probably die. Yvonne however, showed more initiative than me and decided that she would aid its recovery. It was a lovely warm winter's day of the sort you get in North Queensland and so she decided to put the patient out in the sun. It worked a treat. The cat woke up, took off and we never saw it again.

She demonstrated her strength on numerous occasions, but let me mention just two. Back in 1979 we were living in London and I became quite seriously ill and was hospitalised. It was a time when we were coming to the end of my overseas posting and there was much to be done in organising our travel home. I had promised the children that we would return home via Disneyland. A few days into my hospitalisation Yvonne was told by the doctor that I was seriously ill and getting worse, that they didn't know what was wrong with me and that I could die. I thought I had remained lucid the whole time I was in hospital but one evening as she was leaving after a visit I am told that I asked her to, in inverted commas, "say goodbye to the children for me". I can only imagine the fear and anguish that this would have caused her yet, some twenty thousand kilometres away from home and the support of the family, she coped and carried on with the arrangements that needed to be put in place. It actually was not until about eight months after our return to Australia that she told me of this. When I asked her what she would have done had I died she told me she intended to have me cremated and to bring my ashes back home via Disneyland. What a strong woman.

The other demonstration of her strength I choose to recall was when I quit the public service. My situation at work was intolerable but I couldn't see any way out. Yvonne could see the toll that this was having on my health. "You should just quit" she said to me – "I'll keep working and supporting you and the family". And so one morning on the spur of the monent I quit. True to her word she did support us until something quite unexpectedly came along for me.

Yvonne could be devious, too. I'm sure this is an unthinkable characteristic of her to many of you and so I'll have to tell a tale that proves it. We were living in Melbourne and by that stage had two children out of nappies. Yvonne wanted a third child. Me, looking at this from a practical perspective, said no, two children are enough. She pleaded. "I just enjoy being pregnant" she said. I was unmoved. So she became devious. She had a girlfriend, Pam, who was unable to get pregnant. "Let me have just one more and I'll give it to Pam", she pleaded. Now I can recognize deviousness when I see it and I knew there was no way any third child was going to be handed over to anyone by her. My answer was still "no".

And would you believe she could be bossy? Surely not I guess you're thinking. But it's true. Well, after all, she was an eldest child and a Leo. Mind you she wasn't bossy with me – I'm an eldest child and a Leo and in addition bigger and uglier than her. But you see during the time she was having five daughters her mother was not very well and both her parents were very involved in church activities. As a consequence, from a young age Yvonne carried quite a responsibility for the care of her sisters. Right to the end when the five sisters got together Yvonne naturally slipped into bossy mode. Yvonne of course denied she was being bossy. She insisted it was just that she had better ideas than the others and they needed guidance.

Yvonne could certainly be firm. I've already mentioned our time in London. When we arrived there was much to be done. Schooling for a nine year old and a seven year old was a priority. And it was Yvonne's problem. I had a job to settle into and contacts to establish. My job was not a UK job, it was a European job, so the establishment of contacts meant travel. For much of the first six weeks I was away from home, mostly flying out Sunday evening and not getting back home until the following Saturday morning. In the meantime, Yvonne did the heart breaking job of visiting the local schools. I say heart breaking because the children had left the spacious, out doorsy, Rivett primary school and all the schools she visited were mostly small and dingy. Most were old churches surrounded by high walls whose congregations had long given up attending services. All this while I was rarely at home. After six weeks of this she had finally had enough and when I got home at the weekend I was given the message in no uncertain terms. "Either you spend some time at home with me or I'm going back home to my family where at least I'll have some support". I was committed to another week of travel but, in a time before mobile phones, I rang her every evening just to be sure she hadn't gone home.

She could not only be firm – she could be heartless. No I hear you gasp, but it's true. One other occasion she threatened to leave me. While we were living in Italy I fell in a cobble stoned street, broke both arms and finished up with them both in plaster. On the way home in the bus from the fracture clinic I was asked by a fellow passenger "kay cosso soo chesso" – what happened? Drawing on almost all of my Italian vocabulary I told him "too much wine". She turned on me immediately and told me "if you say once more you broke your arms because you had too much to drink I'll leave you, and you'll die, because with your arms like that you won't be able to feed yourself".

Most of you would have little knowledge of her service to her Lord. Yvonne became a Christian in 1958 and was baptized in 1961. She loved to sing and a highlight of her singing life was singing in the thousand voice Billy Graham Crusade Choir in Sydney when she was just 14 years old. She was a Girls Brigader, going on to become a Warrant Officer and a Cadet Leader. She was a Sunday School teacher over many years from the age of 15. She taught Sunday School at her home church of Strathfield Homebush, at Roma in western Queensland, at Rivett when that was an outreach from Hughes, at Hughes itself and in London. What was memorable about the London time was that we were attending a Baptist church that had a congregation that varied between eight and twelve. Yvonne was the only Sunday School teacher and the number of children varied between two and three – including Julie and David. She was the ACT Secretary of Girls Brigade. She was a member of the Morling Lodge Auxiliary. She had a period of service as the joint convenor of the Hughes women's group. She was a member of the Hughes choir back in the days when Hughes had a choir.

She could be so exasperating. It was that smile. Despite her health problems, she kept smiling. I kept telling her "if you keep smiling doctors will think you're well and will not take your health problems seriously". But she couldn't help herself. She just kept smiling.

Those of you who have known me well know that from time to time I've done a bit of creative writing. You'll also know that because I lack class, good taste and discernment, Yvonne always reviewed my work and told me what I "couldn't say". You may be surprised to learn that this eulogy was prepared while I still had the benefit of her watchful eye and she "cleared" it. But there is one thing that I feel the need to share with you that I knew she would tell me to take out, so I slipped it past her. Let me think – there's got to be a kindly way of saying this. [PAUSE]. No, I don't think there is, I'm just going to come out and say it. Yvonne was expensive. Every time she went into hospital I knew it was going to cost money. She would lie there and think of things she wanted to do for others. It was my job to tell her what a lovely idea it was, find the funding and organise it. That was just the way she was. She was always thinking of others. In the same vein, she not once, not once, said of her cancer, "why me?"

Finally, at the risk of displaying my theological unsoundness, let me just say that I am not entirely sure that Yvonne is in Heaven. Oh, I know she got there, but I am sure that one of her first priorities would have been to seek out her lovely mother, Margaret, and they would have had just so much catching up to do. I envisage them talking long into Yvonne's first heavenly night and St Peter, exasperated, finally having to intervene. I can just hear him saying "look dear ladies, the Saints are trying to sleep after a solid day of praising and glorying and are finding it difficult with all your talking and laughing. If you can't be quiet, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave". And I'm not sure that even under such a dire threat they would have been able to contain themselves.

Yvonne. My beautiful Princess. Thank you so much for sharing your life with me. I'll always love you.