Ron’s story is a tragic one; for my mother at least.
My parents met when they were 18, and my father met my mother at a dance.
In fact they had met years before, at age 5, in the playground at school. My mother’s parents had had an argument with my grandfather’s Aunt Lizzie, with whom they were living at the time, and they moved to a house at Punchbowl, where my father was also living with his family. They met in the school, where my mother bullied my father, and pushed him to the ground. This they worked out years after they married – but it’s a small world after all, isn’t it?
When my father met my mother he decided then and there that he would marry her. They carried on a courtship and spent their spare time together. This of course included going out with my mother’s son, Ron, who was a pre-schooler at the time. He was 3 when my father met him. My mother was working in the day, and her mother was looking after the boy.
My mother’s parents did not like my father, they vehemently opposed the relationship. To my mother’s surprise they appeared to know about my father, who he was, where he was from and the things he had done. They knew him to be Aboriginal. That of course was one reason for the opposition to them having a relationship.
My mother was caught as a deserted wife she could not sue for divorce under 5 years so they had to wait. They “jumped the gun” before the five years was up and became pregnant with me around the time the divorce could be entered in the court. By the time the divorce was granted, my mother was 7 ½ months pregnant and when the divorce was granted the judge kindly granted the decree absolute on the same day as the decree nisi so that my parents could marry immediately.
Unfortunately my grandparents’ opposition to the relationship grew rather than abated. At one point my grandfather pulled a knife on my father one night after he had escorted my mother home after an outing. A foolish thing to do considering my father’s background and skill with weapons. My father just laughed and disarmed him.
The matter culminated with the dramatic flight of my grandmother with the boy. My mother had announced that she was marrying my father despite any opposition to the idea. My grandmother did not take kindly to the thought of losing her grandson, and in particular in allowing “that aboriginal” to be his father. She took the child and disappeared.
By disappearing she had actually gone to relatives. But the relatives would not tell my mother where she was. And to make it worse, my grandfather sold the house and disappeared as well.
My grandfather was a very vindictive man. At one time, he travelled up and down the coast, stopping at every Masonic Lodge on the way, warning the brother Masons about his daughter’s aboriginal husband. My parents found this out when they moved to Sutherland in 1963; that the local Masons had been warned about this terrible “Abo from the bush”. It did not make our settlement into our new place any easier.
My parents tried every way the could to find them, but my grandparents were one step ahead all the time, going from one relative to another; and then, when relatives were exhausted, going into the country and working on stations and farms as a couple. In time, Ron was taught that his grandparents were actually his parents, and as he was 5 at the time, he would have adjusted fairly quickly to his new life.
Even when his cousin Christopher pointed out that he couldn’t be the brother of Christopher’s father Ron (my mother’s brother), that brothers did not have the same Christian names, Ron still did not understand his situation.
My parents caught up with the runaways when Ron was about 13, when they had been married for 8 years, with the help of a private detective. The detective reported that Ron believed his grandparents to be his parents, and my parents made the heartbreaking decision to leave him where he was, as it would have been very dislocating to move him at that age. My mother could only hope that he would seek her out when he was grown up.
For that reason my mother never took my father’s name when they married and continued to call herself Larne Andreae. My father was in complete agreement with this, he was an early feminist, and believed a woman should make her own decision as to whether she took her husband’s name. This was to cause them (and we children) some grief over the years as they were before their time with this issue.
Ron only found out the truth of his parentage when he was a teenager. He was required to produce his birth certificate and my grandparents were forced to tell him the truth. The shock was a great one for him and I am told he suffered some psychological problem for some time; however he recovered and continued to live with them as their son. When he reached his majority at 18, his grandparents persuaded him to change his name by deed poll to West, which it remains to this day.
When he was about 21 he sought us out and he made his first visit to us when I was about 18, and he 23. Contact has been regular since then, and he has become one of the family and we have seen him regularly over the years.
He maintained his contact with our grandparents and was active in their care when they became elderly.
My mother was estranged from her parents since the day Ron was taken; only once did she speak to my grandfather – he visited us unannounced one day when I was about 12, staying about an hour, and talking of inconsequential things. Funnily he did not know exactly where we lived, only generally, so he drove around until he found my brothers walking down the street. He recognised them as his grandchildren. I can only say that either he was very good at seeing likenesses or that my brothers looked very like my mother at the time.
I was told about my half-brother when I was about 14.
I saw my grandmother only once. I was about 15, and she was visiting my uncle Ron, with whom I had been carrying on an acquaintance. I visited, knowing she was to be there, as I was curious about her. When I entered the room in which she was, she burst into hysterics (which she was wont to do, apparently) and I had to leave the room to allow her to calm down. The shock of seeing me, looking so much like my mother, was too much for her.
The photos show Ron with his grandparent, when he thought them to be his parents.
My parents met when they were 18, and my father met my mother at a dance.
In fact they had met years before, at age 5, in the playground at school. My mother’s parents had had an argument with my grandfather’s Aunt Lizzie, with whom they were living at the time, and they moved to a house at Punchbowl, where my father was also living with his family. They met in the school, where my mother bullied my father, and pushed him to the ground. This they worked out years after they married – but it’s a small world after all, isn’t it?
When my father met my mother he decided then and there that he would marry her. They carried on a courtship and spent their spare time together. This of course included going out with my mother’s son, Ron, who was a pre-schooler at the time. He was 3 when my father met him. My mother was working in the day, and her mother was looking after the boy.
My mother’s parents did not like my father, they vehemently opposed the relationship. To my mother’s surprise they appeared to know about my father, who he was, where he was from and the things he had done. They knew him to be Aboriginal. That of course was one reason for the opposition to them having a relationship.
My mother was caught as a deserted wife she could not sue for divorce under 5 years so they had to wait. They “jumped the gun” before the five years was up and became pregnant with me around the time the divorce could be entered in the court. By the time the divorce was granted, my mother was 7 ½ months pregnant and when the divorce was granted the judge kindly granted the decree absolute on the same day as the decree nisi so that my parents could marry immediately.
Unfortunately my grandparents’ opposition to the relationship grew rather than abated. At one point my grandfather pulled a knife on my father one night after he had escorted my mother home after an outing. A foolish thing to do considering my father’s background and skill with weapons. My father just laughed and disarmed him.
The matter culminated with the dramatic flight of my grandmother with the boy. My mother had announced that she was marrying my father despite any opposition to the idea. My grandmother did not take kindly to the thought of losing her grandson, and in particular in allowing “that aboriginal” to be his father. She took the child and disappeared.
By disappearing she had actually gone to relatives. But the relatives would not tell my mother where she was. And to make it worse, my grandfather sold the house and disappeared as well.
My grandfather was a very vindictive man. At one time, he travelled up and down the coast, stopping at every Masonic Lodge on the way, warning the brother Masons about his daughter’s aboriginal husband. My parents found this out when they moved to Sutherland in 1963; that the local Masons had been warned about this terrible “Abo from the bush”. It did not make our settlement into our new place any easier.
My parents tried every way the could to find them, but my grandparents were one step ahead all the time, going from one relative to another; and then, when relatives were exhausted, going into the country and working on stations and farms as a couple. In time, Ron was taught that his grandparents were actually his parents, and as he was 5 at the time, he would have adjusted fairly quickly to his new life.
Even when his cousin Christopher pointed out that he couldn’t be the brother of Christopher’s father Ron (my mother’s brother), that brothers did not have the same Christian names, Ron still did not understand his situation.
My parents caught up with the runaways when Ron was about 13, when they had been married for 8 years, with the help of a private detective. The detective reported that Ron believed his grandparents to be his parents, and my parents made the heartbreaking decision to leave him where he was, as it would have been very dislocating to move him at that age. My mother could only hope that he would seek her out when he was grown up.
For that reason my mother never took my father’s name when they married and continued to call herself Larne Andreae. My father was in complete agreement with this, he was an early feminist, and believed a woman should make her own decision as to whether she took her husband’s name. This was to cause them (and we children) some grief over the years as they were before their time with this issue.
Ron only found out the truth of his parentage when he was a teenager. He was required to produce his birth certificate and my grandparents were forced to tell him the truth. The shock was a great one for him and I am told he suffered some psychological problem for some time; however he recovered and continued to live with them as their son. When he reached his majority at 18, his grandparents persuaded him to change his name by deed poll to West, which it remains to this day.
When he was about 21 he sought us out and he made his first visit to us when I was about 18, and he 23. Contact has been regular since then, and he has become one of the family and we have seen him regularly over the years.
He maintained his contact with our grandparents and was active in their care when they became elderly.
My mother was estranged from her parents since the day Ron was taken; only once did she speak to my grandfather – he visited us unannounced one day when I was about 12, staying about an hour, and talking of inconsequential things. Funnily he did not know exactly where we lived, only generally, so he drove around until he found my brothers walking down the street. He recognised them as his grandchildren. I can only say that either he was very good at seeing likenesses or that my brothers looked very like my mother at the time.
I was told about my half-brother when I was about 14.
I saw my grandmother only once. I was about 15, and she was visiting my uncle Ron, with whom I had been carrying on an acquaintance. I visited, knowing she was to be there, as I was curious about her. When I entered the room in which she was, she burst into hysterics (which she was wont to do, apparently) and I had to leave the room to allow her to calm down. The shock of seeing me, looking so much like my mother, was too much for her.
The photos show Ron with his grandparent, when he thought them to be his parents.
No comments:
Post a Comment