Never a Dull Moment

By Mim Egan nee Edith Mildred Mayne

Edith Mildred Mayne (Mim Egan), born in 1914 in Oatley, Sydney NSW, lived through two World Wars, the Great Depression, the Spanish ‘flu and Covid 19 and in 2021 is still alive at 106. Started as a collection of a short stories of memories of her life, Mim Egan's story is the story of many born in that era. She witnessed the arrival of aeroplanes and cars. She lived before electricity, before telephones in homes and before the radio. There was no running water – only tanks – from which water had to be bucketed. If you needed hot water it had to be heated up in the copper or on the wood stove – and first the fire had to be lit and the water bucketed from the tanks. Mim at aged 4, remembers the soldiers arriving home from WW1 – at the local railway station to meet the soldiers- flags waving; a lot of cheering; A Band playing. When the Spanish flu hit in 1919 – her mother, Edie, acted as a visiting local nurse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Aug 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781982291310

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Copyright © 2021 Mim Egan nee Edith Mildred Mayne.

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ISBN: 978-1-9822-9130-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9822-9131-0 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 09/14/2021

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CONTENTS

Oatley Memories

In The Beginning

1     My Early Life 1914 - 1921

2     1937 - 1977 My Life With Roger

3     A Life Of My Own 1984

Prologue

OATLEY MEMORIES

Edith Mildred Mayne (Mim Egan) was born at the beginning of WW1, in 1914, when the population of Australia was near 5 million. Not much more than 120 years since the first white settlers arrived in 1788, Australia was still in a pioneering situation. New districts were being opened up and Oatley was one of them. A choice tree covered landscape on a curve of the Georges River, with bays and headlands galore, they didn’t realize how lucky they were.

‘A bridge had been built across the river at Como and the railway went as far south as Nowra. Backing onto the railway station, a post office and general store provided for the needs of the community. These stores had a wonderful smell, providing everything from hay and corn, to frocks for the ladies and suits and boots for the gentlemen and especially candles and kerosene for the lamps. The floor was of bare boards, roughhewn.

When my mum and dad married in 1912, Grandfather Jones owned a scrub covered block in Oatley, close to the railway bridge at Oatley. It went straight out to the Como bridge. There for two years they made their first home, living in two tents linked by a tent fly cover. with no water supply or laundry facilities, the help provided by the few neighbours living in the area, must have been vital to their survival. These people became their lifelong friends.’ Mim Egan

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The Mary Wade History Association, (1986), Mary Wade to Us : A Family History

1778-1986, The Mary Wade Family Association, Sydney, 245p.

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IN THE BEGINNING

My earliest Memories

The rain drummed steadily on the tin roof of the small cottage, perched on the rocky hillside above the flooded river. The family was warm and secure in front of the fuel stove, with the dog on the hearth. The glow of light, from the kerosene lamp on the table, lit the centre of the room. The rest was in shadow. My mother was in her rocking chair, feeding the baby and reading a book, while dad sat relaxed, recovering from his battle against the wind and the rain on his walk home through the bush. Napkins were hung on a makeshift line, strung across the front of the fireplace. His clothes too were there to dry. I was ready for bed. While waiting, I pushed a chair up to the sink and helped myself to a drink of water, from the dipper, resting there. A lovely cool draught, which I enjoyed immensely! But oh, what a to-do this caused. The dipper was there to catch the drips from a leaking roof, and I had drunk the drips.

The chicken pox

We loved living in our house above the river, but there were disadvantages. We lived quite a long way from the station and the store, and you walked to get there. Our house was quite isolated. So when we three children developed chicken-pox, our mother cared for us as best she could. The time came when a shortage of food made it imperative for her to go to the store. The two younger children were put in the pram and despite the excessive heat, we set off up that steep, rocky track. I was not happy. I had to walk. I was miserable, itching all over, especially my head. There were even sores in my mouth. I complained, but what could my mother do? We were far too young to be left alone in the house, so I must go on. Mum said, Well try not to think about it and it won’t hurt so much, So I did, and it didn’t.

The intruder

After a blistering, hot day with still not a breath of air, we all went to bed, windows wide open. Our sleep was restless. We girls woke to find someone standing in the room. It wasn’t our mum, because when we asked Is that you mum? there had been no answer. We screamed. The fellow put out his hand. Convinced we were about to be shot, we dived under the sheet. When next we peeped out, he was nowhere to be seen. Our mother, clutching the baby was standing in the hall, vaguely lighting matches. Dad was attempting to light a candle but told how he was holding a match under the clock, in his befuddled state. Dad appeared and climbed on the bed to light the gas lamp. With that the fellow came out from behind the door and escaped. Though nothing had really happened, the fear engendered by this incident stayed with us until we were grown women.

1

MY EARLY LIFE 1914 - 1921

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I was born at the beginning of WW1 when the population of Australia was near five million. It was only 126 years since the first white settlement. New districts were being opened up and Oatley was one of them. A choice tree covered landscape on a curve of the Georges River, with bays and headlands galore, we did not appreciate how lucky we were.

My dad worked for J.T.Fieldings, printers and cardboard box manufacturers. My mum worked as a seamstress, so that by the time I was born, they were able to buy their first home, No 1 Llewellyn St Gungah Bay. This was a four-roomed cottage, surrounded by wide verandahs, perched high on the hillside above the river.

Edith Mildred Mayne with parents

Edith Christina and Frederick Willison Mayne

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These verandahs were a wonderful place for the children, especially during a thunderstorm. Oh, the thrill of watching the great black clouds and the flashes of lightning in the ranges across the valley, followed by the great crashes of thunder. While our mother and the dog hid under the bed, we raced up and down the verandahs in the rain, screaming.

Our luxury was the boatshed and the small sailing boat, which came with the house. With the right weather and the right tide, at the weekends, we would be off sailing, picnicking, and exploring with so many others. With our boat, we could go to places otherwise inaccessible, for there were few roads.

There were risks with sailing, which added to the adventure. Low tide, with the ensuing mud-covered shoreline, made it vital to be back home before the water disappeared. You could easily find yourself out in the bay, with a good stretch of mud, between you and the shore. As the tide receded, sand banks made their appearance. A sandbank, just slightly under the water, was a great hazard. Hit at a good speed, you could be left high and dry, until the next high tide. I only remember hitting a sand bank once. Dad sprang out to push us off, but he sprang out on the wrong side, and disappeared into deep water.

Even more hazardous were the southerly busters, which frequently came at the end of a hot day. The strong winds could so easily overturn the boats and the rain drench the travelers. We did come home wet to the skin occasionally, but always managed to arrive safely. People were so often drowned, especially on Botany Bay. The three children were born while we lived in this house. I was born at the local hospital, Esma and Allan were born at home. Doctor McLeod came from Hurstville in his sulky. Mrs. Towers was the midwife and used her large house as a hospital. The six years we lived in this house were happy. Our parents were hard working! My mother made overcoats for the soldiers, called piece work, seating herself with the sewing machine, in the children’s play pen, while we played or fought outside. With a treadle machine, this was very heavy work, and she was paid a pittance for each completed overcoat – not the hours spent working.

My father worked, in his spare time to build a terraced garden, chopping great blocks of sandstone, to build up the walls. He loved doing this and the results were rewarding. Our wash- house was a fine sandstone edifice, made of sandstone blocks, all dad’s work. There was always a vegetable garden, with a strawberry patch. I was allowed to help.

It was believed that children had to wear boots to keep their ankles strong, while the poor ladies had to wear corsets, strengthened with whale bones, to keep their bodies in good shape. We were fortunate, that our mother did not believe in boots, so we were allowed to run barefooted. The disadvantage of this was that we kicked our toes on the rocks. The wounds could become infected, red, swollen, and filled with puss. This was very painful!

Doctors were far away and came only for the direst needs. My mother’s copy of ‘The Doctor at Home’, a massive volume akin to the family bible, was the next best thing. Families often came to my mother for help and advice. ‘The Doctor at Home’, was consulted. Such strange remedies could be found in his book. Infected wounds could have a plaster of soap and Epson salts applied, or a bread poultice. This was made by pouring boiling water over a slice of bread, wrapped in a cloth. With the water squeezed out as much as possible, this was then applied to the wound. Torture. Another form of torture was the remedy for boils. A pickle bottle, (with a narrow neck) was filled with boiling water, which was poured out and the neck of the bottle immediately applied to the boil and pressed down very hard. As the bottle cooled, a vacuum was created, and the core of the boil would be extracted. When wounds on the feet were bursting with pus, they could be lanced with a cut-throat razor, by dad while we were held down by mum.

Castor oil mixed with orange juice, was a sure cure for so many ailments. No matter how hard you fought, your nose would be held, and the dose went in.

Our mum was a good mum, lots of fun. She played with us. We played cubby houses by lining out the plan of a house, on the ground, with small stones and then role playing, visiting one another in the different rooms.

The entire house was covered with linoleum. This had to be polished. Mum would apply the mixture of beeswax and linseed oil. Then our game began. With one of her old tweed skirts as the carriage, we pulled one another around the floor to polish the floor. Often things got hectic. Someone would fall off and get hurt.

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At the weekends we would sail and explore the bays and inlets of the Georges River, carefully keeping in mind the time of the tides. It was easy to get stranded on a sandbank or unable to reach the shore, because the tide had gone out. Boats of all varieties, dotted the river on these sunny occasions and strains of music filled the air, coming from banjos, guitars, and mouth organs, played by crews. Our dad, Will was a skilled player of the mouth organ. Our mum, Edie played the mandolin. She learned from a Book – we still have the mandolin and the book.

We grew up running freely through the rocky hills along the river, barefoot and fancy free. Rules meant nothing to our mother. By the end of summer, the soles of our feet would be tough as... It was a surprise to find that I could walk on prickles and pebbles without any discomfort. Oh, the joy of wet days when we happily walked barefooted to school, jumping, and splashing in puddles with socks and slippers in the school bag on our backs. But such freedom could not last. Winter came and with it cold, frosts and wet weather and everyone needed to wear