A telegram arrived for Nana, ( a special fast message ), from her sister Ella, saying that her old and bedridden, ‘Father’ as she called him had died.
My only memory of my Great, Grandfather Jones, came from a trip to his leased, Bainesse farm, before the big family fight. He was living in an old cottage where Nana and her siblings had grown up. For light switches his cottage had strings that hung down from the ceiling in the middle of the room and his toilet was a funny long drop, dunny, outside. The picture I remember in my mind is of a rather portly man, all decked out in a white nightshirt and nightcap, sitting up in his bed, talking to the visitors gathered at his beside.
Across the paddocks, living in another cottage were our rellies, Nana’s sister Ella’s family, the Healys, they were looking after the farm and Grandfather. At their house they had a new baby, and when I curiously asked one of the cousins where it had come from, he smirked, and pointed at the garden over the way.
He reckoned they had found it in the cabbage patch. The other cousins sitting around outside with us started having a big laugh, making me think, maybe, he was pulling my leg, but I wasn’t sure. On our trip home, I overheard mum telling Nana, that grandfather was a dirty old man, because he used to stick his hands up the kids skirts.