The Brown’s Story – Part 1 - Henrietta and Horace Brown (Nan and Jimpa)
A Few Words from Rob Landsberry
Joan O’Brien was Irene and Bill’s seventh child. My Mum, Gwen, was Aunty Joan’s sister, and having written much of Mum’s story, I can confidently say that it’s impossible to tell someone’s story without including the many others who lived inside their orbit.
A story about Aunty Joan would be incomplete without the inclusion of her husband, Uncle Keith (click here for that story). And the story of their lives together must include Uncle Keith’s parents, Henrietta and Horace Brown, as they played such an important part in the Browns’ lives across many years, as you’ll see in the recollections of their grandchildren below.
It’s not that Aunty Joan’s own parents, Irene and Bill, weren’t important. But the recollections in this story are those of Aunty Joan and Uncle Keith’s four children, and Irene (Nana) died early in 1959, when the couple had just two of those children, and they were only 2 and 3 years old.
Bill O’Brien (Pa) is mentioned a few times, as he lived until 1974, but by then the Browns had moved to Armidale and Pa, who remained in Sydney, had such a large family that visits to any of them were often few and far between.
So the four Brown children had far more to do with their Nan on Uncle Keith’s side, and even more so with Uncle Keith’s Dad who lived until 1994, when even Aunty Joan and Uncle Keith’s youngest child, Vanessa, was 25.
This story is drawn almost exclusively from a family history written by Aunty Joan and Uncle Keith‘s children - Karen, Ian, Darryl and Vanessa - with some additional material, photos and editing from me, all of which was approved by the Brown siblings.
I’d like to thank the four of them for creating this tribute to their paternal grandparents, and for making sure their story lives on.
If you’ve ended up here by mistake and you actually wanted to read the story of the Brown’s parents (Joan and Keith), you should click here.
Introduction from the Brown Siblings
Henrietta and Horace Brown were Dad’s parents. It may seem a little odd to include them in what’s essentially a website dedicated to the O’Brien Clan, but they played a big part in the lives of we Brown children. We knew them as Nan and Jimpa.
Henrietta Hogan (aka Nan)
Henrietta Emily Hogan was born 11 December 1901, died 17 August 1974, and was buried at Rookwood Cemetery, Lawn Grave 4, Grave 923.
Nan
We haven’t done much historic research here, so this is mainly hearsay from Nan and others, but the story goes that Nan’s father, Thomas Hogan, owned ‘much of Burwood’, a suburb in the inner west of Sydney.
We’re not sure what Thomas did for a living – a farmer of some type, a budding developer, owner of a sawmill (or something to do with timber), or a ‘contractor’, as Dad’s notes described him. We don’t know the extent of his assets and therefore the extent of the family’s losses.
After a small amount of research on Ancestry.com, we do know that Thomas, our great grandfather on Dad’s side, was living at 57 Conder Street in Burwood when he died on 22 March 1943, aged 76. At the time Henrietta, who was one of seven children, was 41 years old, and one of her brothers had already died.
The death notice for Thomas Hogan reads:
HOGAN - The Funeral of the late Thomas Hogan will leave his late residence, 57 Conder Street, Burwood, this (Tuesday) afternoon at 2:30 for Catholic Cemetery, Rookwood.
Nan said that her father “drank and gambled away” the family assets, leaving nothing for his children. This shaped Nan’s approach to alcohol, which was to a large degree passed on to her children.
Her view about Thomas’ financial difficulties is confirmed in the New South Wales Gazette of 2 February 1894, which sees Thomas declaring bankruptcy, although this was when he was 27 years old, and seven years before Henrietta was born. We have no background as to Thomas’ financial rise and fall: the Garnishee Order was (presumably) to take money from his pay to repay debts to creditors. Garnishee Orders typically last several years or until the relevant debts are repaid and leave little spare funds for more than a subsistence lifestyle. How he managed to save from the residual is unknown. Similarly we don’t know if he might have received or earned some type of land grant in what is now Burwood. So we just have this hearsay from Nan, and have to assume (hope) she’s a reliable, direct source.
Thomas Hogan declares bankruptcy - NSW Government Gazette 2 Feb 1894
There’s also this earlier report from the NSW Police Gazette of 1885, which states that:
A warrant has been issued by the Parramatta Bench for the arrest of Thomas Hogan, charged with disobeying a summons for stealing a quantity of dead wood, the property of John Wetherill. Hogan is about 18 years of age, 5 feet 7 or 8 inches high, fair complexion, slight build.
Warrant for the arrest of Thomas from the NSW Police Gazette of 1885
Family photos often show Nan with a ‘stoic and serious’ face – none of the tooth-flashing selfies of today for her!
Darryl was closer to Nan and Jimpa than the rest of the Brown children, firstly because the couple stepped in to look after the toddler when Mum broke her arm in a fall on a neighbour’s path, an accident which went on to cause quite serious complications. They also stepped up to the plate later, when Joan returned to part-time work at the North Strathfield fruit market.
To Darryl, she was a softer, and more caring person than the photos might suggest. He spent a great deal of time with Nan, learning to do housework at her side.
Karen recalls an occasion at Dorothy’s house, when a three-year-old Darryl, without any prompting, picked up his jumper and, with a skill that would put Marie Kondo to shame, neatly folded it in readiness for being returned to its assigned location.
Later, when sharing a bedroom with Ian, Darryl was frequently heard remonstrating of a Saturday morning, “Ian! Will you please go and clean up your side of the room!” In the interests of full disclosure, Ian is no slouch in the area of household duties himself. 😉
Karen remembers enjoying the occasional and rare sick day when Nan would come around, help set up a bed on the ‘night and day’ in front of the television and wait on her hand and foot.
Horace Brown (aka Horry or Jimpa)
Horace Travis Brown was born 10 October 1898 in Parramatta, NSW and died 23 September 1994 in Concord. Horace is also buried at Rookwood Cemetery, Lawn Grave 4, Grave 923.
Sophia Agnes Travis (1872 – 1952) was Jimpa’s mother’s maiden name and when Horace was born, ‘Travis’ was given to him as his middle name. The tradition continued with Dad and his son Darryl taking on the middle name ‘Travis’, and with Jimpa’s great grandson (the son of Darryl’s daughter Laura) named Travis Charles.
The sobriquet ‘Jimpa’ came from Karen, the oldest grandchild, who couldn’t say ‘Grandpa’. Jimpa was the closest she could get, and it stuck. All the relatives on both sides of the family, knew him simply as Jimpa.
Nan and Jimpa - Together
Nan and Jimpa were married at St Joseph’s Enfield, on 3 June 1923. They had three children – Dad, Olive (known as Obbie), and Dorothy.
St Joseph’s Catholic Church, Enfield
Dad, Obbie and Dorothy threw them a big Golden Anniversary party in 1972, as documented in the local paper below.
Nan and Jimpa’s Golden Wedding Anniversary
This is the transcript of the above article:
Memories of 50 years ago
Mr. and Mrs. H. Brown, of Davidson Avenue, Concord, celebrated their golden wedding anniversary with a party for 80 guests at Burwood Town Hall in Condee [sic] Street.
It was from this same street that Henrietta Hogan left her home to become Mrs. Brown 50 years ago.
Mrs. Brown's sister and her husband, Mr. and Mrs. F. Laycock, of Putney, who were bridesmaid and best man at the wedding, were among the guests.
Owing to illness Mr. Brown's sister, Mrs. Doreen Hamilton, of Port Kembla, who was also a bridesmaid, was unable to attend.
Telegrams of congratulations were received from the Governor, Sir Roden Cutler; the Premier, Sir Robert Askin; and Federal and State parliamentary representatives, Mr. W. McMahon and Mr. L. Mutton, as well as from Concord Council and the local Senior Citizens' Club.
The official table was highlighted by a two-tiered golden cake, made by Mr. Bert Turvey, who was master of ceremonies.
The couple's son, Mr. Keith Brown of Armidale, came to Sydney for the occasion with his wife and four children.
Also helping entertain the guests, were the Brown's daughters, Mrs. G. Gallagher and Mrs. Ronald Turvey, both of Concord.
The Depression was no doubt tough for Nan and Jimpa, as for many, many others. It’s likely that period had a great effect on many of her habits, including having a store of lovely clothes, underwear, tea towels and so on which were never used, just saved ‘for good’, but things never seemed to get good enough ‘for good’.
We don’t know much else about that part of their lives, or how long it lasted.
After World War II, and for the rest of their lives together, they lived at 31 Davidson Avenue, Concord.
Nan and Jimpa’s house at 31 Davidson Avenue, Concord as it looks today
It was a 3-bedroom Housing Commission property, which was in effect the start of a NSW Government ‘rent to own’ program after WWII. People applied for a home to rent, with their rent also representing a repayment of the purchase price so that ultimately, ownership passed to the ‘tenant’.
From documents found in Obbie’s house, Davidson Ave was allocated to Horace Brown (as a tenant) in April 1948.
Darryl’s memory is that the rent was paid at a little ground floor window in a building not far from Nan and Jimpa’s home – perhaps where Concord Library now stands on the corner of Wellbank and Flavell Streets.
In October 1955 Nan and Jimpa were given the opportunity to purchase their house for £2,493. There was much back and forth with the Housing Commission about wanting the tenancy assigned to Nan so that the purchase could be in her name, possibly to give her a greater sense of financial security. The tenancy was eventually transferred in May 1956, when they were paying £12 per month rent. Then the purchase seemed to stall until October 1958, when the house was revalued and sold to Nan for £3,600, which is 50% more than it had been just 3 years before, a period during which CPI was just over 10%.
At the age of around 12 or 13, Ian remembers being given the responsibility for taking the passbook plus the regular repayment to the State Bank of NSW on Majors Bay Road, Concord. Each payment was another step towards ownership. He doesn’t recall the specific day or date, but Mum used to tell us just how proud Nan was on the day the final house payment was made. One of Nan’s rare grins, we’re told.
Jimpa always took his ‘own’ cash out of his pay packets each payday and then gave Nan the rest. No ‘open finances’ for this family – many families at the time operated this way. As far as we know, Nan never knew how much Jimpa earned.
Although times would have been tough, somehow Nan managed to stash away some savings from her housekeeping money. This was a secret from Jimpa, and when she died it caused major issues. Having no will, despite Mum’s enquiry (more on that below), meant that the Government specified what would happen to her assets, which presumably included the house. Darryl’s memory is that it was one third to Jimpa, and two thirds to her children. There was much discussion between the three children as to whether they should give their share of the money to Jimpa, but the concern was that he may fritter it away, so each held on to it. Dad’s share was held in a bank account for many years in case Jimpa needed it, but eventually was used to buy a holiday house.
Mum told us that she regularly took Nan to the bank to add to her secret account. One day Nan got back into the car with a smug look on her face, which Mum took to mean that she’d reached a significant target. Like many who lived through the Depression, perhaps she was being cautious, and having money in the bank would have provided her with a sense of security.
Karen remembers Nan telling her that she’d leave “a little something for us children”, although how she planned to do that without a will we don’t know. Whatever the case, nothing was forthcoming
As young adults, Dad, Obbie and Dorothy settled within a very small geographic vicinity of their parents:
Mum and Dad bought a home at 31 Wellbank Street, Concord, a 6 minute walk from Davidson Avenue.
Obbie moved around, at times within greater Sydney, and at one stage lived at 13 Meadow Street, Concord, just over a kilometre from Nan and Jimpa.
Dorothy and Greg bought or possibly built a home at 60 Davidson Avenue, a mere 300 metres up the street from Nan and Jimpa.
Map of The Browns in Concord in the 1950’s
Nan was incredibly house proud. Incredibly.
Nan and Jimpa’s House - Inside…
A front living room had a burgundy-coloured lounge/divan, covered in plastic to protect it, which made it uncomfortable and cold, but a blanket over it made it a little warmer during winter. There were great art deco mirrors, and flying ducks on the wall - quite kitsch now, but very stylish at the time. There was also a pianola that was rarely played, although Karen remembers being allowed to play it as a piano.
Beyond the living room were three bedrooms, a dining room behind a kitchen, laundry, and a sunroom which was the main meeting and gathering area for the house.
There was no hot water. Washing and washing up was done with boiled water, and there was a gas heater in the bathroom for baths and showers. You turned the gas on, lit a little pilot light on a metal arm, then swung the arm into the heater – and whoosh! – the gas was lit, and hot water started coming out.
Both the bathroom and the toilet next to it were carpeted. The toilet had the added protection of a shaggy mat to protect the carpet, along with a matching seat cover.
We all remember the hallway rugs. As a high traffic area, Nan decided to protect the carpeted hallway with a collection of rugs. There were different types – a bluish terry-towelling loop pile number, and probably a wool rug or two. But the pride of the collection was the fluffy genuine sheepskin tanned hide. The irony about Nan’s rugs was that we weren’t allowed to walk on them, which must have increased the wear on the hallway carpet all around the edges.
As a small child, Darryl found it easiest to navigate the hall by doing a weird ‘wide-jump’ – left foot to right – until he got to the other end. Any footprint was investigated, and the culprit found and appropriately admonished. On one occasion, our cousin Kevin O’Brien (Jack and Celia’s 5th child) visited. Kevin wore big army-style boots and the indent that he left on that sheepskin was HUGE and couldn’t be blamed on any of us kids. Fortunately. Some serious brushing got the consistency of the ‘fluff’ back to its rightful state. In fact, brushing the lambswool rug was a ’treat’ that we kids were allowed to do at ‘special’ times. Simpler days.
In Nan and Jimpa’s bedroom, the top dresser drawer held Nan’s clean underwear. Buried under that was a bag of mini chocolate coated honeycomb or some other treat that came from the old Woolworth’s Variety stores. We were allowed one piece each when we visited.
On Sunday mornings, Nan and Jimpa would sit up in bed and read the paper, after the paper boy had passed it through the open window.
The linen cupboard was full of things that Nan ‘kept for good’. Towels, sheets, tea towels, boxes that when opened and the tissue paper was peeled back , revealed ‘special’ underwear - slips, stockings and the like – all gifts that Nan loved, but never used.
Nan and Jimpa’s House - Outside…
The lawn was mowed regularly, and the place always looked pristine from the outside. Nan used Brasso to polish the OUTSIDE taps. Karen recalls seeing Nan tackle the Brasso-ing of both the outside taps AND the indoor door handles on at least one occasion.
The breeze block concrete ‘tiles’ which separated the driveway from the backyard were painted about once per year - gloss white, of course, so there was no way that the concrete could ever deteriorate.
There was always a beautiful display of flowers and woe betide any weed that had the temerity to poke its ugly head out in the front garden! A particular touch from Nan was a bed of gladioli planted along the front, close to the footpath.
As well as the gladi, there were lots of very hardy ‘wax’ plants, with tiny little delicate flowers. There was also a huge staghorn fern that grew on a block of wood, hanging under the big tree in the backyard.
In the back corner of the yard, there was a shed for Jimpa to kill some time and just poddle about. Darryl remembers a block of wood with nails part-hammered into it, and a little hammer that he would use to bang the nails down until they were only just sticking up above the wood. Then Jimpa would pull them out, part-hammer them in again, and Darryl would start over.
Nan worked especially hard to keep her home in beautiful condition, inside and out. The word among family was that “she’ll die with a broom in her hand”. As events transpired, that was pretty accurate. Nan suffered a stroke while holidaying at the shop Mum and Dad ran in Armidale, where she was helping to clean and sweep. Sadly, Nan died in Armidale hospital.
The Brown’s weren’t great cooks…
Nan always had chocolate biscuits which, for we kids, was a great treat. They weren’t fancy Arnott’s biscuits, just a no-name plain biscuit covered in chocolate in a clear cellophane bag, but we didn’t care. Unlike Mum and the O’Briens (GREAT cooks!), the Browns were more plain in their tastes and cooking habits. There were always cakes and biscuits at Nan’s, Obbie’s and Dorothy’s, but they were shop bought. A real treat for us as we always thought we were hard done by having to ‘make do’ with homemade equivalents.
Devon and tinned ham were frequently on the sandwich menu when we had lunch at Davidson Avenue. Nan would buy small knobs of devon in soft plastic wraps. You’d cut the top off and peel back the plastic, then cut off round slices. Devon, which is still available in ‘quality’ outlets is described as made of ‘several types of pork offcuts and offal, basic spices and a binder’, but this description seems as though it may have come from the science department rather than the marketing department. Wikipedia shows the following tasty little number as it’s representative picture of a slice of devon.
Num Num - Devon
But Nan didn’t restrict herself to this king of meats. She also bought ham in oval-ish tins. I say ‘oval-ish’ because they weren’t quite oval, but more pear-shaped. I’m guessing that was some clever marketing ruse to make you feel that the meat, once removed from its tin, was some sort of special ‘cut’ from the pig. I mean look at it – that’s a primo cut of pork right there!
Ham from the tin
To make sure that only the most dogged connoisseur of piggy delights could access the mighty ham, access was not made easy. You had to peel the special ‘key’ off the bottom of the tin, loop it through a bit of the edge, then wind it around the tin until the base and lid of the tin were separated and you could get to the ham. The key ended up having a long, slim ribbon of metal wound around it – this, plus the base and lid of the tin, were all razor sharp! How we didn’t slice ourselves to shreds, or were even allowed to do it, I don’t know.
Kamikaze ham tin
The slab of ham was turned on to a dinner plate, and we used a butter knife to scrape all the jelly/aspic off. Even just saying that sounds gourmet.
Nan and Jimpa – Family Times
Nan and Jimpa quickly settled into their roles as parents and providers for their three children - Keith, Olive (‘Obbie’) and Dorothy.
Family became the focus of their lives, and with the arrival of Keith’s four children, Karen, Ian, Darryl and Vanessa, and later Dorothy’s children, Bruce, Rohan and Evan, the family circle widened. Nan and Jimpa doted on the grandchildren and spent much of their free time with them and various other family members, including Nan’s sister Dorrie, her husband who was known to us as ‘Uncle Porky’, their daughter Joyce and her husband Frank, along with their children Mark and Anthony. And although Obbie and Ron didn’t have children, they were also an integral part of the Brown family unit.
While Nan and Jimpa weren’t great ones for entertaining, they were regular visitors to their three children’s homes, and weekends were frequently spent picnicking with the families at various locations within driving distance of Concord. Birthdays, Christmases and dinners, were shared around the three locations.
But in the ‘social events stakes’ the highlight of the year was the annual family holiday to Avoca Beach. It was a firm favourite with all members of the Brown family.
While Nan and Jimpa frequently tagged along with Mum, Dad and we children, there were a few occasions when the entire clan descended on Avoca.
Karen recalls a particularly memorable holiday where pretty much all members of the family turned up. This must have been the mid 60’s as neither the Gallagher children nor Vanessa had made an appearance. That year, the family group holidayed together in ‘The Pink House’ at Avoca.
Karen also remembers learning to eat Christmas pudding on that trip, because the rule was that no one was allowed to keep the silver coins unless they ate pudding, and by hook or by crook, she wasn’t going to miss out on those threepences, sixpences and maybe even a shilling!
Nan’s sister and husband owned a holiday house right on the beach and on a few occasions the family stayed there during the winter months. The house is still there, and the large pine tree which featured in a number of the Brown’s home movies, remains right out front. At this house, and in many others around that time, shillings needed to be inserted into a meter in order to keep the electricity on.
Karen can also remember another holiday house where she first experienced the ‘night cart’, which to a city kid was quite a fascinating sight.
Nan and Jimpa - Other stories
Considering that we spent a lot of time at Nan and Jimpa’s as children, there were no toys of any sort. Well, aside from Darryl’s piece of wood and a handful of nails.
That said, Nan did teach us how to break into the old metal Commonwealth Bank piggy banks! It was great fun – we’d take the money out, then put it back, take the money out, put it back. We were easily entertained. An old sticky tape tin full of buttons was something else to occupy us.
Commonwealth Bank Money Box - Hours of fun
One of Nan’s home remedies was a concoction of Chateau Tanunda brandy, sugar and hot water – which was a strange choice for a teetotaller. It was used to treat an upset stomach, the rationale being that it either “settled” said stomach, or made you throw up, which also served to cure the upset.
Nan was also fond of Pond’s Cold Cream, both as a night cream and as a treatment for sunburn, which was a fairly common occurrence in the days before sunscreen. She’d slather it on thickly, with the promise that it would ‘draw out the heat’. That it did indeed, but left the heat lying on the greasy, sore skin. Not a pleasant experience.
Pond’s Cold Cream
Nan and Jimpa never owned a car, so Mum (and likely Dorothy, as Obbie never drove) would pick Nan up each week to take her shopping. One time, Mum – ever practical – asked if Nan had a will. “Joan’s after my money” was Nan’s take on this, and she didn’t talk to Mum for about a month. It’s a testament to Mum’s care for Nan and Jimpa, and her attitude towards forgiveness that, despite Nan’s ‘silent treatment’, Mum continued to regularly pick her up to go shopping or take her somewhere, but that Nan refused to break her silence until she was good and ready. All through this time, Nan never stopped accepting Mum’s offers, but from pickup to drop-off all that could be heard was stony silence.
When we all moved to Armidale, Nan bought the four of us an electric blanket. These were a luxury at the time, and this was a very extravagant thing for her to do. She obviously dipped into her savings to pay for them.
Jimpa smoked ‘roll your owns’, and a packet of Champion tobacco and some Tallyho papers were always good for a birthday or Christmas present. He taught Karen how to roll cigarettes for him at quite a young age, and she wasn’t too bad at it. It’s good to see valuable skills like this passed on from generation to generation. 👍😂
Later, he had a cigarette rolling ‘machine’. It was a small, shiny metal contraption. You put a cigarette paper on it (after licking the edge), then a row of tobacco, pulled a little lever, and you ended up with a rolled cigarette.
The gift of choice for Jimpa
Jimpa at work
Jimpa was a printer, who worked in a printing business at Redfern. His daily commute was a bus from Concord to Burwood railway station, then a train to Redfern. There was a ‘fast train’ which stopped at just a few stations beyond Burwood, then at Redfern. Other trains were slower and did ‘all stops’ which extended the trip by 10 to 15 minutes.
Evenings saw the trip reversed (of course!), except that there was a pub right under the railway bridge at the bus stop at Burwood station. Jimpa used to stop there each afternoon for a drink (could have even been two, we have no facts either way), then hop on a bus back to Concord. For the reasons above about Nan’s history, she hated this and on a bad day she’d complain about him being ‘tipsy’ when he arrived home at Concord. Ian can say he only ever saw him ‘tiddly’.
Jimpa worked well into his 70s at the same printery at Redfern. We’re guessing that he progressively got moved to lighter duties, and that keeping him on was an act of decency by the employer, in our estimation. Something that wouldn’t happen that much these days.
Jimpa in Armidale
After Nan died in 1974, Jimpa lived on for 20 years, outliving his son (Dad/Keith), who died in 1990. As a widower, Jimpa would come up to Armidale for extended stays. In those days, it was about an 8-hour drive from Sydney to Armidale, so sometimes Gillian and Darryl would take him as far as Muswellbrook, meet up with Mum and Dad for lunch at the Club, after which Jimpa would head off with them. Darryl joked it was like a prisoner transfer!
Jimpa had plain tastes in his food, as most men of his era did. Rich sauces and such weren’t his style. One night, Mum made a French dish called ‘Navarin of Lamb’ which involved stewed lamb, onions and a range of ‘new’ ingredients that were starting to make their way into the Australian culinary world in the 1970’s. It was a very tasty dish, but it only ever made this one appearance to Ian’s recollection.
Navarin of Lamb
Now of course Jimpa would have had no idea what ‘navarin’ was, but there’s no way he’d believe it was good old fair dinkum Aussie food with a ‘fancy’ name like that! So, we were told that if Jimpa asked what it was, we were to answer, ‘lamb stew’.
Dinner was eaten, the wash up completed and off to the rumpus room for some TV viewing. Sometime later a rather wicked smell pervaded the room. We looked at each other, a few questions were asked, and it became clear that Jimpa was the perpetrator. Much to our olfactory dismay, he’d proven his point – no rich sauces for him. After a few minutes of banter at his expense, Jimpa decided it was his bedtime, so he bid us good night and headed off to his room, where the odour of digesting lamb was no doubt rich in the air for the rest of the evening.
At that stage, the rest of us could all ‘relive’ the experience and in the process, Ian declared that, “Jimpa has just had a serious fart attack” (a pun on a heart attack). Well, that was it for Dad – he just cracked up laughing and couldn’t stop for a long time. In the jokes stakes that night, future accountants 1, others 0.
Even though family called Horace ‘Jimpa’, his friends and workmates knew him as ‘Horry’. When was the last time you heard of anyone called Horace or Horry? Horry and Henrietta – I defy you to find one married couple with those names.
Anyway, on most of Jimpa’s trips, we’d go out to Tilbuster when something big was on at the farm - shearing, dipping, or the like. Tilbuster was a farm of around 1,000 acres which was owned by Mum’s brother Jack (John) and his wife Celia. It was about 8km north of Armidale.
This particular time, Jack was in the ute moving a mob of sheep from one paddock to another. Trained sheepdogs were being used, and some untrained ‘sheepdogs’ (Jimpa and Ian) were also ‘assisting’ – opening and closing gates, helping push breakaway sheep back toward the mob, and so on. At one stage, one of the trained sheepdogs (coincidentally named Horry) did something silly and Jack bellowed out across the paddock ‘Horry you dumb bastard, get a way back’. Well, Jimpa jumped with a quizzical look on his face that said, “WTF did I do wrong?”.
On one of his later visits to our Oak Tree Drive home in Armidale, Jimpa slept in much later than he normally would. After a while, Mum started to get worried and commented that she couldn’t bear another passing in Armidale - a reference to Nan’s passing some years previously. She kept popping in and out of the bedroom to check up on him and sent Karen in as well. Finally the pair went in together and were leaning over Jimpa’s face to see if he was breathing. Suddenly Jimpa awoke with a start, staring at their faces just inches from his and shouting out, “Ah. What? Eh. Ah.” And, while he gave them quite a start, they both breathed a huge sigh of relief.
Closing chapters for Henrietta and Horace
Nan and Jimpa were staying with us in Armidale in August 1974. Mum and Dad were busy with the running of the shop during the day, and we guess that they’d involve Nan and Jimpa as they could, taking them down the street to local wholesalers or suppliers, just for the sake of an outing.
The house was in the same building as the shop, but the ‘house’ had its own front door and back door. Nan was home one day, sweeping front and back around the house. She felt unwell and had a rest, but eventually finished up having a home visit from Dr John Waters who diagnosed a stroke, so Nan was admitted to Armidale Hospital where she stayed for some days until her ultimate death. As mentioned earlier, the family had always said Nan would likely “die with a broom in her hand”, and it turned out they were pretty close.
We can’t recall the specific length of time Nan was in hospital, nor whether Obbie or Dorothy were able to get to Armidale before Nan’s end came. She was subsequently transported by hearse to Sydney for her burial at Rookwood Cemetery.
Karen remembers Jimpa being gutted when Nan died, saying, “What am I going to do now?”. After all they’d been married for over 50 years and they were of an age where the man of the house had a high degree of dependence on his wife to keep the house running and the meals coming. He’d not only lost his life partner, which would have been devastating on its own, but he now had to face a future fending for himself.
As it turned out, Jimpa survived on his own for 20 odd years after Nan died. When the time came, and he could no longer stay safely on his own (the gas heater was always a particular concern for family), he was admitted to a nursing home run by Seventh Day Adventists (SDA), about two-thirds of the distance between his old home in Davidson Avenue and Obbie’s home.
Jimpa was in a shared room with three other residents, and the place unfortunately smelt of urine, an odour common to many of these places, particularly back in the 1980’s. One day Ian visited him in the lunchroom, sitting at a table while they talked. Jimpa pointed to a lady on the adjacent table, just a metre or so away. The lady was mumbling something incomprehensible, and Jimpa just pointed to her and said, “She’s a bitch”. Of course, this wasn’t the way he used to speak, so presumably some of his filters had turned off by that stage.
The most ironic story about Jimpa’s time at the nursing home came just a few weeks after he was admitted, when his doctor (Dr John McCarthy, also of Davidson Avenue, Concord) paid a visit to see how Jimpa was settling in. “Is there anything that would make things better here for you, Horry?” asked the good doctor. Jimpa admitted that he missed a beer in the afternoon, so the doctor promptly prescribed a daily beer, to be dispensed by the nursing staff. The staff didn’t have to buy it, that was Obbie’s job.
So there was Obbie who was teetotal, regularly buying beer for her Dad, with the SDA staff serving it every afternoon to Jimpa in a Seventh Day Adventist nursing home which was supposed to be totally ‘dry’. It must have raised a few questions any time one of the bigger bosses did a fridge check.
The SDA nursing home was temporary as Jimpa became one of the first residents at a brand new nursing home village in Ryde called ‘Dalton Gardens’.
Dalton Gardens as it is today
It was very progressive for the early 1990s, having three levels of care – independent units, a private bedroom and bathroom with shared living and all meals (and a beer!), and full hospital-style care. Jimpa was in the middle level of care and was very popular there as a 95-year-old male surrounded primarily by women. It was a lovely place, ground floor, Jimpa’s own furniture from his house, and a sliding door out onto a grassed courtyard. Most importantly, none of those nursing home smells!
While generally well, Jimpa did need surgery. The doctors debated for some time whether they should operate, weighing up his future without the surgery, versus the risk of the surgery itself on a 95-year-old. They did go ahead, and while Jimpa survived the surgery, he remained in hospital and passed away soon after it.
If you’d like to continue with the Brown’s story, and read the story of Joan and Keith, please click here.
If you’d like to read Joan’s Eulogies from her son Darryl and her brother Cyril, please click here.
Unfortunately we can’t locate the eulogies for Keith.
Written by the Brown children - Karen, Ian, Darryl and Vanessa, edited and augmented by Rob Landsberry, last modified 15 May 2024
The Brown’s Story - Part 2 - Joan and Keith (Mum and Dad)
A Few Words from Rob Landsberry
Joan O’Brien was Irene and Bill’s seventh child, and she married Keith Brown. This is their story, and it’s drawn almost exclusively from a family history written by Aunty Joan and Uncle Keith ‘s children - Karen, Ian, Darryl and Vanessa - with some additional material, photos and editing from me, all of which was appoved by the Brown siblings.
Like most of the family stories, this one shouldn’t be seen as ‘complete’. There’s bound to be more material as the siblings discover more documents and photos, and as they recall other family moments. But this is a start, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned in building the O’Brien Clan website, it’s the ‘start’ that’s the important thing. It doesn’t have to be perfect.
This isn’t just a story about the people, although that’s the main purpose, of course. It also offers a glimpse into life in simpler days, so that even those born in the new millennium have a chance to see what it was like to be an O’Brien/Brown back in the ‘olden days’.
I’d like to thank Karen, Ian, Darryl and Vanessa for creating this tribute to their parents, and for making sure their story lives on.
Introduction from the Brown Siblings
Shortly after Christmas in 2022, Ian and Vanessa had a brief catch-up during which they started sharing stories about the Brown clan. While swapping stories, it became clear that the spread of ages among the four siblings meant that each had different relationships and interactions with members of the broader family, depending on our ages at the time, and our locations as we grew older. There’s a 13-year gap between Karen and Vanessa, with Vanessa being the youngest of Irene and Bill’s 48 grandchildren.
The Brown children - Karen, Ian, Darryl and Vanessa
Mum and Dad both died way too young. When Dad died in 1990, Vanessa was just 21 and Darryl 27. But even Karen and Ian, the older of the four children, had a short time with our parents as adults. So, this is a good opportunity to remember and honour our parents, and to preserve their story.
We don’t aim to cover the genealogy of the Brown family, but instead to record some stories about our interactions with one another. So, this is designed to be a ‘soft history’ of our family.
But remember that history and memory are strange beasts, so while the stories are as accurate as we can recall, each of our recollections may be different. So sometimes you may read slightly different versions of the same incident.
We hope you all enjoy reading these stories as much as we did recalling them.
Keith Brown (Dad)
Keith Travis Brown was born 9 December 1923 and died on 13 August 1990, aged just 66.
Dad went to school in Canterbury a suburb in western Sydney. In the pictures below we have Dad’s birth certificate, followed by a photo that’s almost certainly of Dad and his sister Obbie (Olive) in the late 1920’s, along with the souvenir Holy Card from his First Communion on 15 August 1935 when he was 12.
Dad in his youth
Dad met his life-long friend Lindsay Chate at school. They were both members of the Campsie Bike club, which was quite a distance from where they lived. This caused problems when they were taking part in races, as they used a lot of their energy just riding to the race, let alone taking part in it.
Below is a certificate Dad received from The Concord-Ryde Amateur Cycling Club in March 1940 (aged 16) for completing an 80 mile course (approximately 135 kilometres). And beside that is the notice referring to the ride in the Truth from that day, which read:
CYCLISTS BIG DAY OUT
A BIG roll up is assured for the third annual 80 mile run to be staged today by Concord-Ryde Amateur Cycling Club. Riders will meet at St Luke’s Park Parramatta Road, Burwood and proceed to Windsor via Western Road, Castlereagh and Richmond. Starting time is 9am. lunch and swimming is listed for Castlereagh, where a halt will be made for two hours. Total time for trip - 9 hours.
RL: Few may be aware of Keith’s criminal history, but it came to light by accident in another document he completed as part of his enlistment in the army. Question 12 of his Mobilization Attestation Form asked “Have you ever been convicted by a Civil Court? If so, what court and for what offence?”. Well, Keith thought he should own up to his conviction in Children’s Court for the crime of ‘riding a bicycle without a light’. Criminal mastermind!
Clearly this crime was taken VERY seriously back in the 1930s and 1940s, as the following snippet from the Newcastle Sun of Friday 4 July 1941 shows. Thomas John Monks was fined 10 shillings plus 5 shillings and sixpence in costs for this exact same offence, in lieu of 48 hours in prison. That fine would be close to $100 in today’s money.
Dad and Lindsay may have entered the Army with limited skills, but they weren’t to stay that way for long. The army set about training the young soldiers to be truck drivers, thinking they’d become capable, productive drivers (and without pre-existing bad habits!) in a shorter time than the older soldiers. Dad and Lindsay became part of the Army Service Corp (ASC), which supplied other units of the brigade. There were three supply depot platoons, and two transport platoons, with Dad and Lindsay being part of the 40th.
They completed their final training in the Atherton Tablelands, North Queensland, around December 1943. Dad told us that the sergeants would insist that the engines of the trucks were warm before they moved them one inch. The sergeants would place their hands on the bonnet of each truck before giving the driver the OK to move off.
In mid-May 1944 Dad, Lindsay and their ASC platoon were sent to Lae in New Guinea aboard the SS Both, originally a Dutch boat.
They were on the second deck, and badly affected by sea sickness. This wasn’t helped by the kit bags that dangled from the bunks and swung back and forth, nor by the smell of the meat that was killed on board.
They arrived in Lae on 25 May 1944 and were assigned to the 19th Australian Infantry Battalion. In the area around Lae and Wau, the roads were sheer drops and landslides were common. The doors were removed from the trucks so the drivers could jump out quickly if the truck went over the edge or was caught by a landslide. As if this wasn’t dangerous enough, they were transporting ammunition as well as other supplies.
The water in the islands was lukewarm and allowed them to continue with their favourite pastime – swimming. The good swimmers, such as Dad and Lindsay, would swim in the fast-flowing rivers. The currents were so strong that even though they were swimming flat out, they didn't make any progress, finding themselves exactly where they started after a long session.
It was very hot and humid during the day, but cold at nights, meaning that it was not uncommon to have up to four blankets just to keep warm. The rations here were generally very poor.
In September of 1944 they embarked on the US liberty ship Ann McKim from Lae to Bougainville, from where they went to the island of Nissan, off Rabaul, an area with both Australian and American troops, and the largest airfield in the south-west Pacific.
A drawing of a C2-S-B1 ship - the same type as the Ann McKim
Alfred (Alf) Berry was an Australian soldier from Horsham in Victoria who had served in Darwin during the Japanese bombing raids and travelled to Cairns before sailing on the Duntroon to Lae and then up to the Wau Valley and Milne Bay. He made the trip to Nissan on the Ann McKim landing on the evening of 22 September 1944. Dad and Lindsay would likely have been on that same boat.
In an article you can find by clicking here, the journey was described as follows:
The journey to Nissan Island had occurred during a huge storm that whipped the sea up in to fifty feet swells that saw the propellers of the ship shuddering up out of the water before plunging back down into the sea. With quarters down in the rear hold and aware that the all-welded ships were known to break up in heavy seas it was a great relief to finally have land under foot.
Nissan Island is basically a fringe of land, surrounding a beautiful blue coral lagoon, but with a full complement of venomous coral snakes.
Nissan Island - New Guinea
They sailed on the lagoon in small yachts made by the American Construction Battalion, the sails made from two-man tents. Fishing in the lagoon was not done traditionally with fishing lines – it was more common to throw a grenade into the water and simply blow the fish out.
Pre-release movies were sent from America to help pass the time.
The trucks they drove were American, which they would bump into each other to 'kick' start them. The Australians were told to drive on the right-hand side of the road to fit in with the Americans, while the Americans were told to drive on the left-hand side of the road to fit in with the Australians. Not surprisingly, there were many near misses until they got this sorted out.
The Americans rations were a vast improvement on what they’d previously had. The ‘chow halls’, as they were known, had the luxury of having both tea and coffee, iced and hot. Previously, the Australians used 'tropical spread' on their bread in lieu of butter, whereas the Americans had something much more palatable, like the margarines of today.
Tropical Spread was described in the following article in the Launceston Examiner of 29 February 1944:
Tropical Butter Spread Popular
CANBERRA, Monday - Government experts believe that tropical butter spread now being produced for troops in New Guinea will replace tinned butter for the East, N.E.I and India after the war. They believe also that the new spread will increase Australia’s butter exports.
It is manufactured by a dehydrating process perfected by the Council for Scientific and Industrial Research and enables the product to withstand heat up to 100 degrees. Melting point of ordinary tinned butter is between 70 and 80 degrees.
Tropical spread has a caramel flavour that has been praised by troops in areas where ordinary butter becomes unsuitable for human consumption. Production was begun last year, and in November 60 dehydrated tons a week were being processed for the services. The present rate of production is more than 150 tons a week, while production in 1944 is estimated at 6,750 tons.
Tropical Spread - “I can‘t believe it’s not butter” 😲😨
There were barrels full of cigarettes and sweets near the doors of the chow halls, and the soldiers helped themselves as they left. Not surprisingly, there was a lot of theft of food from the Americans.
The soldiers were given a ration of beer from a nearby brewery. The Americans had plenty of money and would think nothing of paying four to five times the normal price, so the Australians sold their beer to the Americans rather than drink it – that would have been too extravagant. Of course, this was no hardship for non-drinking Dad. Karen recalls her Dad saying that he sold his rations of both beer and cigarettes to the Americans, and sent the money back home.
From here, they went to Empress Augusta Bay at Bougainville. Mount Bagana, a live volcano, was in the distance, and they would constantly see clouds of smoke rising from it.
Mount Bagana - One of Melanesia's youngest and most active volcanoes
Swimming was a big part of their lives here too. However, the water had very strong undertows, which the Americans were not used to. There were several Australian ex-surf lifesavers posted there, so they formed patrols, and from then on there were no more fatalities.
There was a lot of guerrilla activity at North Bougainville, whereas South Bougainville tended to be more conventional warfare. Either way, the troops in these areas didn't think of the future too much, as it was very uncertain that there would be any future for them at all. Base camps were not under the same threat, but slit trenches were still dug in handy locations in case of trouble, and each soldier did an hour’s guard duty each night. Owen guns and hand grenades were standard issue.
Slit trench
The Booker Straits had many Japanese guerrillas. One of the simplest booby traps used by the Japanese was to pull the pin out of a grenade and then put it into a jam tin, so that the lid would hold the firing mechanism in place and stop it from exploding, but when an unsuspecting soldier looking for a sweet treat would open the tin, BAM…it would explode.
The roads here were steep and muddy. Corduroy tracks (logs) were laid down, and the trucks were driven on these to make it safer. Japanese patrols often ambushed the tracks, placing unexploded American bombs under them to blow up the tanks and trucks.
Corduroy tracks - used extensively in New Guinea
While stationed here, a radio announcement told of the atomic bombs used against Japan and that the Japanese had surrendered. The war in these areas continued though, as there were pockets of Japanese who didn’t know about the surrender. Planes were painted with a large white stripe on the underside with 'Japan surrendered' written in Japanese. The planes were flown over the areas of Japanese resistance that still existed.
RL: The photo below is taken from Keith’s collection. My daughter Lauren, who lives in Japan and speaks Japanese, said that it says ‘koufuku’ which means ‘surrender’. It’s two Japanese characters but just one word in English. While I can’t be sure, perhaps the left-hand wing had something about the war having ended.
A plane in New Guinea with the word “surrender” on its underside
Many soldiers came back from the war with all sorts of trinkets and collectables. Captured guns, little jars of soil, Japanese flags, pieces of enemy field kit - all manner of things often accompanied a soldier on his return from the battlefield. But that was all too cumbersome for Dad. So, he decided to bring malaria back with him - it was so much easier to pack. He’d contracted it in New Guinea, and liked it so much he thought, “Hey, why not bring it home with me?”.
We don’t know a great deal about it because, like many things that happened during his war service, it wasn’t discussed, but Karen remembers that the last of his recurring bouts of malaria occurred when the family lived in Concord. She thinks she may have been around ten years old, so it’s likely the she’s the only one with any memory of it. If that recollection is right, then that’s two decades after the war ended, which meant that while Dad didn’t say much about his war experiences, he suffered 20 years of malarial reminders of his time at war.
Apparently Dad was never hospitalised for malaria, with Mum once confiding in Karen that that was because Nan insisted on looking after him at home. She may have thought it was private family business.
While Dad didn’t speak much about his wartime experiences, he did tell us a couple of stories.
He was posted to the Broome/Derby area at some point during his war service, possibly during training. He would write home, but a censor read all the mail and blacked out anything which might impact on security. On a few occasions, Dad (the master spy!) drew a picture of a broom in the top of one page, as a subtle way of saying where he was. While, we can’t see the Broome/Derby area referenced on his war service papers, he was in Western Australia during 1942 and 1943.
Another time, Dad and other soldiers were on a train from east to west coast Australia. With nothing much else to do for the many days of the journey the soldiers played cards. As kids we used to play cards a lot, but Dad never joined in. He was probably so sick of playing cards after days crossing the country that he never wanted to do it again.
Dad was discharged from the army in June 1946 as part of the demobilisation process.
Certificate of Discharge from the Army - 1946
On their return from the war, servicemen had to be given their jobs back. Before the war, and as noted on Dad’s war record, he’d been a tailor’s apprentice. Unfortunately, when Dad returned from the war, the tailor had shut down, so he went through government sponsored vocational assessment, which determined that he was suited to being a house painter. His training was paid for and presumably a job/apprenticeship was included as part of the retraining.
Joan O’Brien (Mum)
Joan Terese O’Brien was born 16 October 1925 at Alymerton Private Hospital, Junee, the seventh of twelve children. As noted in the article below from the Daily Advertiser of 19 April 1941, Alymerton had been built in the late 1800’s as the home of Mr G Dobbyns, the Mayor of Junee. It was later run as a private hospital, before being sold to Mr T H Grimmond in 1941.
In years to come, there was confusion over the spelling of her middle name – Mum commonly used an ‘h’ (‘Theresa’ or ‘Therese’), whereas her birth certificate omitted it (‘Terese’).
In her own hand, in a diary started in 1988 and dedicated to her children, Mum writes:
I was born in Junee. Brought up on a property called 'Cooberang' Junee Reefs. Attended public school Junee Reefs. Then to Bankstown Catholic School 'St. Felix' for 1 year. Went to Mt. Erin Boarding School to finish schooling to my Intermediate which I passed.
Family moved to Sydney in wartime. I worked at the Taxation Office and GPO until I married Keith (painter by trade) 16.5.1953. I did casual work at Burwood. Then had an office job at the City Fruit Markets until around June 1955.
I looked after my family in our home at Dulwich Hill. Moved to 31 Wellbank St, Concord about 4 years after our marriage. Did a little casual work.
Moved to Armidale to take up a small business (Rusden St) October 71 for 4 years. Built a home in 3 Oak Tree Dr, Armidale ph 72-3574 April 1976. Worked casual for years for Grant's Banana Shop.
Joan’s Intermediate Certificate from Sacred Heart Presentation College, Mt Erin, Wagga Wagga
Joan also listed her interests as:
Knitting, Tennis, Swimming, Cooking.
RL: I can attest to Aunty Joan’s knitting abilities. Following is a letter to her from my son Ben when he was 6 years old, thanking her for his knitted slippers.
Letter from 6 year old Ben Landsberry to Joan
RL: Aunty Joan also refers to her job at the tax office during WWII, an appointment that was referenced in the following snippet from the Cootamundra Herald of Friday 6 March 1942.
Mum was a great teller of anecdotes and stories, so much of her history is known to us by the stories we’ve included here.
As a child, Mum grew up on a farm. It was difficult to reconcile this with the fact that she had no great love for animals. Cats would seek her out as if they knew that she was uncomfortable in their presence (as cats so often do!), and if there was a snake within cooee, Mum would be off in the other direction.
When she was a teenager, Mum was sent to live with one of her aunts in Sydney. This was done as a favour to the aunt, who had just lost one of her own children or her husband. Unfortunately, Joan was not told the reason for the move by her parents, and she cried and cried for weeks in her new home, believing that her parents didn't love her, or had sent her away for doing something terrible.
Her life at a boarding school seemed stereotypical. She and Helen, her older sister by one year, were caught smoking in the toilets on numerous occasions. The nuns were old dragons whose sole aim in life was to make the girls miserable, or so they thought. Castor oil was regularly dispensed by the nuns, whose questionable hygiene habits and hands over the top of the glass made the experience all the worse. For this reason, her own children were never required to partake of castor oil – thank God.
Mt Erin Boarding School, Wagga Wagga
After school, her family moved to Sydney, and bought a home in Neutral Bay. This was known as ‘The Gables’ and was an imposing two storey home overlooking the water. It was a bargain, as it was during WWII and Japanese submarines had been found in Sydney Harbour. The price of waterfront properties dropped as people moved away from the water in droves.
The Gables in Neutral Bay
Mum was 20 years old at the end of the war, Helen a year older. Together, they attended many dances for military personnel on leave, doing their 'bit' for the war effort.
Joan (left) and Helen doing their bit for the war effort
Joan’s brother Allan was killed in the war. Mum took this very hard, often running up to uniformed servicemen of a similar height and build to Allan, thinking it was him, but being disappointed each time.
Joan’s brother Allan O’Brien - died during WWII in 1944
Mum worked for the government before she was married. She worked for the GPO (General Post Office, the predecessor to Australia Post and Telstra), where she maintained the phone book listings for a couple of the letters of the alphabet, one file card per person/number. When she was married, she had to stop work, as was the norm for those days.
Together
Before they married
Mum and Dad met at a dance, probably somewhere in the city in Sydney. This was a common meeting place for couples during the 1950s. Mum lived at her parents’ home in Neutral Bay, Dad with his parents at Concord.
‘Courting’ was a pretty low-key activity in those days and most of their ‘dates’ consisted of days at the beach (and we’ve all seen those wonderful photos), games of tennis and maybe the occasional movie.
One day Mum and Dad were walking around town, when the elastic went in Mum’s knickers. She could feel them slipping down, so she stepped out of them, picked them up and shoved them in Dad’s pocket. Her instructions to Dad – “When you get home, whatever you do, don’t blow your nose!” Thinking about it, I’m not sure why she didn’t just put them in her handbag. 🤔
Dinner out was a rarity in the late 1940s, so much so that Mum likely knew something was afoot when Dad asked her out for dinner, and of course she was right – it was there that Dad proposed.
Karen thinks that their canteen of cutlery was an engagement present. They chose the ring together, which is a very sensible thing to do.
Their engagement was a long one, possibly about five years. Part of the reason was that Nan (Dad’s Mum, Henrietta) would have a ‘turn’ whenever a date was set, and there was invariably a postponement. Mum once told Karen that she’d decided that if the wedding didn’t come off that last time a date was set, the whole thing would be over. Dad was always Nan’s favourite, and it would seem she didn’t like the idea of anyone taking her boy away. Lucky for us it did ‘come off’ and apparently it was all organised in about six weeks.
Mum’s sister Gwen was a seamstress and made the wedding dress. Prior to the wedding, Joan was sick with a gastric illness, and as a result, Gwen had to take the wedding dress in on numerous occasions so that it would fit her properly on the big day. The wedding photos did show her looking very slim and lovely.
Joan and Keith were married in St. Joseph's Catholic Church, Neutral Bay, on 16 May 1953.
Apparently, it was a fun day, with Nan suffering from a prolapse, crying and voicing her concerns that Mum wouldn’t look after her son properly which, as you can imagine, went down like a lead salami with Pa O’Brien.
Just married
Mum and Dad’s first home at 27 Grove St, Dulwich Hill was purchased prior to the wedding.
27 Grove St, Dulwich Hill as it is today
On the day of the wedding, Dad and Ron Turvey, his brother-in-law and best man, were still making the bedroom furniture as the time of the wedding grew closer and closer. They didn’t have time to clean up or make up the bed. So, when they arrived home after the wedding reception, Mum and Dad had to sweep the remaining loose nails and dust off the bed, put the mattress on and make it up. Presumably they stayed awake, waiting for their sexual relations to arrive (oh Ian, you rascal!).
The bed – a wooden platform base with bedside cupboards – may have been made in a hurry, but quality was not sacrificed. The base and side tables lived on for many years, being used constantly in each of Mum and Dad’s homes.
Money was tight for the newlyweds, and Mum and Dad were particularly pleased when one of Mum's uncles, not particularly known for his generosity, gave them five pounds as a wedding present (the equivalent of around $300 in today’s money). This was enough to make things easier until they got on their feet.
Mum and Dad didn’t have much spare cash – nobody did back then - and they didn’t want to waste what little they had on a honeymoon. So, they decided to honeymoon at home, but were both very coy when asked the question ‘Where are you honeymooning?’. Each told their respective families that they were away. Periodically they would call their families, with Mum pretending to be the long-distance operator when they rang Dad's family, and vice versa.
At one stage, Dad was employed full-time by a building firm working as a painter, so there was presumably decent continuity of work. The building boom in Western Sydney was on – suburbs like Mount Druitt, Penrith and the like were being developed rapidly.
Later, he and another wartime mate, Barry Charleston, formed a partnership as painting contractors. The minute their boss got wind of their plans Dad was asked to leave the firm. It seemed like their start-up date got pushed forward a little faster than they’d planned.
Dad once worked on one of Sir Frank Packer’s homes in Sydney’s eastern suburbs. Sir Frank was a media tycoon, father of Kerry and grandfather of James Packer.
Karen remembers visiting her Dad on a work site. Mum was delivering Dad’s lunch, and Karen and Ian were taken along for the ride. Her recollection is that it was a new house that was being built in Castle Hill, which was quite a different place back then.
Wellbank St
We’re not sure why, but Mum and Dad decided to move from Dulwich Hill. They looked at houses all over, including 31 Wellbank St, Concord. Mum wasn’t keen on it because it was only half a kilometre from Dad’s parents, but it was the best house they saw, so she eventually agreed. They paid £4,950 for it, which was at least partly funded through a war service loan, which was quite common for the families of returned soldiers in those days. Though we’re not exactly sure when Mum and Dad bought the house, Karen believes it would have been purchased in the late fifties because the family was already living there in 1960 when she started school.
31 Wellbank St, Concord as it is today
The picture above shows the house as it is now, having been rebuilt in the 1970s and no doubt augmented since then. But at the time Mum and Dad bought it, it had 2 bedrooms and a sunroom at the back, which was Ian and Darryl’s bedroom, complete with a set of bunks. There was a lounge and dining room, separated by sliding frosted glass doors, and a kitchen with the everyday dining table in it. The land sloped from the front to the back, and there was a laundry under the house at the back.
The kitchen had an alcove for an old stove. Our collective memory is a bit fuzzy on the detail. Ian recalls it was still a functional oven and either above it (Ian’s recollection), or opposite it (Karen’s recollection) was a shelf that held the biscuit tins. These were large, old Aktavite (think Milo) tins that Dad painted to match the kitchen, with stickers on the front with a different type of flower on each tin. Nothing was wasted in the 50’s. Aktavite tins became biscuit tins, Vegemite jars became drinking glasses, Bushell’s coffee jars became a matched set for all manner of hardware items, and on it went.
Karen recalls the old stove running on gas, and that at some stage an addition was made to this cooking area - a rotisserie!! For the time, and for the Browns, this would have been a very flash piece of kitchen equipment. Karen remembers Pa O’Brien being fascinated by the sheer wizardry of the device. On one occasion when visiting, he spent a considerable amount of time, totally mesmerised, watching the chook go ‘round and ‘round as it cooked. At that time, the now ubiquitous chicken was quite a treat and the purchase of a rotisserie ensured that it was always cooked to perfection. It tasted delicious and, while we’re sure that many other delights came out of that oven, this is the one that stands out.
But back to the Aktavite biscuit tins. With their different markings, they were designed to help us distinguish the Sao biscuits from the sweet ones, and so on. One time, one of our many cousins came to visit with us. He was from one of the larger families, where it was hard to get a word in, so he was a bit of a late talker. That said, he knew what was in the tins and would point and utter something unrecognisable, but Mum wouldn’t let him have anything until he had a decent go at saying ‘biscuit’. The end result was that by the time our young visitor returned to his family, they were amazed that he’d started talking. Well, at least he could name every home-made biscuit in the ‘Joan Brown’ range, which was a start.
Pa (Bill) O’Brien was with us for a meal once, dessert came and when all of us, except Pa and Karen, picked up our spoons in our left hand and started eating, Pa was amazed.
Mum and Dad were both left handers made to write with their right hand at school, as Christians thought the left hand was the ‘hand of the devil’. Mum was pretty ambidextrous, Dad less so. But they both made sure Ian, Darryl and Vanessa, all left-handers, ‘ate properly’ with the fork in the left hand and knife in the right.
The backyard at Wellbank Street was large. You can see some glimpses of it in this video on the family website. Mum and Dad weren’t keen gardeners, but it was always neat and tidy. Dad built a brick incinerator, into which all the cardboard and garden cuttings were thrown. When it was lit, Darryl loved crouching down in front of the little opening at the front and poking the flames with a stick.
We also had an above ground pool for a while, a combined Christmas present for the family, bought from Clark Rubber. A low wooden frame was built on the grass, filled with about 10 cm of sand, and the metal wall stood in it. A plastic liner went inside, clips around the edge held it in place and it was filled with water, 1 metre deep. We used to run in the water around the edge to create a whirling vortex with the water in the middle much lower than the edge, then lie back and float round and round with the current. Hey, people still do it – even grownups – click here.
Darryl and Vanessa enjoying the pool at Wellbank Street
We lived at Wellbank Street for many years, leaving for Armidale in October 1971. Mum and Dad rented the Wellbank Street house at first, in case the Armidale move didn’t work out. They sold it a little while before a house price boom hit Sydney in the mid-1970s.
Holidays at Avoca
We went on family holidays in early January each year, most often to Avoca, on the NSW Central Coast. Dad’s Aunty Dorrie (Nan’s sister) and her husband Uncle Frank had a weekender there right on the beach, which is how we heard about Avoca.
At that time, Avoca was a sleepy little place, with only a couple of stores. The old cinema doubled as a church on Sunday, but the fleas in the carpet were terrible. The beach was beautiful with great surf, and it was so long you could walk for ages. There was also a huge lake, the Avoca part of which was just a stone’s throw from the beach.
We rented a small house for two weeks, and over the years rotated through several different houses – a green fibro place overlooking the lake, a pink place on a large block at a bend in the road, a fibro place adjacent to the letting agent and once in a big place owned by Aunty Anne’s order (from memory we shared that place with at least Claire’s family). Initially the letting agent told Mum that a cleaning fee was required – Mum arced up at that suggestion and eventually reached an agreement with the agent in ‘Year One’ that if the place was inspected and found to be not clean enough then a fee would be paid. The agent inspected the house as we left and there was never any talk about cleaning fees again.
RL: This unwillingness to pay a cleaning fee at the Avoca holiday house continued when my Mum and Aunty Claire took over the 2 week January slot from the Browns. After two fabulous weeks of sun and fun, the final memory of our two weeks was always the one where we were all on our hands and knees scrubbing and cleaning.
Driving to Avoca from Sydney, the station wagon was loaded up with two adults, three (then four) children, clothes, probably linen, games (because there was no TV), and food for at least the first few days. Darryl remembers the packing being like Tetris in an attempt to get everything in the car and on the roof racks, with every inch of space being used – he particularly remembers loose oranges being put in the gaps in and around the spare tyre. Mum was never a great one for buying meat pies from cake shops but on occasion we stopped off at a particular establishment in East Gosford which was deemed a satisfactory pie stop, and that was a big treat for us all.
Mum would make ‘witches brew’ and slather us in it to ‘protect us’ from the sun. This was before the days of UV ratings, sun safe messages and so on. Witches brew had three ingredients – olive oil, vinegar and methylated spirits – rather than stopping us burning, it was probably more of a baste to make sure we were well done and tasty!
Driving home in those days seemed to take forever. We swam, cleaned and set-off, presumably early enough for the next week’s tenants to come in. But it always seemed to be late in the day when we got home as there were no motorways in or out of Sydney back then. There was no food in the house, so as an end of holiday treat, we were allowed to eat cornflakes for dinner. Heady days!
One holiday, after the final swim on the morning we were leaving, Dad’s swimmers were hooked over the roof rack pole to dry and so they wouldn’t be forgotten. Off we drove…forgetting to take them off the roof rack. Karen has a feeling they were still there when we got back to Concord, but memory is a funny thing, so they could equally have flown off at speed in transit, landing on the face of an unsuspecting pedestrian.
Once we owned the shop in Armidale (see below), we moved from the main house on that Avoca block into a converted garage on the same block. Mum’s sisters Claire and Gwen and their children took over the main house.
The shop meant that we couldn’t all get to Avoca at the same time, so Dad, Darryl and Ian had one week, and then Mum, Vanessa and Karen would have the other week. Ian recalls one time when Dad was cleaning out the fridge on our way out of the shack. While Ian had the usual breakfast of cereal and toast, Dad was ‘finishing off’ anything that was open. So he was able to manage a banana, some milk and some sliced beetroot for breakfast that morning. Ugh!
The shop years, Armidale
In 1971 Dad was 48, and the trip to work was at times 2 hours each way, often down an undeveloped Parramatta Road - remember these were the days before motorways. This amount of driving, coupled with the physical strain of painting in all types of weather, just drained him, and wasn’t something he could do indefinitely.
To top that off, Dad had had his teeth removed in a pretty major surgery, in preparation for a full set of false teeth. He took several weeks to get over the operation, and was laid up in bed, so with all of that on, that seems like the time Mum and Dad decided to try something different.
They started to look at a range of shops in Sydney that they could operate together. Darryl remembers going with Dad one Saturday to sit across the road from a sandwich shop in Top Ryde they were interested in, and counting the customers going in. Mum and Dad had a feeling that the books they were given were inflated to jack up the price, hence the morning’s research. Darryl was quite young at the time and doesn’t remember the outcome, but suffice to say they didn’t end up with that shop.
Eventually, they abandoned the Sydney shop idea, and in October 1971 they decided to move the family to Armidale. They took up the lease on a general store and house at 224 Rusden Street, on the corner of Butler Street. It was across the road from the Armidale and New England Hospital and next door to the Railway Hotel. The picture below shows the shop in its current incarnation as the Crossword Café, and while the room to the left is shown as ‘Karen’s old Bedroom’, Karen has no recollection of large picture windows outside of which was a table and chairs where slightly creepy Armidalians could watch her as she slept, so that’s undoubtedly a modification.
Of course, the building has changed quite a bit since the seventies. When we lived there, there was a doorway into the ‘house’ part of the building, which doesn’t seem to be there anymore. One night, not long after we’d moved in, we heard a loud kerfuffle during the wee hours, which turned out to be someone trying to break in. The police were duly called but we were amused, and relieved, to discover that the culprit was a former tenant who, having visited the nearby pub, was ‘somewhat inebriated’ and had forgotten that he no longer lived there. He was described by the constabulary as ‘harmless’ and given a lift home. 😃
224 Rusden Street as it is now
The shop was quite run down at the time and over the next five years the family built it up into a healthy business.
At the time of the move, Karen was in fourth form, the equivalent of year 10, and was studying for her School Certificate, so she stayed in Sydney to finish the school year and exams. There are differing memories – she may have stayed with Nan and Jimpa for some of the time and with her best friend Geraldine Brooks’ family for the rest.
Ian wasn’t sent to school for the last few weeks of 1971 (his year 9), as Mum and Dad preferred to get him working in the shop. Dad painted overnight and slept through the day. Mum and Ian cleaned the shop, emptying shelves, cleaning, then re-stacking them, all while serving customers.
Darryl and Vanessa lived with their aunt and uncle, Celia and Jack, at Tilbuster (a property just outside of Armidale) until the house was considered habitable.
The shop was open from 7.30am until 7.30pm, but on many occasions, late customers meant the shop would actually close as late as 8.30pm. It traded seven days a week, 365 days a year. The only variation was Christmas Day and Easter Sunday when it was closed at lunchtime. However, the business still did the same turnover in those few hours as it did on any other day of the year – this was before the days of around the clock, seven days a week, trading. It’s hard to imagine that an 84-hour week, albeit split between Mum and Dad at quiet times, was more appealing than Dad’s life as a painting contractor.
After the shop closed each evening, Mum would tally the day’s takings and write up the figures with a major reckoning being done once a week. Perhaps it was her training in bookkeeping in 1939 that saw Joan take the lead in managing the shop’s finances.
The brown ledger for the figures and Mum’s old white handbag for storing the float of cash were familiar sights on the dining table every night. So too was the pocket money that each of the children would sometimes be given for helping. There was no set amount, and it was often what may have been left over if the books didn’t balance.
The shop stocked all types of goods including grocery, green grocery, delicatessen and smallgoods, ice creams, milkshakes, soft drinks, lollies, cigarettes, sandwiches, pies and sausage rolls, newspapers, greeting cards, stamps, and even a few gift items targeted at hospital patients. Mum and Dad kept an exercise book for noting down any item that a customer asked for that wasn’t stocked and would ensure that they bought it on their next trip to the wholesaler.
In those days, commercial travellers called at the shop to sell their goods. Milk, bread and newspapers were delivered fresh daily. Salesmen selling cigarettes, biscuits, chocolates, lollies and gift items called regularly, some even having vans that contained all their goods on display. Orders would be taken and either delivered on a subsequent trip or sent to Armidale by rail. Chocolate biscuits were only available during the cooler months, as manufacturers hadn’t yet worked out how to stop the chocolate melting during transit in the Australian summers.
Karen, Ian and Darryl became as adept at running the shop as Mum and Dad. We could all serve the customers, handle the returns of unsold newspapers and magazines, write out cheques (for Mum or Dad to sign – except on one occasion when Ian thought he could sign a cheque at the ripe old age of seventeen or so), count and bundle notes, roll coins ready for the bank, and perform all the other day to day tasks to keep the shop going. Vanessa was too young at the time to take on any of these duties, but she did her bit by charming the regular customers.
If the shop and business were run down, the house that was attached to it was worse. An older style with four bedrooms, it didn’t even have hot running water. Repairs were done without impacting the normal operation of the shop, so these were very busy times for Mum and Dad.
A door at the back of the shop, permanently open, led to the lounge room which had formerly been a storeroom. From here, it was easy to keep an eye on the shop and have a quick sit down when things were quiet, so the lounge room became the focus of family activity during the shop years. There was a huge amount of comment from customers as they walked past the side of the shop, which now sported open windows with curtains flapping in the breeze.
The house also contained a lot of excess stock that couldn’t fit into the shop, including crates of large soft drink bottles stacked over six feet high along the enclosed back veranda, extra fridges, and freezers full of perishables and backup supplies of chocolates and lollies.
Even though the shop was full of goodies, it was very rare for us to have any 'treats' - not that we hankered after them all that much. Occasionally, Mum or Dad would ask if anyone wanted an ice cream or some chips, with a milkshake after school being more common. The loose lollies were kept in boxes in a glass display cabinet, and these were considered 'fair game' by us kids. Mum and Dad would pass a mock disapproving eye if any of us were ever caught with our hand in the boxes. A favourite excuse originally coined by a very young Vanessa was that we were 'just fixing' the boxes - that is, shaking them to even out their contents and pushing all the boxes forward so that they lined up against the glass front of the cabinet. We kept those boxes so even and neat we should have been given some sort of prize. 😂
One big treat was finishing off the last of the sweet cakes from Moon’s Bakery.
Moon’s Bakery, Uralla
The space behind the counter was covered with a wooden platform a couple of inches high, perhaps to give the shopkeeper a more commanding position. Or maybe it was to prevent you from having to stand on the concrete floor all day. Who knows? It was there when we arrived, and we just kept it. Every now and then, the timber boards would be lifted up so that the actual floor could be swept. It was a treasure trove down there, as any coins that were dropped would remain there until the next clean.
There was a large, manual meat slicer that we all used. A large slab of ham, corned beef or devon was put on it, one hand pushed it into the blade while the other turned a handle that spun the blade and sliced the meat. The danger was when the lump of meat was getting thin, pushing it into the blade meant that your finger was very close to it too! The thickness of the slices could be adjusted as well…of the meat of course, not our fingers.
“Two slices of devon, please”
Inspectors would come periodically to test the scales and ensure we weren’t cheating the customers. On one occasion, just after Australia adopted the metric system, they placed stickers over the pounds and ounces measurements with the equivalent grams and kilograms. Consequently, we adapted to metric weights very quickly.
Family life at this time
Due to the long hours involved in running the shop, family life took a bit of a back seat during these years. The evening meal was done in two shifts, with the children being served first while Mum and Dad looked after the shop, after which they’d eat their meal while we attended to the shop. It was during these years that the older children became reasonably self-sufficient, being able to cook a meal if necessary.
Organising the traditional celebrations, like Christmas and Easter, was difficult. Celia and Jack (Mum’s eldest brother) came to the rescue and these occasions were usually spent with them at Tilbuster. With their nine children and a few wives and grandchildren, the addition of the Browns didn’t seem to be a problem, especially to Celia, who was known for her generosity and ability to cope with large numbers. However, she never could quite understand the Brown's custom of only having custard with their plum pudding and not jelly and stewed fruit as well.
Celia was renowned for the huge scale of her servings of food. One Christmas, cousin Kevin was heard to remark in our direction that “Mum only has two size servings: big and bloody big!”. That wasn’t too far from the truth. Sometimes we Sydney kids would cry over the amount of food we were expected to eat at breakfast when we stayed there – orange juice and toast for starters, porridge or cereal, then a café-sized main comprising chops or sausages, tomato and eggs.
One morning cousin Andrew, about 10 years old at the time, protested about the amount of food he was expected to eat. He wasn’t allowed to leave the table in the breakfast room until he’d finished everything that was on his plate. Stern discussions, tears and tantrums later, he finished at around 11.30am. Lunch then followed at about noon!
As we didn’t get away much during this period, family would come to stay. Dad’s sister Obbie and her husband Ron would visit, and Obbie would help around the house while Mum and Dad worked in the shop.
The bathroom, which was at one end of the back veranda, was quite old. It had an old cast iron, claw foot bath with a shower over it. The bath enamel was worn in spots. Obbie decided to give it a good clean and finished it off with Mr Sheen, a furniture polish in a spray can. Dad was the next to have a shower and just about killed himself as he stepped in and slid on the glass-like, polished surface.
Obbie also loved to reorganise things to how she thought they should be. Sometimes it was weeks after she left that Mum would eventually find things in the kitchen that she’d spent ages looking for.
In the living room, as well as a lounge and TV, there was a dining table up against the wall. As we ate at the kitchen table, the dining table was more functional – we used to count the money there each night and Mum would do the books there. On the table was a cut glass vase, pushed to the back so that it was decorative but out of the way. On one trip, Obbie put the vase in the centre of the table; Mum saw it in passing and pushed it to the back. Next time she passed the table, Obbie pulled it forward again…and so it went on for days and days, without a word being said, for the entire stay.
One time Aunty Mary (Mum’s eldest sister) visited us. Mum and Dad were in bed, and she joined them with a bottle of champagne and three glasses. It was one of the rare occasions when Dad actually joined in, and even though it was undoubtedly just a few sips, Nan was horrified to think that her son had been corrupted. She seemed to think the O’Briens were a bunch of alcoholics. And Dad was in his late forties at the time.
Apart from this, Dad would have the odd glass of champagne at weddings when it was time for the toast. It was probably for show so that he didn’t stand out – he would take the odd sip but would never drink a full glass.
Mum’s youngest sister, Aunty Anne, who was a Nun, spent some time at the University of New England (UNE) in Armidale doing a post-graduate teaching course. She lived on campus but in a small room with shared facilities. When she was going somewhere and wanted to take a sponge cake, or her famous matches (homemade puff pastry, sandwiching jam and fresh cream and then dusted with icing sugar), she’d swoop into the house and take over the kitchen for a few hours.
You can see Aunty Anne’s handwritten recipe book by clicking here, and transcripts for each recipe by clicking here.
Mum and Dad rarely censored what we saw. Karen and Ian were allowed to watch Number 96 with them, a show that was considered very raunchy in the mid-1970s.
Darryl remembers being sent to bed once before his bedtime when the movie ‘Irma la Douce’ was on TV. It was a romantic comedy, but the main character played by Shirley MacLaine was a prostitute.
Irma La Douce - Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine
Twelve or thirteen year old Darryl was so annoyed, he stayed awake reading in bed until he heard the movie finish and everyone go to bed. “That’ll teach them”, he no doubt thought.
It goes without saying that there was only one TV in a house in those days. What might be surprising though, is that in Armidale there were only two channels – ABC and the local Tamworth station, which contained a mix of local content and programs from channels 7, 9 and 10. And while the programs almost all came from the ‘big smoke’ you were left in no doubt that the ads were local, promoting products like AgQuip (an agricultural farm expo), sheep drench, tractors, and the like…you get the idea. Karen, well and truly a city girl at that stage, vividly remembers the ‘Nilverm Pig Wormer’ ad that was widely broadcast when the family first arrived, and she was astounded, and quite amused, that such a product would be advertised on TV.
Nilverm - Pig Wormer
The nightly ‘stock market report’ was all about wool and animal prices, rather than the price of BHP shares.
Family holidays away were non-existent during the shop years, partly due to the business but also reflecting Karen and Ian taking on jobs and University as they moved into their late teens. Sometimes Mum or Dad would take the children out or away, but it wasn’t possible for everyone to get out together. The idea of paying someone else to work in the shop was completely foreign to them. One weekend they did relent when a speedy trip to Sydney was required to visit Mum’s father. A friend of Karen’s (Liz Carey) was employed to come and help but from memory, this was the only time that someone outside the family was paid to work at 224 Rusden Street.
Mum’s father (Bill O’Brien) was sick late in his life and Mum and Dad would occasionally do the big drive to Sydney to visit him. On such occasions, they’d leave the shop to Karen and Ian to run, driving off mid-afternoon Friday after school/work. Darryl was a dab hand at that stage too. Vanessa was that bit younger, so her role was to keep charming the regulars.
Karen and Ian would engage in deep discussions during Sunday, speculating about what time their parents would arrive home. Invariably Dad and Mum would beat the estimate by a half hour or so, meaning that not quite all was perfect in the residence. On one occasion, Mum decided to run her finger along the top of a large, high dresser that was in the kitchen which held various pieces of cutlery, crockery, serving dishes, etc. She found dust, of course, then proclaimed, “Ah you kids, this place is a pigsty!” which was something of an overstatement. We wore it, and to this day Ian can’t recall Mum touching or cleaning the top of that unit ever again.
On another occasion, they left late on Friday afternoon but decided to stop at a pub in Singleton around midnight, then have an early start the next morning for the rest of the drive to Sydney (in those days, it was at least an 8-hour drive from Armidale to Sydney). Pa O’Brien was apparently very low, hence the need for the unplanned trip. They drove straight to the Ryde Mental Hospital, where Pa had unfortunately been admitted as he needed to be restrained more securely than could be done in his regular care. They were taken to Pa’s room and found him up and dressed, sitting in bed. After they’d spent just ten minutes with him, he told them, “I’m feeling a bit tired, it’s OK if you go now”. Theyoved got back into their car, looked at each other and just laughed. They visited him again over the next few days, but the weekend was a bit more relaxed and social than they’d expected or planned.
Another time, Keith needed to get to Sydney urgently – probably another family emergency. He headed off late in the day and along the way tried the old truckies reviver that customers in the shop had told him about – a Bex (headache powder, containing among other things aspirin and caffeine) and a can of Coke (more caffeine). No issues with falling asleep on the drive, nor the subsequent day, nor that evening. He never did that again.
After years of being in the shop, Dad became very run down and they closed the shop for a fortnight. They took Darryl and Vanessa, the younger children, to the coast for a well-earned holiday. Karen and Ian were, respectively, working and at university, so they stayed in Armidale. It was soon after this that Mum and Dad decided to sell the shop and started plans to build a house on a block of land they’d bought in Armidale.
Oak Tree Drive
In April 1976 Mum, Dad and the family moved to 3 Oak Tree Drive. This was to be the family home for the remainder of their lives.
3 Oak Tree Drive, Armidale as it is today
It was a four-bedroom project home – a standard plan that they tweaked, at additional cost, of course. The block of land sloped from high at the back to low at the front and a little from the left to right. The plan was for a flat block, so a double garage was added at the lowest point of the land. What was the garage in the single-storey plan became the rumpus room – our casual living area with the TV. There was an ensuite in Mum and Dad’s bedroom, a ‘formal’ lounge room, dining room and the family room off the kitchen, which was our main eating area.
Furnishing the house was a family affair. Each of us was allowed to choose our bedroom colours – Karen went with statement red curtains, Vanessa chose pink, Ian a rather 70s orange, brown and white pattern, and Darryl, who was to share with Ian, chose another 70s style for the rumpus room. As they were still in the shop while building the house, Dad went to Sydney and chose the kitchen and bathroom tiles, the bathroom being a very standard mauve and white swirl pattern that was common at the time.
We had plastic runners in the hall to protect the high traffic areas (hang on…weren’t we laughing earlier at Nan for her rugs?!) but they slid around so we were constantly straightening them.
There was a double-sided oil heater in the common wall of the lounge and rumpus rooms, and if you adjusted the louvers just the right way, you could hear the conversation in the other room.
As a home for six, the 60 gallon off peak hot water system was a constant issue. It heated up once a day and that was it. We had different ways to cope – short showers, Karen’s longer showers under a tiny trickle of water, and Mum’s occasional ‘APC’ (armpits and crotch) washes (an O’Brien tradition). Mum always did things in a rush – one time she was in and out of the shower, dried and grabbed the ‘talcum powder’ from the cabinet and threw it liberally all over herself. Then she noticed it was rather gritty and realised she’d used Ajax cleaning powder by mistake! Back into the shower she went.
The garden was fairly basic. Mum and Dad weren’t the types who spent long periods in the garden. Mainly grass and a few small shrubs and trees. Dad did love watering the very large block by hand with a hose and would stand out there on his own for what seemed like hours.
Mice proved to be an occasional problem at Oak Tree Drive, probably because of the building work that was going on in the street, or possibly because of neighbours who kept horse feed in the backyard. When the house was first built, they visited on a regular basis for a time and there was one particular mouse, or family of mice, who were especially persistent, necessitating the placing of a variety of items into ice cream containers which they still managed to gnaw their way through.
On one occasion Dad had gone to Scott’s Head for the weekend, and had left traps in various spots around the house. Mum and Karen heard a ‘snap’ from the boy’s bedroom and upon further investigation discovered the corpse of an unfortunate mouse under the bed. Neither was inclined to deal with the situation, but it ended up falling to Karen to dispose of the poor creature. She donned the rubber gloves, threw a large rag over the top, a wad of newspaper over that, scooped up the lot, threw it in the incinerator out the back, came inside and scrubbed up as if she was going to perform surgery! When Dad came home, they told him about the incident after which he enquired, “Where’s the trap?” He no doubt expected that they would have removed the mouse and cleaned the trap which, ever the frugal chap, he thought would be used again.
A second, although less dramatic, mouse related incident involving Mum and Karen occurred as they were admiring the view from the large front window. They looked down and there was a mouse trotting up the driveway and heading towards the garage. This created the problem of what to do as the mouse could potentially gain access to the house. Mercifully, although not for the mouse, a bird came swooping down grabbed it and took off with it. Crisis averted.
Only a few months after we moved in, we hosted LOTS of the family for Shayne and Sue’s wedding. But more on that later…
When Pa O’Brien died in 1974 Mum inherited his bedroom suite. It was big, solid, and wooden. A double bed, dressing table with a padded stool, and two wardrobes – one large and one small. It was beautiful timber, with various contrasting woods used for inlays. Dad stripped it back and refinished it and they used it for their rest of their lives. The best thing about it was the secret drawer in the dressing table. You opened the centre drawer, reached in, and pressed a button that was hidden in the frame and what looked like an inlaid panel of wood popped out. The drawer was very shallow, but very wide and deep. Mum kept her pearls there. They were a gift from Singapore from Celia and Jack as a thank you to Mum for looking after Gerard and Andrew while Celia and Jack went to Europe for Mark’s ordination in July of 1973. Dad got a red silk embroidered dressing gown.
The pearl necklace and clip-on earrings came in a flat, red silk case. Mum wore them regularly, one time taking them to Claire’s house in Sydney to wear to a do. Next time she went to wear them, they weren’t in the secret drawer. She searched the house high and low, multiple times and couldn’t find them. Claire did the same at her house. The pearls were never found, though Mum was sure she’d put them IN something – a bag perhaps, but whatever the case, though lost, they were definitely lost IN something. Years passed and the pearls were never found. One day, Mum pulled out a knitting bag that she hadn’t used for ages, and lo and behold, there were the pearls! She’d been knitting in Sydney and her recollection was correct – she’d put the pearls IN the knitting bag.
Mum was the one who ‘decided’ when a new gadget was required in the home. In the 1970s, things like colour TV arrived on the scene. Once prices had dropped to reasonable levels, Mum visited the local electrical retailer (Sparks or Thom’s Retravision) and selected one to bring home ‘on appro’ (on approval, or ‘try before you buy’) for a week. The evening the TV arrived, timed specifically to coincide with the cricket season, Dad walked into the rumpus room at Oak Tree Drive and just asked, “What’s this?” Mum replied simply, “Oh it’s just here on appro,” and no more was said. Then a week later if Dad hadn’t objected, Mum would go back to the retailer and pay for the item. Job done.
The same tactic was used to buy the VCR, except that Dad was probably wise to the trick by then. His only comment was, “Well, I suppose that’s not going back now,” and indeed it did not. The first video that we all watched was ‘Zorro, the Gay Blade’, starring George Hamilton. The movie was a comedy, but it was far more entertaining watching Dad. None of us kids think we ever saw him laugh so much at anything in our entire lives, and the movie definitely made him feel better about keeping the purchase. ‘Caddy Shack’ was another that generated a similar level of enjoyment.
Karen recalls that Dad objected to the purchase of an automatic washing machine when they first moved into Oak Tree Drive. We had a perfectly good wringer machine at Rusden Street, and he just couldn’t see the need for it, largely driven by the fact that he wasn’t the one doing the washing. As it transpired, a wringer washer wouldn’t work in the new laundry and so the rest is history.
Dad rarely objected to the choice of groceries, but we do recall Mum’s foray into the (then new) arena of ‘No Frills’ products, specifically toilet paper. He emerged from the bathroom one day, with an uncomfortable swagger, only to say, “We don’t have to have that again, do we?” And indeed, we didn’t.
Mum had what we all referred to as ‘the supermarket’ in the laundry. She’d buy in bulk, usually when things were on special, and the overflow went into ‘the supermarket’. We didn’t need emergency trips to the shops – whatever Mum needed was invariably in there.
None of us recall seeing or hearing Mum and Dad fight in front of us. Whatever they had to discuss was always dealt with privately.
Mum took the lead on the family finances, it appeared. They accumulated some savings by the time they got to Oak Tree Drive and Mum would always arrange any Term Deposits by negotiating with the relevant bank or building society. She would run the proposed investment past Dad, then put the plan in place. Interestingly after Dad died, Mum started running those investment plans past Ian for some reason. She always had the right judgement, so it was unnecessary, except maybe that she was just used to checking with someone else – someone male perhaps.
Dad worked at various jobs on a casual basis. He returned to painting, but mainly when asked to by friends or family. He spent some time working as a storeman for Hanna's Wholesale and as a cleaner at the local doctors’ surgery, but was most happy in his job as a caretaker at the Armidale College of Advanced Education.
Armidale College of Advanced Education
He cleaned and did general maintenance work on ‘his’ building at the CAE and received great feedback on his work. It was from here that he was compulsorily retired on his 65th birthday in December 1988.
After a short break from work after the sale of the shop, Mum worked part-time with a local fruit and vegetable shop, the Banana Man. When we owned the shop, all the fruit and vegetables were purchased from the Banana Man, so the staff knew Mum well. She’d worked in a greengrocer in Sydney, so her experience made her perfect for them.
For a while both Mum and Darryl worked at the Banana Man. One Christmas they went out for a meal – probably Chinese – with the owner Sandy Grant, and the other ladies who worked there. It was towards the end of the 1970s and a pack of cigarettes went around the table after the meal. Mum took one and smoked it – Darryl just about fell off his chair! It was the only time he’d ever seen Mum smoke, although he’d heard stories about her and Helen at boarding school.
Mum continued working at the Banana Man until Dad retired – she was 63.
Mum’s cooking
Mum was a great cook. In particular, her Christmas Cake was something special. Every September there would be a working bee of whoever was at home to cut the fruit into suitably small pieces. NEVER would citrus peel be included because Mum hated it. NEVER would packaged mixed fruit be used. All the cut fruit pieces went into a large square Tupperware container, where they were generously doused with sherry, brandy and rum then sealed up and left on a kitchen bench. Everyone who walked past it for the next six weeks or so was invited to shake the container so that the booze kept flowing through the fruit and over time was absorbed. Second, and third, slugs of sherry were added a few weeks later. Then the bake would happen (about late October). More sherry once the cake came out of the oven. Once cooled, the whole cake (measuring about 25-30cm square) was wrapped first in brown paper then newspaper, bundled up in string then put into a cupboard for a few weeks, before the great unveiling. Yum.
Mum was very generous at supplying goods (generally cakes or biscuits) for school or parish fetes and other functions. On one occasion she turned up at the priests’ house in Armidale, bearing cakes for some big function. She was met at the front door by one of the priests who inspected the offering and promptly said, “Oh we’ll keep that one, the other parishioners are giving packet cakes!”. She was very chuffed by that compliment.
As we’ve said, Mum loved her tennis, like most of the O’Brien siblings. O’Connor (previously De La Salle) had four courts and Mum would play doubles each week. Friends such as Virginia Schmude, Claire Dooner and Jean Latham come to mind. The school didn’t charge the ladies to play, so a couple of times a year Mum would organise a morning tea for the staff. Normal things for us – homemade cakes, scones, pikelets, jam and whipped cream and the likes – but a real treat for them. Darryl was so embarrassed as all day his class teachers would comment on the wonderful morning tea that his Mum and the tennis ladies had put on for them.
Dad’s tastes in food were simple, probably a result of his upbringing, or perhaps he remembered Jimpa’s embarrassing ‘fart attack’ spoken of earlier. 😂
In his painting days, Mum would regularly make him sandwiches with devon and cheese. Remember devon? A concocted meat-like substance which came in large sausage-like plastic wrapping. Think Spam and you’re close.
RL: it’s worth noting that both devon and Spam are still available in the supermarkets…or is it worth noting? 🤔.
One particular day, Mum lashed out and bought some ham for Dad’s sandwiches. Dad apparently returned home and said something along the lines of, “Gee Joan, that devon was especially good today!”. Mum took the compliment, didn’t say anything then vowed privately not to buy ham for his work lunches: “If he thinks he’s eating devon, then he damned well will be!”
Nan would cook her family various type of offal – crumbed brains that were pan fried, tripe soaked in milk then cooked, liver, kidneys and the like. It was probably because they were cheap protein during the depression. Mum cooked them for Dad, but thankfully never made us kids eat them.
Dad loved tomato sauce on his food; he’d put it on everything. But soon we all worked out Mum’s rule – if the tomato sauce was on the table, he could go for it, but if it wasn’t (because Mum had cooked a ‘nice’ meal), he knew not to ask for it.
Dad’s painting
The smell of paint and turpentine reminds all of us of the garage in Wellbank Street. In those days, painters bought huge cans of white paint and concentrated tints to mix into the paint and make the colours they needed. As a result, Dad could match any colour that he needed to, meaning he could paint a single wall rather than the whole room.
However, one time his painting skills were stumped. Our cousin Bruce Gallagher was once sent to Mum and Dad’s bedroom in Oak Tree Drive as a timeout. While in there, he drew on the wall with one of Mum’s lipsticks. In those days lipsticks were very waxy and no matter how many times Dad undercoated and painted the wall, he could never stop a hint of the red bleeding through the mauve of the wall.
When Dad was trained, pastels were very much the fashion, sometimes with a feature wall of another pastel colour – we remember one of Nan and Jimpa’s rooms at one stage having one mauve and three mid-green walls. His training also said that light colours opened up a space, so he could never quite get his head around the ‘modern’ bright and strong colours that some of us had in our homes.
In later years, Dad would do small painting jobs for some of the extended family. Pay was probably just materials and room and board for the duration, but there may have been some cash as well. One such time was when Dad was doing some painting for Gwen and Alf at their semi-detached home at 123 High Street, Willoughby. There was a wooden plywood garage door and Dad was stripping the paint from it with a blowtorch, as was necessary for the oil-based paints of those days. Somehow a spark got away from him and, due to all the rubbish that Alf had hoarded and stacked inside the garage, a fire started. Many of the papers in the garage went up, there was some damage to Alf’s 1932 De Soto (which was in a deteriorated state anyway) and smoke through the house. Dad was mortified, but forgiven by all. Alf’s silver lining was that he could prove the smoke damage to the insurance assessor – when he moved a book in the front bedroom, the furthest spot from the garage, you could see a clean spot that was not smoke damaged, so the whole house was painted (not by Dad) for free.
RL: I can add a little more to this story. I think the incident happened around 1979, and when it became apparent that there was a fire, we called the local Fire Brigade whose premises we could see from our house. We watched and listened to the fire engine as it left the building, only to turn in the opposite direction, which resulted in them doing the one minute trip to our place in a snappy ten minutes. I guess they wanted it to be a decent fire by the time they arrived.
The thing to note here is that Dad was a world class hoarder - unmatched! On council clean-up days Mum would put some stuff out for the pickup, and Dad would not only grab most of that back, but he’d also grab a bunch of stuff from the neighbours’ piles. One man’s council clean-up was another man’s lottery win. Interestingly, it was only Dad’s hoarding that stopped the fire from being much worse. The garage was PACKED from floor to ceiling with ‘treasures’ that Dad had accumulated. Even the 1932 Chrysler De Soto was surrounded by, and packed inside with Dad’s ‘stuff’. So there simply wasn’t enough oxygen for the fire to take hold.
For years Dad would re-tell this yarn to reinforce the obvious benefits of hoarding, or ‘collecting’ as he used to call it.
As it transpired, almost all of the damage was from smoke and water, and it was EVERYWHERE, but it was months and months before the house was repainted as Dad was not just an Olympic class hoarder but a fabulously talented procrastinator. Council clean-up days saw a savage internal battle going on inside Dad as The Hoarder weighed up the looming date of the council pickup and his desire to grab just a few more ‘gems’ from the neighbourhood piles, against The Procrastinator whose natural tendency was to put things off. It was hell!
His intention was to document and cost every single tiny item he’d ‘collected’ to maximise the insurance claim, but his efforts to do so were often interrupted by the need for an afternoon snooze. Meanwhile we lived in a house that smelled like a smokehouse, with walls and paintwork covered with the grey trails of water and smoke damage. Nothing could be touched until the claim had been lodged and the assessors had done their work. And that went on for months. None of that delay was uncle Uncle Keith’s fault. I’m pretty sure he would have been happy to restore Chez Landsberry to its previous ‘glory’ had he been given the opportunity.
The good news is that despite the damage to the De Soto, and after a circuitous route which will be the subject of another story, I now have the old family car back in a restored state as you can see below in a photo of Steve Toohey and me at the wedding of his daughter Sonya to Josh Lindner.
The Landsberry Family’s De Soto
Hospitality at the Brown’s home
Joan and Keith were generous hosts who opened their home to all and sundry.
As children, birthday parties were a big event at the Wellbank Street house and later at Rusden Street and Oak Tree Drive. You can see some footage of these events in the Brown Family Videos from the 1970s by clicking here.
A long trestle table was put into the garage where the children (often quite a large number) sat down to tuck into a huge variety of home-made goodies. In ‘those days’ soft drinks and chips were treats that only came out for Christmas and birthdays, although Coca Cola was still a no go. All the guests went home with a goodie bag stuffed full of lollies, a small party favour and a piece of the birthday cake. Games were organised in the backyard to keep everyone busy, and we all remember ‘pass the parcel’ as a particular favourite - with a little judicious cheating ensuring that everyone received a gift. Another game was a peanut hunt. Yes, peanuts in a shell, hidden around the backyard while the kids were inside, and we ran to try and find the most. Imagine the looks if you did that at a kid’s party today – cries of ‘cheapskates’ and parents screaming ‘but what about the allergies!’
Members of the extended O’Brien and Brown clans visited on a regular basis, and we can all remember a film, now in the family home movie archives, of a party with Aunty Gwen telling a story that ended in her exhibiting a very surprised expression. Pa O’Brien was also at that do in 1970, which was to celebrate Claire’s 40th birthday and Michael O’Brien’s 21st. Karen was in her teens and wielded the camera a fair bit that day.
Of course, Nan and Jimpa were regular visitors to Wellbank Street and accompanied us on numerous outings and holidays. As a variation on the ‘Navarin of Lamb’ story, Mum had a go at homemade Chicken Chow Mein but, as Nan didn’t like ‘foreign food’ she simply called it Chicken Casserole which apparently, was quite delicious.
As well as hosting lunches and dinners, Mum and Dad opened their door to several family members at various times. (Cyril’s) Mary O’Brien stayed with them briefly while Mavis was having a baby – probably Maureen – and she’s expressed fond memories of her stay. Karen and Ian were too young to remember it, so it was undoubtedly quite a big ask for Mum to look after another child while dealing with two littlies, but she would have thought nothing of it. They also looked after two of Aunty Helen’s children to help her out for a while. Reg O’Brien’s family stayed for a period of time (long enough for the children to be enrolled at our school) and only now as adults do we realise how truly generous Mum and Dad were. Others of Mum’s siblings would have acted in similar ways too.
At Oak Tree Drive, visitors came and went and there were numerous dinners and overnight stays. Probably the most memorable was Shayne and Sue’s wedding, which at around 500 guests, was almost certainly the largest wedding in the family’s history. We’d only just moved into Oak Tree Drive and Mum borrowed mattresses from one of the Catholic boarding schools. The house was virtually covered in mattresses for the O’Brien clan who descended on Armidale. We later found out the neighbours were intrigued and wondered what was going on in the new house! Who knows how Mum coped with cooking for such a large group? The most stressful thing as always, was trying to make sure the hot water didn’t run out.
Mum and Dad also owned a house in Butler Street at the time, adjacent to the corner shop, and used that as overflow. It had mattresses and nothing else, not even an electricity connection at the time, but some of the guests slept and showered there but ate at Oak Tree Drive.
Mum and Dad often had the priests to dinner. Once they moved the tables from the family room and dining room into the lounge room and filled them both with people. After each course, Mum got every other person to get up and move two empty seats to the left – this way everybody got to talk to each other over the course of the meal.
Darryl’s schoolfriend – Jonathan Leary – and his family hailed from England. Patrick, the father, came to Armidale to be Principal of the then Teachers College / College of Advanced Education. For a while Patrick and their older son Tim were in Armidale on their own while Patrick worked out his notice period, so Mum and Dad would have them regularly for meals. In those days, it was assumed that a man and son on their own wouldn’t be eating well. Karen was studying at the CAE at the time and got very surprised looks from her fellow students when she and Patrick would greet each other by first name.
On one occasion, a pleasant time was being had by all, when a mouse popped into the family room and Vanessa ran out screaming, “There’s a rat in there!” much to our embarrassment.
One evening, someone wanted a refill of their wine and Karen’s son Joshua, aged about three, popped up and toddled over to the wine cask that was sitting on the bar that Dad had built and quite expertly poured a drink from a wine cask. The Browns are nothing if not classy! Funny, but also a bit embarrassing as, once again, one could have surmised that we were a bunch of alcoholics.
While Mum was the driving force behind the hospitality, Dad was always there quietly helping out behind the scenes, cleaning, washing up, moving furniture around; he must have agreed to all this socialising and probably enjoyed it.
RL : My own Dad (Alf Landsberry) would barely lift a finger to help with any social occasion that Mum was involved with. The sight of him drying the dishes one evening was such an aberration that someone actually took a photo of it. As an only child, I think the sheer size of the O’Brien Clan and their close bond with one another, likely made him both jealous and annoyed. Deep down I think he enjoyed most of the occasions, but whenever a new O’Brien event was announced, he would often say, “And so, the O’Brien Family Festival rolls on”. I’m confident that in the socialisation stakes, Aunty Joan fared better with Uncle Keith.
Christmas at the Browns
Christmas in the Brown house was always a big deal and Mum in particular loved that time of year. As has been well documented, the baking of the fruit cake was an enormous endeavour, but she was also a dab hand at making a Christmas pudding and in fact, we’ve never tasted one to equal it. No fruit peel, a generous amount of glace fruit and an even more generous amount of alcohol were undoubtedly the secret.
As children we were allowed to open our ‘Santy presents’ fairly early in the day, but as we grew older and moved out of home, we had to wait until everyone arrived. It was probably when Joshua was young that Dad bought a Santa suit and dressed up to give out the Santy presents, and it was always a mystery where Poppie had gone while Santy was visiting.
Christmas lunch always involved an enormous amount of food, starting in the morning and continuing late into the night. In the early days we didn’t have turkey, but later in the teen years Mum decided that turkey was no longer the tough meat that she’d previously experienced, so it became a regular part of the Christmas meal, along with ham and all the trimmings.
After the meal, we’d get stuck into the fruit mince pies, shortbread, cashews, chocolate coated sultanas and other bits and pieces that we nibbled throughout the day.
As children we didn’t particularly like Christmas pudding, but we wanted the sixpences and threepences Mum put in it, and the rule was that you couldn’t get the money without eating the pudding. As a result, we quickly learned to love it. We were usually so stuffed after lunch that the pudding was eaten very late and was pretty much dinner. After eating it, we’d swap the pre-decimal coins for five and ten-cent pieces, as the old coins were silver and could be safely cooked into the pudding, unlike the new ones.
Of course, we all remember that last Christmas at Oak Tree Drive before the house was sold. It was a bitter-sweet occasion, signifying the end of an era, and Mum and Dad were sorely missed by all. Although we kept the tradition going as long as feasible (about 15 years), the eventual diaspora of the Browns and their offspring meant that Christmas in the old format was no longer possible. 😢
Holiday houses
Mum and Dad loved the ocean and the seaside. At various times, they owned a holiday house. Each was kept well equipped with furniture, bedding and linen, as well as kitchenware and basic foodstuffs, which meant that anyone visiting had to take minimal things with them.
Port Macquarie
Darryl and his friends stayed at the Port Macquarie house (in Hill St) when they finished their Year 12 exams in 1980. It was way before ‘schoolies’ was a common thing, and a very tame gathering – no wild parties. It was mixed sex – Darryl went to a co-ed school and had male and female friends, all of whom Mum and Dad knew as ‘nice boys and girls’.
Ian recalls the Port Macquarie house as an investment. They didn’t own it for long - they bought it, and Dad painted it ready for new tenants. The first set of tenants trashed it and were evicted after six months. Dad re-painted it. Another set of tenants, another trashing and another paint job.
That last trashing of the Port Macquarie house was probably their trigger to sell!
Scotts Head
One very rare, truly extravagant thing Dad did was to take the lead on buying the house at 6 Warrell Close, Scotts Head. He loved it over there and fortunately his work roster at Armidale CAE allowed him a Friday afternoon off every four weeks (ie a 19 day ‘month’). He always used that to have a longish weekend, often on his own, at Scotts Head. He set the place up in a way that suited him and sometimes made us feel just a bit like intruders into his domain.
Mum would pack him up with meals and containers of bits and pieces that she’d prepared, and which needed little more than heating up. Dad was born at a time when men didn’t go near the kitchen, and because he’d lived with his mother or his wife (Mum) for his entire life, he never really changed.
RL: My own Dad had a vague idea where the kitchen was, but rarely took the trip. His ‘go to meal’ when he was on his own was at one of the Clubs he belonged to, or a couple of meat pies. In either case he’d deduct the cost from Mum’s housekeeping money – hard to believe, but true. He claimed he could cook toast and boil water, but none of us ever witnessed that.
While some people expected them to retire to Scott’s Head, this was not on as far as Mum was concerned. “Why would I want to up sticks from where I’ve lived for years and move to a strange place?” was her reply.
On one trip, in November 1987, Dad was on the beach and saw that someone was in trouble. It’s a very long beach and unpatrolled in places, so whether that section of beach was closed, or was an unpatrolled area, who knows. Dad went in and tried to save the person in trouble but wasn’t successful. He almost drowned as well, and was treated by the ambulance that arrived from nearby Nambucca Heads.
Following is a transcript of the front-page article covering the event in the Nambucca Guardian News on Wednesday, 4 November 1987.
Man drowns in surf
A double tragedy was only narrowly averted at Scotts Head beach on Monday when one man drowned and a would-be rescuer got into serious difficulties in swirling surf.
Mr Oliver Ernest Kennedy, 65, a widower, of Sunrise Close at Scotts Head, failed to respond to resuscitation attempts after he was swept out to sea in a rip.
More fortunate was Armidale resident Mr Keith Brown, who had raced to Mr Kennedy's assistance after he heard cries for help. In a brave, but unsuccessful rescue bid, Mr Brown reached the drowning man and managed to tow him about 20 metres back towards the beach before choppy seas driven by a strong wind separated the two men.
"I thought I was a goner," Mr Brown said from his bed in the Macksville hospital later in the afternoon. Only quick action by a young girl on the beach saved Mr Brown, who said he was out of his depth and in serious difficulties in the rough conditions.
A Scotts Head resident who was on the beach said the alarm was first raised by Mr Kennedy's dog, which the resident said had "gone berserk" barking at the water's edge. The resident, who asked not to be named, said Mr Brown had rushed to Mr Kennedy's assistance.
Mr Brown said later the victim was still alive when he reached him.
"I was- talking to him, but the seas, and the rip pulled us apart and I realised I was in danger myself," Mr Brown said.
Scotts Head resident Mr Stephen McHugh saw the drama and ran to help. When he reached Mr Brown, he was told there was another person in difficulties further out to sea.
"When I reached him (Mr Kennedy) he was floating face down. I rolled him on his back and checked for a pulse, but there didn't appear to be any," Mr McHugh said.
"There was a bit of an undertow at the time — certainly enough to get someone into difficulties if they were not a strong swimmer," he said.
Mr McHugh battled through the waves to bring the man back to the beach, where he cleared Mr Kennedy's airways and started heart massage. Other people, including an off-duty fireman Mr Selwyn Mathias, assisted with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Resuscitation attempts continued for about 10 minutes until the arrival of two ambulances. Local officers Mr Bernie Brownlow and Mr Peter Versluis continued to treat Mr Kennedy before rushing him to the Macksville hospital.
Neighbours of the drowned man described him as a popular man who enjoyed a game of bowls. Mr Kennedy's wife died about two years ago and it is believed he is survived by two daughters living in Sydney.
Article about Keith’s heroic effort - That’s Keith in the photo to the right
Dad told Darryl that when he realised how rough the surf was, he clamped down on his false teeth so he didn’t lose them! This was probably what saved him from swallowing more water than he did.
Sydney Connections
RL: This green section has been added by me, Rob Landsberry, Gwen’s son - Gwen was Joan’s sister. I’ve added it because of some documents I found amongst Mum’s memorabilia which related to Joan and Keith. Hopefully they bring something to their story.
My Dad (Alf Landsberry) died late November 1991 at a time when Joan had been spending quite a bit of time in Sydney getting treatment for cancer which had returned shortly after Keith’s death. Joan wrote the following letter to our family around Christmas 1991. I’ve transcribed it and included it in its original handwritten form.
Dear All
First of all I want to wish you all the very best you can for Xmas. My family are very aware of how you all will be feeling. It’s not easy, but as they say, “life wasn’t meant to be easy”.
I was so glad that I was able to be in Sydney to share in your sadness. As you all know, I was quite close to Alf/Dad.
Just a week or so before he died he gave me what I can only describe as a Big Bear Hug, and he was just so thrilled that my health had taken a dramatic turn for the better. I did appreciate that and they are the sort of lovely things, and our cards, that I will remember.
I feel I have gotten to know you all a little better from your grief. Maureen I was especially thrilled at the lovely big grin and cuddle I got from you when you realised that I had no cancer - no pain. Thank you all for caring so much.
I know that you will all be thinking of Alf/Dad, but you will all cope because you have proved you are strong and will be A-OK with Mum at the helm.
These are the times I have often said to my children [that] families and good health are the most important things in the world.
I’m enclosing a prayer for you Gwen. It was given to me by Nancy Kirk. I pray it every day and I’m sure it helps.
Sorry I prattled on so. Forget your work and enjoy.
Love and the very best
Joan
I don’t often inflict prayers on people, but it was just so lovely.
Enclosed a mass sheet - had mass said.
Maureen, mentioned in the letter was my ex-wife. Nancy Kirk was Joan’s sister Claire’s next door neighbour in Willoughby. Unfortunately, I didn’t find the prayer or mass sheet.
RL: In August of 1994, Mum and Aunty Claire left on a 3 month trip through Europe, the UK and the USA, including time with Maureen and me in Woburn Sands north of London, where we were living at the time.
Aunty Joan was having ongoing treatment for cancer that year, and I remember them all discussing the trip and Mum and AC almost cancelling. The letter below was written by Joan in July or August 1994 after she’d returned from her last Sydney visit before Mum and Claire left. It’s such a touching letter that shows the close bond and love between the sisters.
My dear Gwen and Claire
Words cannot express just how I felt when I left you both at Mascot. I know I was quiet, because I just found it a very emotional time. Not to see you girls for 3 months just seems too long altogether.
However, I wish you both a wonderful holiday, and what can I say about the way you took charge of me - looked after me.
It’s times like these that one blesses the Good Lord for giving us all a lovely family and a wonderful extended family.
You girls will never know the depths of my feelings for you both. Enough, except to say - Thank You.
The cake for the Christening is done and quite lovely. Jean did her usual great job on the cake. She just knows what I like.
They were all quite pleased to see me home. The boys were allowed out of bed when I arrived.
There was an awful noise here this morning around 8am. Ian got the mail and Karen’s results came out and she got two Distinctions in very hard subjects - philosophy and politics. So that’s really great. She is feeling OK with only a small amount of pain.
Must away now and pull myself together.
Much love
xxx Joan
Other stories
At Tilbuster, a drought meant that the sheep needed to be fed by hand. Bags of grain were loaded into the back of the ute, and one person drove around the paddock very slowly while another in the back poured the grain onto the ground. Mum was visiting one day, so kept Celia company in the cab of the ute while Jack poured the grain. Chatting away, Celia drove into a ditch, Jack lost his balance and went flat on his back. Arms and legs flying, yelling for them to stop so he could get up. Neither Mum nor Celia couldn’t hear him over their talking.
Dad was a humble and quiet person. He was a craftsman in the hobby he developed (French polishing) later in life. He taught Ian plenty about painting, the one ‘handy’ skill Ian professes to have.
Dad never sought for money to be spent on him. After he helped Ian paint his home at 38 Proctor Street, Karen and Ian wanted to thank him by taking him and Mum to a local restaurant. Apparently, Dad raised his objections with Mum along the lines, “They shouldn’t spend money on me like that – I was trying to help them save money”. Mum told him to just go along with it, and he did enjoy himself that night.
Sometime in 1983, when Mum was in Sydney for medical reasons, either the first round of treatment for breast cancer or a post-treatment follow-up visit, Ian and Karen travelled to Sydney to visit her. They took the opportunity to visit Ikea to buy a small dining table, which just managed to fit in the back section of their Subaru wagon. Dad took the trip home with them, cramped in the back seat with a table at his neck. As usual, he offered to pay for petrol but they declined on the basis that they were travelling home anyway. So instead, he offered to buy lunch when they stopped at the Oak servo and roadhouse near Cessnock. Family folklore (from Mum) had it that whenever we travelled, “We don’t buy take away food because your father doesn’t like it”. However, when it was Dad’s turn to order his lunch he went nuts: “I’ll have a hot dog and an ice cream and a milkshake and….”. Seems to me that all the chicken sandwiches we ate on road trips was Mum’s way to manage the family budget. It can’t have been easy for them, putting four of us through school on what would have been very modest incomes.
Closing chapters for Joan and Keith
Keith
In February 1990, Dad was not well. His legs had become very swollen, but the doctors couldn’t find the cause. In April they diagnosed cancer of the liver and pancreas and told Dad and Mum that it was inoperable. Breaking the news to them, John Waters extended the likely time Dad would have to live, to help Dad cope better with the news. At the end of the consult, Mum took Dad out of the office, to comfort him about the diagnosis. Ian followed them out of the office, and Doctor Waters held up four fingers (indicating the expected number of months for the disease to run its course) for Ian to see. The doctor was accurate virtually to the day.
Dad’s journey with the progressing cancer was a story of his personal motivation. Suspecting he didn’t have a long time ahead of him, he developed what is now referred to as a ‘bucket list’. Except that in Dad’s case, his list was not driven by personal pleasure and satisfaction; it was him saying his goodbyes to different sets of people. There were three or four key things he wanted to do – see Barry Charlston one more time, attend Claire’s 60th birthday and so on.
Mum and Dad travelled to Sydney by car. Although Joan did most of the driving, Keith did take over for one short country stretch, the ex-army driver knowing that it would probably be the last time that he got behind the wheel.
Keith’s Army Driving Licence
At the party for Claire's 60th, Keith became the centre of attention in the quiet sort of way that was just him. He sat in a chair in the corner as all the family spent time with him on a one-on-one basis and he chatted happily with them all.
RL: Uncle Keith and Aunty Joan must have stayed at Mum and Dad’s when they came for AC’s 60th birthday, and when they returned to Armidale, he wrote the following letter of thanks to Mum and Dad. I believe this would have been his last correspondence with them.
Keith’s thank you letter to Gwen and Alf - 30 July 1990
After this, Joan nursed Keith at home with the help of the family, a special hospital bed in their bedroom and a nurse provided by the Department of Veterans Affairs. The hospital bed was motorised, a control allowed you to raise and lower the top half. Ian’s sons Luke and Dom, about 5 and 3 at the time, loved giving Pop ‘rides’ – raising and lowering the bed while he was in it.
Dad’s pain management was cutting edge for the time. A syringe was filled with morphine and placed into a timer device, which was connected to a drip. The plunger on the syringe was pushed in by the machine, a tiny bit at a time. This avoided the highs and lows that patients on morphine injections normally experienced at the time.
Oak Tree Drive opened its doors to many visitors, as relatives and friends came to see Dad. Living in Armidale at the time, Ian would stop by the house most days. Dad had the incredible knack of keeping himself ‘up’ emotionally and health-wise so that he could achieve each of his targets. Then as each one was completed, he would ‘drop’ a level then keep himself there until the next thing was completed. His decline, as far as outward appearances went, was in a series of steps or stages. Remarkable strength of character. The doctor’s initial assessment of Dad’s timeframe after diagnosis was almost to the day - he died in August 1990.
Dad once sadly remarked to both Ian and Darryl in private chats that he was concerned that he’d just be “forgotten” (his word). That statement indicates his lack of confidence in some aspects of himself. He was a master craftsman who loved making things in timber and the associated French polishing. He was very generous and willing in transferring knowledge to us, for example, how to prepare and then paint, especially houses. We all hope that in addition to our own individual memories and recollections, this document will ensure that he and Mum are never forgotten.
Joan
In late 1981, Joan found a lump in her breast. This was quickly diagnosed by John Waters as a tumour, and she was whisked down to Sydney for immediate treatment at St Vincent’s Hospital. This involved a full mastectomy, as well as follow-up radiotherapy.
Not surprisingly, Joan’s recovery was remarkable and her positive approach to life showed through the whole time. Regular check-ups were done in the years following and a cautious ‘all clear’ was given each time.
On one of Joan’s early trips to Sydney for medical treatment, several of us went to visit her at St Vincent’s Private Hospital. Joan was in a 4-bed ward. The hospital itself had warm air and the usual smell of many hospitals; the afternoon was warm too and Joan’s bed was adjacent to the window. The heat built up and Darryl started to feel a bit light-headed. He started moving toward the one seat, but fainted on the way, falling to the ground. All four patients in the ward jumped on the nurse-call button, which saw about six nurses come running into the ward; the nurses split up and addressed each occupant, asking “what’s wrong?”. All the patients then pointed to Darryl, saying “It’s him”. No shortage of attention, and a few sips of water later saw Darryl back to better health very soon.
Many said that it was the stress of Keith’s sudden illness and subsequently nursing him through it, but soon after his death in 1990, Mum’s cancer re-appeared. This time it was in the bones, predominantly around her hip. Back she went to St Vincent’s, where her cancer specialist from years before prescribed a mixture of radiotherapy and chemotherapy.
This time, the treatments were harder for Joan and resulted in nausea and hair loss. They were also more frequent and meant that she spent much time shuttling back and forth between Armidale and Sydney. Her sisters, Claire, Gwen and Anne were great support for her over this period, providing a home away from home at their houses when she was having outpatient treatment at St Vincent’s as well as a ferry service back and forth to the hospital when the ambulance bus wasn’t available.
One time, Joan was at St Vincent’s for a check-up, and they decided she needed to be admitted. She called Darryl at work (in the city, not too far from the hospital) and he went straight there. Arriving just as she was going through the admission paperwork, he sat next to her. Soon the question, “And do you have private insurance?” was asked, to which she replied, “No”. Darryl turned to look at her, as he knew she did, and while the nurse’s head was down over the paperwork got a stare and a dig in the ribs. Later, when no-one else was around, she explained, “Well, they want me in here, so why should I have to pay the excess?”
As things evolved, the cancer had a great hold on her and eventually moved to her spine. In between stints at Armidale Hospital, she left her home at Oak Tree Drive and moved in with Ian and his family, where all the siblings and their families travelled to Armidale (usually at weekends) to help nurse her. We’d take turns to help with the overnight care. Darryl – known for his fainting over the years – needed to inject something, possibly morphine, into Mum’s drip. Doing this he felt woozy so laid down on the floor next to the bed. Although she was dying, Mum leaned out of bed and looked down with a very concerned look on her face to see if he was OK.
When she became too ill for them to look after, Mum was moved to Armidale Hospital one final time, where she died in November 1994.
Joan and Keith are buried together in the lawn section of the Armidale cemetery.
RL: Like many in the O’Brien Clan and their partners, my own parents included, Joan and Keith lived what may appear to be a simple life. But I’ll bet that their children and grandchildren remember them every day. They’ll use a saying their parents used, or a piece of advice they gave. Or a happy memory from years ago will suddenly pop into their head.
Joan and Keith’s story lives on here, and in the hearts and minds of those whose lives they touched. None more so than their 4 children who would simply not be here had it not been for Joan and Keith.
If you’d like to read the story of Keith’s parents, Henrietta and Horace (aka Nan and Jimpa), please click here.
If you’d like to read Joan’s Eulogies from her son Darryl and her brother Cyril, please click here.
Unfortunately we can’t locate the eulogies for Keith.
Written by the Brown children - Karen, Ian, Darryl and Vanessa, edited and augmented by Rob Landsberry, last modified 15 May 2024
Videos About Joan
The video below is a snippet taken from the Cousins Reunion DVD that was put together between the two cousins reunions in the early 2000’s, and shown at the second reunion.
Written by Rob Landsberry, last edited 18 April 2024
Brown Family Home Movies – 1970 to 1978
Below you’ll find a link to a video that will transport you straight back to the 1970’s. Back then, if the head of the family was particularly innovative, they might gather the family together around the dining table and outline their plan to invest in a Super 8 movie camera to capture the family’s magic moments in glorious colour.
This was no mere ‘purchase’. It was a true ‘investment’. And the return on that investment would be realised when the family gathered around the flickering projector in the darkened lounge room to see what visual delights had been captured. Provided, of course, that the film didn’t get jammed, and freeze on a frame of granddad for a second or two, until we see the old man melt before our very eyes. A tragedy.
Sure, the colour was not really that glorious. And the quality left a lot to be desired, to the extent that there were moments when well-known family members became unrecognisable coloured blobs. And of course, there was no sound. But pay that no mind.
Such a family was the Brown family, consisting of Keith Brown, father and head cameraman, Joan Brown (nee O’Brien), Keith’s wife and Irene and Bill’s 7th child, and their four children Karen, Ian, Darryl and Vanessa. I can’t be 100% positive at this stage, but I believe the Browns may have been the only branch of the O’Brien family that leapt into the cinematic world of the 70’s. That said, I’d be happy to hear about any home movies other family members may have.
From 1970 to 1978, the Browns captured all manner of events, covering christenings, birthdays, religious occasions, holidays by the beach, adventures on the farm, and much more.
And now, through the marvels of digital transformation, this group of 24 separate scenes has been converted, augmented with a soundtrack, and uploaded as a movie that runs for just under an hour, so that the O’Brien Clan can sit back and enjoy some nostalgic moments from a half a century ago.
Of course, the primary focus is on the six members of the Brown family, but an additional 22 members of the extended O’Brien Clan appear in various scenes, as do many on Keith’s side of the family.
Watch as Vanessa hogs the camera, appearing in no less than 20 of the 24 scenes. Those of a generous disposition would say this was due to Vanessa’s arrival into the world coinciding with the exact time that Super 8 was becoming affordable, rather than being the result of baby Vanessa’s desire to become a film star. We may never know. 😉
One way or the other, as the youngest of Irene and Bill’s 48 grandkids, we see Vanessa grow from a newborn to an 8 year old, as she pokes her head into just about every shot.
And there’s rare footage of Bill O’Brien holding his youngest grandchild (yes, you guessed it) Vanessa…again!
The film also features Tilbuster, Jack and Celia’s farm just outside Armidale NSW. Three of the longer sequences show farm work and fun across the years, as we also see each of Jack and Celia’s 9 children. Of course, they’re just the side show as they nurse Vanessa, or help Vanessa walk, etc. She’s everywhere! 😲🤣
See Joan’s sister Gwen pull her famously hilarious comic face. Watch Joan and Keith’s daughter Karen as she displays her Easter gift in the style of a game show hostess. Enjoy seeing Darryl try to outdo Vanessa, as he pops up in 17 scenes, as does his Mum, Joan. And for those of us of a certain age, relive the heady mix of excitement and disappointment that can only be experienced during ‘pass the parcel’ at a young child’s birthday party.
It’s all there for your enjoyment.
Just underneath the video link below is a list of the 28 O’Briens who appear in the video, and in what scenes.
And below that, for those who are interested in such things, there’s a list of the music that’s been used in the video.
So go on! Jump aboard the digital DeLorean. Just click on the picture below, and you’ll be transported back to the magic of the 70’s.
The table below lists the 28 O’Briens who appear in the video, and in what scenes. The top row shows you the clip number, with rows 2 and 3 showing the start and finish time for each of the 24 clips in minutes and seconds. The last row of the table shows which scenes Tilbuster appears in.
Below is a list of the music used in the video in the order of play. The right hand columns shows the clip(s) each piece of music applies to, and the start and end times for the music.
Written by Rob Landsberry, last modified 24 January 2024
Eulogies for Joan Brown
Delivered by Darryl Brown (Joan’s son) at the Requiem Mass 11 November 1994
We are all here today to celebrate the life of my mother, Joan. From the large and varied group gathered here, we can see that mum has been involved with many different people, and many different activities, in her 69 years with us.
It was late in 1971 that the Browns moved to Armidale from Sydney to take up the lease on the shop near the hospital. In those days it was just 224 Rusden St, not the 11 pm shop that it is known as now. That was a busy five years for our family, as the shop was a twelve hour a day, seven day a week venture. It was at this time that mum started watching her 'soaps', as that was her time to sit down and rest for a while. The ‘soaps' remained a part of mum's daily routine from then on.
After the shop, mum and dad built their home in Oak Tree Drive [number 3], which has been the base for the Browns ever since. It was a house that always had an open door to any visitors. Friends of ours were always encouraged to drop in, and I remember often ending a night out with friends having coffee in the rumpus room. Dinner parties were always carried out on a grand scale, with two tables often joined together in the lounge room to allow everyone to enjoy both the food and company as one group. One night, I remember playing 'musical chairs' between courses, which involved half the people getting up and swapping with someone else. On other occasions, we would have the family to visit, and beds would appear from nowhere to cater for the additional bodies. Apparently, our then new neighbours thought that a house of ‘ill repute' had been set up next door when they saw bed after bed being carried in.
The Brown’s home at 3 Oaktree Drive, Armidale
Mum worked at the Banana Man fruit shop for many years. Great quantities of fresh fruit and vegetables were always a feature of our diet, and only the very best quality. We were taught many of the tricks of the trade - to smell a rockmelon to see if it is ripe, how to pull a piece from the centre of the pineapple to check it, to put an avocado and a banana in a paper bag together to ripen the avocado - it seems like most fruit shop folklore centres around whether something is ready to eat or not.
One of mum's loves was tennis, a love that she shared with many of her brothers and sisters. In the days before videos, she would sit up all night to watch Wimbledon, ending up a bit bleary eyed by the end of the finals (even when we did have a video, she still often stayed up to watch it live as it ‘wasn't the same' after the event). She played tennis each week with her 'tennis ladies', and for a number of years, headed down to Sydney each October to see the Australian Indoor Tennis at the Entertainment Centre.
Joan and Helen shaping up for a “friendly” game, circa 1945
Another love was cooking. Sponges, cakes, biscuits - all sorts of goodies would be produced in the kitchen at Oak Tree Drive. If mum acquired some duck eggs she would be in seventh heaven, as these were one of her secret ingredients for the perfect sponge. Another was to beat the eggs furiously in the Kenwood chef for 15 minutes, invariably early on a Saturday morning. But the end result was worth it.
But the thing that I will miss most are the fruit cakes. These were a work of art, with months of preparation and love going into each one. Out would come the dried fruit, the glace fruit, the nuts and the ginger to be weighed, chopped and soaked in great quantities of brandy, rum and sherry for months on end. Occasionally the lid of the Tupperware would be opened to inspect the mix, and you had to stand back or be knocked out by the fumes. Compared to this ritual, the actual making of the cake was a bit of an anti-climax.
As far as special occasions went, these were not complete without a fruit cake. ‘Mum, you're going to be a grandmother again' one of us would announce, to which would come the reply ‘Oh, isn't that wonderful. I'll start soaking the christening cake now.' Then the fateful day of the cutting would come, and mum would worry about whether it would be moist enough. To be caught with a dry fruit cake would have been the ultimate shame for her.
The other thing that I remember about mum and fruit cakes was the dreaded mixed peel - she hated it. Somehow though she always managed to end up with about a dozen pieces in her hand after eating someone else's cake, while the rest of us would barely notice that we had eaten any mixed peel at all.
Mum has fought her cancer for about 12 years all up. During that time, she had her ups and downs, but always had a very positive attitude. I'm sure that it's that attitude that helped her more than any treatment. One of mum and dad’s friends recently told me that dad once described mum as being like a brick wall in that she ‘stands up to whatever this disease throws at her'. I agree with dad's sentiment completely.
Mum was a special person, one who no one here will forget. I know that we, her children, will remember her forever, but especially so this Christmas when we get to eat the fruit cake that she made earlier this year. Will it be nice and moist? We'll just have to wait until the cutting and see.
Delivered by Cyril O'Brien (Joan’s brother) at the Requiem Mass 11 November 1994
Joan was a remarkable person. All through her life she displayed exceptionally strong characteristics.
Her religious faith, her love of family and of people in general, her courage and determination, her organising ability, her sense of humour epitomised by her infectious laughter were of the highest order.
My earliest recollection of these characteristics being displayed was when she was about five years old. With great enthusiasm she assumed the role of our father's carer. Each evening when he came in from work, his slippers would be seen exactly together beside his lounge chair near the fireplace. The tobacco pouch, cigarette papers, matches and spectacles were arranged neatly on the mantle shelf and the newspaper on the chair. This continued all through Dad's life. Nothing was a trouble if it was for Dad.
That is not to say she neglected others. She was always amongst the first volunteers when something was to be done for the family or friends; whether it was to care for children or prepare a feast.
Her speed and enthusiasm were something to behold when the family were preparing for a party or a meal. She always assumed control and threw orders around like the best of sergeant majors. The air was electric but the result exemplary.
During the last couple of years her courage and resignation came to the fore. Deep down she knew what fate was in store for her. But when asked how she felt it was always a cheerful "I'm alright, I’m fine!!
We all believe that it was sheer courage and determination that enabled her to carry on until Gwen and Claire arrived home from their overseas trip. They had only a few days together before she succumbed to the inevitable.
I think a fair measure of hers and Keith's characters is displayed in their four children and I give them ten out of ten for their conduct during this trying time.
On behalf of the Brown and O'Brien families I wish to thank the good fathers and friends of the family for their unstinting care and attention to Joan all through her illness. They no doubt helped her substantially on her journey to eternal happiness which she must now be enjoying.
May God bless and care for her. She deserves the best.
Written by Darryl Brown and Cyril O’Brien, compiled by Rob Landsberry, last modified 29 May 2023