Margie Meets Avri - 1976 — THE O'BRIEN CLAN

This is a piece that was written in 2005 by my cousin, Margie Bourke, although at the time of the events written about below, she was Margaret O’Brien, the fourth child of Cyril and Mavis O’Brien.

Margie worked with my sister, Kate Landsberry, to write this piece. which is about when she met Avri Ashkenazi in 1976. Avri was to become Margie’s husband, and they were to have a daughter, Jordana. Avri died way too soon in January 1984, aged 55 when Jordana was just 3 years old.

The plan was for this piece to be part of a book that Margie and Kate were going to work on, but sadly, I believe this is the only piece they wrote together.

His mother stood over the coffin beating her head against her hands and wailing “my Avrila boobala”……. “My baby”……… “oi, oi oi “……..“why? why? why?”

I couldn’t help but feel her pain. Her heart was breaking, and so was mine. I didn’t however have the luxury of being able to wail and show my pain. I wasn’t invited to sit with the family. I wasn’t invited to sit with friends. In fact, I felt I wasn’t invited at all. I thought it best I sit at the back of the chapel and grieve on my own. He was gone, I was hated, and whatever I said would not have made any difference. I was a murderer.

Life certainly does work in mysterious ways…

It was an overcast day, much the same as the day I begin to write this. I sat in the kitchen of our family home with my mother, waiting for my friend Martin to pick me up. We had a lovely home, a display home in a new estate. It was a colonial style which Mum loved. The kitchen fashionably wall papered as all rooms were in the ’70’s. It had a kidney shaped breakfast bar where I spent many hours sitting with my mother. Mum was a wonderful woman who loved to have a cuppa and a goss. We talked about my weekend away, what the island may be like, the sleeping arrangements. Even though I was 21 I still got the “be careful” lecture. I think mothers feel they’re obligated to have this talk no matter what age their daughters are.

The horn tooted outside, and I said my goodbyes to my mother and jumped in the car ready for an exciting long weekend.

I’d met Martin and his friend at a wine bar. He was a nice guy and we got along well. He was a shortish man, at least as far as I was concerned. I was 5’ 8” (173cm) which was quite tall for a woman in those days, and I found I looked up to very few men. Not that that bothered me too much, I was often attracted to men shorter than me. Martin had a monkeyish face and a heavy unkempt beard. I knew he wanted more than friendship, but I wasn’t prepared to go that road. I sincerely liked him as a friend but that was it. We’d talked about his feelings for me, and he knew where we stood, but I think he kept coming back hoping, and in hindsight it was very sweet. I felt he thought being away on a tropical island together might help change my mind.

Martin and his friend were pilots and a group of us hired two small planes for the long weekend. My first trip to an exotic island, and I was full of excitement and adventure.

On the way to the airport Martin explained that it may be hard to take off as the clouds were quite thick. The small planes need to get up beyond the clouds to fly safely. We met the rest of the group at the airport and chatted while the pilots tried to get the all clear from the traffic controller. I don’t remember the make up of females and males in the group. It’s all a bit blurry now. But I do remember I was to share a room with another girl.

Disappointment was starting to settle in as the clouds were just not going away. After about an hour of waiting and watching, there was a break in the clouds - just enough, they thought, for the planes to get through, and we could be on our way. Excitement suddenly came back to me and we were off. Martin flew the plane up to the opening in the clouds, and in a short while we were above the clouds and cruising safely.

The plan was to meet at Coffs Harbour, have lunch and refuel. By that time, I was just loving it all. I think I was bursting with excitement and anticipation, feeling like I was on the adventure of a lifetime. Gosh, I must have led a sheltered life. At 21 not many people I knew had flown to an island for the weekend.

We arrived on the island early afternoon. It was beautiful. The sun was shining. I could give you a typical description of a tropical island, but it would be the same as you’ve read time and time again. The sand was white, and the vegetation was lush. I honestly don’t think I cared about the lush vegetation or anything else. I just wanted to get to the hotel and see what that was like. I’d heard and read that the parties and activities on these islands were so much fun. I just wanted to start partying.

Open mini‑mokes were sent to the airport to ferry us to the hotel. These were the only vehicles used on the island. We drove down a winding road over the white sand and through the lush vegetation to the hotel. The hotel was very nice, although I really don’t remember much about the décor. The furniture was cane and the bedspreads were a green tropical print. The main bar of the hotel was decorated with thatched roofs, lots of timber tables and chairs, and a few lounges.

Soon we settled into our rooms…..girls with girls……boys with boys. I somehow felt the boys would have liked it to be different, but I’m sure I didn’t. We met at the main bar and had a few drinks, chatted happily and nibbled on some chips. As the afternoon moved into the night our alcohol consumption moved with it, and I was certainly feeling the effects.

Everything was wonderful, and I was having the time of my life. How lucky was I to be here on this beautiful island laughing, meeting new people, dancing ……could life get any better than this?

Late in the night I was leaning on a high bar table wrapped around a pole. My vision at that stage was quite blurry, and through my blur I saw the most beautiful thick silver bracelet on a masculine arm. I was working in a jewellery store at the time and was very passionate about jewellery. I especially loved jewellery on men, and thought it made them look masculine and sexy.

Here was this beautiful tanned, strong arm with a bracelet on it. I hadn’t seen the face that belonged to that beautiful arm at that stage. Alcohol certainly releases one’s inhibitions, so I decided to be brazen, as my mother would have called it. Lurching forward I grabbed hold of his hand and commented on his bracelet. The arm had a face which immediately started talking. The face was much older than mine, rugged and tanned with greying curly hair. His easy confident manner made me feel so comfortable. We talked for hours.

We moved to the lounge to relax and continue talking….not to mention to have a few more wines as well. He told me his name translated in English as Eric, but I preferred his Hebrew name, Avri short for Avriham or Abraham. Avri was on the island, breaking a business trip for the weekend. I was attracted to this man even though he was so much older than me. He was easy to be with, and I liked it. I knew where it was heading, and I didn’t care. I didn’t want the night to end and my mother’s lecture was soon a distant memory.

We walked back to his cabin, and soon I was wrapped in his masculine arms. At 21 I had had a few boyfriends over the years, and some wonderful experiences, but being with someone obviously so experienced, something I think now you get with age and less insecurities, he knew how to make love and how to make you feel like a woman.

It was very late the next morning I went to my cabin to shower and change. Avri and I had decided to spend the day together. Thankfully no one was in the cabin, so I didn’t have to suffer the third degree. I felt guilty about leaving the group, but I wanted to be with Avri and decided to throw caution to the wind.

All through my life I was always a bit wild, or should I say rebellious.

But I also cared what people thought and always did the right thing. Doing the “right thing” was what our mother had taught us, and I have to say it often stuck in my throat because sometimes you missed out on some of life’s joys doing the right thing. This time I was not going to do what everyone expected of me and I didn’t give a damn if somebody’s feelings got hurt.

We had a wonderful day together. He was a perfect gentleman, attentive, affectionate and he made me feel like a princess. We had lunch and few drinks. We went for a walk around the resort. We took pictures of each other. We made love…. and I think I was falling in love. Can this weekend please never end!

I was heading back to the cabin again to change for dinner when a search party came to meet me. The group I was with, and especially Martin, were worried about me and my whereabouts. I explained where I’d been, what a ball I was having and not to worry - he was a perfect gentleman and I was safe. Later one of the girls I was sharing the cabin with told me how devastated Martin was that I wasn’t with him. I knew he would be upset and I did feel bad….here comes that “doing the right thing” again. I was sad that I had been a little cruel, but I too wanted to be carried away with a romantic weekend and as fate would have it, it was to be with Avri, not Martin.

I spent another wonderful night with Avri drinking cocktails, dining, talking and making love. It was like being in a dream…and then reality hits. The next morning our weekend was over, and we had to leave the island. I wanted to live this fantasy for the rest of my life. I tore myself away and went back to my room to pack and make my way over to our transport to the air field. No one was saying very much to me as they were all a bit annoyed with my behaviour. It hurt a bit, but when Avri came to say goodbye I didn’t care what they thought about anymore. He was going to be in Port Macquarie the next weekend and wanted me to meet him. My God could this be true? More adventure and he cares enough to want to see me again…I shouted “Yes, Yes, Yes!!”. I sat at the back of the mini moke waving goodbye, noticing he was as sad as I to be parting.

As we flew back to Newcastle everyone seemed to realise that Avri and I really did care about each other, and they began to talk to me again. I reiterated to Martin on the drive home that we were friends and he knew that, but really it didn’t make a bit of difference as even our friendship was to be over after that. I remember feeling awful that I’d hurt Martin’s feelings, but hey what about mine, what about “doing the right thing” by me for a change. All I could think about was Avri, our weekend together and the excitement I felt about seeing him again in four days’ time.

I couldn’t stop raving when I got through the front door. I rambled on and on about this man I’d met, and how wonderful he was, and how I was going to Port Macquarie next weekend to see him again. He owned a transport company in Melbourne, and he was on business in Brisbane and he was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful! Oh, and by the way he’s 27 years older than me.

The conversation stopped there and then. My parents were…how would you say it….I really don’t know. Being older, wiser and a parent now, I can truly understand what they must have been thinking. Mum and Dad were pretty understanding parents, but I think this may have been a bit too much. Mum went over the “it couldn’t work…he’s too old for you” thing. I think Dad was secretly dying inside, wondering what his daughter could see in a man old enough to be her father. But Avri was a young 48-year-old and handsome and generous and kind, and I wanted to be with him. I think they thought there was no use and it would all run its natural course and fizzle out, so they went along with it, even though they certainly didn’t condone the relationship.

The week flew by with my dreaming and talking of this man. I think everyone thought me mad, but I didn’t care anymore what anyone thought. My car was loaded up and after work on Friday I drove to Port Macquarie.

Although not directly a part of the above piece by Margie, I’ve including some information regarding Avri’s death here - it’s a part of Margie’s history, and it bookends with the opening paragraph of the piece above. I also thought it may be important to Jordana.

The first is the death notice that appeared in The Age newspaper of 16 January 1984. The acronym ‘MHDSRIP’ stands for ‘may his dear soul rest in peace’. The ‘minyan’ is a quorum of Jewish adults (generally men) required to say certain prayers. It’s at least 10 individuals over the age of 13. A minyan service is a prayer service for mourners.

Avri’s Minyan service was held at 40 Closeburn Avenue, Windsor in Melbourne – that house is shown in the second item below.

The third is the notice regarding the consecration which appeared in the Australian Jewish News of 11 January 1985. The consecration or stone-setting is the final milestone of Jewish mourning, traditionally held on or around the first anniversary of a person’s passing. At this time, family and friends of the deceased return to the grave where they hold a short prayer service and unveil the headstone, which is the fourth item shown below. Avri’s grave is in the Melbourne Chevra Kadisha at Springvale, compartment 10, Row D, Grave 14.

Click on the gallery to view larger versions of these items and to scroll through them using the left and right arrows.

Written by Margie Bourke with Kate Landsberry, photos, documents and information about Avri was added by Rob Landsberry, last modified 13 October 2023

Margie Meets Avri - 1976

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