A voice from the grave

A voice from the grave

Memories take me back to 1965 at the time of my fathers' dearth.  My father's funeral was just last week, and the conversation within our home continued to resonate as stories from the past provided a calming background to those he left behind. He was not a particularly friendly man, born in 1894 when social interactions were kept private, even within the confines of the family.  Also, since he was a professional man, as a pharmacist in a small country town, his reputation was his most treasured possession.

As a small child, I recalled our occasional visits to Sydney in the 1960's. These were exciting times as he commanded respect wherever he went. His important regular visits included the Harris Tea and Coffee shop in the Established Strand Arcade, just a few blocks from David Jones. This was the neighbourhood in which he felt most comfortable, that is, where the shops and services were designed specifically for those of taste and where staff went out of their way to treat the prized customer as a special human being. My memories of the Strand Arcade included the large red leather-bound record book, some 15 inches high by 12 inches wide. Within were the hand-written records of tea and coffee recipes of special customers. What a contrast this is to the varieties offered to all current customers shopping at Woolworths, Coles, and Aldi today. A trip to the city usually meant a reward of lunch or afternoon tea at David Jones's wonderful sixth-floor restaurant. Once my sister and I became teenagers we were allowed a single glass of wine when we lunched there. My father appeared to cope much more easily in these areas of privilege.

Another private haunt of this man who saw himself as privileged was his club which carefully choose those applicants applying for membership. The Masonic Club welcomed me but only as his guest, but being so young I was only aware of the status I possessed as his guest. Having lunch in this hidden world transported me to the old world charm of England, with crisp white tablecloths and serviettes. The chair is held out for me and gently pushed in to provide confidence without fear of falling to the ground. Every action, independent of the age of the guest certainly made one feel every bit a princess. The dining room was large and quiet with just a slight murmur in the background so you knew you were not alone.

Another memory I recalled was towards the end of such a beautiful lunch when I was asked, by the waiter, if I fancied a dessert. Replying 'yes' I did not ask to view a menu nor was I offered one. My father answered for me knowing one of my favourites. The waiter spoke to him mentioning they did not have this available but would be willing to leave and purchase some, which he did. I felt very special.  

After his funeral the relatives occupied the lounge-room making up for lost time making conservation and asking each other for their feelings regarding the funeral. As the group of relatives chattered the tone became more serious and the story examples less recognized by all. As a junior member of this group, I remained silent in case I introduced an unacceptable story. In fact, it was my mother who introduced the example which led some to question the authenticity of the story.

Within a few days after the funeral, my mother had received a large parcel from Harris Tea and Coffee, paid for at the time of order. It contained about six months' supply of my father's special coffee blend. The old Strand Arcade had disappeared many years ago and inquiries regarding a possible new, alternative supply proved fruitless. So, who ordered and paid for this surprise parcel. There was much discussion as to whether it was a trick but, by whom? Some, including my mother, were content to mention it but did not get bogged down in a fantasy that was unable to be proved. I was interested to a point but considered the apparent emptiness of my father's attitude towards his family ruled out a man reaching from the grave to the family he loved.

In contrast to this image of family life was that of my mother's sister who had married an older gentleman when she was almost forty years of age. Their short marriage was made in heaven, and although I had never met him I felt his presence in their house. I am not certain what his main job was but he was a part-time entertainer, particularly as a stand-up comedian. He had produced a number of LP records which his widow, my aunt, played often. So strong was her love that when I visited and stayed with her at times I would feel his presence walking around the house and so stepped with my back to the wall to allow him to pass. I was staying with her when she approached the end of her life. She was not afraid of death since she had no doubt her late husband was waiting for her and she would be free of her cancer which was such an unwelcome companion being just too painful.

A point of opinion regarding individuals' experiences at the time of their partners' death suggests that where a close relationship existed between spouses any sign of attempted communication from beyond the grave was welcomed and trusted. Whereas in a less emotional partnership, when any story was told regarding possible communication after his death there would be a hand-full of comments and then forgotten. Less developed societies usually spend more time talking about death and are aware of the importance of living correctly to meet the demands of death and thoughts of their community judging their life. My uncle's death was an extension of his caring manner, whereas my father's death mirrored his alone-stance and possibly one attempt to reach out for communication with a family he cared so little about.

However, this is suggesting both men were looking for a way to communicate after death. These two men, each with a family, yet have very different memories reflecting the humour or distance between them and their family. In hindsight, whatever caused these unusual behaviours the point is not what or how they occurred but rather do these perceptions reveal the type of relationship between each father and his family.