​Dad occasionally let me come with him to the Regional Country Party Meeting. One year it was in Berrigan. He and Bert Cavanagh (from Conargo) who like Dad, was ready for any innovation, had become very involved with the New State Movement for the Riverina. The plan was to secede from NSW, whose government was ripping off the graziers with high taxes. I was about nine years old, I think. I remember being fascinated by the MEN’S obsession.

Country Party meetings were usually all men, mostly old, all with the white ring around the forehead, caused by the hat – and they all wore very similar hats. The few women present were out the back preparing supper (I preferred the meeting).

This night they were discussing how to get the wool to the Wool Sales up in Sydney (Melbourne was ruled out). “Sail it up the Murray on paddle steamers - safe from theft etc., on the roads”. I put my hand up to ask the question, “Who owns the Murray, Vic or NSW? Staying in the middle in not between States. NSW owns the Murray!

The room fell silent. No one had thought of that! This was ultimately the end of the New State Movement as no one could think of a way to keep the wool clip safe en route to the Wool Sales. Either State would hit the trucks or boats with tax on the sales of the wool. Dad went to the West to talk to Prince Leonard – and was not impressed.

The cringe was – remembering how men came to Dad and congratulated him. “Geez she’s smart” said one of them.

“Yes” said Dad, “Pity she’s only a girl”.

This comment haunted me for most of my life – being a second rate HUMAN and life would be measured by my misfortune in being born a girl.

V. A. Dunin,
​October 2021

Due to having lived in a different part of the country to where I started school, my accent and the way I spoke was unlike that of the other children. The children taunted me and ridiculed my accent, and the words and phrases I used.  
 
As my years at school progressed, my accent blended with the local dialect and the teasing and harassment ceased but it left a lifelong scar. I never really fitted in due to my unusual accent. I was considered an outsider. I try not to judge people by their how the speak but my childhood experience has made me exceptionally aware of people’s accents, intonations and sentence structure.
 
Strangers frequently comment on my accent, often asking if I am Scottish or Canadian. On being told I was Irish they apologise for suggesting the other countries. They often add that they love my accent. The whole conversation makes me CRINGE. I have to try hard to be pleasant, but my inner voice is shouting “Shut up. I don’t want to discuss how I speak.” Telling me they like my accent doesn’t help. The fact that they need to comment on it causes me discomfort.
 
I know it is not people’s fault. They have no way of knowing I am super sensitive about this subject. It is not just the way I speak that bothers me. Many younger women’s delivery of speech is atrocious. The vocal sounds seem to emanate from far back in their throat and towards the end the words rise into a sing song inflection.
 
Now that I have hearing loss, I am even more aware of how people speak, particularly presenters on television and actors in movies. Clear speech and voice projection should be an essential skill for these people.
 
I knew an English woman who spoke without any accent. As a child her family lived equally in France and England. She never acquired the accent of either country and spoke in a lovely modulated neutral tone. I envied her exquisite speaking voice.
​
Writing about my “cringe” dilemma may have released some of my pent-up frustration on the subject of accents. As I write, It seems like a storm in a teacup. I will try to keep this in mind the next time I encounter a cringing episode related to this matter.
 
A six-word memoir before writing this essay:
Speak clearly or not at all.
 
A six-word memoir on completion of writing:
Let go of past negative experiences.
 
Elizabeth Kearns
July 2021
 
 

After three hard years of training and study I was a young nurse who had just graduated from Gippsland Base Hospital at Sale. I was invited to join the staff and after my annual holidays returned to work on the Male Surgical Ward.

My life never seems to run smoothly and this time was no different. We were short staffed. There were only three fully trained nursing sisters to supervise staff and run the ward; just enough to cover all the shifts if we worked solo. Thrown in at the deep end I was transitioning from Indian to Chief with no supervision.

The nurse’s station was at the top of the stairs and the wards were entered through a nearby door into the main public ward where there were thirteen beds around a central point. The private rooms were down a passage beyond that. I was not used to just having the supervisory role and I was still doing some of the nurse’s work on the most critical patients as well.

We will call him Jack. Jack was an elderly man who had a leg amputated above the knee. He had not been given a prosthesis or crutches as it was thought that his balance and strength were not good enough to handle them and he would be likely to fall and injure himself. He spent every day just sitting quietly on a chair at the foot of his bed.

On this particular evening the main ward was full with men recovering from surgery. We were beyond our usual capacity, frantically busy and there were extra beds and patients everywhere.
My help was needed with a man who had been run over by a bulldozer and as I passed Jack I could see that he was getting restless. I asked him not to go to bed by himself. All the nurses were busy, I would be back later.

On my return through the ward I found Jack sitting up in his bed! I was horrified! He could have fallen. I said, “Jack, I told you not to go to bed alone!” He smiled mischievously and said “Sister, I could see that you were busy and I didn’t think you were ready to come to bed yet!” Twelve men roared with laughter. With a red face I bolted through the nearest door to the Nurses Station. Curses! This was the wrong direction. Mustering all my dignity I had to go back through the ward again! They were still laughing and Jack was a hero.

I still say the wrong things at times. It doesn’t bother me now. I just smile and get on with life.

Bev Morton
July 2021

There have been several examples of events that have caused me to cringe, but one continues to effect me even now, almost forty years later.

This event took place in Broadford.  In October 1983 we left Benalla and moved to Broadford where we had bought the local general store.  Initially we resided in the house attached to the store - it was a two bedroom house and there were six of us.  The children all started at new schools.  The three youngest attended St. Patrick's school in Kilmore, while the eldest went in the opposite direction to Sacred Heart in Seymour.  This involved catching school buses, which added to the morning chaos...

As you can imagine, life was very hectic as neither my husband or I had any experience of running a business.  It was a steep learning curve and the children found themselves having to become more independent.  All appeared to be going well until our youngest was invited to a birthday party out of town.  It was to be an overnight stay, so the level of excitement was high.

The day arrived and he was picked up by one of the parents, as we were doing the usual Saturday afternoon clean up and preparation for the following week.  

We were shocked when my son was returned a short time later, but the shock quickly turned to embarrassment when the reason for his early return was explained:

"Your son's hair is full of lice and we could not have him stay."

The poor boy, who had a full head of auburn hair, was very disappointed to miss the party.  On top of that, he had to endure the Lice treatment, which meant his siblings also had to line up.

I, on the other hand, was mortified to think that I had fairled to see the signs and had subjected him to this experience.  As a child who had just started a new school, I imagined it would be a scarring experience.  Fortunately, he was very outgoing and good at sport, so, he survived and had many friends.

Prior to writing this I discussed it with my son.  He laughed it off and was even able to tell me the name of the child whose birthday party it was.  He then went on to say that I had caused him far greater embarrassment on another occasion, but we won't go into that.

Unlike my son, this episode still causes me to cringe.


Marg McCrohan
​July 2021