​When I was very young (pre-school age), I was sent to live with my maternal Grandparents who had a farm.  The house had whitewashed mud walls, a thatched roof and a huge fireplace where the fire was constantly lit for heating and mainly cooking purposes.  An iron crane hung over the fire with an assortment of hooks on which to hang cast irone three legged pots of various sizes.
 
Two aunts and two uncles still lived at home, so I joined a household of six adults.  I didn’t know any of them before I went to live with them.  I have no recollection of my first weeks there or how I felt, but I have fond memories of living there.
 
My memories are just snippets of events.  It was during and after the Second World War.  I remember my aunts complaining they were unable to buy nylon stockings and having to draw lines up the back of their legs, making sure they were straight, so it would appear they were wearing stockings.  It was such a big deal that when one of my aunts was getting married, I decided that I would buy her a pair of nylons as a wedding present.
 
My Grandfather gave me a half-crown piece (2 shillings and sixpence) and my Grandmother brought me to the town in the pony and trap so I could buy the wedding present.  Of course, it was an impossible task as nylon stockings were not available, so I insisted on leaving the half-crown on the front left hand corner of where the wedding gifts were displayed.  This is so clear in my mind - I can still see the coin.
 
Other memories:

• My uncle Packie carrying me home from a party on his shoulders, across the fields, telling his companions stories of leprechauns.
• The same uncle saying one morning that he heard the banshee wailing the night before and that one of the Berrigan’s, (neighbours), was going to die.  I think one did die.
• Sleeping on a feather mattress and waking up in the morning, the mattress and me on the floor having slipped off the bed.
• The trashing and Jack McCann, an elderly neighbour who came to help, refusing to eat currant bread because he didn’t like “those little buggers” – the currants.
• My Grandmother making stir-about (porridge) every night and reheating it for breakfast.  This caused a skin to form on the inside bottom of the cast iron pot.  My younger uncle aged 15 and I would fight to be the one to scrape the pot.
• This younger uncle having a crystal wireless and letting me listen to a man talking.  Oh, wonder of wonders.
• When churning butter, anyone who came into the house had to take a turn at churning or the fairies would steal the butter.  I think they believed that, but it was a wonderful excuse to get a break from the tiresome chore of churning.
• Sitting at the base of the power or telephone lines on poles across the front field of the farm, listening to a hum and thinking it was my Mother and Father contacting me.  I got a great deal of comfort from it.  It didn’t make me sad. 

 
My Mother came to visit once while I lived with her parents.  I wouldn’t go near her; she was a stranger to me.  I knew she was my Mother, probably because I had been told.  I thought she was very pretty.  Thinking back now, that must have been very sad for her.
 
I still hanker for that part of my life.
 
Elizabeth Kearns,
February 2018

​Houses are the things I’ve left behind, eleven that we owned and a few rentals.  This was due mainly to my restlessness and because my husband was a builder and we could renovate and restore our homes.
 
When we were just one year in Australia, we purchased our first house, a highset Queenslander with an outdoor toilet and laundry.  The laundry faced our next-door neighbours.  There was no front to the structure, leaving it open to the elements and the curiosity of our neighbours.  The toilet also faced our neighbour’s house, so it was imperative to close the door when using it, regardless of the urgency.
 
Four years later, having installed a new laundry under the house and enlarged the bathroom to make space for a toilet and remodelled the kitchen, we decided to sell the house and book a sailing trip to Ireland via South America.  No regrets.
 
Then came an unplanned pregnancy and thus an equally unplanned longer stay in Ireland.  Living with my parents-in-law was not an option, so we purchased a house in Dublin.  It was in a very posh area but in an appalling state of repair.  We set to work restoring it and when it was back to its former glory and our baby was several months old, we sold our home and set sail again for Australia.  No regrets.
 
Back in Australia we bought a house close to our business and in our spare time we again completed renovations on the house.  Having sold our business and because our children were getting older, we decided a home on acreage would be the best environment for our girls and boys.  House number three was sold and a lovely old farmhouse on 25 acres was bought at auction.
 
We now had five children and we felt an extension was needed.  An architect friend designed an extension.  My husband wanted a room for a pool table and rumpus rooms were all the rage.  We had installed a swimming pool, so a separate shower and toilet was necessary.  A new laundry could be included, and we had bought a jersey milking cow called ‘Sally’, so I felt I needed a dairy.  All these were part of the extension.
 
A few years later we saw a nice 12-acre block of land for sale and bought it to build a NEW house for our family.
 
Once again, we sold our current home, but the Queensland summer rains came early.  It was impossible to access our building and the building of our planned new house was delayed.  We had to vacate our current house two weeks before Christmas and now with six children had nowhere to live.
 
In desperation we bought a large, sprawling block house, not something we would normally choose, gaining permission to move in before settlement.  It was a nothing style house built by a man from Holland with nine children.  Lots of space was his priority.  The building blocks needed camouflaging.  Plastering them in the white Spanish hacienda style worked well with the terracotta colour roof.  A veranda was added across the front with arches – nine of them.  It became a lovely home.  Each of our children had his/her own bedroom and our bedroom had an en-suite and sitting room.  We lived there for longer than usual.  We lived there for longer than usual.  Eventually two of our children left home and we decided it was time to move back to the city.  Again, we sold our home.  Still no regrets – time to move on.
Years earlier we had bought an investment house beside the Brisbane River.  It needed renovation and was in a lovely area with the river, parks, transport and shopping.  We moved in, redecorated and refurbished, but it never felt like home.  It too got sold.  Good riddance.
 
Then a big old colonial house that had been converted into flats came up for auction and we bought it.  Restoring it to a single residence and renovating it was a major project.  It was a labour of love.  The years passed.  We now had just two children living at home, so we decided to downsize.  Our house sold the evening we were having a party.  Mostly no regrets.
 
Our next house had a quaint appearance, two bedrooms with a small lounge and kitchen.  This was fine until, one weekend, all our children came to visit.  We were like sardines in a can. Something had to be done!  The Answer—Extend.  Out came the pens, ruler and paper.  Ideas were tossed around and finally we came up with a plan.  The extension, when completed, was more than twice the size of the original house, much to the amusement of friends who knew about our desire to downsize.  A couple of years later we decided to move to Victoria.  If I could have taken the house with me, I would have, but that was not an option.  House sold.  New adventure outstrips the love of a house.
 
Three years later we moved back to another investment house in Brisbane.  It was built by a Russian cabinetmaker.  It had beautiful timber and timberwork.  With a bit of redesigning and a courtyard it became a comfortable home with a secluded garden.  We enjoyed living there, but it was time to move back to Victoria.  House Sold.
 
Where to buy in Victoria?  We liked the Gippsland area but settled in the North East for family reasons.  We bought a house, not really to our liking but there was not much to choose from.  With a lot of work, we made it our own and lived there for nine years—the longest we lived in any house.  Age was catching up with us and we needed to live somewhere with better services, so again we sold.  No regrets.
 
We bought the house we are currently living in.  It needs a few renovations, but we have neither the stamina nor the will to do them and it goes against the grain to pay a contractor to do things we used to do ourselves without any hesitation.  Where to next?
 
 
Elizabeth Kearns,
February 2018

Songs are very powerful tools for reminding us of the past, even for people like me, without a musical bone in my body.
 
When I was a young girl, I went through a phase of asking people to name their favourite song.  Now, seventy years later, I remember their responses and if I happen to hear the song it reminds me of that person.
 
My Mother loved ‘If I was a Blackbird I’d Whistle and Sing, I’d Follow the Ship my True Love Sails In’.  I often wondered if she knew someone special who left on a ship.  Many of her family and neighbours went to America.
 
My Father’s favourite song was ‘Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree with Anyone Else but Me’, an old war time favourite.  I wasn’t very impressed with his choice, so I pressured him into saying ‘Davy Crockett’ was his favourite.  He humoured me and agreed, but I knew he barely knew the song.
 
My Grandmother couldn’t think of a song, so I suggested ‘My China Doll’.  She said, yes, that would do.  My Grandfather was always humming and “Doodledum doing” but I never knew if it was the air to a song.
 
Mrs Kiernan who lived next door liked ‘Que Sera Sera’ and told me it was French and meant ‘Whatever will be, will be’.  I was very impressed with her knowledge.
 
The man who lived the other side of us was a playwright.  He told me the most beautiful words he new were ‘A rose red city, half as old as time’ from the poem by John Burgon.  Insisting he name a song he said he liked ‘Clementine’ and taught me the words.   
 
Once a year our family went to the seaside for a day and part of the fun was going on the amusement rides.  One of my very best memories is of my sister being with me in a ‘Swinging Boat’, my father pushing us to swing higher and higher, while the song ‘My China Doll’ pulsated from the loudspeakers.  That was probably why I suggested to my grandmother that it was her favourite song.
 
When I was a teenager, a young man who was the lead singer in a band took a fancy to me.  I wasn’t impressed by him but was delighted when, on stage, he sang ‘The Blackboard of my Heart’, especially for me.
 
When I met the man who is my husband, the band often played ‘Save the Last Dance for Me’ at dances.  That song became our special song.
 
There are lots more songs that invoke memories for me.  They all have a special place in my memory… 
My oldest child singing ‘Little Green Apples’ and ‘Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head’ when she was four…
My second daughter age two, singing ‘Mama Mia’ all the way from Brisbane to Cairns and back, traveling by car.  We got soooo tired of that song…
My young son, on hearing the hymn ‘Peace is flowing like a river, flowing out of you and me, flowing out into the desert, setting all the captives free’, misunderstood the word ‘peace’ for the slang of urine.  He couldn’t understand how it would set the captives free.
 
Songs bring tears, happiness, joy and laughter. 
 
May they endure forever. 
 

Elizabeth Kearns,
February 2018