1 (edited by Peatle Jville 2018-02-13 07:49:11)

Topic: Mum Stories

My mum turned ninety seven last year.  She gave a speech about her outlook on her life  mostly to a bunch of high school teenagers. People seemed to enjoy it.  Most probably because she is my Mum I thought it was good. She gave me a copy of it and I thought I would share it on here. I was wondering if anyone else would like to share a story about their Mum

Here I am ninety seven years since the world welcomed me.
Born on the Island of Ovalau in a town of Levuka Fiji.
Me the daughter of an Australian man.
The old style plantation manager.
He also was a Trader at times travelling around the many Island of Fiji in his boats.
A trucker of the seas.
Not remembered well by his workers .
A man who didnt mean much to me.
My mum and  dad so differant in backgrounds.
My mother's  grandfather was a great Fijian chief.
By the time I was nine my sister and I were boarded out.
Mother lying beneath the earth.
Now part of our cemetery.
One of my brother's  sent to Australia.
Learning to be a good European.
I always loved  European culture
I never loved those superior Europeans.
Those who thought themselves refined.
The sorts that  tried to make my Fijian culture seem inferior.
My other older brother's were put to work at sea.
There are many other half siblings.
My father had children  to woman in the differant locations he went to.
They were more or less strangers to me.
Some he owned some he disowned.
When we turned twelve my sister and I were pulled out of school and put to work.
My father couldnt see the point of educating girls.
Woman to him were mere servants there for the enjoyment of man.
My  father was more of a passing  aquaintance.
I never got to know him that well.
My Fijian side and our local Catholic Nuns were where I received my love.
Also a  Jewish lady who my sister and I were boarded with gave us emotional love and care.
My sister and I grew up knowing we could do better. .
We became strong woman both stubborn and not fightened of a fight..
Nobody was going to hold us back.
We studied as adults and improved ourselves.
My sister going to University and becoming a teacher with the help of her husband.
In 1942 aged twenty Two in the middle of the war I travelled across the Pacific to New Zealand.
I had to leave Fiji so my first daughter could be born in a place that had better medical facilities.
With the war going on it wasn't easy to get back to Fiji so I never returned to see my daughter's father again.
I was no longer a Catholic divorced people punished by the church in those days.
I was next married to a South American man who I met in New Zealand.
We moved to the the Cook Islands.
We lost a son and  that marriage ended.
Now I am older I realise I would have been hell to live with.
Lets say I have given birth to  five children.
To  three differant fathers,
Also other  adopted stragglers who call me mum.
I am proud my kids turned out to be their own people.
Respectful polite and not  scared to be themselves.
My relationships with many  men  has not been good.
New Zealand has been good to me.
It taught me about life outside what I had known.
I went on to be educated  many new  doors were opened to me..
I am proud my kids didn't become harsh and hard on their own kids  and family as I was to them
If I dont wake up in this world tomorrow.
I will be happy I have seen what I need to see.
The young will always be same .
They know alot about nothing until experience comes their way.
One of my passions in life is studying religons of the world.
I know  people see the havoc created in the name of religon.
I understand that.
For me without my fath in God.
I would have given up on the good things in life.
All I can say to my many friends who have no faith.
I do not judge you at all it is not my place.
Now I am older I have learnt more about looking for good in everyone.
At ninety seven I have thrown away my sword.
I come to you my friends and family in peace.
What sort of connection can I possibly  have with anyone.
Is the question I have asked myself when confronted by differance .
Those whose histories are so differant from mine.
The answer is simple .
We just need to celibrate our diversity.
Live for a better future.
Learn from  our past.

Re: Mum Stories

What a wise and intellectual woman she must be. You must be very proud, that's not a question it's a statement. I've had three strong women in my life; my grandmother, my mother and Ann my beloved.
I have the same relationship with my youngest granddaughter as I had with my grandmother, mutual love and respect. My mother gave me my love of music and taught me to respect women. Ann has given me everything else.

Shame about your mums bad history with men, relative and spouses. Just had to say not all us Europeans are bar stewards.

Happy birthday Peatles mum. Xxx

Ask not what Chordie can do for you, but what you can do for Chordie.

3 (edited by TIGLJK 2018-02-13 11:44:18)

Re: Mum Stories


What a great story, fantastic woman of strength.
I hope you don't mind, but there is a line in there that immediately screamed at me that it has the possibility of being the centerpiece of a song.  I won't say the line yet - as i have no promise it will come to fruition, but i am hopeful.
My mom was incredible as well before she left me in her 80's. I won't go into detail - but she was left alone at 41 with me as an infant, along with my 9 older siblings. My father was killed by an industrial accident. We never had money, but I never wanted for anything. All of my siblings are still alive today, all very well off with families and economics is not an issue with any of us - and to the soul - we all know it was our mom that was the core of our lives. 

I have three daughters, and if anyone were to tell me that females were inferior, well.....let's just say there would be a crisis at hand.  As a teacher in school for 40 years, i make sure that my students live by the same credo your Mum said ....

* do not judge
*have faith
*celebrate diversity- we don't all have to agree - but we do need to be respectful of each other
*understand that we all make mistakes - it's called experience in life
*be kind and forgiving
*get educate- it opens a multitude of opportunities
*make the world a better place
*love deeply

Peatle thanks again for sharing - you were blessed to have such a mum

Your vision is not limited by what your eye can see, but what your mind can imagine.
Make your life count, and the world will be a better place because you tried.

"Use the talents you possess, for the woods would be very silent if no birds sang except only the the best." - Henry Van Dyke

Re: Mum Stories

Happy birthday to your Mum, hope she has many more ...

-[ Musician, writer, guitarist, poor singer ]-
My songs             http://neophytte.mine.nu/audio/
My Soundcloud   https://soundcloud.com/neophytte1
My YouTube         https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AHnDpTAPTUE&list=PLhpGn51pPqN6q8kmuORnuWcAXRF1_b1zV

Re: Mum Stories

Peatle Jville wow 97 and been through so much. A stong and honest lady. Reminds me of my own mother who past away 2years this February I get my say how it is nature from her,though I would say being frank and honest hasn't done me meny favours.

Hard times create strong men,Strong men create good times,Good times create weak men,Weak men create hard times.Cantwere rice INVICTA!

Re: Mum Stories

Wow Peatle, an amazing lady and it brought  tears to my eyes reading about her upbringing and childhood.  So sad a beginning and yet out of all that, came an amazing woman!  Very special lady. 

With regards to my mum ........ she is dearly loved and was a wonderful mum who was my best encourager in life and was always there for me in every way.  She loved us kids all to bits and I love her to bits as well.  Though she still lives at the age of 84 years old, she has very bad dementia, can hardly hold a conversation and is very sad a lot of the time.  I live 7 and 1/2 hours away from where she is in a home, up near my father.  I see her when i can get up but being that far away, I cant just pop up regularly to go see her sadly.  So though she is still with us, she isn`t in away and it makes me sad.  I miss her very much and our long chats, I miss her laughter and smile.

Laugh Lots ... Forgive Much ...  Love one another     smile
Covers and some Originals found over there    ------- >    https://soundcloud.com/ukulelejan

7 (edited by Peatle Jville 2018-02-14 05:47:10)

Re: Mum Stories

Cheers  Phill Mum is a wise intellectual woman but she hasn't always been  a good mother type. Today I get on with her good but it has taken years.
Her world years ago was work, business, ballroom dancing, music, study and improving herself. She always had a heart for people outside of our family abandoned by their own families but was always too busy for  her own family. She made sure those people abandoned by their own families were okay who passed through our home. At the same time she was to busy for her own kids..My father died when I was twelve, she was always the boss  of the home and a  hard task master. Growing up I spent more time with my father and his perants. I was not that close to her.I didnt do well at school and was out of school by age fifteen.This caused a deep rift between her and me.  It wasnt until she was in her eighties that we started to get along. As she said in her speach living with her was hell. All my siblings moved out as soon as they could because living with her was real hard. I guess because she is tough and independent it took her along time to realise that she needed to change her ways with her family. We get on well with her now.  She is never boring company due to here straightforward nature and ability to tell it how it is. Though she is religious she is not pious.and definetly no saint.  She can be very funny and will laugh at herself. She is well read and has a diverse range of interests. Loves watching Rugby Union, keeps up with world affairs and loves books about history. She  studys the Bible, the  Quran and also reads the  Jewish Torah. She has friends in all those faiths and has some interesting debates with people. One of my sister inlaws is  a Buddhist and the Monks she knows tell me mums knowledge on that religion is better than most. One of her friends passed away recently was a Bahai,  mum told me she misses  having that ladies input into her studies on religion. She likes to have a Gin and Tonic at night and gave the gym work outs up about two years or three years ago after suffering a mild stroke. She now has to walk with a walker after breaking her hips a few times.

That is a great credo you got there TIG it covers  my mothers outlook on life also   Your Mum's life  is great example for all of us bless her soul. TIG I hope that line that is screaming out at you slips into a song. Look forward to that.  Below is your excellent credo your students have a good teacher,

* do not judge
*have faith
*celebrate diversity- we don't all have to agree - but we do need to be respectful of each other
*understand that we all make mistakes - it's called experience in life
*be kind and forgiving
*get educate- it opens a multitude of opportunities
*make the world a better place
*love deeply
Thank you Neo for the birthday wish for my mother, She turned 97 last September.

Ctech your Mum taught you well.  You can hold your head up high
When people abandon their integrity in order to get what they want, whatever they get is not worth  having,
In the past many years ago, when I have gone  against my own best judgment in pursuit of a token treasure or position, any victory has been empty..

Jandle dementia it so hard on families. What is happening to your dear Mum sucks. My mother sister ended up with Alzheimer's disease in her early 80/s. Before her husband died he couldnt understand how my aunty was getting very hard to live with. My aunty has two daughter just before her husband died there was a big falling  out between her and her daughter's. With hindsight my cousins realize the bad feelings were now caused by  their mother's Alzhiemers not by anything they did.. My mother went over to stay with her sister in Australia where they had moved to from Fiji  straight after my aunties husband died. She went for a month to help her sister with her grief and give her support. Mum  quickly realized her sisters problems were memory related and most probably caused by something medical.  Mum arranged things with doctors and it was discovered my Aunty had Alzihemhers. Her sister spent the last part of her life in a special secure unit .
Thank you everyone for sharing about your beautiful mother's and strong ladies in your life it means a lot to me. How my Maree put up with me all these years I don't know.
My two sisters always have been there for me and also my brothers.
Because of her and all those other good people in my life I am a better person  there will always be room for improvement. for me.

8 (edited by Tenement Funster 2018-02-14 09:51:48)

Re: Mum Stories

Of the many, many things I'm grateful to my Mom for (now 79 yrs old) is for her instilling in me a love of books.

When we were young (I'm the oldest of 3) we would sit on the living room floor while Mom read to us every evening after supper. There was Robinson Crusoe, Hardy Boys, Treasure Island, Charles Dickens, and many other classics. By the time I was 10, she would say, "Rick, why don't you read for us tonight?" Sitting on the floor with my brother and sister, he encouraged me to read aloud with passion and inflection, and to use the words to paint images in our minds. To this day, Mom and I are still avid readers, and I'm thankful for her intelligence and care to impart this wonderful gift to me.

ACOUSTICS:  Cordoba D10-CE / LaPatrie "Concert" / Takamine GD30CE-12 / Norman ST30
ELECTRICS:  EP Les Paul Custom Pro / Gretsch Streamliner G2420T / EP Thunderbird Pro IV bass
AMPS:  Traynor YCS50 / Peavey "TF" VK212 / Traynor AM150T / Fender Rumble 150
EFFECTS: Boss ME-80 Multi-effects / Ibanez WD7 wah

Re: Mum Stories

TF I am thankful for the gift of reading. I belong to a libarary and always have a book on the go. When I was a kid a lady living up the road from us would recite poetry to me. She gave me life long interest in reading poetry. One that she would recite from memory regularly was the poem The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe. I have tried to remember word for word but never could. the poem was inspired in part by a talking raven in the novel Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty by Charles Dickens.
The Raven" follows an unnamed narrator on a dreary night in December who sits reading "forgotten lore" by a dying fire  as a way to forget the death of his beloved Lenore. A "tapping at his chamber door reveals nothing, but excites his soul to "burning". The tapping is repeated, slightly louder, and he realizes it is coming from his window. When he goes to investigate, a raven flutters into his chamber. Paying no attention to the man, the raven perches on a bust of Pallas above the door. Amused by the raven's comically serious disposition, the man asks that the bird tell him its name. The raven's only answer is "Nevermore".The narrator is surprised that the raven can talk, though at this point it has said nothing further. The narrator remarks to himself that his "friend" the raven will soon fly out of his life, just as "other friends have flown before" along with his previous hopes. As if answering, the raven responds again with "Nevermore".The narrator reasons that the bird learned the word "Nevermore" from some "unhappy master" and that it is the only word it knows     The narrator experiences a perverse conflict between desire to forget and desire to remember.his lenore, The Raven poem was used in a episode of The Simpson

The Raven
By Edgar Allan Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
            Only this and nothing more.”

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
            Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
    “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
            This it is and nothing more.”

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
            Darkness there and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
            Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
      Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
            ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
            Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
            With such name as “Nevermore.”

    But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
    Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
            Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
            Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
            Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
            She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
    Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
    On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
            Shall be lifted—nevermore!

Re: Mum Stories

thats a cool story peatle thanks for sharing it

out of tune out of key and out of touch

Re: Mum Stories

That's quite a story. My mom's been gone since May of 1996, but I still miss her every day. She was quite a character. Everyone knew her as "Momma Z." At her funeral, there were as many or more of her kid's friends in attendance as there were her own. Everyone loved Momma Z.

Granted B chord amnesty by King of the Mutants (Long live the king).
If it comes from the heart and you add a few beers... it'll be awesome! - Mekidsmom
When in doubt ... hats. - B.G. Dude

Re: Mum Stories

Thank you Mojo for taking time to comment..
Zurf  God bless Momma Z she  knew how to connect with all generations.

Re: Mum Stories

Peatle. I've never read any Edgar Allan Poe before so big thanks for sharing this. I believe he was an addict and got his inspiration from his many trips! I just loved the romantic language and verse used while reciting, clearly, the story. Thanks also for the explanation in the preface as the meanings might have gone unnoticed otherwise.

Ask not what Chordie can do for you, but what you can do for Chordie.

Re: Mum Stories

Peatle ... anyone that can recite "The Raven" from memory has my profound respect ... wow!!!

One night in the mid-70's, a few of us were on some halucinogens (a regrettable part of my distant past) and my friend Alan read "The Raven" to us. Alan could read in dramatic fashion, and captured every dark nuance with his tone of voice. The room was lit with a few candles, and Tangerine Dream's "Sphinx Lightning" was playing in the background ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_bGj_xzL_6Q ).

This isn't a trip that Mom would ever take us on, and (thankfully) doesn't know about.

ACOUSTICS:  Cordoba D10-CE / LaPatrie "Concert" / Takamine GD30CE-12 / Norman ST30
ELECTRICS:  EP Les Paul Custom Pro / Gretsch Streamliner G2420T / EP Thunderbird Pro IV bass
AMPS:  Traynor YCS50 / Peavey "TF" VK212 / Traynor AM150T / Fender Rumble 150
EFFECTS: Boss ME-80 Multi-effects / Ibanez WD7 wah

15 (edited by Peatle Jville 2018-02-17 03:29:07)

Re: Mum Stories

Phill torwards the end of his life Poe's drinking and erratic behavior. caused concern amoung those who knew him.
Edgar Allan Poe (January 19, 1809 to October 7, 1849)  he only lived to forty years of age but had an interesting and bit of a sad life while creating alot of  excellent written works. Poe is an American Icon who in his lifetime never made much from his writting.
When he died Poe's death was reported in Newspapers as "congestion of the brain" or "cerebral inflammation", common euphemisms for deaths from what the establishment  of those day's called disreputable causes such as alcoholism. His actual cause of death remains a mystery as all the records were lost.  Maybe he ended  up like many writers and muscians in our times caught up in the downward spiral of alcholism and addiction.

TF when I was younger in my bad old days  I went through a phase of  dropping LSD while listening to a lot of music by Pink Floyd and similar groups. I got away from LSD and other drugs years ago I was also heavily medicating myself with massive amounts of  alcohol. Now days I enjoy a quiet beer from time to time and steer clear of the madness I got myself into all those years ago. I enjoyed the Tangerine Dream - Sphinx Lightning  link you put up,  It would be a thrill for me   to hear someone who had the entertaining way of speech reciting the The Raven to that music.  Someone with a voice like Orson Welles