OLIVE’S FUNERAL AND WHAT I’D PREPARED .
THE SEVENTY THIRD POST
Mike
Before I tell you about her funeral, for those discovering Olive for the first time, I have a suggestion.
On the left under the Recent Posts column, you’ll find our Archives. (May take a while to load these columns)
Go to February, 2007, to the first post, Swims and Shandies, and get to know Ollie from the beginning of her “blob” .
………………..
……………..
Thursday , July 17th, was a bright sunny day on the Central Coast, NSW.
That’s where we live, my wife Katya and I. Eric too, and where Olive used to live too.
The winter chill had lifted in the wash of bright sun as we drove into the lovely park-like grounds of
the crematorium
In the car were Katya and friend, Eric who’d begged a lift from Ettalong
At 89, his driving permit restricts him to a 15 km radius from his home and the crematorium was much further than that.
We were very early as we pulled into the car park. I hate not having loads of time when going to a place I don’t know and I’ve yet to get one of those GPS things.
Hopping out, a large man in black lumbered towards us wearing a sad smile. “Do we know each other?” I asked. I knew the face but not the name.
“Ross Davey, Bonnie’s son.” Oh, yes I had a photo of Ross in Ollie’s room, crouching beside her, his family there too, all grinning as much as Olive in the middle.
………………..
………………….
She really was a good looker, wasn’t she, Ollie at 108? Don’t you think so?
………………….
…………………
I remembered too that Ross was a fan of the blog, unlike other members of the family for reasons
I’ll never fathom.
Well, I do have a theory about that.
Before the blog came along, Olive belonged just to them. Now she belongs to the world as well, and that can be threatening.
Today, they wanted it as a goodbye to the family Olive, not to the global blogger, which was fair enough
We found that the crematorium had a rather nice rustic coffee shop and so, with an hour to go before the service in the Hillside chapel, we repaired there for cappuccinos and Katya’s never-fail hot chocolate.
I was somewhat depressed both because the reality of Ollie’s death, and some suspicion in the air.
The chapel was visible through bare trees across a sparkling creek. I wish I’d ducked over there and spent some time with Olive
………………
………………
During the service there was a moment one could go up to the coffin, but I didn’t.
I wish I had. I did want to put my hand on her coffin and to look at the strong image of her they’d placed there, a photo I’d never seen before.
…………………….
……………………..
A crowd was gathering, very few members of the general public it seemed.
……………………
…………………….
I saw many sad hugs.
…………………
…………………
I recognized Barnie’s son, Terry, said hello and promised him a photo of his grandfather
That was Olive’s first husband, Bernard Johnson. I’d managed to find one, the only one in existence I think.
………………….
………………….
……………….
Finding old photos has been one of my roles these last few years. Terry was pleased.
Two young women from two sides of the family, discovered a resemblance, or rather, others did .
………………..
………………..
Evelyn, Olive’s eldest was there with her daughter, Suellen.
………………….
…………………..
Evelyn’s one line of dialogue in the movie we made, All About Olive, echoed in my head.
“Was your mum a good cook?” she says, “I’ll say she was! She was a station cook. You don’t get any better than that, Luv!”
Then I spotted a face you must meet.
This is the very special Danielle Notara. You and I know about Olive today because of Danielle.
………………….
……………….
Five years ago she was a student who wanted to find out about film making. I gave her a job as a researcher.
“I want to make a film about centenarians.” I said. “Find all those that you can in our area.”
One of those she found was Olive. Indeed, I first saw Olive on a tape Danielle shot with the help of my friend, Henion Han, who you should also know.
Henion, my editor, originally suggested the film about centenarians to me.
I must look at that tape again. All I remember is that Ollie was rouged and had lips bright red.
What a long journey from then it seemed to today.
Eric was lost in his own thoughts and Katya looked at me lovingly as usual
…………………..
……………………
………………….
…………………….
What webs we weave as we live our lives as best we can.
We filed into the chapel.
…………….
…………..
The service is a blur though I do remember it was nicely conducted by Olive’s pastor, Penny.
Since cameras were not wanted inside, here’s Penny taken later, outside.
………………….
………………
They read the 23rd psalm, I know, and someone reminisced about Olive’s life but she was very hard to hear.
On a screen, Ollie sang, Pack Up Your Troubles, wearing the large white hat which makes her look a fisherman on a trawler.
Towards the end of the service, a great great grand daughter spoke her personal goodbye. That was a touching and brave moment.
I later snapped her outside, giving everyone flowers
………………..
…………………..
I think this little girl was one of the kids we meet in the first post, the Stone family in Brisbane.
Less than two years ago, Ollie was their house guest, drinking shandies and swimming in the pool.
Ollie joked that her every move was watched for safety. They even put a bell on her walker, as if she was a cat.
Ding , Ding. “Mum, come quick, Ollie’s going to the toilet by herself!” they cried in alarm, following the old lady.
Ollie soon took off “the bloody bell”, she told me.
Then, we stood in prayer as a glass shield rose around the coffin. The glass went milky white and it was over. Her small physical self was gone forever to the flames.
And yet it was not over. Someone had the nice idea that we would release red and white balloons, the colours of Ollie’s beloved Sydney Swans football team.
………………..
………………..
……………………
………………….
And as they rose, they seemed to be forming patterns it the sky. It was a beautiful ending to the service.
……………….
……………………..
…………………
………………
………………..
…………………
………………….
…………………..
…………………….
Now, more cheerfully, here’s some news I prepared for Ollie about our trip.
She herself had only been overseas once to New Guinea where the husband of Pat, her grand daughter, had a job with a mine. She spent 6 weeks around Wewak.
We often talked about her going to other places, but we’d left it too late.
Next time, I’ll play a clip of her describing her journey to New Guinea.
…………….
Olive was often on my mind during our two months in Europe but never more then when in Bruges.
Bruges, in northern Belgium, is a city of bikes and leafiness so much so that sometimes you feel you are in a salad.
………………………..
…………………….
My daughter, Ellen was off at a 4 day rock concert and so I was exploring Bruges alone.
it was Sunday. Suddenly I came upon a colorful fair of some sort on the canal banks
…………….
…………….
………………….
There was Bric-a-brac everywhere. Superior bric-a-brac, I might add.
It was an antiques fair that happens only 3 times a year. What luck!
…………………
…………………
As, I enjoyed the clutter, I thought, what better place…
…………………
………………..
…to buy a present for an antique friend…
…………………..
……………………
…than at an antique fair? It was so obvious!
………………..
…………………
Moreover, it was quickly apparent that not only were these better antiques than we generally see down under……….
…………..
………………..
…. but that the show was like an Olive Riley theme park.
Everywhere I looked I saw echoes of her story.
…………………
…………………..
All that china, for example, reminded me of the time she left Bernard, her cheating husband.
………………
…………………
The story goes that she’d snuck out of Broken Hill with her three kids and all her worldlys in cases like these….
……………..
………………
…..leaving Bernard just a knife, a fork and a spoon, as the law required.
She’d left town the same day on a steam train for Adelaide and behold, here was a toy engine of the same type.
………………………….
……………….
This happened in the late 20s.
………………..
………………………….
On a chair, a distraught looking doll to remind me of Olive’s own doll story, of the time her doll was broken by the boyfriend of one of her sisters.
…………………..
………………………
He was just back from the Boer war and into tossing things around. It was the only doll she ever had, she said.
……………….
……………….
Here you see the sort of flat iron she used and in front if it, a miner’s lamp.
Such a safety lamp her hubby, the bad Bernard, and also her Dad would have brought back from the mine each evening.
……………..
………………
A little wagon! I remembered her stories about how she and her girlfriends would head off to dances in the local hall, dragging along their babies in wooden wagons like this one.
Once inside, they’d tuck the babies under the long wooden benches which ran down each side of the hall.
Soon, tiny faces with big eyes would be peering out at the forest of legs and swirling skirts.
……………….
………………
In those Broken Hill days, Ollie walked everywhere or used a bike.
No car transportation for her, though she would have recognised these skinny tyres, possibly from a model T. Ford.
……………….
……………….
She was skinny too, she lamented, and said that that was why Bernard went off with the girl next door, her former best friend, Vera Crispin
That Vera was another person Ollie punched out.
Ah, Shoe lasts. Her Dad repaired all the family footwear, Ollie told me. That must have been before he lost an arm. He would have used shoe lasts like these.
How self sufficient they were in those days! Much more able to deal with hard times when they came, than we would be today, I suspect.
………………..
……………….
Most of her sisters were working as dressmakers. That came to me as this man walked past with his shapely purchase.
Ollie was put to dressmaking but hated it and left.
…………………..
…………………….
Soon she was serving meals in the pub. I wonder if she wore a cute apron like these as she lost track of who’d ordered what.
……………..
……………
Ollie was reluctant to talk about her love life but did tell me that all the men in her life, except for Bing her second husband and Barnie of course, were no good.
No prince charming like these for her, or if there was, the charm wore off fast.
…………………..
……………………
But what about the travelling salesman who brought her the china horses. And were his horses as fine as the little figures above?
Her men went to war. Barnie was wounded three times and Bing, who was actually Barnie’s soldier mate, came back to marry Olive.
Did the boys bring back souvenirs like this helmet?
…………………
…………………
I forgot to ask her if she liked the races. Horse racing, and betting thereon, were an all consuming passion in Australia after the 2nd World War
Our Saturday afternoons were filled with a drone of men on radio, calling horse races across the country.
“And they’re racing at Caulfield, Happy Daze is off to a strong start……… Two furlongs to go as Bright Desire comes to the fore….”
………………..
I was very taken with this race game carousel, not having a clue how it worked, though.
My guess is that the cup on top held counters or bets.
…………..
………………
……………..
Ollie would have liked this thing, she running her hands over the tiny steeds.
………………..
…………………….
We took her to Australia’s Powerhouse Discovery Centre about a year ago, the idea being that she’d handle old objects from their collection and tell us what memories they sparked.
Here she’s looking into a stereo viewer, very popular in the early 20th century.
…………………
………………………
That visit was fascinating and is in the blog.
From the thatched cottage, Long Thurlow rd. Suffolk, comes a man in his van with coins, rings, glass vials, many of his treasures several thousands year old
First to catch my eye were two teapots with strange extra patterning. Not so old but what story!
They were from a 17th century shipwreck, I was told, a tea ship off the china coast.
…………………….
…………………….
I looked closer and saw that the patterns which’d caught my eye were remnants of oyster attaching themselves.
What thrilling objects they were. I had goose bumps.
…………………..
……………………
While these teapots are out of reach, being 300 Euros each. I’m chained to this stall, rummaging for more than an hour.
………….
…………….
Frugality thrown aside, I’m picking out a very old ring
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…………………..
My ring is from Amlash, ancient Persia, I’m told. It was made with the lost wax process and dates from 1200 BC, approximately.
“Want to try in on, Ollie? ” I’m thinking to say as I put it aside. “It’s only about 3100 years older than you, kid”
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……………..
Next, I need a coin. Well, I don’t need one at all but I want one. One that’s old and has a good story attached
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………………..
My coin is a sestertius, which denotes its value, a quarter of a Denarius. It was struck in Rome in 225 AD and found in Tunisia, part of the Roman Empire I guess.
On the front we see Julia Mamaea.
There can be no doubt, surely, that my coin is Julia. I found this confirmation on an ancient coin site.
Julia Mamaea was the highly intelligent and capable mother of Severus Alexander.
After the death of her mother Julia Maesa, Julia Mamaea was the power behind the throne and largely responsible for the impressive recovery of the Roman state that took place during her son’s rule.
Though popular with the population of the empire, the military was deeply offended at being controlled by a woman.
In 235 A.D., Julia Mamaea and Severus Alexander were both murdered by mutinous soldiers led by the thug, Maximinus I..
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……………………….
Ollie would have loved Julia’s story. Though she was not a feminist, Ollie was interested, for instance, in Hilliary’s chances. We both liked Bill better, though.
But these trinkets were not for Ollie. They were my treasures, my precious finds!.
A bit drunk with the distant past, I next splurged on a flint arrowhead found in Afghanistan, dating from around 4000 BC. That is, before I found it in Bruges.
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……………..
Lastly, I chose the iron point from a crossbow shaft, found in SW Germany (Swabia) on a 12 century battlefield, one of thousands.
The tip is damaged. The expert said that maybe it had penetrated armor or perhaps missed and impacted on a stone.
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……………………..
………………………
Do I believe my treasures are genuine? The man in pink was the dealer’s expert. We had a beer together. He wrote me out a paper, detailing my pieces. Yes, I do, believe they’re genuine.
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Famished by finds, I broke for a Bratwurst, or as they call them here in Belgium, a Braadworst.
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I’d forgotten Ollie’s present. The light was fading and it began to rain. Stall holders were racing to cover their goods.
…………….
……………
Under this plastic, I glimpsed something interesting.
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……………….
And what a color it was!
I remembered how much Ollie loved gramaphones. When she finally got herself one in the mid twenties, it was to share records with friends, she said.
They had one record each, she insisted, these they shared and pooled for dances.
It hardly seems believable but that’s what she told me.
But a gramaphone with a horn, how would I carry that back? It was impossible.
……………..
…………………..
It rained harder. I took shelter under the red tent and my eye lit on something amazing. Thank God for that shower!
…………………….
…………………….
There it was, a tiny portable wind-up gramaphone, made in Belgium in the mid 20’s by Colibri. I’ve never seen one before, no idea they existed!
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……………..
The stall owner showed me how it all packed into its own case
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…………………..
I had to have it. A deal was done.
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……………………..
I had it all planned, how I would present it to Ollie.
I’d say; “You know, Ollie all these new gadgets we have these days. Mobile phones, you’re comfortable with those of course , but now there’s Ipods.
They are portable music players. All the kids have them.
At this point she’d interrupt, I’m sure. “Get on with it, Mike!”
She was not partial to my long slow build ups.
“Well, when I was in Europe I picked up an Ipod from your time, made in the 20s.”
” Your pulling me leg.” would be the retort.
“No, Look!
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…………………..
And look the size it packs up into.
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.
…………………
“It comes in black or if you prefer, black.”
“Fancy that!”
“Do you? ….Do you really fancy it, Ollie?
“Well, it was just a manner of speaking. I couldn’t put it together. ”
“Cos, if you do, it’s yours.”
“You keep it love. I got nowhere to put it.”
Or so I imagine our conversation would have gone, the extremely heavy little box on her bed.
So, that’s how I went looking for antiques for my antique friend.
And here’s an interview on the BBC about Ollie.
…………………..
http://downloads.bbc.co.uk/podcasts/radio4/ipm/ipm_20080718-1913.mp3
Before I tell you about her funeral, for those discovering Olive for the first time, I have a suggestion.
On the left under the Recent Posts column, you’ll find our Archives. (May take a while to load these columns)
Go to February, 2007, to the first post, Swims and Shandies, and get to know Ollie from the beginning of her “blob” .
………………..
……………..
Thursday , July 17th, was a bright sunny day on the Central Coast, NSW.
That’s where we live, my wife Katya and I. Eric too, and where Olive used to live too.
The winter chill had lifted in the wash of bright sun as we drove into the lovely park-like grounds of
the crematorium
In the car were Katya and friend, Eric who’d begged a lift from Ettalong
At 89, his driving permit restricts him to a 15 km radius from his home and the crematorium was much further than that.
We were very early as we pulled into the car park. I hate not having loads of time when going to a place I don’t know and I’ve yet to get one of those GPS things.
Hopping out, a large man in black lumbered towards us wearing a sad smile. “Do we know each other?” I asked. I knew the face but not the name.
“Ross Davey, Bonnie’s son.” Oh, yes I had a photo of Ross in Ollie’s room, crouching beside her, his family there too, all grinning as much as Olive in the middle.
………………..
………………….
She really was a good looker, wasn’t she, Ollie at 108? Don’t you think so?
………………….
…………………
I remembered too that Ross was a fan of the blog, unlike other members of the family for reasons
I’ll never fathom.
Well, I do have a theory about that.
Before the blog came along, Olive belonged just to them. Now she belongs to the world as well, and that can be threatening.
Today, they wanted it as a goodbye to the family Olive, not to the global blogger, which was fair enough
We found that the crematorium had a rather nice rustic coffee shop and so, with an hour to go before the service in the Hillside chapel, we repaired there for cappuccinos and Katya’s never-fail hot chocolate.
I was somewhat depressed both because the reality of Ollie’s death, and some suspicion in the air.
The chapel was visible through bare trees across a sparkling creek. I wish I’d ducked over there and spent some time with Olive
………………
………………
During the service there was a moment one could go up to the coffin, but I didn’t.
I wish I had. I did want to put my hand on her coffin and to look at the strong image of her they’d placed there, a photo I’d never seen before.
…………………….
……………………..
A crowd was gathering, very few members of the general public it seemed.
……………………
…………………….
I saw many sad hugs.
…………………
…………………
I recognized Barnie’s son, Terry, said hello and promised him a photo of his grandfather
That was Olive’s first husband, Bernard Johnson. I’d managed to find one, the only one in existence I think.
………………….
………………….
……………….
Finding old photos has been one of my roles these last few years. Terry was pleased.
Two young women from two sides of the family, discovered a resemblance, or rather, others did .
………………..
………………..
Evelyn, Olive’s eldest was there with her daughter, Suellen.
………………….
…………………..
Evelyn’s one line of dialogue in the movie we made, All About Olive, echoed in my head.
“Was your mum a good cook?” she says, “I’ll say she was! She was a station cook. You don’t get any better than that, Luv!”
Then I spotted a face you must meet.
This is the very special Danielle Notara. You and I know about Olive today because of Danielle.
………………….
……………….
Five years ago she was a student who wanted to find out about film making. I gave her a job as a researcher.
“I want to make a film about centenarians.” I said. “Find all those that you can in our area.”
One of those she found was Olive. Indeed, I first saw Olive on a tape Danielle shot with the help of my friend, Henion Han, who you should also know.
Henion, my editor, originally suggested the film about centenarians to me.
I must look at that tape again. All I remember is that Ollie was rouged and had lips bright red.
What a long journey from then it seemed to today.
Eric was lost in his own thoughts and Katya looked at me lovingly as usual
…………………..
……………………
………………….
…………………….
What webs we weave as we live our lives as best we can.
We filed into the chapel.
…………….
…………..
The service is a blur though I do remember it was nicely conducted by Olive’s pastor, Penny.
Since cameras were not wanted inside, here’s Penny taken later, outside.
………………….
………………
They read the 23rd psalm, I know, and someone reminisced about Olive’s life but she was very hard to hear.
On a screen, Ollie sang, Pack Up Your Troubles, wearing the large white hat which makes her look a fisherman on a trawler.
Towards the end of the service, a great great grand daughter spoke her personal goodbye. That was a touching and brave moment.
I later snapped her outside, giving everyone flowers
………………..
…………………..
I think this little girl was one of the kids we meet in the first post, the Stone family in Brisbane.
Less than two years ago, Ollie was their house guest, drinking shandies and swimming in the pool.
Ollie joked that her every move was watched for safety. They even put a bell on her walker, as if she was a cat.
Ding , Ding. “Mum, come quick, Ollie’s going to the toilet by herself!” they cried in alarm, following the old lady.
Ollie soon took off “the bloody bell”, she told me.
Then, we stood in prayer as a glass shield rose around the coffin. The glass went milky white and it was over. Her small physical self was gone forever to the flames.
And yet it was not over. Someone had the nice idea that we would release red and white balloons, the colours of Ollie’s beloved Sydney Swans football team.
………………..
………………..
……………………
………………….
And as they rose, they seemed to be forming patterns it the sky. It was a beautiful ending to the service.
……………….
……………………..
…………………
………………
………………..
…………………
………………….
…………………..
…………………….
Now, more cheerfully, here’s some news I prepared for Ollie about our trip.
She herself had only been overseas once to New Guinea where the husband of Pat, her grand daughter, had a job with a mine. She spent 6 weeks around Wewak.
We often talked about her going to other places, but we’d left it too late.
Next time, I’ll play a clip of her describing her journey to New Guinea.
…………….
Olive was often on my mind during our two months in Europe but never more then when in Bruges.
Bruges, in northern Belgium, is a city of bikes and leafiness so much so that sometimes you feel you are in a salad.
………………………..
…………………….
My daughter, Ellen was off at a 4 day rock concert and so I was exploring Bruges alone.
it was Sunday. Suddenly I came upon a colorful fair of some sort on the canal banks
…………….
…………….
………………….
There was Bric-a-brac everywhere. Superior bric-a-brac, I might add.
It was an antiques fair that happens only 3 times a year. What luck!
…………………
…………………
As, I enjoyed the clutter, I thought, what better place…
…………………
………………..
…to buy a present for an antique friend…
…………………..
……………………
…than at an antique fair? It was so obvious!
………………..
…………………
Moreover, it was quickly apparent that not only were these better antiques than we generally see down under……….
…………..
………………..
…. but that the show was like an Olive Riley theme park.
Everywhere I looked I saw echoes of her story.
…………………
…………………..
All that china, for example, reminded me of the time she left Bernard, her cheating husband.
………………
…………………
The story goes that she’d snuck out of Broken Hill with her three kids and all her worldlys in cases like these….
……………..
………………
…..leaving Bernard just a knife, a fork and a spoon, as the law required.
She’d left town the same day on a steam train for Adelaide and behold, here was a toy engine of the same type.
………………………….
……………….
This happened in the late 20s.
………………..
………………………….
On a chair, a distraught looking doll to remind me of Olive’s own doll story, of the time her doll was broken by the boyfriend of one of her sisters.
…………………..
………………………
He was just back from the Boer war and into tossing things around. It was the only doll she ever had, she said.
……………….
……………….
Here you see the sort of flat iron she used and in front if it, a miner’s lamp.
Such a safety lamp her hubby, the bad Bernard, and also her Dad would have brought back from the mine each evening.
……………..
………………
A little wagon! I remembered her stories about how she and her girlfriends would head off to dances in the local hall, dragging along their babies in wooden wagons like this one.
Once inside, they’d tuck the babies under the long wooden benches which ran down each side of the hall.
Soon, tiny faces with big eyes would be peering out at the forest of legs and swirling skirts.
……………….
………………
In those Broken Hill days, Ollie walked everywhere or used a bike.
No car transportation for her, though she would have recognised these skinny tyres, possibly from a model T. Ford.
……………….
……………….
She was skinny too, she lamented, and said that that was why Bernard went off with the girl next door, her former best friend, Vera Crispin
That Vera was another person Ollie punched out.
Ah, Shoe lasts. Her Dad repaired all the family footwear, Ollie told me. That must have been before he lost an arm. He would have used shoe lasts like these.
How self sufficient they were in those days! Much more able to deal with hard times when they came, than we would be today, I suspect.
………………..
……………….
Most of her sisters were working as dressmakers. That came to me as this man walked past with his shapely purchase.
Ollie was put to dressmaking but hated it and left.
…………………..
…………………….
Soon she was serving meals in the pub. I wonder if she wore a cute apron like these as she lost track of who’d ordered what.
……………..
……………
Ollie was reluctant to talk about her love life but did tell me that all the men in her life, except for Bing her second husband and Barnie of course, were no good.
No prince charming like these for her, or if there was, the charm wore off fast.
…………………..
……………………
But what about the travelling salesman who brought her the china horses. And were his horses as fine as the little figures above?
Her men went to war. Barnie was wounded three times and Bing, who was actually Barnie’s soldier mate, came back to marry Olive.
Did the boys bring back souvenirs like this helmet?
…………………
…………………
I forgot to ask her if she liked the races. Horse racing, and betting thereon, were an all consuming passion in Australia after the 2nd World War
Our Saturday afternoons were filled with a drone of men on radio, calling horse races across the country.
“And they’re racing at Caulfield, Happy Daze is off to a strong start……… Two furlongs to go as Bright Desire comes to the fore….”
………………..
I was very taken with this race game carousel, not having a clue how it worked, though.
My guess is that the cup on top held counters or bets.
…………..
………………
……………..
Ollie would have liked this thing, she running her hands over the tiny steeds.
………………..
…………………….
We took her to Australia’s Powerhouse Discovery Centre about a year ago, the idea being that she’d handle old objects from their collection and tell us what memories they sparked.
Here she’s looking into a stereo viewer, very popular in the early 20th century.
…………………
………………………
That visit was fascinating and is in the blog.
From the thatched cottage, Long Thurlow rd. Suffolk, comes a man in his van with coins, rings, glass vials, many of his treasures several thousands year old
First to catch my eye were two teapots with strange extra patterning. Not so old but what story!
They were from a 17th century shipwreck, I was told, a tea ship off the china coast.
…………………….
…………………….
I looked closer and saw that the patterns which’d caught my eye were remnants of oyster attaching themselves.
What thrilling objects they were. I had goose bumps.
…………………..
……………………
While these teapots are out of reach, being 300 Euros each. I’m chained to this stall, rummaging for more than an hour.
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Frugality thrown aside, I’m picking out a very old ring
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My ring is from Amlash, ancient Persia, I’m told. It was made with the lost wax process and dates from 1200 BC, approximately.
“Want to try in on, Ollie? ” I’m thinking to say as I put it aside. “It’s only about 3100 years older than you, kid”
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Next, I need a coin. Well, I don’t need one at all but I want one. One that’s old and has a good story attached
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My coin is a sestertius, which denotes its value, a quarter of a Denarius. It was struck in Rome in 225 AD and found in Tunisia, part of the Roman Empire I guess.
On the front we see Julia Mamaea.
There can be no doubt, surely, that my coin is Julia. I found this confirmation on an ancient coin site.
Julia Mamaea was the highly intelligent and capable mother of Severus Alexander.
After the death of her mother Julia Maesa, Julia Mamaea was the power behind the throne and largely responsible for the impressive recovery of the Roman state that took place during her son’s rule.
Though popular with the population of the empire, the military was deeply offended at being controlled by a woman.
In 235 A.D., Julia Mamaea and Severus Alexander were both murdered by mutinous soldiers led by the thug, Maximinus I..
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Ollie would have loved Julia’s story. Though she was not a feminist, Ollie was interested, for instance, in Hilliary’s chances. We both liked Bill better, though.
But these trinkets were not for Ollie. They were my treasures, my precious finds!.
A bit drunk with the distant past, I next splurged on a flint arrowhead found in Afghanistan, dating from around 4000 BC. That is, before I found it in Bruges.
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Lastly, I chose the iron point from a crossbow shaft, found in SW Germany (Swabia) on a 12 century battlefield, one of thousands.
The tip is damaged. The expert said that maybe it had penetrated armor or perhaps missed and impacted on a stone.
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Do I believe my treasures are genuine? The man in pink was the dealer’s expert. We had a beer together. He wrote me out a paper, detailing my pieces. Yes, I do, believe they’re genuine.
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Famished by finds, I broke for a Bratwurst, or as they call them here in Belgium, a Braadworst.
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I’d forgotten Ollie’s present. The light was fading and it began to rain. Stall holders were racing to cover their goods.
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Under this plastic, I glimpsed something interesting.
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And what a color it was!
I remembered how much Ollie loved gramaphones. When she finally got herself one in the mid twenties, it was to share records with friends, she said.
They had one record each, she insisted, these they shared and pooled for dances.
It hardly seems believable but that’s what she told me.
But a gramaphone with a horn, how would I carry that back? It was impossible.
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It rained harder. I took shelter under the red tent and my eye lit on something amazing. Thank God for that shower!
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There it was, a tiny portable wind-up gramaphone, made in Belgium in the mid 20’s by Colibri. I’ve never seen one before, no idea they existed!
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The stall owner showed me how it all packed into its own case
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I had to have it. A deal was done.
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I had it all planned, how I would present it to Ollie.
I’d say; “You know, Ollie all these new gadgets we have these days. Mobile phones, you’re comfortable with those of course , but now there’s Ipods.
They are portable music players. All the kids have them.
At this point she’d interrupt, I’m sure. “Get on with it, Mike!”
She was not partial to my long slow build ups.
“Well, when I was in Europe I picked up an Ipod from your time, made in the 20s.”
” Your pulling me leg.” would be the retort.
“No, Look!
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And look the size it packs up into.
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“It comes in black or if you prefer, black.”
“Fancy that!”
“Do you? ….Do you really fancy it, Ollie?
“Well, it was just a manner of speaking. I couldn’t put it together. ”
“Cos, if you do, it’s yours.”
“You keep it love. I got nowhere to put it.”
Or so I imagine our conversation would have gone, the extremely heavy little box on her bed.
So, that’s how I went looking for antiques for my antique friend.
And here’s an interview on the BBC about Ollie.
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http://downloads.bbc.co.uk/podcasts/radio4/ipm/ipm_20080718-1913.mp3
Monday, July 21st, 2008 at 12:59 am
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22 Responses to “OLIVE’S FUNERAL AND WHAT I’D PREPARED .”
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July 21st, 2008 at 2:05 am
Fogadják öszinte részvétemet.
Egy magyarországi bloggertől,
Nagy Zsuzsanna (HUNGARY)
July 21st, 2008 at 3:17 am
So very lovely Mike. I don’t believe anyone could’ve written a more fitting tribute to Ollie! I love how you used the antique fair as a backdrop, and I, too, can hear that conversation you described in my mind. Just beautiful.
July 21st, 2008 at 9:02 am
I’m so glad that you came back to tell us all about Olive’s goodbye. You wrote a beautiful post. I’m so sorry that dear Olive is gone. She’s probably looking down on you right now and singing and laughing. God Bless her.
July 21st, 2008 at 10:47 am
Mike, thanks for sharing Ollie’s funeral details with us. Beautifully written, as always. I can’t imagine how emotional it must have been for you and Katya and Eric. I think you’re right with your theory about Ollie’s relatives not wanting to share her, and the story about the bell on her walker, VBG. Ollie’s reaction to that bell said it all, didn’t it. It’s hard to know how to interact with our elders, especially if they are a bit “difficult” Olive was never “difficult” in my opinion, just a feisty, independent and intelligent older Australian who touched a lot of people, especially me. I loved your story about the antique fair too, I’m sure Ollie would have reacted exactly as you wrote it. I hope you can find the time in the future to keep blogging, or perhaps you know an author who could co-write a book ? Now THAT would set the rellies tongues wagging, wouldn’t it? Perhaps a percentage of profits could go towards a deserted wives charity or something similar?
Hooroo,
Christine in Sydney, where the Pope has just flown out.
http://missmuffettwo.blogspot.com/
July 21st, 2008 at 1:30 pm
Thank you so very much, Mike, for all you did for and with Ollie. Your detail of the service was beautiful in spite of the sadness.
I’ve enjoyed reading all the blogs/blobs and will be looking back often to see what else you post.
Wishing you all the best in the future.
Gina (Kentucky, USA)
July 21st, 2008 at 6:50 pm
Rest in Peace!!!
(Chinese in Sydney)
July 21st, 2008 at 11:18 pm
Thanks for evereything, Riley.
Rest in peace
July 21st, 2008 at 11:50 pm
Thankyou for this moving account of Olive’s remembrance day; your descriptions and pictures took us there. I liked the picture of the little girl giving flowers, and of everyone [including Pastor Penny] looking upwards at the end.
Always at such times comes the thought “I wish I had ….” Perhaps you may some time be able to put all the lovely stories of your times with Olive into a book? There is so much for youngers to learn from her life.
What is there to say except another big thankyou for all the ways in which you and Katya and Eric and Danielle and other caring friends and helpers have enabled us to meet the valiant Ollie.
God bless and comfort you all.
July 22nd, 2008 at 2:10 pm
Hi Mike, this is my first time that I read this blog. I feel so sorry that she is gone.
GOD BLESS!
July 22nd, 2008 at 5:37 pm
Oh Mike, thank you for being our link to Ollie one more time. I wish that you had been able to have that conversation with her, I’ll wager she might have surprised you even so!
I do hope that you start your own blog, and/or write a book about Ollie, and your experiences with her.
Much love to everyone,
Miss Rosie (Tombstone, AZ)
July 23rd, 2008 at 5:28 pm
This interesting letter came from a fan in Saudi Arabia. Mike, her helper
The world’s oldest blogger, Australian Olive Riley
has died at the age of 108. In mourning her death, Mohammed Al Shehri, from Saudi Arabia, wonders what the legacy Riley would have left behind been like, had the Internet and blogging been available all along.
He writes [Ar]:
اليوم تناقلت وكالات الأنباء خبر وفاة الزميلة الاسترالية Olive Riley
أكبر مدونة في العالم عن عمر يناهز 108 سنوات ( توفيت السبت الماضي ) عاصرت فيها أحداث قرن مضى بكل حروبه الأولى والثانية وثورته وصناعته ومدنيته وهمجيته ، وديكتاتوريه وضحاياه وافراحه وأحزانه ، أرشيف كامل من الذكريات قد تعجز عن حمله مدونة ! ولكنه التدوين وشغفه عندما يطل بعد كل هذا العمر .
تخيلوا معي لو أن التدوين بشكله الحالي موجوداً منذ زمن بعيد وأن أوليف دونت طوال تلك السنوات كل ما مر بها في حياتها من قصص وأحداث ومشاعر منذ شبابها وحتى وفاتها ، يا ترى كيف ستكون خانة الأرشيف !
بالتأكيد سيكون الأمر أكثر إثارة ونحن نقرأ يوميات هذه المرأة عندما بدأت الحرب العالمية الثانية وكيف كانت مشاعرها في ذلك الوقت وما الذي كانت تقوله الصحافة ورأيها بما يحدث أو نقرأ مثلاً تدوينة عن حبها الأول وكيف كان أو عن رأيها عندما شاهدت أول تلفزيون يتم إختراعه وعمرها لم يتجاوز 22 سنه ! …
المدونون هم من يكتبون التاريخ الحاضر لقراء المستقبل ! و اوليف بتديوناتها كادت أن تكون شاهدة على عصرها لو أن التدوين وجد منذ زمن .
كم هم محظوظون قراء المستقبل .. أنا أحسدهم .
لكن يا ترى ما الذي جعل أوليف تفكر بالتدوين بعد كل هذا العمر !؟
Our Australian colleague Olive Riley, the world’s oldest blogger, had died at the age of 108. She had lived through the first and second world wars, their revolutions and industries, their civility and destruction, their dictators and victims, and their happiness and sadness. She carried with her an archive of memories, more than a blog could hold. And then she discovered blogging and its thrill, especially at her age!
Imagine with me, if blogging as the way it is today, had been available in the past and that Olive had continued to blog all those years, writing all her life experiences, feelings and incidents, from her youth until her death. How will her blog archive look like?
I am sure we would have been excited reading her diary when the Second World War started, her feelings, her reactions to what the newspapers wrote and her ideas about what was happening. It would have been enchanting to read a post about her first love; or what her feelings were when she saw the first television which was invented when she was 22 years old!
Bloggers are writing today’s history for tomorrow’s readers! And Olive in her blogging could have been the first witness to that era, had blogging been available then. How lucky are the readers of the future! I envy them! I wonder what made Olive start blogging after that advanced age?!
July 24th, 2008 at 2:54 am
Thanks Mike. I’ve enjoyed reading your blogs about Olive and I truly will miss her. You’re a good man Mike. Take care.
Edward (Houston, Texas USA)
July 24th, 2008 at 4:01 am
What a great way to tell us about her funeral and your find in Belgium. The antiques you found were amazing. Did you actually bring back the ipod of the 20s?
I am amazed at how much Terry, Barnie’s son, looks like Olive. More than her own daughter does! He has her nose and her twinkling eyes and smile! Amazing.
I am glad to see she had so much family left.
How sad for everyone to lose such an amazing woman.
I will talk to you soon Mike.
Take care and thank you for posting this wonderful blog about her goodbyes.
love and hugssssss
Jana
July 24th, 2008 at 5:12 am
Dearest Mike,
I want to thank you once again for bringing Ollie’s life to the world. Like I told you before, she was so much like Nana (my husbands grandma) I’m telling you Nana probably was there waiting for Ollie, her long lost identical twin. I was with Nana when she passed on and can tell you there is much peace in the passing. I do hope you will continue on, you are a very special person Mike and you have a wonderful supportive wife. Please write that book about Ollie. Although I had limited time to check in on the two of you, I always enjoyed every last blob. I almost always had tears, just like today discovering Ollie’s passing. Your tribute could not have been written better and I thoroughly enjoyed the antique shopping, purchases and all pictures. Forever touched and thankful for discovering Ollie and her Angel…Mike! With Love, Voni (Southern California - USA)
July 24th, 2008 at 12:25 pm
Oh.. Thanks for all!!
R.I.P. Olive.
From Perú!!
July 25th, 2008 at 11:00 am
Sorry for the previous post my niece just CLICKED SUBMIT. Anyways I read some of her post a very beautiful life she has when. Thanks for the INSPIRATION.
RIP
July 25th, 2008 at 4:11 pm
Hello Mike:
I was so sad to hear of Ollie’s passing. I read it in a friend’s newspaper and was shocked to see the familiar name.
The first thing I said was: “I knew her. Well, kind of.”
My friend asked me how, and I said, “Ollie was one of the world’s oldest blogging grannies, and I blogged about her a while back, then sent her Whale Song.”
To Ollie’s family,
Thank you for sharing this special person in your lives with the world. She was a courageous woman, and she had so much spunk and spark. I am sure she will be greatly missed. My thoughts are with you at this time.
To Mike, and Ollie’s other friends,
I am sorry for your loss. I know you will keep her memory alive through your stories of her. I am sure she’s preparing a special place for you, probably with a pint of Guiness and that meat pie she loved so much.
And thank you, Mike, for sharing Ollie’s stories and life with us. She was a lovely lady with a great sense of humor, and it looks like she was well loved by many. Oh, to be loved like that!
Ollie, I wish I had heard back from you; I really wanted to know if you’d read Whale Song and what you thought about it. Regardless, I wish you well on your spiritual journey…you’re free now.
~Cheryl Kaye Tardif
July 26th, 2008 at 4:27 am
I’ve always enjoyed this blob & I was so sad to hear of Ollie’s passing. Here’s to you, wherever you are, Olli!
July 26th, 2008 at 7:21 am
Hy.
I’m realy sorry for your losing that close person.
I didn’ manageto read everything, I just heard that this lady is the oldest one who has a “blob”.
I’m from Croatia, a little country in Europe. That’s all for now.
Bye
July 26th, 2008 at 1:00 pm
Thanks again for everything Mike, we’ll miss Olive and you. Will you keep writing? We’d love to hear from you again.
From Victoria, Canada
July 30th, 2008 at 10:37 am
How awesome. I have added this blog to my favourites list and have enjoyed reading Olive’s stories. I didn’t know about Olive until I heard the news of her passing. I am glad to be able to read her memories.
Your tribute is really lovely.
Kristy, Brisbane QLD.
August 7th, 2008 at 2:08 pm
You’ve made me cry several times as I’ve gone through this blog today. I only just found it, but I find myself wondering if Olive would have enjoyed talking to me.
Her life stories, her memories, remind me of my grandfather and his half-told stories before he passed. I can’t help but come to tears with every post.
I am sorry to hear that such a wonderful woman has passed away, but I’m sure we all know that she is in a better place, probably still blogging and dancing the nights away.
If you ever need to find somewhere to host all of the blog or images for free, please let me know. I would be more than willing to archive everything on a new domain, specifically made for Olive. (If you can find a domain you want, I will buy it for you.)
I don’t want this to ever be lost to the internet..