Tag Archives: Movies

Audrey

This is a transcript of a speech I gave at my mother-in-law’s funeral.

Audrey and Ella

Audrey Mountjoy (2014)

The first time I spoke to my mother-in-law, Audrey Mountjoy, I had fallen out of bed during the night and had been woken by my housemate early in the morning. I was told that Gill’s mum, Mrs Mountjoy, was on the phone from England. I had a severe hangover from our engagement party the previous evening. Gill was traveling somewhere in Afghanistan with a girlfriend at the time, so it was incumbent on me to celebrate our engagement on behalf of both of us. Her mum had phoned me about the wedding arrangements. I fought off the nausea, attempted speaking with an English accent and did my best not to slur my words.

It had been news to Gill’s parents when she had rung them out of the blue four months earlier to say that she was getting married to a divorced South African fellow. They had never heard of me. If this unexpected news had caused them some misgivings, they never showed any inkling of it. Years later I was told that a family friend had asked my father-in-law, Alan, what this Tim person from Africa looked like, to which he had replied, drily, “As far as we can tell from his photograph the face behind his beard is that of a white man.”

From such an uncertain beginning I was welcomed into the family with great warmth and I quickly grew to view them as my very own family.

When I look back over the years that I had known Audrey, the thing that stands out in my mind is the many laughs that we have had. We were in Luxembourg, having a meal at a restaurant for Gill’s thirtieth birthday, when Audrey had asked the waiter in her soft, southern English voice what the soup of the day was. “Rat soup,” he replied in a thick German accent.

Audrey was horrified. “Rat soup?” she asked.

“Red soup! Red soup!” he exclaimed, pronouncing it in a way that it sounded like ‘rat soup’. Eventually we realised that he was talking about tomato soup.

When Audrey was 86 years old, having lost her husband some years earlier, Gill and her sister Jennifer persuaded her to move from England to Melbourne. At that stage she was beginning to show some signs of dementia. She went to live in an aged care facility in Doncaster, which she usually referred to as “the hotel where I live.”

She loved her sherry, wine and whisky, and the family had to develop various strategies to keep her alcohol intake in check. With the onset of dementia she could become quite impatient when there was a delay in a drink being offered. We were at Jennifer’s house once where she was sitting at the dining table waiting for the meal to be served.

“Nobody’s offered me any wine,” she complained to our son Neil, who was sitting next to her.

“You tell them, Granny,” he whispered to her. “Ask ‘Where’s my bloody wine?’”

“WHERE’S MY BLOODY WINE?” Audrey shouted in a loud voice, to everyone’s stunned surprise.

Once in a while she would complain about being old and say to me, “I just want to go up there now,” pointing towards the heavens.

“Don’t say that, Audrey. Do you know there is no alcohol allowed up there. No wine, no sherry, nothing.”

“Really?” she asked me, looking shocked.

Or I would say “No, don’t go up there yet, Audrey. I’m going down there, so we’ll never see each other if you do that.”

I take credit for extending her stay on this earth through persuasive arguments such as these.

Audrey loved music. I have wonderful memories of driving her from Doncaster to our house on Sundays, listening to the Classic FM radio station. She was particularly fond of piano music. She was at our house one day when I decided to play a trick on her. I played the Rolling Stones’ CD “Exile on Main Street” at high volume. To our amazement she got up and danced vigorously by herself. “I really like this music,” she told me. “Who are those musicians?”

Neil was very fond of his Granny. He went with me to visit her and we walked around the block near her ‘hotel’ so that she could look at the gardens. She would admire the well-kept gardens and make scathing comments about the ones that had been neglected. In one garden there was a climbing rose with some beautiful roses high up in the rosebush. Neil stood on his toes, picked one of the roses and put it in her lapel.

She became uneasy. “You shouldn’t have done that, Neil. What would I say if somebody asks me where I got the rose from?”

“Just tell them the truth, Granny. Tell them your grandson gave it to you.”

“What a good idea,” she said, relieved.

At age ninety Audrey’s dementia worsened and she often became confused. We were driving through Eltham when she pointed at a side road going up a hill. “Alan and I used to live up that road,” she told me matter of factly.

“No, you never lived in Australia with Alan. You lived with him in England, remember?”

“Oh yes, we lived up there,” she said firmly. “What are the names of those people in whose house we lived up that road?”

“I’m not sure, Audrey.”

“Well, it’s a pity your memory is so bad, Tim!”

Audrey often surprised me with the things she came up with. At the dinner table she asked our daughter Laura about her future plans. “I might move in with my boyfriend later this year,” Laura said.

Audrey was taken aback. “But are you allowed to do that, Laura?” she asked.

Laura laughed. “Oh yes, Granny, all the young people do that these days.”

Audrey was quiet for a minute. Then she said, wistfully, “I wish I could have done that when I was young.”

The last thing that she ever said to us was when she had suddenly started laughing and Gill had asked her what it was that she had found so funny. “I’m just laughing because you are both potty.”

“Luckily you’re not potty, Audrey,” I replied.

“No,” she agreed, “I’m not potty.”

She was a terrific mother-in-law, but she was much more than that to me. She was also my very dear friend. Having passed on at the age of 91 she has left a sizable hole in our lives.

Thanks for all the fun times, Audrey Mountjoy. May you rest in peace.

 

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Something borrowed …

Warning: This short story contains adult themes that may offend some readers.

Lady Olivia opened the front door to Picton House, took one step into the hallway, then turned around to shake the worst of the raindrops from her umbrella before taking it to the boot room to dry. She was immaculately dressed, as always, and had managed to keep dry despite the grey drizzle on that English autumn day. She caught sight of herself in the hall mirror and sighed slightly as she observed the grey streak where she had parted her hair.

She took off her cashmere coat and hung it on the coat rack. The house was quiet, as it was Gretel’s day off. She was about to ascend the staircase to go to her bedroom and change into something less formal, when she heard the sound of groans and gasping coming from the direction of the snug. Lady Olivia was startled. Oh my God, she thought, Edward must be having a heart attack!

Concerned, she hurried into the snug, her heels clattering on the timber floor. Sir Edward turned around in his armchair, looking slightly bewildered. He had been watching something on the television, from where the sounds were emanating.

“Oh, it’s you Olivia! I thought you were going to have your hair done this morning.”

On the television a writhing couple were engaged in a type of private act that was never mentioned in polite society and which Lady Olivia had certainly never witnessed before.

“I did go to the hairdresser,” she explained, “but Nancy was just about to start washing my hair when her sister rang about some family emergency and she had to rush off urgently.”

There was an awkward silence that lasted a few brief moments. Then Sir Edward cleared his throat.

“I was just watching this film, which one of the chaps at the club had lent to me. Apparently it is something that he described as a ‘retro classic’. The main actor,” continued Sir Edward, “is quite well … er … proportioned.”

Lady Olivia looked intently at the screen. “Oh yes,” she agreed, after a minute or so had elapsed, “I do believe you are right.”

“His name was John Holmes,” Sir Edward elaborated. “Apparently he was quite well known in his time for his acting in this sort of … er … genre. I was told that his nickname was ‘Long John’ Holmes, for reasons that are quite clear when one watches him in this film.” Sir Edward guffawed loudly at his own witticism, as he invariably did when he had come up with some amusing statement.

He turned back in his armchair to watch the remainder of the film. Lady Olivia took a seat on the couch to his right. When the film ended a few minutes later and the credits were rolling up the screen, Sir Edward observed, “Ha! Quite an unusual film, what?”

Lady Olivia concurred that it was indeed a most unusual film.

Then she got up from the couch, pushed a stray hair back from her slightly damp forehead and asked brightly, “Shall I go and make us a nice cup of tea, then?”

Cape Town’s bio cafés

“Bio” is an abbreviation of “bioscope” (the term by which cinemas were referred to in South Africa)

In the late 1950s, when I was in my early teens living in Cape Town, there were a number of so-called bio cafés in the city. Cape Town also had its full-sized cinemas like the Colosseum, the Metro, the Alhambra with its twinkling stars on the firmament of its high, dark blue ceiling, and the Van Riebeeck. By contrast the bio cafés were small, narrow, dank places with the air thick with swirling cigarette smoke. Their popularity stemmed from the fact that they always showed a double feature and one could sit there all day if one wished to, watching the same two films over and over again. As an added bonus, you were served a free, sweet Kool Aid soft drink.

There were three bio cafés that my brother Charel and I frequented. They were called the Pigalle, the Elstree and the Roxy. It was in one of these cinemas that I had sat in my seat frozen with fear as I had watched a black and white horror movie about zombies. I had shut my eyes tightly in terror as the zombies, having risen from the dead, stumbled amongst the trees through a thick fog on their way to visit some unimaginable horror upon an unsuspecting victim.

I had a love-hate relationship with horror films, but that did not stop me from also going to see the 1956 movie “The werewolf” in a bio café. The lead character in the movie had been lost and had ended up in a remote village, where someone had injected him with a serum that contained wolf’s blood. This had caused him to sprout thick fur and to turn into a bloodthirsty werewolf whenever the moon was full. It was a scary film. I was a little surprised at the time that it had not been nominated for an Oscar, as it was a far better film than “Giant” or “The Ten Commandments”.

Another movie that sticks in my mind from the bio café days is “Reach for the sky”, the story of the British World War 2 fighter pilot Douglas Bader, who had kept on flying despite having lost both his legs in an aeroplane accident. And then there were my favourites, those American Western movies featuring Audie Murphy.

Charel, two and a half years my senior, is very tall. Even in his teens he could easily pass for someone much older than his actual age. He could therefore bypass the “No persons under 18 years” restrictions where they applied to films when he was no older than 14.

He told me in detail about “The fly”, a 1958 horror film which he had seen, but from which I had been excluded because at 13 years of age I couldn’t beat the 16 years age restriction. His mere account of the film’s storyline freaked me out so much that I was relieved that my bluff had been called and that I had been refused entry. It was about a scientist whose atoms had mutated with that of a fly during a scientific experiment. Terrifying stuff!

When I visited Charel in South Africa recently, we reminisced about the old bio cafés in Cape Town and how much we had enjoyed going to them. It transpired that he had other fish to fry in his mid-teens besides horror movies, when it came to going to the bio cafés. The object of every teenage boy’s fantasies in those days was Brigitte Bardot, a super-sexy French movie star.

“You know,” Charel told me, “the best show that I ever saw at a bio café was a double feature of two Brigitte Bardot movies. I rocked up as soon as the place opened in the morning and I stayed there the whole day, watching the same two movies over and over again. And you know what? The next day I went back and did the same thing again!”