My memoirs

A given name is a label fraught with dangerous connotations and comparisons. It is something we need to think carefully about when we name our offspring as they may not thank us for how it is used… My parents named me Susan, because my father always wanted a “Suzy”, and Patricia, after mum’s closest cousin and confidante, Pat. These days, the only people who call me Susan are my own family and Martin is the only one who calls me Suzy. To anyone else I am Sue. Susan was the most common given name in the year I was born, so I have many friends with the same name as me. If I’d been a boy, I was to be called Peter – also the most common name of that year. When I was at school, my nickname was “Spike” because my surname was Milligan and there was a famous UK comedian, Spike Milligan. My father had also been called Spike when he was younger. It was not a nickname I liked, but it was better than that bestowed on my younger sister, who was called “Prickle” because she was little Spike. Eve...

My mother got her drivers licence when she was 8½ months pregnant with me. I’m sure, if you look hard enough, you could see the indent of the steering wheel in my scalp. She passed first go, which she would say was due to her skill, but I wonder if the tester was too scared of her giving birth on the spot if she failed. Dad had given her driving lessons himself, which ended at least once with her getting out of the car at a tram stop after too much “instruction”… I always considered both of my parents to be very good drivers. We had many long trips in the car to different destinations, from my grandparents’ house in the Brisbane Ranges to interstate holidays in far flung places like Coffs Harbour or Surfers Paradise. Mum and dad always shared the driving, both drove at a reasonable speed and my sister and I felt safe in the back of the car – for many years this would have been without seatbelts – although we probably asked “Are we there yet?” innumerable times. When I was 17, I had...

  For Mother’s Day one year, my father gave my mother a bath mat. No flowers. No card. Just a mat. She never let him forget it. That was my first lesson in the delicate art of gift giving—and I wasn’t even two years old. A few years later, he gave her satin slippers she described as “old lady slippers,” though she was far from old at the time. Not long after that, Mum started buying her own gifts and giving them to Dad to wrap. Problem solved. Gift giving—and receiving—is fraught with danger. What’s the “right” gift? Will it be appreciated? What if the recipient doesn’t want it? And what do you do when you’re the one receiving something you’d rather not? Over the years, I’ve given and received my fair share of gifts that missed the mark—and a few that completely blew me away. Growing up, I was lucky. My parents—well, mostly Mum—chose lovely gifts for my sister and me. There were dolls and teddies, scooters and bikes, sports gear, and on my 18th birthday, a beautiful watch. Another ...

  I never considered myself spoiled or privileged when I was a child. My parents were as strict (or not) as other parents, they didn’t seem to give us more presents than other kids we knew, we didn’t eat out very often or have a lot of big holidays. Life seemed pretty “normal” to me. But now, as an adult, I realise how fortunate I was. Not only were my parents and grandparents loving and considerate, they were very generous. We wanted for nothing but we were not indulged. The first present I remember and love to this day is a teddy bear. I’m guessing that I must have been about three years old when I got him. He was fluffy and when he was moved, he growled! Teddy and I went everywhere together, even the bath. It wasn’t long before he was bald and silent…but I still loved him. I still have him, sitting on the bed on our boat, these days he is dressed warmly and we call him “Manooka Ted”, after the first boat he travelled on. When I was about six, my nana gave me a walking doll. ...

I never had a strong desire for a pet growing up. Life was full — weekends were packed with sport, weeknights with piano lessons, and holidays spent with my grandparents and their three black Labradors at the Brisbane Ranges. That was enough for me. When my sister was sixteen, she brought home a kitten “just for the night.” Pepper, a fluffy tortoiseshell, never left. She stayed for good and became very much Dad’s cat. As an adult with children of my own, we moved house often, which wasn’t fair to a pet. We tried goldfish — they ended up floating upside down. Then came the hermit crabs, who vanished under the fridge one winter in Orange, where the temperatures drop below zero. We even spent all of 1995 travelling around Australia in a caravan. Pets didn’t fit. In 1998, we settled in Melbourne and bought a house. The kids started campaigning for a dog. We resisted, reminding them how much work it would be — walking, grooming, feeding, and, worst of all, the poo patrol. In 1999, d...

In my parents’ slide collection, there’s one photo that sums me up perfectly: four years old, standing in front of a line of chairs. Each holds a doll or teddy, except one, which had been occupied by my younger sister—until she got sick of being bossed around and walked out. I was the teacher, of course, and I’m sure I was furious at the disruption to my “class.” From the moment I first attended kindergarten—run by our neighbour Mrs. Macgregor in her backyard—I knew I wanted to be a teacher. I loved the learning, the stories, the drawing, the songs. But above all, I loved the idea of being in charge, of telling others what to do and being instantly obeyed. Oh dear—was I in for a shock. School came easily to me. I was obedient, eager to please, probably the classic “teacher’s pet.” I always wanted to be top of the class, and I liked helping others—though I probably wasn’t very patient, assuming they should just “get it” when I explained. My parents had both left school early to he...

When Bing Crosby sang: When I fall in love, it will be forever …he could have been singing about my parents. For theirs’ was certainly a forever kind of love, lasting over 70 years. It all started in 1951 when they were both 16 years old. It was the 8th of September, and after a tough football match which included losing the game and being injured, a friend talked a reluctant dad into attending the local church dance in East Malvern. Mum had gone to the same dance with her best friend, Wendy. They partnered for Four Corners , a popular elimination-style dance where participants move to different corners of the room, and a playing card is drawn to determine which corners are eliminated. The last couple standing wins, and as happens, this couple was my parents. Dad courted mum for many years, with local dances almost every Saturday night. If the event was at St Kilda Town Hall, they faced a choice: the last tram home or the last dance. They always picked the latter. They also started...