The gardener and I were sitting on the porch the other day, a couple of beers in hand, as I helped him recover from another tough hour in the garden. A quiet moment was broken by his remarking that Mother’s Day was coming up and it was probably time to give some thought to our mothers and what they did for us. I nodded and then remarked, “I reckon my mum was pretty tough. I think it would be hard to find someone tougher than my Mother?”
The gardener smiled then responded, “There’s a lot to choose from. Eva Rickard must be a candidate. She scared the hell out of kiwi men, especially golfers, back in the seventies.” I had to laugh and replied, “You are right, she was a bit frightening but how about Whina Cooper? She led a land march from the far North to Wellington and a great cause. That’s quite tough for a woman who was almost eighty.”
The gardener nodded, then remarked “Both are tough woman but not well known for being mothers. They were really politicians. Any other ideas?”. I thought a bit then remarked, “If you go to the top of the candidate list, how about Mary, mother of Jesus?” The gardener just shook his head “There is that issue of who fathered Jesus, her husband or some passing God. Claiming it was a virgin birth always seems a bit difficult to get my head around, trying to hide something perhaps? Maybe we need to be a bit more modern. How about Princess Diana?”
Now it was my turn to be negative and I shook my head. “She left her children in a split marriage situation. Couldn’t call her tough, if she couldn’t control and cope with her lightweight husband. I mean the man couldn’t get a job until he was in his seventies and with his second wife. I feel sad how it ended but not in the tough category. We should look closer to home. You reckoned your mum was tough; how tough?”
The gardener drained his beer, then got another. I could tell a long story was coming. “My mum was born and raised in the hill country in the South Island – a tough life, running barefoot over the high hills mustering stock, cutting down trees and so on. She met my dad at the Tapawera Pub where she had a job playing the spoons with a local band. They hit it off and soon got married. My Dad bought her first pair of shoes as he didn’t want her to be barefoot at the church. That’s the only time she wore them.” He paused, had a swig then continued. “It was the six o’clock closing days and the parties were often at our place as we lived next door to the pub. At closing time, mum would appear home with a keg under each arm with dad and visitors close behind her.”
I interrupted. “Did your dad have a couple of kegs too?” The gardener shook his head and added, “No, he was carrying the crisps.” The gardener finished, explaining how they would party for a few hours with his mum playing the spoons and an old squeeze box she had, all the time in bare feet even in the depths of winter. “She was tough.” he concluded. Then he asked, “What about your mum?”
It was my turn to gather my wits. “When mum was about to give birth to me, we were in a remote rural area which did have a small hospital a few miles away. Roads and living were quite rough; my parents had an old Jeep to help get them around. When the labour pains started, she told dad what was happening and told him to fuel the Jeep while she got ready for hospital. When she got outside, she found dad on his knees being sick as he had taken a few swallows of petrol when syphoning the gas from the storage tank. After her next contraction died down, she tossed my dad into the back seat then set off driving herself off to the hospital with a groaning male in the back seat. Halfway there, they had to stop, as the road was blocked by a fallen tree. My mum had to get out of the Jeep and drag it off the road before she could continue the trip. She hopped back in, exhausted by this time, and continued on her way with the groaning in the back seat continuing. She got to hospital and gave birth to me. To make her day a bit more of a challenge, I was a caul baby, born with the sac intact. Poor mum was ignored for some time while the staff crank-started me and made sure I was alright. It was quite a night but she handled it. So yeah she was tough.”
The Gardener took a swig and said, “Cheers, I reckon our mums were tougher than the other lot. Here is to our mums.” Two bottles clinked together.
