Patricia Marjorie Russell, nee Brown

 

Born September 29, 1927, in Annandale, Sydney.

Devoted wife of the late Ronald Russell.

Loving mother to sons Gary and Robert, and to

daughter Kerry; caring, kind and generous

grandmother to Paul, Michael, Alex, Kelsey,

Emma and Olivia. Loving eldest sister to

Raema, Kay and Kevin.

 

 

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Devoted. Loving. Caring. Kind. This was my mum, our mother; and I trust also that it is your lasting memory as well of Patricia Marjorie Russell.

 

There are many, many people in mum's story. I can't mention them all today, or frankly remember all of the people she's mentioned over the years.

 

But any of them will tell you that Pat did this, or that, for them; or that she was just there when they needed to talk. They will tell of her kindness, her concern and her genuine interest in their lives.

 

Although she liked to keep her distance, her independence and her own space, she was always thinking of or talking about others.

 

She couldn't sit in a bus for a second without turning to a stranger and starting to chat.

 

Perhaps that was a skill born from her early life experience, from a time when Sydney was far, far smaller, when Annandale and Kogarah were mere villages rather than suburbs, and a trip to Liverpool was a country jaunt behind a steam locomotive.

 

Indeed Mum loved those early years dearly, despite the Depression, and the following World War and all of the bleakness that it brought. Mum would say that people were different back then: that they were closer, friendlier, and spoke with each other with less reluctance.

 

She had her special memories, of a loving family, strict though her war-wearied father may (at times) have been. And she dreamt her childhood fantasies and clung to them throughout her life.

 

Indeed the make-believe and cheeky humour that she used as a child became a life-skill that kept her young and in touch

with both fun and fantasy, in touch with her own children and, later, in touch with her precious grandchildren; it was a wonderful way to deflect adversity and to keep on going. Not that she would admit to any sadness, regret or hardship in her life. 

 

Mum's dad was an army man and away for extended periods. The family moved from barracks to barracks, including a stint in Melbourne, where mum managed to learn what she called 'Melbourne spelling', a wonderful excuse for a more or less whimsical writing style.

 

But it wasn't easy for her family. There were dramas and difficulties and challenges. Mum realised much later how difficult these and the subsequent post-war years were - for her mother in particular, and for her family overall.

 

There's so much more to mum's story. To the family story. The First Fleeters. The convicts. The free settlers. Redcoats. Grandparents. Cousins, aunts and uncles. Siblings to tease and torment. Her own battle with cancer.

 

But mum loved the stories, and the story telling. She loved to talk, though not always to listen - although she could do that as well - if she wanted.

 

But her true devotion in life was to her husband, our dad, and to the family they raised together, and ultimately to the grandchildren she doted on.

 

Mum and Dad married on June the 6th, 1953 and were inseparable until dad passed way in 1999. Mum had never lived alone in her life, until Dad's stroke. It was another challenge, faced with courage as well as denial. Again, it wasn't easy.

 

Together they brought us up in that caring, loving, care-ful way that we know and took for granted. Mum wanted us to have a safer, more protected life than the one she grew up in, with fewer struggles, dramas and stresses, and that's exactly what we got. As children we knew little about the sacrifices that make such miracles happen, but as adults looking back we can appreciate the love, care and concern, and understand more clearly both the effort made and the reasons why mum was who she was.

 

Mum could be crazy and delightfully childlike.

 

She could drive you mad.

 

She could badger; she could stand her ground.

 

She could keep quiet, yet she couldn't stop talking.

 

Most of all she had to check, and check, and

double check before doing anything. And then

she'd just do it.

 

 

She would be so careful, then do the most surprising things. She was a child of the late 1920s who never in her entire life flew in a plane, yet secretly loved to try out computer games and adored her DVDs. She was our mum, molded and fashioned from a different age but in her special way as up to date as she ever needed to be.

 

And she loved us, all of us, whatever we did.

 

 

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Life begins as swiftly as it ends. Time moves onward at its pace, not ours and doesn't look back. We cannot change what has been, but we can choose how to learn, to live and to love. And to take the time to remember.

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Thanks to all of you for coming along today.

 

Let me introduce now Mum's brother, Kevin Brown, who’d like to add a few words.

Kevin...