EdsFest 2.016

Bruce and Barbara Roast or Toast

When it comes to paying tribute to the achievements of Bruce  & Barb, where do you start?
Let's start in 1961, when, after 2 unsuccessful attempts at improving the world's stock of humanity, their third attempt paid dividends and they were blessed with the arrival of their 3rd and greatest contribution to the gene pool.

The first child suffered irreparable brain damage caused by encephalitis which caused the right side of her face to collapse and permanent damage to the thrift centre of the brain. This caused her to embark on a life long spending rampage that remains unchecked to this day.
The prospects for the second child were worse: he was a red head.

They tried to recreate their success with child number 3 but failed dismally with the 4th and, fortunately, final child. Not only was she a red head but a female to boot.

Dad ran a couple of small scale practices, employed at least one future High Court Judge and lived a life of quiet desperation in his attempts to keep his family in the manner they were rapidly becoming accustomed to.

The promised bright lights and easy living of the nation's capital soon beckoned so we headed south to the frozen wasteland of Canberra. A falling out with his business partner didn't help and Barb's drinking and gambling issues also contributed to the decision to move on.

Barbara was a fixture of the High Roller Room at the Kotara Casino

Canberra in the late 60's was a town replete with possibilities. We bought a 4 bedroom house with separate dining and lounge room for $18,000 in the frontier suburb of Aranda. Gungahlin and Tuggeranong were just an itch in some town planners jock strap at that stage and Belconnen sprawled out in the city's north west. When  say sprawl I mean there were 3 suburbs in Belconnen in 1968. We chose the closest one to town.

Bruce worked for the Master Builder's Association as a legal advisor. This gig lasted less than a year and the turn of the 70's saw Bruce back in private practice.

Barb secured a job in an Obstetrics Hospital looking after babies nicer than her own.
Canberra was kind to us. Tim was schooled along with politicians and diplomats sons at Canberra Grammar where you can buy better drugs, I've been told. The rest of us were publicly schooled and were progressing quite nicely when Dad was overcome with the moral imperative to give something back and decided to take up missionary work in the 3rd world, and with that, we moved to Taree.

Taree turned out to be great for us kids. You didn't have to think, the weather was kinder than Canberra, it was closer to the beach. It had everything going for it. Except employment prospects beyond 18, and any form of culture that didn't involve bourbon, rugby league and spousal abuse.

Dad considered himself a big fish in a small, muddy puddle. Mum didn't share dad's optimism for the untapped possibilities of the Mid North Coast, and subsequently, neither did us kids. Ruth has ultimately returned to the region but that's Port Macquarie. It's just like Taree but with a pulse.

One by one we all left for pastures greener as Bruce's dream of building a 4th Reich in the Manning Valley crumbled.
The opportunities lost in the brackish backwater of Taree now reads like a cutting from Who's Who. At one stage dad's client roster included the founder of Hot Tuna: Richard Meldrum and the current owners of Tempus 2 winery, Hunter Valley Gardens and Harrington Waters: Bill and Imelda Roche.

These cowboys didn't move fast enough for Dad so he let them go.


Dad exited out of law in the late 80's and they both exited Taree soon after. Mum hasn't stopped smiling since.

Which brings us to what is affectionately known as Zombie Acres.

Zombie Acres

Their family is now comprised of 7 grandsons, 1 step granddaughter and Ruth's kids whose names we keep forgetting.

Barbara has passed on her radical economic theories to her daughters which are based on increased economic growth through irrelevant retail purchasing. Its known as "buying for the common good".

I dabbled in legal study for a while but was as good at law as what Dad is at computers.
Tim inherited Dad's appreciation for cheap disgusting wines.

Both Tim and I have pursued careers that Bruce considered at one stage and have become school teachers. The pay isn't as good as law but the holidays more than compensate for that. For years Mum's eternal mantra was "your Dad was never around, he was always at the office!"
The fact that the money had to come from somewhere was irrelevant.

We went on a family holiday once: to New Caledonia. Tim got sick and spent the week in bed and the rest of us walked around this forgotten French colony wondering when dad was going back to the office so we could get back to doing the things we wanted.

So now they're 85 years old. They still have a few years left to outdo their parents. Dad will last as long as the money holds out. Then I'm not sure what mum will do with him. He keeps making the joke that he'll move into my garage but I'm not laughing, and neither is he so I hope he's not serious.

Mum's arthritic index fingers have more of a curve on them than Kim Kardashian's bum. Still, they're doing better than some. Occasionally you'll see some poor old bugger in a walking frame perambulating at a glacial pace around this establishment, and it is with some glee that Dad is happy to report that these hapless denizens are younger then he.

So here it is. Raise your glasses and salute an institution!!