Mae

It’s the 1940s and an inquisitive child runs carefree in a backyard garden in Albury, NSW. She hasn’t reached school age yet so she’s not constrained by structured lessons, protocol or uniforms and she’s close to her mum so this time is precious. Some of her fondest memories are attributed to this period.

Introducing Mae. But where to start. This woman is extremely loyal. The breadth and depth of her friendship circle is considerable. She has friends of all ages, of all demographics who have extraordinary life experiences. She’s not a fan of ‘keeping up with the Jones’’ or into status and the like. She’s not into small talk and dislikes the pressure of ‘fitting in’. Now there’s a treasured introvert if ever I met one. I’ve had the great fortune of being introduced to a few of her friends and they are rich, authentic personalities, who I have no doubt would give the shirt off their back for her. I mention a couple of them and Mae smiles warmly and says of course they still keep in touch referring to them as ‘soul friends’. I’ve had the privilege of introducing her to a few of my chums and they’ve all commented on how interesting and intelligent she is. The great irony is that while she says she dislikes the pressure of ‘fitting in’, and describes herself as ‘simple’ and ‘old-fashioned’ I know few of her ilk who can engage so meaningfully with people from all walks of life. 

There’s literally not much of Mae. She’s very slight and while I myself am a relatively small person I feel like a giant in comparison. I’d imagine people might underestimate her given her reserved, shy disposition. However, you need only spend a few moments with Mae before you realise this woman possesses an inner strength and a steely will. She’s an independent force and on that note, she’s not afraid to say ‘it’ how ‘it’ is. Personally, I find this so refreshing in an Instagram perfect world where there’s a tendency to sweep any warts under the carpet. Mae calls the spade and to that I say insert a clasped hands emoji and let the elephant breathe a sigh of relief.

She rates venturing overseas to the UK with a good friend in her 20s as one of the memorable phases of her life. After teaching three years of French, English, literature and history at Albury High School Europe beckoned. She travelled by ship in those days, with the historical significance of it being the last vessel to pass through the Suez Canal. There appears to be a common thread in her life: the correlation between happiness and experiencing a sense of freedom. I remember a good friend saying it wasn’t till she travelled that she realised you have the power to ‘choose who your friends are’, to go beyond contrived social structures such as school and family circles to meet unique kindred spirits. I think part of her is still standing on the deck of that ship staring whimsically out to sea lost in thought, and separately, exploring French laneways (whether figurative or literal) and discussing theoretical concepts with newfound friends. For someone who is naturally shy she is not afraid to explore the realm of possibility. 

Mae met her husband later in life while teaching at technical college. She describes John as someone who she didn’t think she was looking for but was ultimately everything she wanted. When they met he couldn’t believe she hadn’t been swept off her feet and considered himself the luckiest man on earth. They became close friends, sharing ‘counter meals’ and great conversation before one thing led to another. After a three month engagement they celebrated a small wedding that marked the beginning of an exciting new phase of Mae’s life. Unequivocally, ‘the’ most happiest moment was when the stork with swaddling visited the happy couple, and Mae and John were blessed with the arrival of a beautiful baby boy. It wasn’t too long however, before tragedy struck. John was diagnosed with a degenerative condition for which there is no cure. After he succumbed to the insidious disease, Mae was left to rear their young son, albeit with John forever lingering in spirit. She misses him. 

She says if you know her son, to a degree you know her husband. I have plenty of respect for her son. From time to time we (the royal ‘we’ that is) have joshed around and ribbed our parents in a teasing, jovial manner in good spirits, with good intentions. Not her son though. I’ve never heard one facetious comment from him about his mother in the more than 30 years that I’ve known him. He is now a proud father and Mae’s face beams at the mention of her grand-daughter. No doubt John’s does too from above. A family friend has forwarded a photo of the doting parents nursing a child with plump, rosy cheeks, the spitting image of her father. As long as that child walks the earth the family genes will ever linger. 

Both Mae and I share a passion for good literature. She’s a fan of the literary greats as we discuss the likes of de Beauvoir, Flaubert, Austen and Camus. Unfortunately I can’t do ‘light’. Unless a book has layers of complexities and rich undertones, I’m not interested (however, when it comes to movies, give me a Marvel or CGI blockbuster any day). A few years ago she generously invited me to be a part of her book group. What a delight. To be sitting among a group of strong, supportive women who each had their own independent views on themes and concepts and made such an effort to be innovative and create a safe space for discussion. I vividly recall one occasion where the host for the evening placed placards around our necks and we individually had to act out how we thought that character might respond to questions from others (thank goodness I’d read the book!). I’ve always maintained that women need a strong tribe around them. Mae is no exception and clearly her friends adore and respect her for the honest, loyal person that she is. 

Here’s to you Mae. Here’s to your wisdom, truth-telling, loyalty, open-mindedness, simplicity (said no one ever), fab humour and sense of humanity. You’re a forever friend and I cherish everything about you. Everything.