My first podcast appearance! Dear friend and colleague Peta Roberts, who I met as a newby at a personal historian conference in Sacramento, has just launched a new life story podcast called Storyical.

As Peta says, "Storyical inspires you to turn your stories into life histories. Find out what works by life story professionals who share practical advice for you to capture your life story. Take encouragement from ordinary people who talk about how they started recording their... life histories and have extraordinary results. Reviews of books, apps, websites for life story."

Please subscribe and have a listen, especially to No 2 where I am interviewed on the benefits of memoir and life story writing!

https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/storyical/id1341247281…

“What are all these bags doing in the hallway?”

Defensively I reply, “They’re all my decluttering bags ready to go to the clothing/charity bins at the station.” After years of resistance, I had finally been through my wardrobes and drawers and had a lot to shed. The bags had been lined up at the front door for a few days but had not yet made it into the car and away forever. Trevor looks blank, not impressed. It also includes all the sorting and decluttering we did Genevieve’s room and our old dining room last Sunday, I add (so it’s not just my stuff). Our darling daughter had taken very little when she left home nearly a year ago. “Don’t you remember all the good work we did?” “No”, he doesn’t, he says.

“How long have I had this beard,” he asks stroking his face.

“About six weeks,” I say confused by the question.

“I feel a bit strange. What day is it?”

“It’s Thursday.”

“Do I still go to work?”

“Yes, you do.” This is alarming; what is going on?

I get him to lie down to see if that helps. He says again, “How long have I had this beard?”

“Ever since your operation.”

“What operation?” My alarm bells escalate, “To remove the lump on your thyroid,” I explain tersely.

“Where’s my thyroid?”

Unnerved but not wanting to show it, I take him outside to earth or ground him, or do something to bring him to his senses. He looks fine, walks and talks normally. In fact, he is very relaxed, quiet and calm. He is not perturbed by his questions or my answers. Then I start to ask him some questions in the garden. “What do you remember out here”, I ask. No response, but pointing to the shade cloth frame over one of the veggie beds, he asks, “What’s all this?”

“We made that over Christmas, don’t you remember?”

“No,” he says, and more disturbingly he doesn’t remember our trip to Scotland last year either. This is really hurting me now, that was five months ago, and it was the best trip we have ever had. I press on as calmly as I can. I show him the chook house and the chickens. “Do you recognise our chickens?”, I ask.

“Yes, that’s Baracky and that’s Bumble,” he says slowly, pointing to the two nearest chooks. Halleluiah! He’s right for a moment but then asks again, “What day is it? Do I still go to work? He is on a repeat loop which I realise means no short-term recall memory either.

“Where do you work? I ask him.

“Don’t know, can’t remember. Is it ANZ?” ANZ was over ten years ago. I am trying to quantify the loss but want to keep moving. Swiftly, I take him inside to his computer to see if that will shake him out of it. I ask him to log on to work. He starts but the password fails. We try again. I know he knows, he tells me what it is. He types it in again and it works. Yay! The phone rings. It’s a charity call for Trev. I say it’s a bad time, actually we are having a health crisis, call back another time.

I take stock. It must be a brain injury of some kind – most likely a stroke in its earliest stages before it has hit him physically. It feels like instant Alzheimer’s, but I thought it took years to reach this level. I worked on a stroke project once, developing a new service model for catastrophic stroke patients so I know initial treatment is critical to minimise the damage. I rush to another phone so Trev won’t hear me ringing the GP for an urgent appointment. There is nothing with his own doctor till 4.00 pm. “No”, I say, raising my voice, we must have someone else earlier, or something right now in fact, The receptionist offers me a 12.00 time. “No”, I say again even louder and start to cry. I tell her we can’t wait at all; he has just lost his memory this morning and it might be a stroke.

Hearing my own words, and realising the shocking truth of what is happening, undoes me. She consults the nurse who says go straight to hospital. That’s it! This is the action I was looking for. I rally to get us both ready. As I dress, I try to suppress my lurching sobs and the knowing that our lives will never be the same. I have a glimpse but don’t want to look at a future like this. The phone rings again and it’s my mother. I can’t stop the crying now. I explain that Trevor has just lost his memory, I think he is having a stroke and we are dashing off to Cabrini Emergency Dept. She agrees that it could be a stroke but says it must be a mild one (so calm down) and she will see us at the hospital.

Off we go. I am very protective of Trevor’s state of mind. I don’t want to ask him any more questions he can’t answer, or for him to feel my panic, be alarmed by his lack of remembering or why we are rushing off to hospital. But none of this is an issue for him. He has no anxiety or frustration at all. He seems strangely content to keep asking me the same ‘What day is it?’ set of questions without remembering the answers. While he seems to know he’s lost his memory, as he keeps saying he can’t remember, his immediate operating system is fine. He cautions me not to speed, (thanks Trev), he suggests we park underneath the hospital because it’s a hot day, and yes, he will go inside while I park the car.

He doesn’t actually leave the spot where I left him but he has sat down. I feel his absence. We hold hands and go in together. There is a queue for the triage nurse. I look frantically for another nurse or desk, but the ambulance officer in front of me says there isn’t one. I chat to him to explain my alarm. He totally gets it and says I can go in front of him. He chats to another ambo they both look at Trevor and look concerned. An interpreter is found for the couple in front of me and then it’s our turn. I start to explain about the memory loss/stroke crisis and then lose it completely and can’t talk at all. She looks at me and she looks at Trevor and says, “Who is the patient here?”. I half laugh through my tears and point to Trevor. She tells me to take some deep breaths and starts asking Trev the identity questions - name, date of birth, address, which he answers perfectly. She looks back at me and says it’s okay, it’s not as bad as I think. As if to prove it, she asks Trev to put his arms above his head and to stand up which he does effortlessly. “He has no symptoms, he is not having a stroke”, she assures me, “and he will get better.” She then takes Trev though to the Emergency Department, and sends me off to do the paperwork. As I sit down at the Admissions Desk, Mum arrives, and I do the paperwork. I would have signed anything.

Soon after, we are allowed in to see him. Already he is in a gown with tubes attached to one arm and a blood pressure cuff to the other and there is a TV screen showing his heartbeat blood pressure and other numbers. He smiles and says hi to Bev. He asks how he got here. He can’t remember anything about this morning, or yesterday or any time before that really. A lovely upbeat doctor called Keith comes in and starts testing him – reflexes, pulse, tracking his eye movements et cetera. We chat and explain the whole situation. Then he beams at us. He says he hasn’t had a stroke and he hasn’t got a brain tumour, it’s the most bizarre thing he has ever treated. It’s called TGA – Transient Global Amnesia. He explains that there are no known causes or triggers and no treatment for it. It will pass quite soon, perhaps within six to eight hours, and in the meantime, he will admit Trev into a ward until he recovers. He will also arrange for an MRI, a brain scan to check the remote possibility there is some other cause he can’t detect something, while he is in hospital and a follow-up consult with a neurologist after that.

We are laughing now – TGA is the most marvellous diagnosis. Trevor is already starting to remember things, and we can joke about it. The doctor says he will never remember this morning but gradually the rest of his memory will completely return, and a second recurrence is highly unlikely. Trev wants to go home and Keith says we can go as soon as we like, no need now to be admitted, so we go. What a joyous turnaround - from a near life-changing catastrophe to ‘back to normal’ in a day with no medical intervention! Thank you, Cabrini Hospital, thank you Universe.

It’s been a huge reprieve, a massive a shake-up/wake-up call, but the questions continue. What does it all mean now two days later? Trev thinks ‘it is what it is’ and it will probably never happen again. His memory, short and long term, is intact bar Thursday morning. When pushed further, he thinks maybe he should stop going work a bit earlier than planned. I agree with him but for me, as the witness and near life-changing ‘survivor’, the impact is far greater. The loss would be incalculable for me - the loss of my life partner, father of my children, in-house best friend and golfing buddy. Trev is my rock. Without his memory, his knowledge of all the experiences that have defined him, how he has managed all the stages and relationships of his life and consequently how he sees the world, how could he continue to be Trevor for me? Without his memory, how could he know who he is, or speculate why he is here, and what is his purpose or mission in life? How can you work out the meaning of life if you can’t recall the one you are having? These questions are hard enough for anyone but without access to your primary data, they must be impossible to answer. While this would be an existential crisis for the aware, Trev wouldn’t have the awareness to suffer from this which is a weird type of self-protection I guess. Without any memory of his life and our shared life, my memory of our shared life together and all the family stories and in-jokes that only we can know, would be also be diminished. This concept is profoundly depressing.

Ironically, we are so often urged to forget the past, not worry about the future and just live in the present. Had Trevor not recovered, he would only have the present - there would not be a choice or any discretion to exercise about this. Our experience of the present is so informed by the past and without a consciousness that understands the past and the future, how can we fully appreciate the pleasure of the moment?

It’s distressing also to imagine that the life lessons and wisdom he has gathered from over 60 years on the planet (yet to be articulated and recorded) may have been lost forever. Our children, unborn grandchildren and those beyond may never have known his personal story and his ‘take’ on life from his perspective. This is now a call to action for me. As a life writer and biographer, always encouraging others to record their parents’ or their own life stories and legacies for future generations before its too late, I find I must document ours as a priority. The benefits are exponential. I can even declutter with greater ease and let go of the things I have held on to for so long, knowing there are infinitely better ways to preserve our precious memories than hold on to them in physical form. Trev and the kids will be pleased. Long may this new zeal last, and long may we cherish all who we love, and do what we love doing as if we only had a few years rather than the long decades we expected to have ahead.

Gillian Ednie, Your Biography yourbiography@optusnet.com.au

Stuck for a meaningful present to give to a cherished family member, or to give to yourself this year? Christmas sometimes dumps us between a rock and the proverbial and sadly the joy of giving can become one of the most stressful times of the year.

We can easily buy another superfluous present that may never be used, or gift our loved ones the opportunity to support a free-trade organisation, or sponsorship program, but know grandpa won’t appreciate your need to give a goat or arrange a Kiva loan.

Appreciate recycling but can’t find the right ‘preloved’ something. Prefer giving ‘experiences’ but…

The solution is here! Wouldn’t you love to give a present that:

· keeps on giving

· is fully recyclable

· gives off no carbon, so no need for carbon thingies

· is 100% customisable and unique to each person

· provides a rewarding, and for some a therapeutic experience

· connects the past with the present and the future

· lasts forever

· is unique and incomparable for the person who has everything

· ensures your inherence, your family stories and wisdom are never lost when loved ones depart – your family legacy

· the timing is always right because it’s always relevant right now.

So, what is this best gift of all time for the person and family that has everything? It’s their life story! Recording and sharing your life story or gifting the life story of a loved one is the ultimate present that keeps on giving. To suit everyone and every budget, it can also be presented as a book, photo book, an audio recording, a video a or a mixture of all.

If you may have already started sharing family stories over the Christmas dinner table, and seen the joy of connecting the younger and older generations, now is the time to take the next step! You can start today by contacting a professional life story professional who can chat with you to find the best way of recording and sharing a life story or a family history that is precious to you.

A new association, Life Stories Australia Inc, has just been established to help people find resources and support people to help them give this gift to themselves and their loved ones. Go to the website: www.lifestoriesaustralia.com.au to discover how you can do it differently this Christmas!

Gillian Ednie

www.yourbiography.com.au

Everyone has a story to tell and a well-told life story can be one of the most valuable gifts a person can pass on to their family and loved ones.

Your Biography is committed to helping individuals, families and organisations preserve their life stories and values for the benefit of current and future generations. Our goal is to help people record and review the extraordinary and ordinary aspects of their lives, their triumphs and their struggles, and the lessons learned along the way.

Having a biography prepared can be a most joyful and rewarding experience for everyone. By honouring and sharing the life of an older person, all those involved can celebrate their unique contribution and ensure that their precious legacy will not be lost.

Once you decide to tell your story or have the story of a family member told, its time to act!If we wait too long, the stories, the sayings, the family jokes that we think we will always remember, can have a tragic knack of nicking off - our memories fail us! Worse still, if we wait too long for our dear Grandma, Father or Great-Aunt to be ready, they won't remember their stories or their stories about us. Our heritage - the events, the experiences, the turn of phrase that defined them, and shaped who we are today, can be lost in a heartbeat.

In 1930, exactly 80 years ago, a fourteen year old girl walked the fairways of Commonwealth Golf Club for the first time. It’s the Australian Ladies’ Championship and the gallery witnessed an exhibition of the best ladies golf in the country. The girl, speechless and spellbound, can only imagine what a joy it is to play, and is imbued from that moment on with an instinctive love of golf. Little could anyone have known that day that the journey of a life-time had just begun. And that the young girl, was in fact Miss Burtta Cheney.

From that seminal moment Burtta went on to become one of the most accomplished and complete golfers in Victoria. A founding member of Eastern, youngest ever captain of Huntingdale at 25, Australian Ladies Champion in 1957, forty years of service in the ALGU and VLGU and founder of the Junior Promotion Camps at Anglesea: Burtta did it all.

In 1937 she became the Victorian Ladies Golf Union’s youngest ever delegate. During 40 years of service, she was Vice President for 11 years, President for two and became a life member in 1983. Together with a devoted group of helpers, she visited every golf club in Victoria to set the women’s scratch score, advise on layout, and place the women’s tees. Before leaving she would also run a clinic for the members, thus completing her mission to improve both the quality of the course and the quality of the play. Always the selfless giver, her parting goodbyes often couldn’t compete with the enthusiasm of her students to use the new knowledge to improve their swings.

Her work on the Junior Promotions at Anglesea was revolutionary, initially full of obstacles to overcome, and then finally adopted nationally. In the words of a recent graduate from Anglesea: ‘The Junior Promotion program that you initiated has given people more than just a game to play. It has given us friendships, life skills, careers and, and for some a whole ‘life’ in golf.’

Many of us have heard the famous stories that made Burtta’s life in golf so famous, however this biography has searched far and wide for the unique and otherwise to be forgotten stories. Collected over a hundred hours of interviews, with Burtta, her friends, family and colleagues, the significance and character of her life is brought out. In amongst the archives, memorabilia, yearbooks, and the memories of those who helped build it, the first era of Australian golf is truly brought to life through Burtta: completely golf.

As Alan neared the end of his life, it was decided by his family that such a life could not be left to pass unacknowledged. He was an uncle that I had not personally spent very much time around, he was more or less a stranger, but as a sixteen year old high school student with a passion for writing, I was soon to find out all about a truly illustrious life.

Beverley, Alan’s younger sister, and my grandmother and I, travelled to Alan’s house not far from either of us in Caulfield South. At first it was surprising for me that Alan, as a man that had traveled the globe many times over, was still living in the same area that he had grown up in. Each Sunday Beverley and I were to go to Alan’s in the morning and we recorded on his old tape recorder, everything from his first memory of his visits to Mrs. Sturdge, to the cruises he enjoyed with his friend John Porter in his twilight years. From seven tapes we collected this oral record, from the man himself.

He would sit in quite an upright chair, when there were many other more comfortable chairs in his modest lounge, and Beverly and I would place the recorder near to him, and we would ask questions from time to time. But for the most part, Alan had already an idea of what he would tell us, having been a public speaker for various aircraft organizations and corporate dinners, he also knew how to deliver the stories. When it came time to start writing it up, it was more or less already there in its complete form, and often I’ve needed to offer little or no commentary.

Most curiously, he always sat on a bed pillow, which was so flattened, so much smaller than what you would expect, that it nearly seemed to be a different kind of pillow. The pillow slip was worn away in the middle, and its shape confirmed that it was from being sat on, the same way up, in exactly the same way for years and years. I could hardly understand why he hadn’t turned over the pillow, at least then it wouldn’t have been browning on one side and white on the other. It goes without saying, he wasn’t a man who needed luxury to comfort the soul.

As he told us of his stories, he became for us the man he was during his experiences. We could feel and see visibly how profoundly his life’s moments, friendships and successes still affected him. The monologue style of the interviews, meant that there was this immense body of material which just constantly flowed out, and we were there to soak it up, and in part digest some of the emotional force and content that these words carried.

For me, a boy who had hardly known him as a relative, I was feeling this chronological tour of all that this uncle had pursued and overcome in his life. I had never expected, that there would be so much behind that cheerful face at the family Christmas table – this man I’d known but in passing. Each week I was to be introduced to the next part of his life, and having never known even that he was a pilot before we began, I had no way of guessing what would follow.

On and on we went, and then it came time for me to transcribe all that Alan had said, so that we as a family could maintain his story. We also wanted others who never knew him to enjoy and benefit from hearing his story and his message. At that stage it was a race against time, to transcribe his words and produce a first draft so that he could see where the book was heading. He saw the transcripts, and was happy with the start we had made.

Transcribing these seven tapes brought me ever closer to Alan and typing, and re-listening to so much of his story brought up different emotions the second time around. Alan was in one sense a technically brilliant pilot and business man. But for me it was Alan’s philosophy, the way he approached life, and the unflinching audacity that fed its way through so many of his decisions that epitomised Alan, and what kind of a man he was.

The night before Alan passed away, he rang Beverley and Robbie and asked if they could come to see him straight away. When they arrived he asked them if it was okay with them to let go. Alan left us the next day on the 7th of April 2004 with his family present.

At that stage I was to enter my final year of high school and put all my effort into that. Unable to continue the work myself, the transcribed tapes and the vast annals of Alan’s papers and keepsakes went to Sam Furfy. Sam took over the project in my absence for two years. Then returning to the project for the third time, my aim was to expand, going beyond Alan’s tapes, and collecting more of his ideas, talking more and more to people who knew and loved him to give even more clarity to his story and what he gave to people as a friend and associate.

It has been an adventure, and for me, through the process of writing this book, have found a relative who I had never known. I have found out about his life, but through a comparison that I was able to make between the principles that brought him so much happiness and success, and my own, I have learned just as much about myself as I have learned about him.

Alan’s story is a powerful one, his message ‘Nothing’s Impossible’, was elaborated on through every story of his inspired life. He was truly a Great Australian Aviator, but over and above this, he was an exceptional human being.