There is a particular time of day that always reminds me of my grandmother, Mary. It’s at around 6pm, and if you walk around the streets you’ll smell the mix of food being cooked in houses as dinner time nears.
Spending most school holidays with Nanna Mary growing up, the amazing smells wafting from the kitchen at around 6pm were an everyday occurrence.
With ‘Wheel of Fortune’ on in the background, her home cooked meals were always a highlight of my holidays.
Last month we sadly lost Mary after she eventually succumbed to the dementia battle that had unfortunately dominated the last few years of her life.
Growing up, Nanna Mary was such an important part of my life.
She spoiled her only grandson rotten, whether it be saving me a special piece of crackling from her famous Christmas roast pork, or slipping me $50 on special occasions as if it was some sort of top secret operation.
When I broke my leg by stupidly riding my bicycle into a stopped car when I was about 10-years-old, she visited me at Nepean Hospital virtually every single day of my three month stay.
And that was no easy task, either. Without a car, she would set out from her home in Bass Hill and via a range of buses and trains, would find her way to Kingswood to spend time with me.
School holiday activities usually involved a trip to the movies, and I found out later that she would take herself to see the movie the week before I arrived, just to make sure it was suitable for my young eyes.
Her life was far from easy but is a great example of how all of us living normal, day to day lives have a remarkable story lurking in our background.
She was born on Boxing Day 1929, at the beginning of the Great Depression.
When she was a toddler, her father Bernard Mulligan (who was 37 at the time) was almost killed in a freak axe attack at their home in Leichhardt.
The story had significant media coverage at the time and while Bernard, my great grandfather, survived, he was left with life-long disabilities.
There was a bizarre twist to this story that we only discovered a couple of years ago, but that’s a tale for another day.
In 1945, the family was dealt another blow when a hand written telegram delivered the news that Ronald Phillip Mulligan had died while being held as Prisoner of War in Sandakan, Borneo.
Nanna Mary always told the story of seeing her brother for the final time, boarding a train before heading off to fight in World War II.
She always said she felt she’d never see him again, and tragically her feeling was correct; a reality that thousands of families in Australia were forced to confront.
She always spoke so highly and proudly of her brother, and often researched Sandakan and the grim fate that her brother faced there.
His medals now proudly hang in my home office.
She would later go on to marry Frank, and have two children – my father Steve and my uncle Noel (who was born on her 21st birthday – Boxing Day 1950).
Frank passed away in 1977, leaving Mary a young widow and a strongly independent woman.
She lived in her old, fibro home in Bass Hill right up until last year, when the dementia battle simply became too much and she moved here to Penrith.
Sadly, her sister Melita also suffered from dementia, a devastating disease that you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.
The stories Mary used to tell have been silent and left unsaid for a few years now, and there is very much a sense of relief in her passing, a realisation that she is in a far better place now.
To us Mary was a one-of-a-kind, but all of us who are lucky to have our grandparents still around know how much of a special role they play in the family.
Mary Noelene Dodds may not have been a household name and she may have led a somewhat simple life, but we’ll certainly never forget the impact that she had on all of us.