Life just keeps getting better

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Thelma Thompson is an exceptional woman, living independently and taking life by the horns.

As I walked up her driveway, I was already giggling at what was about to occur, and she greeted me at the door as I arrived.

We sat on the couch together and as I gazed around her living room, it was obvious that life and family were paramount.

Thelma is the daughter of Percival and Gladys Hoare.

Later, after her dad left, her mother would marry Arthur Collyer, a stepfather Thelma said she “adored”.

Between the two marriages, there were 18 children - six boys and 12 girls.

Thelma was the fourth eldest and was extremely close with her older sister, Anne.

She was born on June 20, 1931, a night she said her parents would never forget.

She started life in the fast lane, arriving at 12.01am in a home delivery.

“We were living in Lismore in Victoria, and the night I was ready to make an entrance, I got Mum out of bed,” she said.

“Dad went to go and start the car, but we were snowed in, so Mum had to have me at home.”

Both Thelma’s Nanna and Gran were in the house, expecting to be watching the other children.

“That didn’t work out; the world had other plans,” she said.

When reflecting on her childhood, Thelma said, “I was a tomboy, a real tomboy”.

“I loved my brothers, but anything they did, I had to do,” she said defiantly.

“They taught me to ride a bike by putting me on top of a hill and letting me go.”

Thelma could barely get the story out without fits of laughter, and my hands were covering my face, unsure of how this would end.

“How many stacks did you have?” I asked, very curious.

Again, I had to wait for the answer as we were both laughing so hard.

“Just one,” she said.

“I ended up in the bushes.”

That was it for us; we were in fits of laughter, unable to stop.

I said “Well, you learnt to ride pretty quick then”.

Laughing harder and struggling to utter the words, she said “I’ve never been on a push bike since”.

Thelma’s family moved after her dad left, and they had a beautiful orchard at the bottom of the property.

“It was a large property and two gum trees in the orchard.

“They were straight with no foot holes until you got up quite high.

“My brothers used to scale them like bloody monkeys,” she said, the laughter returning.

I said “So you gave it a crack?”.

“I did,” she nodded.

“I got halfway up, and I couldn’t move; one way or the other, I was stuck.”

We both had tears from laughter welling in our eyes.

“My brother Keith is killing himself laughing below me; he could never say Thelma, he always called me Sally.

“What you don’t know is I have a hell of a temper.

“Well, I called for everything I could, and he said to me, ‘If you stop swearing at me, I will help you down’.”

“I snapped ‘how are you going to do that?’.

“He said, ‘Well, just lower yourself onto my shoulders with your feet, but still hang onto the tree’.

“I did, and he eventually got his hands around my waist and lifted me down.

“I was so angry and humiliated because I couldn’t do what they had done.”

Thelma said it was a good childhood ... until February 13, 1939.

“We were burnt out in the Black Friday fires,” she said.

Our laughter turned to solemn reflection, and the memories were making Thelma’s eyes store tears which she desperately tried to stop from running down her cheek.

“We lived in Gippsland; 176 people lost their lives in those fires.

“I sit back and look at people who build in areas they know it is going to happen to again, and they build timber houses.

“We lost everything; it was my darkest moment.

“Later on that year, I was sent away to college in Melbourne.”

By now, Thelma’s tearful emotions had taken over, and this new memory only compounded the previous feelings.

“It was a very lonely time because the war had started, and there was no petrol available for family to visit.”

Thelma met her first husband when she was 16 at a boarding school dance.

“I left school. I was married by 17 in the July and I had my first child in December when I turned 18.

“My husband was a marvellous man.

“We had a butcher shop business in Geelong, which we sold to travel around Australia.”

They had gone to New Zealand for their honeymoon before this, expecting to stay three weeks and stayed for three months instead.

“I fell pregnant again in ‘55, and our daughter was stillborn.

“We continued travelling after that with our hearts broken.

“Later, my husband passed in my arms from a heart attack.”

Tears welled at the thought of the memories and the love she had lost.

“I married again to another wonderful man and had two more children,” she said, regaining her composure.

Thelma’s children are Kaye, Maeve and Bruce, who are all doing well in life.

She also has seven grandchildren and 12 great-grandchildren.

“I’m called Nan,” she said.

I noticed a photo of Thelma in her Saints attire, and asked “you go for St Kilda?”.

“It’s Saints, please,” she said.

“I followed them since I was a little girl.

“The game I knew way back when is so different to now.

“They used to play for the love of the game, but now there is too much money involved.”

Thelma was lucky to meet another love after losing her second husband in 1992.

“Cliff Gough was 78 and had lost his wife.

“A friend of mine used to do his house, and one day she said to him, ‘You silly old bugger, stop sitting here wanting to die and get out and get yourself a life’.”

They used to attend Go Racing at the Deniliquin RSL in 2007.

“Cliff came and sat at our table; I hadn’t met him, I didn’t know him,” Thelma said.

He won three trays of meat and, walking out, he said to me, ‘I don’t know what I am going to do with this. Have you got any suggestions?’.“

“I said well, you can come to my place and have a barbecue.

“We had ten years together.

“We did hydroponics and woodwork, and he was a lovely man.”

Thelma recalled another funny story, and had to go back in time.

She spent eight years in Western Australia in the early days.

“I was driving on a highway from Perth to Albany when a Valiant just split in two.

“It was like you had cut it open from front to back between the seats.”

She began giggling again, and I knew she had found another ripper memory.

“We were driving back from holidays from Victoria to Perth.

“They had laid tar down on the road to join two roads, and we were the first car across it.

“So we got out, and with the chaps working on it, about 20 of us knelt down and kissed the tar.

“We had travelled the road when it was dirt.”

As we had done all afternoon, we again ended up in fits of laughter.

“Did your lips stick to it?” I asked.

“No,” she laughed.

“Was it dry and warm?” I continued.

“It was bloody hot, I tell you that. Have you ever been across the Nullabour?” she asked me.

I haven’t.

“Well, don’t ask silly questions,” she said, laughing her head off.

After we regained our composure, Thelma took me on a stunning tour of her Blue Bird collection, teaspoon collection and bell collection. It was amazing.

Shortly after, we again sat on the couch, and I asked Thela to share her parting advice to our readers.

“Live life to the fullest cause you’re dead a long time down there.”

Thelma has taken her own advice, celebrating her 90th birthday at the Coach House with 70 people.

The following night, she went to the Pretty Pine Hotel with her family and danced on the bar.

Her 91st was spent doing a hot lap or two at the Deniliquin Sporting Car Club.

For her 92nd, she rode on the back of a motorbike to celebrate at the Pretty Pine Hotel.

We will have to wait and see what she has planned for her 93rd.

I definitely met my match this time; I love Thelma’s spark and love of life.

It was infectious, and I left looking forward to another visit and catch-ups whenever we cross paths.