Eilie, in white hat, white dress, white shoes, long before she used to call herself our “Aged Aunt”.
Next Tuesday, May 12th, would be the birthday of our beloved Aunt, Eileen May.
Surely it can’t be twenty years since you died. Your laughter still rings in my ears, partly shocked, partly amused. You put up with us running in and out of your house, eating your cakes, rifling through your drawers. You were our most exciting relative. You weren’t a woman with children. You had a job, or as our mother said, you ‘went out to business.’ You were the first person we knew who went ‘overseas’ on a big ship, to England and Italy. You learnt Italian, and read a magazine called Oggi. You belonged to the Atheneum Library, and took me to the opera when I was seven years old.
Later, after your father died and you moved to the other side of town, you came every Sunday to visit our mother, your sister. We loved to hear you talk about the little bush school with the teacher Khan Soo, always asleep, and of your local hospital, where the nursery was so quiet because of the nurse’s heavy hand with the laudanum. Your life was so different from ours, you and our mother and your little brother in a big house in the country with a maid to do the work.
Dear Bushwalking, Bird Observing Aunt, we still miss you, but even though it’s twenty years since you left this life, you remain vividly in our hearts.
This poem Poet Gert wrote after you died says it all so well.
Counting
Dying, she took to counting.
Ninety years, winnowed
to a calm stream of numbers
falling with foreign patience
into the busy air.
Nurses came and went.
Our voices slid
on bright linoleum.
It seems impossible to have no secrets
and yet she made no sign.
I never knew her to falter
or, looking back,
to soothe herself by explanation.
By small degrees necessity
wore to the heft
of a tool in a capable hand.
Counting on, persistence,
counting down, completion.
The house is cleared and closed.
Austere aunt
sensible as clean water
we are still looking for you.
Joan Kerr 2002
Gert Loveday's Fun with Books 
Thank you for sharing your wonderful aunt with us, and the poem you wrote for her —
Strange to think that now we are the old ones at the top of the tree and about to take flight.
I like that way of putting it. I’m finding that working on family history has the benefit of keeping me feeling younger than them. Delusional, in a way, but pleasant. My model aunt was a nurse at Anzio in WWII, had impeccable taste in clothes, never married, had a career, and could be quite disapproving of some of us hellions. But she was also generous, and listened, and was everyone’s favorite.
Sounds very like our Aunt E
Although I never met her somehow she was very vivid to me .You were lucky to have a women like Eileen in your family as a role model.
And you had some great ones in your family; Auntie Dossie, Auntie Jean et al…
That’s a beautiful poem. Your aunt sounds like a wonderful woman – that really comes through from the memories you’ve shared here. I have two big family anniversaries in 2020, as it’s 45 years since my dad died (aged 45) and 30 years for my mum. A cliche, I know, but time really is a great healer…
Indeed, but we never forget. I hope you have others from your family to share the memories.
Everyone needs an aunt like that Gert. These are remarkable women who lead the way in the world for the rest of us.
Leslie
So true Leslie, and from what I recall you have had them in your life too.
Yes I have. I also had one terrific grandmother. She was amazing!
Wonderful poem Gert! I too had a special aunt, who went on a holiday to Europe, a thing unheard of in my family. She was my father’s sister and I was named after her.
And we should continue to celebrate the Dorothys and Eileens of the world.
I loved reading this thank you for sharing. I had an Auntie Marjorie and lovely tall, very tall Uncle Jim I miss them both.