The daughter of William and Annie, she had two older brothers, Joe and George, and an older sister known as Sis. Joe, George and Sis were quite grown up when their parents had their second family, three little girls born close together, Gladys, Mary and Nell. Gladys was amazed to discover at the age of about 12 that Sis’ actual name was Ellen. Her father, originally from Yorkshire, worked as a painter and decorator for the railway.
Her life was not an easy one, marred by many upheavals, but like many of her generation she accepted without complaint the cards she was dealt and just got on with it.
Born just before the outbreak of the First World War her childhood was one of hardship. Until she began work and contributed to the family income, she had never eaten a whole egg. The three little girls (Gladys, Mary and Nell) would sit at the breakfast table with their father. He would cut the top off his boiled egg with a knife, and they would take it in turns to eat this portion.
It is hard to imagine life in industrial England nearly nine decades ago. She talked about the lamp-lighter who came around every evening lighting the street lights. And the knocker-upper, who was paid sixpence a week to tap on windows with a long pole and wake people up in the morning. Her great-grandchildren could not imagine living in a house where not only was there no television, computers or Play Stations, but there was no electricity at all, and not even a simple alarm clock.
She left school at 14 and began work in the local laundry. She took great pride in the fact that she was promoted out of the workroom and trained to travel around dealing with customers’ complaints.
She was a member of the Girl’s Brigade, sang in the church choir, and played weekend hockey, acting as goalkeeper.
In her early twenties she attended a party where a young man named Norman Shorrock became smitten with her. Too shy to approach her, he spent the ensuing weeks following her around until he finally plucked up the courage to ask a friend to ask Gladys to go out with him. They were later married in a Registry Office in Manchester.
Life looked good. They had a little boy, Gordon, and were expecting their second child when World War II broke out. Dad enlisted in the army when Moreen was 13 days old. He was posted overseas to Ceylon, returning six years later. During this period of time Mum was a sole parent, bringing up two children alone, struggling to feed them with a ration book, and making an area under the stairs to shelter in when there were air raids; worrying the whole time about what was happening to Dad.
After the war I was born and life began to settle down...but not for long. Gordon had always been a very sick child, suffering from asthma. In 1950 the doctor suggested a move down south, to warmer air, might benefit him. Dad thought this was a great idea and began arranging a move south - to Australia!
Arriving in Australia in February 1951, we went first to a migrant hostel at Bathurst and then to Goulburn. Mum found the initial trip from Sydney very distressing as, never having seen a eucalypt before, she thought all the gum trees, with their bark hanging down, were dying!
Dad heard of a vacancy at Monga Sawmill for a diesel mechanic. In those days the workers’ houses at Monga were made from rough sawn planks. They were unpainted, had no window or floor coverings, and, of course, no electricity. Mum asked what those things besides the house were. They were water tanks, as there was also no water supply and no sewerage. And the toilet was that famous Aussie icon, the backyard dunnie.
We only lived in Monga for six months. Dad went into partnership with a man he met on the ship, Jim Downey. They had a garage, D and S Motors, which was then next to the bakers shop and is now Bernadoff’s.
And so we moved to Braidwood, where Gladys Shorrock, for some unfathomable reason, became Gladie Shorrock. As always, she simply accepted this.
Once more things settled down and the garage was doing well. However, Dad began having a series of heart attacks. In 1956 the doctor recommended that he find less physically demanding employment so he bought a cafe-come fruit and vegetable shop opposite St Bede’s church. In 1957, in the process of selling the garage and establishing the shop, he suffered a final fatal heart attack. Mum found herself a widow at the age of 44, and, with absolutely no experience, running a business.
Gordon left his apprenticeship at the butchers and joined mum in running the shop. Finally, after 4 years, she had to let the shop go. She moved into a commission house in Coronation Ave in 1961 and lived there for the rest of her life until July last year. To make ends meet she worked as a cleaner at the Post office and the then Bank of New South Wales.
In about 1966 she gained employment at the Braidwood Hospital as a cook. Her family were stunned to receive this news, for in my whole life I could not remember my mother baking a cake or batch of biscuits. In fact I had never known her to bake anything other than an apple turnover or jam tart. People began to rave about her lovely sponges and fantastic scones. Once more, Gladys had risen to the situation.
The Gladys I remember best is the Gladys of the late fifties and the sixties. She was a very attractive woman, with thick black hair, a beautiful olive completion and a dazzling smile.
In those years the Servicemen’s Club was much smaller and more intimate. She loved music and dancing. There were regular dances and regular sing-alongs around the piano on the weekends. At home, she sang the whole time while moving around the house, washing dishes, hanging out the clothes etc. Her favourites were all the old Music Hall numbers: A Bicycle built for Two, If You Knew Susie, On Top of Old Smokey. She was an active member of The Torchbearers For Legacy. She played golf, then bowls. She was a good bowls player, winning a tournament, and was very proud to have her name engraved on the championship board in the Club House.
Those who knew her only as an elderly woman will find it hard to imagine this vivacious, fun loving woman, who sang and danced and fooled around. In those days of the sixties the various organisations put on yearly concerts. If they were putting on a skit and wanted someone to play the clown, Mum was their choice. She had them rolling in the aisles!
She had one very famous party trick, which was to recite Albert and the Lion. One of my greatest regrets is that I didn’t think to record her reciting it until it was too late and she had forgotten parts of it.
During the 1980’s and 1990’s she lost first her mobility, then her vision. She suffered a small stroke. As her world narrowed and she became confined to home, her dearest wish was to remain in her own familiar home until she died. Unfortunately, this was not to be. By July of last year it had become impossible for her to live alone any more, and she finally agreed to move to Narbethong House.
If asked to evaluate her life, I’m sure mum would assess it as most successful. A simple woman with simple wants, she was proud to have raised three children who became honest, decent, hard working adults. She was proud that her seven grandchildren (Mark and Fiona; Tracy, Tony and Tamara; and Chris and Rachel) have followed the family tradition of honesty and a strong work ethic, and are raising lovely families of their own.
In the past eleven years her greatest joy has been her great-grandchildren, Aiden, Ryan and Jordan; Jade and Ashley; Alicia; and baby Zoe. She delighted in their company, and although unable to see them loved to hold them and hear their voices. She never tired of hearing stories of all their latest doings and accomplishments.
Died at 87 years on April 6, 2001.
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