Towards the end of the year, Dad did come out to visit us, and thus escaped the worst of the English winter. At first I made efforts to entertain him, until he told me to stop wearing myself out, as he was perfectly content to sit in the shade of the verandah and read a book, or maybe sometimes borrow a car and drive into Hey. There were no Ashes test matches that year, but of course there was plenty of cricket in Brisbane, so I flew him down again, and he stayed for a week on his own, and I think he spent every day at the 'Gabba, and was perfectly content. John, as a member had arranged for Dad to use his seat, so he revelled in being in the 'Members' and close to all his cricketing heroes, and even getting an introduction to some of them. He had a schoolboy's enthusiasm for the game and the players responded accordingly, giving him autographed programs and occasional caps, later to be displayed back in England at his local club to the envy of the other members.

Dad returned to England in March, when the worst of the winter weather had gone. He looked older each time I saw him, and I started to wonder each time I fare-welled him if this would be for the last time. Even though he lived so far away, he was family, and as I grow older I feel that is important. I never seriously suggested that he live out here permanently with us, he was too English for that. The following winter, 1974-5 he came out again, and this time there were Ashes tests to enjoy. I flew John and Dad down to Brisbane to the Gabba to see the first test, and they had a great time, especially Dad since England won. When John returned he discussed an idea he had.

“Darling, your Dad isn't getting any younger, and he might not be able to make the trip out here again. How would you feel about taking him to see the other test matches?"

“That's a wonderful idea,” I replied, “If you are sure you can manage without me for all that time?”

“I'm sure we'll struggle along,” he smiled, “And anyway you will have time to come back here for a few days between some of the matches if there are things that need urgent attention. Let's discuss it with your Dad after dinner tonight.”

So we discussed the proposal with Dad and of course his initial reaction was that it was too much to ask of me. We finally persuaded him, although he did have one condition. The next test match was in Perth, and he felt it was much too far to go, even flying, but as for the other test matches, he would love to take up our kind offer. I confess that although I would have done it, I was not upset about his decision not to go to Perth for it was a long way, especially with the need to stop several times for refuelling.

The Australian team that year was captained by Ian Chappell, and England by Mike Denness and the series attracted a great deal of controversy, largely due to the hostile bowling of Dennis Lillee and Jeff Thomson, and the constant sledging which lead some people to refer to the team as the 'Ugly Australians'. Dad was not particularly happy at that aspect of the modern game and said he preferred the time when cricket was a sport played by gentlemen, but the chance to see almost an entire Ashes series was too good to miss.

The next test match was the traditional Boxing Day test at the MCG, the Melbourne Cricket Ground. Dad said he didn't mind missing the first day, so that we could enjoy Christmas at home, so after enjoying roast turkey and all the trimmings, we exchanged gifts. He bought me a lovely pendant, and John a new wallet. I remember I had managed to find him a cricket book that he didn't have — an achievement in itself. We packed enough clothes and loaded up the plane so that we could take off early on Boxing Day morning. We set off at eight o'clock and headed south. We landed in Essendon Airport in Melbourne in mid afternoon, parked the Cessna and took a tram into the city. This was a novelty for both of us. Dad said he could remember a time when there were trams in London but they were taken out many years before. We found our hotel and checked into two adjoining rooms, and Dad was able to catch the last couple of hours of play on the television.

The next morning after breakfast, we took a taxi to the MCG. The size of this vast arena which can seat about one hundred thousand people took our breath away. We were early, but by the time play commenced it was well on the way to filling up, and the feeling of being part of that vast crowd was awe-inspiring. It was like a living breathing organism, reacting to the play with cheers, cries and groans, depending on what was happening. I remember Dad saying to me that he had listened to matches on the radio broadcast from this very arena, but he had never imagined what it was like, and in future he would be able to imagine the scene and feel part of it again.

After Australia won the first two test matches in Brisbane and Perth, Dad was given some hope when the Melbourne test was drawn. Then on the first of January, a One Day International match was played to replace the washed out Test of the 1970-1 series, and this time England won.

The next test was to be played in Sydney from 4th to 9th January, so we flew to Sydney on January second and the following day spent some time looking around the city and having a boat ride on the harbour. Australia won again and Dad was resigned to the fact that Australia had won the series. As the Adelaide test didn't start until 25th January, we had some time to return home so I could catch up with what was going on and do some paperwork. Dad filled in the time relaxing on the verandah. On the 23rd we flew down to Adelaide for the next test. I enjoyed the 'father and daughter' time with Dad. We spoke of many things besides cricket and I learned things that I might never have otherwise found out. We naturally spoke a lot about cricket and I learned a lot about field placements and tactics, knowledge which was very valuable since John was almost as great a cricket enthusiast as Dad.

Once again Australia won, and after the match was over, we flew back to Queensland. John had decided that he could spare the time to come back to Melbourne with us to watch the final test match which started on the eighth February. Of the three of us, no-one enjoyed the match more than Dad when England won by an innings and four runs, but Australia won the series 4-1 and with it the Ashes, for the first time sine 1964.

We returned to the Station and Dad stayed with us for another two weeks before returning home. I hugged him for a long time at the airport. Something told me that I probably wouldn't see him again.

I kept in regular contact with Marie — and she in turn kept in contact with Dad. He had decided in the end to continue living in the cottage he and Mum had bought outside of Oxford, and with a weekly visit from a council cleaner and a good midday meal at the local pub most days, he seemed to manage very well. John and I were talking about another trip to Britain, but hadn't finalised the date when the phone call came from Marie. Dad had a very good neighbour who always checked each morning that his curtains were drawn back, and that any milk delivered was taken inside. This particular morning when nothing had happened by ten o'clock, she took down the key he had entrusted to her, and went across to the cottage. Receiving no response to her knocking, she went inside. As she described the scene to me later, Dad was lying in bed, a slight smile on his face. There had been no sign of a struggle — he must have died very peacefully in his sleep.

I needed to go to the funeral. John knew that, and he wanted to go too, for he had great respect for Dad. We rang around the airlines and managed to get the last two seats on a flight the next day. I rang Marie to tell her what was happening and then hurriedly packed. My previous trip to England when Mum was so sick, I had done on my own, and I was so glad to be travelling with John this time. I had cried when I heard the news, of course, but I knew that Dad had lived a good and fulfilling life, and he always believed that one day he would be together with Mum again.

Marie met us at the Oxford Railway station. Her children were really growing up now, and were totally gorgeous. Michael junior was three and so lively, and Evelyn was just over a year old and on the point of taking her first tentative steps. I hugged Marie and thanked her so much for all that she had done for Dad. She has been truly the best cousin anyone could wish to have. She had even organised the funeral after consulting me on the phone, and it was to be held in the same church where Mum's was held, to take place two days later. John and I had booked into a hotel — somehow I didn't really feel like staying in the cottage, even in the spare bedroom — silly I know, but that's me.

The church was full once more, and again it was people that I did not know, but this time I decided that I would like to say a few words about my Dad. The Catholic Church is very traditional, and the priest seemed a little surprised at my request, but he didn't object. I actually wore a hat in deference to tradition although it seems few women wear them in church nowadays. With my various groups and clubs, public speaking no longer held any fears for me, so I was ready when the priest announced me.

I stood at the lectern on a lower step of the sanctuary. There before me sat Dad's coffin, draped in a huge floral tribute. We had brought a few gum leaves and gum-nuts over too as an acknowledgement of his visits to Australia.

“My name is Lesley and I am Joseph's daughter,” I began. “You may think from my accent that I'm not from around here, but I was born in England and emigrated to Australia when I was eighteen. The last time I was in this church it was to celebrate the life of my Mother. Now she and Dad are together once more.

“Dad was the quintessential English gentleman, totally trustworthy and honest. He was a hero too. Some of you may not know that he saved a man's life once by his quick reactions when he was in the army. Like so many men, he will not go down in the history books except as part of 'everyman', one of the millions who lived a good honest life, loved his wife and his daughter — loved his cricket too. If every man in the world was like Dad, it would be a much better place.

“My husband John and I have come half-way around the world to be here at this time, and this shows you the love and high regard in which we held him. You all held him in high regard too I'm sure, since you are here today. I think we can all take inspiration from his life when we leave to go about our daily tasks once more.” I found I could not tear my eyes away from Dad's coffin. I had drafted more to say, but suddenly I was afraid that I would break down after all. As happens so often, Shakespeare came to my rescue with a perfect ending to my eulogy.

“Farewell Daddy. May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. I love you.” I quickly stepped down and walked over the the coffin, stooping to kiss the polished wood. Then I returned to my seat, and reached for John's comforting hand.

The priest resumed his position and said “Thank you Mrs Brodie for that touching tribute. And now we will sing Hymn 103.”

Afterwards in the church hall, we circulated among Dad's friends and fellow parishioners. One old chap was wearing the badge of the local cricket club on his blazer, so that was an instant source of conversation. He told me how Dad had come back from our mammoth 'Ashes Tour' bursting to tell everyone.

“And you actually flew him around to all those Test matches, did you?” I admitted it was true.

“Well, well, well, and he told me you were getting quite knowledgeable about the game.”

“Thanks to his tuition, and it certainly helps when you are married to a cricket tragic like I am,” and for the first time that day I laughed.

John and I had always planned to stay for a month in England on our next trip and since there were certain legal matters to attend to in winding up Dad's estate, it seemed the best idea to stay there where we could sign papers if need be.

At one of the test match lunch intervals, with empty seats all around us, Dad had talked to me about the estate. “Lesley, you are my daughter and of course when I do go, my estate passes to you. However when Mum was alive she was concerned that there might be legal difficulties from your changed gender, so we decided to go to the solicitors Brown, Smith and Weston, we've been using for many years to try and get things clarified. At Mum's suggestion, we asked for one of the young women on the staff, thinking that she might have more knowledge and sympathy for these cases, and I'm sure yours is not the only one. Miss Lester was very bright and efficient, so we laid all the cards on the table, and as a result she drew up a legally binding document which makes it absolutely clear that you are our child and we wish you to inherit our estate. The solicitor has kept the original document, and I have copy in my files, so when the time comes, you must go and see them and I'm sure everything will work out fine. They also have my will of course.”

“Daddy!” I touched his arm “You are so amazingly efficient — you think of everything. I just hope it's many years before I have to speak to that solicitor.” In the event, it was, alas, not so long before I did have to call the solicitor in question. I enquired if Miss Lester still worked for them, and was pleased to hear that she did. One less complication. John and I made an appointment to see her the next day.

“Well, Mrs Brodie, it's very nice to meet you at last, although I would have wished for happier circumstances. Your father was a truly lovely man. Please accept my sincerest condolences.”

She went on to explain how they were happy to act on my behalf in seeking probate, and would use the documentation drawn up. However, due to certain court decisions, and although she knew I would find it distasteful, it might be necessary for me to make application under my original name in order to comply with the law as it now stood. I told her I didn't have a problem with that, and hoped that one day the law would catch up with modern times.

“So do I Mrs Brodie, so do I!” she exclaimed.

We explained that we would only be in England for another three weeks and wondered if that was sufficient time to settle everything. She said that she would try, but with the law there is never any guarantees, especially when it comes up against something out of the ordinary. We parted on good terms and said we would stay in touch.

There was no reason to hold onto Mum and Dad's house any more. I had mentioned it to Marie, but she and Michael were well established in Bath and intended to stay there for the foreseeable future. In any case it might have been too small for them. I sorted out all of Dad's clothes and took them to a charity shop. I packed all his photos except a few Marie wanted, and invited her to chose some mementoes. The rest of Dad's cricket memorabilia went to his cricket club, together with a display cabinet. Then I invited a second-hand furniture dealer to come in and give me a price to clear the rest. The house was finally empty but I needed to wait for probate to be granted before it could be put on the market.

When arranging for delivery of Dad's cricket memorabilia, I organised an appointment with the club secretary, and in due course I found myself sitting in front of Mr Percy Edwards' desk. He was an 'old school' English gentleman, like so many of the club members, and I warmed to him immediately. He asked if I would like some tea, and of course I said 'Yes, thank you.'

“First Mrs Brodie, may I say how sorry we all were to hear of your father's passing. He joined us soon after moving from London and had already worked his way up to Assistant Secretary, which shows the respect the members had for him.”

“Assistant Secretary? I had no idea. Sometimes I think my father was a little too modest. I'm very proud of that, and I would like to have told him so. What you've told me is very pertinent to what I wanted to discuss with you. As you know, I've donated his cricketing memorabilia to the club, but I would like the club to consider something more by way of a memorial to my father if that is possible. Dad was very traditional about cricket and deplored what he saw as falling standards, particularly the sledging that goes on, so I wondered if something like a 'best and fairest' medallion named after him could be given at the end of each season — that is if you don't have one already? A sum of five hundred pounds could also be added to the award. This is only a suggestion and you and your committee might think of something better. Please don't think that I as an outsider am trying to dictate what you do.”

Mr Edwards leaned back in his chair. “That's a very interesting idea and very generous of you. It would certainly give the team members something to strive for, maybe with their names added to an Honour Board? We could ask the match umpires to award points in each match. Thank you very much Mrs Brodie. We will discuss it at the next meeting and be sure to let you know. I will write to you in Australia.”

In due course I received a beautifully handwritten letter from Mr Edwards, and what a nice surprise that was, saying that the Committee had decided that the Joseph Michael Cobb Medal, together with a cash prize of five hundred pounds would be awarded to the best and fairest young player under the age of twenty three. I approved of that. Catch them while they're young and instill good habits and behaviour. I wrote back immediately thanking them for their decision and said I would look forward to receiving news of the annual winners, and would transfer the prize money when required..

John and I still had a little over two weeks in Britain, and we filled them with another tour, taking in places we hadn't seen before. This time we ventured into the Scottish Highlands, a wild and beautiful place and I immediately fell in love with its grandeur. In an old book-store, I picked up a second-hand book by an author Nigel Tranter and I couldn't put it down. Sure it was an historical novel, but the depth of his knowledge meant that the fictional characters mingled seamlessly with the real people of the time and it was all set against historically accurate settings and events. Having devoured one book, I was now on the lookout for more, and John more than once sighed in exasperation as I scanned the dusty shelves of yet another book store in my search for more Tranters. In the end I found five more, and discovered when I returned to Australia that he was not totally unknown here, and I was gradually able to build up my collection.

We did the famous trip 'over the sea to Skye' on the ferry, and of course thought of 'Bonnie Prince Charlie' the failed Pretender to the thrones of England and Scotland. On the run from the British troops, I couldn't help remembering how Flora MacDonald took him to Skye in that small boat, disguised as her maid 'Betty Burke' — a famous incident in the annals of cross-dressing you might call it!

We worked our way down the west coast, calling in on the Lake District, another magical place that has drawn me on every visit. Eventually we reached Bath, and visited my cousin Marie. She and Michael kindly invited us to dinner, and after a pleasant meal, we sat down, as I had something I wanted to discuss with them. John and I had been talking about it during our travels and decided it was absolutely the right thing to do.

“Marie, Michael, we want to discuss something with you.”

“This sounds ominous,” said Michael, responding to my serious face.

“As you know, we are still waiting on probate for Dad's will, which means we can't sell their house yet. Once again we have to ask you to handle it on our behalf, since we'll be back in Australia before anything happens.”

“That's not a problem,” said Marie “I'm happy to help.”

“I know you are and that's why I want to discuss something further with you. Over the years, you have done so much, both for me and Mum and Dad because we are family. In many ways you've been like a daughter to them, and a sister to me. No amount of money could ever compensate you for all the time you have spent, and it would be insulting to think it would. Nevertheless, once the house is sold and all the disbursements made, we want you to accept half the proceeds of the sale.”

Marie turned white, and I was glad she was sitting down because I thought she might faint. I leapt up in alarm and ran to her side, taking hold of her hand.

“Oh I'm sorry Marie, I should have eased into it slowly, not shocked you like that.”

“Oh Lesley! This is too much. Far too much!” Marie managed to get out.

“Marie, I don't know your financial situation and nor do I want to. We are comfortably off and are quite content with a half share. There must be things you could do with the money. Maybe pay for the children's education or send them to a better school? Maybe you'd like to travel? Now there's an idea. We'd love you to visit us. You know it's harder to receive than give, so I'm asking you to please accept the money in the spirit in which we give it, and use it for whatever you want.”

Marie had gone from chalk white, to bright red, and now more her usual skin colour. She wiped her eyes. “In that case I will say 'Yes. And thank you very much' “ she replied.

Her husband Michael said “This is wonderfully generous of you both and I'm sure we can put the money to good use. A trip out to see you would be wonderful, and very educational for the children when they are older. If you think it's appropriate, I do have a bottle of 'bubbly' in the kitchen. What do you say?

I laughed. “I say it's a very good idea!”

There was quite a demand for cottages like the one my parents had owned, and once all the legal matters relating to granting probate were finally resolved three months after we returned to Australia it was finally put on the market. We had given Marie power of attorney to act on my behalf, and she consulted regularly with me by telephone. In view of the interest in the cottage we decided that an auction might realise the best return, and indeed the sale price was well in excess of our expectations. We again used Brown, Smith and Weston to handle the legal side of the sale which they did with great efficiency, and once all of the various charges were paid, they divided the proceeds and forwarded half to Marie and Michael and half to me.

John and I were totally confident in Marie and Michael's ability to spend the money in ways which would benefit their family. While I never asked her to account for how she spent the money, Marie seemed more comfortable telling me, so I didn't try to stop her, not wishing to cause any ill-feeling, and this can happen all too easily where money is concerned. Both Michael and Evelyn were bright children, so Marie and Michael decided on schools which would bring out their full potential, and I couldn't have been happier about that. A good education is a life-long gift for anyone, and so it proved for both of them. I suppose that, unable to have children myself, I threw myself wholeheartedly into the role of “Aunty', for that is what they call me to this day.