A woman's friendship

Recently my lovely friend Liz died in her sleep. It's hard to be too sad when someone who was almost 90 dies in such a peaceful way, and more than anything, I've been feeling grateful for her presence in my life and quietly gathering my memories of her. I wanted to write this straight away but it's taken me a few weeks of processing to realise that she's really gone.

Image above: Cover for Ada Cambridge, A Woman's Friendship, serialised in the Melbourne Age in 1889, published in the Colonial Texts Series in 1988, edited by Dr Elizabeth Morrison

The last time I saw her in person was in her new room in an aged care complex in Melbourne. We sat amongst her books, heartbreakingly culled to fit the small bookshelves, and her choices included things that I'd given her and produced for her, which was a lovely compliment. As last times go, it was a lovely encounter, full of good conversation. 

I sent her a card and letter during the most recent affordable-postage period* and hadn't heard back from her but wasn't worried, knowing that she would get around to writing or ringing at some point. She was an excellent correspondent – way better than I am. The fact that I was on her contact list for her daughter to ring after her death touches me deeply. 

Most of what follows uses my memories of her, but of course the wonderful stories told at her 'life celebration' (which I attended via Zoom) have augmented some of it. 

Author photo for A Woman's Friendship

 Liz was part of that excellent generation of Australian women who were able to make their own choices thanks to progressive social change. She did the marriage and kids thing – and there were many fun stories from when it was a happy marriage – and then after a divorce (when it wasn't), she did the single parent thing while working multiple jobs and building up her academic skills. 

As you can readily find out by googling her, she got a PhD from Monash University, lectured in Librarianship and then became immersed in Australian literature, particularly newspaper serialisation of Australian fiction, and particularly that written by women. She became what is known as an 'independent scholar', which means someone who researches and publishes academically without formal university support, apart from short-term fellowships and the like. She was a member of ISAA, and according to her peers, she was influential as an independent scholar, and made an impact on younger scholars. 

Dr Elizabeth Morrison and I met in the early 1990s as work colleagues. She'd moved up from Melbourne because she'd taken a job with the burgeoning Academy Editions of Australian Literature project at UNSW ADFA and I was working in my first role for the project, which was to type up the various versions of the novels in order for them to be compared and collated as a Definitive Version. There was a team of us, each typing up a different version of the respective novel. Later on I became the official typesetter for the series (see here for that story). Liz and I liked each other straight away. We enjoyed our conversations. She once surprised me by taking me to an Angélique Kidjo  concert in Canberra, and we had a lot of fun. We went to movies and discussed books. Listening to people speak at her not-funeral, I know I'm not the only young person she encouraged. 

And, like so many others, I've learned a lot from Liz. I mentioned her a few times when blogging, because as a letterpress printer I was setting poetry by hand, letter by letter and got thinking about things like this: 

Many people think that newspaper compositors in small country towns over the last couple of centuries would have been rough working men. In fact, they were probably the most educated men in the region. They had to be able to spell, set, edit and proof, and print. They were the hub of the community. I've been enjoying dipping into Elizabeth Morrison's Engines of Influence over the past couple of years and finding out things like this.

 [Ampersand Duck, The Touch of Words, 2007]

Also this 2006 post, about an 1850 Melbourne parade that had a working printing press producing flyers as it moved through the streets... If you're wondering why I highlighted that date, you need to know that while the first letterpress print was pulled in 1803, it was only in 1824 that the first free press newspaper was printed (and prosecuted by the government). 1850 was in the early days of the free press in Australia... you can see why Liz and I had great conversations. 

Once she finished her AEAL stint and moved back to Melbourne, there were years when we didn't see each other much. But I'd had a baby, which she took great interest in, and we shared hobbies too, like needlework. As I said earlier, I'm a terrible correspondent, but she was solid, and she checked in on me regularly. 

 

A typical Liz letter

[Re this mention of the 'unstoppable Paul Eggert', he contributed a fond eulogy at her not-funeral celebration, and mentioned her AEAL days, when she would capture him in a regular Friday afternoon meeting to discuss the progress of the various books-in-progress and he would be desperate to leave and get some tennis in before dark... Liz was an immovable object when she was in the zone, LOL.]

Whenever I went to Melbourne I would try have a cuppa with her, and occasionally I would stay with her, or use the house if she was on one of her trips (bushwalking or overseas, she loved an adventure). She spent the next few decades getting on with her work, publishing her research, and engaging with academia as an independent scholar. 

Speaking of adventures, one day Liz rang me to have a discussion. She'd been approached by Emeritus Professor John Mulvaney, the 'father of Australian Prehistory', to see if she'd like to go on a date with him. We both took a moment to process this. 

As you might know if you'd clicked that earlier link to my Brindabella Press post, I had been the Publications Officer for the Academy of the Humanities. The bit I left out was that when I applied for that job in my early 20s, I had pretty basic desktop publishing skills (and the available software was pretty basic too). But I was friends with the person who had the job before me, which helped, and I knew what books should look like, being an avid reader and having chosen to stay home and read while most of my friends went rambling around the world. So I managed to talk my way into the job.  The AAH secretariat consisted of Yvonne and Patricia, who moved regularly between an rudimentary PC, a typewriter, and a ledger book, and John (who we called Prof), who, after using a typewriter once back in the day and hating the clatter of it, put it away and never touched one again.** We used to type up all his work after he'd hand-written it. None of them had any idea if I knew my technical stuff or not. Happily, too, I was given an Apple Macintosh to use, which has always been my weapon of choice, and I got the knack of Pagemaker pretty quickly.*** Anyhoo, I spent a fair wad of years working for Prof, producing Annual Reports and Conference Proceedings and then being appended to the AEAL project. We became good friends, and that included his lovely wife Jean, who, to my surprise, I had my own history with (recounted here and an addendum here). 

When Jean died, Prof was completely lost. Jean was the backbone of his life, as are so many wives of professors of a certain age. When he retired from the AAH, he was shocked that she wasn't at home at lunchtime to make his lunch. When he complained about this, Jean said crossly, 'John, I love you dearly, but I married you for life, not for lunch!' (if you haven't read those posts I just mentioned, now is a good time to do that).  Poor John, Jean's death was even worse than lunchtime. He just wasn't very good at being alone. His health went downhill dramatically, and when he recovered, he had a good hard think about his life. He made a list of all the nice women he knew who were single, and went a-wooing. Liz was, I think, number two on his list. 

Liz and I had had a good laugh about Jean's cross remark back in the day. So with this shared knowledge we had a long, frank discussion on the phone about the pros and cons of dating John in the twilight of his life. The outcome was typical of Liz's practical and adventurous nature: she'd give it a crack. I supported this move, and admired her for it. 

Dear reader, it turned out to be 10 years of a very happy marriage, lots of travel, being involved in each other's family and friend circles, and both of them thrived until he died age 90. 

After that, Liz had another ten years of being single, and put it to good use, keeping on top of her research. A couple of years ago I typeset her final book, on 19th-century Australian journalist and fiction writer Donald Cameron, called A Man of No Mean Talent (2023). I always enjoyed working with Liz as she was (as I've hopefully given the impression already), a mix of sharp intellect and humorous tongue. Here's an edited snatch of her 'preamble' for the book:

"The Mysteries and Miseries of Donald Cameron" is the first title I thought up for this biography, but rejected it as too recondite... That tentative title alludes to the trajectory of Cameron's relatively short life, conjecturally from 1845 to certainly 1888. Mysteries indeed surround his origins and his personal living circumstances. With scant archival sources, I have had to rely on newspaper references and allusions to establish key aspects. As to 'Miseries', what can be established is a lamentable series of self-induced tribulations. [p.1] 

 

Liz had published books before this via presses such as Melbourne University Press and NSW University Press, and she didn't want the book to look 'self-published' so she adopted a press name for herself: Restitution Publishing. It sounds delightfully 'Wild West', which suits the nature of the independent research at which she'd excelled.  

She'd hoped to use it for more than one publication, but over the following year her health declined. I'd visit her on my trips to or from Canberra, and on my last visit to that house, she told me how she'd been having increasing problems. When it was suggested that she move to Melbourne to be closer to her children, she knew it was a good idea. As I said at the start, she seemed happy in her new space. 

Because she was a very organised person, her not-funeral celebration was planned by her in advance, as were her death notices and other arrangements. I attended via Zoom, and it was lovely, especially hearing her children Andrew and Erica talking about her, and various friends and family recounting the good times they had growing up with her or hanging out with her. She liked going out and spending time with friends, especially her women friends. I said a small something, not as much as this longer something, but it's hard to say much when you have a big lump in your throat. 

It feels good to have written this. This woman's capacity for friendship was special. Deepest condolences to her family, friends and colleagues. 

* Also known as Christmas.

** The thought of the typewriter that had only been used once used to haunt me... I asked Prof about it once and he said that it was probably in his garage, but by the time he'd married Liz it had disappeared, hopefully given to one of his grandchildren... and I have enough typewriters (but can you ever really have enough typewriters???).

*** But I hope you never see the really early books I made for the AAH -- they are AWFUL.