tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62356742647925618372024-03-14T00:45:41.233-07:00Amy Evelyn Ewins - A Tributepls feel welcome to comment if you were a friend and/or if you have something kind to say about Amy.Vaughann722http://www.blogger.com/profile/11604027151490275320noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6235674264792561837.post-42231556556855090452017-10-16T22:21:00.001-07:002017-10-23T17:57:15.836-07:00Obituary: Amy Ewins - Remembering my dearest Mum<br />
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: blue;">above: A young Amy Ewins in happier times</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">22<sup>nd</sup>
January 1939 – 14<sup>th</sup> October 2017 ; 78 years old</span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><b></b></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;"><b><i>Remembrances by her son, Dr Tristan Ewins</i></b></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br /><br />Amy Evelyn Ewins</b> – who I hereafter
will refer to just as ‘Mum’ - was born in January 22<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">nd</span></sup> 1939 ; the
year war broke out in Europe.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And during
the terrible bushfires of that year.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">As she grew up the world was a radically different place. She
enjoyed Guy Fawkes nights ; burning effigies of Guy Fawkes and eating toasted
marshmallows. As a very young girl she remembered my Grandma waving a yellow
scarf to my grandfather as he headed out to Singapore as part of the 8<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>
Division, 13<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> AGH.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She
didn’t see him for years after that.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But
for all that time she had photos of ‘happy daddy’ and ‘sad daddy’.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Her father had also left her a colourful statuette
which she liked to look at as a child.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>She called it ‘Mister Hunty’ ; and she kept it throughout her life.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">On her mothers’ side they were Scotlands and Salvas.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Mum was part Greek and part Scot ; as well as
part Welsh and English.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>On her father’s
side I understand the Ewins’s were predominantly Welsh.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Like me, Mum was an only child.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She remembers the distrust back then between
Protestants and Catholics ; but she never bought into sectarian hatred.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>When I was young she was indignant when she
saw a mixed couple (Protestant and Catholic) had been gunned down in their
beds. Life seemed to confirm her feelings about organised religion and its
offshoots.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Though as a child she would
send me to camps organised by Christian organisations.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">She was raised as an Anglican ; but complained that her
parents forced her to go to Church which they did not do themselves.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Nonetheless I believe Mum continued to
believe in God and Christ throughout her life – despite being very cynical
about organised religion.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Despite her
cynicism, though, somehow she did want me to believe in God and Christ.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Mum’s Dad – who his mates called ‘Honest Geoff’ - came home
from the war in 1945 on the Hospital Ship Oranje.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He was suffering from Beri Beri after years
of malnutrition.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And had to wear an
‘iron’ on his leg where he had been shot.<br />
<br />
As a child my Mum would listen to her father talking with his mates when he
thought she had gone to bed and was asleep. She heard of the Japanese
atrocities.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Torture, be-headings ;
feeding the men on dirty rice if they were lucky ; and on banana peels. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">At School Mum did impressively.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Back then girls had to wear hats and gloves
at all times in and out of school.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Her
favourite subjects were History and Geography.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>She could have gone on ; and at one stage wanted to be an artist. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She was actually very talented here ; and used
to enjoy making pictures and Cartoons when I was very young.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But at the time ‘big things’ were not
expected from girls.<br />
<br />
As an adolescent my Mum was a terrific Swimmer. I seem to recall she went on to
earn places in the State championships.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>She swam at the Surrey Dive for the Surrey Park club ; and again could
have done great things. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She also did
very well in the Three Mile Yarra swim. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Sadly she quit swimming because she felt her
physique was becoming ‘unfeminine’.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Her
first boyfriend I seem to recall was a Hungarian Jewish boy called Mick
Withers.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>(I hope I’m getting the name
right ; I may be confused)<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They were
very close and on one of her birthdays I seem to remember her recalling she was
given a Star of David pendant and proclaimed by her friends as ‘an honorary
Jew’.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In fact Mum was Anglican (though
later she did not really care much about denomination) ; but Mum had great
empathy for the Jewish people ; and in her youth as well as as a young adult
was close friends with several Holocaust survivors.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She always hated fascism; and she told me
stories of war crimes as a child.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But she
hated what had been Imperial Japan even more given what they had done to her
father in Changi Prisoner of War Camp.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>And the atrocities she had heard of against the Koreans and the
Chinese.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Throughout her life she was
always angry that Japanese war criminals were not brought to justice as German war
criminals were. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Her mother – my grandmother
– was involved in a case against the Japanese Government.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Mum became friends with Vivian Bulwinkle (later a Lieutenant Colonel) –
a famous Australian nurse who spent years fighting for justice against the
Imperial Japanese for war crimes ; including a massacre of nurses which she
barely survived.<span style="margin: 0px;"> (she was the only survivor) </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Mum was a proud Australian – but never in a jingoistic
sense. She believed in ‘the Australian character’ – of mutual solidarity amidst
hardship ; and the sacrifices made in the fight against fascism.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She believed a culture arose out of all this
– out of the hardships during war - which perhaps we are losing now.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Human solidarity is excluded when the
Ideology of economic Liberalism is taken too far.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">As a youth my Mum lived in Carnegi, then in Camberwell (or
was it Hawthorn?) and then Box Hill.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In
Camberwell/Hawthorn her family lived in a house owned by Lieutenant General Sir
Stanley Savige ; who I understand wanted to support my grandfather as a former Prisoner
of War who had suffered terribly.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>My
grandfather also used to take her fishing on rough seas. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And she also loved climbing trees.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There was little a young man could do that my
mother could not do.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Later in life she
joined the Women’s Electoral Lobby.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Since being a child she was also a fanatical Hawthorn supporter.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Something she passed on to me. And before she
became ill she used get up and do a dance every time Hawthorn won a match.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Actually she was a great dancer ; and one time
won a dancing competition while on holiday somewhere. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I can’t remember all the details.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There are things I wish I could remember the
details of.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>For a brief period she was
also a successful model.<br />
<br />
The worst tragedy of her young life was when her uncle, Ken, died in a car
accident.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ken had loved her dearly ; and
had been a natural at playing the piano by ear.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Mum thought I got my ear for music from him ; but by my understanding I
have never been so talented.<br />
<br />
As a young adult – in her 20s – Mum travelled the world. Mainly via ship.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Travel took weeks then ; it was a different
world.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She spent a couple of years in
Britain working for the Rank organisation as a secretary.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She
slept under the stars in Scotland ; and remembered the icy cold showers in the
youth hostels there.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She learned several
languages and spent time in Greece, Italy and France, as well as Ceylon, Germany, the Netherlands, and Egypt.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As a young child she used to
show me slides of the Acropolis and other landmarks.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She became friends with many people ; friends
from Germany, from what was then Rhodesia, Poland and elsewhere.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She made friends with American soldiers stationed in Germany ; and a young American man from a wealthy family (I forget the name ; perhaps it was 'Bobby la'Moigne or something like that)
whose <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>father was desperately
trying to keep him away from Vietnam.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Another friend of hers was a Polish Catholic who had been imprisoned in
a Soviet concentration camp; apparently imprisoned for her faith. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Maggots had eaten away at the side of her head
; and she was scarred for life. Mum again was sceptical about organised
religion ; and perhaps more so about the Roman Catholic Church. But she was a
compassionate person with a sense of justice.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>She was not prejudiced against Catholics even though highly sceptical
about Roman Catholic doctrine.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But she hated
all extreme political violence.<br />
<br />
When Mum started working in real estate for Nathan Beller it was truly a
turning point in her life. She worked hard – very hard.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And was famous in her circles for her success
in the field.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Many of those friends here
were also Holocaust survivors ; and at the time her boss, Nathan, received occasional<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>letter bombs from neo-Nazis. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She told me of their stories as well , and
even as a child this left a lasting impression on me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But one of her friends was also Bob Engel – a
conscript German soldier who had served in Greece.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He had seen terrible things and it had never
been his wish to go to war.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Nathan
Beller did not hate all Germans despite everything ; and Bob Engel – despite
stealing my mothers’ clients sometimes (he said she was his daughter) – was
nonetheless a friend. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As best as I can
recall, Mum never forgot him crying at my Grandfather’s funeral when they
played the Last Post.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Mum would also cry
on Remembrance Day and ANZAC Day ; remembering her father and what he had been
through.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She also cared for my
grandfather as he was dying of cancer.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And
worked hard at the same time to secure a Veterans Affairs Pension for my
grandmother – which meant she (Grandma) struggled significantly less than she
would have otherwise ; though she still lived very modestly.<span style="margin: 0px;"> Veterans Affairs usually used to obstruct such claims at the time, and a</span>pparently all the men at the Veteran’s
Hospital cheered when the pension came through. (Mum went to Canberra itself to demand it directly of the politicians) I guess to them (my grandfather's Veteran mates) my Mum was
something of a hero.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Mum never glorified
war, though, despite wanting me to know about Australia’s role in World War
Two. She was proud of her father. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She also
hated war ; and I remember her being ashamed and horrified when Australia took
part in a “pre-emptive strike” against Iraq in the Second Gulf War. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Despite believing in God, Mum loved John
Lennon, and especially his song ‘Imagine’.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Just before I was born my Mum acquired Benjamin ; a
miniature poodle who was to have a central role in both our lives.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I guess in her mind he really was her ‘first
son’.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As a very young child Benjamin was
perhaps my best friend.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>At this stage of
her life Mum knew many interesting people ; including Helen Reddy, Olivia
Newton John, Ken Morgan ; and at one stage met Bob Hawke ; who tried to pick
her up – apparently with no success. For a while she went out with a wealthy
man by the name of John Tallent ; and she loved him deeply.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They enjoyed an exciting life together for a
time ; but he drifted away from her during her father’s battle with
cancer.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><br />
<br />
Mum also loved music – including Jazz (with the interpretations of Bach by
Jacques Loussier) ; and classical music ; including Bach, Mozart, Beethoven,
Weber, Dvorak and others.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This also had
a profound effect on me as a young child.<br />
<br />
Hence it was that my mother and father were introduced to one another ; and
somehow decided to marry after I had been conceived.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I think at one time they loved one another ;
but things deteriorated after I was born.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>My father left when I was seven months I seem to recall (he says it was Mum's decision to break up) ; and they were
divorced when I was two. My father had been a German refugee as a young child ;
But Mum reverted to her original name (Ewins) when the divorce went
through.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Hence I was a ‘Ewins’ and not a
‘Kamphausen’ ; which my father was always upset about.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But I never knew any differently.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>When Mum was divorced the acrimony between
them was very bad ; and it affected her friendships in St Kilda where she had
been living. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I don’t want to say more
here, though: I care about both my mother and father, and hence it’s not
appropriate to go into more detail.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Hence
she moved to Box Hill – to provide me the benefits of living in a leafy suburb
on a park ; and to be near my grandmother who was thereafter core to our lives.
Mum recalls that despite her successes as a real estate agent that no bank
would provide her a loan – because she was a woman.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Finally the ANZ broke ranks and helped her –
and she banked with the ANZ for the rest of her life.<br />
<br />
I guess what happened thereafter was as much my story as hers. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Mum tried to make friends in Box Hill ; but she lost contact
with all her other friends and life was never the same again.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A young man, Trevor – was in love with
her.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He was very creative in making
things with his hands ; carpentry, jewellery-making and the like. But she wasn’t in
love with him. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Sometimes she regretted
her decision : she did like him a lot ; and he was apparently good with
me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But Mum would spend the rest of her
life unmarried – and generally single ; though she was engaged to another man
briefly.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He was a gambler, though, and Mum
was worried about our financial security.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>And she always wanted to put me first.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Which she did right until the end. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Mum was a sole parent thereafter.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>‘Getting by’ was tough.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But Mum sacrificed to ensure throughout my
life I enjoyed a great deal.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Competitive
swimming ; a full-sized slide ; music lessons. We always had pets ; <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Not only Benjamin, but also a beautiful female
apricot poodle, Jaffa ; and several cats including ‘Misty’, ‘Munzter’,
‘Trouble’ and ‘Mister’.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There were other
pets too.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She would take me as a young
child on ‘park crawls’ to parks all over Melbourne. Together we made Acorn Men,
and engaged in other creative endeavours.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>She would make cookies and chocolate crackles.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She made a Tyrannosaurus Rex costume for me
at primary school as a young child ; and she created large colourful cartoons
based on the themes of ‘the Muppets’ and ‘Hawthorn Football Club’ for two
birthday parties – I can’t remember exactly how young – but early primary
school.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Again – she was highly creative
and artistic. <br />
<br />
When I was physically assaulted on a primary school camp by a teacher she
fought to hold him accountable.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But this
also led to a difficult stage in our lives, as the school ‘closed ranks’, and
for a while no school would take me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Mum
tried her best to keep me engaged ; and while I fell behind in maths and never
recovered Mum made sure I believed in myself in terms of my abilities in English,
the Humanities and so on.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>When I messed up Year Eleven Mum made certain
I had a ‘second chance’ at Doncaster Secondary College ; <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>through which I got into Arts at LaTrobe.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I was
assisted in this with the money Mum had paid into the Australian Scholarship
Group.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I would never have achieved my
PhD later in life if not for the support of my mother ; providing the
self-belief I needed to recover from hard times and eventually to succeed
academically.<br />
<br />
When I was a young child Mum was challenged in a court case when my father
fought for access.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’m not going in to
it here as I care about both sides of my family and don’t want to re-open old
wounds.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But it did exhaust her
emotionally and financially. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Some time after, though, Mum started working
in market research – which was her final job.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>The pay wasn’t great – not as good as in Real Estate. But Mum learned a
lot about corporate strategies, inter-linkages and so on in the process of
completing various jobs. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I used to work
with her on jobs also sometimes – as teenager and a young man. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As I also knew from experience ; some of the
work was involved and interesting ; at other times it was menial and repetitive.
Later working for another company I found at times work intensity was maintained
harshly to reach quotas in as short a time as possible.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I wonder if it was like this for Mum sometimes
too.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I don’t know why we didn’t really
talk about it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>At one stage she had to
go through the Phone Book calling people and businesses about their opinions.
As you can imagine the text was very small ; and that work (though not all other
market research work) was done at home.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Doing phone work (on site) , though, Mum was to again make some good friends ;
especially Roma Perry – who she was close to until Roma died after a battle
with cancer in 2012.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Mum seemed to enjoy
the opportunity to meet interesting people through phone work.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The next year her Cousin Robert Ewins also
passed away ; and it was beginning to seem that soon there would be no Ewins’s
left.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Bob had been well known as a
brilliant and much-loved teacher at Camberwell High.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Bob’s<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>intellectual passion had been for the likes of Quadrant ; as opposed to
my own love of Left-wing politics. But we were family. Mum was shocked and
unhappy ; But neither one of us could imagine Mum would only have a few years
left.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Until a couple of years before the
end Mum was fit and healthy.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I used to
try and convince myself she could live forever.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Even then I could not stand the thought of her dying.<br />
<br />
Perhaps the darkest times in my mothers’ life were when her father and mother
died ; and in the last couple of years when she became ill : first with breast
cancer, and then with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disorder. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Before
then we had enjoyed walks at Blackburn Lake and Elgar Park ; or eating out,
browsing the papers, and having coffees together. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She would discuss politics with me and
proofread my articles and blog posts. But after her operation for breast cancer
things gradually went downhill. She was very sad not to be able to make it to
my PhD Graduation.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Within two years she
aged quite suddenly; but she had a will to fight until the end.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She would say “I cannot leave Tristan alone”.
<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Despite all this we believed she had at
least another year left. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Maybe several
years if we were careful during Winter, and replaced the dust-encrusted carpets
which were harmful for her in her condition.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>And I wanted to believe she had more time. We had been informed on
previous admissions by her doctors that the lungs were not so bad ; and that
her main problem was a consistent infection in the upper respiratory
tract.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But the most recent time she
became ill was to be the last.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I was
informed her lungs – quite suddenly – could no longer bear the strain.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I still find it hard to believe that I was
talking to her one night – and she sounded well and in good spirits.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The next morning she was struggling for
breath and could barely speak.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>After the
Doctors attempted to use an oxygen mask I was informed that nothing could save
her.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>After Mum passed away <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I was also told she had had a heart attack
because of the trauma. Though after an autopsy the results were inconclusive in this regard. I was told finally the cause of death was 'exacerbation of COPD'. For almost 24 hours Mum struggled – and dear God no
person I know suffered such <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>–
but had deserved so much better.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I
had<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>prayed for Mum to live to see me
finally succeed in life ; maybe even have a family.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But as she fought for life she was unable to
say anything : she never spoke to me again.<br />
<br />
I pray to God somehow, some day I will see her again ; hear her speak again ;
get to say all the things I needed to say before she was taken away so
suddenly.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I won’t dwell too<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>much on my feelings more here, though, as
that’s not the point of this obituary.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>The point is to remember and celebrate my mothers’ life.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Dear Mum I love you.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I hope somehow some way you live on.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I hope all the injustices you faced are somehow made good in the
hereafter.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You were my everything ; You
were always my rock no matter how hard the times.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You were always sacrificing ; always
giving.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You were a compassionate, <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>capable, intelligent and just woman.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>You deserved so much better ; a longer and
happier life.<span style="margin: 0px;"> Never in my life have I respected anyone as much as I respect you. </span>I love you forever.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There is a grave near where you are to be
buried where it says “to live on in the hearts of those you love is not to
die”.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Somehow I hope this is true.<br /><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">The
Funeral Service for Ms Amy Evelyn Ewins will be held<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>in the Wilson Chapel, Springvale Botanical Cemetery.
Princes Highway, Springvale on MONDAY (October 30<sup>th</sup> 2017) commencing
at 2.15pm.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Burial to follow within the cemetery
grounds. </span></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: blue;">PLS RSVP if you can to Tristan Ewins at: <span style="color: black;">tristane@bigpond.net.au</span><br /><br />If you don't have internet access it's fine just to turn up</span></span></b></span></div>
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<h3 style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin: 16px 0px; text-align: center;">
Anyone
who bears good will, kind thoughts and respect for my mother is <br />welcome to
attend.</h3>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;"><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="color: blue;"></span><br /></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 14pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #000025;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<u><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOLz_rGzFR9kicbFiaMmBTQOPkMgjnasjng_vy6YF0mFPB0F1BJ1HzeVz7gYJQ4lVoT-aHy9mO3t84OpPOyOjFqdrqxxp1dXILtGStLopuVcm_NRWGeIyP6-LPP7R9fCv1itM6F0jjc5E/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1334" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOLz_rGzFR9kicbFiaMmBTQOPkMgjnasjng_vy6YF0mFPB0F1BJ1HzeVz7gYJQ4lVoT-aHy9mO3t84OpPOyOjFqdrqxxp1dXILtGStLopuVcm_NRWGeIyP6-LPP7R9fCv1itM6F0jjc5E/s320/7.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="265" /></a><b><i><br /></i></b></u><b>above: Mum with Benjamin</b><u><b><i><br /></i></b><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTW5KZ4RXjwVtmqaxA-gglECdSi18Ehv-wQi5f03c4rXL8rVTtOOzKpzfRWYT3OWo2nzVvRKIOZuQi48VheyB8ZMjHPYzmOW0s3G_U0dNm8Uqp4XgSo0UqccOPCLPvViclioBJ4pEeQ0c/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTW5KZ4RXjwVtmqaxA-gglECdSi18Ehv-wQi5f03c4rXL8rVTtOOzKpzfRWYT3OWo2nzVvRKIOZuQi48VheyB8ZMjHPYzmOW0s3G_U0dNm8Uqp4XgSo0UqccOPCLPvViclioBJ4pEeQ0c/s320/1.jpg" width="213" /></a></u><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOLz_rGzFR9kicbFiaMmBTQOPkMgjnasjng_vy6YF0mFPB0F1BJ1HzeVz7gYJQ4lVoT-aHy9mO3t84OpPOyOjFqdrqxxp1dXILtGStLopuVcm_NRWGeIyP6-LPP7R9fCv1itM6F0jjc5E/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<b>above: Mum with Jaffa at Christmas</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6xlM2X6CBZ43IRXAzad3lEC-i15HSjZR52W6T7BncYFDx8nNUgscuq-kKWage9Be1t3D7nO2yMzMqL1CqGr2DRLqw5kRqn9yDOijwKWdAer4NgaWEYEgPbgYcmEoCBLta1tW68RqaEwY/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="985" data-original-width="1600" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6xlM2X6CBZ43IRXAzad3lEC-i15HSjZR52W6T7BncYFDx8nNUgscuq-kKWage9Be1t3D7nO2yMzMqL1CqGr2DRLqw5kRqn9yDOijwKWdAer4NgaWEYEgPbgYcmEoCBLta1tW68RqaEwY/s320/13.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>My Mum with her Mother and Father just before her Father went to war</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYAatTWdwV26iKhxyKcXbie_Yu8xOVlYzF0c-sps5pn5fey8t1ssoqNv1zhPXvHz5xfgSQZotpHgkVeoV5f23IR_9o0GxsmQZTH2HlOBxNRihoJFjuv0Vp3O_oBoUF1y87VNYoprZ5uHs/s1600/11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1033" data-original-width="1600" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYAatTWdwV26iKhxyKcXbie_Yu8xOVlYzF0c-sps5pn5fey8t1ssoqNv1zhPXvHz5xfgSQZotpHgkVeoV5f23IR_9o0GxsmQZTH2HlOBxNRihoJFjuv0Vp3O_oBoUF1y87VNYoprZ5uHs/s320/11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<b>The picture of my mother in the wallet that my Grandfather carried with him in Singapore and as a POW in Changi</b><b></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL0HQeW_wO2HARTuEeEAjDPw3O8gJNq268-6G_jMifodgTGqz__5rUMsy8HXSZ_0D4iLt5tGsm2BZQUV-mbeAMZI2LUIFyMi66p5BPY1wUUHaDE0qBjCddMKj-DMr7ji4QKC2h-njdQWw/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="755" data-original-width="1600" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL0HQeW_wO2HARTuEeEAjDPw3O8gJNq268-6G_jMifodgTGqz__5rUMsy8HXSZ_0D4iLt5tGsm2BZQUV-mbeAMZI2LUIFyMi66p5BPY1wUUHaDE0qBjCddMKj-DMr7ji4QKC2h-njdQWw/s320/8.jpg" width="320" /></a><u><b><br />above: Mum's business card from the most successful part of her life</b></u></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoMeVzbpzrkatNc5Z2HMJkuJj73BtIX6gb0gWwEsCuXUHbIfMuTwM3LSNwmFAkv4TM1YsiM9tzbPLsR1aiAEBFfYzJCbN7XeIE4iuwox03mKiiXhNYc5KJHDz-0eey-52EY-QdoKikpJs/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoMeVzbpzrkatNc5Z2HMJkuJj73BtIX6gb0gWwEsCuXUHbIfMuTwM3LSNwmFAkv4TM1YsiM9tzbPLsR1aiAEBFfYzJCbN7XeIE4iuwox03mKiiXhNYc5KJHDz-0eey-52EY-QdoKikpJs/s320/2.jpg" width="320" /></a><u><b><br />Mum on top of Mt Dandenong</b></u></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGbTSH_yMaH_yX_mKZ5dOayFlngp2f4gkvBnYrPsb2t7gFvraYypjgV1Pt5ok3fDuieP7R5dA657kNQsD9gG16CjnvdyKaJvnACb0L1d605TBlzyuV9Wbw-eutMl2b7YmlzqcPbzm25xg/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGbTSH_yMaH_yX_mKZ5dOayFlngp2f4gkvBnYrPsb2t7gFvraYypjgV1Pt5ok3fDuieP7R5dA657kNQsD9gG16CjnvdyKaJvnACb0L1d605TBlzyuV9Wbw-eutMl2b7YmlzqcPbzm25xg/s320/4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>above: Mum loved me as a child</b></div>
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Vaughann722http://www.blogger.com/profile/11604027151490275320noreply@blogger.com12