Tea for two

By Dave Riley "It's started, hasn't it? I thought so. There'll be no peace until it's over." "Come on, Mum, "I said, "It's only election time. Over the next few weeks, we get to compare one party's wares with another." "Ummmph!", she said, and went to the loo for the third time this morning. "Are you all right in there?" I said. "Shall I pour you out a cuppa?" "Let it draw a bit longer, love. I like it to brew." I sipped mine and waited a bit. "Do you want me to drive you to the polling booth again this year?", I said. (My mum's pretty sharp up top, but not so good on her pins.) "I've been voting at St Margarets since before your father and I were married. Later, I'd take his lunch down to him when he was working the booth for the Labor Party. True believer was your dad (God rest his soul). But this year ... I'm not so certain." "Mum", I said, "You can't mean that". "Hang on", she said. "I'll be out directly. Pour me a cup will you?" Back in her armchair with her Tim Tam and Bushells on hand, she was back to her matriarchal self. "Your cousin Tom had the right idea. Remember — we used to call him the red ragger. Always demonstrating, protesting against this or that. He's still a member of one of those socialist outfits, so your aunt told me. Highly regarded in the peace movement, apparently." "But he's a bum, Mum. His politics has earned him no end of trouble. And you can't call that dead end job he's got a career option." "Maybe so. But as I get older, I reckon I get wiser. Your father worked his heart out for the Labor Party, but he'd turn in his grave to see it now. When the war ended we had such high hopes. After we had you and Sally, it was hard but it got easier over the years. When I look to the future now, all I can feel is cheated. I mean, it's so hard for young people today. Of course, you've done all right — my son, the yuppie — but your kids face something else." "Come off it, Mum", I said. "You know the doctors are happy with Michael's progress. If he keeps taking the tablets, he should be up to having another crack at the HSC before long." "Be that as it may, I pity the poor kid. I feel it's so unfair. I've been having a think, and I don't want you to drive me to St Margarets this year." "You have to vote", I said. "I'll do more than vote. This year I'll be working for Tom's party. Don't look aghast; you heard me right. If it's not too hot I'll do a stint on the booth at St Margarets handing out how-to-votes. And if I'm up to it, he wants me to staff the campaign office in the afternoon." "Mum, you can't be serious", I said. "What will people think?" "They'll think — my oh so snobby son — that this time around, your mother has decided that people are much more important than profits." I was stuck for words. "More tea please", she said.

From GLW issue 218