‘She knows the younger version of me': When two friends reunite after 50 years
Moira: My husband, Frank, and I had a newsagency in Sandringham and Iris came to work with us in the 1960s. She was in circulation and TattsLotto; I was in books and stationery. Iris was always charming and got on well with the customers. The Age was huge, especially with the weekend classifieds, and we had to deliver it to people's homes before seven in the morning. Some people would say, 'Where's my paper?' if it was just one minute past. Iris used to handle that. She always stood up for the paper boys.
She worked with us for six years, but I lost track of her after that. Then, in 2018, she turns up here [at Mercy Place Fernhill]. I was so pleased! We sit together at lunchtime. She tells me I eat anything and everything. I've always been big, whereas she's tiny. I get hungry – I'm terrible!
We love the same films, which is important here. We want good, frothy musicals of our era – South Pacific and High Society. We do the grizzles if there's something on that's on the more serious side. Iris chose Waterloo Bridge; it was so sad, I carried it around with me for a week. We love Friday night movies here; we're like little kids, with an interval and our plates of lollies.
Iris still loves dressing up. If it's a special day, she'll have a tiara on. She always wears beads and a bit of lippie. She used to do ballet – I think she was on one of the trucks once at the Moomba Parade – and she's always spotlessly clean. Not me, I dribble a bit. But if she does dribble, she knows about it. She has a standard and wants that kept up.
'It's nice that she knows the younger version of me, that I haven't always been an old lady.'
Moira Scully
Iris is a passionate Carlton supporter; I barrack for Richmond. I used to watch the games but now I've got so much reading to do – I like Irish and Australian history – and I didn't anticipate the macular degeneration. I just have the football on silent so I can see the results, but Iris can tell you every jolly kick in the game. She has a little Carlton garden gnome outside her room and if he's happy, he looks outwards with his little glasses on, but if Carlton has lost, he's turned with his nose to the wall in disgrace. Carlton hasn't been doing well lately, so Iris is very cross with them.
She's a goer, always ready to have fun. I'm not a talker like Iris; I'm more of a listener. We don't have the number of visitors we used to because a lot of them have gone to heaven if they're our age, and when they're gone, they're not replaced.
Frank died a short time after I moved here, which was a very, very big loss. When Iris arrived, I was just pleased to have a friend here, somebody from the past. And Iris sometimes has funny stories to tell me about Frank. It's nice that she knows the younger version of me, that I haven't always been an old lady.
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a day ago
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Workmates in the 1960s, centenarian Iris Palmington and Moira Scully, 95, reunited when they moved into the same aged-care home in Melbourne. Now they lunch together, happy to have a friend they knew before they were 'old ladies'. Moira: My husband, Frank, and I had a newsagency in Sandringham and Iris came to work with us in the 1960s. She was in circulation and TattsLotto; I was in books and stationery. Iris was always charming and got on well with the customers. The Age was huge, especially with the weekend classifieds, and we had to deliver it to people's homes before seven in the morning. Some people would say, 'Where's my paper?' if it was just one minute past. Iris used to handle that. She always stood up for the paper boys. She worked with us for six years, but I lost track of her after that. Then, in 2018, she turns up here [at Mercy Place Fernhill]. I was so pleased! We sit together at lunchtime. She tells me I eat anything and everything. I've always been big, whereas she's tiny. I get hungry – I'm terrible! We love the same films, which is important here. We want good, frothy musicals of our era – South Pacific and High Society. We do the grizzles if there's something on that's on the more serious side. Iris chose Waterloo Bridge; it was so sad, I carried it around with me for a week. We love Friday night movies here; we're like little kids, with an interval and our plates of lollies. Iris still loves dressing up. If it's a special day, she'll have a tiara on. She always wears beads and a bit of lippie. She used to do ballet – I think she was on one of the trucks once at the Moomba Parade – and she's always spotlessly clean. Not me, I dribble a bit. But if she does dribble, she knows about it. She has a standard and wants that kept up. 'It's nice that she knows the younger version of me, that I haven't always been an old lady.' Moira Scully Iris is a passionate Carlton supporter; I barrack for Richmond. I used to watch the games but now I've got so much reading to do – I like Irish and Australian history – and I didn't anticipate the macular degeneration. I just have the football on silent so I can see the results, but Iris can tell you every jolly kick in the game. She has a little Carlton garden gnome outside her room and if he's happy, he looks outwards with his little glasses on, but if Carlton has lost, he's turned with his nose to the wall in disgrace. Carlton hasn't been doing well lately, so Iris is very cross with them. She's a goer, always ready to have fun. I'm not a talker like Iris; I'm more of a listener. We don't have the number of visitors we used to because a lot of them have gone to heaven if they're our age, and when they're gone, they're not replaced. Frank died a short time after I moved here, which was a very, very big loss. When Iris arrived, I was just pleased to have a friend here, somebody from the past. And Iris sometimes has funny stories to tell me about Frank. It's nice that she knows the younger version of me, that I haven't always been an old lady.
Sydney Morning Herald
a day ago
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Workmates in the 1960s, centenarian Iris Palmington and Moira Scully, 95, reunited when they moved into the same aged-care home in Melbourne. Now they lunch together, happy to have a friend they knew before they were 'old ladies'. Moira: My husband, Frank, and I had a newsagency in Sandringham and Iris came to work with us in the 1960s. She was in circulation and TattsLotto; I was in books and stationery. Iris was always charming and got on well with the customers. The Age was huge, especially with the weekend classifieds, and we had to deliver it to people's homes before seven in the morning. Some people would say, 'Where's my paper?' if it was just one minute past. Iris used to handle that. She always stood up for the paper boys. She worked with us for six years, but I lost track of her after that. Then, in 2018, she turns up here [at Mercy Place Fernhill]. I was so pleased! We sit together at lunchtime. She tells me I eat anything and everything. I've always been big, whereas she's tiny. I get hungry – I'm terrible! We love the same films, which is important here. We want good, frothy musicals of our era – South Pacific and High Society. We do the grizzles if there's something on that's on the more serious side. Iris chose Waterloo Bridge; it was so sad, I carried it around with me for a week. We love Friday night movies here; we're like little kids, with an interval and our plates of lollies. Iris still loves dressing up. If it's a special day, she'll have a tiara on. She always wears beads and a bit of lippie. She used to do ballet – I think she was on one of the trucks once at the Moomba Parade – and she's always spotlessly clean. Not me, I dribble a bit. But if she does dribble, she knows about it. She has a standard and wants that kept up. 'It's nice that she knows the younger version of me, that I haven't always been an old lady.' Moira Scully Iris is a passionate Carlton supporter; I barrack for Richmond. I used to watch the games but now I've got so much reading to do – I like Irish and Australian history – and I didn't anticipate the macular degeneration. I just have the football on silent so I can see the results, but Iris can tell you every jolly kick in the game. She has a little Carlton garden gnome outside her room and if he's happy, he looks outwards with his little glasses on, but if Carlton has lost, he's turned with his nose to the wall in disgrace. Carlton hasn't been doing well lately, so Iris is very cross with them. She's a goer, always ready to have fun. I'm not a talker like Iris; I'm more of a listener. We don't have the number of visitors we used to because a lot of them have gone to heaven if they're our age, and when they're gone, they're not replaced. Frank died a short time after I moved here, which was a very, very big loss. When Iris arrived, I was just pleased to have a friend here, somebody from the past. And Iris sometimes has funny stories to tell me about Frank. It's nice that she knows the younger version of me, that I haven't always been an old lady.
