From: noahidebooksforever@gmail.com   
      
   The Life of Mary Philomena Daly   
      
   A biography by her son Daniel Thomas Andrew Daly   
      
   with thoughts from my own life intermixed   
      
   Mary Daly was born in Kingston upon Hull in England in the United Kingdom on   
   the 7th of July 1937. She was the third child of Tom Baker and Gladys Baker,   
   her two older brothers being Terrence and Gerald. Mum and Terrence didn't get   
   along terribly well    
   she tells me, but she and Gerald seemed to get along better. Mum remembers the   
   war years. Hull was bombed a fair bit when she was a wee little one. She saw   
   real war devastation, but seemed to come through unscathed emotionally. She   
   liked music a bit, and    
   some of the stars she liked were Lonnie Donnegan and Val Doonican. She tells   
   me she was a bit too early for the Beatles, and doesn't appear to have had   
   much of an inclination for the music of the 1960s or later. We always had the   
   radio on in Berridale,    
   and she listened to that, but I don't think she really ever became much of a   
   fan of latter music artists, although in latter years there have been some   
   bands she likes, like 'The Priests' and she is fond of the lads 'The Justice   
   Crew' but is not really    
   into their music as such. More of a Father Chris Riley fan who was   
   instrumental with the lads. She studied at a Girls Catholic School, taught by   
   French Nuns, in Hull, and then worked in various jobs, before meeting my   
   father Cyril Daly on a Lourdes    
   pilgrimage in the mid 1960s. They married and Matthew, my older brother, was   
   born on the 21st of October 1969. They lived in Jindabyne to start with in New   
   South Wales, but then moved to Berridale, not far from there. My mum and dad   
   are big parts of my    
   childhood memories. There was one time when I was outside of 7 Bent Street in   
   Berridale were we lived and I wanted to get onto the roof. I had explored the   
   entire perimeter of the House and deduced I needed a ladder. Dad had a heavy   
   metal blue ladder (   
   which is currently rusting in the back yard of 29 Merriman) which I attempted   
   to unfold to put against the house. But I was too little and got caught in   
   between the folds of the ladder. I screamed and screamed for mum for a number   
   of minutes, before she    
   finally appeared. I was so thankful to her for it. She tells me that one of   
   her memories is me coming home from school on my first day and saying ‘Thank   
   God for That’. Mum has a definite English accent, still does, and has not   
   yet taken out    
   Australian Citizenship, but is a permanent resident. But she calls herself and   
   Aussie Pom because she has lived in Australia longer than she lived in   
   England. In Berridale we went to the Catholic Church from my earliest   
   memories. Mum and Dad would take    
   us in the car, the family, and I would sit there, staring at the cross, not   
   thinking much except that it was boring. Mum and Dad prayed the rosary at home   
   in those days and we occasionally had people over to pray at nights. Mum was   
   in the kitchen a lot    
   and the radio seemed to be perpetually on. I remember hearing the new songs   
   and learning them quickly, and liking them. Mum likes some of the old artists   
   from around the 1950s, but doesn’t really listen to them at all. She listens   
   to classical music    
   mainly when she listens to music. There was a time when Grandma Gladys in   
   England sent us a big box of stuff from England. We got lots of surprises. Mum   
   would visit Mrs Luchetta in Berridale a lot and some of the other Berridale   
   residents. She always    
   seemed to be very chatty, and we would stay behind after church was finished   
   for mum to chat to her friends, which she has never stopped doing after church   
   and still does. I remember that Mum went into hospital a while after Greg was   
   born, and she had a    
   miscarriage. I figured that out in time. When Greg was little I remember   
   wanting to hold him, but mum said Brigid would, because she was older or   
   something like that. We travelled to Cooma via the bus when we started school.   
   I remember one time, coming    
   home, we had missed mum at the bus stop in Cooma and came home alone. There   
   was a big doll she had made, and I was ever so grateful to her and hugged her   
   for it. It meant the world to me and I really loved my mother for it. I   
   remember riding my first    
   bike out the front of 7 bent street on the road. Mum would look at us and I   
   would shout ‘Watch me’ as all kids do.   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
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