A Tribute to Betty Jane Bissell
2 December 2010 

Betty Jane was born on the first of July 1927, American Independence Day. One could say that her life more than reflected aspects of this national day of celebration – she was joyous, loved parties, celebrated every day, took pride in everything she did, was definitely independent, and, every now and then, showed a real flair for a few fireworks. 

Little Betty Jane and her brother Bob were adopted by Louis and Harry Klarer. Papa Louis and Mama Harry lived in Fernandina Beach Florida and provided BJ and Bob with what my Mom always said was ‘the most idyllic childhood.’ Bob and Betty Jane were adored by a large, extended family. They grew up in a sleepy seaside town with a beautiful sandy Atlantic Ocean beach and a supportive, close-knit community. My mother came to love the sea, the surf, the sand and the wind in her hair. She was raised with so much love and caring that she knew no other way of being. 

Mom was a real storyteller and told great stories about her childhood in Fernandina.  She had a group of girlfriends and every summer, they would rent a cottage at the beach and often drove along the shore to a special place where the sand crabs were. There they would spend the day, catching the sand crabs and then having a feast as the sun went down. Appropriately they called themselves The Crab Club. 

It was on the beach at Fernandina that Dad met Mom. The US was well into the war by then and the eastern seaboard was considered a prime target for attack by German submarines and aircraft. My mother was 16 in 1943, my Dad 21. The army used Fernandina Beach as a practice ground for beach landings so there was quite a military presence. Mom and her friends supported the war effort by climbing up into the ‘plane spotting tower’ and watching for enemy aircraft … and of course they attended local dances for the servicemen destined for the European battlefields. 

Dad was in the Coast Guard, stationed in Fernandina. Their job was to keep the coastlines patrolled and they often requisitioned civilian boats to do it. As Dad says, he was ‘Chasing enemy submarines in yachts.’ 

One summer, he and his Coast Guard buddies rented a beach cottage and Mom and her gal friends had rented another close by. "She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen," he said, and he didn't rate his chances too highly as Mom was dating another guy at the time. Mom was beautiful, a real 'looker'! As a young woman, she was slight with delicate, graceful features who loved music, dancing and good times. She was, right up to the day of her passing, a real 'southern belle' with exquisite manners, bearing, a graciousness and humour that were overwhelmingly attractive, all overlaying an inherent strength of purpose, optimism and character.  

Mom went away to Junior College in Virginia, came back to Fernandina … Dad persevered. He bought a little sailboat and sailed all the way from St Petersburg Florida to Fernandina … so he was really hanging in there. One memorable evening, he shared a double date with Mom and another couple and after that, the rest, as they say, is history. They were married on April 17 1949 in Fernandina. 

My sister Randy came along in 1953 when Mom and Dad were living in Houston Texas where Dad was finishing his architectural degree. They then moved to Seattle Washington where I was born in 1956. The story goes that on the day I arrived, Mom had just enjoyed some watermelon and she thought her labour pains were indigestion. Some watermelon! 

In the early 1960s, my parents began planning a move to New Zealand. Of course neither had been there so little was known of this country way across the sea but they felt it would be a better place to raise my sister and me and offer a lifestyle that they both wanted. 

Dad wanted to sail to New Zealand in an old sailboat called Galeeta so we all got ‘into training’ in the cold and stormy waters of the Pacific Northwest. Mom was always white-faced, tight-lipped and seasick; I had an alarming tendency to fall overboard and my sister became strangely silent on such journeys. I remember one in particular when the cold waves were sweeping through the cockpit and we were all soaked and of course I had to go to the bathroom. There was no way Mom was going below to take me so she said through gritted teeth, “Just go in your pants” and I thought that was great.   

The cornerstones of Mom’s life have always been family, friends and home so I know it must have been difficult for her leave the US to head out into the unknown. But in typical Southern Belle fashion, my mother had an inner strength that saw her through life’s challenges and she had a real adventurous streak as well. However, she wasn’t so daring that she would sail to New Zealand with two little kids, especially with one falling overboard all the time, so as she said, ‘The crew mutinied and we took a P and O liner instead.” 

 As soon as we arrived in Auckland in 1963, my mother set about doing what she had such a flair for – setting up a household in Murrays Bay and making friends, many of whom are here today. Dad remembers Mom organising a Halloween party for the neighbourhood kids. Trick or treating was something very new back then. Indeed coming to our house was always something of a novelty for our friends who often remember Mom as the “mum who made iced tea” – very exotic in 1960s New Zealand - “and baked spaghetti and most peculiar things called ‘pancakes’ that really weren’t pikelets”. Mom’s friends will remember the coffee mornings with cakes and ‘real coffee’, little soirees with frozen margaritas and afternoons spent in good conversation on the beach while all of us kids played and swam. 

My brother Scott made a rather unexpected appearance in 1966. Dad had taken a business trip overseas that year and returned with lots of gifts for us all. He waved to Mom from the deck of the boat as it was mooring at the wharf and said “I have a surprise for you!” to which Mom waved back and said, “And have I got a surprise for you!”  

She loved children. My sister, brother and I were her pride, her joy, her love and she showered us with all of these things, every day of our lives. As children, our friends were always welcome at the house to come and play, to stay, to hang out, make noise - and of course she would often join in. Up until last year, Mom was still enjoying the company of some of my childhood friends, having a drink with us, hanging out, making noise (slightly more subdued, perhaps, although after a few margaritas, anything was possible). Indeed for her birthday this past July, she requested ‘chocolate cake, champagne and a belly dancer.’ 

Mom was a great quilter and belonged to the North Shore Ps and Qs for so many years. She made beautiful quilts for my brother, sister and I and other family friends – mine is hanging here. When choosing a pattern for mine, she said “I’m going to make yours The Drunkard’s Path” to which I readily agreed but in the end, she made me this quilt in the Amish Churndash pattern with the embroidered dedication of ‘to Jane, 1995, from her Mother Bet’. 

Mother Bet was many things. Primarily she was a wife and mother but she was also an accomplished secretary and thoroughly enjoyed her time as the Tea Lady at the North Shore Magistrate’s Court, a role she re-named as a Beverage Engineer. 

Music was life-blood to her. She played the piano beautifully and loved anything with a good rhythm, jazz and blues, classical music and Bon Jovi. She loved to dance and sing. She read widely and joyously. She was a wonderful cook. She adored parties, both attending and giving – and she threw some magnificent ones. We grew up in a house that was often bursting with good food, great music, laughter and lots of people. She was especially fond of good coffee, fine single malt and when she discovered margaritas, there was no holding her. 

In later years when she was unable to organise the parties herself, her eyes would light up when I’d say, ‘Let’s have the gals around!’ My friends, many of whom she had known since they were little, would come around and we’d have a right old knees-up. She loved people. People responded to her, to her empathy, her understanding, her appreciation of them and their situation, whatever it might be.  She loved parties, she loved to entertain, she needed people in her life and she attracted them. So many lives were touched by my Mom and, in turn, her life was enriched, inspired and enlivened by their friendship and love.  

Mom was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease in her early 60s. She lived with and managed her condition with courage, strength, determination and dignity. Parkinson’s took much from my mother but it could never suppress her courage, her dignity, the brightness of her personality, her sense of humour, her love of family, friends and the world around her. As her mobility decreased, my dad and I continually thought of ways to bring the world she knew and loved, to her.

One summer we set up a garden on the deck – planters and pots – and Mom picked out flowers which we tended for several years. She called this her Garden Bar. Our friend Liane added the words ‘cool and groovy’ to it so for many summers we enjoyed gin and tonics, jazz music and a lot of laughter in Mom’s cool and groovy bar. 

She loved her home at Arkles Bay. She loved the view of the sea, the proximity to the beach, the community and her friends. Dad was the primary caregiver for many years until Mom’s health deteriorated to where we could no longer look after her at home. Leaving her beloved home at Arkles Bay was tough but she entered Maygrove Private Hospital in January this year and received excellent care there. ‘Betty-Boo’ was a real favourite with the staff. 

Dad and I visited Mom every day. We made sure she had something to look forward to, taking her out in her wheelchair for walks around the grounds or through the surrounding neighbourhoods. She especially enjoyed the lovely gardens along the way, having a good look into people’s living rooms, the duck pond and the park, the walk along the bicycle path. Mom’s friends visited her too, bringing flowers, delicious treats, their love and support. 

Mom was joyous, intuitive, blessed with good humour and good sense. She was my best friend, my confidante, the one I would run to, the one I would turn to. She was the woman from whom I drew strength and hope, the musician who introduced me to jazz, blues and black coffee, the dancer who taught me to waltz and boogie, the editor who corrected bad punctuation in my manuscripts, the first one to celebrate my accomplishments, the adventurer who said, 'Yes! Get into it." 

She was the strong one who held me up when I felt I couldn't take another step and the courageous woman who would take my hand when I was scared and always leave the hall light on at night. 

She taught me about good manners and bad, how to make people feel welcome and appreciated, how to mix a good dry martini and how to drink the third or fourth one gracefully. Her advice about spending one's last cent on a bottle of fine perfume or dabbing good single malt whiskey behind one's ears in appreciation of life and good times has been sound. 

My Mom has always been with me - in my actions and thoughts, in the way I carry myself into the world - and she will continue to be by my side and in my heart, of this I am sure. 

Jane Bissell
1 December 2010