Photograph by Willow Lewis

Vale Gloria Mary Clarke (nee Mullins) 18/04/35 – 05/01/2025

Ashes spread into Narrm, Port Phillip Bay on February 1st 2025

Funeral held On Thursday 16th January 2025

Tribute to Nan:

Welcome everyone, we are here today to say goodbye to, and to celebrate the Life of Gloria. For anyone here who might not know me I’m Beccy one of Gloria’s grandchildren. firstly I would like to thank Gloria’s children especially Leanne for trusting me to open and guide today’s spoken proceedings. I would also like to acknowledge that we are on Wurundjeri County of the Woi-wurrung Nation, and would like to especially acknowledge all the grand-mothers that live, have lived, will live, and have passed on these lands for thousands of years.

 to Nan – to Gloria

1935: April 18th Gloria Mary Mullins, was born. Same year Elvis was born 

– obviously, a year for icons to come to life. Elvis may have shaped rockn’roll, but Gloria shaped a clan – with 5 children, 20 grandchildren, at least 27 great grandchildren that I could count and now a couple of great great grandchildren, Gloria outlived Elvis to mold four generations. G_L_O_R_I_A Gloria, married in 1955 to become Gloria Mary Clarke. 

G-L-O-R-I-A – Gloria Loved by Ray, Shirl, Raylene, Karen, Greg, Leanne, her sons-in-laws John and Werner, and too many grandchildren, great grandchildren and great great grandchildren to name! Matriarch to a massive clan – our clan -What a woman!

In preparation for this funeral a playlist of Gloria’s favorite songs was made. Of course the famous Van Morrison song GLORIA had to be included. You know the one. I only mention this song especially now because a strange thing happened in my car last Tuesday as Me and Brett were on our way to drop my daughter Willow home after spending some time with Lee and Werner and Gabby organising some arrangement for this day. In my car as usual My Brett took over DJ role and put on one of his electronic drum and bass play lists on Spotify. Not my favorite but tolerable. We were nearing Willow’s dad’s house to drop her off when we noticed Brett’s playlist had weirdly been interrupted by a song not on that list… And her name is G_L_O_R_I_A – van Morrison’s Gloria, we were a bit stunned and trying to work out how on earth that could happen. Crocodile rock came on next and Willow hopped out of the car. As we drived away weirdly the next track saw the resumption of Brett’s drum and bass playlist. Brett was freaked, I said it must be Nan doing it. She’s still with us. I think she approves of the playlist.

Now, I know everyone believes all sorts of different things about what happens after death. But last Tuesday I honestly felt like she was there letting us know that she still present. maybe just for a little while, maybe for longer. I don’t know… but I do feel it. And I feel like she’s with us today. And I think whether we speak our words out loud or silently to her, or even if we have wordless messages that come as feelings that we want to send, I feel like she will receive them. So even if you’re not speaking or not having words spoken for you here today, if it feels right, I invite you to send your messages to her.

There is so many things to remember about Gloria. When writing this for me her Collingwood flat was at the forefront of my mind. It was Gloria’s home base from 1981- 2024. A place she always decorated with pride, I remember her once telling me if she had her time again she’s be an interior decorator, in her place she got to express that talent. In the 80s when I was little I also remember it being a warm hub for all her family – when Lee and Werner first got together they lived there, and Pop, Raymond was often there and I remember several family feasts with aunties and uncles and cousins where nan just made too much food for all of us. I also remember spending many a night when I was little snuggled up there with her, often with my brother Andy, often with my cousins Melanie and Jason and often just me and her.

So with that I’d like to start the personal tributes to Nan with a story I wrote in 2017 after spending a series of days at her Collingwood flat interviewing her on all sorts of matters of life and love.

This is for you Nan …

Nan. Nanny. It was 1982. I was five years old. I was in my bedroom. The pink walls were spinning. I was dancing and singing to Laura Branigan’s Gloria. ‘Gloria! I think they got your number/ I think they got the alias/ that you’ve been living under.’ I was practicing the song for you, Nanny. Remembering all the words so I could sing them for you. ‘But you really don’t remember/ was it something that they said/ all the voices in your head/ calling Gloria.’

In the 1980s, all through primary school I was called a fatty Buddha by the boys. But with you I felt like a precious baby Buddha. So many Fridays you would train down to Frankston and Mum would pick you up from the station and deliver you to our bush home in Mt Eliza. I loved every weekend you stayed but I loved it even more when you took me back with you. Those Friday nights when we caught the train to the city. Our routine: to go to Bourke street, to go to Myer. You’d talk about your ‘lairy’ taste and how you loved colour. You’d always buy me and yourself a new dress and box Tim Tams each, afterwards we’d head home on the Hurstbridge line towards your sixteenth-floor flat. 

I could spot your building two stops before we got to your station in Collingwood; it towered over all the others taking the sky. The pinkish veneer dotted with hundreds of cream rimmed windows. No one else at school had a Nanny that lived in the sky. I was the lucky one. The elevator up to the sixteenth floor had a funny smell and sometimes felt sticky, getting off at your floor a wind often swept through as if spirits haunted the corridors, but on walking through your door everything became warm. You’d straighten the Elvis Presley mirror that hung above the dining table and I’d wander through the rooms feeling greeted by all the smiling faces of your Happy Buddhas and the other figurines that filled your flat. All those figurines that you painted black or red to match your decor. Even Jesus didn’t escape the paint job. The figure on the cross on the wall at the end of your bed coated black to match the colour of your Doona. 

At the end of those Friday nights our heads cradled on soft red cushions. Me cuddled up in your arms. The smell of your Pond’s moisturiser gentle on my nose. With your cheek close to mine, I’d giggle through your stories, hearing of old days when you were little girl and stories about the shenanigans of my mum and uncle and aunts when they were little.

Today on a Thursday in 2017, I’m back in the sticky elevator on my way up to sixteenth floor. The elevator doors open and that familiar wind greets me. Then you greet me in one or your ‘lairy’ blouses. 

Inside you begin to fill me in on family gossip as we wonder your rooms. And the Buddhas are still smiling everywhere but in your bedroom the Jesus figurine has long been replaced with a picture of the ocean. On your bedside table is a book titled ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT? The Untold Story of Elvis Presley’s One True Love and the child he never knew.

In the lounge room on the dining table you have lunch set out for us, bread rolls, chicken and salad. I pull the packet of TimTams from my bag and place it on the table. Your breath is heavy as you walk to the kitchen to put the kettle on. You ask me if I want a coffee. I tell you to sit down, I’ll make it. You say, “you’re not making me a coffee, I can still make a coffee for my grand-daughter”.

As I wait while you make us Nescafé, I notice the Elvis Presley mirror that once hung above the dining table is gone. It makes me remember a morning with you when I was little: You were vacuuming you’re carpet swinging your hips and singing, “Uptown girl/ she’s been livin in her uptown world/ da da da da da da da.” You never quite knew all the words. You told me Billy Joel was your favorite and you wanted Uptown Girl played at your funeral. ‘Nanny that’s silly.’ I had said, ‘What about Elvis, I thought Elvis was your favorite.’ you looked lovingly at the large Elvis Presley mirror that hung above your dining room table. ‘Yes, Elvis is me favorite.’ then you told me that my mother Karen bought you that mirror the day Elvis died.’ 

It’s while you’re still making that coffee that I think about my connection to you, and how I’ll feel when you gone. I don’t want to imagine it. I adore you too much. The connection runs deep. The reality is Nan, that for me and for all your daughter’s children, that our first connections to life was in your body: our cellular beginnings, like Russian dolls in the dark, was as eggs in our unborn mother’s ovaries, inside your womb. Part of us began in your body Nan. How amazing is that!

After lunch, I ask you if you mind if I record our conversation. You say I can do what I like. You follow this up by saying you can’t stand the lies they say at funerals though. I say, “I’m not writing a eulogy here nan, but what do you mean by that?”

      You say ‘They say is how great he was or what a nice lady she was. At my funeral, you won’t be saying that about me!’

            ‘what would you like me to say about you Nan?’ 

            “that Nan had the worst temper ever going”

We laugh. Then you say, ‘Death doesn’t scare me but living till a hundred does. I enjoy life, But I honestly don’t want to live till I’m 100, that’s not my ambition. What can you do in your 90s anyway? Shopping would be exhausting”

We laugh then pause then you say:

“When I was a kid, I used to think I had a soul that goes on. But now I think it’s just your genes that go on into the next generation. Like you have a bit of me, your kids have a bit too. It gets watered down as you go along. But I think there’s always gonna be a little bit of me in all of you.” 

I love this Nan and I ask you what you think love is? 

You say ‘I think love is like the Catholic religion, you can’t touch it. But it means you love your family and your children.” You pause then add “When you’re young it gets mixed up in sex. It’s an emotion that can get you in a lot of trouble”.

I look down at the photo album, it is full of pictures of your children and grandchildren. 

I ask about your mother that died when you were two.

You say “I only know what they told me. They said she made my dad promise to never remarry and she made him promise to bring me up catholic. They said she was delicate.’

I ask you if you ever missed having a mother. You say, ‘I had my Gran. She was protective.’

You say: I used to get away with a lot of things with my dad. Dad would say I was delicate like my mother. My Gran would say, “delicate my foot.” “My Gran was like a mum. Dad was a drover so he was away a lot. She would have been in her 50s when she was bringing us up. I didn’t know who my grandfather was. My dad used to say that he was sent out here from Ireland for pinching a pig but we never found out if that was true or not. He took off on Gran when her kids were little. She raised seven kids on her own, then had to raise my brother and me. If someone went crook at us, Gran would defend us, but then yell at us when they were gone. I remember being dragged in by the ear a lot. My gran was a strong person.” 

I imagine your Gran. And I think of how you were protective of me when I was little. I remember my best day at primary school. I was in grade 4, You came on a school excursion with me and my mum. I was nine. We were on the bus making our way to Coal Creek, a pretend pioneer village. You were sitting next to mum in the seat in front of me. There was a loud group of boys up back. They started talking about me then one of them sang out, “Rebecca’s a fatty Buddha.” 

Your body turned towards the back like lightning. Your head seemed to fill the bus aisle. 

‘Hey you.’ You shouted pointing at the boy, ‘You should take a good look at yourself in the mirror, you’re not such a hot little thing.’ Everyone on the bus was quiet till you relaxed back into your seat. I heard someone mumble, ‘That’s her Nanny.’ No one teased me for a while after that day. You’re the best Nanny.

… 

NanNan, Mum, Aunty Gloria, Glors, Gloria – you’re the best…

Fiery, feisty, fiercely protective with a gentle hug that made any recipient feel fully held. 

You had the Blarney Stone gift of the gab with a million stories to tell.

so many stories to remember about Gloria… I look forward to hearing more stories and words for Gloria whether it’s up here, after the proceedings, or later at the Croxton when we toast Nan more informally. 

Thank you everyone for listening to my words about nan, and thankyou Nan for sharing your quirky wisdom with me. Your body left us on January 5th, 2025, but as you said Nan a bit (I think maybe even a lot) of you goes on in all of us – your children, grand-children, great grandchildren, great great grandchildren, and your love remains in the hearts of all the people that loved you.

So, with that Nan, in a moment your grand-daughter Bella’s gonna come up to speak, then then Ray/Poppy, then your Children.

But before that I just have a couple of tributes to share with you:

from your great grandchild Willow:

“Nannan has been a wonderful inspiration and a great nan. I feel so privileged to have known my great grandmother as most people don’t get to meet them. The last thing I told her was how I always appreciated her looking after me and making me laugh I told her that one of My favourite memories as a child with her was when she used to look after me Bella cadence and gabby. We used to play a karaoke game where she would judge our karaoke voices. She always did things like that with us to entertain us when we were younger. Nan Nan will always be cherished in my heart and I’m grateful that I got to spend 22 years of my life with her. I hope she rests in peace and I wish her best of wishes in her afterlife.”

From your brother and sister in-law Noel and June Clarke and their extended family:

A tribute to Gloria Mary Clarke (nee Mullins)

“We give thanks for the many happy memories we shared together as the Clarke family over the passed 70 years. Gloria will be sadly missed by us all, and our hearts and thoughts go out to Ray and his extended family during this difficult time.

Resting where no shadows fall, in perfect peace she awaits for us all