The real Mrs McGillicuddy
Some people invent their own imaginary friends. Mine was created for me.
The church in which I grew up was quite insular. So, to everyone’s surprise, Merv — the young rough farmer — returned from New Zealand with a new bride. Liz was a beautiful woman — who talked funny, according to us. She liked everything posh and expressive, so we all wondered why she might marry such a poor farmer as Merv. Turns out, Liz was right, and Merv became quite the farming mogul.
In our church, Liz was the talk of the congregation. She had Merv build her a large white two story house, with columns around the front door — grand architecture one would rarely see in a small bush town in Australia. Gossip abounded — Liz was looked up to by those who aspired, and down upon by those who were jealous. And she just strutted about like she was a princess.
Conversely, Liz’s parents — Betty and Stuart — were the loveliest people on the planet. They had recently emigrated from New Zealand to be close to their daughter, and they were immediately welcomed by everyone. My parents, in particular, found a connection with Betty and Stuart, and they would visit us quite regularly.
Once in a while, my parents would take a week long trip somewhere. All of us kids did not really question their destination, but years later, we discovered it was to address mum’s hypochondria and visit a sham “faith healer” some hours away. Upon reflection, it did seem that never worked, and my mum continued her “illness” for many decades.
While they were gone, Betty and Stuart would move into our house and look after us 4 kids. We loved them as though they were our grandparents, and we called them Uncle Stuart and Auntie Betty.
One year, Stuart suffered a stroke and lost a lot of movement in his left side. The next time they came to child-sit, Stuart would spend time with physical therapy exercises. One of his, and our, favorites, was the walk to the end of our street — about ¼ mile. We would all walk with Stuart, while he would tell us stories.
At the end of the street was an abandoned car — a 1940s Humber — among the bushes.After many years, the Humber was now just a body — no engine or wheels. I know that my brother and I had stripped this car of all the cool emblems, buttons, knobs, and easily removable “goodies”.
Uncle Stuart told us the “truth” about the Humber. He shared with us that it was actually the home of a witch that he knew — her name was Mrs. McGillicuddy. He assured us that he had known her for many years, and she kept her house a secret from everyone else but him. He told us we usually would not see her because she was on her travels around the globe performing witch “stuff”.
Do you think we believed him?? As pree-nagers, we were quite gullible, but still relatively skeptical. The clincher came when, after a few weeks of Uncle Stuart’s last stay, we received a letter from Mrs McGillicuddy herself!
The letter was sent from a London address, with a UK stamp and postal mark. We opened the letter to find a one page handwritten letter. This was no ordinary letter, as the words were all written backwards! And to top that off, the letter started in the middle of the page and circled around until it reached the edges. We had to hold the letter up to the mirror, and rotate it slowly to read it.
Over time, we received Mrs McGillicuddy letters from all over the world. New Zealand, the US, the UK, Canada, and even one from Hong Kong. Each one would tell us of the adventure Mrs McGillicuddy was having wherever the letter came from. We would never know when the next letter would arrive, so it was always a surprise to get home from school and find a new letter on the kitchen table. And there was no return address, so this was truly a one-way conversation that transfixed us.
We thought long and hard about this “imaginary friend”. Years later, we discovered that Uncle Stuart would send the letters to his friends all over the world, with instructions to post them from their location. But we were always convinced that, with his stroke, the effort for Uncle Stuart to write these letters would have been way too painstaking and lengthy for us to receive so many. Our imaginary friend remained real to us for many years.
Years later, after a major life setback and recovery, I visited that childhood property in an attempt to reconnect to my child self and become whole. The entire property had been razed to the ground — the house, outlying buildings, vineyard, and orchard were all gone. All I could see for 26 acres, was a field of red dirt. This had a huge impact on me, and for many months after, whenever a childhood memory was triggered, all I could see was a field of red dirt. It took a moment of reflection to realize I did not have to become “whole” again — I was the sum of all my experiences and already whole.
And… at the end of the street was — nothing. No bushes, no car, nothing. For a moment, my thoughts turned to Mrs McGillicuddy, wondering where she was, and where her house might be. Or maybe, the Humber was simply the front door to her underground lair, and she only used the back door these days.
In the airport on the way back from Melbourne to Chicago, I had a moment of confusion. I felt some energy brush past me, but when I looked around, I saw nothing and no one out of the ordinary. I even thought I may have crossed paths with Mrs McGillicuddy, who was, I presumed, coming home from another trip to far destinations. Maybe she had been to Chicago and had been searching for me?? Nah… she was just imaginary, right?
The next trip home, I boarded the small plane from Melbourne to my home town. A lovely old lady was sitting in the seat next to me, and I said hello. I did not recognize her, but she smiled back and seemed to be a little wary of me. I would have been, too, given that I was wearing a ponytail halfway down my back and looked quite like a miscreant who should not have been flying to the middle of the Australian bush.
The flight was short, and not a word was spoken between my seat mate and myself. After we landed, I extended my arm to help her down the stairs. As we walked to the greeting area, I could see my mum smiling and waving. We got closer, and she went straight to the old lady, gave her a big hug, and announced loudly “hello Betty!”.
I was completely gobsmacked. We had hardly exchanged words, neither of us recognized each other, yet she was one of the most important people in my youth! I was able to hug my mum, and then I got a nice hug from Auntie Betty. She remarked on my ponytail, and I apologized profusely for not talking to her during our flight.
We spent a few minutes talking before both of us had to leave to our homes. I mentioned that one of my fondest memories was the times she and Uncle Stuart came to look after our family. And I told her I still remember Stuart’s stories about Mrs McGillicuddy. There was a momentary twinkle in her eye, she smiled, and she said “I do hope you enjoyed my letters”…
And at that moment, Mrs McGillicuddy was no longer imaginary!
