Eric Hutchinson (Lyons, Liberal Party) Share this | Hansard source

I rise to talk about carers. Last sitting week, during the Parliamentary Friends of Mental Illness breakfast that was held in the Senate alcove, a number of us had the privilege of hearing stories from some young carers. It was a story of sacrifice—sacrifice for the parents of the individuals or the siblings of the individuals. It has come at huge cost physically, emotionally and psychologically to those people. In many instances, normal adolescence or childhood is lost. We also see instances of grandparents looking after grandchildren in our community for a range of different reasons. We have all heard the stories and the reasons why this is the case. It might be drug abuse. Many of these carers also lose their retirement years.

For example, in my electorate of Lyons there are 4,277 people receiving a carer allowance, another 100 receiving a healthcare card, and 2,295 people receiving a carer allowance payment. That masks the number of people that receive nothing for the work that they do—particularly grandparents looking after grandchildren. From time to time around the electorate, I have the privilege of meeting carers as well as those who depend on the support of carers. The stories are often inspirational.

The ABC's Country Hour is an institution for many of us all around the country and certainly in my state. It is listened to and loved by many Tasmanians. There is great work done by Tony Briscoe, Sally Dakis, Rosemary Grant and Jane Ryan. It was a regular Friday contribution to the Country Hour by contributing poet Phil Rush, who is also a carer, that grabbed my attention. I believe his contribution is worth sharing:

A Poem by Philip R. Rush

There are thousands upon thousands of carers in our State,

And I've had the privilege of meeting quite a few of them of late.

Some are only children, pre-teenage girls and boys,

But almost every carer seems to do their task with joy.

There are many in their eighties, as is a friend of mine,

In only thirty months or so he'll be turning eighty-nine!

He does the cooking and the cleaning and the caring for his wife,

His care's the most important role he carries out in life!

It's the same for many thousands who daily spend their hours

Cooking dinners, dressing partners, making beds and giving showers.

The carer's role is never-ending, seven days of every week,

But it's done in love and caring, no rewards they ever seek!

They're often hidden from the public, care quietly on their own;

You rarely hear a carer complain or sigh or moan!

You ask me how I know it; how I know these things I've said,

Well, I'm a carer also to the lady that I wed

Back in the nineteen sixties, and she needs a bit of care,

Her head is quite undamaged, but her body's past repair!

A back that can't be mended, and her legs that struggle, too,

And many other problems which I won't repeat to you.

She cannot drive; it's hard to walk—a wheelchair's what we use

When going out, or to the shops, whatever we might choose.

She swims an hour each Wednesday, two hours of Aquarobics, too,

On a Monday and a Friday, that's all that she can do

To exercise her body, her commitment's great to see,

Since her health is so precarious, she's said good-bye to me

Three times when in the hospital since nineteen ninety-eight,

But she's survived these obstacles, her tenacity is great!

So I'm chief cook and cleaner, but I don't do that as well

As Yvonne used to do it, as anyone could tell!

But my cooking skills are better, which doesn't mean that much,

Yet apple sponge and birthday cakes, and casseroles and such

Are now upon the menu which I manage now and then,

And I'm sure it's similar history for many carers who are men!

I could go on for ever, but I'll finish with this line,

All you carers who are listening, you're close to being divine!

Thank you.

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