A labour of love: Francis and Wilma’s 70 years of marriage

Marmalade, toast and a cup of tea—that’s what Francis Hangan has brought his wife Wilma every morning since retiring 20 years ago. It’s a small ritual but one that speaks volumes about their seven decades of love, friendship and faith.

‘Dad said that it’s a labour of love,’ shares Clare, who says her parents’ example of selflessness has been a guiding post for her siblings and the generations that have followed.

Clare recently accompanied her parents to the annual Marriage Anniversaries Mass at St Patrick’s Cathedral, where more than 250 couples gathered to celebrate milestones ranging from five years to an astonishing 70. Wilma and Francis were one of just three couples marking seven decades of marriage.

They’re so happy, and they’re still each other’s best friend. They stay up till midnight every night, chatting to one another.

‘They’re so happy, and they’re still each other’s best friend. They stay up till midnight every night, chatting to one another. And if one [of them] forgets one thing, they fill in where the other forgets!’

‘Mum and Dad had four [kids] and they’ve [now] got 12 great-grandchildren,’ Clare adds.

The couple’s love story began in 1951 during separate holidays on Phillip Island. Francis was 21, Wilma 22.

‘They were both on holidays with separate people,’ explains Clare. ‘My mum was staying at a guest house in Phillip Island and my dad couldn’t afford to stay there, so he and a mate sort of snuck into the dance that they were having at this place.’

As the story goes, Francis and his friend noticed Wilma and her friend across the room. ‘His friend said, “I’ll take the blonde,” to which Francis replied, “Okay, I’ll take the other one.”

‘And Dad said he was really glad, because he really preferred the look of Mum!’

For Francis, it was love at first sight. ‘He went home and told his mother that he’d met his future wife,’ says Clare.

Wilma, on the other hand, was not quite ready to settle down. ‘Mum says she thought [Dad] was good-looking and a fine young man. But I don’t think Mum was sort of thinking of quite settling down just then.’ At the time, she was also dating someone else. It would be four years before the two would marry.

‘Dad didn’t think he was worthy,’ says Clare. He had lost his own father at just eight years old and had to grow up quickly, becoming ‘the man of the house’.

He went home and told his mother that he’d met his future wife.

‘His mum was amazing. She was really a saint,’ Clare shares. But Francis took his family responsibilities seriously, and ‘did his best to stay away [from Mum]’ because he felt obligated to remain with his mother and sister.

But fate—or God—intervened. Six months after their first meeting, Wilma and Francis ran into each other again, this time at Heidelberg Town Hall (now The Centre Ivanhoe). They married in 1955—and the rest, as they say, is history.

‘I think their biggest legacy, and one of the secrets to their amazing marriage, has been [my sister] Anne,’ reflects Clare.

‘My eldest sister’s disabled, and they have cared for her for 67 years … they still do, and they do it with such grace and love.’

People are often ‘in awe’ of Wilma and Francis, Clare says. ‘They love them. Everyone wants to adopt my parents! It’s so funny.’

Clare believes the heart of their love story is their lifelong commitment to sacrificially caring for others, especially Anne.

‘She is like the love of their life, and they wouldn’t have it any other way,’ Clare says. ‘They’d pass up on trips to Paris and Rome and London and all that sort of thing just to be able to care for her.’

Wilma and Francis often say that God has been good to them. ‘Because caring for my sister taught them humility, patience and gentleness.’

‘Because of their faith, and their love of family and [their] commitment to my sister Anne, they’ve just worked as a team their whole life.’

The past few years have brought new challenges. Two years ago, Anne developed Parkinson’s disease. Wilma and Francis have also lost close loved ones, including Wilma’s best friend and Francis’ brother-in-law—his last remaining link to his sister.

The family jokes that the couple has become ‘professional mourners’ due to the number of funerals they’ve attended. ‘They’re just in that phase of their lives,’ Clare says.

Still, they remain joyful and grounded in their Catholic faith. ‘They sit up at the dinner table, and then they chat. And then they’ll have a cup of tea before they go to bed, and it’s sometimes one o’clock in the morning and they’re still chatting!’

‘They are the best of friends,’ Clare says. ‘I think that’s been a real testament of their love for each other and the respect for one another.’

They think of each other’s needs so that the other person doesn’t have to.

When asked what she’s learnt from their marriage, Clare doesn’t hesitate. ‘People really matter,’ she says. ‘What counts most is loving and caring for others.’

‘They’ve always said that we’re on this earth for such a short amount of time, [so] make every day count and look after other people, because you might be the only person who says hello or smiles at that person in the day. So give your best.’

‘Most of my friends, they’ve already lost their parents. Some might have one left, but not many have two. It’s certainly a blessing. I’m grateful.’

‘Dad was about 72 when he retired, and he’s given my mother breakfast in bed every day since,’ says Clare.

‘That’s over 20 years now. He takes the paper up and says it’s the same thing every day: marmalade, toast and a cup of tea. And Mum loves to sit in bed and start the day reading the paper while having her tea and toast. So that’s sort of been a longstanding tradition for them.’

‘And that’s what I’ve noticed. They think of each other’s needs so that the other person doesn’t have to.’

Growing up, Clare notes, ‘there wasn’t a lot “extra”. But we had love. We didn’t need anything else.’