There have been several near historic occasions when I was there..

I will relate one of them that may have some interest to those interested in social history.

The following is completely true.
​
I was there when Barassi had one of his first training sessions with Carlton. Later in the year I was in the Carlton rooms after their defeat by North Melbourne.

It is hard to explain the impact of Ron Barrassi leaving the Melbourne Football Club and compare it with anything that has happened in recent times. It was close to unbelievable. Barassi was Captain of Melbourne and had been with the club all his life. His father had played for Melbourne. His father was a war hero who had died in action and was publicly honoured by the club. As a child after his father’s death he had lived with Norm Smith. He epitomised the power of Melbourne. They were the club of power. They were the club of privilege. They were the defenders of the establishment. They were ruthless in their approach to winning. The class struggle was alive and functioning and Melbourne led the way.

The Melbourne Football club was a club within the Melbourne Cricket Club.

It could be said that the MCC summed up the essence of being the supreme summit of Australian life. It was nearly impossible to become a member of the MCC. They didnt give out membership. There was a 25 year waiting period. They did award club membership to some extremely lucky individuals when they wanted some advantage.

Barassi would  have inherited this mantle and he was leaving to coach Carlton.

At that time I lived in a boarding house where the 4 inhabitants stuck together. One of the 4 was a Carlton player. He organised our entry to the rooms.

Carlton had held an intra club practice game. I was in the dressing room after the game.

I was surprised at the atmosphere. I thought it could even be likened with what happens in a local club. Except maybe the players were not as relaxed. They didnt talk as much with each other.

Barassi did not say much.

He did say they had done OK. They had played allright. He did say football was a game where the ball was moved from one end of the ground to the other as quick as possible. Get the ball down to the forward line before the opposition get there and clogged the place up.

That was basically all he said on that day. It was only an intra club practice game.

The next game I was privileged to be in the rooms was a completely different affair.

Carlton were playing North at the Coburg ground. In that year some clubs had experimented by moving to outer suburban grounds. Carlton was on the verge of moving into the four. It was an extremely cold windy winters day. It rained all last quarter. Coburg was a small ground. There was a six goal wind blowing. North was 3 goals up at three quarter time. Carlton was kicking with the wind in the last quarter.

The last quarter was a monumental battle. A fight to the end. Carlton was expected to kick 10 goals. North defended grimly. Their Captain Noel Teasdale was miraculous. He almost played Carlton by himself but in effect every North Player did his duty. Carlton could not break through. North kicked 2 goals and Carlton kicked 4. North won narrowly although it was obvious in the last 10 minutes that Carlton were not going to win.

I went into the Carlton rooms after the game. Barassi was in the middle of the room giving his assessment. He was singling out every Carlton Player for comment. He did not have anything good to say about anybody. He was  cruel to most players. He was more than sarcastic about some individuals and he was contemptuous of the team. I felt he was being unfair.  This was going too far. Barassi reserved his most cutting comments for one of Carltons best players - a Brownlow Medalist. This Brownlow Medalist had in fact tried his hardest and had played well but Barassi claimed he should have played better. A weak mongrel was one of the terms he used.

Barassi did not mention John Nicholls. Probably because Nicholls had almost run himself into the ground. He came off at the end of the game exhausted. Barely able to walk and had to be assisted into the Showers. I watched Barassi have a quiet word with him as he was helped under the shower. Almost a whisper.

I never again went into the Carlton Rooms. Barassi and Carlton did indeed go on to great success. My friend never recovered from this game and was delisted at the end of the year.

The Brownlow Medalist did not play again. He was officially listed as injured. But rumour has it he had had enough and stood out of football.


This actually happened. 

I was there.

I was there,

Queen Elizabeth the 2nd has loomed large in Australia’s consciousness. In the past Australia was part of the British Empire. We were British Subjects. We were very much tied to the British Monarchy. We proclaimed ourselves proudly British.

But with the passage of time various changes have occurred and the Monarch has less influence.
 
We remain a Monarchy however despite various campaigns and one referendum. King Charles is King of Australia.

I have been in the presence of Queen Elizabeth on two occasions. One of these was planned. The other was totally unexpected.

I was at the Benalla Showgrounds when she did her tour of Australia in 1954. This was totally planned. Seemingly every primary schoolchild from Seymour to Wodonga was assembled in the Benalla Showgrounds. I had been brought in the back of a cattle truck along with all the other Meadow Creek Primary school students. We were picked up at school just as dawn was breaking. It wasn’t unusual for us to be transported in a cattle truck. One school parent had a cattle truck suitable for purpose. We were given a name tag and medallion to wear. For some reason all the children came together but we all went home separately with our parents. We seemed to find our parents easily. I did not hear of any child being lost or not able to find their parents.  


We had to wait some time for the Queen to appear. We probably had to wait for over an hour. Quite naturally children become restless and want to go exploring. There were several false rumours that she was about to enter the arena.

Finally her car entered. I believe it was a large Rolls Royce. It drove around the boundary of the football ground. I cannot remember if it was open or closed. Despite the car going faster than anticipated I had a good view of the Queen and Prince Phillip. If the car was closed it had a large interior and you could see into it. The upholstery was impressive.

The Queen did not appear to be looking. She was leaning back and looking at the sky and waggling her left wrist and hand in a way I had not seen before. She was not looking at anyone. Just waving her finger. It wasn’t a normal wave. Everyone was cheering. Prince Phillip was making eye contact and waving to all the children. I thought he was behind a car widow so it must have been a closed car. Very quickly the car was out of the Showgrounds.

Later on I learned that her father had taught her to acknowledge crowds this way,

It was all over by lunchtime. We went home for lunch.

The other time I saw the Queen was totally unexpected. This was in London. The Queen was going south east and I was going south west. Our paths intertwined. She was on horseback and I was on foot. I came across a party of horses. Suddenly there was a sort of traffic jam. Some horses were being led and had gotten loose. A crowd gathered. I was at the front of the crowd. Suddenly the Queen appeared in front of me. If I had wanted to touch her I probably could have and I certainly could have touched her horse. Indeed one child attempted to pat her horse but she wasn’t having any of it. She stood up in the saddle and looked around angrily to see what the trouble was. She may have barked some order to her security because 3 men dismounted and made a pathway with their horses for her to go through.

There were a number of things that struck  me. One was that she was so tiny. She was small. Another was that she was capable of showing anger in public. We hadn't seen this before. All in all the traffic jam took perhaps 2 minutes but this was enough to have a good look and to see the Queen was capable of a human reaction.

I was there.



Neville Gibb
​March 2026

​Considering that I was 9 years old, I’m surprised I don’t remember more about my day at the Olympics. The photo of me standing outside the MCG between my parents documents that I was there with our own cushions to soften the hard seats. I couldn’t tell you what other events I saw, except the one in which Betty Cuthbert flashed by, a blur of white singlet and blonde hair. We were quite close to the running track and excitement surrounding the event built to a crescendo of noise. I’m guessing it was the relay I witnessed, not a sprint event. Cuthbert, the ‘Golden Girl’, won two gold medals for individual sprints and another gold for her speed in the relay. My brother Adrian, 5 years old at the time, also only remembers one aspect of his day; sitting with Dad near the Olympic flame and the heat coming from it.

​The rest of the day was more memorable. I inspected the intricate carved figures on the fairy tree in the Fitzroy gardens, wandered around Captain Cook’s cottage, became overwhelmed by the bustle of people on Swanston Street. Then - the giant Santa peering down from the Foys building at the corner of Bourke Street. Now that was impressive.

Anne Stewart
​February 2026

​​This story is more about a very sad and tragic coincidence. I was there for the first part; I am so glad I wasn’t there for the second part. For many years this story has haunted me. It is a story that isn’t a happy one, but it is spooky in my eyes.

I knew an ex-Vietnam veteran, who had worked on Helicopters in Vietnam during the war. He had a young teenage son who was interested in aircraft and flying. He joined a group of other boys at the “Air Cadets” group at the Laverton Air Base. My mate also joined the group and worked as a trainer for the boys. I was invited along several times to see how it worked and to help where I could. One day I was invited to join the group on a visit to Tullamarine Airport. It was organised by one of the Air Cadet trainers who worked at Tullamarine Airport.
​
One Sunday morning; we entered the Airport through a gate near the Maintenance area which we walked around, some parts of the planes were massive, especially the engines. We went across runways to the control towers. The lower part was the control room was for the planes that were taxiing and being moved around the airport. The upper area was the main control tower that looked after the incoming and outgoing flights. It was a very busy place, there were a people working at screens and talking to the pilots. It was very interesting, the screens were full of different markers, these determined the size, speed, location and the call sign of each plane flying around the whole of Australia. They were very close together, but a controller told us and showed us what the distance was between each of the planes. That made us feel a bit better. There were hundreds, but they were quite a few kilometres apart.

A couple of years later I heard part of the seven am news on my way to work. I walked into the Australia Post, mail room and said hello to everyone. One guy said, “Hi Tom, what’s the news of the day”. I told him I wasn’t sure, but I think a plane has crashed in Scotland. He said, “don’t say that it’s nearly Christmas” This guy was also an Englishman same as me, so it was a bit close to home for both of us. I never heard any more about the crash until I watched the six o’clock news at home.

Whilst watching the story about the plane crash, I saw that it happened over Lockerbie in Scotland, the news showed pieces of the plane spread across a wide area. One particular piece sent shivers down my spine, (it still does). It was part of the cockpit laying on its side, with the name “Maid Of The Seas”.

​Not only was it a fantastic experience to visit the airport and walk through the Plane. But why did it have to be that one?

​Tom Barnaby.
​September 2025

​From the Kenworth website: At the time, mining and drilling companies watched with interest. Rapid progress was then being made in the development of Australia’s vast natural resources, with increased production of black coal and discoveries of oil, gas and copper-zinc deposits. The C500 had already proved itself in the harsh landscapes of Arabia and Africa, and the locally manufactured version was soon reporting for an even more rugged workout on the Australian continent. The C500AR (Australian Right-hand drive) found its way into the mining, logging and oil drilling industries, with a number of trucks engineered to lift oil-drilling rigs and to move oversize rigs from one site to another.

This is one of the C500 models that was sold through the dealership in Footscray.  It was capable of moving equipment weighing up to 150 tonnes solo, in 50-degree ambient temperature from Port Augusta to the Olympic Dam mining operations in South Australia. 

This is one of the C500 models that was sold through the dealership in Footscray.  It was capable of moving equipment weighing up to 150 tonnes solo, in 50-degree ambient temperature from Port Augusta to the Olympic Dam mining operations in South Australia.

On the day, the truck had been set up with a 9 tonne block of concrete on the chassis, so that it would have some grip on the grass where the display was to be held. The truck was positioned and three heavy ropes were attached to the front bumper.

I walked out with my black overalls on, and set up the truck for the competition.

The plan was to allow the children to pull the truck forward about two or three meters and then I would let the clutch out and pull them back.

This all went well and as I brought the truck to a hault, I stepped out of the cab and exclaimed, “You lot didn’t have your Weeties this morning”.

That was followed by my arrest by two local policemen for ‘child abuse’, and I was marched off in handcuffs.

“I was there”… (and then I wasn’t!)
​
 
Barry O’Connor
​June 2025.

I was there at lots of things. When I was young it seemed that lots of things happened and I was there to watch.

I want to relate as to how I was there before indoor plumbing.

My first memories are from the late 40’s. People were still recovering from the war and the depression. They were more or less still living under depression standards.

All during the 30’s unemployed men had walked up and down the roads between towns looking for work or charity. My extended family had managed to keep house and hearth intact but some of them lived pretty rough. Not all had running water. Living conditions for the most part were hard. Money was scarce.

We sometimes visited my mother's sister. She and her family lived in a rented house that could be called primitive. It had no running water. The house was not lined and some of the weatherboards had spaces between the boards so you could see through. It had no hot water. It had a bathroom with a primitive bath. It had a copper for heating water and washing clothes. Water was used several times. Clothes were washed first. Then dishes. Then people. All heated up in the copper. Of course water was added when needed by bringing buckets from the tank outside and put into the copper.

For many men their first full time job was when they joined the Army.

My father joined up at the first opportunity. He married my mother when in uniform. She lived with her family and received a portion of his Army pay when he was away. When he returned from the war he joined several organisations - RSL - ex POW - British Legion - Masonic Lodge. He always held some official position in all these organisations.


But all this is but background.

My father and a colleague had convinced another ex serviceman to move from his camp on the river to a hut that was near another ex serviceman's farm. This ex serviceman had lived roug' before the war but had seen action several times and was well respected by his fellow ex servicemen. It was said he was mentioned in Dispatches. After the war he had gone back to living rough in a camp isolated near the head of the river. He was persuaded to come back and live where they could keep an eye on him.

My father took me with him when he and the colleague visited the man to see how he was getting on. The man said he wasn't better off at all. He didn't know if he would stay or move back to his camp. He spoke in a firm tone. He said he didn't like the bloke who owned the place. They shouldnt interfere.

I had never seen another man talk to my father in this manner and I was intrigued. My father and his friend went off to talk by themselves. I stayed and watched the man. He said he was getting ready for a funeral. He pointedly said he could not stop what he was doing to look after me, but I was intrigued and just stayed to watch him without saying anything.

I stood at the door looking in. He had a primitive stove with a kettle and what appeared to be a babies bath half filled with water. He brought the kettle to the babies bath and poured the hot water in. He took off his shirt and started to shave. He had a mug and  a small mirror in his hand. He walked to the door and threw the waste from the razor out the door after he scraped his face. I had to get out of way. The man didn't seem to care. He then put a flannel in the water and soaped it up. He vigorously wiped all his head and face with the soapy flannel. He then leant down and put his head in the babies bath and put his face and head under the water. He then wiped his head clean of soap and water with a separate towel.

He then told me he was shutting the door as he was taking off his clothes. I heard him step into the babies bath. I heard him rub his flannel in the water. He made noises as he rubbed himself down. I could hear the rubbing of the flannel.  I heard water dripping back into the babies bath. `I could hear water dripping on  the floor. I imagined water to be going everywhere.

Shortly he opened the door.

I hardly recognised it was the same bloke.

He was wearing a suit and tie and he was combing his hair. He looked very different. He looked normal - even smart. His suit was blue and resembled the suit my uncle wore. He had put on shoes and socks. The shoes were a shiny dark brown and looked expensive.

He then carried the babies bath outside and threw the water on the garden.

I watched the whole time until my father came back. Of course I was intrigued. This man must have lived like this every day.

I was there when people lived without indoor plumbing.

Neville Gibb
​February 2024

In 1960 at the age of 18, I stepped from the ship, the “FAIRSKY” in Port Melbourne, to start a new life in Melbourne. It seemed a million miles from London, but the thrill I felt as I took my first steps on Melbourne’s wharf was amazing.
 
My first job was with the ANZ Bank in Collins Street. My previous job was with a Bank in Cornhill, London. Things were much more relaxed in this country. Instead of Managers wearing collars and ties, with expensive suits, the climate here called for a nice shirt, shorts and long socks.
 
Melbourne was an exciting city in those days. People were friendly, and the cultural changes were subtle. Immigrants from the U.K. and the Continent arrived on the ships and planes. With these changes our food changed too. So much more to explore in the new restaurants that popped up. My social life expanded, and so did my palette. Life was good.
 
By 1964 I had left the Bank and was employed by Victorian Broadcasting Network. The General Manager was David Symes. He controlled all the advertising seen on Victorian Television Stations, and all the advertising on Country Radio Stations. He was an immensely powerful man, but in saying that, a kind and gentle man. Important people popped into our office all the time. Famous Chefs, Politicians, Sports Stars and Actors. There was never a dull moment.
 
Nothing could beat the Adrenaline rush when staff were told on the 10th of February that we were having a visit from the Beatles Manager. True to form, Mr Symes brought him in to meet his very excited staff.
 
The Manager explained that due to illness, Ringo Starr was to be replaced by Jimmy Nicol for the coming tour. He explained that the concert was a sell-out, so he had no free tickets to give us, but Mr Symes had agreed to give us extra lunch time, so that we could at least see them, as they appeared on the balcony of the Town Hall mid-day on the 16th..

​On a very hot 5th day of February 1951, as a relatively young, and relatively new comer to Benalla, I was sitting at my desk  in the VPC office doing my clerical duties, when I heard, first, the fire siren, and then the fire bell, sound. The fire bell indicated that the fire was a bush fire, not a town house fire.

I quickly went to the front door and saw much activity in the street. It was soon obvious that this was not a small fire. People and cars and utes were frantically moving about. The fire was obviously more than the task of the volunteer brigades. Every able bodied male was being asked to volunteer.

Naturally I joined in, and somehow or other I found myself in a utility owned by two, 20 something year old brothers, the Smith boys. We were quickly out onto  the Kilfera Road, ahead of the fire.

I don’t’ recall whether we had fire beaters or just wheat bags but we were soon fighting the flames which were advancing on the road. A weatherboard church stood in the path of the fire.

The fire seemed to gain momentum and was advancing rapidly.  There was no doubt that it was going to cross the road at the point where we and the utility were stationed. In a hurry we sheltered behind the utility and, whoosh, before we knew it, the fire had travelled over the utility over us, and was proceeding, at a great pace, away in the distance. It was momentary. There was no time for fear or panic; everything happened so quickly.

​We looked around us. The fence had gone. We looked in front of us; the tinder dry church was a smouldering ruin, as were the fence posts. We were miraculously unharmed. The fire had gone over the top of us.

The fire  continued on its way and proceeded to destroy 30,000 acres of grass and wooded country; 12 homes, 320 miles of fencing, 8671 sheep, 121 cattle,  583 poultry, 24 pigs, 8 horses,2522 tons of hay, 61 tons of chaff, 2110 new  unused fence posts, and numerous miscellaneous articles. Estimated cost 168,000 pounds, which was a lot of money in those days. Regrettably one life was lost. This was a disaster.

To this day I do not know how we survived.

In the aftermath,  the community soon gathered to  offer assistance to the victims. There was a continuous round of fundraising. Dances were held in all the country halls around the district to help raise funds, and I was nearly danced out. There were street stalls, fetes and every conceivable form of fund raising.

Much later in life I became friendly with two Smith  farming brothers from the same area; but the fire had apparently disappeared from our memories, and,  even if it was the same pair, the fire was never discussed.

 
Ray O'Shannessy


This important story, one of a number of 'I Was There' Stories written by Ray in May 2017, was chosen by Ray to share with the class again in March 2022, and by Bev (Convenor) for Ray to read when 'I Was There' was offered again in February 2022.  It is always received with great interest by class members hearing it for the first time (and indeed for the second and third time for some class members).

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​On occasion, some of the crews would “practice” their skills climbing the rigging and furling the sails.  It was interesting to watch the speed in which these tasks were accomplished and there were quite a few gasps from the people watching.  Fortunately, none of the crew members slipped or fell during these exercises.
 
A funny thing happened one night.  A former work colleague of Jill’s had joined the Police and told us that at no time would we ever see her in uniform.  I was sitting facing the window when someone swaggered past.  I motioned for Jill to follow me outside, where we “sprung” Karen in uniform.  The poor girl wanted the floor to open up and swallow her.  We then had to explain the situation to her colleagues, who all thought it was quite funny, except for Karen, who was rather embarrassed by the whole incident.
 
It was sad to see the ships sail out of Melbourne, but it was a quite rewarding experience and one that will stay with me.


Joan Brown
February 2025

Postscript!!

​​We were living in a Methodist parsonage in Launceston when Dad decided to enlist as a chaplain in the AIF, so we moved down the Tamar River 31 miles to Sandy Beach*.

Mr. Twomey had a grocery and post office and also organised milk delivery. My mother once found him out the back of the shop watering down the milk. Mr. Parry had a lolly shop on the highway a few doors away. I guess he sold something else, but I don’t know what it was. Mrs. Robinson had a baker’s shop a few doors in the other direction. These are the only shops I can remember but I guess there was a butcher.

There was a Methodist church with Mr. Fletcher at the helm, Mr. Swain with a sleek green bus that he drove to Launceston and back every day and the fish man who knocked at the back door each Friday with flathead for threepence each or flounders for sixpence. And that was Sandy Beach.

Beauty Point was a mile back with a big harbour, where we once saw a Catalina Flying Boat, and Beaconsfield was another three miles and that was where we went to school.

We had three girls, six, eight and ten, a younger brother who was three, our mother and Dulce who came with us from Launceston to give Mother a hand. Our house had an attic where some of us slept.

​One morning we were on the school bus and people were on the road shouting, “The war’s over! The war’s over!” We kept driving to school where we had a short ceremony and then got the bus home. Two days holiday! Mother organised us and we went to Launceston in Mr. Swain’s bus and stayed there overnight. There were heaps of people in the city streets dancing and shouting. I’m sure Mother wanted to give us an experience to remember and she surely did.
 

​Carmyl Winkler
February 2024

*Now known as Ilfraville

​I WAS THERE    …   At the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth.

I have a Welsh background and my parents had very little, but they saved for weeks to afford a trip to London from Wales. I sat on Dad’s shoulder and waved my flag, hidden in the crowd. Like all children in the UK, I was given a signed bible.

​Unfortunately, I was only 3 so I don’t remember much but I’m told I enjoyed the day and went home a tired little bunny.
 
 
I WAS THERE  …   When the Russell Street bombing occurred, 27th March 1986.

I was in the RAAF and my role was to do security checks on all new applicants to the RAAF. I also did security vetting for upgrades to Secret, Top Secret clearances etc. The Victoria Police used to assist us with criminal record checks and identity checks.

I was based in Gratton street, a small records office and my weekly tasks was to walk down to Russell Street police station to pick up any checks/results completed by Vic Pol. 

On the day of the bombing, I had just called in to pick up our documents and was on my way out towards the front of the building. A sergeant called me back to collect an additional document just as the bomb exploded.

I felt the building shake, panic momentarily went through the building, then emergency procedures and training kicked in and we were all evacuated through the back.

As I returned to my workplace I could see a plume of smoke, sirens wailed through the city and news readers began interrupting programs to break the horrifying news.

My boss had feared the worse so as my face appeared round the corner he broke protocol, ran over and hugged me. It was only then that I realized how close I came to being a victim of that shocking attack.

Sadly, Angela Taylor was not so lucky, she became the first police woman to be killed in the line of duty.


Heather Hartland,
February 2022

​I have been present at some events that have later been called historical.

Some events come to mind.

I was there when the Queen and Prince Phillip circled the Benalla showgrounds in 1954.

I was there when President Johnson jumped out of a car and waved an American Flag in a most idiotic manner in front of the Melbourne Town Hall.

I was there when both Sir John Kerr and the Melbourne Racing Club members acted shamefully at the 1978 Melbourne Cup.


The historical event which I am about to relate would not be considered as historical as the events mentioned above, but nevertheless was important and became part of history. And did include some shameful acts by upstanding members of the community.

It relates to members of my own family.

The township of Moyhu in the mid 50’s was much larger than it is now. It had three general stores. It had two fully functional garages. It had a large transport company. Several State Government Services with offices and buildings were located in the town – The River Trust – The Lands Department – etc. It had two milk factories. It had a number of churches. It had one butcher. It had one bookmaker. It had one hotel.

In other words it was thriving. The area contained a large number of young people. The baby boomer period was just beginning.

It had a very active football club. It fielded 2 football teams and there were more players than those needed for 2 teams. All vying for a place in either team. Football was important to the community. It blended the various religious and class conscious factions together. It provided entertainment each weekend. It provided social cohesion to the community and the community took an interest and participated in all its activities. Training was 2 nights a week and was always well attended by both players and spectators.

I had a number of slightly older relatives who played for Moyhu. Of course they were considered to be role models. In particular there were two brothers Ray and Bill who were particularly close to my family. These 2 brothers were both in their late teens. Ray was the elder by one year. Bill was more talented. Both were vying for a place in the first team. Both played in the seconds and both were considered to have a chance of playing in the firsts. Halfway through the season Ray was picked in the firsts. Even though he was picked as the 19th man it was considered to be his debut game in senior football. This was a big thing in his family and some celebrations took place.

However on Friday morning one of the senior players became ill and had to withdraw from the team. The normal procedure was that the 19th man would then take his place. Ray fully expected to take the field at the start of the game and did not hesitate to say so. After all he was extremely pleased to have the opportunity and hoped his many relatives might come and see him play his first senior game.

On Friday night it was announced that another young player from the seconds would be brought into the team and that Ray would remain as 19th man.

Ray felt humiliated and hurt by this and refused to turn up for the game.  What's more, he told the Moyhu Officials off in no uncertain terms. Further, he demanded a transfer to King Valley.

For some reason, Ray was not treated with sympathy and understanding, but was told that he was a team member and would have to turn up to the game and be 19th man. He was told that he would never get a transfer to King Valley as there were no grounds under the rules to allow a transfer anywhere.

He was in fact treated with contempt and derision in conversation by most of the Moyhu officials. Some even saw the matter as being humorous verging on hilarious. I wont tell you their names because most of them still have relatives in the district. But I remember them. I was there.

Ray stuck to his guns and stood out of football for some weeks.  The league itself granted Ray a transfer after some lobbying by Ray's father, who thankfully had some respect in the football community. Ray's father had been in fact the only person who spoke in his favour as far as I could tell. The Moyhu Officials held up the transfer as long as they could. Most people thought that he was being stupid and should have accepted his fate. For some time it was quite a talking point.

Both brothers went on to have long careers in football. Bill was indeed the more talented and went on to a stellar career with Wangaratta Rovers and coached North Wangaratta. He was even approached by Collingwood. Ray never reached the playing heights of Bill but stayed with King Valley for the next 30 plus years as player and official and unpaid volunteer. He fulfilled many club roles. As time went on and he moved away from the area he still worked assiduously for the club and he would have covered many kilometres in order to make his contribution.

The upshot was Moyhu disappointed a young person and King Valley got a grateful member who became a dedicated worker for the next 30 or so years.

Who had the best deal I wonder?

The historical event I want to relate took place towards to end of next season. Bill was by this time playing in Moyhu firsts and Ray was playing in King Valleys firsts. This however was the first time they had played in a game when both were playing. There was much discussion about what would happen between Bill and Ray.  By this time it was considered that Bill was by far the better player and that Ray would keep well clear of him.

For two quarters the brothers played on each other. For the second and third quarters Ray kept a close check on Bill.  Wherever Bill went Ray was on his heels. And, to be fair, it has to be said that Ray shaded Bill. This was a surprise to all but the statistics proved it. Ray was able to prevent Bill making use of his talent and was even able to wrest the ball away from him at times and put his team into attack. For the last quarter Bill was moved away from Ray and was even taken off the ground. The 19th and 20th men came on for a run.

Moyhu did win the game. Fairly comfortably. But this was expected. Moyhu always had powerful teams.

Even though Moyhu won the game this should have been considered as Ray's triumph. But no. There was not one Moyhu Official who offered to congratulate Ray and shake his hand. In fact as he came off the ground some Moyhu supporters lined up and jeered him. I won't tell you their names as they still have relatives in the district.

I know all this happened because I was there.


Neville Gibb
February 2022

​In the Dutch East Indies in 1928, a youth congress met and determined to work for one race, one nation and one language for their country. Despite some being punished by the Dutch by exile into swampy country far from their home for many years, they remained determined.

In 1942, the Japanese marched into the Indies, imprisoned the Dutch and after a year or two reopened the schools and proceeded to teach the students in Japanese.

When the Second World War ended on 15th. August, 1945, the Japanese prepared to leave, and the Dutch were still locked up. Two days later, on the 17th August, seizing their chance, some of these original young congress men with other friends, flew a red and white flag and, their leader, Soekarno, proclaimed independence for the new republic of Indonesia. Of course as soon as the Dutch were freed they sent the natives back to their rice, aiming to resume their previous life. However the new Indonesians went to the hills and fought determinedly until, in 1949, under world pressure, the Dutch left the new republic.

Gradually the country that had been left with just ten high schools for a population of over 150 million, trained Indonesians to take over public service jobs, becoming doctors, engineers and teachers.

The new wave of schools and universities started in Java, the most populous although one of the smaller islands, and spread out from there.

By 1961, one of the furthest provinces, Aceh, on the northern tip of Sumatra, acquired a university. There were three faculty buildings and a number of lecturer’s houses all in the middle of rice fields.

By early 1962, Universitas Syiah Kuala was ready to be officially opened and requested no less than the president of the country, President Soekarno, to come from Java to officiate. 

The only slight problem was that, on the whole, the Acehnese did not have a high regard for the president. To a fiercely Muslim population, his lack of dedication to Islam was not popular. While Muslim in name, he had married one too many wives and Javanese in general were thought as fairly wishywashy Muslims.

Orders were issued. Every household had to make a red and white flag of required size and fly it in the front garden. Soldiers were sent to stand guard along the road the presidential car would take, each man with his back to the road while looking steadfastly at the houses to ensure safety.

Most university students wore their traditional Acehnese dress, with smart white suits and hats for university leaders. The president’s car, number plate Indonesia 1, drew up at the door and the president stepped straight into the hall of gathered audience, Indonesians plus two Australians. I couldn’t understand a great deal of what he said but, to this day, I can remember being so impressed by the charismatic way he spoke and the hostility of the crowd gradually melting away.

I was there.

​Carmyl Winkler
​February 2022

​I remember the day I met Queen Elizabeth II. It was a warm day, but I have no idea if it was summer, spring or autumn. There are no photos of the day to capture the memory and allow me to revisit the day. The memory mine alone.

I imagine you would think that meeting the Queen was a thrilling and memorable experience for a child. Queen’s, Princesses and fairytales are indeed ideas that thrill the imagination of most children. And so it would have been for me were it not for the fact the meeting the Queen was completely overshadowed by the most embarrassing moment of my life!

I recall that I had been a Girl Guide for a short time. A celebration was to be held at the Auckland Governor Generals residence and one lucky guide would be selected to be presented to the Queen.

As a relatively new guide I didn’t believe there was any prospect of me being chosen. However the sole criteria for selection was that the guide needed to fit into the period Guide Uniform. This guide alone would be the one to go to the celebration, and be presented to the Queen.

I remember the uniform was only tried on by a few girls, presumably the guide leader cast her eye over the group and visually selected the most likely to fit the uniform. The scratchy woollen fabric was not comfortable, and so it was with mixed emotions that I was selected. The uniform and I were a perfect match.

I have no recollection of how I arrived at the Governor General’s residence in Mount Eden, simply that I was there, with hundreds of other people.

Therein lay the foundation for what would become the most embarrassing day of my life.

There appeared to be inadequate arrangements for guests to go to the toilet and so the brownies and guides were encouraged to make use of the expansive gardens. I was not a child accustomed to “making do” in such a way and held on as long as possible before giving into my desperate need to empty my bladder behind a tree. The garden’s were vast, and there was a large number of mature trees to choose from. Having selected a place I thought was far from the crowd that was in the gardens, I quickly took care of business. It was not until I was scrambling out of the garden that I turned behind me to see that there were dozens of press and photographers on the other side of the fence clambering for a view of the gathering below. Although it seemed clear that no one had taken any notice of me, my embarrassment was burned into my memory!

When the time came, the Girl Guides paraded behind the flag to be presented to Her Majesty. I lined up with the other girls in historical uniforms and when my turn came I curtseyed exactly as I had practiced. I could hardly believe that it was happening, and in a blink of a moment it was over.

My memories of that day are of my embarrassment and amazement of being presented to the Queen.


Michelle Aitken,
​February 2022

The year was 1998 and Patricks’ Stevedores were the major employer under Chris Corrigan on the waterfronts in Australia.  Traditionally the men (and they were all men) belonged to the MUA (Maritime Union of Australia).  This union had a strong membership and yes, they were very militant about worker’s conditions.  Chris Corrigan, a wealthy man, headed up the company and was answerable to the shareholders.  Both he and they wanted to break the hold of the union on the Australian waterfront.

To do this Patricks’ had had men flown to Dubai, mainly ex-army fellows, to be trained as stevedores and guards.  One day, at the time of a shift change, the Webb Dock in Melbourne was suddenly swarming with armed guards with angry guard dogs in tow demanding that the crane drivers step down from their cabins and hand over their keys.  In other words, they were being locked out of their work.
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Now, I’m a Union girl.  I have been since I started teaching in Wodonga Primary school some 55 years ago with 50 students in the one room and on less pay than the teacher next door with exactly the same conditions.  He got more pay because he was male.  The only people who seemed to care about this situation were in the union.  Thus started a life time of union meetings and ALP membership.  Being a unionist and ALP member hasn’t been without its heart ache or disappointments, but there remains a fundamental basic support for the belief that workers have the right to work, the right to organize and the right to withhold their labour.  It was natural to me to support the MUA members.

We were living in Melbourne at the time although we had family here in Benalla.  Naturally being a very conservative town there were many supporters of the lockout by Corrigan including the Victorian Farmer’s Federation (VFF) Benalla Branch and long term and current councillor, Peter Davis.  Peter was widely known at the time to have volunteered for crane driving training and to have volunteered for Patricks' on the water front during the strike.  
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The call went out from the MUA for other unions and supporters to come to the waterfront. So, I went, not for the days and nights given by the unionists, but I felt my contribution of a day was at the very least one of support.

There was not a great deal the Union and supporters could do other than stand vigil at the gates.  It was, and still is now, illegal to go on strike or prevent others from entering the place of work.   All the fighting went on in the courts, with many legal eagles giving the unions support while others gave similar support to Patricks.  In the end, the Unions won the court case, however they lost the battle as a follow up agreement between the union and Patricks meant many lost their jobs.   

Patricks eventually went broke and lost out to Toll.
 
The union (MUA) is still active and peace reigns on the waterfront.
 
Carole Marple
May 2017

​Queensland decided to host World Expo 1988 and put their very best efforts into organizing it.

The south bank of the Brisbane River, across from the CBD, was a dilapidated area.  It was a virtual eyesore.  The Queensland Government resumed the buildings and developed the area, which covered 40 ha, for the Expo.

The theme of the Expo was "Leisure in the Age of Technology".  There were 72 pavilions with 36 countries, 52 government agencies and 50 corporations pariticipating.  It was open every day for 184 days.  No cars were allowed but people could come by train, bus, ferry, hovercraft and seaplane.

People came in their thousands, close to 100,000 per day.  It is hard to describe the feelings of pleasure, interest and excitement.

Entertainment was happening everywhere, acrobats, clowns, mime artists, dancers, musicians, marching bands - and that was just the casual live events.  'Talking Heads' on pedestals startled pedestrians passing by when these inanimate objects engaged passerby's in conversation Humanoid robots greeted people in 32 languages.  It was a very interactive experience.

At the 10,000 seat River Stage are groups such as Little River Band, Icehouse, Mental as Anything and Black Sorrows performed.  John Farnham, John Denver, Jon English, Julie Anthony, Donny Osmond, Cher, Phyllis Diller and many others entertained the people there too.

Then there were the pavilions!

The USA promoted sport with Virtual Golf and Basketball.

Switzerland operated a subzero indoor ski slope with artificial snow, something most Queenslanders had never experienced before.

New Zealand had the most popular pavilion, screening an animated presentation of the cartoon 'Footrot Flats'.

The Holy See had priceless treasures from the Vatican.  It was interesting to see the clothing and footwear worn by popes many centuries ago.

Japan had the largest pavilion other than Australia.  They created a beautiful traditional Japanese Garden and tearooms.  They also had the first High Definition television in Australia.

The most outstanding was Nepal's 'Peace Pagoda', a replica of a Pagoda in Kathmandu.  162 Nepalese families worked for two years crafting it before it was shipped to Brisbane.  It was 3 stories high with a beautiful tea house on the second level.  The people of Brisbane lobbied to keep it in Brisbane after the Expo.  It can now be seen on the banks of the Brisbane River in the City Gardens.

West Germany (East Germany still being part of the USSR) had a traditional Bavarian restaurant/beehall seating 1,300 with the attendants wearing traditional Bavarian costumes.  This was a favorite place for the young people, especially popular was the 'Chicken Dance' that seemed to send them into a frenzy

My favorite exhibit was the Magna Carta.  It was one of the four original calf skin copies.

The restaurant I frequented the most was in the USSR pavilion.  The food was nice but I liked to experience the restrictions and supervision of the Soviet Union without any consequences.  

These were just a few of the many wonderful restaurants, pavilions and entertainment.

The Closing Ceremony concert ended with Julie Anthony with the Seekers singing 'The Carnival is Over'.  There was a sense of gloom when the Expo ended.  It was referred to as 'Post Expo Blues'.  The Government provided therapists for those needing help.

More than 18.5 million people visited World Expo 88, that was more than the total population of Australia at that time.  It was a financial success too, with no public debt or liabilities.

It changed Brisbane from its 'Big Country Town' image to a vibrant cosmopolitan city - and I was there.


​Elizabeth Kearns
June 2017

​​‘It was fifty years ago today, Sergeant Pepper’s taught the band to play….’
 
Fifty years ago this month Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band album, the album with the wonderfully coloured cover and the surreal, evocative music of a mystical stage in the Beatle’s musical journey, was released.

Following the anniversary in the media I began to reflect on how the Beatles’ journey had aligned with  my journey through adolescence and young adulthood.  Suddenly, my  ideas about what to write about moved from being in Madrid in the volatile period before Spain’s referendum to become a democracy in 1976; or from changing from angora twinset and pearls to duffle coat and desert boots to join other  students in the Monash University Library demonstrating against budget in 1968. 
 
You see, ‘I was there’, outside the Southern Cross, on June 24th 1964, when 10,000 people (including me) waited patiently for, then gazed with wonder, when John, Paul, George and Ringo appeared on the balcony above street level to wave to the crowd.

I was 16 and a half, in Year 11.  I’d travelled in to Melbourne on the Dandenong train line, meeting my high school friends on the way, walking with them in great anticipation from the station to the new Southern Cross Hotel’s entrance in Exhibition Street.  We decided to stand on the far side of the road in front of some cars parked along the kerb.   The crowd began to swell and we gradually became hemmed in.  At one stage there was a movement in the crowd which pushed us forward –feeling frightened, I retreated back to the kerb, though my friends stayed with the moving  crowd.  Always the observer, this suited me, as I was able to monitor  the scene quietly – both what was happening in the crowd and when the Beatles appeared, on the balcony.  I can remember watching George Harrison intently – he was the Beatle I was most passionate about!  I don’t remember screaming – I’ve never been a really good screamer – but perhaps I did?  I remember waiting for my friends after the Beatles moved back into the hotel observing dents in the roofs and bonnets of cars parked along the curb used by members of the excited crowd seeking higher vantage points.

When I arrived home a drama was clearly unfolding.  I hadn’t been aware that my younger sister, Janette, 13 at the time, had also gone to the Southern Cross with one of her school friends.  I would have been so worried had I known she was there!  It seems that she was one of the younger ones who was swept up on to a police horse and taken to safety in a police van.  The police had taken her home.  My recently widowed mother was horrified! 

​Feeling nostalgic?

​http://www.heraldsun.com.au/news/victoria/photo-essay-a-look-back-at-how-the-beatles-rocked-melbourne-and-their-teenage-fans-went-wild/news-story/9b6890487b50beec64a4b3d956b66b80 

​http://www.abc.net.au/news/2017-05-28/why-sgt-pepper-was-a-decisive-moment-for-western-civilisation/8550530?pfmredir=sm
​
http://www.abc.net.au/news/2017-05-26/sgt-peppers-50th-anniversary-talk-misses-beatles-point/8562446 

In the early 1960’s, after the completing my General Nursing and Midwifery education, I, like many of my colleagues, enjoyed a six week trip on board the ‘Fair Sky’ to Britain.  During that trip eight of us became friendly and maintained that friendshi for the three years we were away.  As we moved to and fro to Europe, there was always someone who had room for us to stay, even if it meant at times sleeping on the floor.
 
Australian Nurses were very popular and another friend and myself joined the British Nurses Association.  We were able to work for short times in many places across England and in different clinical settings of our choosing.  I chose to spend a few months as an Industrial Nurse at Fauldings Manufacturing Group at Tootingbeck as I could work 9-5 Monday to Friday.  On one occasion I had to climb a fire escape ladder to help to recover an unconscious man.
 
In Oxford, my friend met a German professor and his dentist wife.  They had been housed in Oxford during the war.  In appreciation they returned each year for some time to provide a service free of charge where needed.  An invitation was offered to us to go to Germany to work with the Professor’s unit at Gottingen University.  It was a clinical research area related to Polio.  A number species were used for their experiments, namely monkeys, rats and chooks. 
 
We were paid as Enrolled Nurses whilst we waited for our German translated copies of qualifications to be accepted and shared a house with a Japanese professor.  In order to pay in lieu of rent, I did the English correspondence for the Professor. 
 
My friend stayed with the Professor’s unit and I was offered the post as the nurse to a Diplomat’s wife who was in an Iron Lung.  A cousin of the Neurology Professor, her husband  had been a diplomat in the USA for two years.  They were then sent to Africa where my patient contracted Polio, hence the Lung.  Her husband was then stationed in Paris with the children. 
 
The University was six kilometers from the division of East and West Germany.  An English Doctor took us out to see that division.  We were confronted by a huge barbed wire wall around a cleared field and very high towers which housed two guards.  Not even a mouse could pass across the area without being seen and live to tell the tale.  A stream was on the other side of the path and big signs carried the warning that half way across was the East!  You entered at your peril.
 
My patient was able to come out of the Lung for a few hours each day and was supported by a Bird Respirator as she lay on a bed.  This respirator came out of the developments leading to space travel in the USA.  Mr Bird saw the patient twice while I was with her.  The ultimate aim was to develop a back pack styled respirator which allowed her to spend most of the day out of the lung and to return to her family in Paris with appropriate care.
 
One day I left my patient watching the television and went out to get her afternoon tea.  I had just reached the room to make the tea when there was a great noise and people began running and calling out in German.  I returned to my patient to find out what it was about.  She was greatly disturbed, so I got my orderly to help return her to the Lung.  She kept repeating, ‘Husband, husband, want to talk to husband’.  I rang him, passing the telephone to her.  My little German did  not allow me to get any idea what washappening.  My patient finally calmed down, put the phone down and said ‘My husband says it is safe for you to say’.
 
I was there, the day that Nikita Khrushchev resigned.
 
My patient later went to Sweden and then to the USA.  She wrote to me from America to say that she had made great progress. 
 
I had declined an invitation to go with my patient as I had spent five months in Germany and wished to see other countries.  My friend and I then went to Holland and worked at the Wilhelmenia General Hospital.  My friend met a young man and remained there for two years.   I left Holland after three months and then spent the next three months at Perugia University in Italy learning Italian.  I then took a ship from Rotterdam to London, where I joined three of the original group to sail home, via the Panama Canal, on the sister ship of the one on which we sailed to Britain. 
 
I have not forgotten my time in Germany nor the sense of fear among staff members , like my orderly, who were escaped persons.
 
I WAS THERE
 
 
D M A Scharp
May 2017