Birds have always been a part of my life.  As I recall my first bird was a budgie and I saw it hatch and grow into a very handsome blue male.  From that day onwards I have always had a pet bird usually a Budgie or a Canary.  These pets bring a unique blend of joy, companionship and gentle inspiration into daily life.  They act as a therapeutic, low maintenance companion that liven up a home with their vibrant whistle, chatter and personalities.
 
On the farm we bred budgies and supplied Frank at the pet shop, with a continuous supply of baby birds.  We had all kinds of birds, Ring-necked parrots, pheasants and at one time Peacocks – Sussan and Andrew. They loved looking at their reflections in cars and leaving their claw marks on the duco. Unfortunately we had to sell them for this reason.   Our Guinea Fowl were great at letting us know when danger was near.  We were regular visitors at the Euroa Poultry Auctions either buying birds or selling them.
 

​I remember one time I rescued a Galah, which fell out of it’s nest.  I raised him and one day he wanted his freedom so he flew up into the trees.  He would come back for regular feeds but eventually he flew away.  I was happy he had joined[i] his mob. This I know as one day I was walking across the paddock, when 3 Galahs flew by.  Naturally I called out Rocky and to my surprise one flew back to me,  just to let me know he was happy out in the wild.

This hobby was something my daughter could get involved with too.  She showed Australorp Bantams and her hen was Champion hen of the Benalla and Wangaratta Shows. ​

I once knew a Priest who had the strangest outlook on life.

He told me his life was all H M D. I had no idea what H M D was, so I asked him, “Is that a disease, drugs, or an illness, or what.

His answer was “Yes, all of the above”.  I was confused. “Our lives are pretty much the same” he said.

I asked him if he could explain more of what he was talking about.

So he told me what H M D stood for, and how we are all the same.

Hatch, Match and Despatch.

We all Hatch as in being born. We are all Matched to someone, as in we get married, or spend our life with a partner, eventually we are all Despatched.

This was the Priest’s occupation. He performed Christenings, he Married people and he would perform Funerals. Hatch Match and Despatch.

We are all born, we get married, we devote, or spend our lives together with someone, and we all Die.

What a strange outlook on life.

So why are we here, when we are born, we are a great pleasure, most of the time, for someone.

We get married and spend the rest of our lives, or theirs, with them, most of the time.

Eventually we die, this is not so much a great pleasure, most of the time, for someone.

If we weren’t born, then no one would have been gifted with this great pleasure, then there wouldn’t be any weddings, and if we weren’t born, then we wouldn’t die, so no one would be upset or sorry to have to go to our funerals.

Thing is, we are born, we meet that special person and spend time with them, then we die. Why?

Life is so confusing, sure when we are born, it makes so many people happy, because they were born before us and that’s life.

We get married, most of the time, that’s life. We die, all of us, that’s life. Part of living is dying. So why are we here.

It’s to make so many people happy when we are born. We marry, hopefully that makes a lot of people happy. We die, that makes a lot of people sad and unhappy. Most of the time.

As we go through our lives, we go through all sorts of stuff, we are happy and we are sad, at different times. We fight and argue, we go to war and kill each other, we destroy the lives, the infrastructure, the beautiful structures that so many people over the years have built for us that come along later.

We also have the good times, our holidays, our travels, our own families, the pictures and recordings, the memories that we spend so much time talking about. It’s all in the past though.

What about the future, we make plans, we take out life insurance, so that the kids we brought into this world won’t be robbed of their hard earnt money. because we are all going to die.

Again, I ask, why are we even here, for this short life?

The answer is simple.
​
It’s to keep the Priests around the world in a job.
 
Tom Barnaby
February 2026 

This topic was triggered by comments from friends and acquaintances around me. Most of the comments are “You have such a busy life, when do you get time to relax!!”.
 
I guess that as a retired and senior gentleman and being a little ADHD (hyperactive), I don’t like sitting still for extended periods.
 
So, in retirement I tend to “fill in the days with activities” such as walking, cycling, shopping, golfing, visiting kids, U3A, and more.   After all the social interaction I am happy to go home later in the afternoon, relax with a nice glass of wine or two and prepare for dinner while watching game shows on TV and also the BAD news!!
 
On reflection I remember always being busy during my life.  When living in Melbourne, for instance, we always rose early and went for a walk for 30 minutes, came home, showered and had a breakfast before heading off to work at 7.00 in the morning. 
 
My work always involved meetings with clients, cold calling new clients, coffees and lunches plus many corporate events, before coming home early evening to have dinner with the family and prepare kids for bed, read books to them and also attend any activities that they were involved in such as ballet and music, footy and rowing.
 
During that time, I worked as a salesperson in a business development role. Every time I commenced a new job — usually every three years or so — my enthusiasm would begin to wane once there were enough sales coming through the door to provide a good commission. This did not stimulate me.   

​I also undertook another job to top up the income while building the client base. This was in Home Loans which involved phone calls, meetings with clients after hours, preparing loan documents, submitting these for approval and dealing with referrers and banks.
 
So, my ability to sit quietly was never developed, mainly due to my self-diagnosed ADHD, which also gave me some challenges during flying training.
 
When Karin and I both retired we moved to the country in Northern Victoria.  We would walk for hours every day to fill in time, enjoy the nature reserves and get lots of exercise.
 
Following on from these activities, I spent a great deal of time trying to locate Karin when she went walking on her own due to her Dementia.
 
When Karin was in the Nursing Home, I took up golf again.  This provided me with the opportunity to exercise, hit a ball to relieve frustrations, enjoy the fresh air plus play in competitions and meet new friends and companions.
 
Again, the idea of filling in the days with meaningful activities and keeping active was paramount in keeping my mental health in good shape!   I also attended meetings for the carers of partners with dementia which gave us all a platform to be heard and supported.
 
So, in conjunction with the daily activities, I also enjoy looking after my general health.

All in all, I have had a busy life and will continue to do so, with a view to seeing my grandchildren grow up and lead busy productive lives along with the life’s journeys of my two children, Bek and Josh.
 
“Keep moving” they say - I will always do so.
 
James Davey
February 2026
 
PS. To add to my “busy life”, our convenor (Bev) encouraged me to volunteer to convene a course for Social Golf!!!

When I was seven, my mother gave me a book about Troy and its discovery. The hero of the book was Heinrich Schliemann, a German businessman and amateur archaeologist. Convinced that Homer’s Iliad was based on history and that Troy did indeed exist, he used his wealth to excavate Pinarbasi, a municipality in Turkey. There he found the remnants of a city which he claimed to be Troy. An iconic photograph of the find is the photo of his wife wearing “Trojan” jewels. ​

Later archaeologist criticised him for his destructive excavating methods and proved that Pinarbasi could not be Troy.
  
Unlike the book I was gifted, this introduction does not do credit to Schliemann the man and his discovery, nor the influence it had on me. Courtesy of that book I announced that “when I grew up”, I would become an archaeologist. My mother took me at my word. The reality however is that I imagined archaeological digs as the treasure hunt that always delivered, a bit like scavenging through op. shops.

As we all know, archaeology actually involves backbreaking work, scrupulous documenting of fragmented finds and the reality that the Troys of this world are few and far between. It requires the sort of patience and meticulousness that I have never possessed and never will.

Despite this, by the age of eighteen, I had acquired a healthy collection of books on archaeology and archaeologists and when it came to enrol at University I initially applied for “Archaeology” at Sydney University. Life at home was too comfortable for that adventure, so instead I majored in Latin and Greek at Melbourne University, de rigueur I thought for any aspiring archaeologist.

I was hopeless, and should have been failed, but somehow always scraped through. I sometimes cynically wondered whether it was the shortage of students that saw me plough through. Combined second and third year, honours and pass filled a tiny room. That said, it was a fabulous department, though today I could not read either language to save my life.

Emerging as a graduate with a BA in the classics, teaching seemed the only option, and that option limited to schools like Xavier College and Methodist Ladies College, where I did my teaching rounds.

I was persuaded to finish my Dip. Ed. despite being aware that prostitution was a better option than fronting a classroom. I was no teacher. Clutching my Dip. Ed., I applied for a job at the Presbyterian Bookroom running the children’s section.

I knew nothing about children’s books of course, and I hate to think the mess I left behind. At some stage, I was also given a catalogue of religious books, Schocken Books, and in one glorious afternoon blew the budget of the theology section. They were very forgiving. My year at the Presbyterian Bookroom is one that I remember with great fondness.

I resigned from the Bookroom  because my father, horrified at the thought that I would spend my life as a shop assistant, offered to pay for me to do a Dip. Lib. He would also support me for the year. My parents were by then well and truly divorced. My father had remarried and living in Canada. I suspect that the angst was father’s and the solution his wife’s. For this I am eternally  grateful as my Dip. Lib gave me a dream life: getting paid to work with books. Nor could I have done my two bookshops without my background in librarianship.

However, I have no idea how my father felt when I gave up librarianship to become  a bookseller.

So here we have it. Had it not been for the book on Schliemann, I would never have chosen to study the classics at university. Who knows what subjects I would have selected instead and where they would have led. 

 
Delfina Manor
February ‘25

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heinrich_Schliemann

Project Gutenberg link to E-Book - 'Troy and Its Remains: A narrative of researches and discoveries made on the site of Ilium, and in the Trojan Plain.  By Dr Henry Schliemann.  Translated with the Author's Sanction'.​accessed 16 Feb 2025

Let me take you back 70 plus years and describe “this uncomplicated life”.

Growing up on a farm post WW2 was totally uncomplicated, in that for the first 4 years you were looked after, fed and bathed and clothed, no stress, especially as the oldest child!

When I was 4 years old, I was given the opportunity to drive our little Fergie 28 while my father was spraying the thistles and ragwort, so we had a clean pasture for the cows to eat and produce milk.

At the same age I learnt to put the cups on the cows, and we had our favourite cows such s Nugget and Beech. We went to school at 5 years in a small farming community school (Upper Atiamuri PS).  There were 100 pupils initially, reduced to 60 when the local maori kids were sent to the Atiamuri school.

Life at school was uncomplicated, reading writing and Arithmetic (maths, times tables) plus lots of outdoor activities such as marbles, long ball (played on a football paddock with baseball bat and tennis ball). We played rugby against the local rural schools nearby and cricket too. Girls played netball and I think softball.

We were disciplined severely and received a strap if we had an incorrect spelling and any other “bad” behaviour. This discipline did not impact us into the future in any way, but we learned appropriate behaviour for any interaction in the society at the time.

At home similar expectations in that we had jobs to do on the farm, milking cows, calving, feeding calves, lambing, feeding orphaned lambs, especially before I was 10.

At 12 years I used to take the cream cans to the farm gate for the truck to pick up, I learned to use farm equipment on the tractor, including hay rake, mower and baler. We also picked up hay and stacked into the barn, crutched sheep, learned to shear sheep, pack wool and helped to load this to the truck (by hand!!)

In those days until I was 18 and left home there was NO internet or digital technology. We actually read books, played outside, collected birds’ eggs from our bush, went trout fishing on local rivers by myself, shooting rabbits by myself and other pests and game.

We first had TV when I was 12 years old. We were only allowed to watch one program at night, and this was “Bonanza” a popular cowboy program of the time. Wow, life was uncomplicated!

Many years later I was a salesperson in the IT industry, selling the early IBM PCs to businesses the onto early networks and then complicated wide area networks and management of complicated IT infrastructure for the Melbourne corporate and Government companies and departments.

We were early users of mobile phones (not land lines) and although this was complicating life we learned as we went! Today kids are born into a very complicated , intricate digital world and their brains must absorb all this very early, not a simple one learning experience at a time…

Give me the uncomplicated life in my retirement….. It’s all mine!!!


James Davey
​February 2025

​"Our Lucky Break"

My son and I planned a working bee in the early hours of Sunday morning in a bid to avoid the heat of the day. We were clearing out an under-utilised shed, in a bid to store a hot rod and a vintage car. Over the years the shed had accumulated a few wasp nests, and a lot of panic weed which blows in from Moodie’s Swamp Wildlife Reserve.

We had removed a few bucketloads full, placing it in a hole where it could be burnt over the following winter. Coming back to give the shed a final rake, my son noticed smoke coming from the edge of the swamp.  It was a bad day with a strong Northerly wind and 36 degrees, so it sparked a bit of panic. Gavin rang 000 to report the fire and I rang young Tom to bring the tanker, which had been converted from a milk tanker to a firefighting unit. The CFA was instructed to enter on the swamp side, as the fire was heading across to the Tocumwal Road. With our tanker, we had our side under control. Not one CFA tanker took our advice, and every tanker arrived on the upwind side and had to be diverted.

Parks Victoria was notified and arrived fairly quickly, instructing their Parks crew as well as the CFA group where to position themselves.  A spotter plane and two helicopters arrived,  filling their tanks in tandem from our waterholes, where thankfully there were no trees to cause safety concerns. By this time, there were numerous privately owned fire fighting units arriving to help defend on our house side. We could not see how far the fire had progressed in the swamp because of the amount of smoke.

As private landholders, we were not allowed to go onto Parks Land, but remained tending to some trees that had caught fire on our side. My son Darren had arrived with the loader and pushed over a dry tree that was alight.  He asked Parks could he remove a dead tree on the boundary that was alight very high up from the ground, but was told he could not go onto Parks Land. Parks Victoria had by now arrived with the low loader and a bulldozer to scrape a firebreak, and attempted to remove the tree in question. The dozer driver gave the tree a few nudges, but the tree stubbornly remained. He dug around the roots, and still could not loosen it enough. By this times it was alight near the very top, and if it had fallen it would have started another fire, in an unburnt area.

Darren asked again if he could push it over and he was given permission. By lifting the front-end forks as high as it would go, and tilting the top of the frame, he got high enough on the trunk to give the tree a good shake, and then gradually got enough purchase to topple the tree so that it could be extinguished.

The fire did not burn very many acres in the swamp, due to the dampness from the previous year. But it was certainly a warning to surrounding landholders just what could happen. It is a safety hazard that we are used to living with, but luck was with us, with the direction of the wind protecting our assets. How the fire started is a mystery. But we believe that it was combustion caused by a bale of hay catching alight when the extra dry material was placed on top.

​
Kathy Beattie
February 2025

Reviewing my submissions over the past three years, my life appears to have been a series of disasters, though not all of my own making.
 
It began with memories of being knocked over and carried out into the ocean by a huge wave, saved by a nearby swimmer who hauled me out. Then continues in farming country in the south west of WA where I had kids setting off fireworks under my horse, causing it to bolt and run headfirst into a truck on the highway. I had a lucky escape when my attempts to stop the truck with my hands caused me to be tossed aside into a ditch with minor injuries.
 
Of course I have experienced bushfires, gone through evacuations and been shaken to the core by an earthquake. I’ve been stranded beside a dry riverbed after our vehicle broke down. Had a close encounter with a large croc, which resulted in the tour guide driving his old land rover over to me so I could climb onto the roof rack, from my rock, to be taken to safety.
 
All eye-opening experiences, especially for a person relatively new to Australia. However, these experiences had a significant effect on my life, making me more aware of my environment and able to create solutions to situations.
 
In later years I travelled quite a bit, which was a great adventure but of course, being me, it also led to new disasters. The cruise ship I was on broke moorings whilst we were ashore in South Africa. Plus, my working holiday in the UK led me to a variety of escapes. I couldn’t even go to the bank without getting caught up in a robbery. I remember sitting on the floor watching thieves with guns before being rescued by a rather handsome London bobby. I guess all disasters have their upside.
 
Random bombings were still an issue in London, and I managed to cause chaos there. Having had a lovely afternoon tea with my aunts, we were heading home when I realized the new shoes I had purchased had been left on the seat in the café. We returned for me to retrieve them but were stopped by the bomb squad who had evacuated the said café. A suspicious package they said, they secured it, examined it, and uncovered my new shoes!!!!!! We decided discretion was the better option, sneaking away feeling very guilty and embarrassed. A valuable lesson learned. Later I discovered a suspicious package myself after chatting to a sweet old lady at a railway station. She left her shopping bag, and I was going to take it to the station master till I saw the wires, timer etc. Yikes. Reported it and evacuated the area as instructed. The grand finale of the holiday was the bomb that destroyed a building and left us trapped under rubble for 14 hours.
 
Now safely in Australia, yeah right. One aircraft suffered multiple engine failures; another ran off the end of the runway. The disasters keep coming. Perhaps to be the subject of another memoir…
 

Heather Hartland
​February 2025

This topic really ignited memories of our journey for the past 7 years.

We were comfortably living in our family home of 18 years in Mt Waverley, when in late 2016, in December, I went to the dentist for the annual checkup.

Whilst doing the normal oral check the dentist discovered a lump in the roof of my mouth and asked “What is this?” I responded and said that it was probably a result of eating something really hot and having burnt the roof of my mouth! She said that she wasn’t happy with the lump and referred me to an Oral Pathologist to do a biopsy and check.

Three weeks later, in early January (4th to be exact, my father’s birthday!!), I received a call from the Oral Surgeon who had done the biopsy, advising that the results were “low grade Muco Epidermoid Carcinoma”. He apologised and said unfortunately he couldn’t do the operation to remove the tumour as he was going to Japan Skiing in January!

He referred me to Royal Melbourne Hospital Oral and Maxillofacial Surgery (OMFS) team.

This was the start of my cancer journey…

However, prior to going for the operation on the 16th February 2017, we were going to attend an Auction for a 2-bedroom apartment, in South Yarra.  

I said to my partner, “Given that I am having a major operation to remove a cancer and don’t know whether I will require further treatment such as Chemotherapy or Radiation therapy as a follow up, do I take the checkbook?”

My partner said, “Take the checkbook!!”

So, we purchased our apartment.  I had the operation, and then had to focus on preparing our home for sale, clearing out 40 years of our ‘stuff’ and putting it into storage. All this happened, we sold our larger home and settled into and renovated our new home…. Busy, busy...

We lived in this 65 SqM apartment for 5-years, in the meantime purchasing a 2-acre block of land in Northern Victoria to tidy up and use as a weekender away from the central city environment.

So, we moved from our apartment, selling this. 

We eventually placed a small cabin on the block, cleared the block up of 20 years of rubbish, and moved there.

So--we moved from 24 squares to 9 squares and now 4 squares (a one BR relocatable dwelling on 2 acres).

This was our ‘Downsizing’ life! 

Another journey was on the way, but this is for another time….

 
James Davey
October 2023

Heather Wallace
​October 2023

​I have been fortunate to have grown up and lived in small rural communities for over 55 years of my life thus far. The early experiences in small communities shaped my broader attitude to life and fellow community members.  Whilst I did leave the smaller communities for the ‘big smoke’ to further my career ambitions, I have always kept in mind the community spirit and self-help co-operation that exists in the ‘bush’.

My father was a master builder, and whilst I had a very early grounding in the building industry, the corporate world paid a lot better, and there was no capital outlay. I have successfully managed multi-million dollar divisions of large international corporations.

Many of my management roles required me to restructure the organisation to return it to a profitable operation. This almost certainly required change management, in which over the years, I became very experienced. I always took the ‘carrot’ approach rather than the ‘stick’. Change management requires that you incentivise staff in order for the desired result to be achieved, and maintained.  These incentives may be a simple, “Thank you, great job”, or a more mercenary incentive of tangible rewards. In any case, all staff must feel like they are contributing equally to a better workplace environment.

In the years since my ‘retirement’ I have been able to inject some of this experience and expertise as, and when, required. Country people don’t appreciate those who go around boasting about their achievements, and I have been well aware of that. I tend to maintain a low profile until I see a situation progressing into an area that may cause some adverse consequences for the organisation, or the broader community. This is where I will generally make a quiet suggestion to key decision makers of the community, to consider what the consequences may be if they do not ensure that the benefits will flow to the broader membership, not just a few selfish, self-centred individuals.

On 1st January 2012 the whole structure of regulations surrounding community organisations changed.  The new Government regulations placed volunteers under the same regulations and work place requirements as paid employees, or workers as they were described in the legislative changes. One of the hardest aspects of this change was to have the mind set of longer term community volunteers accept the new regulations. I have however, been reasonably successful in bringing about change, which will serve our community organisations into the future. One of these organisations was the Country Fire Authority.

​
Barry O’Connor.
2nd October 2023

THIS

​The Morris Family Tree recently ticked over 8,000 relatives and one cameo appearance of a second cousin, twice removed, caught my fancy.  At its core is altruism, but not quite Carmyl's daring do of a "dead hero".

Sarah Elizabeth WALKER, known as Craigie, Birrdhawa Country, in the nascent country of Australia in 1904.  Craigie, boasting a school and nothing else, is a farming area 22km from Bombala.  Juxta-positioned near the Black - Allen Line, and on the Monaro Highway, the main route from NSW to Victoria.

Her paternal grandfather was a convict and the only picture of her mother, coming from strong Wesleyan stock, is of her touching a bible.  One strongly suspects her mother's influence, coupled with the mores of the day, made religion a central part of Sarah's life.

Her father, from Sydney, leased land at Craigie and the propinquity theory of marriage holds true, meeting and marrying her mother Clara in 1893 in Bombala.  Whatever the circumstances, Sarah found herself in Sydney as a house maid, later meeting and marrying Ernest DANIELS in 1924.

From 1928, Sarah resided at 16 McFarland Road, Merrylands, now a conurbanised suburb, 25Km west of Sydney.  They had one child, James, born in 1926.  Ernest, a chiar maker, died in 1943 and Sadie did not remarry.

The only information about her life in Merrylands is gleaned from a plaque honouring her.  She and her husband were active and well respected in the community, a meaningless statement with no sources or activities cited.  She was renowned for her fine needlewrk beading and her love of writing, including poety and religious verse.

Sadie dies on 4th November 1981 at 16 McFarland Road, Merrylands and leaves no other mark of her life until the reading of her will.

Sadie bequeaths 16 McFarland Road, now in the middle of the shopping precinct, to Holroyd Municipal Council to be used as an open space for the elderly.  James, her son, does not receive his cadastral inheritance.  One would need to be Sherlock Holmes to fathom the reasons, so it remains tacit.

The bequest's reasons probably has its genesis in the tenuous religious thead previously mentioned.  Did Sadie in her older years have the foresight to see a need for the elderly, and now for all comers?  Perhaps.  The land was developed as an open space in 1985 and refurbished in 2011 to a functional rest area, 'Sarah Daniels Court'.

Today 16 McFarland Road is opposite the vast Stocklands Shopping Complex and 220m from Merrylands Railway Station and Bus Terminus.  Well done, Sadie.  
​

Graeme Morris
​October 2022

Obituary of Heather

As an unofficial historian I would like to try and give an essence of Heather.

Heather was always optimistic.  Tolerant of human beings, she didn’t judge people harshly. Well not openly, out loud. She was friendly to a large proportion of the population.

In turn, Heather was liked by most people who met her. She had a fairly full social life, belonged to many groups and fitted well into the wider community. She would have had a mitigating effect if any of her groups showed signs of extreme behaviour. Always quick to laugh, she could always easily defuse a tricky situation.

Heather started life living in a house the King Valley side of the cutting. This was quite a crude house. It did not enjoy many amenities. The inside was not fully lined. It had a limited supply of cold water. Heather enjoyed living here. This house is nestled in between the River and the Hill.  It is close to both. She claimed she could go into the bush whenever she wanted. She might have done this in secret. But most likely she would have done it with her siblings and relatives of which she had lots.

In time her family moved about two miles down the road to the house that is still in the family. This house was on 30 acres and close to the river. You could always hear the river at night. A clearing sale was held on the day they moved in. They had already purchased the property. The clearing sale was in the afternoon. They slept in the house that night. They had to move quickly because there were 20 cows to be milked twice every day. The cows came with the property. In time they also kept pigs. The pigs were the responsibility of Heather’s mother.  Both her mother and father milked the cows, but her father worked off the farm as much as possible as an agricultural labourer or casual worker in industry.

Heather’s Father was Scottish. His name was Tom. He came from Paisley. Tom wasn’t hollywood Scottish. He never wore a kilt. He admitted however to having a connection with Robbie Burns and his family had kept intact a pair of Burn’s breeks. Tom had had a privileged upbringing until the time his mother broke with his father. The father was a serious drinker and was inclined to go on benders which lasted sometimes for weeks. Tom’s sympathies were with his mother. The family breakup however meant Tom’s life changed forever. The business which gave them a comfortable living came to an abrupt end. Tom had to leave school before school leaving age and get a job. In later life he would recall in detail how much he had loved school and how much he missed school. How he sometimes would stand outside the school and watch the pupils going in. Tom could quote Shakespeare. He could quote Wordsworth. Tom’s family did not get back together and in time it was decided that he would come to Australia and join his relatives in the King Valley. He came to Melbourne by boat and then train to King Valley. He claimed the train journey from Wangaratta to King Valley lasted approximately the same time as the journey from Melbourne to Wangaratta. The train stopped at all 12 stations. Sometimes for an hour.

Heather’s mother belonged to a musical family. Her name was Edith, but she was called Edie. There was a Laffy family band composed of Edie’s father, two brothers, and sister, but Edie never sang with the band. She sang solo songs which highlighted her voice. Her singing career went on long after the Laffy family band split up. She would often be asked to sing at public occasions. She would sometimes take part in talent quests run by the local radio station. All her relatives and friends would listen with interest when this happened. A vinyl record was made of one of her appearances.

Heather did not always get on with her mother. She once ran away from home, or more correctly rode away on her bike. She took refuge with her Aunt and came extolling a list of complaints. The middle verandah had to be swept. The kitchen floor needed to be washed. The beds had to be made and she was expected to do it all. Quickly, however, Edie was notified, and the conversation turned to how fast Heather had ridden. She had travelled 8 miles in an hour. How fast was she going?

Heather had a full working life until she got married and she then became a full-time housewife. She was good at this occupation. Excelled at it even. She got on well with her husband David and in time they raised two well-adjusted children. David and Heather had many adventures. David had several careers in various industries. Heather always supported him. It can be stated that Heather and David were soul mates. They appreciated each other in the deepest sense. If any marriage can be described as successful, then theirs can. This wasn’t all David’s fault. Heather had a hand in it as well.

In late middle age during a bout of illness Heather gave up smoking cold turkey. She had been a reasonably heavy smoker quite attached to the joys of smoking. She was never tempted to revert.

Heather was always generous to her relatives and friends. She always welcomed people to visit, was always accommodating if people wanted a meal or to stay the night. This was her strength. It was not always openly appreciated but it was always understood. It’s a cliché, but if anyone was generous to a fault, then Heather would qualify…

 
Neville Gibb
October 2022

I have never lived anywhere longer than nine years.

As Dad was badly affected by his experiences in the war, he needed to work outside so got farm work in the UK. A cottage was a part of his wages.

We moved around several farms before the big adventure, we came to Australia to start a new life. We started in the South-West of W.A. in a small mill town, then moved to a nearby regional town. Then up to the hills area North of Perth.

Then, after a brief period in the city my family settled in Mandurah, a coastal town South of Perth. They settled I didn’t.

I had left school and was working, so I moved to the big city. I boarded, I shared flats; I got live in jobs; I moved a lot.

I headed off on a cruise back to the UK to reunite with family. In the UK I lived with one Aunt, then another, then a rooming house whilst I worked and travelled.

Another cruise and I was home in Australia again.

I joined the RAAF which meant, once again, I was off and moving.  I lived in all states of Australia, some multiple times and somewhere along the line, got married and moved out of on base rooms to a house.

Even after leaving the RAAF, we just kept moving following new opportunities until settling here in Benalla (for now!!!!!).


Heather Hartland,
October 2022

Two little boys.  

Both boys aged 5 and three quarters, living on opposite sides of the globe, both born in the latter half of 1948.
​
One little boy dressed in his finest by his mum, sent out with a hug and a kiss to experience the world. That day he would see the Queen and excitedly have much to tell his mum returning to her open arms. This little boy would have a story read by his dad before dropping fast asleep, feeling very special.
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On the other side of the world, the other little boy, would be dressed in majesty. He would already know that he was Special but would not wake to a hug from his mum nor fall asleep after a story from his dad. In fact his mum and dad were also on the other side of the world, waving at that other little boy. The Special little boy would fall asleep alone, wondering if he was really special after all.

These two boys, travelling similar paths, would be surprised as to how their lives would mirror.  They would both tail-end their secondary education with an empowering experience of outdoor training and confidence building. Traversing tertiary education, which highlighted their strengths and deficits, they would be drawn to the natural and built environment, and ultimately be led to the realization that an academic career was not to be their calling. They would both become public advocates experiencing derision and criticism, yet growing stronger through the process.

These two young men would marry and ultimately divorce. They would know love and heart break. Each would celebrate the birth of two sons who in turn would present to their fathers, five glorious grandchildren.

The two sons of each father would be nurtured with strong values and high self-esteem. They would confidently and individually create a place in the world reflecting their skills, passions and inheritance. Yet each of the sons would be impacted by loss and grief, for that which was and what might have been.

These sons would also carry a legacy from their fathers’ mistakes and missteps and discover the loneliness that is part of the human condition. Through a cauldron of emotions they would affirm their individual paths, leaving almost irreconcilable differences between the individual brothers. And their fathers would watch at times immobilized by an acknowledgement that a father’s words and responses offered no salve or comfort.

It is now 2022. These two young boys are now well into their 70’s. Grey-haired and with faces grooved deeply by the tread marks of time, both living a faith deepened by experience, having left behind the burden of creeds, dogmatism and ideology. They have become clearer as to what is important but at times struggle with their own vulnerabilities and idiosyncrasies.  Self doubt does not evade them, yet they appear to move confidently ahead, acknowledging love, friendships and the companionship of fellow travelers. Rejoicing and grateful for the gifts they have received.   


Graham Jensen
​October 2022

I’m not superstitious, but the number thirteen crops up remarkably often in my life. A lot of people dodge thirteen, consider it unlucky, but I think of it as my lucky number.
 
Firstly, I remember passing my last year 12 subject, Modern History, on 13th January, back in the days when the results came out in the daily paper (The Argus if I remember correctly.) I’d never been very fond of the subject and had a teacher who didn’t really make it an exciting subject.
 
I passed my driver’s licence on the 13th of March. I was so nervous. Cars back in the 60’s were manual, and traffic signals were given by hand, rain, hail or shine. The hand brake start was tested on the railway station ramp.  I had one of the strictest police in Benalla that day, with the reputation of regularly failing people. All good!  I passed.
 
We were married on the 13th of February. It was a humid sticky day threatening to storm. However, it held off till the photos were taken outside the church and the last guests were inside the reception, then it bucketed down. Luckily it cleared by the time we came outside again.  It must have been a lucky day as we are still together after 60+ years.
 
Our first grandchild was born on a thirteenth, an emergency caesarean, and a healthy baby.
 
On our visit to USA, we went out to Grand Canyon.  On seeing helicopter flights available over the canyon, we decided it would be the best way to see it.  This was very exciting, having never been in one before. On alighting we did the touristy thing and had our photos taken beside the helicopter. On looking back at the photo later we were amazed to see it was Number 13. I bet a lot of people dodged that one!  Also, on the plane trip back to Vegas, we had seats 12, 13 and 14.
 
The only raffle I can remember winning was Number 13. It was at the first Camellia Society Christmas party.  Ray was asked to draw the winning ticket.  Imagine our embarrassment when he drew my ticket!
 
On a humorous note, a farming acquaintance of ours bought a new farm ute. His wife, a rather superstitious woman, warned him not to get 13 in the number plate. He duly arrived home with the new ute to be greeted with “I told you not to get 13 on the number plate”. It was ABC148, which added up to 13. I hope it didn’t bring them any bad luck!
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Margaret Nelson

I sat on my favourite chair churning through Geraldine Brooks’ new book, ‘Horse’.
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I’d fixed up the emails, made the soup and seized the book. There were still a number of things on my Wednesday list but I should be able to fit in a couple of chapters before lunch called.

Tempted to start just one more chapter, I said out loud, ‘That’s enough Carmyl. Do something!’ and suddenly I knew what my memoir topic would be.

When I was at primary school, I didn’t have a deadline to get out of bed. But I did have an inverted deadline. No reading before 7 o’clock. We had no clock in our bedroom so I’d call out, ‘Is it 7 o’clock yet?’ My mother would reply from the next bedroom, ‘Not yet’. Eventually the magic hour would come and out came the latest library book. I always seemed to get to school on time so I guess I did fly around after I’d whipped through a few chapters, but there’s a very special place in my memory for, ‘Is it 7 o’clock yet?’

When I was about eight, my mother produced a book which she suggested I read. I couldn’t remember any other book that had been thrust upon me but I was quite open to anything with a cover and pages to turn. Its name was The Cradle Ship and I found out some time later that it was supposed to cover any sex education needs. It started with plants and moved on to insects and animals with a small closing chapter on humans and I found it quite uninteresting and certainly didn’t get any message it was intended to convey.
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On to High School. I can hardly believe it as I was always a very obedient student except on the odd occasion I took it upon myself to correct the teacher, but one day, in year 8, I was reading a book under the desk when the teacher came along and confiscated it. It was all the more embarrassing as its title was ‘Always Love’. The fact that it was a Sunday School prize and far from a hot romance didn’t seem quite appropriate to explain at the time.

I delayed joining the CAE book group at Tallangatta because of the yearly fee at a time of our lives when money wasn’t plentiful, but after a year I decided it was a priority. I realised that the group forced me into reading books I wouldn’t normally choose.

My favourite authors include Barbara Kingsolver, Tracey Chevalier and especially Geraldine Brooks. A few of these books are non-fiction but many of the others are historical fiction, based on real events or people and discovering which parts are true is a bonus.

The brilliant Benalla library and its ability to order virtually any book you ask for has sufficed my appetite for now and I have resisted rejoining a book group.

I am so grateful for books and the learning, the comfort and the joy they have brought to my life.


Carmyl Winkler

​​It is with some regret that I admit to having lived 90 years with the feeling of envy.  Envy that I never experienced the love of a mother or the enjoyment of a family life with my five siblings.
 
I was the youngest of the family and my mother died when I was 4 years old.
 
My father was an alcoholic and his sisters determined that he could not adequately care for his family.
 
Consequently my 6 years old brother, Basil, and I were packed off to Villa Maria in Ballarat East. I always regarded Villa as a home for the disadvantaged, even though it was gazetted as a boys’ boarding school.
 
We both remained until grade 8 when we received our “Merit Certificates”. We had not enjoyed our time at Villa. The nuns, the Sisters of Mercy, did not live up to the title of “mercy”.
 
School holidays were spent with Uncle Ned and Aunty Mary Caine at Swanwater. Mary was Dad’s sister, but never showed us any affection. On the other hand, Uncle Ned was a loving man.
 
On receiving my Merit Certificate in 1944 I was deemed to be too small to enter the work force and, living at Caine’s, went to the Swanwater North State school to re-do grade 8 and sit for a scholarship. I was successful and the scholarship entitled me to tutorial and accommodation at St. Patrick’s College, also in Ballarat, where I obtained my “Leaving Certificate”.
 
On leaving the college, I got a job with the Stock and Station firm of Victorian Producers Co-Op (VPC). My first posting was to Benalla, where I became acquainted with the Hernan family, comprising John and Francie and their 7 children. They gave me the “home” which I had never known. Also, the Elliots, who put on a “surprise” birthday party for me on my 21st.
 
I worked for 17 years with the VPC, spent at Benalla (1950 - 1955) St.Arnaud (1955 - 1958) Wodonga (1958 - 1961)  Melbourne Head Office (1961 - 1963) Benalla (1963 - 1967).
 
In St. Arnaud and Wodonga I boarded in hotels.  I succumbed to the ready availability of alcohol and, to my detriment, became a regular drinker. However, I retained my strong work ethic.
 
On the bright side, I joined the Wodonga Bowling Club and have been a lawn bowler, now, for over 60 years.
 
While in Melbourne I was reunited with my older brother John.  I lived the happiest years of my life, up till then, with John and his family.  The exception was that  I suffered multiple internal injuries, a depressed fracture of the skull and brain damage in a motor accident. I still bear the scars.
 
On returning to Benalla, I became re-acquainted with Bernadette and married her in 1967.  We built our own home and raised 4 wonderful children who all graduated at university and are now successful in their chosen fields. We have 11 grandchildren.
 
Now I have the family life which I sorely missed as a child.

From the early to mid 70s, Bernadette and I fostered an infant relative who'd lost her mother to cancer.  We were heart broken some years later when her father remarried and claimed her.
 
In 1967 I changed jobs, and, after intensive study, I entered a business partnership as a Chartered Accountant. The partnership survived a fraudulent office manager, and the 1993 floods, and prospered.
 
In 1971 Bernadette and I purchased the Benalla Coin Laundrette as an extension to our business interests. We sold it in 1988 after an interesting 17 years.  In 1986 we, together with four other parties, formed the River Gums Estate syndicate which developed and sold 150 residential blocks in the south-eastern corner of Benalla.
 
Regrettably, in the 1970s I mourned the deaths of my two best friends, Kevin Hernan and Bill Keenan.
 
I retired from business in the year 2000 and became more intense in my community involvement, resulting in an Order of Australia Medal in the Queen’s Birthday Honours list of 2013, “For service to the community of Benalla”.
 
Over a lifetime we have enjoyed holidays and travel in every state and territory of Australia.  In retirement we went on 6 Pacific Island and New Zealand cruises and travelled overseas to the British Isles, Europe, Scandinavia and St. Petersburg.
 
I continued my involvement with the Benalla bowling club, where I am a “life member”, and the Rotary Club where I am a “Paul Harris Fellow” and an “honorary member”.
 
U3A and Probus have played important roles in my retirement, and I am gradually easing out.
 
In May 2022 I celebrated my 90th birthday and now I relax in contentment, and am constantly aware of, and accept, my own mortality.
 
It has, indeed, been a long - and fulfilling - life.
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Ray O’Shannessy      
September 2022

​There are some things that become indelibly burnt into your brain. Like the towering green bull bar of a greenfreight log truck coming at you on a sharp bend of a mountain road; or the huge legs and paws of a polar bear sweeping it along as it races across the snow at your sledge. Although they are memories that will live with me forever they were quickly dealt with, therefore not really a matter of courage.

It’s the insidiously little things that lurk in the back of your mind. One of my first memories is my sister saying that she was frightened of heights. I know that for me it’s not natural to be uncertain of my ability to handle heights. Its irrational learnt behaviour and I don’t know when it will strike.

It came into my adult life unexpectedly.  After a freezing cold night camped in Victoria’s high Alps we were sitting in the sunshine on top of a range they call ‘The Crosscut Saw.’ It was just a narrow path with a drop on either side. I was happy, until I stood up and froze on the spot. My companions said “How did she get up here, if she can’t get down?” It was irrational.
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Irrational fear of heights presents itself suddenly when balance and confidence are required, like having to walk carefully across a narrow plank to board a ship that is anchored on the far side of another.

At Oban in Scotland, the tide had gone out and it wasn’t possible to use the gangway to board the ship. They called up to me from about three metres down in the bows, “You will have to Jump.”  There was no time to think, just do it and land like a baby elephant.

But be careful of what you say, it will come back to haunt you.  In North East Greenland I was known as an experienced dog sledge traveller, but the rot set in when I travelled with Jonas Pike. He was a lithe young hunter with a good team and he could place those dogs anywhere.

I made the mistake of telling him that his sledge was a magic carpet and for the next week he did his best to prove it. We would stop for our lunch break on the top of a small island frozen in the pack ice of the Greenland Sea or beside a steep drop onto the fjord below. The other sledges would be facing the path down again, but Jonas’s team and sledge would be facing a cliff.  “Why aren’t you eating all your lunch?” I would answer that I was not really hungry!

When we leave Jonas leaps onto the back of the sledge to balance it. The dogs need no urging, they have no fear of heights. With a sudden burst of speed they propel themselves joyfully out over the edge. Bodies tense and twisting in mid air, tails held out for balance, legs and feet reaching for the snow below.  The fast moving sledge is propelled horizontally until gravity takes over and we glide down behind them. Paws taking hold and the dogs are away, racing downhill.  
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One memorable occasion occurred when we were going to board a helicopter that was out on the sea ice. “Bev, go with Ziggy.” I get on the back of the skidoo and he heads for the cliff edge! He stops and says “I don’t think I can do that.” That was close!


Bev Morton
October 2021

There are so many photographs!  Where to start?  With a goal of adding at least one photo to ancestry.com a day I have found myself immersing myself in the lives of two great aunts, ‘Auntie Beat’ (b 1872) and ‘Auntie Min’ (b 1877).  

​‘Auntie Beat’, my eldest maternal great aunt, never married, looking after her parents until they died, then living with nieces and nephews’ families until she passed away.  My only memory of Aunty Beat is peeping into a bungalow to see her while holidaying with an aunt who was caring for her not long before she died.  Two recent finds - a beautiful carte de visite from the early to mid 1880's in a battered album of the day and a loose photo, on the back of which is written ‘Beatrice Hooper – the eldest’.  A dressmaker, Beat is wearing a dark trimmed check dress, standing in front of a rose bush.  It was probably taken in the early 1900’s.  Photographs found in her scrapbook which suggest that she may have travelled with a theatre company to New Zealand.  While most of her younger sisters were dancers with J C Williamson’s, perhaps, being a dressmaker, she was in the wardrobe department?  There is a wonderful photo of Beat playing cards with a group of friends, another in an outfit suggesting she may have been a suffragette! ​

I now feel quite ‘resolved’ about the representation of Auntie Beat’s page on ancestry which now includes photos across her life span, including some in which she appears to be enjoying time spent travelling with friends. ​

‘Aunty Min!’ Do you have a person in public life in your family tree who other relatives all lay claim to?  ‘Auntie Min’ is that person in our family.   Family stories of her abound across the generations.  ‘Auntie Min’, my grandmother’s older sister Minnie Hooper, became quite famous as a choreographer and ballet mistress for JC Williamson and is remembered for having taught Robert Helpmann to dance.  While I have many photos of Auntie Min, until my visit to the farm last weekend they were almost all quite theatrical, revealing little of her life. 

I’d met Auntie Min when visiting Sydney as a child and remember her as a rather serious woman of considerable wealth who lived in a house looking over Sydney Harbour which had a path down to a private boat ramp.  I remember her son, John Rose, as being quite eccentric.  John was always described by my mother as a change of life baby, born after Min’s husband, Ernest Rose, then aged 51, had already had a stroke. 

Family research revealed that Min, who had married ‘Uncle Ern’ at 20, had two little boys who only lived for a few months during her twenties, followed by decades working in the theatre, before having a baby, John, at aged 46.  John was born with a disability which affected his development, and Min’s beloved husband died at 59 when John was 8 years old leaving her to care for John. Janette’s envelope for Auntie Min contains portraits of Uncle Ern pasted on a textured card and a portrait of John in early adulthood. 

​The photo in the envelope which somehow provides a deeper glimpse into their lives is a photo of Min and Ern sitting together, reading material in their hands.  Ern appears to be convalescing.  It is an evocative photo in which Min looks less severe than I remember her in latter years.  

​Adding this photo, and the portraits of Ern and John, to their profiles on ancestry a day or two ago, ‘rounded off’ my ‘time travels’ with Auntie Min’s family—at least for the moment. 
  
With Covid moving from pandemic to endemic, I’m likely to continue to lead a quiet life.  Underlying chronic illnesses have already impacted on my capacity to travel to places in which my ancestors lived to find out more, and now Covid! 

However, I can always resort to time travelling!


Beverley Lee
October 2021