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"Their
own pre-occupations” indeed.
I did not have
long to dwell on these subjects before I arrived home to some shocking news.
My Dad had
lost his eye to Glaucoma which is a buildup of fluid behind the eye. Nothing
had been said to me, no inkling of this was given by letter. Lest it should
cause me to return home! Or lest it should disturb my mind! What amazingly
selfless action on the part of my Mum and Dad, who in the first instance had
not wanted me to go. They had endured this traumatic event with their own quiet
stoicism. The event had been entirely sudden and without warning. Dad had been
riding his bike the several miles up to his work at Potts Hill Pumping Station
along the road toward Bankstown, one evening for the Night Shift. He had worked
at Potts Hill for many years since the War. It was then steam powered by
coal-fired boilers and he was an Engine Room Attendant - hot, dirty work. A
sudden stab of intense pain in the eye caused him to fall from his bike. He
thought a passing car had thrown up a stone and struck him. By sheer grit he
got himself to the Station where help was called and at the Hospital the Doctor
gave him the grim news. The operation was prompt - his left eye was gone-
replaced by a temporary glass eye, until a tailor made "eye" could be
prepared.
This permanent
eye had not been produced, when I arrived home, the whole trauma was not much
more than a week or so old.
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MY DEAR MUM & DAD A VERY INFORMAL PHOTO EARLY IN THE MORNING
ONCE ONE KNOWS THE DIFFERENCE AROUND DAD'S ARTIFICIAL EYE (HIS LEFT) CAN BE DISCERNED |
I have endless
admiration for the courage with which Dad dealt with this distressing
development. I never once heard him complain or ask for consideration in any
way, yet the disorientation, inconvenience and no doubt pain and discomfort
must have been immense. Jack Dixon was made of steely stuff!
Not many days
after arriving home, I was to receive another shock. I said to Mum and Dad that
I had better go around the block into Third Avenue and visit Grandma's house
(as we still called the former home of Dad's Mother who had died in 1948. I
wanted to see my maiden Aunt Nell (Ellen) and Dad's Brother Bill particularly.
Under the terms of Grandma's Will, the house was to be a home for the two
unmarried people as well as Grandma's Brother Tom "Wingy" (for his
withered arm-result of a childhood accident) and Abby (Albert) who, for all his
constant presence in the family in my childhood days, I do not understand his
relationship. Dad's Mother only had two children, my Dad and his younger
brother Bill. Her husband, my Grandfather was a sometimes violent alcoholic and
had not lived in the family home for years. Grandma had taken in a number of
"strays" including her brother Tom, Abby, my maiden Aunt Nell
(daughter of Grandma's other Brother Jack whose wife had died giving birth to
Nell - during or after the First World War he re-married to an English woman
who would have nothing to do with the daughter of his first wife) Grandma also
took in two sisters Thelma (Joan) and Anne who were relatives in some way, but
from the country- around Goulburn I think.
But I digress
(in grand style!) So I walked around to the old house at 34 Third Avenue. It
was a rambling old 1890's house built in several stages. I was chatting to Nell
in the kitchen, when in walked Abby. I was appalled and horrified to see that
there was in his neck a large hole. When he breathed or attempted to speak, the
most ghastly noises resulted. I felt physically sick, my mind was reeling. The
poor fellow had of course had one of those distressing cancer of the throat
operation which normally result in the person adopting the wearing of a special
cravat. He was not the most sensitive of souls, and had not yet been convinced
of that necessity, though he was to do so not long after.
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1911 MY GRANDMA DIXON WITH MYDAD ON THE LEFT AND POOR ABBY ON THE RIGHT
DAD'S ONLY SIBLING, HIS YOUNGER BROTHER BILL IS ON GRANDMA'S KNEE
WHO ABBY WAS I DO NOT KNOW |
here was no
way I could "stay calm and carry on”, I could not get out of the place
quickly enough and tried to make some pathetic excuse as I left. Not one of my
more glorious moments.
When I got
home, Mum and Dad were mortified that in all our pre-occupation with our own
problems, they had forgotten to forewarn me.
Plainly,
others had greater and more traumatic problems than I had.
As the days
passed the question of what I should now do came sharply into focus. Having
planned and hoped for so many years to work directly for the Saviour of the
World, all other things seemed like so much dross- all equally mundane and
unimportant. But that was my choice. I wanted time to sort things out. But Mum
and Dad were concerned that this would result in mere brooding and advocated
that I should promptly seek work. The euphemistically titled "gap
year" had yet to be invented. We could not have afforded it in any case!
At the end of
junior High School (Third Year in 1954) along with all my Classmates, I had
undergone the State Government’s Vocational Guidance testing. This was obviously a fruit
of the new "scientific age" and the limitless ambitions of modern Psychology,
which, naively accepted, did so much to destroy many Religious Orders in the
post Conciliar turmoil.
So I did all
the marvelous scientific Rohrsach tests etc. staring into images of colored
circles to see what numbers I could discern, all the multiple choice questions
and so on. I don't think we got to examining the entrails of animals- perhaps
there wasn't time. Then I answered all the "cleverly designed"
questions about what I would do if, and what I would choose if, to covertly discern
my inclinations etc., etc. And, having laboured mightily, with careful
analysis, the highly qualified Psychologist delivered himself of my Report and
the judgment that I was suited, to "Arts, Law and Economics......really anything
that you choose."
The wonders of
Science!
My family had
always voted Labor and so I had been brought up with an admiration for the
Federal Government and particularly, Prime Ministers Curtain and then Ben
Chifley. And occasional exposure to Frank Capra movies only reinforced those attitudes.
On my own account, I had developed an admiration for the then Prime Minister
the Liberal Sir Robert Menzies.All of this, led to me in my immaturity,
thinking that it would be good to work for the Federal Government. So I
applied, sat for the examination, and was accepted and then appointed to the
bureau of Statistics!!! NOTHING COULD HAVE BEEN LESS APPEALING. Sure, it was
adequately paid, secure and all that, but it was soul-destroying and brain
deadening and the published seniority lists rubbed in my face the vast numbers
of people who would have to resign, retire or die before I could move up
thousands of them.
The Bureau of
Statistics was located near or perhaps in the same building as the large
DYMOCKS bookshop still in the same premises in George Street, Sydney, between
King and Market Streets. My co-workers consisted of two Greek chaps in their
forties, one quiet and pleasant, the other goggle eyed, sex-obsessed and
bitterly anti-Catholic. There was also a fat young Anglo fellow who considered
himself a free thinker, but that did not seem to have been to any great
purpose. The boss was a mustachioed ex-Army War veteran whom the others (
behind his back )regarded as a fool , and his contempt for them was pretty
clear. I was on at train to nowhere.
I had
gradually decided that I wanted to be a Lawyer and preferably a Barrister. This
seemed to be a way to do good, to argue for what was right and to defend the
innocent and all that. But my family could not afford to send me to University.
At the same
time, my Dad recalled a friendship with a gentleman he greatly revered. A real
gentleman that is, not abusing the term in any way. Mr. Howsley Farnsworth to
whom I was introduced by Dad, was a very Senior Executive in the New South
Wales Department of Railways administration.(The Railways have, in the
intervening years undergone numerous ludicrous name changes and organizational
changes, to give the appearance of real progress.)
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| RAILWAY HOUSE YORK STREET ABOVE WYNYARD STATION WHICH ALSO EXTENDS UNDER THE PARK IN THE FOREGROUND - IT WAS KNOWN AS "THE GREEN HOUSE"FOR OBVIOUS REASONS |
The result of
this happy introduction was that I was appointed to a clerical position in the
Solicitor for Railways office in the Green House above Wynyard Station in the
heart of the City.
The Solicitor
for Railways was one Sydney Burke, not an endearing character, and there were
about 16 solicitors in the Office supported by about16 other solicitors,
supported by about 12 Legal Secretaries and
5 clerks of whom I was the least. I had found a "home" , or so
it seemed.
She was the ideal example of her Father's philosophy that love and respect go hand in hand: if you have not got love you will show no respect, if you show no respect, you have no love. Grandad hit the nail on the head, and my dear Mum had absorbed the lesson and lived it out.
Next, I got to know my Grandma Dixon who lived on the next block one street behind us. Hers was also a tough life coping with a difficult husband and who gave herself to helping many human strays in the family orbit. She was very loving in her treatment of me and in early primary school days I used to walk home via Grandma's place, where she would always be seated on the verandah - waiting for me with a One Shilling piece( with its Merino Sheep Head image on it) clutched in her hand which she gave to me for treats. I can still recall its warmth from her hand, today.
My Mum's Mother, Grandma Beckmann, was a very special lady too. She was more self - confident and outgoing within the family group than my Mum or Grandma Dixon and her love was open-hearted and generous, her hugs big and strong. She was totally devoted to her husband "Ted" Edward Beckmann and in the family circle, she would refer to him as "Daddy"( they had 9 children!). When I knew him his health was failing, and though she would firmly proclaim that "Daddy and I are going to live on into the (Biblical) Millenium", looking back, I can see her anxiety that he was slipping away. She was a wonderful example of love and affection and that, constant and reliable. She had had a tough life with never a lot of money around, and when some windfall occurred an adverse development would sweep it away. She suffered a lot for marrying a "German" especially in World War I as did the older girls, reproached for being "Germans".I recall her unconditional love of me, and those strong, generous hugs today. And, as she lay close to death in Hospital, I can recall her calling out "Mummy" - my Grandmother, at the end of her life - calling out for Her Mother!
Then we come to the full-colour Mums. My dear wife Robyn and those three beautiful children, what fun we had that day in the bracing air and rich autumn tones of Mount Wilson! What fun we have had over all the years - and how much of that is due to Robyn, loving loyal, devoted wife and Mother. I guess we have had more good times than all the predecessor Mothers and their families combined and yet we have had a ton of tough times, but Robyn has been a constant source of love and loyalty through thick and thin, and even thinner! No - one could ask for a better Wife or, the children, a better Mother.
The latest Mother in the family bloodline is our dear daughter Justine, Mother to Emily, Christopher, and Daniel. Words nearly fail me (nearly! I always have a few left!) As parents we could not be prouder of this thoroughly modern Mother. She is an exemplary model of love and devotion in effective action, handling even the strain of tiny Daniel's birth when this tiny literal handful of life seemed to us too fragile , she brought him to the fullness of healthy life with dedication and love, without skipping a beat in the care of Emily and Christopher and husband Paul. And like her paternal Grandmother, she is a stalwart strength for her parents.
So, Mothers of mine, I salute you and honour you, but most of all, I love you unfailingly.