A BEAUTY TO BEHOLD

PILOT STEAMER "CAPTAIN COOK"

First impressions are often lasting. The first impression of Sydney that hundreds of thousands of passengers on ships arriving off Sydney Heads received was the very beautiful Pilot Steamer "CAPTAIN COOK" coming out to meet their ship and to put the Pilot aboard to bring their ship into the glorious haven that is Sydney Harbour.

In the following photo, "CAPTAIN COOK" is seen again at her mooring in Watson's Bay. She had a remarkable elegance of line and was only rivalled in elegance by the Steam Yacht           "LADY HOPETOUN" (built and launched in 1902) intended for Vice-regal use. She is still in existence and owned by the Sydney Heritage Fleet  and is hired out commercially for Harbour cruises.

                                              Steam Yacht "LADY HOPETOUN" 
                                              at festive occasion on the Harbour,     
                                                           off Farm Cove

Sadly , "CAPTAIN COOK" did not enjoy the same fate.  she was the third Pilot Steamer of that name.She had, despite her Victorian era appearance been launched in 1939 on the eve of the War and saw service through that incredibly busy period on the Harbour until well after the war when in 1959 She was replaced by three double ended Diesel powered cutters. The Harbour is the poorer for her loss, for, not content with de-commissioning her, the authorities had her sunk off the Heads

BEEN THERE - BEEN DONE BY THAT, TWICE!

Originally posted 12th March, 2011.

To-day with my dear wife,I went to the movies. We saw "THE COMPANY MEN". Here is the link to the Trailer which does not adequately reflect it powerful dramatic impact :

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pie66GR63Fc

Without hesitation I urge you to see it. It is very much a story of our times - the shedding of activities and employees by major companies seeking to ride out difficult times. Along the way , we are shown the degrading effects of being "let go" , of family and personal degradation by the rolling consequences of lost position and status. And interestingly and very accurately, we are shown how tough it is even for small business operators to stay afloat in hard times. We are still feeling the "crush of the wagon wheels"which a Wyoming Jesuit once hoped I would avoid.

The acting and direction are brilliant, the whole being very tightly managed and free of unnecessary theatrics, making it so much more effective.

Having been twice a victim of such a situation, though with very different backgrounds, I found the movie very realistic, and telling. In fact, afterwards I could scarcely talk about it without being moved to tears. Go! See it! Please, for my sake and yours - these are uncertain times.You may begin to understand.

I thank God someone has made this movie , and with such integrity.

THROUGH MANY DANGERS

S.PIETRO

"Through many dangers, toils and snares...
we have already come.
T'was Grace that brought us safe thus far...
and Grace will lead us home.

The Lord has promised good to me...
His word my hope secures.
He will my shield and portion be...
as long as life endures."

Extract from the Spiritual " AMAZING GRACE"

The music at our Parish Church is usually fraught with all manner of risks from Marty Haug's horrors to the St.Louis Jesuits equally trivial offerings. But this morning we were treated to "Amazing Grace"with a few gratuitous trills thrown in. Nevertheless, though not suitable as Liturgical music its peculiar power holds.

 I thought the above two verses especially  helpful considering life's sometimes trying vicissitudes and God's constant, generous Providence despite our repeated failings. How blessed beyond measure we are to receive Our Lord in Holy Communion and His forgiveness in the Sacrament of Penance. 

Even on the Battlefield He comes to the Soldier-
his"..shield and portion as long as life endures"..

"DEO GRATIAS"

1950s CHILDHOOD - SOCIAL REALITIES - WORLD WAR I

MOTHER'S MATE CALLS

I have tried to identify the point in my life at which I began to take the family, community and national memory of World War I seriously , so far without success. Perhaps in writing this post I shall stumble across it.

My earliest memories of the "idea"of the first World War are of images of rather absurd looking flickering figures walking in a jolting fashion in odd uniforms. There was always at my Grandma Dixon's  house among the large depressing photo portraits around the Lounge Room wall a young soldier, left profile ,eyes raised slightly as if gazing on some distant scene. I believe his name was Patrick Boyd and that he was my Grandma Dixon's brother who died in 1919,just after the War.The family spoke as if he had died because of the War, I have yet to prove that.I wonder now if his death had any influence on my Grandad's later heavy drinking and brutish behaviour.There was never any talk of him serving in that War.

Then too, I saw in many places War Memorials, most small with names I came to realise were the dead , inscribed below, and surmounted by a soldier standing at attention and resting on arms reversed , and in the heart of Sydney City the solemn Cenotaph which I always had learned to respect

SYDNEY CENOTAPH  DAWN SERVICE  ANZAC DAY

Even in my early teens,  as other histories more remote came to  attract my reading attention, World War I seemed to strike a stubborn streak in my mind - it was boring, old-fashioned, irrelevant. Perhaps this had something to do with the fact that my early years were spent in the midst of World War II still the great reality of my early teens, filling movie houses, books, magazines . Maybe it made World War I seem as it did. 

Do you know? I think writing in order to think something through, works. That was obviously it. 

Off on my first visit to Canberra ,the National Capital in  1957/58.
The diesel railcar set was the latest thing operating as the Canberra-Monaro Express.
Rail fans of the time spoke of its speed as low flying! Lol! I doubt it passed 80 mph.

But as time went on,WWII 's colours began to fade, and I visited our Nation's Capital Canberra for the first time. There I visited the great War Memorial, which at the time was still principally concentrating on World War I in its magnificent displays.Now, I began to understand the terrible reality of that "War to end all Wars", and what it had meant to the infant Australia and the World.

AUSTRALIAN WAR MEMORIAL, CANBERRA

Australia lost 61,966 Military Deaths or 1.38% of her total population of 4.5 millions at the time.
United States 116,708    "            "       "  0.13%  "  "     "            "        "  92        "       "   "    "  .

That visit drew the veil away ,the psychological barrier in my mind ,and I came at last  to rationally think  about the Great War. I was then about 17 and working for the Solicitor for Railways . I travelled to Canberra on my Railway Employee's once a year free Pass. I got more value out of that journey than I could have hoped for.

As the years have gone by, with the advent of television and growing publishing interest in World War I and then the arrival of the Internet ( how blessed we are to live in the Internet era!) my interest has grown and grown. And I have discovered Private Billy Wilson , my maternal Grandmother's brother , whom I knew had called his beautiful young sister "Doll's eyes", was blown to pieces at Armentieres.

And as if by magic, young Australians and older ones, are flocking to Anzac Day Services around the World each year in GROWING numbers at Gallipoli, Villers Bretonneux and now Fromelles. Just as I have , over the years come alive to that great tragedy,and its significance, so have many others and their children and their children's children.

Truly, of those who gave their lives, it can be said::

                                   'THEIR NAME LIVETH FOR EVERMORE"

" WITH JOYFUL STRENGTH WE MOVE"

St.Benedict's Church Broadway,Sydney

Sunday Mass -it is necessarily the hub around which the wheel of Catholic religious observance turns, and, through a longish life the source of so much spiritual nourishment and growth ( and it must be said, the occasional spiritual, and devotional disturbance).

As my devoted reader will know, my wife and I now live in the Sacred Heart Parish at Pymble on Sydney's "leafy North Shore"as the papers accurately love to call it. The church there is "modern"with the Blessed Sacrament reserved off to one side and the Celebrant the focus of attention enthroned behind the Altar under the hanging crucifix which survived from the grand old Spanish Mission style Church out on the Pacific Highway. The latter had become untenable due to Highway traffic, and the modern replacement across the road is hidden from the Highway by being dug into the hillside and further obscured by trees - removed from sight it claims no attention , gives no witness before the passing throngs.

Anyway, this Sunday there was only one Parish Mass to be celebrated on the School Oval . My wife and I decided this was not likely to be conducive to devotion Accordingly we elected to attend the 10.30 am Solemn Mass at St Benedict's Broadway. In any case, we will be attending Mass out of the Parish at least once a month on account of the abysmal music at the monthly "Family Mass", leaving the "HAR LAY, HAR LAY HAR LAY LOOOO YARRS" and whining smarmy American songs to others whose musical development has been arrested by them. 

St. Benedict's as it originally existed.

St Benedicts is a W.A.Pugin designed Church. Originally it was somewhat longer than it is to-day. In 1948, the traffic on the Great Western Road (now more prosaically called Parrramatta Road) had grown so much that the Road had to be widened and that was done at the expense of St.Benedict's.

The legendary Father Terry Purcell

The delightful Organ of St.Benedict's which, along with the peal of Bells(gift of Father Purcell) do much to complement worship in this grand church. 

For many years through the dangerous period of the post-Conciliar turmoil, St.Benedict's was preserved largely intact by the redoubtable , famed and much-loved Father Terry Purcell  ,a holy and wholly orthodox Catholic Priest, who kept at his post despite trendy inclined Ordinaries and in later years the great cross of the loss of his sight. Better times came in due course, when George Pell became Archbishop of Sydney in 2001. Father Purcell went to his reward in 2007. In the ensuing years, the adjoining school buildings became a Campus of Notre Dame University and pastoral need began to swirl vigorously about St. Benedict's once again. Cardinal Pell had the right man for the job. He is Father Michael de Stoop a young, athletic , holy and devout Priest of undoubted Orthodoxy and much loved by Parishoners wherever he has gone  be it Liverpool, the Cathedral or St. Benedict's. He is the author of a widely distributed book "The Gift of Confession". He is quietly-spoken and his homilies are solid and delivered without theatrics. His celebration of Holy Mass is deeply devout and exemplary in every respect.

Father Michael de Stoop Administrator of St. Benedict's.

Cardinal Pell - who recognised the potential of St.Benedict's and its location.

The liturgical East interior (true North) of St.Benedict's

Are you surprised? We came away with joy in ou hearts for a Holy Mass "actively participated in" from our place in the pews with delightful Gregorian Chant ( Missa Orbis Factor) from the small but impressive choir, glad of the professional and unobtrusive servers , the warm tones of the Organ, the welcoming peal of the bells, and a good holy Priest. - the Catholic Church "semper reformanda'- yes! - but well on her way here at least and sure of her identity as ever . Thanks be to God for this opportunity to participate and to receive Him in Holy Communion.


The are many stories surrounding the church and the personalities and I hope to return to them soon.

A BOUQUET OF MOTHERS

A BOUQUET OF MOTHERS

My Dad's Mum - Eleanor Margaret "Mag"Dixon - taken 1911

My dear wife Robyn,with our  three children : Marianne, Justine and Matthew at Mount Wilson - Autumn  1980 (?)

My dear Mum Elsie Georgina Beckmann (R) and her Mum Louisa Beckmann (Standing) with Grandad Edward Beckmann and sisters Charlotte (L) and Ernestine "Kate" (centre) in 1910 - 1911

Our daughter Justine with 2 mths premature son Daniel (born 1st June, 2009) now a charmer & picture of robust  good health

Here I am surrounded by a pictorial  bouquet of Mothers !( I think "bouquet"is a suitable collective noun for a group of Mothers!) Each one of them I have had the privilege and joy to share my life with, and each one has been a remarkable example of love and kindness in action, even in the gravest difficulty. The pictures are in no particular order. Obviously the first Mother I knew was my very own dear Mum,who led a life of self- sacrifice , love and loyalty in the most adverse circumstances.Her love was generous and kind, never in the least demanding. 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, to-day.

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 to-day.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 blood line 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.

MY DAD AND NOW IT IS TWENTY FIVE YEARS

AND NOW IT IS TWENTY FIVE YEARS

TWENTY YEARS HAVE PASSED 

JOHN JOSEPH DIXON (L of Photo) around 1911
WITH HIS MOTHER, ALBERT (R)
AND BABY BROTHER BILL WHOM DAD GREATLY ADMIRED

To-day , Friday 11th May, 2012 is the Twentieth Anniversary of my Father's death just three weeks short of his 85th Birthday. He survived the death of my Mother by almost 21 years .

Sent to work at age 11 years in a metal foundry, he had a pretty tough life.

HERE, IN 1927 DAD LOOKS LIKE THE TYPICAL YOUNG BANKER OR CIVIL SERVANT
WHICH HE WAS NOT, HE ALWAYS WORKED IN BLUE COLLAR OCCUPATIONS

His life experience together with his local social network, made him a lifelong Labor Party voter. He persevered in this even after he said he was convinced that the Labor Party was riddled with Communists whom he despised - he just could not bring himself to desert the "working class party". And in fact he did see the world and the nation in those Victorian era Class terms.

My Dad was born a Catholic and educated in a Convent School, but for long periods did not practise his religion. Yet when his "kind eyes"won the heart of Miss Elsie Georgina Beckmann a petite and beautiful,modest girl from a devout Evangelical Protestant family , he required that they be properly married in the Catholic Church. Miss Beckmann was instructed in the Faith and duly became a Catholic, and they were married in 1927.

To-day's cynicism might suggest that he was being hypocritical. But in those days people were honest about doing wrong  - he knew it was wrong not to practise his religion, but he also knew that there are absolutes of such importance that you don't abuse them : he would notbetray his Religion, even if he did not practise it - that Truth was bound to him for life.

When I was born, Dad was 32 years old ,he was never unkind to me, but not outgoing or physically demonstrative of his love. ( The Poet James Macauley writes powerfully of his own Father's inability to physically express any affection.) He worked on the construction of the great Garden Island Graving Dock, for the Navy. This was a protected employment category, which stopped him being sent on labour battalions to Darwin when he received the call-up. He could not be in the regular forces because of faulty eyesight resulting from an accident at the Foundry when he was about 13 yrs old.

As I grew up, all my interests were largely alien to my Dad except Politics, and even then we were on opposite sides of the fence!Only after many years did  I hear that Dad was very proud of my progress in Banking  and in other areas and used to regale his regular drinking mates at the hotel in Lidcombe with my latest efforts. We almost never got to talk at any length on  any subject , conversation being limited to brief exchanges of statements never pressed too far lest the heavy crunch of disagreement should wreck things.

In my twenties and thirties , I could perceive all my Father's faults with clinical efficiency, whilst making every allowance for any tendency  to deficiency on my own part. As the years went by my Dad evolved, particularly after he came to see the devastating effect on my Mum's fragile mental health following a Hysterectomy. He came to see in time how cruel was the effect of stubborn,sullen silences - sometimes lasting 3 days - over some exaggerated "offence", on someone so vulnerable. He was transformed.

He also returned to the practise of the Faith which was very pleasing to see and took great delight in his three grandchildren, Marianne, Justine and Matthew and never ceased urging me to look after my wife!

But still he could not freely and easily communicate either emotions or ideas.Whether or not this disability stemmed from the treatment he received from his brutish and drunkard Father, I cannot say for sure, but if I were a betting man......

Dad's later years were plagued by troubles with his heart - suffering from an "enlarged heart"which caused recurring build-ups of fluid around the heart, these required repeated hospitalisation to relieve them but there could be no cure.

In fact he had just successfully completed one such routine and was about to be released when he suffered a heart attack and died. The Catholic Chaplain to the Auburn Hospital where Dad died was quickly on the spot to minister to  his poor body and pray for his soul. His name was Father Stephen Swift and I was most impressed by the card he left endorsed with all that needed to be done to ensure a proper Catholic burial - for he knew nothing of the family.

We were living in Brisbane at the time and I received a call from my Brother Pat telling me of Dad's death and saying that the Hospital  wanted to perform an autopsy. I was on the first plane down next morning and went straight to see the Doctor in Charge -  a young Asian gent. He was prompt to offer condolences and almost as prompt to proffer a form authorising an autopsy for signature. When I objected that they clearly knew the cause of death, and that  this was unnecessary, the form quickly disappeared into the pocket of his white coat. I informed him that after the long periods of my Dad's health problems, I did not want his body used for training purposes. This is a matter which I believe the Hospital handled very badly to say the least.

So John Joseph "Jack"Dixon I love you dearly and hope we have the opportunity to understand each other far better in Paradise.My prayers for the repose of your soul and of Mum's are daily made.

Posted 12th May 2012 by vexilla regis