"THE OLD SCHOOL TIE" FATHER JOHN O'NEILL

To-day, someone I regard highly asked "Who is Father John O'Neill?" or words to that effect.I was stunned but realised how quickly the years pass and the colours tend to fade. So I thought it might be helpful to re-post this item from 28th October 2011.

Subtitled "A story of survival in the tensions of the Catholic Church", it has obviously been written "con amore ". I can say that with gold-plated certainty because I count Father as a friend and I know his ardent love for the Church, even if the evidence of his life's work did not already demonstrate the fact.

The book is a novel, but everything in it happened in one way or another, even though the names have been changed, and some characters are the "telescoped" product of two personalities. Anyone who lived through the period the book re-creates will, as I did, immediately see through the delightfully altered names of people and places to recognize the Archdiocese of Sydney, St.Patrick's Seminary Manly that was, St. Columba's Minor Seminary, Springwood etc., etc. Anyone who loves the Catholic Church and its Priesthood will quickly come to read the book "con amore" also. It traces the journey to Priesthood of two best mates and schoolmates, and their encounter with the post-Conciliar false "spirit of the Council" rogues. the book is very special for me, not only because I know the author, but because I knew or knew of, many of the real characters.

Let us "taste and see":

Father Mark O'Brien has just arrived in Rome to commence post-graduate studies and comes to meet his best friend Father Harry Stuart whose studies are more advanced due to his arrival in Rome a couple of years earlier. Harry is talking to the Queensland Priest Father Greg Jenkins. The Second Vatican Council is continuing............"Greg Jenkins took great interest in the newcomer. Harry had spoken so much of his life-long friend, but always in glowing terms, and Jenkins wondered whether or not this Mark O'Brien was a candidate for canonization.

One free afternoon, Father Jenkins invited Father O'Brien to accompany him on a walking tour. They went across the Tiber and had spent a good while examining the Roman Forum when Jenkins decided it was coffee time. They found a nice place near the Colosseum. Mark was somewhat disappointed at the break in the tour- he was getting immersed in the history.

They settled at one of the little tables on the wide footpath, looking out across the ancient amphitheatre, Constantine's Arch and other surrounding remnants of past grandeur.

"What do you think of Rome?" asked Jenkins.

Mark smiled,"That hardly matters-I'm sure Rome won't be concerned what I think of her; but I love the place anyway."

"Anything in particular?"

"Well, of course, Peter and Paul are here, plus some other apostles-catacombs, remnants of the Empire. The Pope - should have mentioned him first" he laughed. Then there's the Council -biggest event in the Church for centuries."

"How are you going on the Council documents? "

"Read everything that,s released so far."

"You don't muck around, do you, Mark.

"Didn't come here to muck around, Greg."

Jenkins took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He offered Mark one. It was refused. But Mark told him to go ahead and have one.

Jenkins blew out the first cloud of smoke, then looked at Mark squarely. An enticing smile came over his face. Mark thought it looked too deliberate.

"If I may say so Mark, you and Harry are going to be quite a force back home."

Mark lowered his cup a little. "What makes you think so?"

"I've never met anyone like you two- you've got all the gifts. I think you're going to be a pair of giants."

Mark laughed once more. " Then we'd better make sure we don't put our feet in it," he said looking straight into Jenkins' eyes.

Jenkins' smooth smile re-appeared." That's very good " he said. I'd say each of you is going to make quite a splash."

" As long as what we do helps people and the Church," said Mark.

"The people are the Church," said Jenkins.

" Now that's a revelation - I thought the Church was just buildings," said Mark, looking at him squarely.

That smile was there again on Jenkins's face. "Sorry", he said, " I shouldn't be trying to teach you. It's just that I think the Church hasn't been taking enough notice of what the people are thinking. This Council's not going far enough."

"it's certainly going long enough", said Mark.

Jenkins gave a laugh, " Then you're getting a bit tired of all these Bishops around the place, eh?"

" I didn't say that. It's a tremendous event- I just think it could be a lot simpler."

" Everything's black and white with you, isn't it, Mark," said Jenkins through his smile.

Father John O'Neill - Tried and True

"If that means everything's clear, then yes."

"So we have all the answers, then."

"In the necessary things, yes."Jenkins' smile changed to a smirk. Mark's inherited Irish brow hardened. "If we haven't the basic answers to man's questions, then Christ is pointless," he said, almost glaring at Jenkins. " What's the use of God becoming man if He leaves us in our confusion, and our weakness.".........

The story continues and the divide between those seeing in the Church and the Council the hermeneutic of continuity as the only possibility, and those who chose a hermeneutic of rupture to secure their New Church opens before our eyes. Just as it happened. Jenkins by the way - the real man became a Queensland suffragan Bishop. But by the force of his personality, he became the "Godfather" of the Queensland bishops - and the wreckage of "Jenkins'" activity persists from Brisbane to Cairns.

Father John O'Neill is Parish Priest of Doonside in Parramatta Diocese, having survived the Episcopates of Cardinals Freeman and Clancy in Sydney, and then the all too vulnerable Bishop Bede Heather (resigned) and Bishop Kevin Manning (Emeritus, and now out of retirement to act as Apostolic Administrator of Wilcannia Forbes). Doonside is fortunate indeed.

Father's latest work is "BENJAMIN"available at http://www.connorcourt.com/catalog1/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=128

EVER THE OPTIMIST PART II ;OPTIMISM EVEN UNDER A CLOUD

PEACE ANNOUNCED IN SYDNEY 1945

So, we had despatched the Nazis and the Empire of Japan - PEACE - right? Well, sort of.  In Europe, those pesky, gloomy Russians were acting up, and their Communist cousins in Asia, China and North Korea, were keen for a fight.

Having just battled for years to make the world safe and free, the former Allies, though tired of struggle, were not about to see the entire effort brought to naught by the Communists.

But somehow we seemed, at least in some quarters, to lack the language to deal with the situation. After all, the Russians were our recent Allies! And every American academic and Hollywood producer LOVED China and the Chinese who had been "sold" to the Allied peoples as just so nice and right - they had been attacked by the Empire of Japan too, hadn't they?

WINSTON CHURCHILL DELIVERS "IRON CURTAIN" SPEECH

As so often in the past, Winston Churchill, now a rather older man than his years - he was 72 -  came to the rescue with his clear thinking and his mobilisation of the English language. On 5th March 1946 at Westminster College in Missouri in the USA, he gave a speech "The Sinews of Peace" in which he declared that an "IRON CURTAIN" had descended upon Europe dividing the free Western countries from the Russian-oppressed Eastern countries. As if scales had fallen from their eyes, the bewildered and politically-confused, and most Americans, now clearly saw that this was NOT Peace but in the words of American financier Bernard Baruch first used on 16th April 1947, it was "COLD WAR".The days of VICTORY hubris began to rapidly fade.

War did, in fact, break out again in Korea on 25th June 1950 when North Korea (backed by the Soviet Union and the by then Communist China invaded the Republic of Korea (South Korea) which was supported by the United Nations. Australia was actively involved in support of the U.N. with its Army, Navy and Air Force. Once again General Douglas MacArthur led the Allied Forces coming out of his role as post War "caesar" ruling defeated Japan in exemplary and impeccable fashion. After initial near-total success the invaders were outflanked and driven back in a brilliant and daring amphibious landing at Inchon.

GENERAL DOUGLAS MACARTHUR AT INCHON LANDING

This little optimist was coming to terms with the world slowly unfolding around him. I had clearly been aware of the Second World War. I know this not only because it must have been so, but because of specific memories. On the 15th August 1945 the older daughter of our neighbours across the street, Judith Dryden ran breathlessly across the street to our back door to announce that the War had ended. "I know that," said 5 years old me "That happened months ago" back flashed the correction: "NO. THAT was the Germans. Now the Japanese have surrendered - it is all over". Clearly, my grasp of the situation had been less than perfect.I had been well aware of the Japanese involvement in the War - I can also remember having been to the movies with Mum and Dad one evening and seeing a War film in which valiant American pilots were outwitting diabolically evil Japanese pilots. On this evening rather than catch the bus home as we normally did, we went to Lidcombe Station To catch the train. As we waited on a crowded Platform 4, a plane flew overhead with droning piston engines. Suddenly the movie experience led this little fellow to announce at the top of his voice"How'd you like a Jap up there with you?" .Mum and Dad were quick to hush me up after this embarrassing unpatriotic challenge! 

But steadily, I became aware of a new topic of conversation: the Atomic Bomb.

At first, it was simply the awesome means by which we had brought the Empire of Japan to its knees and surrender. But gradually, it came to be spoken of as a threat posed to us by the Russians, who were believed to have developed such a weapon also. The sight of its explosion and mushroom cloud was horrifying and magnified in our imaginations by the movie Newsreels. Yet .....surely this would never happen! But the media were ever happy to oblige with scare stories and Government soon obliged with advice on "what to do if" ....most of it rather pointless as later revelations would show. 

But life went on...and that, at a gathering pace of prosperity and modernity. Post War Australia quickly shook off the remains of World War II: the Labor Government was defeated in 1949, rationing of food and petrol was gradually lifted and gone by the end of 1950  (good riddance to the wretched Ration Books symbol of deprivation). During the War, Australia's export trade had suffered badly, but imports - mainly of war materials from the United States, had soared. The result was that after the War Australia had substantial US Dollar debts and imports from the United States were severely curtailed. I can recall being amazed when I saw a marvellous new 1948 Buick Straight Eight which I was told in hushed tones belonged to a Labor Party Senator, at a General Motors Dealership in the city - it was the first car I ever saw which had internal lights that came on automatically when the door opened. For some people US Dollars were available! But I can recall much talk about the shortage of U.S. Dollars. There was also much talk about "putting value back into the Pound" (this was of course pre Decimal Currency which did not arrive until 1966.) To-day we would laugh at anyone attempting to roll back inflation!

The day to day improvements in life in Australia in some way distracted us all from the dreadful thought of the Mushroom Cloud which might have overshadowed my optimism.

FIRST HOLY COMMUNION CLASS 1947 SURROUNDS OUR BELOVED FATHER CON DONOVAN

YOUR BORN OPTIMIST IS SECOND FROM THE LEFT IN THE FRONT ROW

But it was not only material improvement that was affecting my life but also Spiritual and educational factors that were involved. In 1947 I made my First Holy Communion and my life was forever changed - far more than I knew at the time. Heart and mind and spirit I belonged to Christ and have done and will do to the end of the way. Educationally, I finished my Primary Schooling at St.Peter Chanel's Convent School run by the Sisters of Saint Joseph. (Nuns were authentic Nuns and devout Catholics in those days.) and in 1950 commenced in Fifth Class at Marist Brothers High School, Lidcombe. I can't recall any of my fellow students being concerned about the Bomb - if they were, it was not deemed worth talking about.

There exists in Australia what is popularly known as the "she be" system.It comes from the expression "she'll be right" that is: no need to worry about (whatever) it will be OK". As should be obvious this is NOT a noble approach to many situations, it is not an admirable way of proceeding. But it has its uses - I guess it was able to deal with Atomic Bomb anxieties!

EVER THE OPTIMIST PART 1 CHILD OF THE GREAT CRUSADE

Baby me just returned from the shop in late 1940/early 1941.
"Where is that war they are all talking about?"

 If all the norms of gestation were fully operational, it would seem that my life began on or about 9th July 1939. Mid Winter in Australia, July  was to feature the lowest temperature of the year at 4 Degrees Celsius, yet only five months later the 12thDecember, 1939 was to be the hottest of the year -  39Degrees Celsius.

But on that day of my likely conception, things were already "hotting up" in Europe. On that day, in the Free City of Danzig (Gdansk), thousands of Nazis gathered and demonstrated against Polish rights in Danzig, they heard Gau Leiter Forster predict that the Fuhrer Adolph Hitler would soon "liberate "the Free City of Danzig. They wanted Poland to give up the right to store weapons and munitions at Westerplatte at the entrance to Danzig Harbour.

Some weeks later, upon the expiry of an English Ultimatum, which the Nazis ignored, England and France declared war on Germany with the avowed purpose of freeing Poland from the Nazi invasion which Hitler had launched on 1st September,1939 immediately after springing on the Allies the shock that he had concluded a Non-Aggression Treaty with the Soviet Union! Australia announced on the same day that, "as a consequence" of England's action, we were also at war with Germany. On 17th September the Soviets also launched an invasion of Poland from their side.

These early months of the War from the Allied side, became the cause of much derisive comment. Many were expecting much more activity, and the term "Sitzkrieg" was coined (referring to the Nazi side "Blitzkrieg" - more polite folk used the term "The Phoney War".

True, the French did launch an attack on the German SAAR coal-mining and Industrial heartland, but within days they had been pushed back.


But, if one lived in Poland, the war was deadly real, and the Polish forces were hopelessly outmatched by the Nazis. By October Poland had fallen - squeezed to death by the Nazis from the West and the Soviets from the East. those naive Left inclined folk in the Allied Countries and in America, who had thought of the Soviets as among the "good guys" were bitterly disillusioned as the Soviet Army stopped on their side of the Vistula to allow the Nazis to subjugate the Poles and with particular ferocity to deal with the Jewish population.

NURSE BIGNALL's "Hospital" at Lidcombe where I was born0n 9th April.1940.

Meanwhile, at around 5.00 pm on Tuesday 9th April, I was born. I suppose it could be argued that by that very fact I was joining the great crusade which the war had become. For it was a crusade of GOOD (us of course!) against EVIL (the Nazis of course). I was to be 5 years old when the War, very much expanded and all-consuming - had finished. But there was never a time in that childhood that I was ever left in any doubt that WE would win. After all, GOOD triumphs......doesn't it? But this was already the time of "careful the child might hear you". Did my parents have anxieties about the result of the War that they never communicated to me?

CENSORSHIP

There was in place strict security censorship of the limited Media of the day: Radio, Press, and Newsreel at the "Pictures" as we called the Movies.

For example, on the day I was born THE SYDNEY MORNING HERALD (then boasting it was in it's ONE HUNDRED AND NINTH YEAR OF PUBLICATION' and it cost Tuppence - two pennies in to-day's currency 1.66 cents ) carried this small item on Page 10. Pages 10 and 11 were primarily given over to War News:

"CENSORSHIP BAN  Ship at Honolulu FACTS BROADCAST BY B.B.C.

Canberra Monday

The Federal Cabinet will probably discuss the banning of all references in the newspapers to the departure of a certain ship from Honolulu. The arrival and departure of the ship was broadcast by the B.B.C. shortwave station, but nevertheless, censorship authorities in Australia prohibited any reference to the vessel. When the Prime Minister Mr. Menzies was asked whether he had any comment to make, he said that the Ministers would probably discuss censorship with particular reference to this question tomorrow."

It is an intriguing instance - the vessel was not the QUEEN ELIZABETH which was being converted to a troop carrier in New York. It being too early to be her.

 But there we have it - censorship in action, even if the paper was doing its best to challenge it. My parents did not take the SYDNEY MORNING HERALD but rather an evening Tabloid - so they would have been unlikely to see this little story.

QUEEN MARY AND QUEEN ELIZABETH PASS EXITING AND ENTERING SYDNEY HEADS 9thApril1941

But the task of censorship was not a simple thing when really big things were afoot! On my First Birthday, Sydney Harbour was the scene of something quite spectacular: in order to take tens of thousands of Australian troops to the war against the Nazis, Four of the largest Liners afloat entered Sydney Harbour on the same day. In peacetime, in those days, we would never have seen them - they were Liners NOT Cruise ships and their business was the trans-Atlantic passenger trade - they were QUEEN ELIZABETH 83,673 tons, QUEEN MARY 80.774 tons, AQUITANIA 45,647 tons and ILE DE FRANCE 43,153 tons.  By his marvelling repetition of their names, my Dad effectively drummed them into my brain over the coming years. But there was a double surprise for this TOP SECRET mission: over 100,000 people lined Sydney Heads and the foreshores to see the great "secret" spectacle. Of course, with so many thousands of soldiers under orders to ship out on the same day, everyone quickly got the message. On this occasion "loose lips, did NOT sink ships" since the speed of the Liners was too great for the submarines of the day.

The fact that the Empire of Japan had launched 70 Air attacks against the Port of Darwin in Australia's Northern Territory, between February 1942 and November 1943, did not become public knowledge until well after the War. That news had been censored.

So it is at least possible, that my parents did not consider defeat at all likely.

CATALOGUE OF WOES

Even so, the sledgehammer blows to allied confidence, which came in rapid succession and were reported, must have been heavily depressing :

in May-June 1940 the evacuation at Dunkirk

in June 1940 the fall of France

in May of 1941 the Loss of the "mighty" H.M.S. HOOD

in May-June, 1941 the fall of Greece and Crete

in July 1941 the fall of Syria and Lebanon

in December 1941 the fall of Tobruk

on 7th December 1941 devastating Japanese Attack on Pearl Harbor

on 10th December1941 the loss of Battleships H.M.S PRINCE OF WALES and REPULSE on their way to protect Singapore and the East

in February 1942, the fall of SINGAPORE

in August 1942, it seemed that Stalingrad would fall.

It was a catalogue of woes. Compensating actions such as the sinking of K.M.S. BISMARCK  and the success of the retreat from Dunkirk strangely metamorphosed into a type of moral victory, and the heroically defiant survival of Malta had significant psychological benefits, but there was no doubting who had the strategic upper hand.

BUT ON THE BRIGHTER SIDE

But for the little "born optimist" none of this disturbed my child-like tranquillity. In fact, major events continued even against the background of war preparations. Major events like my first visit to Santa Claus at Mark Foys - the "Catholic" Department Store in its Italianate building with its tiled external walls. The huge display windows were boarded up against possible air raid damage - I must have been told why -I was ever asking questions - but I cannot recall any anxiety at that. After all, I was to see SANTA!

20th December,1942 - Grandma Dixon firmly holding my hand. Note the Cloth Coat she is wearing and the hat and dress - older people, particularly those who saw themselves as Working Class  "dressed their age"1

SOME SUPPRESSED LAUGHTER ....AT MY EXPENSE!

                                                                      S.S. SOUTH STEYNE

In happier times, the largest of the Manly Ferries- S.S.South Steyne used to join the fleet of small craft following the Sydney - Hobart Yacht Race fleet each Boxing Day, 26th December annually, as the great yachts raced out of Sydney Harbour, through the Heads and out to sea heading South.

On one of those occasions in the early 1960s, with my best friend and now my brother-in-law Tony Hannon, I paid for my ticket and off we went on a brilliant Summer day. It is hard to describe the sheer spectacle and excitement of those occasions, the most amazing harbour in the world, many hundreds of small craft, and at the centre of it all the great yachts. They vary in size and achievement, but handicapping ensures a wide area of interest across the field.

Our trusty South Steyne had no trouble making her way through the hundreds of small craft and, a little way to the South outside the Heads, she hove to, allowing us to watch the passing parade. I had with me my PENTAX SLR Camera - very modern and moderately expensive, slung around my neck on its leather strap.I was wearing my Aviator style dark glasses- I preferred to think of them as General MacArthur glasses - but to take a photo, I whipped them off and stuck them in my shirt pocket. 

To get a better look to the South -following the leaders, I leant out and, as I did- following the laws of nature- the straps of the camera moved outward. Unhappily, in the process, they pulled my sunglasses out of my pocket and flicked them into the sea !! 

Instinctively, I reached out in a futile effort to retrieve them, only to see them zig-zag downwards through the first few feet of relatively clear water. As I did so, the opened leather camera case lid caught on the buckle of my belt causing ithe lid to ride up. This caused the figure of eight shaped hole that held the case's metal retaining stud to move up to the larger hole, detached the cover and it too fell into the sea and, because of its lighter, hollowed construction it floated mockingly in front of me, slowly filling with slurps of seawater.! 

Further instinctive moves toward retrieving it, were checked when I became conscious of a quaking of suppressed laughter all about me - quickly strangled for a time whenever I eye-balled any of the guilty parties. When I turned to Tony Hannon and saw he was having the greatest struggle of all, I, at last, began to appreciate the humour of the situation.

BEGAN to appreciate........I'm still working on the problem!

MY FATHER CRYING - WHAT COULD IT MEAN?

Seventy-one years ago today, my paternal Grandma died - at age Sixty - six years. Here is a Post from 2011 which relates what for Eight Years old me, was a sadly memorable event.

 My Dad John Joseph Dixon 

      at about the age I was that

morning 

                                                                      

His Mother Eleanor Margaret Dixon
  taken the same day as Dad above.

Friday, 20th August 1948:  I was asleep in my bed, just clear of the inward opening door of my bedroom at the front right-hand side (facing), of our two-bedroom timber cottage in Second Avenue Berala NSW. I was woken when the door opened hastily.

There stood my 41 years old Dad. A tumble of thoughts into my gathering consciousness: Dad doesn't wake me in the morning ( Shift work meant he was either at work or not long in from work and sleeping at this hour),  why was his hat crammed on his head in the house? and....... what! My Dad was crying..... what could this mean?  "You'd better get up quick Anth, Ma has died", and he sobbed even more. 

Turmoil. Mum was already up at Grandma's which was in Third avenue just behind us and a tad higher on the gentle hill. Up I got, dressed quickly, no breakfast and round the block we went. The 1900 vintage cream painted timber house, had originally been much smaller but had been added onto. Up the front steps into the hall and I was taken down to Mum who was busy holding the family together, consoling this one, calming that one, and meanwhile getting them fed. My maiden Aunt Nell who was a very good-hearted soul, but at that stage of her life very tense, afflicted with a bad stutter, suggested while Dad was there, that I should be taken into Grandma's room to see her body. 

You can perhaps imagine my horror - at eight years of age - at the suggestion. I had no experience of death and I had no desire to see the Grandma I loved so devotedly, and who loved me, in death. I would NOT go in.

 Dad was too absorbed in grief to intervene, but mercifully Mum came across, asked what the fuss was, saw my reaction and put an end to that idea. I can't remember the rest of the day.

The funeral was some days later leaving - after the Requiem Mass - from our Church-School - St. Peter Chanel's on the hill at Berala. My mind boggled at all the relatives and friends and fellow Parishioners - the Dixons were not the greatest Churchgoers( masterly understatement - I'm getting better at it!) , but in earlier times the wooden Church as well as the Convent, had been in Fourth Avenue behind Grandma's house  and there weren't many houses in those earlier days ,so " Mag. Dixon" was well known to the Nuns and to many Parishioners. That old wooden Church had been hauled up the hill to the new Parish location, by draught horses, sometime in the '20s or '30s, and was now the Parish Hall.

Grandma was 66 years old.

Dad's Father, Thomas James Dixon died on the 2nd August 1950. I had rarely seen him. He had left the family home many years before, had a major problem with drink, and was not a very endearing person (actually, I'm getting better at understatement !) He was 66 years old also - I had never realised the coincidence of their ages at death until a minute ago, when I came to write this!

Deaths in August were to become more common in the family for some reason as you will see if you bear with me.And, as it happened, when my dear Mum died in August 1971 she was also 66 years old.


Requiescant in Pace.

WHO ARE WE? AND WHO DO OTHERS THINK WE ARE?

1993 THE TOURIST -IN FLORENCE
IN PIAZZA DELLA SIGNORIA

In some ways, I suppose we are most ourselves in the eyes of others when we are little children. We are just little ..........   whoever. It is that simple. But within our own being, we are then not yet fully ourselves, because we are not free to say whatever we wish, and in fact, we do not yet have ideas or opinions on many, even most subjects.

Later as teenagers, we have strongly felt opinions or prejudices, sometimes ill-informed, but not at all times freely expressed. Our identity is gradually unfolding to the world like a  flower. Our sense of our own identity is powerful at this time. Others' sense of our identity will then depend on how successfully or completely we have negotiated the shoals of puberty. Most of our peers, being in just the same stage of confusion as we are at some stages, will think we are great or a "drag". Older folk will see the forming personality more readily and begin to react accordingly.

As we reach the stage of being a young man or woman, our identity, just completed, begins to be moulded by strong external influences, our equally mature peers, our studies, our vocation and or, employment. This effect works on how we see ourselves and how we are seen by others. To take exceptional cases, the young Sailor sees himself as just that and is likewise perceived as a Sailor. In the employment sphere, the young man or woman can come to identify themselves with the corporation which employs them. The Sailor is a NAVY man and affects to have no time for Soldiers/ the Army or Airmen/the Air Force. The Commonwealth Banker will affect to look down on The Westpac man. Others will come to identify the individual with that employment. ""Here comes the NAVY!" as he enters a social gathering. Or, "What has the Commonwealth Bank got to say for himself??"This phenomenon has even been publicly acknowledged in St.George Bank's TV Commercials, distinguishing its man as socially acceptable, whereas a mere "banker" was not.

With my beautiful Bride in 1970.

The Paterfamilias in 1976

More important than all of these for a man is his identity as a husband, father and grandfather, this is an enduring underpinning of the superstructure. .And it is itself ideally resting on the foundation of his relationship with God.



So, where am I going with this?


Well, in my time I have been:
the Catholic Schoolboy
the aspiring Seminarian
the Seminarian
the ex-Seminarian
the young Commonwealth Public Servant
the Solicitor for Railways young man
Mr Commonwealth Bank
the Man from United Dominions
The Man from the Banque Nationale de Paris
The Man from the Archdiocese of Brisbane
The Man from Ignatius Press
The Publisher of Foundation
The Queenslander
and always, through it all The Catholic

But all the employment identities are long since gone, and the question arises
then, what is my identity? At 71 years I am still The Catholic, The Husband, Father, Grandfather,

A few words from Grandad about Stephen Dixon's new gift Telescope.

Consoling Grandson Daniel Whiting at Christmas time 2010 after a fall off a ride-on vehicle.

the Publisher of FOUNDATION .the Queenslander,the Blogger of "VEXILLA REGIS"http://vexilla-regis.blogspot.com/, of" EDWARD BECKMANN "http://edwardbeckmann.blogspot.com/of "CONRADBECKMANNhttp://conradbeckmann.blogspot.com/
 of "CARL DOPMEYER"http://carldopmeyer.blogspot.com/ and, of course of this  Blog, "BUT NOUGHT".

But many things change as time rolls on. I shall be the Catholic, the Husband, the Father and the Grandfather until God calls me away. And I hope to be able to continue FOUNDATION for years yet and the same with the Blogging.I shall remain the Queenslander always in spirit, though in the coming months my wife and I shall be moving back to Sydney to draw "the wagons into a circle" around the majority of our relatives and our oldest friends as the "enemy" 9advancing years begins to close in.

There, little identity analysis is complete. I am reduced to the core elements now.The time for adding features may be past. But then again one of my favourite quotes is:

"Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die."

"Ulysses"  Alfred Lord Tennyson

Who knows what God has in store for any of us? His Will be done !

MEMORIES - RE-DISCOVERED.

My Childhood Home - Picture taken in 1960s can be dated by TV Antenna
Which definitely puts it after the introduction of TV in 1956 and we did not get a TV until about 1961
AND my car a second hand 1961 VAUXHALL CRESTA ( Panoramic Windscreen! Leather Upholstery and a Radio !!!), so I think this is about 1964/65. 

When life was simple......for most children, little children that is, life is simple. It may be delightful,dull,harsh, even, hurtful but it is usually simple, due to the limitations of the little child's developing brain. A piece of cake can induce ecstasy, a teaspoon of peas may induce reactions of tragedy.

My pre- school years were mostly centred around my parents of course and lived out in our small , two bedroomed home pictured above. I was not conscious of being in any way deprived . I was always well-fed with the prudent necessities of food and regularly enjoyed delights beyond the necessities - including Mum's sponge- cakes: from time to time  true delights.

The weatherboard ( what Americans call "clapboard "I believe), house had a corrugated iron roof, which could produce a not unpleasant noise when rain was soft, but was  totally deafening in heavy rain, let alone hail. It did not look the way it does in the photo ( taken in the late 1960s) . The house had been built in the mid 1920s , and when I was very young we did not yet own it.In those early 1940s its paintwork looked more than a little tired, the front fence was in need of repair, there was no concrete driveway (and as I have said, no car in any case), the double gates for car entrance were wooden , and not well built so that they sagged and had to be lifted to open. Of course there was no TV aerial seen in the photo. That came several years after the introduction of T.V. in  1956, around 1959 I think .

My Dad worked Shiftwork in those years at the Garden Island Dockyard.In fact he worked Shiftwork even when he later worked for the Metropolitan Water Sewerage and Drainage Board at nearby Potts Hill Pumping Station and later at Ryde Pumping Station for the few years before his retirement.Dad's Shiftwork meant that he was not as significant a factor in my bringing up as he might otherwise have been,He worked Morning , Afternoon and Night Shifts in weekly succession with a break of about four days at the end of each cycle. Night Shift was the worst week for me because Dad left home about 7.30 to 8.00 p.m. to start at 9.00 p.m. When he arrived home about 6.00 - 6.30am he went straight to bed and would not be up until about 2.00 p.m. This meant "SHHH!Remember Dad's asleep!" Echoing in my ears whenever I wanted to do anything amusing.Especially in the small house with its timber floors and linoleum floor coverings of the time.
I subsequently learned that the War had prevented us enjoying a lot of things such as chocolates, sweets and soft drinks, and Ration Books ruled the domestic economy - a Socialist's heaven. But now and then Dad's work at the Dockyard paid off. Servicemen were not denied these little luxuries and some were happy to trade their issue or sell it. So, coming off Night Shift and arriving home as I was having breakfast he would often reach into his pocket , and with feigned surprise "find"a small bar of chocolate or some other treat for me.

Dad used to travel to and from Garden Island by a workers Ferry from Circular Quay, then walk to or from Wynyard underground Railway Station to home. At Circular Quay on the Eastern Corner of Pitt Street was Plasto's "SHIP INN"a regular port of call and centre of "devotion"on his way home. Each year we used to have brought home the large format Calendar of the "SHIP INN" which always featured large black and white prints of sailing ships that had frequented Sydney Harbour and in many cases, Circular Quay itself.
Afternoon Shift was not so bad family wise,. Dad left after an early Lunch and got home about 11.00 p.m.
Morning Shift was almost like a normal family , though Dad was gone before I got up he was home in time for Dinner or "Tea"as we always called it ."Dinner"was the Lunchtime Meal.

My Mother was the constant loving presence, the true "hub"of the little family. For my Dad, though he was never cruel or harsh, was not good at any display of affection. I have no recollection of him hugging me, lifting me up or kissing me.It was a not uncommon phenomenon amongst men of the time as literature now shows.( Indeed the Poet James McAuley in the poem "Because"relates the extreme case of his own father :

"Having seen other fathers greet their sons,
I put my childish face up to be kissed
After an absence. The rebuff still stings."

Mum, God bless her, was the very model of loyalty, love and kindness , thinking always of others, ever ready to blame herself for whatever went wrong. Dad's mealtimes were always rigidly observed as if by the most sacred Rubrics. And it didn't matter if this meant her getting up in the depths of Winter to get his breakfast at some ungodly hour when dawn was still a long way off, or having a very late Dinner on the table when he came home at 11.00 pm on the relative Shift. When he came home at night she always had the external light at the back burning bright "to welcome him home".

We all dressed simply, Wartime Clothing Rations ensured that was the case.But there was always a set of "Best"clothes for going out, which would mean perhaps a visit to Grandma Beckmanns (interesting - I typed that automatically, but that was what I called it - Not Grandma & Grandad Beckmann's)or to nearby Auburn which had several important shops, or further afield to Burwood , Parramatta Road to the North and Liverpool and Canterbury Roads to the South .Then again there were trips, sometimes weekly, to the City.

My brother Pat did not feature largely in my life. He was born in 1929 , and so was 11 when I came on the scene, During the War-years he was completing his High School to 3rd Year and then went off to work - not exactly the years he might want to be involved with a baby brother. But in any case I have no memories of him at that time. Interesting really, in later years when his life started going wrong, he would always, or often anyway, reproach Mum & Dad for his shortcomings with the refrain : "He (me) was always the favourite"  now that I reflect on it, I wonder how far back his resentment went . Maybe the arrival of baby me was to him wholly unacceptable. Mum and Dad always spoke of Pat having been "spoiled" by Grandma Dixon and the Aunts and Uncles around in Third Avenue. Even to the extent of giving him a pushbike Mum and Dad had said he couldn't have; whatever he couldn't get at home, he got at Grandma's.Ah, well....

Almost all of my toys were War themed. My pride and joy was a sheet tin toy  - a tank with a little plane attached to it by a wire arm. When you wound the tank up it would go along and the plane would rise up on its wire arm until the tank shot at it with friction sparks! There were the usual lead soldiers and I had a small fort which I think was desert/Foreign Legion themed.Later there was a very small HORNBY most basic wind-up train Red Engine and two carriages I think and a simple circle of track. When Santa came at Christmas he left my few presents in a Pillow Case always left at the foot of my bed for his convenience and he was always provided with a hefty chunk of Mum's delicious Christmas Fruit Cake and a small bottle of Beer! Good old Santa!

So, I had a very nice early childhood thank you Mum & Dad. Whatever your troubles, and photos show the strain of those post Depression War years, you did not let them get to me - models of parental care - thank you!

P.S. I used to play in the dirt under the house when I could, building roads and dirt houses, but always close to the side which in later years had the driveway, the Northern side which let the Sun shine in there. I discovered my brother's much earlier diggings under there too - gave the effort something of an archeological flavour. The discovery of some Red- Back spiders later made the spot forbidden.