The Details Matter

 

Note one chrome mirror - one black plastic.

Australian politics and international affairs have recently become something resembling a failing soap opera.

So, gentle reader, I'll post something less disagreeable.

My project to convert a Japanese domestic market Toyota Hiace into a camper is just about complete, so I'll outline the journey, and where I've ended up. 

The vehicle is a 2014 Hiace Commuter which was used as a dry cleaner's vehicle in Japan. Clothes aren't heavy, so I assumed that it hadn't had a hard life. It was showing about 140000 kms when I bought it from a Brisbane importer who furnished all the necessary documentation, including the auction report from its sale prior to import.

As I bought it with dry cleaner's clothes racks.

A mechanical inspection confirmed that the vehicle was in good condition, and had a number of useful features including an aftermarket audio installation with Apple Carplay. More about that later.

It also had a slightly upgraded trim and features list which included push button start, climate control AC which has an extra unit cooling the rear of the cabin. It is also 180mm wider than the local market vehicles. Again, that's a mixed blessing. More about that later.

Fitout side unit installed across the cabin. Note modem and fire alarm.

Tyres have plenty of tread, albeit a little older than ideal, and the van features chrome trim not seen on the local market. There was also a three person bench seat installed which I removed. I reckon the business was family owned, and that seat was used to drop family members/employees off each day before the vehicle went on daily delivery runs.

First step was to install a plywood floor, which was fairly straightforward. Then I used pre-glued vinyl planking to dress it. This also was cheap, as we had sufficient planking left over when we refloored our home a few years ago.

Initially, to construct a bed, I bought a door from Bunnings, attached legs to it, and attached it to the floor using metal brackets. I located an unused single bed mattress on Facebook and installed it on the bed. This provided accommodation for about a year, until I spent $1990 on a slide out bed from Boxed Fitouts. I'd also used a second hand baby change table (found at Vinnies) as a frame for storage until I replaced it with another Side box from Boxed Fitout ($990). 

Can be converted to a double.

To provide off-grid power, I bought a Bluetti AC70P, ($745) and had a inverter/charger installed so that it automatically charged as the vehicle is driven. For connection to mains power I spent $500 on an external plug.

Despite appearances, it's securely anchored.

What I've finished up with is a van that remains fairly light, is easy to drive, and comfortable both for road trips and extended stays off grid. The Bluetti is good for about three days to keep the Kings 75 lit fridge running, but requires only about 50 kms of driving to be fully charged. I've also bought a small folding Rovin solar kit ($250) for extended stays. I haven't had an opportunity to personally trial it off grid yet, although my daughter has at a four day outdoor festival. It works OK to maintain charge for light use (fridge and charging devices).

Senior's handle & camping sink. The sink is not a total success - unwieldy.

As mentioned above, the van came with a CarKit_blink Japanese audio kit, which is fine, except it's designed for use in metropolitan Japan, and is next to useless in the Australian bush, where streaming through Apple Carplay works providing you're within coverage.

The van's extra width is handy in providing living space, but can be a challenge when parking in narrow bays at shopping centres. It is not too wide to be unwieldy, but a great deal of care is needed if you want to avoid inconveniencing fellow parkers. Having said that, it takes up a lot less space than a Dodge Ram, or a Chevrolet Silverado, and people park them in supermarket car parks. The van is 2280mm tall, so that precludes using most underground parks which average between 2100mm and 2200mm.

Slide out storage. Porta-Potti for contingencies. Not used so far.

In summary, the vehicle cost $24000, and I've added about $5000 worth of kit to make it habitable across twelve months of ownership. 

At that outlay, it's a totally competent camper, and the chassis is sound and looks like being reliable and cheap to maintain. It's not exactly fun to drive, especially in comparison with my previously owned Mazda MX5s. It's a bit like driving a block of flats. 

It is, however, quiet and comfortable when cruising, and the elevated seating position means you have a great view of traffic and surroundings.

Fitout Finished

Sunrise at Miles

The fitout of my Hace is completed, and I've taken a couple of trips in it. 

These are my conclusions -

It's comfortable, both to drive and to sleep in.

It cruises well on the highway, the only exception being its performance in high winds. It feels more like a yacht than a van under those conditions, and the options, and options are to stop and wait until the wind drops, or keep the speed below 80km/h.

The system I bought to allow for off grid camping works well. It consists of a Bluetti AC70P together with an inverter connected to the alternator. This powers a Kings 45L fridge.

Bribie Island

It's good for three days when parked, but you only need to drive it for half an hour to charge the unit up to 100%. You can do road trips, stay somewhere overnight off grid, and live in it without having to use the installed 240V connection.

I use a portable gas stove with pressure cans and it does the job well. Washing up is a bit of a pain, but the collapsible bucket I found at BCF does the trick. I bought a camping sink online which has proved less useful, although it's OK for quick ablutions.

There's also a portable toilet, but for emergencies only. Storage in plastic boxes which are housed under the bed and slide out on demand are pretty cheap and convenient. 

Camping sink - really a vanity only.

I use occy straps to keep everything located, and haven't had any problems with this method so far, but always wear eye protection when working with them. 

The purchased items are the power unit and the refrigerator. Everything else is material repurposed or found in my disorganised garage. 

The van is surprisingly economical on a trip, using between 11 and 12 litres per 100km, which is OK for a fully equipped camper. 

Columboola veterans' retreat.

Items that need improving include the Japanese head unit (it's buggy, and the radio tuned for urban Japan is pretty useless) and the interior appearance. At the moment it looks a bit like a jumble sale.

Still, my daughter has given it her seal of approval after attending a music festival in it.

Advice for the Troops

 

When I was on the way to Vietnam on the HMAS Sydney in February 1970, we were given a pamphlet outlining how we were expected to behave as soldiers in our interactions with Vietnamese civilians.

We had very little contact with civvies, except on leave in Vung Tau, so it wasn't all that useful, but coming across this little piece of history online the other day, reminded me that the military did make an effort to provide some factual information for its soldiers.

In the fact sheet above, issued to American GIs in World War Two, the military explained the phenomenon of fascism, the ideology that these same GIs were fighting.

Taking some of that advice, and applying it to the current situation under the Trump administration, is a revelatory exercise. 

The Fact Sheet #64 was entitled "Can We Spot It?"

The second paragraph begins with - 

Any fascist attempt to gain power in America would not use the exact Hitler pattern. It would work under the guise of "super-patriotism" and "super-Americanism". 

Trump's slogan is "Make America Great Again". 

It goes on to list three fascist aims -

1. Pitting of religious, racial and economic groups in order to break down national unity - In the United States native fascists have often been anti-Catholic, anti-Jew, anti-Negro, anti-Labor, anti foreign-born"

That is a pretty accurate summary of what is happening in the USA now, where members of minority groups are being taken off the streets into detention. It has an application in this country as well, when you look at the hate that is daily posted on social media, usually referring to Indigenous Australians, Muslim Australians, and Asian Australians. It's the bread and butter of One Nation.

2. Fascists cannot tolerate such religious and ethical concepts as "the brotherhood of man". Fascists deny the need for international cooperation. 

This has a very familiar ring when Trump's railing against globalism is considered.

3. It is accurate to call a member of a communist a "communist" - Indiscriminate pinning of the label "Red" on people and proposals which one opposes is a common political device. It iis a favourite trick of native as well as foreign fascists.

This labelling is used with boring frequency. It has the advantage for the neo-fascists in this country and abroad in that it removes any possibility of debate. The label is enough. It is particularly popular on social media, as it operates as a type of shorthand which suits those who are too lazy or ignorant to describe what they actually object to. 

My father fought fascists in World War Two, a war in which forty thousand Australians died.

The ignoramuses who post about the communist menace have short memories, or no understanding of history.

Not the Pajama Game

 

Pic courtesy The Weekly Times

I had expected, gentle reader, to be listening to test cricket today.

I say "listening", because watching it on television means being unable to do much else, whilst listening allows opportunities for other simultaneous activity.

No doubt this is a product of a lifelong habit which began when as a child, I made a crystal set, and listened to the cricket with the earplug that was part of the kit.

This had the advantage of not disturbing anyone else when Australia was touring in the UK, and the broadcast was going out in the early hours of the morning. As the eldest of six, this was important, as school residences (in which I grew up) were designed for smaller families. Sharing a bedroom with a sibling was routine.

I'm not listening to cricket today, of course, because the Melbourne ashes test lasted only two days, following the pattern established earlier in the series.

There's much wailing and gnashing of teeth, from Cricket Australia and the barmy army. The former has lost a motsa, and the latter group has spent a great deal of money on travel and accommodation, only to find big gaps in their planned itinerary.

There are solid reasons for tests not lasting more than a couple of days. It's an obvious trend, which in my humble opinion is a reflection of the influence of white ball cricket.

I don't know a lot about cricket, although I've been following it for over seventy years and played as a schoolboy at boarding school. I was a hopeless batsman, because my eye/hand coordination has always been poor, but I fancied myself as an off-spinner.

Almost all the test players play the pajama game which demands a very different approach to both batting and bowling than test cricket. They have developed a set of skills which suit the shorter form of the game, and much of this approach to the game has leaked into test cricket.

Hence "Bazball" with its range of shots including the ramp shot, the switch hit, the helicopter shot and the reverse sweep which are now appearing in test cricket. From the bowler's point of view techniques such as bowling dry and angle creation have come into favour.

I guess cricket is evolving. To be honest, I would prefer to listen to test cricket which is closer to what I was used to back in the day. Test cricket should be cerebral rather than physical. 

What really irks me is male cricketers being described as "batters". What's wrong with "batsmen?" To me "batter" has always been a method of cooking fish.

Advent

Our family group's hampers

Advent is here, gentle reader. It marks a space on the Christian calendar which involves preparation for Christmas,  and is a season of hope and anticipation.

Given the current international outlook, hope is important right now.

In our local parish, in recognition of the families doing it tough leading up to Christmas, we get involved in the Saint Vincent De Paul advent activity.

This means identifying needy families, donating money to buy mostly non-perishable foods and small goods, and donating them, as a parish to the charity.

SVDP* have the task of identifying the families, and collecting and distributing the hampers. 

Each family group in the parish has the responsibility of buying goods with money donated, putting the hampers together, and getting the hampers to SVDP.

Just a few of the local collection.

Our family group raised a four figure sum, and with that we were able to shop for goods and vouchers until all the funds were used up. The shopping process is interesting, involving couples, the wives doing the selection of goodies based on the description provided of the family, and husbands following around like bookies' clerks tallying up the expenditure.

Fellow shoppers must have wondered what was going on.

Yesterday we delivered the carefully decorated hampers, and they will be distributed tomorrow.

Whilst this level of generosity in our community is positive, the dimensions of the need it seeks to meet is not. 

A combination of factors including housing and energy costs, declining wages and corporate greed is responsible. At least this activity provides an opportunity for ordinary people to do something about it.

Our political leaders don't appear to have any answers. 

*St Vincent De Paul

Housing and Migration

Pic courtesy the Wire.

One of the memes doing the rounds in social media at the moment, gentle reader, connects migration with the housing crisis.

Lets have a look at that, and attempt to establish the reality.

First up, what are the actual existing migration rates in Australia?

The graph (from the ANZ Bank) is interesting. We see peaks in 2007, 2011 and 2024. Between 2006 and 2019, the rate was more or less steady around 400,000. Then we see a precipitous drop with the pandemic, with a rebound about 650,000 peaking in 2023.

The rate began to fall after this peak, and continues to trend down.

A graph (from Adviser voice) of the accumulated shortfall doesn't match all that well with migration. It was higher between 2012 and 2015 than it is now.

No doubt migration is a factor, but it part of a complex picture that has been developing for decades. Issues such as planning systems and zoning are important.

Interest rate changes, fewer people per household, and investment policy are also significant.

So why has it become a political issue?

That's much easier to understand. The alleged link has become a meme (an idea that spreads). Social media amplifies memes, and they develop a momentum of their own very quickly.

This is especially the case if gross oversimplification provides the structure of the meme as it does in this case. 

Link that with the xenophobia that lurks in the dark corners of Australian politics, and before you know it, some people take to the streets.

Maybe we should be looking at better solutions than restricting migration. This would have a minor impact on housing, and conceivably would have unintended harmful consequences.

Any housing reform needs to address the issues of construction and supply. It should also look at less restrictive zoning and planning. Approval pathways should be streamlined and development approvals fast tracked. 

The use of prefabricated and modular homes needs to be considered. It's always been a mystery to me that homes in Australian are built one at a time. As a petrol head I understand that motor vehicles haven't been built as unique units since Henry Ford invented the assembly line. Most cars are not custom built these days, and if they are, they cost an arm and a leg.

Social  housing seems to have been abandoned completely by one side of politics, and only halfheartedly promoted and supported by the other. Of course, it's difficult to make money out of investing in social housing. Social housing seeks to provide affordable rents which limits revenue.

Given the dimensions of the crisis, maybe it's time for some radical measures. Here are some suggestions -

1. Remove negative gearing beyond the residential home.

2. Abolish the Real Estate industry. It's unnecessary, and its costs to buyers and sellers operate as a handbrake for people trying to enter the market.

3. Remove stamp duty and land tax.

These radical measures terrify most politicians, so we probably won't see them anytime soon.

What operates now in the housing sector defies Maslow's hierarchy of needs. The first level on his pyramid specifies shelter after all.

Scots of the Riverina

 

Pic courtesy John Schumann - The Vagabond Crew

Today, gentle reader, I offer a poem.

The poet is Henry Lawson, and as a consequence of studying a surfeit of his works at primary school, I have never been an admirer of Lawson. Perhaps it's all my Dad's fault. He was, after all my teacher from grades five to eight, and was very fond of Lawson.

Sixty two thousand Australians were killed in the First World War, and the narrative of the poem no doubt held true for many. 

We forget the deep wounds left by this conflict until we understand that with a population of 4.9 million, as it was then, the casualty figure set proportionally in today's Australia would have generated three hundred thousand deaths.

Scots of the Riverina Henry Lawson 1917 The boy cleared out to the city from his home at harvest time — They were Scots of the Riverina, and to run from home was a crime. The old man burned his letters, the first and last he burned, And he scratched his name from the Bible when the old wife's back was turned. A year went past and another. There were calls from the firing-line; They heard the boy had enlisted, but the old man made no sign. His name must never be mentioned on the farm by Gundagai — They were Scots of the Riverina with ever the kirk hard by. The boy came home on his "final", and the township's bonfire burned. His mother's arms were about him; but the old man's back was turned. The daughters begged for pardon till the old man raised his hand — A Scot of the Riverina who was hard to understand. The boy was killed in Flanders, where the best and bravest die. There were tears at the Grahame homestead and grief in Gundagai; But the old man ploughed at daybreak and the old man ploughed till the mirk — There were furrows of pain in the orchard while his housefolk went to the kirk. The hurricane lamp in the rafters dimly and dimly burned; And the old man died at the table when the old wife's back was turned. Face down on his bare arms folded he sank with his wild grey hair Outspread o'er the open Bible and a name re-written there. John Schumann put the poem to music on the Vagabond Crew's Behind the Lines album. It's worth a listen - one of Lawson's better works and Schumann does a good job of it.

Migration

 

It's a long time since I've heard Gaelic spoken in a church, gentle reader, but I had that experience on Sunday.

The last time was August 1980, when my bride and I were visiting the Irish Republic and we went to mass in Cork. Forty five years is a long time, and viewed from the perspective of the marches a few weekends ago, we've actually gone backwards in this country in our views on migration.

Yesterday was celebrated as Migrant Sunday in our local parish, and speakers of different languages, all migrants, read the prayers of the faithful in their own tongues. 

Thus we heard Irish, Spanish, Swahili, Pidgin, Vietnamese, Tagalog, Fijian, Arabic, and Bahasa Indonesian. 

The fact that one of the speakers was native Irish, and physically indistinguishable from the bulk of the population was especially significant. 

My father, a descendant of Irish migrants used to describe being called a "dirty little tyke" as he was horse whipped by an Orangeman in Warwick back in the day.

This in a relativelly conservative regional city like Toowoomba, could be considered remarkable, but it isn't. These people are members of our community, welcomed and contributing. Unfortunately migration is frequently used as a dog whistle by those who are happy to use fear and bigotry as their ticket to political influence. 

That was very clearly demonstrated in the recent marches.

Perhaps our Filipino parish priest expressed it best with a garden metaphor. 

He noted that the magnificent floral displays witnessed in our carnival of flowers are comprised of a wide variety of diverse blooms, and this diversity is largely responsible for the spectacle. 

Lost and Found - An Ancestor

 

Kate Ryan's name on the Erin Go Bragh's passenger list

Like most us when we retire and have time on our hands, I've done some basic research on ancestry.

What I know is that my father's family descends from Irish immigrants, and what my father and his family believed is that they came out in the mid eighteen hundreds at the height of the Irish potato famine. 

The enduring family story, handed down by my father, was that one ancestor (presumably named Whittaker) arrived on the migrant ship, Erin Go Bragh, and subsequently married a fellow passenger, a Kate Ryan, and settled in the Drayton area. 

The problem is that there is no documentary evidence of this, as a search of the passenger list of the Erin Go Bragh, the boat my dad assumed brought him here, did not show a Whittaker. There was, however, an eleven year old girl, called Kate Ryan, on board.

One of my nephews who was also curious, did some research through Ancestry.com and came to the same conclusion, i.e., that there was no marriage between Kate Ryan and any fellow passenger.

This left an intriguing puzzle. Who was this original arrival, and when did he get here?

A different nephew who lives now in Singapore, has discovered a newspaper report which at the same time deepens the mystery, but sheds new light on the original family story.

This story, in the Toowoomba Chronicle on 31st August 1897, reports the death of a George Whittaker, (born 1837 in Kilkenny, Ireland) who was apparently my father's great grandfather. Dad's father was also called George, and according to the report, had six sons and three daughters. One of the sons was called John, which may explain a family tradition of naming the youngest son John, with no second name.

My dad was called John (always abbreviated to "Jack"), and had no second name, which always seemed curious to me.

The family belief that does stand up is that a Katherine Ryan, was aboard the Erin Go Bragh when it arrived in Moreton Bay on August 2nd, 1862. The passenger list does indeed identify a Kate Ryan who was eleven years old on arrival.

Whilst this report debunks the belief that the original Whittaker was aboard the Erin Go Bragh when it arrived in 1862, It does not dismiss the possibility that  George Whittaker married Kate Ryan. 

Back then, it would not have been out of the question for Kate Ryan to be married at age seventeen, which would have been 1868, by which time George Whittaker would have been thirty one. Family history has it that Kate was working as a housekeeper in a presbytery, and if the local priest was supportive, such a marriage would not have been unusual.

The new mystery is how George Whittaker arrived in Australia in the first place.

Obviously, further research is necessary.

And that's just my father's side....

Malice or Bitterness?

Pic courtesy CAWA

No doubt, gentle reader, you came across the reporting of shouts of abuse directed at a Welcome to Country introducing this year's Anzac Day dawn service at Melbourne's Shrine of Remembrance, and at a similar ceremony at King's Park in Perth.

It seems that there was a degree of organisation behind the Melbourne disruption, but the Perth incident was not planned.

Cries of outrage were heard from a range of sources, both directed towards the disruptions, and the place of Welcome to Country rituals at Anzac Day commemorations generally. Ex-service community social media networks lit up, again displaying strong feelings and abysmal ignorance.

The controversy highlights currents of malicious chauvinism that have simmered below the surface in this country for at least a century.  

The first of these currents relates to Anzac Day. The day is simply a commemoration after all. It is not a celebration of national pride, or a glorification of the warrior class - whatever that is. The men who died are not honoured by the screams of outrage directed at the inclusion of Welcome to Country ceremonies. Their memory is demeaned by it.

Anzac Day belongs to the whole nation, and is essentially an inclusive tradition. Welcoming attendees to a dawn service is simply a manifestation of this.  

The ignorance revealed by objections to all Welcome to Country ceremonies, not just those on Anzac Day, is another issue entirely. In the first place, given that indigenous Australians comprised over five hundred  distinct clan groups, welcoming people to country occupied historically by that clan by an elder is an entirely authentic process.

 "Country" does not refer to Australia in this context, something entirely ignored by those who mistakenly believe they are being welcomed to 2025 Australia. Various ex-service organisations made a virtue of declaring that nobody had the right to welcome them to the country they had fought for, completely forgetting that none of these clans have ever claimed to represent the whole country.

Then there are those who take offence because the elders who conduct the ceremonies are usually paid for the privilege. I find that strange, given that one of the hallmarks of a successful capitalist community is its willingness to pay for ritualistic expressions of symbolism. 

It matters not whether putting money into a collection plate at a church service or paying for admission to a football match is payment for witnessing a form of social ritual, these practices are very much part of contemporary mores and have been for a long time.

Frankly, I believe that anyone who would object to a gesture of welcome has been very poorly brought up. As my mother would have said if she had been alive to witness these objections - "They need to grow up!"

  

A Cautionary Tale

Pic Courtesy Scamwatch

Until a few days ago, gentle reader, I thought I was scam-proof. I've always avoided the usual traps (clicking on links in emails, etc) and am security conscious to the point of hypervigilance.

Not so.

Two days ago, I had my card refused at the bakery early in the morning, so paid cash, wondering what was going on.

I had been home only a few minutes when my bank phoned saying there had been suspicious activity on my card (overseas transaction). Once they knew it was an unauthorised transaction, they gave me the option of cancelling my card, or letting me monitor transactions closely.

I chose the latter because I didn't want to be lumbered with using cash until a new card arrived.

Then, almost on cue, an email arrived, telling me to contact PayPal because there was unauthorised activity on my account. I checked the account, and indeed there was a transaction (purchase of antivirus software) that I had not authorised.

(I use PayPal to sell my book).

I phoned the number on the email, and then began a long conversation with someone who sounded South Asian, was very polite, and had all my details at his fingertips.

The problem was, he wasn't working for PayPal. He was a very sophisticated scammer who had set up a successful ambush. If I had checked the number when I logged into PayPal and found it was different, I would have realised what was going on, but I didn't.

Over about twenty minutes he kept me on the line whilst he claimed he was ensuring my account was secure. He wasn't. He was moving funds from my account using money transfer Apps which he convinced me to download to my phone, on the pretext that he would use them to test the security settings.

At this point I became suspicious, especially when he heard me talking to my bride, who by this time, was also becoming suspicious. He asked me who else was on the call.

I hung up, and phoned my bank. After the usual identity process, they put me through to their security team, who confirmed that $5000 in two separate transactions had been removed from my account.

A prolonged conversation ensued, during which the bank agent sought as much detail as I could provide. It was a very thorough interrogation, and apparently useful.

The bank retrieved the funds overnight, but my card was cancelled, and access to my online banking denied until I could get the two devices I used (iMac and iPhone) certified cleaned. 

This involved cost and inconvenience, and the technician involved told me he was getting an average of five jobs a week cleaning and certifying devices which had been used by scammed customers. 

There are a couple of lessons. One is never to phone a number on an email, until you're absolutely certain it is genuine. It's easy to do so by checking the origin address on the email. I didn't - first time ever.

The other is to follow your instincts, which I subsequently did by terminating the call, but not before the damage was done.

I was very impressed by the thoroughness of the bank, and their persistence in securing the return of the funds. I'm not entirely sure how that was done. Readers may make suggestions through commentary.

I dodged a bullet...

Medicine and Technology

 Image courtesy Medscape

I've been a bit lucky, gentle reader, when it comes to hospital admissions across my seventy-seven years.

The last time I was an inpatient is a hospital was when I had my tonsils out at age four. Courtesy of a pulmonary embolism, I now find myself an inpatient after an emergency admission on Sunday.

Modern hospitals are interesting places. There are a variety of systems which generally work like well oiled machines and most often allow for effective monitoring of vital signs. 

For the first few days of my treatment I was kitted out with a device which recorded my oxygen levels and heart rate in real time and transmitted the information to a screen in the nurses station. It was attached to my chest with stickers and cables, and was only a problem when I needed to shower, as the stickers had to be removed and replaced.

One benefit of this device was that it removed the requirement to be woken at stupid hours to have vital signs checked. Blood pressure could not be measured using this thing, so I still had to be disturbed for that, but that was only once during weird hours, so I was glad of the lumpy technology. It’s amazing what you can put up with sleep wise when it’s necessary.

The only time I had a problem with the monitoring was when I got a little stir-crazy and went for a walk to the cafeteria for a coffee.

The upshot was that the device started beeping, set an alarm at the nurses station, and caused consternation when they went to my room to find me absent.

I was spoken to very sternly….

A Cockeyed Bob?

 

Police station and residence. The government house we lived in was identical.

Those of you living in south-east Queensland and northern New South Wales have probably had enough of cyclone Alfred. 

We've been minimally effected, and apart from my bush house doing the watusi which meant that everything on its shelves ended up in a heap on the floor, life has proceeded as usual.

Tropical cyclones are part of my lived experience, having grown up in north Queensland, and my earliest memories are those surrounding a cyclone which crossed the coast at Carmila on March 11th 1950. I was about three at the time, but can remember parts of it, including sheltering under a sturdy oak table in our kitchen whilst the school residence broke up around us.

This link takes you to a newspaper account in the Townsville Daily bulletin of 13th March 1950. It took two days for the full story to get through, a contrast to the real time reporting we're seeing today. Dad gets a mention in the report.

The house lost all its corrugated iron roof, and part of the gable end at the front. We were obliged to live in the school for a couple of weeks whilst the residence was re-roofed.  

Another early memory was the smell of burning linen. A family down the road from us also moved into the school, and one of them came down with Tuberculosis. Back then, we were advised to burn all bed linen used by this family. My mother had taken bed linen out of storage which had been a wedding gift, and loaned it to this family.

Repair crew that was sent into Carmila by rail.

Mum was very upset when it had to be burned, and I recall the smell, and her distress.

Since then, I lived in Townsville for a while, and was there when cyclone Aivu crossed the coast near the Burdekin River between Townsville and Bowen on April 4th 1989. Whilst that cyclone didn't do a great deal of damage around Townsville, it caused lots of flooding to the north, and for a while looked to be a major threat.

This may have been why,  given my recall of the Carmila experience, I moved my family overnight to my new school which had been built to cyclone proof standards in 1987. I rationalised that if the school was going to be declared a cyclone, I would be prepared by being on site.

As I write this, in Queensland, at least, no lives have been lost, although the same can't be said for Northern NSW.

And the term "Cockeyed Bob?" I haven't heard it used for decades, but apparently it was once applied to severe and unpredictable storms.

That would describe Alfred. 

Australian Coffee Culture

 

Coffee & Chicory (Pic courtesy museums Victoria)

I’ve been around long enough, gentle reader, to have lived through some remarkable changes in the way we drink coffee in Australia.

As far as I can remember when I was growing up, my parents never drank coffee. They were both tea drinkers. The coffee that was around at that time was execrable, which may have had something to do with it. 

I do remember my mother always having a Coffee substitute in her pantry. To this day I'm not sure what it was used for. Perhaps it was part of a cake recipe. It was never used to make coffee.

When I was old enough to leave home, I started drinking instant coffee occasionally. Working as a young teacher in the bush meant that I was exposed to staff room milk. If you're not familiar with staff room milk, suffice to say that it was frequently off on Mondays, after sitting in the staffroom across the weekend. This forced me to drink black tea, a habit I've maintained. I could never stomach black coffee.

Then I was called up conscripted, the tea and coffee often came in ration packs. At this time I reverted to coffee, perhaps because it was a mild stimulant. Mostly in the army I was bored stiff, and the caffeine provided a little bit of excitement.

This continued once in Vietnam, although occasionally there was some excitement. Drinking coffee had by this time become a habit.  

Back in civvy street I remained addicted to coffee and cigarettes, but gave up the latter cold turkey by refusing to buy smokes. The social pressure (smokers retreating when they saw me approaching to bum a durry) did the trick.

A few years back into teaching I had an itinerant job supporting kids with disabilities in bush schools, and saw the inside of plenty of roadhouses. They almost always had a boiling urn and enormous tins of instant (usually Bushells) coffee in the corner.

I returned to this work post retirement (which I failed first time round), but by then (2010) proper barista coffee was becoming available in these same roadhouses. It was usually served by backpackers with interesting accents.

The contrast between what was available in the seventies in the bush, and what is sold now is stark.

Trips to Vietnam post retirement introduced me to Vietnamese coffee (very strong and smooth and served with condensed milk) and a sojourn in the USA and Cuba in 2018 revealed that American coffee is not a patch on ours. I found the Vietnamese brew slightly more robust than what I encountered in Cuba. Both were better on the street than in the USA, but not of the quality that you can find locally.

Whilst I probably haven't travelled enough to make any reasonable comparisons, I reckon that Australian coffee is amongst the best in the world. Italian immigration post world war two probably has much to do with this. An Italian coffee culture developed first in Melbourne and has spread. Having said that, when I was in Italy in the eighties, I don't remember being impressed by their coffee.

Australian coffee culture has been exported to the USA and chains have developed. 

Australians are great innovators, they import excellent beans, and their baristas are the best. The machines used are invariably good quality and this helps. We're now growing coffee on the Atherton Tableland, so the coffee scene can only improve.

Only the best of everything originates in that part of the world, including my bride...

Harry Smith's Story

I've just finished reading Harry Smith's Long Tan - The Start of a Lifetime Battle, and found it hard to put down.

Harry Smith was the commander of D Coy 6RAR during the battle of Long Tan in August 1966. Despite the title, his book covers events prior to and after the battle, as well as his own account of his company's ordeal when it defied an estimated regimental attack from main force NVA assisted by local elements of D445.

The book has the flavour of an exercise in setting the record straight, and he pulls no punches describing the intelligence failures that led to the encounter battle, the incompetence of senior task force commanders, and his conflict during the heat of battle with these same commanders in getting the artillery support he needed for the survival of D Coy.

Smith (who died in 2023) was a soldier's soldier, and disinclined to suffer fools gladly, especially when it came to the allocation of honours and awards for his soldiers. He spent the remainder of his life post Long Tan fighting for justice for the members of D Coy who were denied awards because of the quota system that operated at the time, and for many years post Vietnam.

Because there was a ceiling placed on the number of decorations to be awarded, senior commanders who experienced the battle from their command posts safe behind the wire at Nui Dat received honours whilst the soldiers under fire for hours had recommendations rescinded. Smith did extensive research for years, especially after the thirty year rule revealed the correspondence relating to these awards.

It makes pretty shocking reading, and it obviously motivated Harry Smith to fight for his men until the situation was largely remedied in November 2016, representing the culmination of a fifty year battle.

Smith's commentary on the human costs of the war makes interesting reading. One example - 

Whilst I have always been deeply saddened by the loss of the 18 young men in a battle that should not have happened in a war we could not win, and as well, the 521 men who gave their lives during the Vietnam War,  I must say now feel too for the families and loved ones of those young enemy soldiers we killed. Many of these soldiers were just teenagers.  (p187).

Apart from the remarkable narrative of Smith's battle for his soldiers, this book provides an amazing insight into the way the Australian military is organised, and the difficulties experienced by a career soldier attempting to maintain a stable family life. Again, Smith's honesty shines through, and he is quite frank about his failed marriages.

The book had a special resonance for me, as I have been to Long Tan twice, and went to school with Frank Topp, who was killed in the first few minutes of the battle. He was a local, and I got to know his mother before she died a few years ago.

My first sight of Long Tan was in April 1970 when we used a site near the rubber as a forming up point before we set out along the dry bed of the Suoi O Lo Nho on a night company move into the AO of our second operation.

The second time I was there was in March 2006 on a tour with my sons and a group of Vietnam veterans, most of whom were ex 8RAR.

The second visit was much more pleasant than the first.

A Letter to Heston

I received an email from Heston Russell the other day. He is the founder of the now defunct Australian Values Party.

He is asking for an apology from the ABC for alleged misreporting.

This is what I wrote in reply - 

Dear Heston 

I note you’re asking for an apology from the ABC for misreporting.

Fair enough, but I’ve just about given up on getting an apology for the treatment of tens of thousands of young Australians from 1965 to 1972.

I’m referring of course, to the heinous National Service Act 1964, introduced by a Coalition government. This piece of legislation conscripted one in twelve twenty year olds to be enlisted in the ARA, and sent about sixteen thousand of us to Vietnam, to participate in a futile and tragic conflict which killed millions of Vietnamese, fifty seven thousand Americans, and five hundred Australians, two hundred of them conscripts. I saw two of them die in April 1970. Misreporting is a pretty venial sin compared to that.

Where does your Australian Values Party stand on support for ex-service personnel?

If you’re serious about justice and fairness, as an ex-serviceman, you should be advocating for national servicemen, about thirty thousand who survive. Those, like me, who saw active service, have been compensated, after years of struggle, but those who served in Australia, PNG and Malaysia, have not. The DVA white card which they have now been grudingly granted offers very limited support.

Here is a piece I wrote about my experience, which is far from unique. I am one of the lucky ones. Three members of my rifle section had succumbed to trauma by the time of the Welcome Home march in October 1987. It was too late for them -  https://independentaustralia.net/australia/australia-display/reflections-on-the-fall,4404

So until you’re ready to publicly advocate for an apology for national servicemen, you won’t get any support from me. Every email you send simply reinforces my opinion that you put political  affiliation before support for veterans. Prove me wrong.

Bob Whittaker

5 Platoon, B Coy, 7RAR, 1970

It's Time

 

Excuse me for resurrecting the 1972 political slogan, gentle reader, but it's completely relevant.

Back then, I had returned to teaching after two years in the army, and ten months (298 days to be precise) on active duty in South Vietnam.

It was great to have returned to a productive enterprise (teaching kids with disabilities) in complete contrast to my experience during 1969/70. Most people I encountered after my RTA* were in a state of disregard about our commitment to a civil war in peacetime on foreign soil and wanted no part of any discussion about it.

That suited me, as I wanted to put the sojourn behind me, and get on with life.

That disregard had changed somewhat by 1987, with the Welcome Home march, and John Schumann's popular song, but for most Australians it was a non-issue. There was a lost fifteen years when Vietnam and national service had been consigned to the forgettery. Neither of these events (the march and the song) were initiated by politicians, although Bob Hawke did take the salute at the march. The march was organised by the veterans, although the then Labor government got behind it with some financial support through  transport and organisation.

If you follow the activity post withdrawal of politicians of all brands, they have studiously avoided the issue. John Howard made a speech on the 40th Anniversary of the Battle of Long Tan, but the apology was about how we were treated on return, rather than for sending us in the first place. He also made no distinction between volunteers (regular army) and Conscripts (Nashos). 

There has never been an apology to conscripts for sending us to Vietnam. Our situation was markedly different from that of the regular soldiers, who were all volunteers. It's likely that no politician wants to remind voters that there has been only once in our military history when selective conscription was used to send young men to kill and die in peacetime, and the party that did so would rather that it be forgotten.

But there are cranky old curmudgeons like me, who remember, and when my local Coalition federal member contact me unsolicited on Facebook, I decided to remind him of the war, his party's support of it, and their lack of action since.

This is my contribution to his feed.

I'll let you know the outcome, but won't be holding my breath.

*Return to Australia.

Of Gardens, Cars and Connections

One of the few perks of ageing is the connections it provides. 

This has been brought home to me recently, gentle reader, by a number of encounters which appear at first glance, absolutely random, but when considered carefully are an inevitable result of longevity and mobility.

Yesterday my bride and I went to check out a garden just out of town owned by a mate I first met in 1971 when teaching at the State School for Spastic Children at New Farm, Brisbane.  At the time he and I were the only males on staff, and I was fresh from a year in Vietnam.

At the gate was a charity tent staffed by two women about my age. They introduced themselves and somehow during the conversation, the fact that they were both teachers, and had worked in Townsville, emerged.

I explained that as a special school principal I had opened two schools in Townsville. Turns out that one of them was a very good friend of the ex-principal of one of the two schools which had amalgamated, and he and I had collaborated a great deal at the time.

Sadly, he had died last year, but she was able to show me a photo taken a few years ago in which he looked very happy. He didn't seemed to have changed much.

I then chatted with the bloke who owned the garden (although his wife is the main hobbyist - this bloke is into restoring cars rather than creating gardens). In this conversation I discovered through the medium of a discussion about classic cars, that another long lost acquaintance of mine in the seventies is also well known to my mate. The long lost acquaintance is into Alfas and Porsches, the gardener Citroens. 

His son favours Peugeots, and I gifted him my old 404 about ten years ago. It's undergoing a slow restoration, and I'm on a promise to drive it when it's finished, if I last that long. It is indeed a very slow restoration. The son is a busy policeman. 

The car I gave away.

When you think about it, these connections weren't all that unusual. Special education was a small but rapidly growing segment of the education community in Queensland back then. The progress and expansion since has been incredible.

The nomenclature has changed for the better. Calling a school "The State School for Spastic Children" would not be possible these days. 

The term "spastic" describes just one of the manifestations of cerebral palsy. The fact that it has gone from the language except when used by nitwits as a form of abuse is no bad thing.

A Tale of Two Popes

Pic courtesy Britannica

 Jorge Mario Bergoglio is an Argentinian Jesuit, and an ex-bouncer. His father's family left Italy in 1929 to escape the fascist rule of Benito Mussolini.

 He is essentially a pastoralist, a reformer, and perhaps represents the last hope of the Catholic church in its quest to remove the cancer of clericalism which has almost destroyed its viability in western societies.

Unless the church is reformed towards the authentic social developmental role it assumes in developing countries, especially in Africa, it has no future. The Australian church I grew up in has become a clerical, rather than a pastoral institution.

Pic courtesy Britannica

This is best illustrated by an experience I had as a rifleman, a Catholic conscript, in Vietnam in April 1970. My dog tags were embossed “RC”.

We were halfway through Operation Finschhafen and were recuperating in FSPB Anne, when the Catholic Chaplain, Captain Keith Teefey, invited all ranks in my Company (B Coy) to attend mass. He invited all present to take Communion irrespective of denomination, providing they did so with respect.

Most did so. Piety is often a characteristic of soldiers in harm’s way.

                                                        Mass at FSPB Anne 

I was impressed and wrote home telling my father about this. Dad was an advocate of eucamenism, committed to Vatican 2 and was chuffed, to the extent that he told the local parish priest, a conservative, whom out of respect, I will not identify.

This priest became very angry, and reported Keith Teefey to the Bishop of the Toowoomba Diocese who incidentally had no jurisdiction in the situation.

Subsequently the Bishop dismissed the complaint, pointing out that Canon law made that invitation (to those at risk of death) completely appropriate.

By 22nd April, two members of that congregation had died, one killed by an RPG in a bunker contact, the other died of heat exhaustion.

The parish priest maintained his outrage and refused to talk to my father. Dad withdrew my siblings from the local convent and enrolled them at the state school where he was principal at the time.

This example of the clerical hierarchy becoming indignant at an act of pastoral care was illustrative of the state of the church in Australia in 1970, and frankly it hasn’t improved much.

The greying of the Australian congregation is clear evidence of that.

The 2011 sacking of Bishop Bill Morris by Bergoglio's predecessor, ironically enough in the Toowoomba Diocese, was the nadir of clericalism in Australia. Morris' sin was his attempt to root out an insidious culture of child abuse in a couple of schools in the diocese, although that wasn't the reason given for his dismissal.

He had challenged the hierarchy and paid the price.

Unfortunately, Francis' intervention may have come too late.