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.

You Have to Laugh

US politics has always been bizarre, but this takes the cake.

As the cliche goes, if it wasn't so consequential, you'd have to laugh.

My recommendation, gentle reader, is to laugh anyway...

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.

Humanity, Humour and Humility - a Review of "Lest"

 

Mark Dapin seems to have made a habit of slaughtering sacred cows.

That's not unique, of course, but he does it with style and humour. There is a flavour of humility, and the writing is frequently self-deprecating.

I didn't have any idea what to expect when I found this book next to my self-published memoir in my local Dymocks. (I was checking how many copies were left, as I sell them, five at a time, on consignment). 

Some sweet young person had written a review on a slip of paper attached to the shelf. That was nice.

A bit of self-promotion is always good, and there are only eighty copies of the one thousand I had printed left. But I digress......

I had no intention of buying it, but given that I've read much of what he's written (except for his fiction - I don't read fiction) I grabbed it.

I did pay for it, by the way, something that didn't happen for one reader who stole a copy of my book from the shop last year. I'm not sure what to make of that.

Dapin's "Lest" is an engaging read. There is a unique balance of historical research, humour and whimsy that captures even the most cynical reader.

And there is a bit of that as well...cynicism, I mean.

War myths abound in our national literature. They're like barnacles. Challenging them can attract all manner of hostility.

I reckon Dapin has read Teaching as a Subversive Activity and has a highly developed ICD. That's Postman and Weingartner's Inbuilt Crap Detector for those who haven't read it.

He takes us through a range of beliefs that have been marinated in semi-sacred sentiment for generations, including Anzac Day, white feathers, Gallipoli, Monash, and the Emu War.

He ventures where others have feared to tread, covering No Poofters, spitting at Vietnam veterans, the role of the RSL, and makes predictions about myths to come. Nothing is sacred, even the old joke about Vietnam veterans and lightbulbs.

Yet the material is handled deftly, without offense to veterans, and with the objective clarity of an outside observer. Dapin is, after all, an ex-Pom, and I reckon that provides a perspective generally absent in lifetime locals.

Despite what I'd regard as a lightness in tone, there is obviously a deal of hard research embedded in this book.

It should be required reading in every Australian high school history curriculum. It won't be, of course. 

Most current high schoolers have a very vague grasp of recent wars, especially Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan.

But the myths endure.

 

 

An Gorta Mor and Remittances

 

Erin go Bragh - Image courtesy Ireland Reaching Out

Just the other day, gentle reader, I stumbled on an Irish history website which included an essay about remittances sent from the USA during An Gorta Mor (the Great Hunger, the irish famine). 

It was written by Dr Ciaran Reilly, historian at Maynooth University. 

The article reports that in 1851, Lord John Russell, then British PM, claimed that more than 1.5 million pounds had been sent to Ireland as remittances by new emigrants who had arrived in the USA. A survey of Irish newspapers from the late 1840s and early 1850s confirms this, with almost daily reports of people emigrating once they had received the remittance money.

I also remember reading about these remittances on my visit to Ellis Ireland's immigration museum a few years ago on a visit to New York. 

Ellis Island Immigration Museum

The process was not confined to the USA, with a mention in the article of letters received from Melbourne containing amounts ranging from fifty to five hundred pounds.

I knew from my own family history that my ancestors traveled to Moreton Bay on the Erin go Bragh during a voyage in 1862.

The Erin go Bragh was one of thirteen ships which transported people from Ireland to Australia under the Queensland Immigration Scheme. This scheme was established by Bishop James Quinn and assisted by Father Patrick Dunne with the aim of assisting Irish immigrants to make the arduous journey to Australia where it was hoped that they could start a new life of prosperity.

Remittances were used less frequently in Australia (or as then, the colonies of Moreton Bay, New South Wales and Victoria), but they did exist. I have no idea of the mechanics of this, or how the postal services worked back then to keep the funds secure.

If anyone reading this understands the process, please enlighten us in the comments.

Degrees of Separation - A Book Review (Sort of)

Recently I've reconnected with my class at boarding school in 1961/62. That's over sixty years ago. 

There was a reunion organised which I couldn't attend, but it led to a raft of email exchanges. 

It was almost eerie to discover that one of those people was, like me, an ex-Nasho, a Vietnam veteran, and like me, wrote a book about it. Strangely, I remember his name, but can't put a face to him. 

Again, it was a long time ago. 

Anyway, I tracked down his memoir which he called Dominoes and Marbles and read it in one sitting.

Apart from the fact that the subject matter describes experiences we shared which obvious resonates, it's an engaging narrative, and the product of a professional writer; a journalist.

One chapter, which he called Fortes in Fide,  and which describes his experiences at school, unearthed previously hidden memories of my two years at a boarding school nearly a thousand kilometres from my home in North Queensland, as a thirteen year old who had never been away from my family.

It reminded me of another schoolmate who often defended me when I was on the receiving end of a bit of bullying. In those days I weighed thirty kilograms wringing wet, and probably needed a bouncer. This schoolmate went on to join the regular army and was killed in the Battle of Long Tan in 1966.

The memoir covers much more than Vietnam. The author describes his childhood at Mount Tyson, his primary school experiences in the small state school there, and his time at Downlands.

He relates experiences at recruit training similar to mine, and his posting to Vietnam in September 1966, four years before me. He served with 5 RAR, the battalion my unit (7 RAR) replaced on its second tour.  

Much of the narrative describes his experiences as an apparently competent rugby union player, a journalist, and his appreciation of the music of the Vietnam era. 

For me, the memoir is very much an indulgence in nostalgia, but it's well worth a read as it captures the flavour of the time.

You can buy it online here - https://www.amazon.com.au/Dominoes-Marbles-Young-Times-Peace/dp/0994281439