Coincidence - I think not!

The Prologue:

This week was interesting for a number of reasons!   I got a lot of great feedback, comments and emails on my blog last week “The Amazing Tales of Grandfather Conolly”.  It seems that the blog really hit a cord with a lot of you.   It helped spark new conversations with your parents and grandparents, it helped uncover a bunch of stories long forgotten within families but most of it helped start a family conversation with some stunning and unusual finds.   I had two great personal “finds” coming out of last week as well.

The first encouraging sign was when my eldest brother (Gary) emailed me.  He is by definition our family historian and I was pleasantly surprised given that he had over the years compiled a deep and rich history of the Conolly side of the family.  He emailed to say that he had read my blogs and that he really enjoyed the various stories, ending with his love, support and further encouragement for my writing. J

The second and most unexpected find was that one of my long lost relatives emailed me from Australia completely out of the blue, to tell me that he had been doing an internet search this week in preparation for ANZAC day celebrations in Australia (April 25^th) and had come across my blog when he was searching for information on Grandfather Conolly.   He is the great grandson of Grandfather Conolly and lives with his family in Mackay, Queensland...   I had lots to share in my email response with Mark, but it was great to uncover a new family branch just through my writing – so unexpected!

I had a couple of people tell me that the stories have helped them reflect and think differently about their personal legacy for their children; for others it’s helped act as a catalyst for deeper family conversations.  I must admit it feels good to think that my blog may have contributed to more interesting discussions and dialogue, perhaps uncovering some stories or forgotten memories.  I personally love your comments and feedback and it clearly acts as a great motivator for me so feel free to reach out via the comments section below or to me directly via email (twallis41@gmail.com)

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Growing up in small town Australia I wasn’t really exposed to the outside world much - remember Clunes was only about 500 people and to say it was “close knit” would be a complete understatement.   I personally prefer to think of it as claustrophobic….yes, I mean that in a nice way!   Is that possible?

After coming home from school my younger brother and I would raid the biscuit barrel and perch ourselves in front of the old black and white TV with all of its three channels (BTV 6 - Ballarat, BCV 8 -Bendigo and of course the mainstay of Australian country TV the ABC 2.   We didn’t always get to watch TV, usually there were lots of jobs to be done around the house – chop the wood and fill the wood box, feed the animals (ferrets, rabbits, cats, dogs, birds), go to the shops and pick up something for tea (dinner in North America), mow the lawns etc.… in fact  quite the laundry list that never seemed to end as a kid. 

On the relatively rare occasions we got the chance to sneak even 30 min of “telly” after school I had a couple of favorite shows:  F-Troup, Hogan’s Heroes and of course my all time favorite of all…(drum roll please) the Beachcombers staring Bruno Gerussi.  

Pacific ocean with the backdrop of
the rugged BC coastal mountain range

Why on earth the Beachcombers you ask?    Well, for a start the Beachcombers was based in an exotic location, and about as far from country Australia as you could get (nice start!).   I quickly fell in love (yes, even in black and white) with the stunning beauty of Canada.  I guess naively that all of Canada was mountainous; fir tree clad and with stunning snow covered peaks in every direction I cared to look except for the glistening Pacific ocean lapping at the inlets –picture perfect!

So this week I was in Vancouver for a meeting and as I was walked from my hotel through Stanley Park toward to the Fish House where the meeting was being held the sheer beauty of this part of the world struck me – not for the first time but in a way that brought back all the recollections of watching the Beachcombers as a kid (the show was filmed not too far up the coast from Vancouver at a place called Gibsons).  My mind quickly became awash with those long forgotten memories of my childhood, those uncluttered and simpler days.

The trail through Stanley Park is a
Coastal rainforest - how cool is that?

For the first time in days I physically stopped walking, closed my eyes, quieted my mind and took a series of long slow, deep breaths – taking in the smells of the west coast and connecting them with my childhood memories.  The only word that kept coming to mind was - exhilarating!  

I stood perhaps for a minute just absorbing my surroundings, soaking in the smell and the sounds of the park.  It was evident by the renewed spring in my step and the deep sense of calm that had descended upon me that I really needed that moment.   Somehow life had become too fast, too hectic and this was one of those essential pauses where you stop and literally "smell the roses” (and here I was thinking that was just a cheap cliché – nope strangely they're  real).

I’m definitely going to be looking for more of these moments – how about you?  


Are you in!

The Amazing Tales of Grandfather Conolly

I only ever met one of my four grandparents….my grandmother on my mum’s side.   I could never work out why she didn’t like us as kids but as I got older mum shared the stories that aren’t dinner table conversation let’s say, but it all made for some great laughs and interesting insights as to why we weren’t favored.

It all started with my Grandfather – Henry Montgomery Foxley-Conolly, yes quite the mouthful really, born and raised in London, England in with his roots squarely set in Ireland (how could it not with a name like Conolly).  He came from wealthy stock and so growing up quite grandly with some prestige and privilege.   University changed all that – rumor has it that it was Cambridge; well what can I say except that he had a deep appreciation for “wine, women & song” rather than his studies and so brought a fair amount of disrepute on the family, and so tarnishing their good name!

His family apparently tried a number of remedies, but finally settled on the least embarrassing and painful for them - they “banished” him to Australia for the term of his natural life.   However there apparently was an “up-side” to all of this in that if he followed the rules and stipulations he would be provided with a handsome monthly allowance…

Grandfather Conolly seated
front center - Mount Morgan,
Queensland - circa 1911

So it was under these circumstances that he set sail for Australia in the late 1890’s.   Let’s face it, by the sounds of it he was a bit of a “jack-the-lad”, and tried his hand a host of successful and not successful ventures finally settling in the town of Mount Morgan in Queensland.

He married into a well-known local family, and given his personal circumstances they were well off and were fortunate enough to have cook, maid, gardener and nanny for the children.   By Australian standards they were on easy street, however this was also the time that dark storm clouds were gathering in far away Europe and as England was pulled into the First World War, so was by definition the Commonwealth of Australia.  

Emotions were running high in Australia as many of the young men clamored to sign up with the first AIF (Australian Imperial Forces) and head overseas to war and high adventure.   It wasn’t long before everyone realized the terrible price being paid in the blood of our nation; especially with the Gallipoli (modern day Turkey) campaign where Australia lost over 8000 men killed and a further 19,000 wounded.   With every passing day the pressure on every able-bodied man irrespective of age was to “sign-up” and do his bit for his country….if he didn’t then the dreaded “white feather” would undoubtedly find its way onto your door step or into your hand.  

Private Henry Montgomery
Foxley-Conolly
49th Battalion, 4th Division
First AIF
Taken in Sydney prior to embarkation 1916

And so on November 11^th (how ironic) 1916 Grandfather signed up – age 35.  He left his wife and four young children to head to the battlefields of France and Flanders with Queensland’s 49^th Battalion, 4^th Division[†].  

He soon found himself in the thick of battle surviving a number of intense engagements.   However his luck ran out in Feb 1917 being wounded in the face with shrapnel on one occasion that required convalescence back in “Blighty”.  Once back in the field he was again a casualty in July 1918 this time suffering a gas attack and being temporarily blinded.   On each occasion he was sent back to England for treatment - to two different hospitals for two different types of injuries where apparently on both occasions he fell in love with a nurse (yes, two nurses for those keeping count at home) and promised that after the war he would come back for them (yes, both of them).

Now was it because he was fatalistic and didn’t believe he would survive the next battle like many of his friends or was he just being himself and indulging in the fruits of life?   I guess we’ll never really know for sure.

But here’s where the kicker comes in…..the war ends and he finds himself both alive and surprisingly well, but rather than head home with his comrades he decides to demobilize in England (remember the place of his birth) and take a slow boat to Canada, a leisurely train trip across the prairies to Vancouver and an even slower boat back home to Australia. It takes him over a year to get home after the end of the war, arriving to late in 1919 and shows up on the doorstep expecting to be taken back with open arms – which surprisingly he was.   Go figure??   Shortly thereafter Aunt Dorothy was born (1920) and then finally Mum (1922) the last of six children.

All well that ends well, except that one fine day in late 1928 there is a knock at the door!   You can see where this is going and it isn’t going to be good….  Yes, one of the nurses has tracked him down and is now standing on the front porch with suitcase in hand after coming out the 8,000 miles from England in search of her “one true-love”.

The shit truly hits the fan, and after a prolonged argument from all and sundry both women promptly leave (Grandmother Conolly included).   In that instant Grandfather became a single father with six children to care for and raise, all would have been fine except that the Great Depression was about to reek havoc on the fragile post WWI world, and clearly all bets were off in terms of an income from England, they got by like everyone else but were no longer "well off".  

Grandfather Conolly at the
beach in Queensland just
prior to his passing - 1958

Mum[‡] was the youngest and became Grandfathers favorite companion around the garden, often trailing behind him wherever he went.  As she grew older he often regaled her with the unbelievable tales of his adventures, both good and bad, ensuring that she knew the stories of his life much like these are for Zach and Sami.  

Sadly he died the year before I was born but I grew up in his shadow, mum always used to say half jokingly that I was “just like your Grandfather”.   I’d like to think that it was because of my quick mind, clever wit, easy charm and winning smile, you be the judge on that one.

Enough said!

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[†] I’m fortunate enough to have a full account of Grandfathers military records provided free of charge by the Australian War Memorial   

[‡] April 19^th marked the 25^th anniversary of mum’s passing and so I want to dedicate this blog to her for helping shape the person I am today J

Why I blog...

I often get asked why I blog…the answer is simple!   The answer lies in the meaning of life – too deep?   Well, sort of.   It hit me like a “ton of bricks” when my dad was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer and I was sitting beside his hospital bed in rural Australia that early  September day in 2010.   

It was the deep and unrelenting sadness that comes with such a finite judgment.  As I sat there I soon realized that I didn’t know much about my dad’s life and I vowed then and there that I was going to find a way to share my life stories with my kids so that they knew exactly who I was and what had shaped my life…well before the final curtain is drawn on me - hence my weekly blog!

I learned that my dad was a fascinating person who had led a tough but extremely varied, experientially rich and simple life.  Over the ensuring weeks he told me dozens of stories, sometimes sad, often funny and more often than not there were life lessons sprinkled in amongst them all.  I want to share a couple with you that I hope you like: 

George Goltz planting sugar cane
Queensland, Australia circa 1954

The first was when he worked on a sugar cane farm at Eaton (just outside Innisfail) Queensland, the year was 1952 and dad was 20 years old.  In was his first season working on Goltz’s farm and he was too poor to afford boots or shoes so he worked bare footed in the cane fields, a pair of shorts, hat and a cane knife (machete) his only real possessions.  His feet must have been so tough to withstand the razor sharp stalks and I’m sure he had a few good cuts but they can’t have been too bad as he couldn’t remember them all these years on.  The owner of the farm (Mr. George Goltz) was astounded by this new lad he had on his crew.  Why didn’t he wear any boots?  Was he mad?  Didn’t he know that the cane fields are also inhabited by an inordinate number of deadly snakes?  (The Eastern Brown and Coastal Taipan are two of the top three most deadliest snakes in Australia, and happily inhabit the cane fields).  Dad was never afraid of snakes and even as kids when faced with a fierce Tiger snake in our back yard (trust me we had plenty), dad would always go toward it and take it out with what ever he had in his hands or could lay his hands on at that moment – completely unfazed.   After killing the snake and hanging it on the closet fence (as an example of it to all other snakes nearby) he would carry on as if nothing had happened!

My favorite photo of my dad with
one of the snakes he captured in the
cane fields - Queensland circa 1956

Anyway back to the story - George feeling sorry for the lad offered dad an old pair of boots, but dad was too proud to accept and respectfully declined saying that when he earned enough money he would buy his own.

It took him a few weeks to find his groove, but Dad’s record for a week of cutting cane that first year was 90 tons of cane cut in the field and stacked onto rail cars destined for the local mill all by himself – can anyone say herculean effort?    Suddenly dad when from being dirt poor to being relatively well off over night cos’ in those days he was paid by weight/tonnage at the mill (one pound per ton – you do the math).   And so by sending the majority of his pay home to his mother he was able to pay off the mortgage to the family home in less than a year.   Not bad for a 20 year old!

The other great story he told me was the time he was working on another farm in central  Queensland after the sugar cane season was done.  There was about a month between jobs so he asked around and low and behold a farmer from quite some distance away overheard dad asking for work and so gave him the job on the spot (yes, it was a Saturday night and yes, it was in a pub, and yes they both had too many beers).   Next morning dad found himself in the back of the Ute bumping along a dirt track with an enormous hangover and long ride ahead over the Atherton Tablelands…. The homestead was literally “beyond the black stump”! 

Dad cutting cane on Goltz Farm - Eaton, Queensland circa 1955

The first order of business was to get dad busy so he put him to work right away, ploughing hundreds of acres of surrounding paddocks in readiness for the planting of his cereal crops.  That first night he asked the ‘boss’ where the shower was so he could clean up.   The boss looked back a little dumbfounded and said there was no electricity or running water on the farm, and that water was too precious for bathing in.  However, he did point to the water tower some 100 meters distant from the homestead.  The windmill pumped the water into a large 10,000-gallon tank, which was set some 30 feet above the ground on a wooden stand.  Without saying another word, dad turned and walked resolutely toward the tank stand.   Looking up he realized that there was little room to maneuver once he started to climb the tank so he dropped his shorts (always commando in the tropics – great advice dad!) and kicked off his boots (yes, by this time he actually owned a pair!) placed his hat carefully on this pile and began climbing up the tank stand completely naked.  Once up on top, he also realized that to get up on the top of the tank so he could paddle around inside he would have to jump (dad was only 5’ 6” in height, but incredibly well built and strong) to get a hand-hold on top so he could pull himself up literally by his fingertips. 

Logistically a couple of things still stood between him and a wash.   Firstly the tank stand was 30 feet in the air, standing on the corner of the stand with about a foot of space to land on if he couldn’t hold on once airborne.  The other bigger issue was over the course of the day the tanks metal sides get rather hot, in fact very hot and certain parts of his anatomy would be in contact with this metal so he had to make the leap surely and scamper up quickly to ensure he spent as little time as possible spent wedged against the tank -  this would be an absolute imperative. J

One of dad's Union cards - everybody belonged
the AWU in those days...no exceptions

About this time he heard a muffled laugh, turning toward the house he now realized that the entire family was now sitting on the steps watching him – the husband, wife and the four kids.  This was better than anything they had ever seen before, a naked man trying to jump up onto the top of the water tank….and all just for a wash?   I'm sure its better than that thing called "television"?

Each night for the month, unperturbed by the spectacle and show he was putting on for the family (yes, they would come out each night and watch!) he would once again tackle that insanely high tank stand to once again luxuriate in the cool and earthy waters.   

Yep, that was my dad...now you know where my personality comes from. 

The reason for my blog came into sharp focus last night when I attended my son’s Grade 7 parent teacher interviews and was talking to his homeroom teacher.  He related that Zach had recently been telling some of the other boys in his class, quite proudly about the stories from my blog (yes Zach is an avid reader and critic of my blogs).  I was flattered to think that he would want to tell others about the stories of my life - firstly that they were cool enough to want to tell to his mates and secondly that they were interesting enough to capture his imagination in some way.  

Dad sharing one of his stories with me and one of my favorite photos!
Daylesford, Australia (November 2010)

Clearly writing my blog is paying off in ways I don't even know yet but with a long term pay off to be sure.   I feel like I'm already well ahead of the game in sharing my life stories with Zach and Sami.....and you as well.

A win-win wouldn't you say?