World leadership

Tell you how I know the Chinese will take over and rule the world, no war or violence necessary, not at least like that of the current leader’s adventures in Iraq, Afghanistan etc. During a life spent mostly in the lower echelons of the building industry and more recently at the gate at Bunnings I have had ample opportunity to observe men behaving badly, substitute stupidly, when faced with the challenge of accommodating their newly acquired goods in their ill accommodating vehicles. I’ve seen lads steer with one arm out the window clasped around the end of a plank while his mate supports the other end from the seat behind him. I’ve seen all manner of overloads and incompetently secured loads. I myself have been guilty of overloading roof racks till gutters broke and rain poured in. I once overloaded my roof so badly that it sunk in till I needed to crouch and then ingeniously had my friend lift the sag out with his fork lift.

Never before though did I witness, as I did on last Friday, the fantastic ingenuity of a Chinese family faced with the test of transporting the lengths of Dexion angle they had purchased to construct the cheap, sturdy frame for auntie’s sewing table where junior could have his computer work station at the other end, in the Barina, whatever (read very small car). They slung their load under the car suspended from what we now euphemistically call bumper bars. God I hope they didn’t need to go over any speed humps on their way. They weren’t the typical young larrikins I’d learnt to expect such stunts from either. Aunty and uncle took counsel from grandma Lee as she checked the knots.

Reflecting on their ingenuity that would easily be branded as foolhardiness by today’s standards of safety I began to think how my dad would have approved, at least to the physics of this design. He taught me that the lower a vehicle stored its load the more stable and energy efficient it was. Whether he would have agreed with me that these were the people about to remove us Anglos from our place of supremacy in this world is arguable though I’m confident this evidence could have influenced him. It is in my opinion a perfect example of building a better mouse trap and tends to cast all those photos we email one another of a family of six on a Honda and like in a light not of mockery. Isn’t it after all, really about what can be done.

These thoughts of my dad have inspired a re-reading of his memoirs, musings not unlike my own and which like mine are easily forgotten. They’re really very good and for the benefit of those in the next generation who may not have their own copies, and indeed for those who do I have decided here to serialise the same. Impetuous sod that I am I can’t preform this task without comment and have included these, yes there shall be more than one, in italics.

Memoirs
J. P. O’Keefe 1900 – 1981

Born in Goolmangar twentieth day of January 1900.
To begin it might be interesting to recall a little of the history of my father.
He was born in Gerringong in 1864. His parents both died in 1874 when he was 10 years old. He was reared by people by the name of Taylor. He came to Lismore in the early 1880s and worked for a time for a surveyor. He later moved to Goolmangar and worked on a farm for a man named Beverage. Prophetic don’t you think. He selected fifty acres of standing scrub adjoining the Beverage holding. This was the beginning of the farm where I was born and raised as were all the other members of my family. He cleared this land in his spare time while still working for Beverage. Built a house and bails and commenced farming, In about 1890 he married my mother nee Emily Boyle. Like him she too lost her mother when she was only seven years old and was reared by her aunt Mrs. Tom McIntyre nee Grace Boyle at that time living in Kiama. They later bought land and moved to Goolmangar.
My parents were married in the McIntyre home and I believe they left the scene of the wedding on horse back.
They bought adjoining property as time went on and so built up a self supporting farm of two hundred acres. In 1900 they built a new house which still stands. The old house they moved and it became the kitchen of the new house now long since demolished.
This is where I arrived on the scene although I was born in the old house on the side of the hill under the big fig tree.

I guess I lived a uneventful life for the (first) six years then I started school.
This is when life for me really began. My first teacher was a man called Peard. I don’t remember much about him except that he was a nice bloke. He boarded with my parents as did most of the teachers to follow. The school at that time was on the hill where Mrs. Bert McNamara now lives. It was later moved to its present site to make room for Berts house. Following Peard my next teacher was Charlie Moffit. He was a real tyrant and ruled the school with the stick. If you got your sums wrong you got the stick. Subject, grammar known these days as English would come along and he’d say, “now I’m going to make the stick fly”. We were all pretty dumb. He also had favourites and referred to Ethel Mellare as the pet lamb. We lads were all given names of the boxers of the day. Johnson, Burns, Lang, Gerome and so on. The Johnson Burns world title fight was held during his term in 1908 and he and my dad journeyed to Sydney to see it. After Moffit came Pinchin. He lived with his people up Pinchins lane and rode a horse over the hill to our school. He was a rather insignificant little and caned around the legs. I recall one day Wally a big hefty lad was called out for punishment. Wally put his hand on Pinchin’s shoulder and said “Sir your not supposed to cane around the legs” so Pinchin sent him back to his seat

Charlie Shaefer was our next teacher, he was fun, played a tin whistle, loved music. We had a concert each Friday afternoon. Did part singing and a bit of solo work. The girls were pretty good but I was the only boy to attempt a solo. Not that I was any better than anyone else, but I probably thought I was. I sang comic songs and the teacher would be in stitches. Looking back it was no wonder. Some of the songs for instance. “oh where is my little dog gone”. Some of the words. “I took my girl for a walk one day. As we strolled along by the sea. She sat down on a mossy bank. But I sat down on a bee”.
Charlie boarded with us but each week end he rode his push bike to Lismore. He’d return again on Monday morning but generally didn’t arrive till about ten o’clock. We kids would chase wallabies around the hill opposite until we saw him coming up the road. On wet days he would have to clean the mud off the wheels of his bike every hundred yards or so, so that they would go around. In wet wether my two older sisters Mary and Emily would ride to school together with me and some times the teacher would get up behind us. Sometimes too Renee and Percy Hall, who’s parents farmed the next farm, would climb aboard also. (see that’s where those Asian Honda riders got the idea,) Emily is a nice name don’t you think though I don’t think I’d like to go through life as Percy.) Making it six in all. Dad would tie a knot in Toms tail to, as he said, save the last one slipping over. Tom by the way was a big draught horse.

After Shafer came George Notley. He was a really good teacher. He had four or five lads including me, sit for the Qualifying Certificate Exam now known as the Entrance to High School. We all passed but none of us went on to high school. He formed a debating society. Had the government and opposition and we debated various subjects and held elections, mock trials, farewells and had to make the relevant speeches. (Better than my education) This I consider was a really worthwhile exercise. I know later as a young man around town I felt the benefit. If called on at any time to put a few words together I was never at a loss, and as the war was raging at the time and every week, more or less, we were farewelling one of our mates, who had enlisted I was called on to make the pretty little farewell speech.
Notley boarded with my parents and when the school was moved to its present position, he drove to school in a pony and sulky. I rode to school and my younger sister Eileen rode behind me. Later when I was not going she would go with Notley in the sulky. He had to cross Dickies crossing. This road was well patronised in those days. Sometimes after we had had rain the creek would have a fresh in it. Notley would stand on the seat to keep dry. Eilie would stand beside him and hold onto his leg. Rowdy the pony might be more or less swimming. When my mother heard about this you can imagine her reaction.

During my school days, weekends, holidays etc. I had a mate, Jack Barratt. Jack lived with his parents over the other side of the creek. We would meet at the creek and have fun. One favourite pastime was annoying carpet snakes. When we came across an old carpet we would poke it with sticks and get it really mad. It would stand up on its tail and strike at us. We kept well out of range of course. Black snakes were the most plentiful and of course the most venomous. One day I came across a blackie and whilst looking for something to dispatch it with it started down a hole in the ground. I pulled it back by the tail and tossed it away. It was on its way again so I pulled and tossed once more. Down it started the third time but would you believe it, this time it was going down backwards.

Clarrie Parmenter lived close to Jack and sometimes he would join us. One Sunday morning in 1915 Jack and Clarrie arrived at my place each riding a brand new push bike. I admired them with longing eyes and no doubt had a ride. Little was said, but on Monday dad took me to town with him and I rode home on a brand new shiny bike. He was a great dad. I had my first lesson in business early in my youth. I guess I was about ten years old. I went to town with dad. He had things to do and maybe wanted to have a beer with his friends and so didn’t want me trailing after him. He gave me some money and left me to meet him back at a certain place at a certain time. I browsed around looking in the shop windows, but my boots were hurting as I didn’t normally wear boots, so I went into Spink’s Park and sat on a seat. Soon a chap (came) along and sat beside me. He asked my name and were I lived and made himself real friendly. Yes he knew the Lees, George and Mary. They lived at Goolmangar and were well known to me. They had show horses and he rode their horses in the show. His name was George Paxton. Then suddenly he saw someone he knew. He asked if I had a zac. I didn’t know what he meant by a zac. He told me it was sixpence. Anyway I didn’t have sixpence. He said a shilling would do, so I gave him a shilling and off I went. He was soon back and miraculously saw someone else he had to see. He borrowed another shilling and off again. Back once more. By now the penny was beginning to drop. I was beginning to realise I was being got at. So I said I’d have to go and meet my father now so can I have my money back. “O yes sure I’ll go get it for you.” I said “I’ll go with you” which I did. We stopped in front of the pub. He said “you wait here and I’ll go and get it”. Kids of course couldn’t go into pubs. Well I waited and waited but he didn’t come back. I didn’t tell my dad what had gone on, nor did I tell anyone else for years. Later when I went to live in Murwillumbah as a young man I met up with a chap called Harry Paxton. He was George’s brother. He told me George lived on a farm outside of Murwillumbah so I arranged for him to bring George to see me some time when he was in town. But George died soon after that and I never got to thank him for robbing the kid in Spink’s Park.

As a teenager I was a rough Violinist. My sister Mary was just (?) as a pianist. Together we knocked out some rough music. We hadn’t much time for sheet music but anything that we could whistle we could play. At night when dad and mum and the rest of the family were playing cards in front of the kitchen fire. Mary and I would be belting it out in the parlour as we called the front room. At times we would provide the music for a do at the Coffee Camp Hall. We never got any money for it. I guess the dos were mostly in the nature of a send off or some such where nobody pays.

After leaving school I worked for a couple of years on the farm. This involved handling stock, clearing land and ploughing etc. We used a single furrow moll (?) board plough drawn by four bullocks.
In 1915, the war raging, compulsory training for 15 to 18 years living within a certain distance of a training centre was introduced. At that time I was outside the area. Later when I moved to Lismore to attend school (as you will hear later) I had to report for a medical. I was given an exemption due to a heart condition. I guess the majority of the lads who attended with me that day, and passed as fit, are long since dead.
Then when I was sixteen I remember dad and mum sitting me down for a talk. They inferred that there wasn’t really room for me on the farm. To be continued…
Phew! That’s to the end of the third page of a seventeen page monologue and it’s arduous. I’m certainly not about to launch a career typing students papers for them though I suppose the computer has done for that old profession. It’s rewarding though and the most difficult part is holding back from making comments that would spoil a flow that I at least regard as being of merit. What about the sort of talk mum and dad gathered you for at sixteen in those days eh. Anyway Time and cognisance permitting I shall publish some more next week. Meanwhile Aster la vista babies.