When I was 9 years old my father sent me on a holiday to Sydney for 10 days.
I was to stay with his Aunt. This was unusual because I didn’t know her. I couldn’t put a face to her name. This Aunt was the oldest child in his father’s family. There were four boys and two girls. When the boys grew up, they mostly bought farms in close proximity to each other, but this elder sister had gone to Sydney early in her marriage. Gossip had it, somewhat under a cloud. My father’s own father had died when he was 9 and, as was fairly common in those days, my father was farmed out to relatives. He never lived with his own mother again until he was an adult. His father had died owing more on the mortgage than the farm was worth, so his wife had no option other than to live with her relatives and for my father and his brother to live with his father’s relatives. My father never saw this particular Aunt as she was already in Sydney, but she always took a particular interest in him. They kept in touch by letter. My father never mentioned the gossip that was always attached to her. This gossip would surface from time to time from various relatives. It was alluded that she did not marry well. There was an incident when she had stood at the side of the road with a baby in her arms and people had driven past without stopping. At one public gathering some people had publicly ignored her. Cut her completely. Some people did speak about her, but some relatives never ever mentioned her name. Why my Father and his Aunt arranged for me to go on Holidays I do not know. I travelled by train from Albury to Central Station. My father put me on the train early in the morning before it was light. I enjoyed the journey. I had lots to look at. I noted with surprise that the land was fairly green all the way from Albury to Sydney. The land in the King Valley was always dry at this time of year. It was nighttime when I arrived at Central Station. It was a large building. Quite atmospheric. I could smell burnt coal. My great Aunt had no trouble finding me. She hugged and kissed me. This was an unusual thing for me because no one in my family ever kissed anyone else. We were soon on our way to her place. We had to travel by train, then bus and then walk for a fair while. When I arrived at her house I found she had two of her grandchildren staying with her. One was an exceptionally beautiful 16-year old girl. The other was a Down syndrome girl my age. I gave my Aunt a letter from my father and when she opened it I could see it had money in it. “He shouldn’t have done this”, she said. I had never seen a Down syndrome child before. I was alarmed and concerned. I did not know how to treat her. Her elder sister understood what she said and spoke to her as if she was normal. I only tried speaking to her once and she didn’t reply. She did not look at me. I did not know if she understood. She spoke in mumbles and grunts. My Aunt never explained her situation. She just treated the situation as normal. I did not know how to act. Whenever we were out, I could see people looking at us. We attracted stares and occasionally children would come and look closely at the Down syndrome girl. Some even tried to touch her face. I always felt ashamed verging on humiliation at the attraction, but my Aunt never wavered in taking everything as normal. Nothing bothered her. My 16-year old cousin was exceptionally good looking and also attracted interest from men who often whistled. I had never seen this behaviour before. She was blond and had long hair. She was tall and always dressed stylishly. She was the best-looking girl I had ever met. Of course, I was happy to be seen with her. When I think of it, we did a lot in the week I was in Sydney. My Aunt’s other two grand children were from Central NSW and had never been to Sydney before. She took us to several places. The Zoo. The Aquarium. Manly Beach. We went to a kind of museum with lots of old entertainment machines. I looked into a machine and saw flash cards which showed an Edwardian lady getting ready for bed. I had never seen anything like this before and was shocked. I recorded myself on a primitive tape recorder. I sang, I thought very well, a song we had learned in school. Before I had finished the song, it suddenly started playing back something that I slowly realised was me. I was mortified. I sounded terrible. The joke was - it was broadcast over the public address system for everyone to hear. People actually laughed. Thankfully, it did not go on for long, but I was struck dumb with the humiliation. I wanted to shrink into nothingness. My 16-year old cousin said nothing. My Aunt lived at one end of her house. Her husband lived at the other end. He was a Tram Driver and a ‘Union Official’, although I did not know what this meant. Trams didn’t run during the day and only started in the afternoon. If her husband came out of his room in the morning, he went straight to the racetrack. It was inferred by my Aunt that he liked to drink too much. She never touched the stuff she said. They didn’t have much to do with each other. He told me he had a special job at the racetrack and offered to show me, but My Aunt said no. One disturbing thing happened. We were robbed on the train coming home. We were in a train that did not have a corridor but had a door to every compartment in the carriage. As we came into the station a man stood up and seemed to be looking at all the bags on the overhead rack. He selected my Aunt’s knapsack and picked it up. My Aunt demanded - what are you doing? My Aunt said - someone stop him. I did not know what to do. My 16-year old cousin stood up and grabbed hold of his arm. The man put his hand on her face and pushed hard. She went sprawling into the corner of the compartment. I stood up but did not know what to do. I was transfixed. I froze. My Down syndrome cousin started screaming. Her screams were not normal screams but were guttural sounds of utter terror. And loud. The man simply put the knapsack on his back and walked out. My 16-year old cousin also started screaming, “Catch him, catch him” and went to the door of the train and called for help. Quickly a uniformed man came into the carriage. But he became increasingly agitated with the noise my Down syndrome cousin was making and ended up yelling – “Can you shut the mongoloid up”. When he said this there was silence. My Aunt said “” and clasped my cousin in a hug to comfort her. I was still frozen to the floor. When we got home and my Aunt’s husband heard what had happened, he was angry and became violent. “Why did you let this happen? How much money did you lose?”, he yelled. Then he stormed out. When it came time for me to leave, my Aunt arranged for one of her sons to take me to Central Station. He was late in coming. This turned into really late. Then there was panic. There would not be any time to get to the Station. But suddenly he was outside, and I had to grab my bag and get into his truck. The truck didn’t even stop moving. There was no opportunity to say goodbye. My Aunt stood at the front door and waved goodbye. I waved back. I thought she looked sorry I was leaving. I genuinely wanted to hug her. I found myself suppressing sobs. I turned my face aside and tried not to let my Aunt’s son see I was crying. My Aunt was by no means the only black sheep in the family. There was a brother who was a genuine black sheep. He was always known as ‘young Albert’ if he was ever mentioned. Information about him only came out in small spurts. His name was persona non grata. He had more-or-less been removed from family history. He had impregnated a girl when he was quite young - he was forced to marry her - but he abandoned her soon after the marriage and departed for areas unknown. She stayed in the area, much to everyone’s regret. Unfortunately, she had a stroke when she was 30 from which she never really recovered. But she was guilty by association. No one in the family really spoke to her - except for my father and this particular Aunt who now lived in Sydney. This poor woman, who had to live with the slights of her husband’s family, always wore an excess of rouge on her cheeks and always had trouble with her lipstick. Her teeth were always smudged bright red. She would sit on the public seat in the main street and was always pleased to recognise my father. When I was with my father, I would look at her makeup and teeth and not know how to act. She always mentioned that she had recently received a letter from my father’s Aunt in Sydney. Neville Gibb February 2024
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Quit
There have not been many instances where I have said “ I QUIT” One was in the middle of a 100 metre sprint. I had just discovered that I was good at running but I went into the race exhausted. I had not trained for the event. I had taken part in several other shorter sprint races and some long distance races earlier in the day and they had had an effect. I had pulled up sore and by the final sprint which was the 100 metre I was very sore. I had pulled several muscles in my legs. I was in pain. Some muscles in my body were screaming with pain. Real pain. I had little reserve strength. I could hardly breath. I had little inner strength to call on. I could not exert myself without experiencing great pain. I felt exhausted. I went through the first 50 metres attempting to strive as best I could but at 50 metres when I would normally make exertions for greater speed I made a decision. The pain was not worth it. I felt that I should withdraw from the world. The pain was too much. Did I care about how people felt about me. I said I quit. I slackened off and took the last 50 metres slowing down. I finished in 4th place. I have regretted it ever since. Once was when I was 22 and my life fell apart. To be more precise it could be said it virtually came to an end. A dead end. I had no future. I had destroyed my past. My private life had become none existent. I had destroyed my private life. I did not know it but I was immature. I could not understand where I was going. I could not understand what was happening. I did not know how fortunate I had been In the life I had previously had. I seemingly went out of my way to make things worse. I almost felt the need to go the whole way and destroy my life. I thought that I could fix my private life by being destructive. I had the urge be overly honest with my work. I talked myself out of two jobs in quick succession. I lived by myself and actually felt lonely. I was alienated from my family. I had taken a job in local government. The job had no depth to it. I was someone's assistant. I spent most of the day sitting doing nothing. I knew I had no future. I said to myself "I quit". And I really did quit. There and then. I instinctively burnt my bridges behind me. I quit everything. I have never regretted it ever since. Neville Gibb June 2023 We are obviously shaped by childhood. Lots of things happen in childhood. We remember them. Some things are indelibly written into our memories. We watch our parents and maybe try and do what they did. We try to live up to our parents expectations of us. Their beliefs are imprinted on us.
My parents were both hard working. My father felt he had achieved something by owning a dairy farm. He felt he was privileged to own a farm. He was willing to do whatever it took to improve it, willing to play by the rules. He always worked hard without any complaints. Nothing interfered with his work. He was as regular as clockwork and was willing to work through illness. He sometimes suffered from malaria, but it never stopped him working. He did not like to be away from the farm. My mother was much the same. She didn't like housework, however, preferring to work outdoors. She always said she would have liked to have been a boy and regretted that she was not shown how to do certain things when she was a child because she was a girl. She came from a large Irish family and she was the second youngest. There were several older brothers and then there was a gap of several years before three younger children were born of which two were girls. The two younger girls were kept separate from the others. My mother always claimed that they were never let do anything outside the house. It was her constant sorrow that she was never able to do certain things on the farm. She often said she was never allowed to assist at the forced birth of a poddy calf. She often said she was never shown how to work a posthole digger. She never learned to drive a car or a tractor. My mother and father had known each other as young people. They lived in the same valley. Both my parents mostly led lives within their own family group, my mother more so than my father. Neither had many friends outside the extended family. My mother never really strayed outside her extended family group and her closest confident was her sister. My mother had lots of relatives that she liked and enjoyed their company. She often met female relatives when she was shopping and this gave her great delight. She enjoyed visiting her relatives socially and she was never happier than when they visited in masse at Christmas or on birthdays. My father was a sociable man and was quite popular. He did not restrict himself entirely to his relatives. He belonged to several community groups, but it was obvious that family members were the most important people in his life. My father also had a large extended family. Quite often distant relatives of his would turn up and they would treat him with a lot of affection. He had been in the war and was treated as a war hero. Especially by some aged relatives. I have been imprinted with my parents work ethic. I have always felt obliged to do my best. I have always worked hard in whatever job I have had. I have always given more to the job than was required. So much so that since retirement I have nightmares about not working. I have been constantly plagued by a continuing nightmare. I am at a loss because I have nothing to do and I am not sure about what I should do. I dream that I am in a job where my work is not specified. I am in a job where I have no computer print out and I don’t know where to get a new one. I am in a job where I have been sent to a new office and there is nothing to do and I have to look for work. I am in a new job and there are no desks and certainly not one for me. Neville Gibb May 2023 I have never had any 'precious objects' that I have given value to. I have never given any importance to jewellery or property or any other physical object to the point where I wanted to have them near me. Happiness to me is dependant on other matters.
'Precious Things' are a different matter. My precious things are my wife and children. I have always wanted to have my precious things near me. I am not alone in this. This is a common ambition. For example, I understand that one Rupert Murdoch - more of him later - has always had the ambition to have his precious objects - his children - around him. He has at times inserted his children into positions within his business organisation. So - as he says - he can have his precious things near him. While always retaining ultimate power himself it has to be said. Nevertheless, I understand his sentiments. He likes to have his children around him. I do too. Whenever my children expressed dissatisfaction when unjust circumstances were forced upon them or if they felt another sibling got favoured treatment I would advise them that they had their own life to lead. They could not live the life of someone else. I was trying to get them to understand that they were lucky to have their own life and that they should concentrate on it and not be influenced by anyone else. They would normally take this statement without commenting on it. The relationship I continue to have with my children is one where they allow me to love them unconditionally. And say anything I like. In the 60’s I spent some years in the UK. I enjoyed it. I felt at home there. I felt British. I felt welcomed. Maybe these things mean nothing, but I was glad I was there. I even voted there. There were two things I immediately latched on to. The Times Newspaper and the BBC. These became my precious things. The Times was enjoyable to read. It was definitely highbrow. I was not sure of its prejudices. I was not even sure of its sentiments. The UK was at this time still affected by wartime austerity. People were poorer than Australians. Food and housing were inferior to Australia. Industry was massive and inefficient. The Times made no mention of this. It concentrated on higher matters. Suddenly a new paper appeared - The Sun came into existence and it was the mirror image of the Times. It was instantly popular with a fair cross section of society. Mr Murdoch seemed to know exactly what people were thinking. Most people in the office started reading it. Including people with pretensions I noted. I stayed loyal to THE TIMES. When I listened to the BBC it was a revelation to me. I felt it was talking to me. I felt it was on my level. The BBC’s guiding aim - Inform - Educate - Entertain - was, I thought, completely correct. In Australia I had grown up in an anti intellectual society and the ABC was thought to be irrelevant and high brow - a favourite saying of my Father and his cronies. There was no doubt that The BBC was catering to the elite of society. They did this without fear or favour. The ABC had seemed to me to be completely intimidated by the ruling party in Australia and both parents and extended family went along with this wholeheartedly. Not so with the BBC. They were not intimidated by the ruling party. The Times and the BBC became my precious things. I had to give up these two precious things when I returned to Australia. We stayed out of contact for some time. But in time Marshal McLuhan's prediction has come into being. The digital age has changed communication. I’m not sure if the medium is the message but we certainly now all belong to a global village. I can listen to the BBC 24 hours a day if I wish. I can listen to the media from anywhere in the world if I want to. It has got to the point where there is too much to pick from. I have to pick and chose. And times change. Between the 60’s and now, unfortunately, there has been a lowering of standards on both the Times and the BBC. And Mr Murdoch’s hand has been involved in both cases. The Times attempts to be a highbrow paper but it is Mr Murdoch's and it can only reflect his beliefs and prejudices. It is not hard to gauge its prejudices and sentiments. They are sometimes disheartenedly crude. The Times Newspaper is no longer a precious thing and I regret it. Mr Murdoch and his media empire has long been a critic of the BBC. The BBC seems to have taken this criticism to heart. The BBC seems to have said in order to placate Mr Murdoch we need to aim our programmes at a lower level of society than what we used to. We need to show the people that we are one of them. And therefore definitely not aim at the elite of society. The BBC can at times now show prejudice. The BBC can at times be unfair. The BBC can at times indulge in very un BBC behaviour. The BBC can at times indulge in Murdoch-like behaviour. The BBC is no longer a precious thing and I regret it. Neville Gibb March 2023 When I was young the seasons seemed to be more pronounced. This was because the years were longer than they are now. In late middle age we go from Christmas to Christmas and they seem to be about two months apart.
In my childhood we had winter each year. It rained more than now. We had a flood every year. The river always flooded and we would have water up to our back door. The actual river was approximately a mile from the house but when it flooded it was obvious that in previous times the river had changed its course a number of times. There were three ancient waterways between us and the river. When it flooded the river resumed its old ways. The river itself flowed close to a large hill and when it flooded you could see that it burst through the narrowing as it ran into the hill. The water took on a life of its own. I liked the fact that we had a flood every year. We were sometimes surrounded by water and we were cut off. School was off for a day or two. But life hardly changed. It only became more interesting. The cows would congregate on a temporary island surrounded by water. They were never in any danger. They knew what to do and still came home to be milked. They would walk through water to do this. Water holes would all fill up when the creeks and ancient water courses flowed with water. Rabbits would be trapped out of their burrows and were easy targets for dogs. They were easily caught if they attempted to swim away. I can only remember it being cold once. We had a neighbour visiting us and my mother had prepared a hot water bottle for bed. The neighbour made fun of me for having to have a hot water bottle. What was I - a man or a mouse. Of course it must have been cold. The puddles on the road froze up. If you were skilled you could skid your bike across the ice. Your back wheel. Undoubtedly we had summers but I cannot remember being hot. We once had a bush fire but I didn't feel unsafe. The fire came towards us and it was like watching water flowing from tree to tree. It didn't seem to move very quickly. I watched from a distance. I had no sense of it being hot. I do remember the noise of cicadas on overcast muggy days. They made a loud noise that went on for some days. They were probably there because the winters flood had made conditions that suited them. Alas we no longer have the pleasure of hearing cicadas. As we grew up we enjoyed the summer more. You could go swimming every day. We had large water holes full of water we could play in. One hole was rumoured to be bottomless. It never dried up. I built a raft for this hole. I remember the sweat pouring off me as I worked in the corrugated iron shed attaching the four gallon drums to the wooden slats. My cousin - recently deceased - would come to visit. I liked it when he came. We did lots of good things. We spent a lot of time on the raft. He was once on the raft in the middle of the water hole when he spied a large very dangerous looking insect in the water. It frightened him and he came out immediately. Later on when we were in our early teens I was able to stay at his place one wonderful summer. He had been given a Jersey heifer as a pet and he had trained this heifer to act like a horse. He rode it everywhere. We rode it everywhere. It could carry more than one child. He lived near the river as well and the heifer would take us to the river and when asked carry us into the river. This was great fun. I cannot recall it ever being oppressively hot. One notable thing happened when I was there. I rebelled against my mother. I had a haircut. My cousin's father took us to the barber and I was asked if I would like a haircut. I said yes please. I was always asking for a certain type of popular haircut but my mother would never allow it. When it came time to go home and my mother came to get me I had the popular haircut and she was not happy. I wasn’t allowed to stay there again. In adult life the seasons have changed. For the past twenty years or so we have lived with an extended drought. In drought times we go from a dry winter to a dry summer. There is no spring or autumn. This is disappointing. I do enjoy the winter more than the summer however. We have a winter house that has proper insulation in the walls and the windows are all double glazed. We have a large wood heater that spreads a comfortable warmth through the whole house. Neville Gibb February 2023 We all ask - what is a community?
There is of course - The Australian Community. And within the Australian community there are numbers of other communities. Australia after all is officially called a multi cultural community. I once belonged to a community. It wasn’t a large community but it was a community of sorts. This was the 60’s music community. I belonged to this community and it manifested itself in the setting up of a Community Radio Station dedicated to the playing of good music. You could call it the Public Radio Community. In time there came into being several Public Radio’s. There was a hierarchy of sorts. And they all competed with each other. I was there at the first ever public meeting regarding community radio and I sort of hung around. I went to many meetings. Eventually when we were awarded a licence I was elected as one of two coordinators. The community had over 500 members and I knew this because I had everyone on a computer file. I embraced my community with affection. I was determined to do my best. The coordinator was a position I wanted to have. So I stood for it and was elected to the position. I was excited. It turned out to have more power than originally thought and this eventually led to my downfall. In the beginning there were two coordinators. We split the responsibilities. I took on administrative responsibilities while my colleague took on more public activities. I was in the background and my colleague was in the public eye. I did work hard. I sometimes had to be present at 4AM on Sunday mornings. I sometimes had to work until 2AM on Monday and Thursday nights. I had to monitor the 10PM Friday slot to keep the bad language at a minimum. I am able to make some comments about the Public Radio Community. It was obvious that a lot of talented people exist who do not get onto radio. There are a lot of talented comedians who are unsure about appearing in public but are attracted to Radio Stations. There are a lot of very talented musicians who dont get a chance to play in public but are attracted to Radio Stations and assemble there. There are a lot of lonely people who are attracted to public bodies. There are a lot of people who would like to be on radio. There are a limited number of people who believe strongly they should be on radio. After some time and some criticism of my activities there was a board meeting and it was decided that there would be three coordinators. It was thought that I did not recognise true talent and gave time to people who were not really suited to public radio. Appointing three coordinators did not really change anything and the level of annoyance with my decisions could only increase. I had the power to award broadcast time and I had strict rules about it. I followed more or less the first come first served rule. If a new subscriber submitted a proposal that was interesting I would listen and if appropriate allocate them a spot. If you were a regular who always requested a slot you waited until it was your turn. This caused enormous resentment from people who thought they were both more talented and more worthy and should have been given more time on air. In the artistic community the pecking order is often disputed. Quite often talented people do not get a go because they don’t look the part. Or don’t sound the part. But sometimes these people have talents that can be drawn out. Because the Radio Station was a public body it sometimes attracted people we had trouble coping with. I experienced knowing a young girl who was actually homeless. I did not know how to cope with her and was sometimes confronted by the demand that as I had the power I should exercise it and remove her from the premises. I did not but neither did I take her home with me as I should have. For a time another young man who wanted to have a career as a singer slept in the radio stations lounge room. This person after some years did achieve success and I can claim that I knew him when he had hair. However I become acquainted with a fact of life that is universal. It seems in all things artistic the ego reigns supreme. I have to admit that I was taken down by the blatant exercise of this concept. At the end of the financial year and before the next annual general meeting it was decided that the Board would exercise its rights and take control of the station. All present official positions were abolished. The Board would have total control. Various board members would be allocated duties that they had expertise in. The Board would be elected by a strict preferential voting method. I failed to gain enough votes to be elected to the board. I left the station that night. I emptied my desk and left through the back door. I did not say goodbye to anyone. Later on I was contacted by board members and asked what happened to me. I was asked to come back to the station because I was needed. I declined. I always tended to take criticism personally. I had an ulterior motive however. I had during that year became a father. I enjoyed the experience of having a wife and child and settled into the pleasure this afforded. I selfishly followed my own desires. Of course I never regretted this. Except for re unions I never went back to the station. The Public Radio Community still exists. 968 words I WAS THERE I was there the day the world changed. Because there once was a day when the world changed. This day actually occurred. It really did. We live in a world that appears to be fixed. And in most ways it is. Our world does not often change and sometimes no matter how much we want it to change it never does. In many ways we don’t want the world to change and go to great lengths to prevent change. If you go through life expecting that the world will never change when the momentous change occurs it is hard to know what to make of it. In my case the world did change and would never be the same again. I found it both exhilarating and a letdown. Pleasing and disappointing. Both traumatic and healing. Soothing and disquieting. All of these and more. The day itself was almost perfect weather wise. The first week in October. Not a cloud in the sky. A cool fine day. There was a slight breeze. If you stood still you could feel the cool breeze across your face. I have always found this pleasurable and remember it to this day. I am reminded always when I experience this sensation. Tom and I left home early. I was fulfilling a long held promise to him. It had been touch and go whether I could keep my promise to Tom but after a lot of stress and effort I was able to arrange it. We took the normal route to our destination and had no traffic problems. Neither of us are superstitious so we did not see this as portentous. But in hindsight you could read something into it. On arrival I fulfilled another long held promise in that I allowed Tom to buy a magazine that I had always denied him previously because I considered its purchase a waste of money. But I was pleased to see him read the magazine and get a lot of enjoyment from doing this. I had never seen my son take so much interest and concentration as he did in carefully reading every word in this magazine. We sometimes get pleasure in ways we never expect and I remember the pleasure I experienced in watching him added to the enjoyment of the day. He was ten years old and I could see the joy he took in reading. We had to wait a long time for the ceremonies to begin. But we waited patiently. Finally proceedings started. The world actually changed over the course of the next two and a half hours. This sounds trite but at the end of proceedings the world had changed forever. The actual event still seems like a dream. And like all dreams I only remember fragments. Some things have been indelibly imprinted on my brain and others have been wiped forever from my memory. I remember small unimportant things and I do not remember other things that have later been deemed important. In reality I only have vague memories of most of the day. I have no sense that two and a half momentous hours passed. I cannot remember either Tom or myself uttering a sound. Certainly neither of us can remember any involvement or reaction to what was happening. That is until the end. Towards the end I wanted the last 5 minutes to go on forever but of course it went in seconds. I did not dare make a sound until the actual end. Then I made myself known to everyone. Or tried to. The world had changed. I was there when it happened. What a thrill that my son and I could share in Collingwood's triumph. Postscript: I tried to duplicate this experience with my other two sons. Each one was taken to a Grand Final but Collingwood reverted to type and lost both games. One by a close margin and one by a large margin. Both sons understood and forgave me. Neville Gibb
May 2017 |
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