Tag Archives: Family

Canadian Football

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The half-time entertainment

I went to a Canadian football match and watched an AFL game.  Well it was at half-time, a demo match and rather low skills, but the locals got the idea and were appreciative.  The people around me were somewhat surprised that none of the players wore any padding, helmets, or other protective gear.  However, it was fun to watch.

The main match, the Canadian game, was between Montréal and Winnipeg.  The two cities in Canada where I have spent most of my time.  Winnipeg is the stronger team. Montréal has only won four of nine matches this season and only at home.  Apart from the game, which I must admit, I struggled to follow at times–it was nonstop noise, advertising, commercial breaks for Tv and ‘cheer-girls’.  I’d argue that the girls worked harder than most of the players. 

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The girls workd harder than some of the players

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Key Players were introduced before the start of the game

Advertising, did I mention advertising?  It is a stop-start game, not at all free-flowing and depending on the state of the game, the complete team changes.  Interesting the loudest noise was made when the opposing team has the ball down and about to make a play.  The idea is that if it is noisy enough they cannot hear the play being called.  

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Montréal trailed 10-0 for most of the first half, but it was even at half-time.

I’m not going to try to explain its rules and strategies here, it is beyond my comprehension.  The game is played in four, fifteen-minute quarters, but with stoppages, changing teams, and all the other activities it lasted almost three hours.  Montréal trailed most of the match and with about four minutes left it was down by seven points.  The exodus was like a Port Power game at Adelaide Oval when it is being thrashed in the final quarter.  Yet, the impossible happened.  With a Try and a Conversion (field goal–I think) Montréal tied the score.  Apparently draws are rather rare in Canadian Football.  So rare that the rules to break the tie were put up on the Tv screen.

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The score at the end of the match, a tie-break was then played out (ALS is Montréal)

That final kick, with six-seconds to go, was a place kick.  It tied the scores and was taken from about forty (yards) from the goal and directly in front.  Not a big kick by Aussie Rules standards.  However, it was seen as desperate and with not much chance of success.  It cleared the cross-bar, but not by much–enough though to tie the game.  During time-on the lead see-sawed, but Winnipeg came out the eventual winners.

For me it was special exposure to part of Canadian Culture that many visitors may not experience.  I was the guest of Professor Steven High (Concordia University) and his teenage son, Sebastian.  It’d was a beautiful night.  We ate hotdogs, popcorn and drank Pepsi…beer if you wanted it.  Thank-you Steven and Sebastian, this evening capstoned a wonderful visit to your beautiful, friendly and fascinating city.  Go Montréal–I will check the scores online with interest.

This piece was written as I sat in the Bella Vita Cafe (Pizzeria) on the corner of Rue Jacques Cartier and Rue Saint-Paul E. in Old Montréal.  While typing I enjoyed a long black coffee, garlic bread and Ministroné Soup, with cheese.  However, the cheese came on the garlic bread, not with he soup as in Australia.  I wonder if there is any real traditional cuisine anymore?  Food is influenced so much by the local culture.  Maybe there is a journal article here?

Meeting interesting people

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Yesterday (Sunday) I flew in a cigar tube from Denver to Winnipeg.  A fifty seat plane for an international flight.  Not something we Australians experience often.  It was a baby plane and I had to duck when standing, or bump my head on the cabin roof.  Thankfully I paid and extra US$19.95 to get a seat with more leg room, it was the second row from the back.  With two seats on each side of the plane, it was cosy and led to speaking with your traveling neighbour.

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My Cigar shaped baby plane

Stephen is 65, retired and lives about three hours south of Denver.  He has been an avid fisherman since a child and was heading to Lake of the Woods, about a ninety minute drive south-east of Winnipeg.  Three generations of his family have owned a small island in the lake complex and they fish there (for Bass) for up to six weeks a year.  He was astounded that I had never fished.  I’ve tried it but got sea-sick when in a boat and from the river bank I find having a beer, or wine and reading a book more enjoyable.

The previous day his son and wife had been walking one of the trails in the adjacent park to the lake, when they came across a bear and her two cubs.   “The bears and Stephen’s son and his wife froze,” according to Stephen.  Thankfully a larger group of people walked around the slight bend in the path at the appropriate time and the bears sauntered off.  The encounter made the local newspaper.

His first career was as a teacher.  Stephen said that it was the most satisfying and rewarding job he had, working with primary (grade) school kids.  However, he only lasted six years:  “the pay was terrible, I don’t know how the others survived and paid car payments, or a mortgage?”  He made the decision to leave teaching and worked in sales for ‘clip-on-tools’ for forty years.

He was fascinated with Australia and wanted to know about our wild life, the country and our outback.  The two-and-a-half hours went too fast.

 

The PhD journey – life over 3,399 days

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On March 29th, 2017 I was awarded my Doctorate of Philosophy from the University of South

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Dr David Sweet with my ‘mate’ and special associate supervisor, Dr Nigel Starck.

Australia at the Graduating Ceremony.  The official conferral was in October 2016.  This higher degree research journey had numerous twists and turns, became frustrating, a joy (often in a few hours of each other), was challenging and above all I learnt so much.  I completed the PhD part-time, which prolonged the agony and the pleasure.  Probably the biggest learning curve has been accepting how little I know.  However, that understanding only opens up the options for further challenges in the realm of research.  Following are some of the (edited) highlights and challenges of my epic journey.

The journey

  • 3,399 days from start to completion
  • Started as a two volume Professional Doctorate
  • 83+ versions written
  • Wrote 230,000 words
  • Final version as a PhD is 109,728 words (inc footnotes and Reference List)
  • 52 people interviewed
  • 57 photographs used
  • 798 references
  • 230 other books devoured
  • Thesis examined by one Australian and one Canadian academic

Allied activities

  • 47 sessions with a PhD reading group
  • 6 papers accepted and published
  • 28 presentations delivered
  • 5 international conferences attended and papers presented
  • 182 books added to my own library
  • 2 bureaucratic challenges with the University
  • only spat the dummy a few times

Teaching

  • 11 undergraduate Courses/Subjects taught
  • 5 Post Grad subjects taught
  • 1 honours supervised student to completion
  • 1 honours student advised to reconsider
  • 7 years teaching off-shore
  • 11 teaching trips to Hong Kong and Singapore
  • Mentored 7 students (2 international)

The Family

  • 2 more grandchildren – 5 in total
  • 4 weddings (3 as the photographer)
  • 2 – 90th birthdays celebrated
  • 1 Golden wedding anniversary celebrated (not mine)
  • 4 deaths, my 2 sisters, 1 brother-in-law, 1 19 year-old nephew
  • 5 hospital admissions for me
  • 10 days in ICU at Modbury hospital
  • 2010 – 7.5 hours of micro-surgery for cancer on my face
  • many other highs and lows of life as well
  • Produced 5 photo-books
  • Completed 10.5 hours of oral history interviews in addition to my PhD interviews

There is life after a PhD

  • Traded a caravan, purchased a Motor Home
  • Reduced teaching to 2-3 subjects
  • Working on 5 research projects
  • Research-Study tour to Berkeley (California), Concordia and Western Universities (Canada) is set for August 2017.

115 years have passed

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Today, November 1, 2016, is the first Tuesday in November and the nation (Australia) stops for a horse race – The Melbourne Cup.  I have absolutely no interest in horse racing, yet it has been with me all my life.  My attitude to this ‘sport’ is a fool and his/her money are soon parted.  More on that later.

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Harold Revenue Sweet, greengrocer. Taken before 1939, probably in the inner south-east suburbs of Adelaide

My father was born on November 5, 1901, in Broken Hill, NSW, Guy Fawkes Day and the first Tuesday in November.  It was Melbourne Cup Day.  His name; Harold Revenue Sweet.  The horse that won The Cup in 1901 was called, wait for it, Revenue.  Yes, my father was named after a horse.  So the first week in November was a celebration in our home.  Thankfully I was born in August and this family tradition didn’t continue, otherwise I would have some wierd and unpronounceable middle name.

Growing up as a kid in suburban Adelaide and having a father whose birthday was on Guy Fawkes, or cracker night was a treat.  There were family and friends visiting, tables of food and good times.  The couple of weeks before ‘the night’ the kids in the neighbourhood would collect old lumber, tyres, anything that would burn to build a bonfire.  Between us we would scavenge around to get old clothes, stuff them with straw, paper and grass to build a ‘guy’ to place on top of the pile of rubbish waiting to be burnt.  There was not one environmental thought amongst us.

I still have a nostalgic feeling this time of the year.  Fireworks can be dangerous – no they are dangerous – and how we were allowed to do what we did I am still surprised.  None of our mob ever got injured by the crackers, but may children did.  Then there were the fires.  Cracker night was the busiest night of the year for the (then) SA Fire Brigade.  Decades later, as a fire fighter, I came to appreciate the problems unsupervised fireworks can cause.  Yet we kids set-off ‘penny bangers’ and ‘thrippeny bombs’ under tin cans, in letter boxes and storm water drains – anywhere it would look and sound spectacular.  It was fun.

It was Dad’s birthday and Melbourne Cup Day in 1957 and I remember asking my father why we didn’t put money on the horses and win more back, like one of our neighbours did regularly for the Friday night ‘trots’ and Saturday ‘gallopers’.  Often one of my boyhood friends would be excited over a win of a couple of pounds from a bet, more so if his father gave him a few bob from the winnings to spend on lollies.  At that young age I hadn’t compared homes and lifestyles in the neighbourhood.  My father, who had come home from work early, took me for a walk.  He pointed out the horse gambling neighbour’s home and then we walked in to Fisher Street, Myrtle Bank and he showed me a home there.  I knew it quite well.  I would walk past it twice day going to and from the Glen Osmond Primary School.  The home was two-story, huge grounds, lawn tennis court, a swimming pool (unherad of in the ’50s) and they had numerous cars.  One was a Studibaker.  Dad asked me which I preferred, the horse betting neighbour’s poorly kept bungalow, or the mansion owned by the ‘bookie’.  I can still remember his words, ‘they only tell you about their wins, never how much they lose.’ Lesson learnt – I have never bet on a horse race.

I struggle to visualise my father’s life as a teenager 100 years ago.  At fifteen he was working full-time having only gone to Unley High School for one or two years.  The photograph above is the only one I have of Harold Revenue Sweet working, then as a home delivery greengrocer.  Recently I ‘discovered’ more than four-hundred family photographs that I knew existed, but thought had been lost.  What stories they generate – now to capture the narratives before they are lost forever.

Pearl Denton’s 21st

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I visited my mother’s 21st birthday celebrations last night, or in the vernacular of the 1920s, ‘her coming of age party’. While researching something quite different I stumbled across two newspaper reports of Miss Pearl Denton’s – my mother’s maiden name – celebrations.

Such were the cultural formalities in Adelaide in 1925 that the celebration could not be held before her actual birthday and since her birthday (September 20th) fell on a Sunday that year, it was improper to celebrate on the day of worship. So the party was held on Monday September 21st at the Parkside Masonic Hall.

Over the years and some four decades later my mother would occasionally talk of her twenty-first birthday party. According to the short newspaper reports, in the Adelaide Register and the Mail, games were played amongst the guests. This confirms my mother’s stories of playing: pass the balloon, musical chairs, mystery package, and surprisingly (for me) indoor bowls, played on coconut matting. While the newspaper reports mentioned dancing, apparently this scandalous activity was condoned however there were strict guidelines on what was permitted between any non-married couples.

The Mail (newspaper) listed the names of sixty-one guests, the hosts, Mr and Mrs R. L. Pearce (my mother’s older sister and her husband) and my future father, H. R. Sweet was one of those present. Reading through the list of attendees, I can recognise a few names of aunties and uncles, and quite a number of family friends, or those whose names were part of the dinner-table conversations over the years.

The supper tables were laden with food and decorated with Iceland Poppies, according to the newspaper reports. Fifty-years after this event my mother was still growing poppies. I remember, as a child, our home being decorated with these flowers each spring. My mother would lightly burn the base of the stems and blanched them with boiling water so that the displays lasted longer.

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Undated, possibly 1926 and may have been at the Oakbank Easter Races.  My mother is at the front looking back at the camera.  Her elder sister, Myrtle and her husband, Bob Pearce, are seated at the rear left of the photograph.  Their daughter is on the right of her father.  It is also possible my father, Harold Sweet took the photograph.

Whether my parents were betrothed (engaged) for my mother’s 21st, I have no record of that. They were married eighteen months later in April 1927. Similarly, I have little in the way of stories from either of my parents about how they met, what they did for entertainment, or their ‘courting’ days. Both my elder sisters are also dead so I cannot chat with them as to what they may have been told either.  If there are any photographs of the 21st celebrations, or of my mother from that era,  I have yet to discover them.  The photograph (above) is one of the few showing my mother with her elder sister and brother-in-law, who were the hosts of her ‘coming of age party’.

This is a continuing regret, for me, and a gap in my history of the family.  Each of us should look too these narratives and photographs as an important legacy for future generations.  I found it serendipitous that this inadvertent discovery of two small newspaper articles published ninty-one years ago caused me to reflect and remember a little more of my mother.  Our way of life, our means of enjoying, our family celebrations and our entertainment are different now.  I have not written this to compare and claim one period of time is better than another.  They are unique.  Yet each should be celebrated, remembered and passed on as an important legacy of our family history.

If you haven’t used Trove, I highly recommend it, but be careful, it is addictive.

Research is interesting

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For the past eighteen months I have been slowly plodding through the background to the death and final resting place of firefighter Albert GREENMAN.  Albert, as I have mentioned in two precious blogs, (The nostalgia of cemeteries and The nostalgia of cemeteries Part 2) was killed in the explosion that ripped through the ship, City of Singapore, in April 1924, at Port Adelaide.  The other two firefighters killed in that explosion have a memorial to their sacrifice at the Cheltenham cemetery.  There is no recognition, for Albert, on the plot at the West Terrace Cemetery (WTC).

Records at the WTC show that there is a third body buried in Albert’s grave and it is likely to have been his mother in law.  Caroline Barbara Lena MARHORANA who, prior to her death resided in Royal Park SA and died on July 2, 1956 (aged 85 years).  Caroline is probably the mother of Laura GREENMAN, Albert’s wife, so it is probable  that Laura’s maiden name was MARHORANA.  However, there are no persons listed with that surname in the White Pages, in South Australia or nationally.

Other spellings of MARHORANA indicate that this is a name with an Indian ancestry however, there is also a strong Italian connection as well.  Indian/Italian heritage could indicate some of the disquiet in the GREENMAN family almost 100 years ago.

So far I have not been able to track down when Laura GREENMAN died, where she was buried, or if there were any surviving children.  There may have been a daughter, an infant at the time of Albert’s death in 1924, but I have not found any details of that as yet.

Copyright cleared with Shayne Greenman 2016

Firefighter, Albert Greenman, C 1920s. Photo supplied by Shayne Greenman, Queensland, and used with permission.

Now the hiccup – nothing can be done with the site of Albert’s (et al) grave regarding its upkeep, or adding a memorial headstone without the written permission of the site licence owner.  All avenues need to be exhausted in attempting to ascertain who is the current holder of the ‘licence’ and either have their permission, or have the licence transferred into someone else’s name before any memorial can be considered.

Blackwell Funerals, according to the WTC records apparently handled the funerals of Albert (snr), Albert (infant) and Caroline MARHORANA.  As luck would have it, I am attending an information session regarding death, as part of my University Students’ course work next Tuesday at Blackwell Funerals.  So I will see what else I can discover whilst I am there.

Also I have discovered another publication on the history of Port Adelaide and it apparently has a significant section on the City of Singapore Fire in 1924 – Triumph, Tragedies and Port Adelaide (2005) by Ron Ritter.  I have that book on order through an Inter-library loan so I will see if it sheds any further information of value for this project.

The research is becoming more interesting.  What started out as a desire to have a memorial on the grave of a firefighter killed in his duty, is now interwoven with World War I history, family genealogy, family history, and the history of South Australia.

The Nostalgia of Cemeteries – part 2

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In May 2015 I wrote about a visit to the West Terrace Cemetery.  As a part of that story I also commented on the unmarked grave of a firefighter, killed in the City of Singapore Ship fire at Port Adelaide.  Since then the challenges of research revealed that Albert Greenman was also a WW I – Western Front – returned soldier.  His unmarked grave gives no recognition to his service to Australia both in war and peace.

The Metropolitan Fire Service is supportive of providing some form of recognition on his grave.  However, all efforts to find any surviving family has, until today, drawn a blank.  As testament to the value and power of research and the internet, a nephew of Albert found my 2015 blog and has contacted me.

While it is still too early to predict what may eventuate from this online meeting, I am hopeful of a headstone being placed on Albert’s grave.  I’ll keep you posted on any progress via my blog.

Visiting when travelling

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A colleague posted on Facebook last night, a piece on how a visitor from a ‘first world’ country had stayed with her and her family, didn’t engage with them, never said thank you, and left their home without saying goodbye.  Downright rude, me thinks.

One of the great things I love about travel is meeting people from other places, not only fellow travelers, but those local to the places I visit.  Occasionally I have been privileged and invited in to their homes.  For nine years I have been teaching in Singapore and Hong Kong.  The friends I have made there are wonderful and always happy to see me, as I am happy to see them.  Twice in Singapore I have been invited in to a home. While this may not seem as frequent as here in Australia, the cultures are different and home entertainment of guests is not as common as here.  Each of these occasions was dissimilar. One was a feast after Ramadan and the other to a Singaporean Indian parent’s home.  Both were wonderful experiences and I am happy to have them as my friends.  Others have made the effort and shared coffees, meals or beers that have been fun and enjoyable moments in my traveling journey.

This brings me to my recent trip to Cebu in the Philippines.  In my previous blog I mentioned that I was invited to the parents’ home of my colleague.  Having moved through the general area where the family lived I had a basic understanding of the style of home they owned.  Again, I cannot, nor should I, compare this with Australia, it is different.  In the part of the Philippines (at least) it is not normal for each house to have a road frontage,.  Each residence is connected to the main road via a network of pathways.  Whilst the homes are of a good size, the surrounding property is limited in area.  That is, no extensive gardens or outdoor areas other than for cooking.

This time the taxi ride, from The Henry Hotel, out past the international airport on Mactan Island, was quicker as the traffic, whilst still heavy, flowed easily.  It was dark and street lighting was minimal.  When I arrived I was formally met by the family.  And I mean the whole family, grandparents, older aunt, parents, children and grand children.  Thirteen adults and five children.  The formality was special.  Age is held in high esteem here and the younger family members not only greeted me politely, but in the formal custom of the Philippines brought my hand to their forehead as a mark of respect.  Conversation was polite and as people relaxed the formality slipped away a little and the family interaction became evident.

Conversation with the younger members was easy as their English was excellent.  Remember I was the one lacking here, I speak one language, they all speak at least three.   Even the youngest, Liam, a four-year old, understood at least two languages.  Their home was warm, inviting and happy.  All family members interacted and the conversations flowed.  They were interested in what I normally ate at home, if rice was a staple part of my diet and similar basic living experiences. I did not see a fridge and from the discussions around food and cooking I gathered that food purchasing and cooking was undertaken on a meal-by-meal basis.

Like many Australian homes the kids love computer games .  However, the whole family looked on and enjoyed the skill of the game.  Angel, a beautiful seven-year-old, loved colouring and her book from school depicted her artistic talents.  I was touched by the obvious love between the generations, no matter their ages.

Life is tough in the Philippines.  Often the working hours are long, up to nine hours a day and six days a week.  On average the take home pay is about P6,000 per month (that is with a university degree), which equates to less than A$3,000 per year.  Sure the cost of living is less, but try buying a car ,or an iPhone on that amount of income.  Forget overseas holidays, or weekends in the numerous resorts dotted around the islands.

My evening with this wonderful family was enjoyable, friendly and for me special.  They opened up their home, showed genuine friendship and made me feel welcome.  I thank them. On leaving, we walked back along the path and waited on the road for a pedal-trike to come past.  There were three of us.  Cathy, my colleague, Lorraine, her married sister and myself.  Lorraine is the mother of Angel and works night shift in an accounting call centre. We required two trikes and about five minutes later we met up at the main road and took a taxi back into the downtown area of Cebu city.  Lorraine had about twenty minutes before she had to be in the office so we ate a light meal in a local cafe/restaurant.  By the time my head hit the pillow, I was tired, it had been a long day, but complete with memorable experiences.

Cathy and her son Liam (4 years)

Cathy and her son Liam (4 years), Mactan Island, Cebu, July 2015.

Out of the ordinary

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The saying goes something like this: ‘expect the unexpected’.  This past week of travel has certainly dished up the different and the interesting.  In my earlier post I wrote of my Monday in Cebu and the Cebu University.  By Tuesday I had an attack of the ‘guilts’ so I put a concerted effort in to editing the final chapter of the thesis.  Sitting at the Henry Hotel, by the pool, bottomless cup of coffee, cool water on request and the time slipped past.  No distractions – emails, texts, phone calls – then a reward at the end, a big ice-cold beer.  Around four in the afternoon I re-joined the world and walked through the back streets of downtown Cebu.  Life here in the Philippines is certainly different to that of Australia and I’m sure I’d struggle to adapt.  Tuesday night I had dinner in the hotel.

This is the Church and Convent of Santo Nino, in uptown Cebu. First erected in 1565. I did not realise that this was a funeral until I downloaded the photographs. I have probably breached a protocol, although with social media now, maybe not.

This is the Church and Convent of Santo Nino, in uptown Cebu. First erected in 1565. I did not realise that this was a funeral until I downloaded the photographs. I have probably breached a protocol, although with social media now, maybe not.

While Cebu is great for some adventure tourism, diving, climbing and para-sailing the more traditional venues of museums, art-galleries, and street architecture is not high on the list of things to do here.  However, with local friends a new world opens up.  I will write this up in a more detailed segment to these blogs in the next day or so when I get all my photos organised as well.  We visited the uptown area of Cebu, looked through malls, walked the avenues, visited churches that date back to the first Spanish settlement (invasion) and then took a ferry ride across the harbour to Lapu Lapu – Mactan island.

Row upon row of candles available to light for the Catholic rite.

Row upon row of candles available to light for the Catholic rite.

Another church and so many candle sellers, and candles, which are lit at almost every shrine. We took a stroll through the attached high school (to this specific church) and then into the totally confusing labyrinth of traffic congested streets.  I didn’t notice any public transport.

There are taxis, jeeps (partially covered vans where the passenger hops on and off at their leisure) and then the trikes – motor-bike and sidecar is a lose description and pedal power.  We used them all.

A typical bike/trike. They are often loaded with a couple of people and a pile of goods.

A typical bike/trike. They are often loaded with a couple of people and a pile of goods.

I was privileged to visit a local government office where (Vicki) the mother of my colleague and guide is the office manager and secretary to the Mayor.  Her role is a complex arrangement of formality, minute-taking, welfare, assisting tourists in difficulties and helping the local community navigate their way through the complexities of the legal system.

The 'Local Government' offices I visited and where the mother of my friend, colleague and guide, Cathy, is the office manager of the 'Barangay Buaya'.

The ‘Local Government’ offices I visited and where, Vicki, the mother of my colleague and guide, Cathy, is the office manager of the ‘Barangay Buaya’.

While her position is a normal office hour role she is well known in the community and often people will call on her at home.   I will end this blog on the mention of their home.  Vicki invited me to visit their home later that evening and to meet all of the family.  This was a surprise and I understand the importance that is placed on this offer, which I graciously accepted.

Kicked three goals – but I’m 30 meters out for the fourth and running hard

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I have kicked three goals – three abstracts submitted and three acceptances. That is a turn up for me.

The first paper is: Nostalgia and Legacy of the family photographic collection, with the NZ Studies Association conference at the Vienna University in the first week of July. Then in September I will present a paper titled: Vida – a pastor’s wife (an oral history) at the national Oral History Conference in Perth (my former stamping ground). Paper number three, I have just been advised is at the inaugural IABA Conference in the South Pacific, here in Adelaide. That paper is titled: Three Generations – oral history through photographs on display.  

Photos on the Wall

As for goal number four, the thesis, I’m still at the 30 meter mark, but dead in front of the goal.  Keeping up with the Aussie Rules analogy, a good drop punt will sail it through the two big sticks (the two independent examiners).  So between now, plane flights to Austria, a return via the Philippines, and preparing for the Perth National Oral History conference I will have the thesis wrapped up in a nice little bow – soon.