Mum and Dad

1   Mum and Dad at Gerard and Maureen's Wedding

2   With their first Grandchild - Sarah

From the top -Tom Tess Alf

Mum and Madge

Kate Bill Nell and Ethel

Tas in front

Jame died as a Baby; their Mother died aged 42

 MY MEMORIES

Phyllis Mathews was born in Zeehan on the 19 September 1918. She al­ways maintained, using the Family Bible as her authority that she was born in 1919. I checked the records at the Zeehan Council Chambers and the year is definitely 1918.

She was the eighth Child of Thomas and Ellen Mary (nee Brampton) Mathews. She was what is commonly called a "blue baby" and was put aside after birth as being dead. But her Mother wanted to see her again, and as they unwrapped her she cried.  She was rubbed with oil and warmly wrapped.

Her early life comes in only snatches of stories that she told me. She remembered playing on an old pine tree, which is still there and she recognised it. She remem­bered going to stay with her Granny (Kate Brampton) as a little child and re­turning home when she saw a blue tongue lizard on the door step.

However she recalled with sadness the death of her own Mother in 1927, and how the Children were all brought into her room and around the bed they sang her favourite hymn "Abide with Me". It was for this reason that I chose that hymn as one in Mum's Funeral Mass.

After the death of her Mum, the younger Children were looked after by a Mrs Drake who seems to have been a dead ringer for the wicked stepmother. Many of Mum's Sisters and Brothers have mentioned her cruelty. The Children were too frightened of her to tell Pop. I think it was about this time that the whole Family moved to New Norfolk. I remember Mum telling us that she worked as a house maid to Doctor Westerway. Pop had re-mar­ried to a widow with three children, Alice Lowrey - Lorna who was about the same age as Mum and Jack and Jeal. Somehow Mum came back to the West Coast where she met Dad. They were married in the Sacristy of the Star of the Sea Catholic Church in 1938.

Patrick Cronly was born on 5th March 1910, the sole surviving Son of Julian Patrick and Mary Jane (Molly) nee Gambetta Cronly in Queenstown. His older Brother John was accidentally killed when dropped by his nurse. Dad attended a lot of different Schools because his Mother and Father ran vari­ous ho­tels, in Kempton, Queenstown, Zeehan, and in Whitemark, Flinders Island.

He attended a country school with one teacher for the whole school and he rode a horse to school. This was his proud boast. He was, too, a Boarder at St Virgil's for a number of years. He was a reasonable boxer and a good singer. While at St Virgil's he came under the control of Brother Joyce. Many years later when I first started at St Virgil's I mentioned this to Br Joyce and he shook my hand and said that I was a chip of the old block. Somehow, I don't think that dad was too pleased with that state­ment!!

Grandfather Cronly was gen­erous to a fault and would give you the shirt off his back. One day I was helping Dad do some cleaning up and he uncovered a little note book with the names of some people who had been lent money by him. Dad burnt the book, but there were some in­teresting names. Grand­father also donated parcels of land to the Catholic and Anglican Churches, Flinders Island. I believe that the piece given to the Catholic Church was the site of the present Church, the Anglican site was some way out of town on the west coast with a beautiful aspect and gen­tle slope down to the sea. Although this is not mem­ories about Grandfather, one story about his time on Flinders Island must be told. There were lots of Tasmanian Aboriginals on the Island and they and some of the other locals never used the toilets but the fence along side the Hotel, made of corrugated iron. Jack, as he was known, had a dynamo and connected this to the iron fence. Sev­eral of the usual drinkers kept watch and when there were several urinating, he was signalled and he cranked the handle which fed elec­tricity through the fence and..... he proved that urine is a great con­ductor of electricity. The story goes that several never stopped running until they reached the oth­er end of the Island. When I went for a visit to the Island there were a few Old Timers who remembered Dad and Grandfather. I was welcomed as Family came back rather than a tourist!!

When I worked in the CES later, I met Alec Campbell who worked for the National Heart Foundation. He recognised the name and remembered Dad, and especially Jack for whom he had ridden race horses on Flinders. This was be­liev­able as Alec was a small man. Alec served in World War I

Grandfather was a brilliant student, but he had to leave school and go to work, so he was of the opin­ion that Dad would do better in life if he had fend for himself. Dad went off to Sydney and studied Commer­cial Art, but re­turned and went to work for the EZ Co on the West Coast (Rosebery) and even drew a few cartoons for their newsletter, "The Electrode". In the 1927 Xmas edition there is a cartoon strip about Rosebery and another about Night Life in Rosebery in 1929. It was the De­pression years.

After he married and moved to Hobart he worked for the same company at Risdon. He was always loyal to the EZ Co. It was a big blow to him when he retired and there was no EZ Co. During the war he enlisted but as he was an electrician he was manpow­ered back to the Company. As a result of this war­time measure the Government passed The Tradesmen's Rights Regula­tion Act 1946. This Act safe­guarded the men who had worked in the Metal, Electric or Boot making trades before, during and after the War. I became the Secretary of the Local Trades Committees in the early '70's and was able to prepare a new Certificate for Dad, when he had lost his original. He was a very good electrician, and I think that we all had a turn being his "assistant" on some jobs.

He was a member of the Art Society of Tasmania and ex­hibited in the Tasmanian Art Gallery and Lady Franklin Museum in Lenah Valley. He invariably underpriced his paintings. On one occasion we had all gone to see his work hung in the Gallery and Peter, Michael and I heard this smart art type criti­cal of dad's work. So I sug­gested that we push to the font of the group and Peter say "There's Dad's Paint­ing" which we did and the desired effect was achieved, they were si­lenced.

I remember once he asked me to go to a certain address in Collins Street to collect his paint­ings. This was the site where the AMP now stands. To get to the office I had to go through the building and up four flights of rickety stairs and out­side wooden landings, which were sort of attached to the outside of the building. When I came home and told Dad, he said that he thought that I would like to see that piece of old Hobart history. He knew I was in­terested in history. Another time we went to see his paintings and they had dis­appeared and he was very upset but Mum said to ask the Man in attendance. He told Dad that an American Lady wanted some mem­ories of Tasmania and liked Dad's Paintings. As she was on her home the next day, she bought them and took them with her. He was ever so proud of this.

After he retired from the EZ Co at the age of 62, he looked for other work and for a short time worked with the HCC and later with Chloride Batteries. He con­tinued to paint right up to his death in September 1987.

He was a good provider and al­though very shy a loving Father as some of the stor­ies to follow will testify. In his younger years he spent hours working in his garden and always had a plentiful supply of Vege­tables and Fruit. He kept chooks of a while too. Once when I was very small he was digging the garden and pull­ing the twitch roots, I picked up a clod of earth and threw it hitting him. He chased me around the garden, we had a good time. I used to call the twitch 'bitch' and amused both him and Mum call­ing a horse and cart a 'court and horse'. Over the back fence we had a Market garden run by two Chinese brothers. We went to get something from them one day and I said "Them's good rad­ishes, Jimmy" and Jimmy gave me a bunch. One night their shanty caught fire and they eventually moved away. We used to play there until the development started and Girvan Ave was put through.

My earliest memories of Mum and Dad are naturally hazy, but there is a general feel­ing of warmth and love. Mum and Dad moved to Hobart just before I was born and board­ed with a Mrs Daphne Norman in Hill Street, not far from St Virgil's. I was baptised at St Mary Cathedral and Dad's Cousin Tessa Goody was my Godmother. Mum told me that after the ceremony the Archbishop, Dr Simmonds saw me and blessed me. Mum used to point out Patrick Street and tell me how she used to push my pram up there. I did not realise how steep it was until I started going to St Virgil's. I don't think that I was very old when they moved to Meredith Street in the new House that Nanny had bought.

About the age of two I have two very vivid recollec­tions of events concerning Mum and Dad and my­self. Firstly, I was sitting in my high chair at the top of the back steps and somehow I caused the chair to over-balance and I and the chair tumbled down the stairs. I can remember the look of horror on Mum's face, as I went head over heels down the steps, and the hugs and cuddles I got when she found me unhurt. It was the same look I saw later when "Uncle Jack", Mum's stepbrother gave me a "whizzie" with the special addition he used to heighten my fear. He would loosen his grip on my wrist and ankle as he spun me high above his head. My screams brought Mum out and hell hath no fury as a Mother protecting her young and he stopped. But I am getting ahead of my­self...

The other early memory was - pic­ture the scene, the kit­chen at Meredith St and Dad sitting smoking and reading the Newspaper. I de­cided to make myself a cigarette out of brown paper. I asked dad to light it for me which he did with out thinking and as I did a perfect draw-back, the penny dropped for Dad and he made a grab for me, but too late he head hurt and my eyes ran and coughed and spluttered, but I did not smoke as a child again.

These early years had Nanny as another Person that was a member of our little Family. And although I remember that there were some clashes, I have an overall impres­sion that Mum looked on her as the Mother that she had lost. One clear memory is the day of Nanny's Fu­neral and Mum and I were in the Sunroom with Peter in his cot. Mum was crying while telling me that Nanny had died and gone to Heaven and that she was now with her Mother, and they both would care for me. For a long time after Nanny's death I ask God to send her back to us again.

When I was three, Mum was received into the Church. She left my Birthday Party and went to Sacred Heart Church where she was re­ceived by Fr John Wallace. She had   been instructed by him and Sister Josephine Sayer, a Josephite. She had actually nursed Dad as a baby before she entered the Convent. Mum had a great love for these two and I remember that she used to make Russian Toffee Caramels for her. Sister Josephine taught me at Sacred Heart.

Mum followed Nanny Cronly in her work for the Church Fairs. She used to help collect goods and make things and later she became the Leader of her Stall. Mum asked me one time to make dozens of crepe paper roses to decorate the Stall. She won the Best Decorated Stall and then sold off the roses making more money. After Michael's birth she worked at Calvary Fete also.

Mum was always eager that we achieve at school, and, I am sure that you can all remember the ex­hortations and threats, to do well at school especially at exams and tests. Then there were those early morning goodbyes and questions following us up the Street, have you got your homework, handker­chief, clean underwear in case of an accident, as if that would be the first thing that the Doctor would look for… and the blowing of kiss­es. How quickly we would get up that street and around the corner. Perhaps was well advanced in psychology using this to spur us on to school.

But let us go back to the early memories.

I was born just before the Second World War broke out, so I can re­member some events in those years. We had to have blackouts and our electric lights that were painted black, except for the very end which had a clear area about the size of five cents. This kept the light as a narrow beam. We also had to put sheets of cardboard up to the windows. This was done every night. One night there was a sharp rap at the door and Dad went to the door where there was a Warden, who asked him if he was Fifth Columnist and lighting the way for the Japs. We did have a Japanese plane fly over Hobart. Dad was very chastened. Two of our Neigh­bours in the Street were affected by the War. Joyce Palmer's husband was in the Pacific and returned a cake tin to her with the skin of a very large python enclosed. She and Mum were Pals. Then there was Mrs Arnold whose Son Jacky was a Prisoner of War. She was the first to know of the end of hostilities. In the early hours of the morning she woke the Street by running up and down the Street shout that the War was over and Jacky would be coming home. Jacky was a prisoner in Japan and when he came home he had a Japanese Wife. This was a major event in our Street and on special days she would wear a colourful kimono and push their little child up the Street and back again. I spoke to one day and she was so gentle, and yet people still con­sidered her as the enemy.

War time meant rationing of food. This continued well after the war. We were issued ration books and each item was allocated so many coupons, and so forth. Mum used to send me around to Tegg's Grocery shop, where Lufi's are now, and I wore the books in a bag pinned to my jumper. The Grocer would unpin the bag and cut off the required coupons. The same thing was re­quired for meat. Cigarettes were hard to come by and I remember Nanny taking me to the City and we went to a little shop in Harrington Street where the car park is next to St Joseph's driveway. The shop keeper knew Nanny and would take her basket and get some pack­ets and put them in the bottom of the basket. Hobart had their air-raid shelters in the middle of some streets; I think Liverpool and Elizabeth Street. The sirens were tested and sounded just like the ones on the War films. There was a feeling of fear around with most men gone to war and one not sure where the Japs were. It is impossible to describe this, because in hindsight it looks ridiculous, but the fear was real, so much so that the fear was noticed and remembered by a small child. Mum was fearful that Peter and I would become Japanese slaves.

Peter was born during the War, I was four and then I was taken to the Londa Hospital in Clare Street to see this beautiful little baby and was told that he was my new Brother and that we would be tak­ing him home. Peter was healthy little fellow but gave Mum and Dad a real scare when he got an abscess in the ear. His temperature shot up and her went into convulsions. But this was only the body's way of coping with the fever. One day, we went to Moonah on the Tram, Peter was in a stroller and we went to Dickenson's Paper shop. Unknown to Mum, Peter had picked up a book of the Three Little Pigs and we left the shop and were on the Tram, when she saw the book. So we got off and went back and she apolo­gised and paid for the book. I went to School in 1946.

Michael was born in 1947, and Mum was very sick. He was delivered by caesarean section and Mum had to have blood transfusions. Later these affected her and her ankles and wrist became swollen so much so that she was bed ridden. I had to pick up the slack and learnt how to care for a baby. I was given orders to get the bath ready and test the temperature. Lay out towels, get the soap and so forth. Then I had to get his clean clothes and powder etc and put these on Mum's bed. Then I would get Michael and undress him wash him, soap him and put him in the bath and get all the soap off, lift him gently and very carefully from the water and roll him in a towel. It was no easy task for an 8 year old to handle a slippery wrig­gling baby. I did not drop him once!! After this I would taken him into Mum and dry and powder him and dress him then put him in Mum's arms. She had no strength in her wrists to lift him. I think that the fact that she could not do this her­self was more painful than the swol­len joints. When Michael was born the Nuns at Calvary were wonder­ful to Mum, Sister Majella and an old 80 year Sister Columba, who sat beside Mum's bed all through the night and although she would doze she would awaken at the slightest movement.

The next thing about Michael was when he started school and had his leg broken for him. He was in the RHH and Peter and I were not al­lowed to visit him. On one occasion were got as far as the door and Mum told him to look at the door and we waved. Mum missed Michael dread­fully.

Talking about broken legs, Grandpop had his thigh smashed in a tracking accident on his way to work at the Oceania Mine in Zeehan.  Mum and all her Sister and Brothers came to Zeehan, the first time that they had been together for years. Dad and I were left at Home and as we had been given a half case of tomatoes Dad fried up tomatoes each day and I got sick. Dad had to call our neighbour in Mrs Kath Brickhill who had some nursing training. She cleaned me up and my mess and fed us properly. It was some time be­fore I could look a fried tomato in the face. Because Dad worked at Risdon and in those days bills were usually paid in cash, Mum became the Family Accountant. She had a system all of her own, but always came up with the right answer. She would have lost marks for her working outs!! During Mum being away he had to arrange the buying of food. On one occasion he gave me 2/- to buy milk, bread, butter, and other groceries. When Mum would send me to the shops I would have to repeat the order and sometimes I would add and an ice cream for me - just like the add on radio, but I did not often get the ice cream.

Dad and Mum went without many things in those early days to have us educated. Mum used to boil the clothes each Monday in the gas heated copper and pull the steaming clothes out with a big stick. It was a back breaking job, and we were ordered away when she was going to get out the clothes. We had a Meat Safe to keep the meat - a metal box with small air holes in it for circu­lation, this hung from a rafter in the laundry. It was joined just be­fore Christmas by the puddings, which had been cooked in the cop­per. There was no refrigerator.

Michael must have been about 3 or 4 when we got our first car, a little second hand Ford Anglia. Dad had brought it home and put it in the garage, and then called us all to see his surprise. We all got in Peter and I in the back seat and Michael in the middle. He sat there with chin on hands resting on the front seat and not moving. After a while we all got out and went in for tea. Mum said “where's Michael?” and we all went off looking for him, then Dad said he might be still in the garage. Well it was unlocked and the light turned on and there was Michael in the same spot. He had been sitting in the dark staring at the dash board. He did kick up a fuss when he was taken out. I think that if Mum or Dad had said he could sleep there, he would have.

Mum was a great cook of roasts and gravy made from the pan drop­pings. I have tried but I don't think that I could ever equal that. She used to cook a lot of cakes and beautiful sponges. When I got older I used to take over the weekend cooking for her while she caught up with her other chores.  

Even since I can remember Mum was "on good terms" as she would have put it with her Sister-in-Law, Brenda - Alf's Wife. When they lived in Fentonbury and Karanja she would often come to stay. It was during one of these stays that Dad played a great April Fool's Day joke on her. You may remember that we could see a section of the Derwent River from our back door. On this occasion Dad was up making a cup the cup of tea that he always made Mum. She knocked on Bing's door and said that the ocean liner, Queen Mary was sailing up the Derwent and to hurry if she wanted to see it. Poor Bing rushed out in her nightie not stopping for her dressing gown to see this wondrous event. Dad said very quietly "You April Fool!"

Others of Mum's relatives would come to stay also. This meant us sleeping on the floor.

Dad had perfected a way to get rid of loose teeth. It was extracted by a pair of Dad's pliers suitably scald­ed. One of our Uncles came in as I was being 'operated" on and he promptly fainted. I'm not quite sure but it could have been Alf!

Mum used to have two remedies to care for a sore throat, which she probably learnt from Granny Burke, Pop's Mother. The first of these was honey and sulphur - you swallowed the honey and straight­away a small amount of sulphur was blow down your throat. It seemed to work. The other was taking a small brush, like a artist's brush and dipping it in kerosene and painting the tonsils this cut through the infection. Mum used to be a great advocate of the use of camphor and we would have small flannel bags with a camphor block in it hung around out necks in winter. Mum also used cod liver oil and castor oil for regularity. It was probably an old remedy to deworm children in the days before combatrin!

Peter was still a tiny baby and I about four went Nanny went into Calvary Hospital for her last ill­ness. During one of her times in Hospital, Dad was going to visit her and Mum picked a posy of flow­ers for her. I saw this and tried my hand a picking flow­ers. I chose the tough one Cat Mint (called that as it kept cats off the gardens) and I over balanced strik­ing my head against the ornamental brick work in the front. I bleed profusely and Dad had gone out of sight, there was only one thing for Mum to do and that was to sit in front of the stove and wait till Dad got back. He then bundled me up and carried me to the Calvary Hospital where I was sewn up without anaesthetic and being held down by two Sisters. Nanny asked them later what they were doing to her James downstairs. I must have been noisy.

Talking about the stove, we used to sit in front of the stove in winter and listen to the wireless. One night I tied Nanny's leg to her chair and when she got up to go to bed the chair went with her. She was not very happy about this trick, although she usually spoilt me. She used to hide me behind her big ap­ron when Mum was growling at me and then tell me that I had better be a good boy for my Mother. The stove was good for getting rid of rubbish, but this rubbish was sometimes treasure for a little boy. On one occasion Nanny was going to burn the old pink cardboard covers they used to give with bank books. I wanted these and she grabbed them before them got to the fire. As I was playing with them Mum said what you got there, I had found at least one 10 pound note that was almost burnt - small fortune those days.

On pension days I was allowed to go with Nanny to collect her pension. The pensions were paid through the Post Office. Each Pensioner was given a book containing vouchers that looked something like travellers cheques. They were dated and on that date the pensioner presented the book at the Post Office and the mon­ey was handed over and the voucher removed and stamped. She would then take me to the Talbot Hotel and she would have a Shandy and I a Raspberry.

As we did not have a car when I was little, Dad used to take me on his bike. He would tie a cushion to the handle bars and I would sit on this. It was filled with horse hair and the backs of my legs used to be tickled. Often we would go over to East Risdon on the Punt and have a picnic and Dad would do some draw­ing. I can not ever remember being bored. One day Mum had given us some baked rabbit to eat and Dad collected the bones. He had found that someone had set a rabbit trap where it could be dangerous to children. So he sprung the trap and put the bones in the trap, he reckoned that that would make them guess.

Another time he took me down Risdon Road near the Friends Oval, there was a creek there and I was throwing stones into the creek, and somehow I threw myself in - al­though all I can remember was Dad laughing as he dried me off and took me home. It was a great source of fun to them both.

Dad took me and a Friend from school to have a look over a subma­rine. One of us had to go to the toilet and we lost our places. But we did get on board, may be the person behind us kept our places. People were like that in those days.

The boy in question was David Pocock, a red-headed boy that I took a dislike to, and we had a fight. I grabbed my by his hair and lifted him up and punched him in the face. We later became good friends. When I told Mum she marched me off to David's house which was three doors from the School and apologised to his Mother. This was the beginning a great friendship between them. Auntie Tess as we called her was older than Mum and I think that she was like a Mother to Mum. When Tess's Hus­band died with a tumour on the brain Mum was a great comfort to her. I loved her too and used to visit her when I could until she died.

Every Friday Mum used to do the weekend shopping and nearly al­ways return from the City with up to four shopping bags in each hand, come rain, hail or shine. This was the days of no supermarkets and the best bargains were to gotten in the City. The Trams used to go along Augusta Road and the Termi­nus was either Giblin Street or Creek Road. Most times she would return hauling 5 or 6 large shopping string bags. We would have some idea of her time of arrival and go to meet her and help. Sometimes, in school holidays she would bring home a treat, some fresh sandwiches or cakes. One of the favourite cakes was called a Match which consisted of two strips of pastry about five by one and half inches filled with rasp­berry jam and cream, real cream! There was a very large cake shop in Elizabeth Street, Hobart and it was like going to heaven to walk into that shop and look at all the cakes and freshly made sandwiches made with fresh butter. Another delight was to visit Benjamin’s Lolly Shop in Liverpool Street – large bottles of bull’s eyes and aniseed balls, all day suckers and two foot long candy canes.

Goodwill’s Stores and the Green Gate Milk Bar were favourite places to go. At Goodwill’s you were able to get brewed coffee and milk. A far cry from today, but it was delicious to us. When I was old enough (around 14 I think) Mum got me a job during the Christmas holidays working at Goodwill’s. I continued that for a number of years. One year I got a job at the GPO sorting letters until Christmas and Goodwill’s offered me a raise if I would come back for the Post Christmas sales. I worked mainly in the store and take the stock down to the Girls on the Counters. One Christmas I was asked by the Head of the Toy Counter to get a bicycle from the “Well”. I had not been warned that the safe way was to walk on the rafters and occasional plank (the actual floor was just sheet of ply board tacked under to form the ceiling). I trod on one of these and it gave way. I had my hand in my pocket on my Rosary (I always was rather pious!!) and was hooked by my arm with my hand still in my pocket. If I had fallen I would not be writing this today. The result was a box of torches dropped into the shop followed by several piles of old dusty and rat infested Hessian bags. No one was hurt but one fashion conscience lady dressed in pale blue and white left the Store a dusty brown colour. The Manager (Mr Filbee) and Assistant Manager (Mr Greg Stephenson) took me in hand and gave me a drink of Sal Volatile, (a solution of ammonium carbonate in alcohol or ammonia water, also used in smelling salts) and took me home gave me the next day off (Friday) and no loss of pay. They were a great Company to work for and I learnt a lot from them. The head of the Stationery Counter said later that the Store cleared quicker than you could say “Jack Robinson”!

Mum and the other ladies in the street used to get together and prepare the various birthday par­ties for us. Each one would have to be a little different and there were some wonderful creations in home made party hats. Jellies were always very popular. Peter liked jelly so much that pulled one that had not set off the cupboard. He got stuck into the teething powders one day and although he had spilt a lot on himself Mum and Dad were worried, the Doctor said that he was OK. Thinking about it now, I think that the powders were probably placebos mainly to calm the Mother!!

Dad used to help me with drawings for school and he would do drawing and then make me copy it. When the Sisters doubted if I could do it then I would sit down and draw it again - a very wise Dad. When I was at St Virgil's he helped me too, with pro­jects and so one, always making me do it myself after he showed me the lay out. One time he did a plasticine model of a man drinking at a pool, he called it "Cool Water" and I showed it to brother and he put it in our School Exhibition, and I think even got a certificate. I got certifi­cates for the projects and some sweet peas that Dad had grown!!

Almost as a Postscript we were told that Mum was pregnant. It might have been a surprise for us but it was a total shock for Mum who had been feeling unwell and had gone to the Doctor, he said that she was pregnant and referred her to a Spe­cialist. I don't know if you realised but this was a particularly worrying time for them. After Michael was born Mum had been told that she could not have any more Children as that would kill her. Then she was told that after 10 or 11 years she was pregnant. It was not too long to wait however as at the sixth month she was rushed to Hospital. Dad took me aside and said look after your Brothers and pray, but don't panic them. Your Mother is very sick and could die. Eventually, I got to sleep and Dad came home and woke me and said you have a little baby Brother, and Mum is all right but the Baby is very small. Very small he was not kidding, Gerard was so small you have fitted his head in a cup and they had to cut a nappy into quarters to fit him his legs were like pencils. He had some of Mum determination and survived.

The following year I went to Sydney to Douglas Park to commence my studies for the Priesthood.

Now I want to concen­trate on memories of mine in general. This will not be a "true confessions" style paper but merely a collec­tion of random thoughts about my life.

Needless to say I was born on 17 May 1939. This was in the old Queen Alexandra Hospital in Battery Point. I do not remember very much about that occasion and I only ever ventured in there one other time. This was when my Friends had their Son. Before my memories start, I lived in Hill Street in West Hobart. We moved Meredith Street very soon and I can remember things that happened there, as I mentioned in the previ­ous paper. During the time that Nanny was alive, her bedroom was at the back of the house; where later we three Boys had our bed­room, and later still the dinning room and TV room. The door to the hall was filled in by Dad and an­other door put through to the kitchen, through the din­ning nook that was there. The back door led from around the corner to where it was when we last knew it. This door led out to a landing and stairs down to back yard, and laundry etc.

The Sun­room was fit­ted out with a divan and cane chairs, and Dad had his desk there. Later that became an­other bedroom. For a while I slept there and it was very cold in winter and I studied there without a heat­er, it was no wonder that I had difficulty studying. But it was a great economy drive.

Life was very happy and I used be taken out by Mum and Dad and Nan­ny. Dad used to take me on his bike. At about the age of three I had yet another street photo­graph taken and this time they went and got this one enlarged and coloured, and which to my continual embar­rassment hung in the Dinning Room. But then there were rival companies who had street photographers, the main ones were Ash Bester and Leicagraph. If you want­ed a studio portrait you would go to Beatties. When I began my holiday Job at Goodwill Stores, Leicagraph had an office in that De­partment Store. Part of my work was to collect the trash and we had to destroy dozens of sheets of contact prints of 35mm photos. Some­times it was difficult to avoid these photographers, and would be somewhat of a challenge to miss them. How­ever, you did not have to buy, but curiosity usually made you look at the proofs!

I used to out with Nanny and I re­member mainly the trips to collect her pension and have a Raspberry    and a shandy for her, in the Talbot Hotel. I was to chat­ter incessantly and had a number of imaginary type friends, one was Hector Hogan and he lived in chicken coup in Cross Street, now a site of a block of flats. I used to tell a very patient Nanny all the happenings of these imaginary friends. Nanny usually wore black, and a fox fur choker. She always wore a hat and gloves. She always held my hand. She was a real Friend. She quietly told me about God. On Saturday night she always set out her Sunday clothes. Her punctuality was a by­word as was Mum's and I think that rubbed off on me, al­though I hope I am more tol­erant of those whose tardi­ness is a byword!

I started School at Sacred Heart, New Town in 1946. The School was run by the Josephites (called Black Josephites because of their wearing a black habit). I stayed there for five years. There were many great Sisters there during that time, Josephine, Eymard (now Veronica Dillon), Paulinus, Aquin, Angela (now Mary Noonan), Benedict, Augustine, Brendan, Ignatius, Josephus, Carmel, Marcellus and Dominic. All these had a great in­fluence on me and I have a lot to thank them for in my life. Each year Sister Dominic, the Principal, used to come into each class room, put on her pince-nez and read out all those who had been pro­moted to the next class. She was a great Lady and very fair. In my first year a school, we sometimes had a Novice do some teaching. She asked if anyone could spell big words. Now Mum and Dad had been helping me to spell a cou­ple of words. One was "carpenter", they had broken into syllables "car" "pen" and "ter", easy. I put up my hand and Sister gave me the chalk. I wrote it on the board as I had at home. Sis­ter said that it wrong, but it was not. This had the effect of making me doubt my spelling ability and even since I have not been able to spell. I'm not sure why she did this but she probably thought that it would do my humility some good.

In the Second Grade I remem­ber learning a poem "The Bush Coach" which started like this

            "The Bush Coach was ready and Billy the Bear, before it had started collected the fare...”

Quite recently I came upon this poem again and found that I did remember a great deal about it. It is called "The Bush Ride" by L H Allen. We used to recite it with great gusto and with all suitable actions. We were taught elocution in the form of verse speaking. Later we had more formal training with Mde Melba Kelly, at SVC.

Mum had also helped me with my reading and we had gone over the night be­fore a piece in the Reader about a day at the beach. We came to that part and Sister asked me to read. I knew the words and im­pressed Sister be­cause I was poor read­er aloud. She told me to come over to the Con­vent af­ter School and she would give me a Holy Pic­ture. These Holy Pictures were quite small, only about 1" x 2" and print­ed on shiny paper. We all loved to get one. Some­times we were able to buy them at 1d each.

The final teacher I had was Sister Marcellus. She was a great teacher and very fair. She prepared us Boys for the Brothers.

The highlight of my primary school years was my First Holy Communion on The feast of the Guardian Angels 1946. It was a sunny day I remember the sun shining on the Altar. I remember the excitement that Jesus was coming to me. I remember kneeling at the Altar Rails and then receiving Him. I can shut my eyes and still picture then scene, but words fail me when I want to tell of the event.

It was a tradition to have a First Communion breakfast afterwards, but this was just after the war, and so the Mothers got together and with their rations coupons were able to give us a cheese glass of jelly each and rounds of bread and butter and hundreds of thousands and a few cakes. One boy dropped his jelly but the glass did not break, I think that the jelly was so solid!!

There were a couple of events worth telling that happened at Sacred Heart. Firstly, there were a number of Sisters who had come from Ireland, usually as young teenage girls. We had a visit from the great Irish Patriot and Leader De Valera. We all got trained to sing "Soldiers Are We " and "God save Ireland" and I am pretty sure we wore green ribbons. Those who were of Irish descent, a vast number in those days were pointed out to De Valera. He was accompa­nied by the Arch­bishop, Dr Justin Simmonds and a lot of Irish Priests who worked in Australia. I think that Dr Mannix was there too. I can remember get­ting quite close to De Valera, who was very tall, at least to an 8 year old.

I remember also seeing a Franciscan friar who was giving a Retreat to the Sisters, I think I was rather overwhelmed, if not frightened by this spectacle of a holy man. He seemed to so very tall and he wore sandals.

Sister Benedict was a formidable lady and was not to be crossed. Even the Big Girls were careful of her. She had a Class Room with a veranda and I was talked into knocking at the door and running away. I did just that, and as I came out of the veranda I slipped and fell. I bumped my head and got a nose bleed. Sister Benedict came out breathing fire and I was so hurting that it did not even worry me. She saw me and picked me up and took me into the Convent, a rare privi­lege and sat me down by the fire, and cleaned me up and gave me some soup. I never told her it was me. She did not say anything but “Oh! You poor boy!” Many years later, I was talking to her and I asked her if she could remember that incident. She said that she could. I then told her that it was me who knocked on her door. She sim­ply said that she knew and had been waiting all those years to hear me say so!

One day after School, Sister Mary Augustine was waiting for my Mum and asked us to go to the Convent with her. We were ushered into the spotlessly clean parlour that all convents seem to have. Poor Mum was expecting to hear that I had been naughty, but she wanted to ask Mum if I could be a Page Boy in the May Procession in honour of Mary. So I was fitted out with these white satin breeches and jacket with red cape hemmed in white fur, and long white stockings, which I was told were long socks, but I knew bet­ter. I thought that all the other kids would laugh themselves stupid, but they we rather envious. There were two of us and I think that we car­ried the Crown made out of roses for the chosen Big Girl to put on the statue of Mary. These Marian Processions were very big events and would start in the Church and go across to the Public Recreation Ground, where Rugby Union had been played the day before. The Rosary was said and hymns sung and there were Altar Servers, Children of Mary, Holy Angels, all in their regalia, Men from the Holy Name Society, including my Dad, Mum was usually behind the scenes doing some sort of work. It was a great day for showing the “Proddos” how much more we Catholics had, we were very militant and ecumeni­cal was not a word in the vocabulary of Catholics in those days. This Procession was held in our Parish.

Another big Procession was for the Feast of Christ the King, held at the Cathedral, and then thousands turned out. I remember one time it was just after migration got into full swing, we had not only Latin, and English, but the Archbishop, Guilford Young spoke in Italian, and a Polish Priest spoke Polish, I was most impressed. The Communist bogey was at it highest.

Fire always frightened me and I remember one occasion when the older boy next door decided that he would like to play Cowboys and Indians with me. He "captured" me, as part of his scenario, and tied me up and gagged me then tied me on an old tin trunk in our laundry. He stuffed papers down beside me and lit them then went home. Something made Dad come up from the garden at stage and I was struggling and could see the flames. Dad got there in time and put the fire out and released me. That boy was never allowed to come back. But for Dad, I would not have been here, and probably the House would have been severely damaged. Nanny had died by this time and the major destruc­tion was some of her old overcoats which were stored there were dam­aged. I wonder what became of that boy, who was a few years older than me and whether he went on to burn other things. I hope that he learnt his lesson.

There was a program on the Radio, the Ovaltinies, I was able to become a member. We had a code book so that we could make secret hand signals that other Ovaltinies could recognise. There were not too many of us a School and we even gave the secret signs to any girl members were knew. I also became a member of the Rockfist Rogan Club in the UK.

We all felt great going to St Virgil's College. It meant a tram ride and there were men teachers. Christian Brothers in those days were tough, and woe betides any boys who on reply to a question put up his hand and called "Sister", they were called SIR. My first Teacher was Sir, who we called Paddy, behind his back. He took both Years 4 and 5. He made us do homework and it had to be in purple ink! The Strap, which he called “Doctor Black” was often used and we tried all sorts of ways of lessening the pain. The first time I got it I thought that I was about to die, and how I did not cry I will never know. One boy Charlie was called out for the cuts and went back to his seat smiling to stop the crying. He was called back and the cuts were repeated, and he smile again. It was repeated and repeated. I was nearly ill with ter­ror. Charlie broke down and cried, sobbed, his hand were red raw. Brother said nobody laughs at me. He had his pets too, who got away with lots, I was on the outer fringe of these pets, sometimes asked to do special tasks, but not let to get away with anything. Brother Addicoat was our Teacher in Year 6 and he was great. We called him the Chocolate Soldier because he helped to run the Cadets.

The last time I got the cuts was in School's Board (Fourth Year High School) because the boy next to me who spoke to me and I looked across. I got four cuts.  

Brother Stevens was in charge of the Choir and had many successes. I joined and for 2 years was a Choir Member. He expected the best and even had recourse to the strap when we failed. Sometimes he would expect us to be at School by an early hour and Trams did not run that often. I remember being a min­ute or so late one day and getting the strap. One time, we heard fire sirens before the Choir practice and afterwards we went down to the city and looked at a great disaster. Somehow, our rival School, The Hutchins School's Boarding House was burnt to the ground. It looked a horrific sight and some of the boys were still standing there in pyjamas in shock.

Brother Stevens had us in all the Eisteddfods he could get us into and we won many prizes. But think that the thing that he is remembered for most is his organising and conduct­ing of the Massed Choir of 700 to 1000 voices in the Catholic Schools Musical Festivals. For weeks each School had practiced their Choir, their part, and a few weeks before the night we all got together at the Hobart City Hall and practiced. Of course the Motet "Ecce Sarcerdos Magnus" was always sung to welcome in the Archbishop. During the eve­ning some schools would do special items, for example one year the Girls from St Mary's sand excerpts from Lilac Time and by the look at the voluminous dresses there was not a yard of tulle left in Hobart. It was once again an attitude of 'see what our Catholics Schools can do.' No one else dared to compete. Then we would have Church Celebrations to sing for. Came the time for the auditions for the third year and the piece chosen was "The Last Rose of Summer". One by one, we had to stand in front of the group and sing this. I started off OK, but got the word 'nigh' which had a high note. My voice cracked and, Brother Stevens said, "See you in a couple of years Son". I did not fully real­ised what he meant, until a few years later I was able to enjoy sing­ing again.

When the time came for me to go on to High School at St Virgil's, there was a method by which they streamed the Boys into two classes. They gave an aptitude test. The ones with the best results were put into the Class which would be taught Latin and the others would be taught Commerce (Bookkeep­ing). I knew that there was no way that I would get into the Latin Class, but I needed to as I felt called to the Priesthood. So I did have a brain wave I wrote on my paper that I needed to do Latin as I wanted to be a Priest. That did the trick. I was put into the Latin Class. The others were surprised but the Brothers never said anything about why I was in the Class. It would have been a better idea to make the dis­tinction between French and Com­merce.

Two of the Brothers who taught us in High School were Brothers H.C. Williams and Clarkson who were great teachers and fine fair men. Brother Clarkson went on to have an important position in the Christian Brothers. Br Williams was a Gentleman. He used to come into the class room and say "Good Morning, Gentlemen" and after a lukewarm reply he would add "And Good Morning to the rest of you!" I had a letter from him in 1990 after my profession as a Capuchin. He was in his 80's and still teaching at CBC Goulburn. Yes teaching French! I visited him in the Brother’s Retirement Home a few years later.

All Sports occasions were compul­sory at SVC and you attended in your full School Uniform, or with the School Blazer instead of a suit coat. The Blazer was Royal Blue with green piping and the School Monogram in Blue Green and Gold on the pocket. Even the First 18 Football on Saturdays was compul­sory. The greatest occasions were the Athletics. First of all there was the Southern Independent Schools Carnival and the following week the State Carnival. The whole School attended and you screamed yourself hoarse for your School. Each School was allocated a Stand and you sat together in a group. The Head Pre­fect or a Senior Boy would give the signal and we would begin our War-  cry "Shoom - a lacka, Boom - a - Lacka", and often there would be challenges as to who could make the most noise and we yelled our hearts out as it was the Catholic honour at stake!!!

On one occasion Archbishop Young brought the Apostolic Delegate to visit the School and we all lined up on the front lawn, which overlooked the city of Hobart. The Archbishop organised us to give three cheers for the Holy Father (Pius XII) and then he turn towards the city and cheer. We did so and then he said that it as not loud enough we should make the walls of St David's Anglican Ca­thedral shake. In those days Dr Guilford Young was defi­nitely not ecumenical and there had been a series of letters in the local Press from the Anglican Bishop Cranswick addressed "To a Young Man from an Old Man" and replied by Dr Young "To a Young Church from an Old Church". But not too many years later they were great Friends and Dr Cranswick’s succes­sor and Dr Young were very close. In fact the first person at the Bishop's House when his Wife died was Guilford.

Years later when Guilford died the City of Hobart came to a standstill and the Church bells of Hobart tolled solemnly and as the Funeral Procession passed St David's the Anglican Dean blessed the Coffin as a mark of respect. It was a good thing that we did not tumble those walls!

It was compulsory to be a member of the Cadet Corps, and only a bone fide Certificate from a doctor could get you out. The School was paid a few pence for each Cadet on Pa­rade. You had to be dead or dying to get out of this. The First Year was to get you used to marching and handling rifle drill and then the following year you were permitted to choose a specialist platoon. I chose Signals and Medics. I wasn't too impressed with guns. We did work with radios one week and stretcher drill the following. If it rained you sometimes saw a film or learnt how to apply bandages. One afternoon, we were shown a movie about wounds. The Regular Army Officer left us in charge of our Cadet NCO who was showing the film. There were some pretty horrific sights of arms and legs with great bullet holes, then we heard a loud thump from behind us and looked around to see our NCO stretched full length on the floor. He had a weak stom­ach!

Camps were another thing! They would have been totally enjoyable if they were properly supervised, but various things went on that I did not like, such as nuggeting. I was a very modest boy. Sometimes we shared the Camp with another School and realised that our side was not too bad. One year, a boy from another School was victimised by his fellows. He was stripped and ran out of the hut over to the Com­mander and still in the nude de­manded to be protected. He was expelled. We all thought that this was excessive.

Each Camp we had some exercises to do and this particular occasion was a Compass March. So we were given the details and we set off - everyone laughing at the poor old Sigs and Medics. They did not realise that our NCO was very proficient in Geography and map reading. We got the hot showers and had finished Afternoon tea before the others got back. Even the Regulars were im­pressed. On the whole I enjoyed the Camps, and was bitterly disappoint­ed the year that we washed out by steady rain, and our tents flooded out.

It was not until I got into Fourth Year that I actually grasped what Geometry was all about and that was largely due to Brother Joyce. I had been learning the theorems of by heart, but his teaching caused the thing to click and suddenly I could understand - it was a momentous occasion for me.

Brother Hessian was another very memorable Teacher. He was strict, fair and fearsome. Outside School he was a gentleman. He used to love telling stories against himself and my two favourites were:

There was a boy who was very lazy and lacked motivation. One sunny morning as this boy crossed Barrack Street to go to School he was hit by a car driven by a Mum who had just dropped off her Children. Being most concerned she told Br Hessian, and that afternoon she rang him to ask about the Boy. Brother Hessian concluded that he asked for her hit the same Boy each morning as he had never seen him so alert.

Brother Hessian would never have won a beauty contest - he was re­puted to have been a boxer and that accounted for his flattened nose. He told us that when he became the Principal he intercepted letters from a Girl to her Boarder Boy Friend. He told the Boy to write and tell the Girl not to write at School. He would stop all letters. Some weeks later he intercepted another letter, which read: 'I saw a photo of your Brother Hessian in the local paper. No won­der he stopped our letters, a face like his would stop anything!' He said that he kept these in a scrap book.

He probably did not keep this one in his scrap book. He came into an English Class in my Fourth Year, and threw the essays on the desk and turned to the class and said 'I'm disgusted" Now I will never know what made me do this - was it a death wish? When Br Hessian said this I said (in sotto voce) 'Are you? I'm Cronly pleased to meet you.'

He descended down on me and I knew I was dead. So I thought that I had better die in a state of grace and not lie. He said “What did you say Son?” and I just repeated what I had said so stupidly. He'll kill me I just knew it. He put out his hand and grasped mine and 'Indeed, I'm pleased to meet you.' and shook my hand. I'm sure he knew what I had said and had planned his reply.

Still my Latin was not good enough for enter into the Seminary and Archbishop Young suggested that I might try waiting another year. I told him that my Parents could not afford to keep me at School and so he said what about a Religious Ord­er. I was not really impressed, as all I knew of was the Redemptorists and that did not appeal. On my way home I called to see Sister Aquin at Sacred Heart and she said, have you thought about joining a Reli­gious Order? I told her what the Archbishop had said and that I was not impressed with the Redemptorists. She said what about the Sa­cred Heart Fathers at Moonah. So I went out to see them and within a few weeks I was at Douglas Park.

So far this has been mainly school, but I suppose that took up most of your life. I belonged to mainly Church groups, such as the Altar Servers (Guild of St Stephen), the Crusaders of the Blessed Sacra­ment, the Sodality of Mary and the Legion of Mary as well as the YCS.

At the end of the year we would be invited to the Annual Balls of the Three Catholic Girl School, Sacred Heart, St Mary's and Mount Carmel. We wore our well pressed school suits and the girls blossomed in long dresses. Before the Dance we were spoken to about our behaviour and not to take a Girl outside. Then we said Three Hail Marys for puri­ty. It was frowned upon to dance more than a couple of times with the one girl or dance too close. Sister would descend like a Mongol hoard and separate you. Other times you actively discouraged to talk with any girl especially in School Uni­form. On one occasion a girl bought a message for her brother and they were seen talking outside the School. He was made an example of the next day. I believe that his Mother made a lot out of that event too!

We were always being told that it was wrong to marry a Non Catholic, but forever being discouraged from meeting Catholics. Also there were a number of us at School, who had a Non Catholic Parent or a Parent who was a convert. Most of my Relations were not Catholics and I could never understand why there was so much fuss over Non Catholics, none of my Relatives had two heads and I did not take too kindly to being told that my dear Aunts and Uncles were heretics.

Then Pope John happened.

When I was young I used to go up to the country, Westerway on the train then to Fentonbury to my Auntie Bing's Parent's Farm. I used to have a great time there and even got to sit on a draught horse. I saw Uncle George kill a sheep and skin and clean it, and was not upset.

We used to visit some of Dad's Relatives, the Keating’s and the Daverns, including Mary Walsh, and Uncle Basil and Auntie Millie Cronly. Basil was an Historian and I got my love of Family History from him, and was doing genealogical research before it became fashion­able. They lived on the Glebe and had a deceiving house, almost like Doctor Who's Tardis, and if any of them read this they will laugh! It had a small frontage but went back far. There was a great garden for kids to play in including a huge tree. At least it appeared that way to a little boy. Our Cousins, Judy and Pat and Rod and Basil John were great fun. There were all old­er than us but Basil John was only about 18 months older than me. I can only just remember Uncle Basil, who was Dad's Uncle, so our Great Uncle, as he died during my young­er years. I do remember Auntie Millie and visited her often. She was a lovely Lady. When she died, Doctor Gaha and I arranged the Funeral to be held at Sacred Heart Church, which had been built by her father-in-Law, Great Grand­father Cronly. They used to come out to Meredith street on occasions and at least once we went on a Picnic together, on the Tram to Lenah Valley, were to walk up Pottery Road. It rained. Auntie Millie had bought a tin of cake, which she called stale cake and a thermos, as did Mum. So standing under the Awning of the shop on the corner of Creek and Augusta Roads, we had something to eat while waiting for a Tram. I remem­ber Mum growling at me because I asked for a piece of stale cake. I recalled this with Auntie Millie some time later, she did not remember, but thought it very funny.

The Keating’s lived in Harrington Street and ran the Funeral Parlour there. Kath Keating had married Les Goodey and they had the Family Business. Most Relatives called in there. Kath and I talked about this one day and came to the conclusion that after Great Great Grandfather Cronly had died, his Widow lived with the Keating’s and it was sort of a Family tradition to go the Keating’s when in Hobart. These Keating’s are not related to the PM. One of the Goodey Boys was in my Class at School. Tessa was my God Mother.

The Sisters, Nora Davern and Mary (Forster) lived at 64 St George's Terrace Battery Point. Mary Walsh, our Cousin, also lived there. We called them Aunt out of respect. Mary Walsh was our oldest living relative. She was the first Cronly child to be born in Tasmania. Her Parents were Honora Cronly and Richard Walsh. I used love sitting by her day bed and listening to all her wonderful memories. It was she who gave me the Crucifix that is now in Gerard's possession. When I look back now and think of those times, I realise how these visits must have been a pleasure to her. The two Davern Ladies were like chalk and cheese. Nora was very much the Lady of the House and just loved entertaining. Mary preferred the kitchen, and love a smoke and a beer. John Goodey told me that he often visited her and had a quiet drink with her in the kitchen. I went to say goodbye to them when I went to Douglas Park. It was the first time that they treated me as a gown up. To met Nora in the City was a great experience. At her wrist she would have a large hand­kerchief which would be used in elaborate hand gestures. She had a well modulated and large voice. They had a Brother - Thomas who was a Pharmacist, and we used to call into his pharmacy to see him, I was always impressed that he would take time to bend down to my level and speak to me. Lots of Grown ups ignored little kids.

Another Relative we would see regularly was Auntie Rita Cronly, my Grandfather's Cousin, and a Daughter of John Cronly. His other Daughter Nora (Laughlin) was also well known to us and here Daugh­ters occasionally looked after me. They had an Apartment in Toorak Ave.

Mum's Relatives were as equally exciting. I met all of Mum's Brothers and Sisters (Jane had died as a Baby). Some, I only met a cou­ple of times others we had regular visits from, or visited them. The ones we saw the most of were Bill and his Wife Beryl and their Children. Tas was always a popular visitor. We used to visit Ethel and George Ebdon in Melbourne and their Daughters - Clare and Marj. When I was at Croydon with the MSC's Auntie Et and the Family would come up to visit me with a large tray of pasties which in my estimation were on a par with Auntie Nell's although Mum did not make a bad pastie eith­er, then there was Auntie Madge. She was a great cook. Actually when you look at them all they the Mathews Girls were great cooks. Auntie Tess and Uncle Reg (Duncanson) also used to visit and their four Children were great friends.

The year I turned 13, was when we made our trip to Queenstown and stay with the Relatives. I stayed with Auntie Tess for a week and then a week with Auntie Nell. It was a trip to remember. One day I was supposed to go over to Auntie Madge's home, where Mum and dad were. I actually got lost in Q'town! The next day was my birthday and a Cheerio was arranged on 7QT. I was wished a Happy Birthday and then told not to get lost next time I come to Queenstown. There were a couple of Boys who were Boarders at SVC and they heard this, didn't I get it next term. Auntie Nell and Uncle Bert Turley lived next door to Auntie Tess and Uncle Reg and just across the way from Uncle Bill's. I only saw Auntie Kit a couple of times and her twin only twice. I suppose that I would have seen more of Ethel, Tas, Madge, Tess and Nell but specially Alf and Bing. 

Later when Dad got a car we used to go camping in a tent, but I'm not at all sure that Mum enjoyed this. We got to see a far bit of Tasmania that way. One time we hired a two story house at Turner's Beach and had a glorious time. Although I got badly sunburnt, it was in a great spot close to the Forth River and the beach and the train line which went over the river. We used to run down there to see the trains. Many years later I looked for this house from the train, and was disappointed it seemed to be so much smaller.

After Alf and Bing moved their Family to Karanja I had a occasional holiday up there with them and would go ferreting with Uncle Alf. We would occasionally take a drive up there. Once when the youngest boy Cousin was about two, he took me down to see a train, the line went passed their back fence. The train was late and I heard a lot of words I had never heard before came from this little boy who was only about 2 or 3!! He was a cute little fellow and his youngest boy looks exactly like him.

It was always great to have our Relatives visit, even if it did mean that you gave them your bed and had to sleep on the floor on an old mattress. We had Aunts and Uncles from Zeehan and Queenstown and Cousins from Melbourne came and stay. After his horrific accident Grandpop came to stay for some time and his stories were great; he would have us on the edge of our seats. One eye was damaged and we always wondered how this came about. He told us that he was in the bush one day and he looked up a tree into the branches where there was a possum. "The damn possum peed in my eye Boy". I think that the truth was that he was hit in the eye while setting a snare. Another great story that he told was also set in the bush. He was out in the bush on the rough West Coast, and thought that it was time for a rest and a smoke. Here he would take out his tobacco and pipe and go through all the actions. I sat down on a log and took out my tobacco and cut off a plug of it and stuck my knife blade into the ground and set about rolling the tobacco. I then took my pipe and fill up the bowl with the tobacco. Now I needed my knife to ram the tobacco into the bowl, and I felt down for it and it was not there, and I looked and it was about a yard away from me. You know what Boy? I realised that I was sitting on a snake! You know that there are some big snakes around there. The hair on our necks would prickle. It never dawned on us that our Grandpop would be spinning a yarn!

Me at a YCS Summer Camp in Launceston TAS

Well, I did my Matriculation in 1957 but I was not to pass. During that year Mum and our newly-born baby Brother - Gerard nearly died. It was not easy to concentrate on studies with those things on your mind. After Mum came home we still had Gerard in Hospital and each night I would have to take Mum's milk up to the hospital for him. The Sisters would sneak me in to see him and stroke his little hand or knee. He was so small. One night the Duty Sister said we have a little Girl in the next crib. She will make a great wife for your son. I was 18 and very indignant. The next night I told the Sister what had happened the night before and she laughed, and said 'I know I was the nurse'. We then had a good laugh together. I had extra time with my little Brother when she was on duty.

During my last years at SVC, I used to help out in the Catholic Library and Bookshop, which was run by Miss Mabel Bratt. It was a labour of love, but Mabel always seemed to find a few coins for bus fares as she put it. Mabel was a real Lady, with refined manners. I delivered par­cels and posted letters, unpacked crates of statues and books. It was during that time that the Library moved floors in the Commercial Bank Building, on the corner of Elizabeth and Collins Streets, and later to the present site in Macquarie Street. The day we moved was a Saturday and Dad offered to help and used his Van for trips back and forth. It was pouring with rain, and the roof was leaking everywhere, and the Missionary Sisters of Service were also moving into rooms at the back. One of the Sisters with great pa­tience as she moved a box for the third or fourth time was heard to say: "Hasn't God got a wonderful sense of humour" - There was no reply to that.

These same Sisters had the building next San Carlo Church in North Hobart and I had to deliver a parcel on my way home to them. As I walked up the path, I say a priest in surplice and stole, and made my way very quietly. As I got to the door, I saw that it was a statue of the Cure D'Ars. I told Mabel and she laughed and said that she had done the same thing but had turned around and gone away. She came back the next day and he was still there!! Their Founder was Father John Wallis the priest who received Mum into the Church.

The following year I was accepted by the Missionaries of the Sacred Heart and went to Douglas Park.

I went to Sydney in 1958 to complete my studies and gain a Leaving Certificate. By the time all the paper work had been done I was a fortnight late. I arrived by air (the first of our immediate family to fly) at night and was taken to the Monastery at Kensington. The next day went to Douglas Park by train. Father John McMahon welcomed me and ushered me into the Refectory for a late tea of cold meat and the biggest tomato I had ever seen. The next day I was introduced and as I found out later I was the cause of great disappointment to the younger boys who thought that I was a Tasmanian that I would be black! Such the ignorance of little boys! Classes were vastly different from my Tasmanian ones – the numbers were smaller. It was a happy time.

In 1960, I was admitted to the Novitiate and spent the next six months in seclusion. We were allowed one letter per month and only from the Family. There was to be no world or sport news; but there was one time when Dad slipped and told me that Tasmania had defeated Victoria in the AFL. It got through. We were only told two pieces of news – Graeme Thorne and John Kennedy. I had stomach problems and was sent off to Calvary Hospital at Lewisham for x-rays.

As I was waiting on Strathfield Station for the train home, dressed in full clericals (i.e. dog collar and black suit). A man came up to me and said “Terrible happenings in Cuba; what do you think, Father?” I did not have a clue and replied “It was probably inevitable!” When I told the Novice Master he said that it having no news was a bad rule but his hands were tied. Our Novice Master (Fr Frank Butler) was a great, kind man and a very good example.

After taking vows we were sent to Canberra and my Parents and Gerard came to Canberra for a visit. This was in 1961.

Study was never a strong point with me as among other things most of the books were in Latin. But during winter holiday times we produced a play. I was the star in Pygmalion (musical version My Fair Lady came later) I was Eliza Doolittle and caused a sensation with the line “Walk me through the Park! Not bloody likely”. Archbishop Eris O’Brien was present and sitting in the front row. He laughed the hardest of all.

We celebrated Fr James Power’s Golden Jubilee at Canberra during the three years there, and Masses of newly ordained and visiting Missionaries, including bishops.

Fr James Power celebrating his Golden Jubilee Mass with Fathers John Savage and John McMahon assisting.

During this time I was appointed Sacristan – cleaning the Chapel and setting up for Masses.

At the end of three years we continued our studies in the Seminary at Croydon in Victoria.

I was able to visit my Aunt Ethel and Uncle George and their children and Uncle Tas.

During this time three major things occurred – I took final vows, was ordained to Minor Orders (Porter, Bellringer, Lector and Acolyte) and found out that I could not continue with the studies. So I applied to be released from my vows and leave.

We had another play in which I starred the one “The Happiest Days of our Lives” in which I took the role of a Church of England Vicar.

During the time there we met Baroness Von Trappe (the original Maria from The Sound of Music fame), Michael Somare a young Politician from Papua and Archbishop Tweedy and Bishop Scharmarch (ex Roubal).

After I returned to Tasmania I was advised to take the Commonwealth Public Service entrance exam. I passed in the top ten and was offered a job in Social Services (later Social Security) and Taxation. I took the job in Social Services. I worked in various areas Unemployment and Sickness Benefits, Child Endowment and Pensions, even a stint in the Audit Branch. Later I applied for a promotion to the Commonwealth Employment Services and worked in that Office in various positions then to Industrial Relations and National Service Office. When the Department was split I went with the Industrial Relations. I worked as Secretary of the local trades Committees and in that position I was promoted to Canberra as Secretary of the Central trades Committees.

Grandpop and his second Wife, Auntie Alice, came to live in Glenorchy, at the top of Tolosa Street, and so we got to see more of him. He died in 1966 and the week before his last illness Gerard wanted to see Grandpop and he and I walked over from Lenah Valley, a very substantial walk (as Gerard was only about 8 or 9 at the time). I always think that Gerard was given that grace so that we could see Pop again. Auntie Alice insisted that we stay for tea and we rang Dad and he and Mum came out to get us. Pop was very interested in the map I had used to get there. But he would not borrow it; I think that he a premonition of his death. At this time Peter was down in the Antarctic with ANARE.

I joined the Secular Franciscan Order and was impelled to apply to the Capuchin Franciscans.

POSTSCRIPT

There was a retreat given by Br John Cooper.  Between that time and the retreat next year, which Br Paul Hanbridge gave, I had the distinct impression that God wanted me to become a friar. But I did not really want to follow this path. I actually thought that to get this voice out of my head I will write to the Franciscans. I had three letters. The first one that I opened was from the Franciscans telling me that they were not interested as I was too old. They advised me to join the Secular Franciscans. I had written to them that I already was a member of the SFO; obviously they did not read my letter. The second letter was a bill. The third letter was from the SFO's telling me that Br Paul was to give the retreat. He wanted to know a little bit about people on the retreat. So I wrote to him. I thought that certainly was something that I should heed. I wrote to Br Paul and made an appointment to talk to him during the retreat.  In the mean time I had a serious of dreams and this is very spooky.  The dream was of a beautiful green pasture with a yellow road going through it and on this road there was a figure in a brown habit.  I presumed in my mind that the dream that that was St. Francis, when the figure turned around it did not have a face.  This was an ongoing phase in which I did not know what I wanted to do.  Months later I had exactly the same dream including the friar with no face.  I was accepted by the Capuchins and had the dream the third time and this time when the figure turned around had my face! I knew that I could not accept what God was asking me to do. Here I was holding a job in Canberra which was the secretary to the Central Trade Committee which was a tripartite group set up recognised trade qualifications of migrants from other countries. They were the top men in their fields, the type of people that the press would have go to for an interview during strikes.  Some of  them became my friends; so when I had made the decision and I was accepted by the Capuchins I went to see few of them and they were very exited and this surprised me how they were happy, even at work they were pleased.  One of my bosses was a Catholic and at my farewell dinner he said: "I do not know what it is about me. I am beginning to wonder - this is the fifth person that I have sent to join the Church".

I suppose the most significant things in my childhood and my whole life where God actually touched me so hard that I could not listen to Him, because most of my life I used to go around with fingers in my ears so that I would not hear God. What He was asking me to do was too hard; I did not want to hear. It was funny because I was never quite happy, I would get involved in the church in doing a dozen things like in my last parish before I became a Capuchin. I was a member of the choir, a member of the Liturgy group. I trained a hundred and twenty alter servers. I did the setting up of the church. I belonged on another half dozen committees.  I just did more committees because it was part of the job as I did not want to hear God and by keeping busy I thought I would not hear Him.

But God had a very powerful way in making listen to Him.  When I bought the house in Kambah, everything was comfortable. But than there was the huge rise in interest rates as the interest rates increased, wages did not. Every month I would be able to keep my nose just above water. I could survive if I cut back on things - cheaper cuts of meat etc.  One of the most important things was the bus pass, my only means of getting around.  This gave me unlimited travel for a month for $42. All through the month I would save and save so that I could have the $42 to get the next pass, to get to work.  On morning, I lost the bus pass, and it was only the second day of the month.  I knew I had bought home. I knew that it was in the house, but I could not find it. I was getting more and more angry.  All of a sudden I dropped into a chair that was in my bed room. I sat there and I started to weep, frustrated and angry with God: "Alright you win, God if that’s the way you treat your friends, I’m glad I’m not your enemy". I felt a great calm come over me and I had a funny feeling in my stomach and I was still shaking.

As I got up from the chair there it was the bus pass on the floor.  I had been walking over it in my anger.  I still was not sure of what God wanted. It was not until a quarter of an hour later when I was walking to the bus stop that God indicated: "I want you to be a friar".  I can remember as if He was standing next to me and saying it.  I shook all the way to work.  Then I went through the process including the dreams that I had described earlier.

As I told people of my decision, they thought that when I said that I was going off to be a Franciscan, that I was to be a priest. Without realising it, I took this aboard. When I went into the novitiate and I had more time for prayers, there was something that did not gel, something wrong.  I spoke of this to Novice Master. We sent down and discussed the different reasons needed for becoming a priest or a brother. Then, I realised that God did not call me to become a priest but a brother.  John asked me to come back in a week's time, and when that week was over I returned with the assurance that I was to become a brother.

I was professed on 8^th July 1990; and took my Solemn Vows on 21^st January 1996.

Mary Jane (Molly) Cronly nee Gambetta and her son Patrick - my Father