A funny thing happened on the way to the Agora

I spent a lot of time at university.  

It took me ‘longer than average’ to complete my degree – and my education in life. But, the experience melted the scales of parochialism from my eyes.

My student life and belated maturing were centred on Chisholm College a residential establishment named after Caroline Chisholm.

The original Chisholm, who died some 95 years before the College was opened, provided shelter for wayward miners during Victoria’s gold rush. The College was named and designed by students guided by the astute chemist Professor Jim Morrison. In the early days, it was said, black anarchist flags blew in the wind from the College buildings - called 'towers'.

Not total anarchists, however, rules for residents slowly evolved, the first being to the effect that ‘thou shall not lead a horse up the stairs’ – the result, so legend had it, of one resident finding that a horse doesn’t like to go down the stairs...

A week before the 1975 academic year, I was interviewed by Professor Morrison, Head of College, before being offered a residential place. He asked me to commit to contributing to College life.

Not sure what to offer, I told jokes and joined the College's General Committee.

One gig was a College dinner and Jim invited a distinguished speaker. I heard that his name was ‘Mac-something’. I assumed he must also be a fellow-Scot (Jim had a gentle Glaswegian lilt) and offered a couple of Irish jokes to kick things off. 

Jim then introduced Professor Bob Magee. Sure enough - he was in full possession of a clear Irish brogue. Magee was also a chemist and advocate for the residential colleges. He had an international outlook, acting as honorary consul for Pakistan at one time, and that approach was consistent with the College ethos.

Later, I was part of the Committee which invited University Council members to visit the College to see for themselves what College life was like. Council members were grouped into pairs accompanied by a committee member to visit one of the 12 Chisholm towers. My pair consisted of Mr Justice Smithers, the dignified and engaging Chancellor, and Mrs Cecile Storey an outspoken advocate for many things. Both were good with people. 

The senior residents for Tower 4 were a Korean couple Mr and Mrs Kim. Mr Kim was completing a PhD in economics. They were a little overawed by the apparent dignity of their guests.

Mrs Kim asked Mrs Storey about her family. That went well and the Chancellor added some jovial comments. More relaxed, Mrs Kim then asked ‘How long have you been married to each other?’  I don’t know who was faster to deny any such association with the other but Mrs Storey was certainly the loudest and Mr Smithers the most amused. I encouraged the laughter with nervous enthusiasm and Smithers' genuine warmth and mirth won the day.

When Jim Morrison left Australia for a stint in Utah, the College was run by Mike Tolhurst who, as an administrator rather than an academic, was a radical choice. But he was the right person for the time and showed the Committee how to strengthen the College’s infrastructure and future.

Tolhurst was a creative, respected and fearless executive and a wise mentor in the administrative arts. It was at this time that I found myself writing the College newsletter. Someone else got it started naming it ‘Emanon’. The name was picked after struggling with a number of not very inspiring alternatives. This one sounded interesting – it’s ‘no name’ spelt backwards.  It was one of my most enjoyable student activities.

Of course, studying was another… 

I did manage to find time to attend lectures and tutorials though got as much out of going to lectures I was not enrolled in as the ones I was. Most of them stirred my brain but a standout was a series of lectures on Max Weber by Werner Pelz who managed to clarify concepts which had remained foggy to me. While I learned that Pelz’s views were sometimes unique his ability to summarise ideas made them accessible. In those days, it was indeed still “a new university with a meritocratic ethos and [some] brilliant teachers”.

Caroline Chisholm on the old five dollar note.

Let me know if you have any stories to add.

See also: Employers and Volunteers, Professor Emeritus Nancy Millis, AC MBE: an appreciation, Jottings of interest: August 2017 and La Trobe: Rambler, Writer and Royalist.

Two Darjeeling horsemen: one Hindi mystery

Amongst a small treasure trove of old photos my grandfather left is one blurry picture which holds a small mystery.

It took me a little time to work out exactly what was in front of me, but a few things are certain – and a few things are not.

One of the horsemen in the picture is my grandfather Frederick George Marsh and the second person is the visitor who sent the picture to him.

Fred was born in South Australia in 1891 and made his way to Darjeeling in 1912. He began working for tea planting pioneer Claud Bald in January 1913 and in 1917 married Margaret, Claud’s eldest daughter. After serving his apprenticeship as assistant manager under Claud’s guidance he became manager of Phoobsering Tea Estate – one of the oldest in the area – in April 1919.

The picture was taken in front of the old house at Phoobsering. Another clearer picture of the house and Fred confirm this.

The first picture is too unclear to recognise Fred’s face, though he is probably the one on the right. The fellow the left seems to have a more prominent jaw than Fred. In addition, the horse on the right looks more like Fred’s horse Dumarsingh which he had about this time. Here is Fred on Dumarsingh.

There is a note on the back of the blurry photo which reads as follows:

“your homestead

yourself and a visitor”

This confirms what we’ve been able to work out. But then follows two ‘squiggles’ which at first I thought were the undecipherable signature of the person who sent the picture to Fred. 

On taking a second look, I thought the writing may be Hindi. So, I asked a former colleague, Dr Peter Friedlander, who teaches Hindi what he thought of the two markings.  He responded quickly to say that they do look like Hindi, “the first is perhaps ‘ma’ and the second is I am sure a ‘ra’.” 

But what do they mean? 

Apparently, nothing. But they must have meant something to the two fellows in the picture! The tea planters were fluent in the local languages so this part is no mystery. The other fellow is probably also a tea planter but could have been another professional or a minister. So, what are the options?  I can only think of the following:

• The words signified something about the writer. Perhaps it’s a rough approximation of the pronunciation of the writer’s name – O’Mara or at a stretch Meagher?

• They represented something in common between the two. Perhaps a war-cry of the Northern Bengal Mounted Rifles to which they were both obliged to belong? This is more of a stretch as there is nothing to suggest that the unit had a war cry. In any case, a war cry usually had a meaning and these two characters together seem to have no meaning.

At the moment the mystery remains. There is nothing else in the little treasure box which includes written Hindi and no other pictures which resemble the dapper visitor.

Let me know if you have any ideas.

Jesus: the most significant person in history?

In 2013 computer scientist Steven Skiena and the Google engineer Charles Ward published Who's Bigger? Where Historical Figures Really Rank. The book ranks historical figures in order of significance.

Skiena and Ward compared all English language Wikipedia articles against five criteria. The idea was that to measure the current fame of each subject. The results were then modified to compensate for a skewing of data toward more recent subjects, arriving at true likely historical significance.

The aim was to be purely quantitative. This sounds admirable but could it be verified? The writers compared their results to various other rankings and do a good job of showing that their more dispassionate approach has advantages. 

The main limitation is that results are skewed towards the English-writing world.

So, who comes out on top? 

Remember, 'significance' is not the same as 'admirable' – or even ‘great’. The top five entries on the list are:

• Jesus,
• Napoleon,
• Mohammed,
• William Shakespeare, and
• Abraham Lincoln.

Many of these same five turn up in other lists as well.

Passover / Easter season is a good time to consider the significance of the person at the top of the list: Jesus of Nazareth.

More books have been written about Jesus than anyone else in history. 184 are listed on goodreads Listopia ‘Books about Jesus’. But this list is really only currently available books. 

Hundreds more have been written over the centuries. Is it possible that there is now nothing more to say on the subject? I doubt it.

Every generation will reinterpret any historical figure, and this is more so for a person whose name evokes controversy. Each age has its own special interests and 'lenses' through which sees the past. New events will also often colour a reassessment of the past. 

So – the past is here to stay.

Skiena and Ward point out that Jesus is the only person for whom they have no birth and death date. 

We may never have these questions settled for sure but it is always possible that new archaeological and historical research will have more to say on the subject.

Most people now accept that Jesus could not have been born on 25 December in any year. For one thing, no wise shepherd would be outside in the winter's cold and for another the date was chosen centuries after the event. 

There are a couple of plausible theories on Jesus actual birth date, late September seeming most likely.

As for his death, commemorated at this time of year, there are apparently good reasons for believing that it was a Thursday, some even postulate a Wednesday. The year of his death seems to be either 33 or 30. At the moment 4 April 30 AD looks most plausible.

Dr James D. Tabor has a series of posts that look at the week leading up to Jesus death, touching on many of the mysteries this convergence of Jewish and Christian traditions and memories of Jesus’ Last Days in Jerusalem have stirred. 

Dr Tabor was Professor of ancient Judaism and early Christianity in the Department of Religious Studies at the University of North Carolina, where he has taught since 1989. His work on early Christianity has been a life-long passion and he offers a number of fresh and thoughtful perspectives.

Three of his six books are relevant to the topic; The Jesus Dynasty: A New Historical Investigation of Jesus, His Royal Family, and the Birth of Christianity (2006); The Jesus Discovery: The New Archaeological Find that Reveals the Birth of Christianity (with Simcha Jacobovici) (2012), and most recently Paul and Jesus: How the Apostle Transformed Christianity (2012).

Interestingly, Tabor himself doesn’t rank Jesus as the most significant person in western history.

Who is his nomination? Paul. Because it was Paul who ‘invented’ Jesus as we tend to know him today. 

Skiena and Ward rank Paul as the 34^th most significant person in history – still pretty important of course.

In Christianity Before Paul Tabor points out that Paul never met Jesus. It was not until seven years after Jesus’ death, that Paul reports his vision of ‘Christ’ whom he identifies with Jesus raised from the dead.

It was another three years later that Paul met the apostles Peter and James then leader of the ‘Jesus movement’. Paul operated independently of the original apostles, teaching his ‘Gospel’, in Turkey for another 10 years before making a return trip to Jerusalem around 50 AD.

As the result of Paul, it was the way Jesus came into the world, and how he left — Christmas and Easter — that came to re-define Christianity.

For James, Jesus brother, the Christian message was not the person of Jesus but the message that Jesus proclaimed. What is preserved in the Book of James is a reflection of the original apocalyptic proclamation of Jesus: the ‘Gospel of the kingdom of God’ with its political and social implications.

Model of the Jerusalem Temple complex at the time of Jesus and Paul

See also: When was Jesus born? 

‘You’ve always been a bit oversensitive’

One of the tools for self-understanding is to consider what people said of you when you were a child. 

While I was tagged as sensitive from time to time, I suppressed that idea until recently. So, I went to Dr Google, and saw several mentions of the book The Highly Sensitive Person: How to Thrive When the World Overwhelms You, by Elaine N. Aron.

Aron was the first to identify the trait as such though she credits earlier observation of the trait to Carl Jung and seems also attracted to his methods of becoming aware of the trait in yourself.

It isn't the answer to everything, but I did learn something about myself. The trait is not uncommon and it’s not an illness. Great! 

Aron opens her book with the following quote which highlights her tone: supportive and optimistic.

“I believe in aristocracy, though -- if that is the right word, and if a democrat may use it. Not an aristocracy of power, based upon rank and influence, but an aristocracy of the sensitive, the considerate and the plucky. Its members are to be found in all nations and classes, and all through the ages, and there is a secret understanding between them when they meet. They represent the true human tradition, the one permanent victory of our queer race over cruelty and chaos. Thousands of them perish in obscurity, a few are great names. They are sensitive for others as well as themselves, they are considerate without being fussy, their pluck is not swankiness but power to endure, and they can take a joke.”  E.M. Forster, Two Cheers for Democracy

Are you one?

Aron’s book offers a series of questions to help to discover if this may be your trait. For example:

•         Do you have a keen imagination and vivid dreams? 
•         Is time alone each day as essential? 
•         Are you ‘too sensitive’ according to others? 
•         Do noise and confusion quickly overwhelm you? 
•         Do you take a long time to make a decision?

Most people feel overstimulated every once in a while, but for the HSP, it can be a way of life. Aron is a psychotherapist and highly sensitive person herself and her book shows how to identify this trait and make the most of it in everyday situations.

Aron wants us to know that:

• The trait is normal. It is found in 15 to 20% of the population.
• It is innate. It reflects a certain type of survival strategy, being observant before acting.
• HSPs are more aware than others of subtleties.
• Without the stimulation, HSPs are bored.
• But with too much, we are also more easily overwhelmed.
• This trait is not a new discovery, but it has been misunderstood.

Because HSPs prefer to look before entering new situations, they are often called ‘shy’. But shyness says Aron, is learned, not innate. In fact, she says, 30% of HSPs are extraverts, although the trait is often mislabeled as introversion.

She also points out that sensitivity is valued differently in different cultures. In cultures where it is not valued, HSPs tend to have low self-esteem. They are told ‘don’t be so sensitive’ so that they feel abnormal. Her overly simple description of different cultures was disappointing, but the book is general in nature and comparative cultures is not her main focus. A deeper study of this application of the idea may be illuminating, however.

It is also be a useful concept for historians, and biographers, to have in mind. It may be a forgotten element for understanding why some people behave the way they do.

But Aron’s focus is to provide advice to the individual and also to parents and employers (and slightly less convincingly to GPs). 

A review of past situations can often confirm that reactions and behaviours are/were ‘informed’ (actually misinformed) by being an HSP.

Strategies for living

Aron suggests that HSPs can gain confident self-awareness by reframing some of their life experiences to take account of the HSP status.

One more positive note came to mind. Early in my administrative career, I had a supervisor who worked through some now forgotten issue with me. At the conclusion of the discussion about how I could deal with situations more effectively in the future, he concluded with ‘I don’t mind if you make mistakes, just make new ones.’ It was both humorous and empowering and reflected his own inner confidence and understanding of people.

The strategies Aron suggested which I have found useful are:

•          Take a break to reframe and digest. Breathe deeply, rest or walk.
•          Identify my abilities and talk about them.
•          Avoid indecision by acknowledging that I can’t do everything but do need to do something.
•          Forget the idea of ‘failure’, life is a learning process.
•          Do a monthly review of achievements.
•          Don’t be a perfectionist.
•          Vocation is a balance of personal ‘bliss’ with wider community need.
•          Reframe childhood and career events in light of this information especially those previously seen as ‘failures’.

Aron also suggests the intriguing idea of ‘re-parenting’ oneself. Aron’s suggestion here is how you ‘talk’ to yourself. The ideas can help with self-management and will be useful for people managers and teachers/rabbis. 

They are actually not new ideas, but they are easy forgotten:

•          Maintain a consistent system of values and a happy, healthy home
•          Allow enough time.
•          Don’t stifle curiosity.
•          Intellectually stimulate.
•          Encourage friendships and discover hobbies.
•          Avoid discouraging unusual questions or attitudes.
•          Don’t over-schedule.
•          Respect their knowledge.

___

E.M. Forster

E.M. Forster (1 January 1879 – 7 June 1970) was an English novelist, essayist, and social and literary critic - and pretty clearly an HSP.  A Passage to India (1924) is considered one of his finest works. The novel examines racism and colonialism as well as the theme of the need to maintain both ties to the earth and a cerebral life of the imagination. 

Forster declined to make a list of people who shared what he saw as an admirable characteristic, but I have drawn one up in my mind already and short biographies of some of them will appear in future posts.

Professor Emeritus Nancy Millis, AC MBE: an appreciation

Nancy Millis graduated with a Bachelor of Agricultural Sciences from the University of Melbourne in 1945 and obtained a Master in 1946 before going on to earn a PhD at Bristol University.  

Her doctoral research was on microbial growth and fermentation in cider that started her lifelong interest in anything that ferments; both as a scientist and a consumer.

A microbiologist, she was the fourth woman to be appointed as a Professor at the University of Melbourne and played major roles in genetic engineering and water quality. Professor Millis was recognised and honoured by nations and peers for her work in developing higher education courses, maximising links between universities and industries, and her devotion to science and innovation.

In 1977, in recognition of her academic leadership, she was elected to the Australian Academy of Technological Sciences and Engineering. She was promoted to a Professorship in 1982 and remained in that position until her retirement in 1987.

Professor Millis served as the fourth Chancellor of Victoria's third university for the period 1992-2006. This is where I got to know her as I was secretariat to the University Council. The Chancellor’s role is partly ceremonial but includes chairing University's Council meetings – a role akin to chairing the board of a public company. Networks, experience and influence are essential for success in the role.

Professor Millis was an approachable, humorous, straight-shooter, unimpressed with airs and contemptuous of verbosity. She was a delight to work with. She was also disarmingly unassuming and convivial with students or the public. Highly respected and trusted by Council members as both independently minded and fearless, she accepted that the managerial role of the Vice-Chancellor should be supported without interference.

My memory includes two humorous exchanges:

One year we had a series of Christmas cards painted in a stylistic way with religious themes. My role was to find out which ones she wished to use. One represented the baby Jesus glowing in the manger with men gathered around. ‘Looks like a good Australian BBQ’ she said.

At one Council meeting, a distinguished member known for his lengthy literary expositions wished to add something to a long discussion on an issue of minor concern. ‘With your permission, Chancellor, may I comment on this matter?’.  ‘If you must’ she replied sotto voce. Unwounded, the speaker launched into a detailed exposition, until she interrupted with ‘Thank you, Professor’.

Through her 'retirement', she maintained an office at the University of Melbourne and presented at international symposia and public discussion on her areas of expertise. 

In 2002, the year she turned 80, Millis was surprised to be one of a handful of scientists honoured in a series of Australian stamps. A TV report took the opportunity to highlight this and her life’s work. This was the year I wrote the appreciation below.

Two years later she was elected to the Australian Academy of Science. Complementing her academic leadership, Millis also served on the Board of Management of the Fairfield Infectious Diseases Hospital and the Australian Water Advisory Resources Committee, among others. 

She died at the age of 90 in Epworth hospital, Richmond, on 29 November 2012. Her name lives on in a number of awards celebrating research excellence and women’s leadership in science.

From Concepts, Golden Key International Honour Society, 2004, page 86. A PDF can be provided on request.

A ‘new’ photo of an Australian Beersheba hero?

In an earlier post, I wrote about Captain Norman Rae MC, a hero of Beersheba and my ‘Sunday School Captain’.

The Australian War Memorial (AWM) London site has a page on the Battle of Beersheba. The charge of the 4th Australian Light Horse at Beersheba late in the afternoon of 31 October 1917, was the world's last great cavalry charge. 

In the slide show at that site, I found a picture which I thought would be a wonderful illustration for the story of Captain Rae. 

The caption reads ‘A large group of Turkish prisoners, being led by an Australia soldier of the Light Horse on horseback'. 

Captain Rae probably did the same thing; he’d captured some 60 Turkish troops himself and I guess that meant he then had to look after them.

Although the picture is unclear as I looked at it the general shape of the face and the build of the soldier, it reminded me of Captain Rae.  

The AWM advised that “It is far too hard to say if the person is Norman Gordon [Rae]. We have no documentation to say anything about the people in the image.” That’s fair enough but after looking at several pictures of the event I haven’t come across anyone else who looks more like the person leading the prisoners than Captain Rae.

There is the earlier picture in my previous post and this one in which he is clearly identified as the fellow seated in the centre. 

What do you think?

The charge itself

It may be impossible to recreate the feeling of the charge itself but two attempts have been made. 

The patriotic film Forty Thousand Horsemen directed in 1940 by Charles Chauvel, helped build the Australian film industry and is most famous in its day for the recreation of the charge. 

Later the 70^th anniversary of the charge in 1987 was marked in another Australian film The Lighthorsemen directed by Simon Wincer. The characters in the film were based on real people. You can see its recreation of the charge on YouTube.

Green with Patrick

The celebration of St Patrick's Day in Sydney was quickly established in the new colony of New South Wales. 

By 1795, Judge-Advocate David Collins wrote in his diary,

On the 17th St Patrick found many votaries [followers] in the settlement ... libations to the saint were so plentifully poured, that at night the cells were full of prisoners.

Governor Macquarie established another custom in 1810 when he provided entertainments for ‘government artificers and labourers’. Later public celebration of St Patrick's Day included horse races, banquets, parades, picnics, concerts, dancing and games.

Changes in celebrations often reflected the change in the mood of the Irish citizens of Australia and their place in the wider community. St Patrick’s Day parades in Melbourne under Archbishop Daniel Mannix were assertive political statements of Catholic loyalty to Australia and also support for Irish independence.

The customs did not always originate in Ireland. St Patrick's Day parades began in North America in the 18th century and later spread to Ireland in the 20th century.

Today it’s a festive Irish cultural event imbibed by many regardless of their Irishness and in Ireland itself, it is a national holiday. It traditionally appeals to two kinds of people; those who are Irish and those who wish they were.

Why 17 March?  Traditionally it’s the date on which St Patrick died, probably about the year 461 AD. So perhaps it began as an Irish wake.

Maewyn Succat

So, what do we know of Patrick? Some admirers have created ‘alterative facts’ over the centuries which result in discrediting an otherwise admirable person. There’s certainly a few popular beliefs which are wrong.

Patrick isn't officially a Saint as he’s never been canonised by the Catholic Church, though he is certainly a saint ‘by acclamation’.

Patrick didn’t drive the snakes out of Ireland. It’s true there aren’t any snakes there now, but it was the ice-age that got rid of them about 10,000 years before Patrick. To be fair, Patrick himself never claimed to have banished the snakes, it was later enthusiasts, perhaps seeing it as a parallel to him ridding Ireland of paganism.

Patrick's Confesio [Declaration], is his authentic literary legacy. It gives a few biographical details and an insight into his self-deprecating manner. There are still many details we don’t know but it’s probably better to say that than make something up.

He wasn't the first Catholic missionary to Ireland. Palladius had been sent in 431, about five years before Patrick went, though he was certainly nowhere near as successful. It’s likely that others had also tried before though with limited success.

Patrick wasn't even Irish. He was first an unwilling ‘boat person’ brought there as a slave, but in the end certainly loved his new homeland. 

According to his Declaration, he was born in a town called Bannavem Taburniae, probably around 385 AD. His hometown may have been in Scotland, Wales or north-east England, this hasn’t been determined. In any case, it’s clear that his parents were well to do Catholics and part of late Roman Britton. His grandfather had been a priest, and his father, Calpurnius, a town councillor and deacon. 

He was named Maewyn Succat – whatever that means.

Young Maewyn was 16 years old when he was captured in a raid and became a slave in what was still radically pagan Ireland. One imagines a comfortable slightly dreamy youth perhaps not quick enough on his feet to escape the thugs. 

Far from home, he clung to the family religion he had ignored as a teenager and found it gave him hope and comfort. Forced to tend his master's sheep in Ireland, he spent his six years of bondage and much time alone in prayer and contemplation.

At the suggestion of a dream, he escaped to Gaul where he studied in a monastery before returning to Britain and reuniting with his parents. They were delighted to see him and hoped he’d remain with them forever. he obviously missed them as much as they missed him, but he couldn’t sit still.

After receiving a supernatural call to preach to the heathen of Ireland he returned to Gaul and was ordained a deacon. That’s when he took the Latin name Patricius, meaning ‘having a noble father’, which is Patrick in Irish. The name may have been to honour both his earthly father and his father in heaven.

Patrick was in his mid-40s when he returned to Ireland. Palladius had not been very successful in his mission, and the returning former slave replaced him. He landed in Wicklow and travelled north converting the people of Ulster and later other parts of Ireland.

Successful cross-cultural communication

Patrick’s success is a case study for those interested in ‘missiology’ (how to be a missionary) or any other kind of cross-cultural relations. Against his will, he had been a lonely stranger in a strange land but the experience changed his identity and gave him a purpose and meaning to his life which he may not have had if he had lived out his life in the comfort which he was born to.

He was intimately familiar with the Irish clan system (his former master, Milchu, had been a chieftain). Patrick’s strategy was based on his knowledge of how Ireland worked. His aim was to convert chiefs first, who would then convert their clans through their influence. Some say Milchu was one of his earliest converts.

Though he was not solely responsible for converting the island, Patrick was more successful than anyone and developed a supporting team. He made missionary journeys all over Ireland, and soon the land at the end of the earth became known as one of Europe's Christian centres.

One belief is that Patrick used the three-leaf clover to explain the Trinity idea which was basic to his efforts to convert Irish pagans. The Shamrock was also supposedly worn to symbolise the cross. It’s hard to know if this is true. The original colour associated with Patrick was actually blue. The link could be the fact that Patrick came to symbolise Ireland – a lush green country. Wearing green and honouring Patrick both became symbols of Irish pride.

Estimates are he baptised 10,000 Irish people and planted 300 churches. Patrick knew and loved the Irish people and changed the Emerald Isle forever.

Happy Maewyn Succat’s Day!

Why do family history?

First up we need to agree on what family history is. Is it the same as genealogy?

A useful distinction to make is that a genealogist aims to put the names and dates on an ancestry chart. Family history adds life to them by telling their stories. Before we can tell the story well, we need to get the basic facts in place. Genealogy is part of the background to telling the story.

It’s the stories we find most satisfying if they have meaning to us.

I once worked with a fellow who claimed to have been infected by the ‘family history bug’. For him, it was a kind of compulsion which his family could see no rhyme or reason to. Try as he might, he could not infect his family with the bug nor explain to their satisfaction where the desire for it came from. Nonetheless, they were happy that the illness got him out of the house and off to the library. Now, of course, you can do much of it from your desktop.

I am a fellow-sufferer. In trying to ‘sell’ the idea there are several ‘benefits’ which I used to feel may be convincing to others. These are:

Family medical history could prove useful in identifying the likelihood of contracting some illness. In fact, most people either know of major family illnesses or only research them after someone has been diagnosed.

Get to know ‘where you came from’. Well, I knew my parents and some of my grandparents and those who came before them were dead and buried long before I came along. If you don’t have an identity crisis, this is also not a great motivation. For some people, such as those adopted at birth with no knowledge of their natural parents it can be a motivator.

Discover family you never knew you had. If you don’t know them why go looking for them? If you find a cousin on the other side of the world, are you likely to become good friends?

Resolve old family mysteries. That’s if you have any. Could be you know nothing of your great grandparents and don’t have any odd stories. There is no reason to imagine that their lives had any meaningful impact on yours.

Something to share with family. Stories about what you did or what your personal memories are of your childhood probably have a more lasting impact on family members than reciting what you found on your favourite family history site.

It’s problem-solving!  Great for staving off Alzheimer’s – but why not do Sudoku?

You may find a famous ancestor! Does that impact on who you are? Probably not, and the ‘infamous’ ones may be more interesting. If we’re after famous connections, think about this: statistically, everyone with European ancestry is descended from Emperor Charlemagne (who was crowned only 1200 years ago)!

OK, so I haven’t yet convinced anyone. The question should probably be, ‘Why am I doing it?’

Benefit and real reason

There’s a difference between possible benefits and your reason for doing something. Realising this flicked a switch in my mind. I don’t need to convince others that it’s a good idea in order to give myself permission to enjoy it. While I do have some family history mysteries to solve, my reason for doing it is bigger. I do enjoy problem-solving, understanding different periods of history and writing up some of the things that I find. I do have some interesting stories to tell if the subject comes up but if not I am still enjoying the journey.

So why do I research family history?

It’s therapeutic. Like a good film or pottering in the garden: it takes my mind away. It’s relaxing. Time stands still. 

It’s probably also good for my mental and physical health but that’s another benefit, not a reason.

Sunday School Captain: My glimpse of Norman Gordon Rae MC

At the age of seven, after a life-changing week-long visit to hospital, I developed an interest in religion.

My spleen was eating up blood platelets faster than I could make them. As a result, bumps turned into bruises which took ages to heal. The teachers suspected bullying at school – or perhaps at home - and I was examined by the headmaster in his office. He contacted my parents and this lead to a visit to the family doctor at Seaford, Thomas B. Ready.

Dr Ready referred me to pioneering paediatric haematologist Dr John Colebatch (AO) at the Royal Children’s Hospital in Melbourne. He proposed a minor procedure with a few days’ observation in hospital. So, late one afternoon Dad drove us all from Seaford to Bethesda Hospital in Richmond. We stopped for fish and chips on the way.

The hospital floor was covered with hard dark brown ceramic tiles and the metal-framed bed was much higher than my bed at home. Mum was worried that I might fall out and crack my head – something I managed not to do.

Dad was present for the procedure and looked on with the occasional controlled squirm. Dr Colebatch pressed some instrument into my sternum and I heard several ‘clicks’ and felt pressure but no pain. The aim was to inject steroids into my bone marrow. This would often rectify the condition; if not the next step was to remove the spleen. Luckily it worked. A bandage was applied and this was followed by clear advice not to ‘pick the scab’.  The opportunity to try this didn’t happen for at least a day when the dressing came off.

My hospitalisation was to observe the recovery and also to try to get me to improve my diet. I was prepared to eat anything offered if meals concluded with chocolate ice-cream. I made a deal about this though tinned peach was added to the Neapolitan ice cream which I did think was a sign of bad faith.

An older boy moved into the bed to my left; he was about 12. One of his visitors was going to be his ‘minister’. I anticipated seeing a man in with a beard and flowing black robes. Instead, the minister had a grey suit with a white shirt and dark tie. He spoke to me in a normal voice. A rotund Fijian nurse spent rather too much time speaking to him and trying to impress me with stories of the ‘good work’ such people had done in Fiji.

To my right was a long corridor at the end of which was a nurse’s station and the door through which my parents and brother would come to visit. Young Jeff came in first one day and was told by the nurse at the door not to spend too much time. He ran to my bed and plonked a Mediterranean blue plastic model of Donald Campbell’s Bluebird car on the bed and quickly turned to run about again, tripping at the door. I thought this was terribly unfair for him as he had followed the silly instructions in good faith.

In any case, the ‘ministerial visit’ left an impression on me because it was definitely not what I expected.

After a few days, Dr Colebatch came through to ask a few of the children when they could like to go home. Most wanted to go home immediately and he reasoned with those who couldn’t about why they needed to stay longer.

By the time he came to me I knew what to say. ‘When would you like to go home?’ ‘Since I came on the weekend I should stay a whole week and go home on Sunday’, I said. He seemed surprised by this though he certainly agreed.  He asked if I was eating my meals and I proudly told him ‘yes’.

On returning to school I paid more attention to ‘religious instruction’.  Prior to that, I had thought the irrelevant volunteers who conducted these courses were a waste of time. I had learned that my expectations were incorrect, so I wanted to know more. I heard about the Church of England Boys Society (CEBS) and thought that would be a good thing to join. It was apparently like the scouts but without the thugs. Though I didn’t enjoy the poison ball games in the old Seaford Hall and was confused by the first game of ‘Chinese whispers’, I did read the CEBS manual which said that every good CEB should pray and go to church. The CEBS master suggested that the newish St Silas Church in Seaford South would be most convenient for me.

The ‘church’ however was not as expected. The group of about 30 squashed into a garage neatly lined with unpainted Masonite. The ‘Vicar’, Albert Church, from the parent church, St Paul’s Frankston, did at least have robes and wore his collar back-to-front.

The garage was on the property of Norman Rae, who Dad told me was a war hero.

Although he was no minister he was certainly in charge of what went on. It seemed to be a very short period of time that the church moved half a block down to a bright and airy new hall. By that time, I had been and later confirmed at St Paul’s Church, which did look like a proper church.  

After that I became an altar server, risking life and limb to climb the ladder to post the hymn numbers every Sunday morning.

Norman Rae was an imposing figure. I was impressed by his energy since he was almost 80. He did strike me as a heroic type; he knew what was going on, no one contradicted him, he had built the garage church with his own hands and somehow managed to raise enough money for a new hall. He was also the driving force behind the Sunday School which I took part in eagerly.

My participation in the church meant that Mum had an opportunity to volunteer to play the piano for church services and also the choir practice. Dad felt his duties were fulfilled by dropping Mum and I off for services and choir practice. While my brother was also baptised he did not show an interest in such things. 

The choir was led by Eric Jones, a short stentorian-voiced Welshman who knew his music. There were about 20 people in the choir practice and we were all assigned the relevant parts; soprano, alto, tenor and base. Only one voice resonated in the base section - Norman’s.

The St Silas church community was regularly grateful to ’Mr Rae’. He had grown up at ‘the Overflow’ in New South Wales, a place romanticised in Patterson’s poem ‘Clancy’ and for that reason seemed to me that it was a logical place to breed heroes. Each year he would travel there for a holiday. Each year the church community would buy him a bigger farewell gift and crowds would be there to farewell him. 

If some thought such well-wishing and farewelling would aid his 'retirement' they were mistaken. He accepted the warm wishes and would return refreshed from his trip home.

Later we moved suburbs and I lost contact with St Silas. In 1974 I was working at the Manyung Gallery in Mount Eliza, and one day old Mr Rae came in for a look. He removed his old dark green hat with its small feather to enter the building. 

There had been some kerfuffle when he came in which made me look. We chatted for a while. He had slowed somewhat and was not as spritely as I remembered him. This was a little sad as he was about the same age as my grandfather who had retained his sprightliness though not his ‘bravery’. 

Apparently, he had argued with the Yorkshire-woman who guarded the Gallery door about the 50-cent admission fee. This was a common cause of discontent, later dropped. The guardian could not understand why I had given him so much time, but I was impressed that he had tackled her directly and successfully – a rare achievement.

Battle of Beersheba

I thought of Norman Rae recently as this year marks the 100^th anniversary of the Battle of Beersheba, a significant turning point in the history of the Middle East.

The Battle of Beersheba was his regiment's first major battle and it made the Australians a legend. It was the basis for thinking of him as a war hero and along with the impression he gave of being imposing meant he usually got his way, though as a child I didn’t really understand this.

On 31 October 1917, an attack was launched to outflank the Turkish bastion of Gaza, against which two previous attacks had failed, by capturing another heavily defended town to the east - Beersheba. 

A deteriorating tactical situation late on the first day of the operation caused the 4th and its sister regiment, the 12th, to be unleashed on Beersheba at the gallop: the charge of Beersheba.

Captain Rae was awarded the Military Cross for ‘conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty’ in this battle. During the mounted attack on hostile trenches, he single-handedly captured over 60 prisoners setting an example to his men under extremely heavy rifle and machine-gun fire.

After Gaza fell, Turkish resistance in southern Palestine collapsed. 40 days later, General Allenby entered Jerusalem on foot through the Jaffa Gate, together with his officers. He did this out of respect for the status of Jerusalem as the Holy City important to Judaism, Christianity, and Islam and was well received by the city’s inhabitants.

I don’t know where Captain Rae’s firm religious beliefs came from but his participation in and survival of such a significant battle together with the momentum that battle helped create to change the face of the Middle East would have left him with a stronger resolve.

Norman Rae died in 1977 and St Silas closed in June 1987, but the heroism and significance of the Battle of Beersheba are still remembered.

See also: A ‘new’ photo of an Australian Beersheba hero?