​Ireland in the 1960’s was a place where skin colour wasn’t a big issue but religion was.  There were a few different protestant denominations but everyone was looked upon as either Catholic or Protestant and never the twain did mix (or very rarely).  There is a touch of Karma in this story.

I had met a very nice young man on holidays in England and come Christmas time he came over to Dublin to visit me and my family who lived in the country.  He was a Protestant.  I wrote to my Mother saying I would be bringing him home on Christmas Eve for the Christmas period.  She wrote back saying she didn’t want someone in the house who would not be going to Mass on Christmas Day.  I replied that my boyfriend was quite willing to come to Mass with us.  I got another letter from her saying “I won’t have a Protestant coming to Mass with us”.  My solution was to arrive home after Mass.

Sometime later a Protestant family moved into the house across the road from my parents and my father, Christy, and Fred, the neighbour, became great mates.  My father was not a big drinker but he liked a pint of Guinness or two and the mates would occasionally meet in the local country pub.

Then one Christmas Eve they met in town.  One drink led to another and then another, with some Scotches or Jameson’s in between.  By closing time they were very drunk.  When they had to leave the pub, neither felt like going home, so Christy suggested that, as Midnight Mass was due to start, they should go to Mass.  Fred agreed.

The Catholic churches in Ireland were very large because the majority of the population was Catholic.  On Christmas Eve they were packed with people.  Now if Christy went to Mass drunk and sat in one of the back pews, it wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow but no, the Catholic and the Protestant both staggered all the way up to the front of the church and sat in the front pew.

It was a great topic of conversation in the community over Christmas and for a long time afterwards.  My father was very sheepish about the affair, but it didn’t affect his friendship with Fred.

My Mother was mortified but, as I said in the beginning, it was Karma.
 

​Elizabeth Kearns
March 2018

​When I was very young (pre-school age), I was sent to live with my maternal Grandparents who had a farm.  The house had whitewashed mud walls, a thatched roof and a huge fireplace where the fire was constantly lit for heating and mainly cooking purposes.  An iron crane hung over the fire with an assortment of hooks on which to hang cast irone three legged pots of various sizes.
 
Two aunts and two uncles still lived at home, so I joined a household of six adults.  I didn’t know any of them before I went to live with them.  I have no recollection of my first weeks there or how I felt, but I have fond memories of living there.
 
My memories are just snippets of events.  It was during and after the Second World War.  I remember my aunts complaining they were unable to buy nylon stockings and having to draw lines up the back of their legs, making sure they were straight, so it would appear they were wearing stockings.  It was such a big deal that when one of my aunts was getting married, I decided that I would buy her a pair of nylons as a wedding present.
 
My Grandfather gave me a half-crown piece (2 shillings and sixpence) and my Grandmother brought me to the town in the pony and trap so I could buy the wedding present.  Of course, it was an impossible task as nylon stockings were not available, so I insisted on leaving the half-crown on the front left hand corner of where the wedding gifts were displayed.  This is so clear in my mind - I can still see the coin.
 
Other memories:

• My uncle Packie carrying me home from a party on his shoulders, across the fields, telling his companions stories of leprechauns.
• The same uncle saying one morning that he heard the banshee wailing the night before and that one of the Berrigan’s, (neighbours), was going to die.  I think one did die.
• Sleeping on a feather mattress and waking up in the morning, the mattress and me on the floor having slipped off the bed.
• The trashing and Jack McCann, an elderly neighbour who came to help, refusing to eat currant bread because he didn’t like “those little buggers” – the currants.
• My Grandmother making stir-about (porridge) every night and reheating it for breakfast.  This caused a skin to form on the inside bottom of the cast iron pot.  My younger uncle aged 15 and I would fight to be the one to scrape the pot.
• This younger uncle having a crystal wireless and letting me listen to a man talking.  Oh, wonder of wonders.
• When churning butter, anyone who came into the house had to take a turn at churning or the fairies would steal the butter.  I think they believed that, but it was a wonderful excuse to get a break from the tiresome chore of churning.
• Sitting at the base of the power or telephone lines on poles across the front field of the farm, listening to a hum and thinking it was my Mother and Father contacting me.  I got a great deal of comfort from it.  It didn’t make me sad. 

 
My Mother came to visit once while I lived with her parents.  I wouldn’t go near her; she was a stranger to me.  I knew she was my Mother, probably because I had been told.  I thought she was very pretty.  Thinking back now, that must have been very sad for her.
 
I still hanker for that part of my life.
 
Elizabeth Kearns,
February 2018

​Houses are the things I’ve left behind, eleven that we owned and a few rentals.  This was due mainly to my restlessness and because my husband was a builder and we could renovate and restore our homes.
 
When we were just one year in Australia, we purchased our first house, a highset Queenslander with an outdoor toilet and laundry.  The laundry faced our next-door neighbours.  There was no front to the structure, leaving it open to the elements and the curiosity of our neighbours.  The toilet also faced our neighbour’s house, so it was imperative to close the door when using it, regardless of the urgency.
 
Four years later, having installed a new laundry under the house and enlarged the bathroom to make space for a toilet and remodelled the kitchen, we decided to sell the house and book a sailing trip to Ireland via South America.  No regrets.
 
Then came an unplanned pregnancy and thus an equally unplanned longer stay in Ireland.  Living with my parents-in-law was not an option, so we purchased a house in Dublin.  It was in a very posh area but in an appalling state of repair.  We set to work restoring it and when it was back to its former glory and our baby was several months old, we sold our home and set sail again for Australia.  No regrets.
 
Back in Australia we bought a house close to our business and in our spare time we again completed renovations on the house.  Having sold our business and because our children were getting older, we decided a home on acreage would be the best environment for our girls and boys.  House number three was sold and a lovely old farmhouse on 25 acres was bought at auction.
 
We now had five children and we felt an extension was needed.  An architect friend designed an extension.  My husband wanted a room for a pool table and rumpus rooms were all the rage.  We had installed a swimming pool, so a separate shower and toilet was necessary.  A new laundry could be included, and we had bought a jersey milking cow called ‘Sally’, so I felt I needed a dairy.  All these were part of the extension.
 
A few years later we saw a nice 12-acre block of land for sale and bought it to build a NEW house for our family.
 
Once again, we sold our current home, but the Queensland summer rains came early.  It was impossible to access our building and the building of our planned new house was delayed.  We had to vacate our current house two weeks before Christmas and now with six children had nowhere to live.
 
In desperation we bought a large, sprawling block house, not something we would normally choose, gaining permission to move in before settlement.  It was a nothing style house built by a man from Holland with nine children.  Lots of space was his priority.  The building blocks needed camouflaging.  Plastering them in the white Spanish hacienda style worked well with the terracotta colour roof.  A veranda was added across the front with arches – nine of them.  It became a lovely home.  Each of our children had his/her own bedroom and our bedroom had an en-suite and sitting room.  We lived there for longer than usual.  We lived there for longer than usual.  Eventually two of our children left home and we decided it was time to move back to the city.  Again, we sold our home.  Still no regrets – time to move on.
Years earlier we had bought an investment house beside the Brisbane River.  It needed renovation and was in a lovely area with the river, parks, transport and shopping.  We moved in, redecorated and refurbished, but it never felt like home.  It too got sold.  Good riddance.
 
Then a big old colonial house that had been converted into flats came up for auction and we bought it.  Restoring it to a single residence and renovating it was a major project.  It was a labour of love.  The years passed.  We now had just two children living at home, so we decided to downsize.  Our house sold the evening we were having a party.  Mostly no regrets.
 
Our next house had a quaint appearance, two bedrooms with a small lounge and kitchen.  This was fine until, one weekend, all our children came to visit.  We were like sardines in a can. Something had to be done!  The Answer—Extend.  Out came the pens, ruler and paper.  Ideas were tossed around and finally we came up with a plan.  The extension, when completed, was more than twice the size of the original house, much to the amusement of friends who knew about our desire to downsize.  A couple of years later we decided to move to Victoria.  If I could have taken the house with me, I would have, but that was not an option.  House sold.  New adventure outstrips the love of a house.
 
Three years later we moved back to another investment house in Brisbane.  It was built by a Russian cabinetmaker.  It had beautiful timber and timberwork.  With a bit of redesigning and a courtyard it became a comfortable home with a secluded garden.  We enjoyed living there, but it was time to move back to Victoria.  House Sold.
 
Where to buy in Victoria?  We liked the Gippsland area but settled in the North East for family reasons.  We bought a house, not really to our liking but there was not much to choose from.  With a lot of work, we made it our own and lived there for nine years—the longest we lived in any house.  Age was catching up with us and we needed to live somewhere with better services, so again we sold.  No regrets.
 
We bought the house we are currently living in.  It needs a few renovations, but we have neither the stamina nor the will to do them and it goes against the grain to pay a contractor to do things we used to do ourselves without any hesitation.  Where to next?
 
 
Elizabeth Kearns,
February 2018

Songs are very powerful tools for reminding us of the past, even for people like me, without a musical bone in my body.
 
When I was a young girl, I went through a phase of asking people to name their favourite song.  Now, seventy years later, I remember their responses and if I happen to hear the song it reminds me of that person.
 
My Mother loved ‘If I was a Blackbird I’d Whistle and Sing, I’d Follow the Ship my True Love Sails In’.  I often wondered if she knew someone special who left on a ship.  Many of her family and neighbours went to America.
 
My Father’s favourite song was ‘Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree with Anyone Else but Me’, an old war time favourite.  I wasn’t very impressed with his choice, so I pressured him into saying ‘Davy Crockett’ was his favourite.  He humoured me and agreed, but I knew he barely knew the song.
 
My Grandmother couldn’t think of a song, so I suggested ‘My China Doll’.  She said, yes, that would do.  My Grandfather was always humming and “Doodledum doing” but I never knew if it was the air to a song.
 
Mrs Kiernan who lived next door liked ‘Que Sera Sera’ and told me it was French and meant ‘Whatever will be, will be’.  I was very impressed with her knowledge.
 
The man who lived the other side of us was a playwright.  He told me the most beautiful words he new were ‘A rose red city, half as old as time’ from the poem by John Burgon.  Insisting he name a song he said he liked ‘Clementine’ and taught me the words.   
 
Once a year our family went to the seaside for a day and part of the fun was going on the amusement rides.  One of my very best memories is of my sister being with me in a ‘Swinging Boat’, my father pushing us to swing higher and higher, while the song ‘My China Doll’ pulsated from the loudspeakers.  That was probably why I suggested to my grandmother that it was her favourite song.
 
When I was a teenager, a young man who was the lead singer in a band took a fancy to me.  I wasn’t impressed by him but was delighted when, on stage, he sang ‘The Blackboard of my Heart’, especially for me.
 
When I met the man who is my husband, the band often played ‘Save the Last Dance for Me’ at dances.  That song became our special song.
 
There are lots more songs that invoke memories for me.  They all have a special place in my memory… 
My oldest child singing ‘Little Green Apples’ and ‘Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head’ when she was four…
My second daughter age two, singing ‘Mama Mia’ all the way from Brisbane to Cairns and back, traveling by car.  We got soooo tired of that song…
My young son, on hearing the hymn ‘Peace is flowing like a river, flowing out of you and me, flowing out into the desert, setting all the captives free’, misunderstood the word ‘peace’ for the slang of urine.  He couldn’t understand how it would set the captives free.
 
Songs bring tears, happiness, joy and laughter. 
 
May they endure forever. 
 

Elizabeth Kearns,
February 2018

My small rebellion didn’t have much impact on society, but I thoroughly enjoyed it.

It started when the priest decided that he needed to train some boys to be altar servers.  Our school was in a rural area and there weren’t many boys to choose from.  My brother, who was only seven, was selected.  He was too young to learn the Latin responses to the Mass at the same time as the older boys, so the priest decided I could learn the responses and then teach my brother.

I was not impressed.  Firstly, having to line up with the boys caused a lot of teasing and at that time girls/females were not even allowed on the altar.

Our church was what was known as a Chapel of Ease.  The clergy came out from town to say Mass and for other religious ceremonies.  The children of the Clerk of the Church went to school with us and they unlocked the church each morning on the way to school and then hid the key.

One afternoon, coming home from school, I decided now that I knew Latin prayers, I would like to take the part of a priest and say Mass and especially have Benediction.  I thought the Monstrance a beautiful object with its golden rays and glowing coloured gem stones and wanted to hold it.  In fact I felt I was entitled to do it although the children whose Mother looked after the church said only an ordained priest was allowed to touch the Monstrance.

All the girls, except my best friend Philomena, thought it was a great idea and so all were delegated roles.  Some wanted to swing the Incense Burner although there was no incense in it, some to ring the altar bells and so forth.  Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, someone decided to ring the outside bell to let the parish know that a service was happening in the church.

In the Vestry was a chest of drawers with all the vestments, white, green, red, purple and black.  I chose one and robed up.  Then I took the magnificent Monstrance from its case and with my accolytes formed a procession onto the alter.

Then, knowing only the Latin responses to the Mass, I proceeded to say Mass and have Benediction.  But it came to an abrupt end when the Clerk of the Church arrived in answer to the pealing of the outside bell.  She gave us a tongue lashing at the time, but we never heard another word about it.  We were sure the priest would have lots to say, however there seemed to be an unreal silence about the whole episode.

Now 66 years later I am still glad I got to put my Latin learning to use and don’t regret or apologise for my rebellion against anti-feminism.

Elizabeth Kearns, 
July 2017

Queensland decided to host World Expo 1988 and put their very best efforts into organizing it.

The south bank of the Brisbane River, across from the CBD, was a dilapidated area.  It was a virtual eyesore.  The Queensland Government resumed the buildings and developed the area, which covered 40 ha, for the Expo.

The theme of the Expo was "Leisure in the Age of Technology".  There were 72 pavilions with 36 countries, 52 government agencies and 50 corporations pariticipating.  It was open every day for 184 days.  No cars were allowed but people could come by train, bus, ferry, hovercraft and seaplane.

People came in their thousands, close to 100,000 per day.  It is hard to describe the feelings of pleasure, interest and excitement.

Entertainment was happening everywhere, acrobats, clowns, mime artists, dancers, musicians, marching bands - and that was just the casual live events.  'Talking Heads' on pedestals startled pedestrians passing by when these inanimate objects engaged passerby's in conversation Humanoid robots greeted people in 32 languages.  It was a very interactive experience.

At the 10,000 seat River Stage are groups such as Little River Band, Icehouse, Mental as Anything and Black Sorrows performed.  John Farnham, John Denver, Jon English, Julie Anthony, Donny Osmond, Cher, Phyllis Diller and many others entertained the people there too.

Then there were the pavilions!

The USA promoted sport with Virtual Golf and Basketball.

Switzerland operated a subzero indoor ski slope with artificial snow, something most Queenslanders had never experienced before.

New Zealand had the most popular pavilion, screening an animated presentation of the cartoon 'Footrot Flats'.

The Holy See had priceless treasures from the Vatican.  It was interesting to see the clothing and footwear worn by popes many centuries ago.

Japan had the largest pavilion other than Australia.  They created a beautiful traditional Japanese Garden and tearooms.  They also had the first High Definition television in Australia.

The most outstanding was Nepal's 'Peace Pagoda', a replica of a Pagoda in Kathmandu.  162 Nepalese families worked for two years crafting it before it was shipped to Brisbane.  It was 3 stories high with a beautiful tea house on the second level.  The people of Brisbane lobbied to keep it in Brisbane after the Expo.  It can now be seen on the banks of the Brisbane River in the City Gardens.

West Germany (East Germany still being part of the USSR) had a traditional Bavarian restaurant/beehall seating 1,300 with the attendants wearing traditional Bavarian costumes.  This was a favorite place for the young people, especially popular was the 'Chicken Dance' that seemed to send them into a frenzy

My favorite exhibit was the Magna Carta.  It was one of the four original calf skin copies.

The restaurant I frequented the most was in the USSR pavilion.  The food was nice but I liked to experience the restrictions and supervision of the Soviet Union without any consequences.  

These were just a few of the many wonderful restaurants, pavilions and entertainment.

The Closing Ceremony concert ended with Julie Anthony with the Seekers singing 'The Carnival is Over'.  There was a sense of gloom when the Expo ended.  It was referred to as 'Post Expo Blues'.  The Government provided therapists for those needing help.

More than 18.5 million people visited World Expo 88, that was more than the total population of Australia at that time.  It was a financial success too, with no public debt or liabilities.

It changed Brisbane from its 'Big Country Town' image to a vibrant cosmopolitan city - and I was there.


​Elizabeth Kearns
June 2017

When Stephen was growing up he lived on a twenty three acre hobby farm with a few cows, calves, horses, chooks, cats and dogs.  It gave him a taste for country life.  When he finished his apprenticeship he decided to go jackerooing for a couple of years.

Initially he got a job on a property in remote Queensland.  Later he went to work at Jubilee Downs Cattle Station in the Kimberley’s.  He enjoyed the lifestyle so much that when he returned home his goal was to buy a property.

He wasn’t interested in 300 or 400 acres.  What he wanted was at least a couple of thousand acres.  Eventually he heard of a 2000 plus acre property for sale in the Inverell region of NSW.  Having inspected it he decided ‘It would do’.

He worked out a business plan, went to the bank and applied for a loan which was approved.   

He was then the proud owner of over 2000 acres of land with no machinery or stock.  He needed to keep working in the city to accumulate some money before he could move onto his property.

In the meantime he asked his retired parents to move onto the property to do some renovations to the homestead, which they did.

A Landmark agent noticed that there was no stock on the property and called to see if the owner was interested in agisting the land, which Stephen wasn’t inclined to do.  After talking to the Agent, Stephen’s parents decided to buy 500 merino ewes and 5 merino rams.

Stephen considered himself a cattleman so he wasn’t very impressed with sheep, but there wasn’t anything he could say to his parents especially when they were doing him a favour by updating the house.

In due course it was shearing time.  This was a steep learning curve.  Shearers had to be sourced.  A wool press and wool bags had to be purchased.  Luckily one of the neighbours was a wool classer and he volunteered to help.  The sheep had to be rounded up and brought in.   Finding 505 sheep on 2000 acres is not an easy task.

Meals were to be provided by the owners and the big surpise was they had to be provided exactly on time.  There are very strict rules when shearing.  No one can commence to shear a sheep if it cannot be finished before the rigidly set meal time.  They all take their tallies very seriously.

When the shearing had finished there was a great feeling of camaraderie.  Despite the stress organising the shearing, the equipment and a truck to take the bales of wool in the wool sales it was a wonderful experience and even better when the cheque for the wool arrived.  Stephen decided it was advantageous to keep sheep. 

The oldies weren’t so silly after all. 
 


Elizabeth Kearns,
March 27 2017