​The one moment that stands out for me this year happened about four months ago.   I was browsing Ancestry and typed in my great grandfather's name, ‘Percy Watkinson'. This man has been my “brickwall” over many years.  Initially he seemed to disappear in the late 1890's, with no death certificate to validate his death.  
 
Eventually, this problem was solved by a small personal announcement in Trove stating Percy Watkinson had died in Paris, France on January 7, 1907. 
 
So now I just needed to get a death certificate to authenticate it was the man I was seeking.  I assumed this would just be a matter of contacting the French Births, Deaths and Marriages, paying some money and “Voila”, there it would be.
 
The discovery of Percy’s death whereabouts occurred in 2013. The intervening years have been an education as well as a test of patience. When a person dies in Paris the death is registered at the City Hall of the Arrondissement where the death occurs. I had no way of finding out this information as all the people who may have known were deceased.  
 
So, once again, I put Percy to one side and tried to forget about him.
 
However, from time to time I would type Percy’s name and search in Ancestry or Trove. It seemed to be a hopeless task until this last year, when someone else's family tree popped up and there he was.  But was it him?
 
There were the same parents, but his birthplace was a different country, even though his siblings were born in Germany.  I followed it up and there was a place of death. The date of death was the same and the address was in the Tenth Arrondissement.
 
Armed with this information, I wrote a letter to the City Hall and requested a death certificate, including a stamped self-addressed envelope.  Please note that there was no cost involved.
 
I waited for between six to eight weeks, with frequent trips to our mail box, much to the amusement of my husband. Eventually the envelope arrived and there it was. Now I had positive proof that the certificate was for my man. To add to my joy, one of my fellow classmates in Family Research had found the cemetery where he is buried. 
 
My next trip to Paris will involve a visit to Percy’s grave, but also a visit to the City Hall with a packet of Tim Tams to show my gratitude.
 
Which do you think is my “One Moment This Year”?
 
I chose the finding of his place of death, as the rest was the result of that lucky browse.
 
 
Marg McCrohan
November 2022

​In June 2007 my husband and I decided to retire and leave Melbourne behind. We had already purchased a house on two acres in 2000. The property was about eight kilometres beyond Tatong towards Tolmie, and we had planned this to be our last move. We had planted trees in the bare hilly paddock and the garden was a work in progress. The location was idyllic, being surrounded by farmland and the Holland Creek, across the road from us, which supplied us with water. Our neighbours were welcoming and so we settled down to a quiet life.

​Unfortunately, my mother became seriously ill in Ireland and so a quick trip to see her was organised.  I was fortunate to spend her last few days with her and to attend her funeral before returning home.
 
We then set about seeing some more of our own back yard. This involved a trip on the Ghan from Adelaide to Darwin, with a stop off in Alice Spring so we could visit Uluru.  No, we didn't climb the Rock but circled it by foot. This trip inspired us to plan a camping expedition up through the Centre and down the West Coast. 
 
We made a few trips overseas to catch up with family and visit new countries, as well as old favourites such as Paris.  
 
In between we continued living in the quiet rural surrounds, with shopping trips to Benalla and occasional outings to Swanpool Cinema.  We were content with our lot, until I got the Volunteer bug and joined the crew at Vinnies.
 
Unfortunately, we also aged.  My arthritic hands made gardening a painful chore and not the pleasure it had been. Thus, we decided to sell our property.  We made the decision to move to the coast and ended up in Portarlington. At the time there was only a small permanent population, and we were surrounded by empty houses, which was a gentle introduction to urban living. Of course, over the summer the population swelled, and life became more hectic.  With ongoing development increasing in pace, we decided to head back to Benalla.  However, this time, we settled in the town.
 
Now, several years later, we are well settled into retirement.  There is time to take up causes, whether by writing to politicians, joining protests or visiting people in detention. Between Volunteering, U3A and ‘life in general’, I often wonder how I managed to fit employment into my schedule. Yes, I do have a garden but on a smaller more manageable scale.
 
To me retirement has been a wonderful surprise. I had wondered if it would be boring. Instead, each day is a gift to be cherished.
 
 
Marg McCrohan
October 2022

​​My “Bucket List” has changed as I have aged. As a child, the one and only item in my wish list was to set down roots in one place and grow up surrounded by friends and family. This wish was never realised, as my family constantly moved as my father sought to fulfill his Bucket List.  
 
One would think that this would have influenced me in my adult life, that I would have set up home in one place and stayed put. Our present abode has rocketed to the top, as far as time spent in one home, as we are currently in our ninth year of residence.  Does this mean I have now realised my childhood dream and can tick it off the list or is there another move to come – apart from my final move in a coffin.
 
I had never had a list of places I wished to visit until after I was married and, with our first daughter, we set off to see the world and family members living in Ireland. We spent eighteen months away, as my husband was a teacher and gained employment in Ireland. This enabled us to travel in Europe as the summer holidays were spread over three months and thus our taste for travel was ignited. Paris is always on our bucket list, regardless of our frequent visits there.
 
Once retirement arrived, we were free to take our time. Our first trip was a camping trip up through Central Australia and across to West Australia before returning home.  We had great plans to do a similar trip but turning right instead of left at Darwin.  So far that trip has not occurred so that is one item still on our list.
 
Since then, we have managed several overseas trips which have covered places I had never thought to visit, such as China and Canada. China was a big surprise as I had thought it would be grey, polluted and full of apartment blocks. We were lucky with the pollution as our time in Beijing was spent under blue skies and we discovered many green spaces.  As for Canada, that has to be seen to be believed.
 
We still have many destinations remaining on our wish list.  My husband has never been to Tasmania, so I would love to take him there.  Kangaroo Island is on my list.  I am regretful that we didn't get there before the fires, but hopefully we will make it there.  New Zealand is another country I would love to spend time in as we have only ever passed through there on a flight from America.  Ireland and Paris are always on the bucket list as places we enjoy visiting.
 
Fortunately, I cannot foretell the future so whether the remaining items on my Bucket List get ticked off remains to be seen. One thing I know for sure is, there will always be a new dream to replace those  already accomplished.
 
 
Marg McCrohan
September 2022

Right here, right now, I am struggling to fulfill a promise I made to my cousin, Des Ryan, to write my father's story. I realised this would not be an easy project and so farmed it out to my siblings, seeking their input. In many ways this has made the project more difficult as we all suffer from Procrastination to some degree or other.   I initiated the process in September last year and had hoped to have completed it by Easter, but four months later the end is nowhere in sight.
 
In the intervening months there have been several deaths.  After attending another funeral last Friday, I decided to bite the bullet and issued a deadline warning to all involved. As Des turned 91 this year, I feel a sense of urgency to complete this task whilst he is still with us. Thus, I have stated all contributions need to be with me no later than the end of September.
 
My daughter, Michele, in charge of the technical side, has suggested we do a timeline of his life, with insertions from his various progeny relating to their memories of their Father. As there were ten children over a twenty-year period, one can imagine memories and opinions of him vary greatly.  Added to this, my father worked as a doctor in many different locations which adds another layer to his story.
 
Des has been the main contributor of his cousin's early life, although Des was sixteen years younger. The two cousins remained close throughout my father's life and visited one another regularly, although on opposite sides of the globe for the last forty years.
 
To date, no one has the story of my parents meeting, but who knows, this mystery may be solved during this undertaking. Fortunately, his school and university days are available in various archives and some of the photos have been a surprise.  I had never thought my father was involved in sport to the degree that is obvious from the various teams he participated in.
 
I have found this whole process to be a test of my endurance, but there have been several discoveries along the way and, as a result, an increased awareness of my father and the influence he has had on all our lives.
 
It has been suggested that “we” need to do a similar project on my mother's life, but that is in the future.  As to who “we” is, I have my suspicions that it is none other than yours truly.
 
Right Here, Right Now, I am looking forward to completing this project and presenting Des with a copy of the finished article.
 
I think “Herding Cats” might have been easier.
 
 
Margaret McCrohan,
August 2022

​My parents, Brian Ryan and Margaret Moore, married on April 9, 1941 and celebrated their fiftieth Wedding anniversary in April 1991.

​Although my parents and three brothers were living in Ireland at this time, the celebration took place at my brother Christopher's home in Sunbury. The fact that the majority of the family lived on the east coast of Australia and my parents were regular visitors were the deciding factors in the choice of venue.  Chris and his wife, Anne were the hosts and seemed to undertake most of the organisation, whereas the rest of the siblings, partners and children were under strict orders to keep the date free.
 
Thus the Irish contingent booked their flights and the USA based brother made a quick trip minus his family. Those from interstate arrived in dribs and drabs, whereas I had only to drive from Seymour. We had two trial get togethers, one at Euroa to celebrate my mother's sister Valda's 70th birthday, the other  at Seymour to celebrate our eldest daughter, Kylie's 21st birthday, before the big day arrived
 
Being April, we were blessed with good weather and the various family members descended on the Austin Court home for lunch. The food was a side event as this was the first time all the family had been together in years and sadly, it was the last time it happened. Can you imagine the noise as siblings, their children ranging in age from babes in arms to young adults  and the guests of honour exchanged news. There was the usual game of backyard cricket and kick to kick.
 
Eventually we all gathered for the cutting of the cake and photo session - quite a performance with so many persons involved. Overall, it was a lovely day enjoyed by all present.  Looking back now, it remains a very special day.

​It's a good thing we can’t foretell the future, as we were unaware it was to be the final gathering of the clan we were to experience.

​The cause I am most passionate about is Australia’s treatment of people seeking Asylum
 
I first became aware of Refugees and the problems facing them in Australia in August 2001 when the Norwegian freighter, the MV Tampa, was refused permission to land hundreds of people seeking asylum onto Christmas Island.  These people had been rescued from a sinking Indonesian vessel.  The Australian government sent military SAS personnel to board the vessel. It was the first time a boat trying to enter Australia carrying refugees had been met with this type of military force. Thus, began what I consider one of the most shameful periods in Australia's history in my lifetime. (Our treatment of our Indigenous Peoples is also an ongoing sore).
 
Initially I wrote letters to politicians and donated to groups supporting asylum seekers. Once I retired, I joined Rural Australians for Refugees.  This community of like-minded people has enabled me to feel supported as I try to offer support to all Refugees seeking a safe place.
 
I realise this is an ongoing battle as people continue to be displaced by war, be victims of persecution by virtue of their ethnicity or religion and, in the near future, be displaced by the effects of Climate Change. I realise how fortunate I am to have been born in this country, but surely that means I have to try and show compassion to those less fortunate.  A country should be judged on how it treats the most vulnerable.  This country seems to be failing in that respect when we look at our Indigenous people, our aged and our poor.  To these we now add those seeking asylum
 
As a result of joining this group I have become a regular visitor to MITA – a detention centre in Broadmeadows. There I have met young people from Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Sri Lanka and Bangladesh and I consider them friends. I have yet to meet anyone who would not be an asset to this country if given the opportunity. The fact that many of these refugees have languished in detention for periods of up to 10 years is an indictment on our system. Why would anyone prefer to be locked up for years rather than return to their country of origin?
 
In the time of my visiting detainees, the rules relating to visiting have become more onerous, crueller to those detained. Many are just waiting for the Minister to sign off on their Refugee status and assign them a Visa, but he seems to enjoy his power and delays any action for as long as possible. I hope the new Minister might be more compassionate, but apart from the swift action taken re the Biloela family, the rhetoric sounds similar.
 
Thus, I continue to write letters to politicians, volunteer at stalls to raise funds and to raise other people’s awareness of the conditions facing refugees, both in Detention Centres and outside. I have visited Canberra and joined many Palm Sunday Rallies. I have met many people from many different walks of life and learned a lot about other countries.
 
Overall, I have benefited more than I have given and will continue to be a passionate supporter of people seeking asylum for as long as it is required.  At the moment, this looks as if this cause will be with me for the rest of my life.
 
Margaret McCrohan,
​June 2022
 

I first met Cathy Spence when I started Year 9 at Presentation Convent Windsor in 1958. We both lived in St. Kilda prior to my becoming a boarder at the convent when my parents went to Papua New Guinea for two years. A group of us spent our remaining school years together until we went our separate ways in pursuit of different careers. Cathy became a passionate primary school teacher and I a biochemist. We had one interest above all else which maintained our friendship and that was being passionate supporters of St. Kilda football team in the then VFL. Thus, we remained in contact through our tertiary education and our work lives up until marriages, children, travel and life took over.  Apart from the occasional contact at school reunions, we eventually lost touch completely.
 
However, while attending the Australian Open with some colleagues from work in the 1990s, we met up again. While eating lunch, a woman approached me and said she recognised me by my laugh!  So, we reconnected. With both of us still working and living in different parts of the state, we were still not meeting face to face, but kept in touch via phone calls, emails and Christmas letters. The one part of our lives that had not changed was our continued support of the Saints.

Cathy and her husband always took off to Northern Australia over the winter months. They enjoyed the warmer weather, whereas we enjoyed the four seasons. Also, as my parents were living in Ireland, our travel plans usually included an overseas trip every two years, once our children had fled the nest. We had great plans to catch up properly once we retired as we were sure we would have SO much free time. However, as most people know, life in retirement turned out to be busier than ever and so arrangements made were changed by one or other of us as family demands always come first.

Eventually we decided that 2020 was to be our year and, as the school we had both attended was closing down, we pencilled in various dates throughout the year for various reunions. Of course, as you all know, The Pandemic arrived and one by one these activities were cancelled. A similar pattern reoccurred in 2021.  As I write this, we have still not had a face to face meeting. We continue to stay in touch via phone calls and emails. I realise she is the one friend I made at school with whom I have regular contact. All my other friends are from work situations, sporting or community groups.​

Maybe this year we will make it!  Wouldn't it be nice if we could see our football team win  the Grand Final before our final curtain.


Marg McCrohan
May 2022

Trees have been a constant background to my life. As a child I climbed and fell out of them. At primary school we used to set up shop under them and sell the various nuts, seeds or acorns that the trees provided. When in Ireland, growing up we used the seeds of the Horse Chestnuts as Conkers and see whose conker could outlast the others- the conkers were threaded on a piece of string and each child would stike the other child’s conker. During University I regarded them as sources of shade from the sun or cover from the rain.

In 1967, after our marriage, we moved to our first home in Melbourne and in the front garden was a large weeping willow.  Apart from providing shade in the summer, it made me aware of the seasons, from the bare limbs in winter to the new leaves in spring, luxuriant foliage in summer giving way to the autumnal change in colour prior to the loss of the leaves.

Our next home was in the Lurg district and here on our land were many trees of which two stand out. 

At the bottom of one paddock stood an old eucalypt which appeared to be the playground of some goannas. This was the first time I was aware of these animals and I was fascinated by them and loved the tree, as a  provider of security for them.

The other tree was a Peppercorn and this was closer to the house and near the sheep yards.  It provided shade for any animals in the yard, but was also a favourite spot for our children to hide. I have always loved peppercorn trees and, although I have been told they provide homes for white ants, I continue to admire them and always get a warm feeling when I see one.

In 2000 we bought a house on a couple of acres between Tatong and Tolmie. This was in preparation for our retirement. We spent time planting trees as the paddock was rather bare. However there were three relatively mature Silky Oaks, Grevillea Robusta, which provided shelter for many birds. They were also a source of food for the Friar birds which used to gather in great numbers.  Their noise was almost deafening at times, but the beauty of the trees with their gold “flowers” in spring was worth the breaking of the normal serenity.

Now we live in the town and are fortunate in that our garden had a couple of already well established, mature trees - a towering Eucalyptus which sheds it bark and a Desert Ash which provides a shady retreat in the summer. Also, my favourite, a beautiful Crepe Myrtle which gives joy, no matter the weather or the season. The colour of the limbs when devoid of leaves and flowers in the winter is stunning and matches it’s summer display

I cannot imagine a world without trees and,hopefully, will continue to enjoy their beauty for some time to come.


Margaret McCrohan
March 2022

"Carpe Diem" 

Marg McCrohan
​February 2022

I have made many discoveries during my lifetime but the one that has been of lasting importance was “The World of Books”.  
 
I can't remember when I found this new world, but with both parents being voracious readers and a home where books were treasured, maybe I imbibed it with my mother's milk.   I can't remember when I first realised I could read and didn't have to wait for a person to read to me, but know I would have been overjoyed. From then till now that joy has remained.
 
Books are a source of information, relaxation and a fillip to the imagination. The feeling of expectation when one opens a book for the first time and reads the opening chapter is a constant. Now I experience that even if I have read the book previously but, owing to my failing memory I don't recognise it. It may seem familiar but as I can't remember the ending, I continue.  My biggest problem is my refusal to give up on a book.  I continue to hope that the writing or the story line will improve and so time that could be spent on reading a different book is wasted.
 
Books to me are not just stories or information but are of themselves things to be treasured. The feel of the cover, whether leather bound or paperback, is part of the appeal.  This also applies to the smell, whether brand new or old.  I do have a Kindle, but that is reserved for when we travel. When we went camping, I had a miner's lamp which enabled me to read when there was no power.
 
Then we come to the contents and there are many different genres.
 
Travel books take you places where you have never ventured and often ignite the desire to venture off the beaten track. Our trip to the Kimberley, Central Australia and Darwin was the result of reading about explorers and the original pioneers. I always wondered at the courage of those initial settlers.  Having visited the area, I was in awe of not only the original settlers but those living there presently.
 
My favourite fiction genre is Crime and Mystery. I certainly would never make a good detective as I rarely work out the villain prior to the end – in fact I nearly always fall for the “red herring”. This genre does make me use my brain, even if I fail as I usually do
 
Stories by refugees and about refugees are another source of inspiration as they make me aware of how lucky I am to be Australian born. They also make me aware of the terrible living conditions people endure in other parts of the world and the need for compassion and generosity towards those seeking asylum.
 
And then there are books about politics, Climate Change and economics.  Ross Garnaut's book
Superpower gave me hope for the future but as yet our politicians have either failed to read it or else failed to act.
 
This discovery of Books has made my life easier as education benefits from the ability to read. Also, life during this Pandemic allowed more reading which certainly made Lock Downs more bearable.
 
Overall, the discovery of books has had a long lasting and positive effect on my life.


Margaret McCrohan
​November 2021
                                              

​‘If only I had not joined U3A’, I would not be struggling to write a 500-word essay on the night before such work is due. I must admit that the fault is mine as I am inclined to procrastinate and need a looming deadline to motivate me.  Unfortunately, I have found this procrastination has even affected my sleep, as I toss and turn whilst trying to compose my required essay. However, at this stage of my life, time is a precious commodity.  There are a multitude of things I could do that would be of more interest to me!  As my husband pointed out I could spend the time reading the mountain of books I have piled up on my bedside table.
 
I joined U3A in 2020 as I hoped it would motivate me to continue my Family History Research which had been pushed to one side by life's other commitments.  The push to join Memoir Writing was the hope I could one day tell my father’s story.  My other enrolments were in Sustainability and German for Beginners. I have continued with the first three, but German came to an end halfway through last year as I found I was spending eight to ten hours a week doing homework. I opted instead to join Duolingo and have continued using that as my language option until now.
 
The fact that COVID 19 has been a feature of both years has not been helpful as Lock downs have featured on and off.  Normal life has been impacted which does affect one's outlook and thus the ability to concentrate for any length of time. In short, there has been plenty of time to spend researching Family History, but the motivation and concentration have been lacking. The more physical chores are easier to manage than mental ones. Today for instance, instead of sitting down and writing, I spent eight hours in the garden. I did feel the satisfaction of a job well done but was still tossing up my choice of essay topic.
 
The fact that I am continuing with my classes means that I do not regret this decision overall, even though it does sometimes make me think “If only I hadn't”.
 
 
Marg McCrohan
26 September 2021

Growing up I spent many holidays on my Aunt’s large sheep farm near Romsey. There we rode horses and occasionally mustered sheep and went rabbit hunting at night. There was usually a group of cousins and we all got on well, so life was good.  I also devoured The Billabong books by Mary Grant Bruce, so had this romanticised view of farming life.

In 1978 my husband, four children and I bought a house on forty acres close to Benalla. We were lucky to have a woolshed and a machinery shed plus sheep yards included. We started off our farming adventure slowly with a couple of lambs we bottle fed. These were called Bonnie and Curly. These two grew up and were a great help when we increased the flock, as Bonnie would follow us and the rest followed her.

Our next addition was a cow in calf.  Unfortunately, after giving birth to the calf, Rosie, she died from Grass Tetany.  A couple of years later we found Rosie was infertile so sadly she was sent to the sale yards.  We then invested in a beautiful Jersey cow. The kids named her Goldie. She was a gentle soul who allowed me to milk her. We set up a bail in one of the sheds and she used to follow me from the paddock to the bail every morning. We then bought another cow, whose family had named Veranda. She was a different temperament. When I would open the gate, I had to run towards the shed with her racing behind me.

With all the milk being produced I learned to make butter and even branched out into ice cream making. At one stage we bought a couple of piglets which delighted the kids, but they grew quite big and were sent to the abattoir. We were given a goat to help keep the grass down, but he seemed to think the house was his and would wander into the lounge room to watch the Television.​

We were very fortunate in our neighbours, who went out of their way to show us the way to do things such as cutting sheep toenails and putting marking rings on the male lambs.  One family allowed us to share an Angus Bull with them, so we had newborn calves. We had also bought the kids a calf each which they hand reared and named. To the cattle and sheep, a horse and a donkey were added, as well as various dogs.  All in all, life was chaotic but enjoyable.

Then came the drought of 1982 - 83. Suddenly, life became a pattern of hand feeding stock and anxiously watching the sky for any black cloud. As my husband was employed, we were not reliant on income from the land, unlike full time farmers. Thus, my romantic view of farming life took a battering, but I learned empathy for farmers.

I still feel life on the land is the ideal lifestyle, but one needs a certain temperament to cope with Nature's moods.


Margaret McCrohan
August 2021
 
 ​

​Who remembers being warned about the Boogeyman as a child?
​
In the 1950’s our family travelled to Ireland to live and remained there for more than three years.  While there, my parents rented part of a castle.  We inhabited the top quarter which did include a round tower.  Another family lived in the lower quarter, while the main half was inhabited by the owner and his housekeeper, Bridie.

The castle was part of a working farm on the outskirts of a village.  There was a long drive which ran between fields and curved up a hill to the castle.

One day, while we were outside playing, we saw a man appear round the curve.  He was very tall and wore a black greatcoat, cap and large boots and to our eyes was the embodiment of “The Boogeyman”.  He was known locally as Galway Jack.  To return inside we would have to get to the door before him.  The housekeeper, Bridie, had noticed him and quickly opened her kitchen window and dragged us inside.  She warned us that he did not like children and that we should avoid him.

Looking back, as an adult, I can imagine that the poor man had been teased by children and thus had no love for them, but I doubt he would have hurt us.  Being children, we did not enquire into his story.  As he only appeared in the village from time to time, I think he spent his life on the road.  Now I have many questions about him which, unfortunately, will remain unanswered.  I wonder where he slept and how he found shelter and food.  I imagine he came from Galway because of his name.

This memory returns from time to time.  I eventually rang one of my brothers last week and asked him if he remembered Galway Jack.  Before I could say anything else, he laughed and said he was dragged through the window by Bridie to escape from him.  Thus, my memory is true and not a figment of my imagination.

My one regret is that I will never know his story.
​
 
Marg McCrohan
June 2021

​In February 2019, I was diagnosed with Stage 4 Non Hodgkin Lymphoma.  Up till this time I had always enjoyed good health, so I was totally unprepared. My oncologist was very positive, although he warned me the chemotherapy was tough.
 
Suddenly, my free wheeling retired life was put on hold and my life became one of doctor's appointments, blood tests and Chemotherapy sessions,  The fact that I was unable to drive my car for a few months was one of the hardest things to come to terms with . However this lack of independence was short term and I was lucky to have a willing chauffeur in my husband, Brian.

Overall, I was extremely lucky.  Apart from losing my hair and being very tired, I was fine. I made many discoveries of the various services available to people with illness and I realised that we live in a “lucky country” or at least, those of us living in this part of Victoria.

My Chemotherapy sessions were in Wangaratta and the staff there are wonderful. They are professional and caring.  I felt I was part of a caring group and met some wonderful people. When trying to decide on the wig to wear, I was advised by my fellow sufferers  and ended up becoming a red head for several months. I must admit that I was pleased that my wig wearing occurred in the cooler months as I imagine it would not be so pleasant in the heat of summer.

I was pleasantly surprised by the love and support I received, not just from my family but from friends and even people who I hardly knew who reached out to me. Of course, there was the occasional disappointment with a few people I thought were close friends, but I understand some people find it hard to deal with illness.

After five months I was given a scan which showed the cancer had disappeared but as a extra precaution I was scheduled for two lots of treatment in hospital in Albury. This is thought to protect the brain. I hope it worked because I do not want to do that again – hospitals are not my favourite place.

However after two years I am still in remission and have graduated to six monthly Oncology appointments whereas up to now they were 3 monthly.

Yes, this definitely was a curved ball, but in some ways I am grateful it happened as I am more aware of other people. I also gained a greater appreciation of my family and the fortunate life I have and continue  to live.

Hopefully I continue to enjoy good health and always.

'Carpe Diem ...'

Margaret McCrohan
May 2021

​The only two grandparents who played a role in my life were my paternal grandfather and my maternal grandmother.  

Patrick Aloysius Ryan, born in April 1888 and died in November 1968, married three times. His first wife died after the birth of their second son, my uncle, in 1916. He married his second wife in 1919 and she died in 1953. Everyone talks very fondly of her but I have no memory of her at all. His third wife was English.  They married in England and returned to Australia to live.

Patrick was an old fashioned gentleman who believed in the adage - "Children should be seen and not heard',   Although he was kind to us there was a lack of warmth.

My major memory of Patrick was being lectured on the fact that I had taken too long to write a “Thank you” note acknowledging a birthday or Christmas gift. I then tried backdating my letters so it might look as if they had been delayed in the mail, but he used to check the post mark!!

My maternal grandmother, Ilsa Moore, was my ideal grandparent. She loved all twenty one of her grandchildren and was determined that we should all experience every facet of life possible. Ilsa was feisty and interested in all our lives. When my parents moved to PNG and we were at boarding school she was our  escape, and was always planning treats from afternoon tea at the Windsor Hotel to a day at the cricket. She also organised tickets for several of us to go to the Beatles concert when they came out.  Above all she was there, full of encouragement and love.

One of Ilsa's wishes was to have a red headed child.  She went so far as to dye my mother's hair - not a very successful venture I believe. The ironic thing is my youngest boy has red hair, as has one of his cousins, but unfortunately they were born after she died in 1973,

I still miss her.


Marg McCrohan
April 2021

(This story, completed by Marg for Family Research, began as a topic in As Time Goes By, so has been added to Marg's collection of stories.)
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Being the new person in town can be intimidating, but as a person who has moved on several occasions, both interstate and internationally, I developed different approaches depending on my age.  Changing schools as a child can be difficult, but when one reaches retirement the onus is on oneself to make friends and feel at home.
 
In 2012 my husband and I moved from Tatong to Portarlington on the Bellarine Peninsula.  I was the driver of this move as I had always wanted to live on the coast.  We had no family living nearby, knew nobody there, so we were starting from scratch.  At that time, the town had a lot of holiday homes.  The resident population was spread far and wide, with many houses occupied only on weekends and holidays.
 
I checked out the various activities available and initially joined an exercise class which was held in the local Senior Citizens building.  The ladies were very welcoming, so after a few weeks I started to feel at home.  I had not been swimming for years, but with the beach on my doorstep, I ventured back.  Swimming is not really a social sport however I found a swimming pool near our house.  I joined, became a regular morning swimmer, and further extended my circle of acquaintances.  I then discovered that the local Neighbourhood House held various activities and joined the Family History group.  Initially I was not really interested in Family History but joined to extend my social circle.  However, as anyone who has an interest in their history will tell you, it can become an addiction!
 
My husband and I decided to try our hand at bowls.  After five compulsory lessons we were invited to join the members for a social day.  Unfortunately, the weather was lousy.  Although we played several games I ended up with a flu-like infection which seemed to put an end to that venture.
 
One weekend we had a visit from a Benalla couple.  During the weekend the lady, Betty, persuaded me to have a hit of tennis.  This was another sport that I had mothballed about twenty years previously.  I enjoyed playing again and, as a result, I joined the Veterans at Port Lonsdale and played twice a week.
 
As a Vinnie’s Volunteer in Benalla, I sought out the nearest Vinnie’s and offered my services.  This was located at Queenscliff, both extending my knowledge of the area and introducing me to a different group of people.
 
As you can see, I spread my net far and wide.  This is the only option if one moves to a new place in one’s senior years. 
 
I thoroughly enjoyed my time on the Bellarine Peninsular, however realised there were many downsides to living there, particularly as one ages.
 
Our decision to return to Benalla to live was made easier by the fact that we already knew people here.  We would not be ‘New in Town’ once more.
 
 
Margaret McCrohan
March 2021

As with most people, I have inherited many different traits, but will concentrate on just one--my laugh, which is loud and uninhibited.
 
I had never noticed this trait in myself until one of my daughters drew the attention of extended family when she was just a toddler.  She was extremely shy, but had an infectious, loud laugh, which was compared to mine.  As far as I can tell this trait is inherited from my maternal side, as I noticed that at least one of my mother’s sisters and her mother all had similar laughs.  Unfortunately, this is as far as I can trace it, as my mother’s grandmother died prior to her birth.  I am inclined to think it is a female trait as it is also found in one of my nieces and various female cousins.
 
This trait has probably eased my way through life.  As the old saying goes, ‘Laughter is the best medicine’.
 
It has also led to me reconnecting with people I hadn’t been in contact with for years.  While attending The Australian Open Tennis in Melbourne in the mid 1990’s I was approached by a girl I had known at school but hadn’t seen for twenty-five years.  She heard me laughing and recognised the laugh.  We have remained in touch ever since.
 
On another occasion, I was in the Benalla newsagent looking at humorous Birthday cards and laughing to myself.  A lady approached me and said she recognised the laugh.  We had not seen each other for over twenty years, as I had left Benalla in 1983 and only returned to live in 2007!!
 
Overall, I consider my laugh a blessing, but have no idea how it has affected others in the family who also inherited this trait. 
 
 
Margaret McCrohan
February 2021

This story, written for the Family Research class, draws upon an As Time Goes By 500 word project title and so has been included with Marg's stories. ​

​'Annamult, in County Kilkenny, Ireland, is a rural area of rich farmland and villages. Annamult, which means the ford of the wethers, has been recorded since earliest times, with Christian sites, Norman castles and monastic  activity all leaving their mark. '
 
Dear Annamult,
 
I first laid eyes on you in February 1971 when I arrived in Ireland accompanied by my husband Brian and one year old daughter. We had travelled from Melbourne to catch up with my parents and some of my brothers whilst Brian was employed as a teacher in a nearby county.
 
My parents had bought a rundown classical Georgian house at Annamult i n  1964/5.  The house, originally built in the 1700s and updated in 1825, was situated at the junction of your two rivers, the Nore and the King. Surrounded by 26 acres, it was an ideal family house for six of my brothers.
 
Upriver from our house on the King river were the remains of your once famous Merino Mills. Set up in the eighteenth century, they fell into disuse in the 1940s. These ruins could be accessed via a woodland path, although the location of the mill was just outside the boundary of the house grounds.
 
We were lucky enough to spend all of 1971 and half of 1972 at  Annamult, so it was more a case of a developing love affair than "love at first sight".  Living in Annamult and getting to know the locals was a voyage of discovery. Whilst my husband worked, I learned the secrets to baking Irish soda bread listening to a neighbour with a beautiful Irish accent who took us under her wing.  We collected our milk from another neighbour, whilst our eggs were collected from a neighbour known as 'Mrs. Egg McGrath' to distinguish her from other members of her family.
 
In February 1972, our second daughter was born in the nearby city of Kilkenny,  thus strengthening our bond with you.
 
I have made several trips back to Ireland in the intervening years, sometimes alone, sometimes with Brian and once with our four children. I always spent the greater portion of my time in the area.  Regardless of the changes to the Irish economy due to entry into the European Economic Community,  you have managed to retain the peace and serenity I always associate with you.
 
In July 2004, my father passed away and I returned to spend time with my mother.  This was to be my last stay as the house was sold shortly after. I have made a few trips ·since then, always managing to find my way back to see you, even if for only a fleeting visit.
 
The house was destroyed by fire in 2009.  The new owners were required to rebuild it, so the house I knew and loved is no longer there. However, I still visit and admire its location.
 
Annamult, my last visit to see you was in 2018.  I had hoped to visit again in 2020, but COVID intervened. Who knows if I’ll return?  If I can’t, you will always  remain in my memory.
 
I do hope your people and the area are remaining safe,coping with lock-down and surviving the pandemic.
 
Best wishes,
 
 
Margaret McCrohan

​Hi everyone,

Just letting you know that I am giving this month's topic a miss. Right here, right now, I seem to be inundated with other priorities. 

One of the women in detention at MITA (Melbourne Immigration Transit Accommodation) lost her appeal against deportation to the UK. She arrived in Australia as a seven year old and is now in her late 50's. I am trying to get all her info to Helen Haines and it seems to be taking up a lot of time. 

I wonder when we as a country will accept responsibility for people who live the greater part of their lives here, but as soon as they commit a crime (hers was drug related), we not only send them to prison, but, after completing their sentence, they are further detained and threatened with deportation.

I'll get off my soapbox!

Hope you are all managing to stay safe and sane.

Marg

I grew up in several different locations, so will concentrate upon the time I spent in Ireland.
 
My earliest memories are of living in Romsey, however when I was eight my father took the family – pregnant wife, five sons and yours truly to Ireland.  He had dreams of buying a farm and settling there.  My brother, Michael was born in Dublin shortly after we arrived. My parents rented part of a castle on the outskirts of Bansha, a village in County Tipperary. The owner occupied one half.  We lived in the top part of the other half, whilst another family of three girls were in the remainder.  The castle was set in acres and was a working farm, providing us with space to roam while still being within walking distance of the village.
 
Those of us of school age attended the local National Primary school and apart from the inclusion of Gaelic in the syllabus was not unlike the school we had attended in country Victoria. I imagine we must have been a source of interest to the locals, but I can't remember ever feeling an outsider.  Here I learned to ride a bike and spent hours riding with brothers or friends around the local area.  In the summer, the days were long.  The school holidays seemed to stretch endlessly. Of course, in winter the days were very short, and we often went to and from school in the gloom.
 
During the summer we started playing tennis at the local courts. Every so often there would be social tournaments which would end up with entertainment provided by the players. I have a vivid memory of myself and my tennis partner singing “The Gypsy Rover” as our offering!!
 
Another extra-curricular occupation of mine was Irish dancing. The occasional competition was held in which we danced on a wooden platform which could have been the cart the farmers used to transport hay ricks from the fields to the barns.  I have the feeling we were awarded medals just for performing as I don't believe I won mine on merit.
 
A highlight of the year was the local pantomime in which at least one of my brothers and I took part - we have a photo as proof.
 
Also, during late summer and autumn we used to pick blackberries. One of my brothers, a budding businessman, bought our blackberries and then on sold them at a profit to the locals.
 
On completing primary school, I started secondary school in Tipperary town, about five miles from Bansha.  A group of us rode our bikes and rain or bad weather was no deterrent. However, one snowy day we were stopped halfway by the local priest who directed us to return home as the weather was expected to worsen. That is the only day I can remember us taking the day off because of the weather.
 
During this time, my father was forced to work in Britain and Europe to provide for us, which meant my mother was on her own with seven children for long periods of time. For this reason, in June 1956, we returned to Australia for the next chapter in our lives.
​

Margaret McCrohan
June 2020