My childhood was short-lived, and so I will compound my memories into one.

I recall that I was a four-year old child and that my mother was in the St. Arnaud hospital dying of cancer.  Her sister, Molly Walsh, with whom I was temporarily staying, took me to the hospital to pay a visit.  January 1937.  On Mum’s bedside was a jar of black and white humbug lollies.  As an exploring four-year old, I could not keep my eyes off them and made it obvious.  Mum noticed, and whether it was in exasperation or not, said “alright!  You can have one”.  A poignant memory, but the only memory I have of my mother!  She died on the 31st day of that same month. 

On Mum’s death there was a shuffling of my siblings to the care of relatives.  My six-year old brother, Basil, and I, remained at home with my older brother Pat (16 years old) and my father.
Dad was out in the paddocks and had the responsibility of giving Basil and me a bath. There was no water connected to the bathroom and Pat had boiled water in the copper in the wash house, way out the back.  He poured the hot water into the bath, then, telling Baz and me to ‘stand clear’, went to the outside tank to get some cold water.  Baz ignored his advice and, saying “watch this”, leant over the bath to show off.  To my horror he fell into the steaming water and scalded himself severely.  He carried the scars for the rest of his life.  Pat has been haunted by the memory.

Dad’s sisters then came to the fore and both Basil and I were housed with Aunty Mary until other arrangements could be made.  With the aid of another sister, Elizabeth (Mother Augustine of the Sisters of Mercy in Ballarat), it was decided that we both should attend Villa Maria, the nuns’ primary boarding school for young boys, in Ballarat East.  This was a realistic decision.  But Basil and I didn’t appreciate the move.  We, and in particular Basil, found the nuns not to be loving people; caring perhaps, but not loving.  Sisters of Mercy, what crap!

I believe that the aunts, in taking us away from Dad’s care, had placed us among, in today’s terms, the realms of the “Stolen Generation”.

There were, undeniably, some good days at Villa, but I am sure that both of us really hated most of the time we spent there.

After seven and a half years at Villa I was able to win a scholarship which provided me with four years accommodation and secondary education at St. Patrick’s College, also in Ballarat.

In my long lifetime, I have never been able to find the right words to describe the emptiness of a life without a mother.  Having finished my education at St. Pat’s, it remained for me to fill the subsequent void, and I quote… “…whatever will be, will be, the future’s not ours to see, que sera, sera!”

However, I feel that I accomplished much and have coped ably.

My childhood, now, is nothing but a memory.
​
 
Ray O’Shannessy
27 May 2021

I was four years old when I lost my mother to cancer. My father was an alcoholic who lost his farm to the bank. From then on, he was rarely in my life. Despite this poor start my life has been blessed.

How can it be so?  Let me tell you.

​My father’s sister held a position of authority within the Mercy Order of Catholic nuns in Ballarat. She was Mother Augustine in the Ballarat head- quarters of the Order. In addition to having several Convents within regional Victoria the nuns also conducted a boy’s primary boarding school/home called Villa Maria   in the countryside just outside of Ballarat East. Although it has never been confirmed to me, I believe Mother Augustine exercised her significant influence to provide me with accommodation and tutorial for a period of eight years, (my primary schooling), at little or no cost.

Although I did not appreciate it at the time, this was a great blessing. I was unappreciative because, due to my experiences, I believed then, and now, that nuns are of a differing breed. I found them to be not loving people and to be very strict and severe. I hated every day at Villa and used to refer to it as jail. Nevertheless, the nuns carried out their duties and provided the kids with a home and a good education. This, to me, had to be a blessing.

In 1945 another of dad’s sisters provided me with the opportunity to win a scholarship which again provided me with accommodation and secondary education for four years at the more friendly environment of St. Patrick’s College, also in Ballarat. Another blessing!

On completion of my education, Dad’s brother obtained for me a job which I held for seventeen years with Victorian Producers Co-Op (VPC).  In my later years with VPC I had occasion to visit a neurologist in Wagga Wagga who counselled me to “study accountancy and work for yourself”.  Accordingly, I commenced study by correspondence, and, after a grinding six years, I graduated as a member of the Australian Society of Accountants. Then, after another stint of correspondence schooling I graduated and obtained a fellowship in the Institute of Chartered Accountants.

I then became a partner in the accounting practice of Smith O’Shannessy, and so commenced a satisfying and rewarding career. Surely, a blessing.

I met and befriended Norm Matthews who invited me to invest in and become the Secretary of a property development group. Over a period of thirty years we developed and marketed one hundred and fifty home building blocks. This proved to be a very rewarding venture.

Over a period of some sixty years I played and enjoyed lawn bowls. I was a member of the Benalla Bowls Club and participated in more than seven hundred games of pennant bowls. I was in a number of winning premiership teams.

I also became an active Rotarian for thirty-five satisfying years and am a Paul Harris Fellow.
In 1967 I married the love of my life, Bernadette Cooke. We have four wonderful children who all graduated at University and have distinguished careers. There are also ten adoring grandchildren. How blessed we are.

In the Queen’s Birthday Honours of 2013, I was presented with an Order of Australia Medal. OAM.

All in all, I can boast that I have lived a blessed life.


Ray O’Shannessy    
8 October 2020

​Having lost my mother to cancer when I was 4 1/2 ­­ years old I was sent, with my brother, to Villa Maria in Ballarat East.  Villa was a primary boarding school for boys run by the Catholic order of the Sisters of Mercy.  The nuns would be appalled if they knew that I referred to it as institutional, but frankly that is the way I always imagined Villa to be.  The nuns, while taking on the daunting task of mothering and educating 25 boys aged from 5 to 14 years, were to my mind, sometimes lacking in consideration of the expectations of their charges, making my thoughts understandable.  As a consequence, I experienced a somewhat unhappy childhood.

How did I fit into this environment?  I was the son of a farmer who, because of his aging mother’s Alzheimer’s disease and his own alcoholism, lost the farm to the bank.  Consequently, he became a pauper and was unable to afford my schooling.  However, his sister was a “reverend mother: in the convent, also in Ballarat East.  This fact was obviously to my advantage in gaining admission to Villa.

My term of 7 1/2 years at Villa was a mixed one, with numerous ups and downs,  yet at its conclusion I passed my Merit Certificate,  I also obtained a scholarship which provided me with secondary education and accommodation at St Patrick’s College, a boy’s boarding school, also in Ballarat.

Happy memories of Villa do not come readily, although of a weekend we would often go on walks in the beautiful surrounds of the Ballarat countryside.  I recall having fires into which we would throw potatoes and roast them, splurging them with the ever-available butter.  Ever available because the nuns ran a farm ion conjunction with the school.  The farm provided milk, butter, potatoes, fruit and vegetables and was a distraction from more mundane doings.

On the darker side, as a tiny slip of a kid I rarely ate my meals.  As a result, I would regularly be forced to stay behind in the dining room while other kids had gone out to play.  I did, however, have a stroke of luck in that some how a packet of envelopes came into my possession.  Yes, I would wait until all the other kids had gone out to play and surreptitiously fill an envelope with my uneaten meal.  The envelope would eventually find its way into the incinerator.  All very good until I was caught out!

The nuns placed large import on their straps as a means of punishment.  Sister Brendan claimed to have a strap 6 feet in length.  Or it was until she broke it on me!

Sister Brendan also possessed a nasty streak in her character.  She took a disliking to my brother, Basil.  She took it out on the “horse”.  Remember the “springboard” and the “horse” gymnastics!  Well, Basil did not shine in gymnastics, and she chose to show him up in front of the whole school.  I was quite adept at this sport and she decided to pit him against me.  As was to be expected, he performed very poorly and I was in good form.  I won’t say I did it deliberately, but I managed, as I hurdled the horse, to kick her fair and square in the mouth.  I can still see the imprint of my wet sand shoe on her face.  Poetic justice!

The above are a couple of poorer examples over my term at Villa.  There were many other incidents, both good and otherwise, but I must admit that the nuns, obviously, despite all their faults, gave me a sound grounding for what has turned out to be a fulfilling life.
​
Ray O’Shannessy
25 May, 2020

​Ever since my mother’s death, from cancer, when I was 4 years old, I have been the “odd one out”.  My father’s sisters’ decision that he could not adequately look after his young family meant that I was to live the life of an orphan, and I lived with the inevitable feeling that “I don’t belong”.
 
Because one of my aunts, on my father’s side, was one of the hierarchy of nuns at the Mercy Convent in Ballarat, I was to be accommodated at its subsidiary boys’ boarding school ”Villa Maria” also at Ballarat East.
 
Other students were the sons of solicitors , doctors, accountants, publicans, and farmers whose properties were too far from schools. (There were no school buses in those days). I was “the odd one out”.
 
At Easter, all the kids went home for holidays – all except me and my brother, who was 2 years older than me.  We were “the odd ones out”.
 
On finishing primary school I was awarded a scholarship which entitled me to tutorial and accommodation at St.Patrick’s College also in Ballarat.
 
At St.Pat’s I found that, because I was such a small child, ( at age 14, I was 5 stone in weight) I played football with kids much younger than me.  Again “the odd one out”! To make matters worse, unlike the others, I wore a football guernsey knitted by my aunt. You may well imagine that this differed significantly from the “bought” guernseys the other kids wore. I was a stand out in the field, not because of my ability but because of that damned Guernsey.
 
On leaving school, I obtained a job in Benalla and, as a youth, I was very shy in the company of girls. While  many of my mates had girl friends, I was a loner. Again. The “odd one out”.
 
Much later in my life, after being married at age 34, (an “odd one out”) I commenced studying and found myself as a “mature aged student” studying with , at one stage, teenagers, and later with 20 year olds. There was a notable difference  in our attitudes to study.
 
As a young man I commenced playing lawn bowls at Wodonga. I was aged 26 years, while the other bowlers were men in their sixties, seventees and over. This was an education for which I am very grateful. As a result of this venture I have now been playing bowls for nearly sixty years, and  am in receipt of  a certificate to indicate my fifty years bowling. “Odd one out”.
 
After many years as a member of the Benalla bowls club I received a “life membership”.  ”Odd one out”.
 
Over a lifetime I have been deeply involved in community affairs and in the Queen’s birthday  awards of 2013 I received an Order of Australia Medal.  ”Odd one Out”.
 
In summary, being the Odd One Out in my childhood certainly had its drawbacks, but as life went on there were compensations.
 
Ray O’Shannessy.
29 July 2017

As a motherless four year old, I was stolen from my father and older brother by a loveless aunt and a (thankfully), wonderful uncle, and taken to their extensive farm.

My first act of rebellion was to attempt, not once but twice, to run away on my three wheeled trike.  Not once, but twice, my attempt was thwarted before I had even pedalled some hundred yards.

It had probably been pre-arranged, but the next I knew was that I was transported to the care of nuns at Villa, a home/boarding school at Ballarat. Sisters of Mercy!  What crap!

I endured the sisters for just on eight years, until I got my “Merit Cartificate”.

Occasionally we went swimming at Lake Wendouree, and my swimming attire was Aunty Mary’s one piece swimming suit.  How embarrassing!  One day I snuck away and disposed of the dreaded attire in some bushes, claiming to the nuns that I had lost it.  My act of rebellion!  I was so pleased with myself that I don’t recall the consequences.

I then completed my secondary education at St. Pat’s College, also in Ballarat and joined the workforce in Benalla.

I obtained board at the home of a lovely couple who put on  a surprise 21st birthday for me.

Not long after this I learnt to drink beer and, one night, while  the couple were away for a few days, I had some friends around and we had a small party. The neighbours were quick to tell the couple on their return, and I was evicted!

In time I transferred to St.Arnaud, and then Wodonga, where I worked my guts out, working till 11.30 p.m. of a week night.  Although I say it myself, I had developed a wonderful work ethic. At the same time I was boarding at a hotel, and as was common in those days, there was no such thing as 6 o’clock closing. Drink was available until 11 p.m. every day, including Sunday, so I succumbed.

Nevertheless, I retained my work ethic, and one fateful day, when my manager, the “Boss,” arranged with a salesman to do a stock deal which was outside the parameter of the Company’s province, I refused to counter- sign the offending cheque. My act of rebellion! To his credit, the boss didn’t ask another officer for his signature, but referred the issue to the Managing Director in Melbourne. Some tense days! Was I in trouble?

I don’t recall the immediate consequence, but I do recall that the boss and I still got on reasonably well together.  Eventually a letter arrived from the Managing Director authorising me, or instructing me, to append my signature to the cheque.  No comment as to whether or not I was in the bad books.

However, time heals all, and within several months I was appointed to the position of Assistant Internal Auditor for the Company and its 14 country branches.  I believe the decision I had taken had been vindicated!
​
Ray O’Shannessy
June 2017
 
499 words.