​Right Here, Right Now, I’m looking at a framed, slightly crumpled, A4 poster ‘1990 Labour Day Concert’ featuring human rights activist and musician ‘Mercedes Sosa, the Voice of Latin America, Guitarro y Canto, with Yorta Yorta, Archie Roach and Mixed Relations’.  The place and time, Melbourne Concert Hall, Monday 12th March, 1990 8pm.

Even before living in Spain in 1976/7, I’d been interested interest in South American politics.  I can remember being disturbed by the death of Chilean president Salvadore Allende and the return of the Dictator, Augusto Pinochet in 1973.  When teaching English in Madrid in friends introduced me to the music of exiled Chilean musicians in ‘Inti Illimana’ and ‘Illapu’ and the bars at which exiled Chilean musicians could be found.  I remember the haunted faces of the singers and the moving, troubled words of the songs they sang, the poetry they shared.  When I left Madrid, friends gave me cassettes of their music, one of which I still have.  On return to Australia, I built up my collection of the music of the Chilean exiles, and in doing so came across the wondrous voice and music of Bolivian human rights activist, Mercedes Sosa. 

In 1989, Chilean exile musicians Illapu came to Melbourne.   I attended concerts at the Melbourne Concert Hall, and also two concerts in Castlemaine, near where I lived in Daylesford. 

The following year, in 1990, Mercedes Sosa came to Melbourne.  Advertisements appeared in ‘The Age’ for her Labour Day public holiday concert at the Concert Hall, I booked my ticket, thrilled to be able to see Mercedes Sosa in person, but also interested in hearing the music of the First Nations Australians who were her supporting acts.

While Mercedes was incredible, the high point of the concert for me was my introduction to the music of Archie Roach.  Archie had a way of quietening, of soothing his audience to a reflective state which enabled them to take in the words of the beautifully crafted songs he sang.  This certainly was my experience that night.  He had not long released his first album Charcoal Lane, which included ‘Took the Children Away’.   I can still remember the incredibly powerful effect it had on me, and still does. 
​
During interval, I noticed Archie standing alone at the side of the room, quietly watching the mingling crowd.  I had been so moved by his music I felt that I wanted to let him know this.  In a brief encounter, I went up to Archie, explained how profoundly moved I was by his music, and thanked him.  He nodded, thanked me quietly, and I moved away.

The treasured poster, which I’ve had for over thirty years know, evokes vivid memories of listening to Archie sing on Labour Day, 1990, and of speaking to him after the show.

At 9am this morning, before leaving Melbourne for Warrnambool; Archie’s cortege drove through inner Melbourne, briefly at places including Charcoal Lane and Cleveland Gardens .  At 2 pm, as we began our class, Archie’s cortege is expected to arrived at the Gunditz Mara Health Service, Warrnambool for a gathering from 2 to 3pm.

Rest peacefully at Framlingham, Archie.  Thank you for your music.


Beverley Lee
August 22, 2022

Post-script - I searched on Trove to see if they had information about the Concert - other sources may appear over time, but I did find this one from 'the Tribune'

​Bushfires came, houses burnt, lives changed forever,
Animals died and people too.
 
Floods came, houses and possessions washed away,
Animals drowned and people too.
 
Covid came and affected us all
Mentally, physically, financially, or all three.
 
The rain came back,
More floods, more damage, more death.
 
Covid came again and again and again,
Until we thought we couldn't take any more.
 
Now there is war and famine
And global warming affecting us all
 
But we are still here,
With family and friends around us.
 
How shall we live in this new normal,
What will we do?
 
Give thanks for what we have,
it is greater than what we have lost.
 
Treat yourself kindly
That you may bring joy to others.


Jenny Monger
​August 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

​I originally prepared this memoir talking about a friend who is 101 years old. He is my inspiration for living a rich, reflective and to a degree, risk-taking life.
 
In planning to use him as my example, I think I was hiding the uncertainties and ambivalences I am presently experiencing. As an alternative to talking about him, which can be done at another time, I am driven to be more authentic.
 
I first visited Benalla in November last year. I had walked one block from the railway station and was enchanted by two murals, a young boy with rainbow hair and a tall Rabbit on the corner of Benalla and Carrier Streets. I knew then that Benalla was where I wanted to live. I love and have grown a variety of roses.  I am attracted to the warmth and friendliness of a city that feels in many ways like a country town. I am very grateful for the wisdom and succor of U3A and making tentative steps to renewing a relationship with the Uniting Church.
 
A few years ago, I wrote a family history based upon the lives of the fifteen individuals and families who, for a wide variety of reasons, left England, Scotland, Ireland and Denmark and came to NSW.  I prefaced my history with a quote from a Nobel prize winning author, Andre Gide:
 
‘You cannot discover new oceans unless you first lose sight of the shore.’
 
A third of my ancestors had no choice in leaving the shore. They were convicts.
Another third arrived on these shores as a result of economic necessity.
The final third came seeking opportunities to create a more prosperous life.
 
Leaving Tathra on the southern coast of NSW, I have literally left the shore perhaps looking for an inland sea.
 
Right here, right now! I am interrupted by an email from cherished friend:
 
‘Looking forward to discussions about what we run toward and what we leave behind’:
 
Oh, oh!  Here is the challenge.

My ancestors left much behind. Most left family never to see again. One left a young child too small for the journey with a single dad and his three other daughters. One, a convict in his late thirties, left a wife and children, whom family researchers until recently knew nothing about.

But some also were running from - poverty, lack of employment opportunities, perpetual incarceration and perhaps one or two with a broken heart.

In addition to running towards, I have also run away!

From a toxic environment which diminished self-esteem and which at times raised questions about my own safety.

From a failed relationship which challenges my pride and diminished my ability to give to others.

Right here, right now, I am feeling grateful.

For, at that most difficult time, finding friendships and opportunities for self expression, from which I had turned my back.

For now, a warm house, a lovely garden and a bolt hole which will become a nurturing environment for my growing grandchildren.

For the opportunity to live alone, to take full responsibility for the decisions I make, my good health and an environment nurturing of my expanding skill set, my commitment to sustainable living and my spirituality.

Right here, right now. I say thank you. To you who offer time to hear my stories.
 
Graham Jensen
August 2022

​RIGHT HERE, I am in my adopted hometown of Benalla.
 
I arrived here in February 1950 as a 17 year old school leaver for my first job, as a clerk with the Victorian Producers Co-Op (VPC).
 
Within a short period, I had met with the Hernan family, (John, Francie and their 7 children).  They gave me the home which I had never previously experienced.
 
(My mother died when I was 4 years old and I was taken from my father and housed and schooled with the Sisters of Mercy at Villa Maria in Ballarat East.)
 
I settled into Benalla and over time:
 
I married a Benalla girl – Bernadette Cooke

We built our own home,

Operated the Benalla Coin Laundrette for 17 years,

Had 4 children who succeeded at school and obtained secure employment,

Have 11 grand-children,

Studied for 7 years as a “mature aged” student,

Graduated as both a C.P.A. and a Chartered Accountant,

Went into business in an accountancy practice,

Became heavily involved in an honorary capacity in community affairs,

Was awarded an O.A.M. in Queens Birthday Honours of 2013 for that involvement,

Have been a member of the Benalla Lawns Club for 60 years,

Played more than 700 games of Pennant Bowls in the Ovens and Murray Association,

Was a Trustee of the Benalla Cemetery Trust for 43 years,

Have been a Rotarian for 37 years.

 
RIGHT NOW, I am in my twilight years, having recently celebrated my 90th birthday.
 
On looking back, I reminisce on a negative:
 
In the mid to late 1950’s I worked with the VPC in St Arnaud and Wodonga and boarded in rural hotels.  This was a backward move and I suffered from nervous debility.
 
But I can also reminisce on the many positives.  I had a very strong work ethic and can thank a Wagga Wagga neurologist for counselling me to – “study accountancy and work for yourself”.  I also had a loving family life, a successful business career and a relaxing sixty seasons on the bowling green.  I now live a contented, satisfied life.
 
Looking forward, what do I see?  A continuance of this contented life until the approaching, ultimate ….. death….. and the hereafter which cannot be too far away.
 
What of the hereafter?  My Christian upbringing tells me that I can expect retribution for my transgressions or eternal reward for a life well lived.
​
However, seemingly, current popular belief tells me that I can expect a “nothingness”.  This belief contradicts my Catholic teaching of a “resurrection of the body and life ever after”.
 
I wait in anticipation, and am comforted by having read only last week, a book titled “Heaven is for Real”.  It details the experience of a four-year old boy, Colton, who suffered a ruptured appendix and was critically ill.  Despite the adverse odds, (the surgeon thought he was beyond recall), the boy miraculously survived to tell his startled father that he had been “in Heaven, on Jesus’ lap” and told of meeting deceased family members, whose youthful photos he actually identified.
 
The rest I leave up to you!
 
 
Ray O’Shannessy,
15 August 2022