The moon was full and we could hear the sound of running footsteps. We hid behind cars and crouched down beside wheels. We hid beside lamposts and waited for the chaser to be distracted as he or she found another runner. The sound of the footsteps as they clattered across gutters and down laneways. The bluestones making the sound of frantic escape past back gates and running into the light of the street light at the end of the lane. Enjoying the warmth of the Summer evening and the chase.

We didn't need the street lights; just the moonlight and all the kids running, hiding being found and then running, hiding again. The doors of the homes finally opening onto the street. No more than two metres off the footpath and the voices calling; Michael, Peter, Valda, Helen; come home now it is bedtime.

And the night became quiet in North Fitzroy as the kids in Egmont Street went inside for their evening drink before bed. Mine as always milk and sugar. Warm and comforting; then into bed with the wireless and a good book. But the memory of the night of adventure in the back streets of North Fitzroy etched in the memory bank to be pulled out and used when a magical personal moment was required.

My love of this time of day extended into my substantial life of memories and moments to love. It even extended into my game, tennis. Sitting watching the night come over the courts after a lovely day of activity and laughter. The light and the softness of the day sliding into night. The accomplishment of achieving another day to cherish and look into for a marvellous life in later years.

Camping on the Peninsula and the wonderful evenings after a hot day of beach, sailing and friendship. The camp lights coming on in each of the individual camps. People bringing their beach chairs out to sit and chatter about their lives and the day past. The kids disappearing into the fading light. Running as a gang in and out of camps and finding enough light to climb rocks and walk on the pier or just sit around talking. Groups and groups and groups of people who were friends enjoying each other laughing talking, opening bottles of win and laughing some more. And after a day of living in the hot sun; the joy of the evening cool taking us all back to our day gone and another day coming. Knowing our kids were safe within ear shot (So we believed) and finally calling: Okay kids bedtime; and they came knowing that tomorrow was another day of the same. Beach, sun, surf and sailing. And at nightfall we would reflect and store the memories of the day.

I sat on my deck in complete silence in later years; the sun had slid out and the creek was making noises and now and again I could hear a sheep or a dog calling. The nightbirds calling. But mostly it was quiet; with just the creek making the sound as the night crept over the hill in front of the home. Silent, close and safe. Another beautiful memory to pop into my memory bank. No kids by then. All gone! Off into their own lives. To return now and again and share the quiet of the evening light sliding into darkness with their own children.

And Now: Walking the dogs through the streets of this country town. Nearly dark, but not quite there yet. A warm evening turning cool as we walked. Quiet, still and nearly devoid of traffic. The lights in the homes taking over the view as they came on. Walking past some front doors I can hear the TV noises. But mostly just quiet and calm; and so very beautiful. My footsteps the only sound as the sound changed with the changing surfaces of the footpath. My dogs walking  comfortably on their leads ; enjoying the cool and the darkness which came to us  as we approached home.

You might realise I love that time of the day. It is the best time of the day.  Because the day is done with and there is no regret to look back on; except living a life. And the town offers the beauty of community. Quietly hiding behind the lights of the houses. The soft evening air cooling me after a hot day. The light of the night engulfing and holding its most beautiful time.  The transition of evening to night. So soft; so fulfilling. A pleasure, a privilege in living. And knowing it will all come again; the softness, the darkness and the coolness of a beautiful evening.


Helen Duggin
21 November 2020

October 2020 and COVID-19. ‘This restricted life.’ ‘This incredibly boring life.’ I could write long essays on those topics, but just thinking of them and living them is gloomy enough. Writing and reading about them would be inexcusable, so I have meandered back in time to when in my life was busy and fulfilling.

Desiring to live a rural lifestyle, my husband, five children (including a newborn) and I moved to a 25-acre property within easy driving distance to the city but with no shops close by. We realized we needed a cow to provide milk for our brood. We saw an advertisement for a jersey cow and we bought her. The seller told us her name was Sally.

Sally was the most docile of animals and very easy to milk. Her milk was rich, creamy, and plentiful. I learned to make butter and cottage cheese and we had plenty of fresh pure cream. To get completely into the dairy scene, and to combat the hot Queensland weather, I asked my husband to build me a dairy with running water, benches, and refrigeration. 

Then I had a setback. I found Sally lying in the shed and she was obviously not well. I went to the vet and he said that when a cow goes down, she rarely recovers and there would be no point in coming to see her. This information distressed me so he gave me medication and a syringe telling me where and how to insert it into the cow. I had never stuck a needle in any creature, man or beast and I knew I would be unable to give Sally an injection. I remembered Marilyn, who lived up the road, had worked at C.S.I.R.O. before she married. I had no idea what work she did, but I knew CSIRO did all sorts of testing and experiments. Surely she could give my cow an injection. She told me she had done nothing like that, but she would to give it a go and she did. Next morning Sally was standing and as good as gold. She had no more problems.
 
We wanted to buy another cow so we attended a dairy dispersal sale and bought two cows, Leigh a Friesian and Bess an Illawarra. Leigh was a dream cow and gave big buckets of milk every morning and evening. Bess had a couple of problems. At one time she had mastitis in one teat and now had only three working teats. It is difficult to hand milk a cow with three teats because milking is a one, two rhythm. Her other problem was her refusal to go into a shed or any structure where she was unable to go forward to get out. My husband built a special chute for her and that fixed that difficulty. 

Then we had so much milk we had to buy a couple of poddy calves. We still had surplus milk. We offered free milk to some of our neighbours and they readily accepted it. In return, they gave us eggs and vegetables. It is a wonderful feeling to be part of a community that shares. The sharing went far beyond produce. There was always someone to talk to when a problem arose or give assistance when someone needed help, such as when the car wouldn’t start, or children needed minding or collecting them from the school bus. 

We had Sally for several years. When it came time to sell her, we placed an advertisement in the newspaper. An old man came to buy her. He told us Sally had been his cow and his son had sold her without his consent. He had kept watch on Sally at our place over the years, hoping that someday we would sell her.  He was very happy to get her back. 


Elizabeth Kearns
October 2020

This should be my downsizing year. As we age,  we think of moving to a smaller house and garden, (or no garden), disposing of our clutter so our children won’t have to cope with it. I look at my cupboards  and wonder where to start. There are programs on TV about people who are compulsive hoarders—I think I’m heading that way too!                                                                                                 
I look in my wardrobe and wonder where to start, several favourite jumpers are at least 30 years old, but they made better quality woollens then—pure wool  with no synthetic added. On the next shelf I find scores of T shirts and trousers. I’ve got to keep old clothes for gardening and around the farm. I”ve heard that when you buy a new article of clothing an old one should be thrown out. Not me!  
                                    
On the back of the top shelf is a case containing my wedding dress (60 years), a lace creation with a bouffant skirt. I kept it thinking one of my daughters may have worn it, but alas, they weren't  the same size as me, and lace was out of fashion. Perhaps one of my granddaughters will like it?

With COVID we don’t go out so we don’t need anything flash to wear, and when you are over 80, comfort comes before fashion!   And, some of those old clothes are comfortable!      
                                                                                                                    
I move on to the linen cupboard. Apart from linen, there are stacks of photo albums, vases, Xmas decorations and records, a lot of which I’ve inherited from my mother. I look at the photos of family and holidays and I get very sentimental and find it hard to throw anything out.  The Xmas decorations must go, apart from finding it a bother to hang tinsel etc. there  possibly will not be a family gathering here this year due to COVID isolation. Anything worthwhile on records could be transferred to CD’s. Might manage to throw something out here!   
                                                             
Next I move to my “sewing room” (bedroom 4). Here I find two sewing machines plus my Nana's old treadle Singer machine.  Sentimentality rules again, after all, that old machine has lots of drawer space!  The wardrobes bulge with material scraps and craft books that only a quilter would understand. Those scraps, no matter how small, might be useful one day. Other craft gear of the past,--beads, ribbons, buttons, wool and paints I might use one day, (when I’m really old).   
 
I wander out to the bin with a small bag of rubbish, the whole exercise was like shifting the deck chairs on the Titanic.  I need a cup of tea and a sit down!   Was it Scarlet O’Hara who said “Tomorrow is another day”?

​Margaret Nelson

I have always wanted to write, but somehow never found the inspiration as to what to write about.

During my schooling we had an excellent English teacher.  Well, he was a good teacher although as a person was not one of the most popular.  And while he stands out as far as teaching, there were other great teachers who left us with excellent writing skills.  Still, for me, nothing happened until we moved to Benalla. 

One night I had a dream.  Quite often we do not remember much about dreams after we wake, but this one stayed with me.  It stayed with me so much that for a few nights afterwards I could not sleep, thinking about this dream.  In the end, I decided to write it down to see if that way I could start sleeping.  It worked as far as sleeping was concerned.  And it became what could be considered a full-length book.

Then I saw in the Ensign an article on U3A, and a new course in writing.  While the format in that year did not really suit me, it was here I met a friend.  We started walking around the lake several days a week.  Then we entered into a challenge.  Write a paragraph a day on any subject and share with one another.  What a great exercise this was!  Some of these paragraphs have led to short stories. One has even given rise to another close to full length manuscript.

It was a couple of years later that I joined the memoir writing class.  I have enjoyed this journey, but I wanted to also write fiction.  So started the Creative Writing Class at U3A.  It had not been my intention convene the class.  After all, I am not a trained teacher of creative writing.  I just enjoy writing.  However, the class has developed.

I have signed up for the Australian Writers’ Centre newsletter and have entered their monthly Furious Fiction competition.  They have an occasional class called MOJO month which provides daily motivational ideas, online references and challenges and I have joined twice.  And this year I have also enrolled in some of their online creative writing classes.  Some of the content is familiar to me, but some is new and I think I have learnt a lot.
​
The only thing I still need to think about is what to do with my short stories and manuscripts.  But my life has certainly become a ‘writing life’.

​

Joy Shirley
​October 2020

​I have no memory of my paternal Grandparents, as my Grandfather died in 1948 when I was just four months old.  My Grandmother died suddenly of a heart attack in 1928 at the age of 47. This left my Grandfather with five children aged from 21 to 12. My father was the youngest.
 
During the early stages of the Covid lockdown I continued a project that I had started some years earlier, to write a detailed family history. This project was recommenced after the family tree was researched by fellow volunteer members at the Benalla Family Research Group. My curiosity was aroused whilst looking at the names and dates on the chart. What was the story behind these ancestors?
 
My Great-grandfather was James O’Connor who was born in 1840 in Clare, Ireland, the son of Bridget and Martin O’Connor. He migrated as a single man aboard the ship ‘Marco Polo’ in 1864. James went to Happy Valley near Ballarat, and worked in the mines until he saved enough to buy a horse and dray. He then contracted the supply of timber to the mines.  Within a very short time, he had several horses and drays. He later made the acquaintance of the Cameron family, who lived at Linton near the mines he was supplying.
 
It has been confirmed in family letters, that Ewan and Ann Cameron and their family, migrated to Australia in 1853 because of the Highland Clearances.  Their family comprised five daughters and three sons. Unfortunately the two youngest daughters died during the voyage.
 
In 1873, James married the youngest surviving Cameron daughter, Janet Margaret (Jessie). He left his staff in charge of the mine timber supply business and set off in search of a new location for his family to live. He rode up and onwards past several gold mining centres – Maryborough and Inglewood – till he came to Mt Wycheproof. Here he stayed for a while and was greatly impressed with the possibilities for agricultural pursuits in these parts. He took up some building lots at the foot of the Mount and went back to the town of Lucky Womans near Ballarat, and gathering together his belongings, sold all he did not consider necessary for a pioneer and set off in two drays with his wife and young daughter.
 
James O’Connor was one of the founding fathers of Wycheproof and a Councillor on the St Arnaud Shire 1885-1894. In May 1893, he commenced work on splitting the huge shire. The Wycheproof Shire was formed from what was the North Riding of the St Arnaud Shire. 
 
James was Shire President at the time of the split and the formation of the new Wycheproof Shire in April 1894. The new shire had an area of 620 square miles and a population of 1850. The shire was subdivided into three ridings.  James served an initial term on the new shire from 1894 to 1898.
​
James built the first commercial building in Wycheproof, the Mt. Wycheproof Hotel in 1874, which he operated until 1884 when he sold the property. At this time, James purchased 2,000 acres from the Buckland Brothers and established ‘Killarney’ Station at Thalia, as a farming operation and horse breeding facility.  James was a horse breeder of some renown. He had very well bred stallions, which won numerous show trophies over the years. James not only bred thoroughbred horses, he specialised in carriage horses, particularly pairs. Advertisements for the sale of these horses appeared regularly in the Age newspaper.
 
There is a letter in the family collections stating that the Governor of Victoria, Lord Hopetoun was supplied horses by James. Lord Hopetoun visited the property at Wycheproof to inspect and ride his prospective purchases.
 
The support James appears to have received from his wife is encapsulated in a contribution from a cousin Helen Whiteman, during research:
 
Jessie O’Connor was a formidable lady and a staunch Catholic, and also proud of her Scottish ancestry and very anti-British. The Cameron’s migrated as a result of the “Highland Clearances” and Jessie was in the habit of speaking Gaelic whenever possible and English as little as possible. This would fit with James’ Irish Nationalist politics. Jessie was also the driving force behind James’ support of building churches.  James employed several single men who then found possible wives. Jessie was not going to have unwed women on the property so insisted a church be built so that they could be properly married. Jessie also believed in educating all her children and the girls were raised to be strong and independent. There is a story that Isabel was to be sent to boarding school in Melbourne but the school they chose did not suit Isabel. James had to attend some stock sale in Melbourne, so took Isabel on the train and deposited her at the boarding school and then went to the sales. This took a few days. By the time he got back home, Isabel was already there. After much negotiation Isabel went back to school in Melbourne at the school of her choice.
 
It would appear that James and Jessie made a formidable team. It would also appear that the girls inherited their mother’s tenacity.
 
James O’Connor was not only a Shire Councillor for 14 years; he also made a significant contribution to the Wycheproof community. James was a leader in the building of the first Catholic Church in 1877 and was actively involved in any project involving the advancement of the community.  He served as a Water Commissioner, a Racing Club official and was actively involved in the project that saw the railway extension to Wycheproof. Friday, September 28, 1883, was a memorable date for Mount Wycheproof, for on that day the long awaited "official opening" of the railway took place.
 
In 1883 he was nominated along with John Ryan, William Hamilton and Henry Blabey as a trustee of the land reserve for the Mechanics Institute of Wycheproof. In 1885 James was nominated as the President of the newly formed Agricultural Show Committee.
The following year he was nominated as one of the trustees for Wycheproof Show Grounds. He, along with fellow Crs. Tipping and Stewart, commenced work on a project in 1890, which saw the Mt. Wycheproof Hospital officially open in 1898. During his time on Council in 1885, James was also involved in the ‘Dog Netting Fence’ project that covered 204 miles from Tyntynder to the South Australian border, to prevent wild dogs and other vermin from entering 1.2 million acres of farmlands to the south.
 
As the children were married and the family expanded, in 1886 James O’Connor turned his attention to further land holdings in an area called Ultima. At this point in history, it only existed as the name of a leased pastoral run of an estimated 168 sq. miles, or 107,520 acres, between Wycheproof and Swan Hill.
 
The subdivision and development of Ultima undertaken by James O’Connor appears to be following on from the revocation of a number of large leases in the area. It is believed that the Government had become frustrated with the inaction of the leaseholders in developing the properties. The allotment areas and locations were detailed in the legislation passed in September 1862. These requirements were implemented as land was opened up for development, however much of the marginal agricultural country remained as leasehold, as many prospective farmers would not commit funds until they had time to inspect and initially work the land.
 
In 1887 James was still living in Wycheproof. He was still a Councillor in the St Arnaud Shire,  and was re-elected President of the Wycheproof Agricultural and Pastoral Society, as reported in The Australian newspaper on 25th June.
 
From the Swan Hill Guardian 10.6.1891:
Ultima Run:
The above Run, the property of Mr. O’Connor of Wycheproof, consisting of 168 square miles of the finest mallee land in the district, six miles from the town of Swan Hill, has been cut up into 650 acre blocks or thereabouts, and is not thrown open for sale – it may be purchased in one lot if so desired.
 
The sale of the Ultima Estate was conducted over 2 days. The first day selling commenced at 2 pm with the sale of township blocks. These met with spirited competition and all offered were readily bought at prices ranging from £3 to £15/10/-. Two township sections only, were offered on the first day. Messrs. Nicholls, Wilkins, Franklin, Sutton, P. Fenton, Hattam, Taylor and Bell being the largest buyers. The sale of the Mallee blocks then proceeded – the nearest to Swan Hill being offered first. These allotments varied in size from 420 acres to 640 acres and prices ranged from £75 to £105.
The sales continued as the land was developed over a number of years.
 
From the Bendigo Advertiser, on 25th February 1899:
“The well-developed Wycheproof property of James O’Connor of 1,270 acres freehold and 7,000 acres of leased land is to be sold as he is moving to Ultima”.
Reported in March 1899 was the situation that there were insufficient funds to extend the railway line past Lalbert to Ultima. The cost of the extension would be £250. At that time there was only £150 in funds available. The Premier declared that if the additional funds were not raised, the line would be taken to Lalbert and no further. A meeting was held at the home of James O’Connor and it was agreed that the members present would raise the funds required. £30 was raised on the night. A directive was sent to the Minister advising that the money would be available on 1st April. The Quambatook to Ultima rail extension opened for traffic on 1st March 1900. The train journey from Ultima to Melbourne took 13 hours to cover the 221 miles.
 
27th July 1899, as recorded in the ‘Ultima Centenary’, the new official post office opened and James O’Connor was appointed the first Postmaster. Prior to this, the General Store owners the Cuttle family, had provided an official service, initially from the front room of their house and later the enclose verandah section of their store. James held the Postmaster position until 1902, when daughter Annie Eileen took over.
 
In 1899 a lot was happening in Ultima. James O’Connor having sold land at Wycheproof, had built an ‘imposing’ new home. He also built a large wine hall (café), for which Jessie held the licence, and the Cuttle family built a large new store. In 1900 Herbert Cuttle wrote to the Minister requesting a Primary School for Ultima. Some months later, the Education Department suggested that the O’Connor café might be a suitable site for the school. On the 28th August 1901, James O’Connor donated a block of land for the new school. PS No. 3426 was officially opened on 19th February 1902. Reported in the Quambatook Herald on 7th February 1902 was an article regarding the opening of the new Public Hall. Hall committee President, James O’Connor was unable to attend,  so Vice-President Herbert Cuttle presided. It was a grand event with music and dancing until 5 am.
 
O'CONNOR.—On 27th July 1903, at Ultima, James O'Connor, of heart failure; aged 62 years. R.I.P.
The late James O'Connor was born at Tierrmaclane, Clare Castle, County Clare, Ireland, and belonged to a very old and much respected family of some standing in that county; He arrived in Victoria in 1864, and followed mining pursuits at Ballarat for some years. He then moved to Wycheproof, where he built the first hotel, also entering very extensively into farming pursuits, He afterwards took up the Ultima station of 168 square miles, now the terminus of the Ultima railway,  as a public man he was always foremost in matters relating to the welfare of the district.
He had been for 16 years a councillor in Wycheproof and St. Arnaud shires, having resigned
a few years ago from all public offices owing to ill health. Like all Irishmen, the late Mr. O'Connor had an unquenchable love for his native land, and always took a prominent part in every Nationalist movement.
 
Jessie lived on until her death in 1940 at the age of 92. They are both buried in Swan Hill.
 
I would have loved to have been able to know my Great-grandfather and Great-grandmother, as they appear to have had an extraordinary life.

​Barry O'Connor
​October 2020

In the spirit of adventure, my parents emigrated from England to Australia in 1926. They had been married just three weeks. My father Ben, a Gloucestershire salmon fisherman, was only 20 and Dorrie who had been a governess to the children of a well-to-do family, two years his senior.
Australia House in London painted the picture of a land ‘flowing with milk and honey;’ of a country where you could make your fortune in a few short years.
​
As new settlers, Ben and Dorrie are granted a “settlers block” at Katandra to be paid off at low interest rates. Life was tough as a new settler. The block allotted to them was wet and swampy and had no internal fences or sheds. Ben had to take timber from the framework of the roof of the house to build a cowshed.
 
As well as dairy farming, he turns to cropping and has a team of eight draught horses. The horse yard has only three sides. Dorrie is the fourth side. They are young freshly broken in horses. She approaches them cautiously with a pan of oats when they come in from their days work.
 
A daughter, Maureen is born while they are at Katandra. After the birth Dorrie develops septicemia and hovers between life and death for three weeks. There are no anti-biotics. Three other women at Mrs Fitz’ hospital at Numurkah die from the infection and the hospital is to be closed but Dorrie, the remaining patient, fights on.
 
The quest to seek their fortune takes them to a bigger property out beyond Tocumwal.  They live miles from the nearest neighbours; there is not another house in sight.
 
Once their crop is in, Ben’s work as a share farmer takes him a long way from home. He lives in a tent where he is cropping and only comes home at weekends.
 
Life in Australia is both a shock and a challenge for Dorrie. Gone are the comfortable days of her last employment with dressing for dinner and domestic servants to take care of everything. She finds herself living in the isolation of the bush... alone, with a small child. She sleeps with a loaded revolver under her pillow at night.

Sometimes when the wind is in the right quarter you might hear the sound of a distant train. This is her only contact with civilization, apart from the fortnightly drive in the old ute to the nearest town for supplies, or the occasional phone call on the party-line from distant neighbours who become anxious about her after severe storms.

The only people who call in are swaggies looking for food. On arrival they ask to speak to the boss.  She tries not to reveal that she is alone and gives them whatever food they ask for. They are always very courteous; say, “Thank you Missus” and move on.

Dorrie, the city girl who never loses her English ways, learns how to milk the house cow and to endure the loneliness. There is nothing to do on hot afternoons while the baby sleeps except play with the goannas. She rolls a stone along the ground and they come down from the trees to investigate and then go back up again watching for the next stone.

The seasons are tough. They had come to seek their fortune, but instead of a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, they found the heat, dust and drought of the Riverina.

They decide to return to England. Dorrie and Maureen, who is now five years old, sail from Port Melbourne. Ben will join them after the harvest which he anticipates will give them enough profit to farm in England.

After several months staying with family during the summer, Dorrie is feeling the cold of the approaching winter and missing the Australian sunshine. When she receives a cable from Ben saying, “Crops failed. Come back for another two years” she is happy to return.

When Dorrie was ninety she said “I have had a wonderful life. There are no regrets. We didn’t return to live in England, but we came here in the spirit of adventure and we had plenty of that.”
                                                                                                        

Bev Morton
October 2020

​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