FAMILY TRIBUTE

March-April 2013 have been hugely satisfying for me and so many family and friends. My 80th birthday acted as a catalyst and spur to so many enjoyable and even memorable events. It seemed a good idea to share even more IN WRITING account that includes the events, recollection and reflection on the blessed few weeks and more. No doubt slipping from 70s to 80s is a challenging call. Most would regard it’s a pretty deep and rushing Rubicon really as there is no going back when you’re an octogenarian. Not to be taken lightly. Officially, you are old when you breast 65. Why, even the Government is impressed and pays you for the privilege. And where else in the world can you take a “round the world trip” on just $2.50 you sail to Manly, get a bus to Palm Beach, a ferry to Ettalong and a train back to Central ? Statistically, when you hit 75 you are very old. Crashing through into the 80s almost defies gravity. I mean not all that many come out the other side do they? Biblically “Man’s life on earth is three score and ten more for those who are strong” seems the summit. But in Canticles one wonders at the mathematics of “sixty queens, eighty concubines and maidens without numbers” and how possibly they could all be employed?” Our genes are promising enough. The grans on the Murphy side both notched up 80 and the Bashall side performed even a little better- mid 80 and a very creditable 90! And that was before Medicare and a new world of medical miracles. Early enough in January I realised this was a year with a certain promise. I mused at the possibilities. After all, my 75 was a non-event. I would have to put that right. Then, suddenly one night I had a dream-apparition. My mother, Mary Bashall, was hovering, ghost-like but with a smile, in the corner. “Now, Terry, who don’t you do something for the family?” That started a whole train of thought and imaginings. In fact, when I started to apply myself, it unleashed a “storm” of creativity that positively swept me along for the next few months when ideas crystallised into plans with rich in possibilities. It somehow connected with the “solidarity” among our mums who met for so many years to picnic and chat and share the “goss” about families. Now followed on by their daughters. Wouldn’t this be a grand opportunity to recognise, thank, pay tribute to and celebrate with so many who had played rich roles in ensuring that I had even reached this high point as a Marist Brother? “Family first” I always say. Gradually a plan began to emerge to engage widely. The timing was opportune. I discovered that mum’s family, the Bashalls from Proud Preston in Lancashire had emigrated 100 years ago! Pop and John came earlier to set up for the family and later, the “Irishman” sailed through the heads with those four pretty Pommy girls and Jim, escorted by grandma. Shortly, they were settled in Rose Bay and they used wave to the “Irishman” every few months as fresh cargo sailed in. Meanwhile, south of the border, in booming Beechworth, a gold mining town, the Murphys enjoyed the roaring days. In fact, John Andrew was born 150 years ago. Later, after Matthew the great-grand dad, died they moved to Sydney, setting up butcher shops. In the 1990s, David, our brother researched to find his burial spot – with no headstone. So Dave righted that with a new headstone, to which we have made pilgrimages. So, the stars were all aligned and just clamoured for a big celebration. There were a few “problems” like WHERE TO HOLD IT? WHEN? , WHO TO INVITE AND HOW CONTACT THEM? HOW WILL WE ORGANISE IT- to name a few. Gradually, the ideas emerged and I struck. The fact that I turned 80 on Easter Sunday gave impulse. The fact that I had some useful contacts also helped. A week later, I’m sitting down with the Headmaster of St. Joseph’s College, Ross Tarlinton, a good friend, and putting forward a plan. Some 15 years before, when I had a certain clout there, helped the cause. Christmas usually saw our Murphy-Ruddy clan taking over Years 12 common room and using the nearby swimming pool. So, why not go that way? Ross considered and trumped that. “I think we can do better. Why not use the Board Room?” I gulped - momentarily. Now, this is a most imposing building and the early Brothers, with huge foresight, planned big and beautiful where needed. (Why, they even “snatched” the imposing gates to Sydney Town Hall, when the underground rail was built!) No, it’s not Versailles but the closest to that is the Board Room!! “And why not use our caterers?” A done deal. Next day, I’m using wile, wit, charm and guile as I hammer out an arrangement with Pat Burgess, the catering manager who ensures that nearly 1000 students eat well each day. He was so cooperative, so professional, so friendly: and the menu he sketched out was impressive. A quick trip to the Board Room and we agreed that six tables of eight would be idea. But the original idea to staging on Easter Sunday was quickly discarded- with the costs being prohibitive. Two weeks later, April 14th seemed idea, especially as the students would be on holidays and our tribe would have the whole college, grounds and all, to ourselves. We were up and running. Ideas kept popping up, most especially around four in the morning! The challenge was: how can we make this memorable, interactive, involving, exciting, FUN ? Well, it became obvious that I’d need more talent. So, enter Bernadette, Sophie and Vince to form a dynamic team. Meeting would be difficult as they were fulltime “workers”, unlike me; and so most communication was through email, mobile and phone. So, we would plan for AV display, entertainment, sharing stories and maximum mixing and melding. We would need some cool dude as a MC. As a retired type I had plenty of time to splurge my talents, honed over decades of teaching, training and various roles. My first calls to cousins really uplifted and dynamised me. They were immediately interested, excited, encouraging. The same response followed as I made more calls and gathered the four dozen guests. In fact, it struck me much later, that this would be the first time the two clans had been together since Mary and Denis married at Rose Bay in 1928! Of course, we had to keep a fair balance. It was first time to “meet” various members of the Bashall-Murphy clans. We cast the net wide- even over to Perth Murphs! Unfortunately, we would have to be satisfied with Vince-Sophie, as transplanted winners. But Queensland came good with Bernadette and Greg from just below the border at Inverell. Since the mid fifties, teaching in Far North Queensland, I had been a convinced Audio-Visual teacher, making my own slides from a new you-beaut 35mm Braun camera. I already had years, decades of family, Brothers’ photos that filled many albums and now spilled into hordes of digital shots. We needed a display for the 1890s to now!! So, many calls, urging, We sent out classy invitations along with a map to help arrive at “Joeys” without too much hassle. We were moving along. But what about the BROTHERS. Mark and I had celebrated our Golden Jubilee and then Diamond Jubilee at Joeys just three years back with a solid family presence. I saw this year as an opportunity to recognise, thank and pay tribute to so many Brothers who had been “Marvellous Companions” to me over those last sixty plus years. This story started when twelve year old Mark Murphy took on the grand challenge an adventure when he left our family at Meadowbank with a tear-stained mum waving goodbye from Central station and dad cracking hardy at losing a beautiful son. Terry followed a year later– with a tiny wave from baby Carmel! This would be a great chance to gather and celebrate the story with some very key players. At a more simple level it was a matter of selecting, inviting and ensuring that we enjoyed a heartening and uplifting time as Brothers. A simple celebration with some 23 Brothers gathering in our back yard at Daceyville with a bar-b-q with certain frills. Our community really pitched in with setting up and organising. Pete as the maestro was so deft in orchestrating the steaks, snags, onions…….Of course there had to be a picture/photo display taking us back through the years. And so the invitations went out. Sadly, some of the veterans, Coman and Vales, were unwell and so declined.Even so, it was a stellar group. There was Jeff, first Provincial of the new Australian Province of Marists who had long role in leadership starting from Melanesia and topping at Rome. There was Julian, starting in PNG, spilling over to Solomons before an even wider involvement in Asia before Adult Education in West Sydney. Paul with similar Pacific experience before10 years working with street kids in Manila and pulling off some remarkable developments. These three became great friends through my Solomon and PNG experience.Oh, there was Gerry, whose drive and vision moved us from St Vincent’s Boys’ Home at Westmead to an Australia wide involvement with struggling Youth through Marist Youth Care. There was Tommy More, lifelong friend from back in the 40s at Mittagong. Fred, the tireless Marist chronicler and compulsive pedagogue, still strutting the boards at Wesley (to awed oohs aand ahhhs from a mostly female fan club!!) And there was Kel. From lowly 4B primary at Parramatta in 60 he blazed a way through all levels to take command of Catholic Education in Sydney and lead with such vision for 20 years. ( How did her organise that grand celebration of Catholic Education, a dry run for the Olympics in 2000 when over 90,000 students gathered and performed before 1000s of old teachers, given places of honour. I even had a tear in the eye as school groups with banners flying made a circuit to acclaim. It suddenly struck me: If we 1000s of nuns and brothers had not answered the great challenge over those early decades this would not be happening) What a group of us in this garden setting: from Provincials, professors, principals, directors, missionaries, to classroom teachers we really formed a rainbow group of Marists! One absentee, who impacted on the entire “Marist world “was Brother Charles Howard. I expect he was hovering with a big smile as he gently strummed his harp. But, his young brother John, also a man of big ideas and commitment, was a worthy he’d returned from a “pilgrimage” to Nairobi where the Brothers had recently blessed and opened Br.CHARLES HOWARD GARDENS. There was the customary ritual of eloquent toast by our community leader,,Paul, a round of compliments and stories!!! Despite my customary modesty I would have to admit I did enjoy even though I did squirm appropriately! Then the cutting of the cake before I had right of reply. It was a priceless opportunity to thank and pay tribute to the Marvellous Marists and such great-hearted companion. Easter Sunday itself was a high point. I was sure that the good Lord had organised this date from ages past! The family celebration gathered some 14 of us at Damien and Qing’s home at Epping. Beautifully redeveloped by Damien, now an unemployed chemist, it was ideal. And Qing’s superb cooking magically produced such an array of irresistible dishes> We indulged; even over-indulged. The car ride from Eastern suburbs to Epping allowed the committee to meet for the first time and to hammer out some details. After we well wined and dined and the cake had been cut and nice things said we were able to invite and involve all in the BIG PARTY. “Our family are the hosts” was the message and volunteers for meeter, greeters, taggers, ushers, and more were quick to put hands up. Mark was the first and that raised a cheer….as he was already an octogenarian. amily rep. Recently, At some kind of preternatural or higher level some strange things were happening. If pushed I’d have to admit they were mini-miracles that sprinkled the way and eased us along. For instance why should Martina, the deputy principal of St.Michael’s primary, just across our back fence, just happen to pop into the classroom that Saturday morning when I was becoming so exasperated? I was setting up just four panels of photos for the Brothers’ bash, having so much trouble as the Velcro was not working as it should. With the cup of tea she supplied she saw my frustration, supplied better aids and the problem was over. “Martina, this is nothing compared with eight panels I need to arrange for next Sunday.” “Brother, I can help. Just send me the photos and I’ll have the children stick on the Velcro.” What an angel! A bunch of roses was surely appropriate. Then there was Carmel Farrugia from CEO next door, who arranged the fifty classy name tags. And Brother Ben. As a back up at Joeys he was indispensible. The “man of a 1000 keys” I call him. With just one flourish he produces a key that opens every door in the College. He went to the trouble of putting casters on the panels which made it all such a cinch. And what about that perfect day? There was surely some higher power at work. At some kind of preternatural or higher level some strange things were happening. If pushed I’d have to admit they were mini-miracles that sprinkled the way and eased us along. For instance why should Martina, the deputy principal of St.Michael’s primary, just across our back fence, just happen to pop into the classroom that Saturday morning when I was becoming so exasperated? I was setting up just four panels of photos for the Brothers’ bash, having so much trouble as the Velcro was not working as it should. With the cup of tea she supplied she saw my frustration, supplied better aids and the problem was over. “Martina, this is nothing compared with eight panels I need to arrange for next Sunday.” “Brother, I can help. Just send me the photos and I’ll have the children stick on the Velcro.” What an angel! A bunch of roses was surely appropriate. Then there was Carmel Farrugia from CEO next door, who arranged the fifty classy name tags. And Brother Ben. As a back up at Joeys he was indispensible. The “man of a 1000 keys” I call him. With just one flourish he produces a key that opens every door in the College. He went to the trouble of putting casters on the panels which made it all such a cinch. And what about that perfect day? There was surely some higher power at work. Well, Noel and I had met only last year, after some 50 years of silence. And it was a miracle we ever made contact again. If it had not been for the Anzac Day ceremony at his old school at Randwick, now called Marcellin College we might never had reconnected and died in ignorance even if only 5 km apart. The catalyst in this was a Br.Vincent Shekelton, a mate of mine from our Solomon Days in the 70s. As Noel was taking in the old school, after an impressive ritual where he was an honoured guest, he sidled up to Vince and a short conversation followed. “You know Brother, I seem to remember I had two cousins who joined the Brothers way back.:” “What’s their name?” “Murphy- Mark and Terry.” “Ah, that’s Des and Bernie. Des is just down at Daceyville and Bernie is out at Westmead.” Contact followed and shortly he was a guest at a party as well and another cousin, Peter and wife Val. There was a lot of catching up to do. Soon enough I had a grip on his story. The more I learnt, the more impressed I became. I seemed to remember he was a good golfer……MATE !!! As a young feller he was twice amateur champion of NSW! At his club , NSW Club- with the most superb views across Botany Bay, he proudly showed me a “shrine” they have set up to their champion, with such an impressive list of victories it’s a wonder he did not don the Green Jacket in Augusta, Georgia! He was also an entertainer. With a fine tenor voice, a brilliant raconteur and an able joker he could hold an audience spell bound. As a matter of fact, after he returned from PNG where he served in WW2, he decided to have his voice trained. After all, he had starred in school productions of various operettas in the 30s!!! He even performed in the SUN ARIAS. Now, if it hadn’t been for a young talent from Eastern Suburbs, who knows what operas he might have starred in. Her name, he seemed to remember, was Joan Sutherland! We had signed him up for our party. Sadly, he took on a cockroach and lost. He was just pouring himself a cuppa when this pesky insect popped up. Noel stomped and missed and toppled, cracking his head and injuring his top vertebrae. Luckily, his daughter, Denise and hubby in the apartment above came to the rescue and soon he was being ambulanced to a local hospital. Six weeks in a medieval brace was the verdict. Poor Noel! He was disconsolate at missing this grand party. And this rare encounter two years earlier: was it chance? I don’t believe so. Was it coincidence? Even the UCOS team in “New Tricks” don’t accept that . And for me, that explanation is just so bland and bloodless. No, I believe “it was written in the stars” and the Spirit was at work in our lives here. We would have to find ways around this sad deprivation. And at 4 am a few days before the event, the Spirit did show a way forward. What about some family stories? What about cooping cousin Greg into a duo? Come the day the grand symphony began quietly enough with a walk around Astrolabe Park before I drove over the Joeys, arriving around 9.30 to put final touches before the first guests arrived around 11 o’clock. Fortunately, the first couple to arrive were my cousins and Val happened to mention she had invited two of the boys as I was showing them around the dining room. After a great gasp I had a moderate “hissy fit”. And then went into damage control. Graciously Sophie took the situation in hand and shortly had rearranged names and seating. Drama over. From the time guests swept up the drive, up the stairs and into the foyer and accepted name tags and a glass of wine they were swept along in this wonder tide of family richness and story. And what a wonderful cast we had. There was Bernardette (O’Connor) from just across the Queensland border and Greg Leach from just below. There were the Bashalls and Cotters from the Illawarra. We nearly scored a brace of Murphs from Perth and had it not been an early booking to Bali they surely would have been there. But, we did have Sophie and Vince – refugees from Gina’s patch. But the bulk were Sydneysiders – O’Connors, Leach, Bashall, Cotters, Ruddys, Murphys, Nielsens, and Weekes. All “very special”. No, much more , “of royal blood.” ICome the day the grand symphony began quietly enough with a walk around Astrolabe Park before I drove over the Joeys, arriving around 9.30 to put final touches before the first guests arrived around 11 o’clock. Fortunately, the first couple to arrive were my cousins and Val happened to mention she had invited two of the boys as I was showing them around the dining room. After a great gasp I had a moderate “hissy fit”. And then went into damage control. Graciously Sophie took the situation in hand and shortly had rearranged names and seating. Drama over. From the time guests swept up the drive, up the stairs and into the foyer and accepted name tags and a glass of wine they were swept along in this wonder tide of family richness and story. And what a wonderful cast we had. There was Bernardette (O’Connor) from just across the Queensland border and Greg Leach from just below. There were the Bashalls and Cotters from the Illawarra. We nearly scored a brace of Murphs from Perth and had it not been an early booking to Bali they surely would have been there. But, we did have Sophie and Vince – refugees from Gina’s patch. But the bulk were Sydneysiders – O’Connors, Leach, Bashall, Cotters, Ruddys, Murphys, Nielsens, and Weekes. All “very special”. No, much more , “of royal blood.” n my welcome speech I made some important points: Thank you to all who responded to the invitation and more especially those who played a more immediate role in the organisation. “We are on holy ground”. We acknowledged the aboriginal custodians, the Wallumatta tribe We were on sacred Marist ground. Since 1881 tens of thousands of your men had received a Marist education here. AndCome the day the grand symphony began quietly enough with a walk around Astrolabe Park before I drove over the Joeys, arriving around 9.30 to put final touches before the first guests arrived around 11 o’clock. Fortunately, the first couple to arrive were my cousins and Val happened to mention she had invited two of the boys as I was showing them around the dining room. After a great gasp I had a moderate “hissy fit”. And then went into damage control. Graciously Sophie took the situation in hand and shortly had rearranged names and seating. Drama over. From the time guests swept up the drive, up the stairs and into the foyer and accepted name tags and a glass of wine they were swept along in this wonder tide of family richness and story. And what a wonderful cast we had. There was Bernardette (O’Connor) from just across the Queensland border and Greg Leach from just below. There were the Bashalls and Cotters from the Illawarra. We nearly scored a brace of Murphs from Perth and had it not been an early booking to Bali they surely would have been there. But, we did have Sophie and Vince – refugees from Gina’s patch. But the bulk were Sydneysiders – O’Connors, Leach, Bashall, Cotters, Ruddys, Murphys, Nielsens, and Weekes. All “very special”. No, much more , “of royal blood.” for Mark and me, as Brothers this college was so significant in our story. More recently, we had celebrated our Golden and Diamond Jubilee here. Among some remarkable Alumni special mention had to be made of “the best Governor General ever” Sir William Deane. There were some apologies including Noel and our brother David in hospital. He had played a major part in “resurrecting” the Murphy early days in Beechworth, going back to the gold rush days. In fact, he had researched to find Matthew Murphy’s grave site and erected a headstone. Our Queensland guest, Bernadette, said the Grace and then we settled into a sumptuous meal in the most lavish of setting. Fit for our ROYAL LINE! By the time we all gathered for the grand family photo, some four hours later, on the steps we had, together, journeyed “centuries” and been filled with thanks and wonder. You can see it in the smiles and delight shining out in that photo. Our Queensland guest, Bernadette, said the Grace and then we settled into a sumptuous meal in the most lavish of setting. Fit for our ROYAL LINE! By the time we all gathered for the grand family photo, some four hours later, on the steps we had, together, journeyed “centuries” and been filled with thanks and wonder. You can see it in the smiles and delight shining out in that photo. Next morning I wrote this reflection: This 80th birthday caper has been a great romp…a hoot even. I reckon that this project has “consumed” me over the last 2-3 months. I’ve eaten, drunk, slept and dreamed it as it unleashed a surge of creative energy which has swept me along. And yes, I have enjoyed the challenge and the many facets of connecting with relations, working with a little sub committee and family to pull a 1000 details together, refine and orchestrate. I’ve been sustained, empowered, impelled by the interest and excitement of all at the prospect of a truly rare and memorable event. Talk about orchestrating: it began almost sotto voce on Easter Sunday, the official 80 th birthday when the family, some 15 of us, gathered at Damien and Qing’s home at Epping and enjoyed a modest and warming family celebration. Being “chauffeured” by Bernadette allowed me to indulge modestly. A week later, we upped the tempo with some 22 Brothers here at Daceyville. These were the “Marvellous Companions” who’ve journeyed with me over the years. Again, modest: a bar-b-q in the backyard on a beautiful day with tables arranged under shelter and with 4 display panels that featured all, going back to the 50s. Few formalities but some generous tributes warmed by depleted ego….. It was a truly wonderful occasion. But the BIG ONE, the SUPER SUNDAY outstripped those two events by some light years! This was a TRIBUTE TO FAMILY (and not Terry’s 80th!) Some 50- 25 from mum’s Bashall side and 25 from the Murphy clan gathered at St Joseph’s College. To say there were delighted with those 4 hours would be an understatement. They came away reeling, gobsmacked and with smiles a mile wide. Was it the marvellous setting of the most noble, impressive school in Australia? Was it the entrance when they pinned the name tag, accepted a drink and wandered among the 8 great display panels that featured their families sine 1890s? Was it the Versailles- like Board Room with numbered tables with personal settings? Was it the superb menu, so prodigally presented? (Should have brought doggy bags) Was it the great-hearted welcome that embraced all? Was it the 100 pic Power Point that lit up the wall and swept us through the years? Was it the sharing of stories? Both in tables and in the whole group. Was it the entertainment when, Barber shop duo Greg and Terry enthralled with Gendarmes Duet, Danny Boy and Oh What a Beautiful Morning? In which all joined lustily. All of which ignited and carried through a most lively interaction among the 50 guests. Yes, all of these and much more. Those “ancestors” looked down, smiled and cheered. Yes, the Spirit was really moving among us. A long range program for 100 is unlikely to get off the ground! I arrived home at 6.00. Sat in the back yard, watched the stars come out to play, and sipped a scotch, so deeply contented and full of thanks-.AAhhh. I flopped onto my bed around 6.30 and woke at 7.00 next morning! But there was a dream. Must have been strains of Puccini percolating through our monastery! What about composing an opera? Scenes and songs flittered through my fervid imagination. Yes, all of these and much more. Those “ancestors” looked down, smiled and cheered. Yes, the Spirit was really moving among us. A long range program for 100 is unlikely to get off the ground! I arrived home at 6.00. Sat in the back yard, watched the stars come out to play, and sipped a scotch, so deeply contented and full of thanks-.AAhhh. I flopped onto my bed around 6.30 and woke at 7.00 next morning! ould work on that. But later… Creative juices have been flowing. How about a three act tour de forces Act 1 The Village Green at Epping Act 2 In a Monastery Garden Act 3 The Ball in the Royal Palace. Actually, this would not cover many aspects of a certain extended celebration. It all started with Tommy More and I driving north west to Quakers Hill, where the Kendal family what I called the Perfect Party. We were celebrating 50 years of friendship when Tommy and I were blessed in being “adopted” by the Eggleton family. Maree, Paul and Carole joined the lucky dozen. With a theme of JAMES BOND 007 gave much energy to creativity. I came away humming “What a swelligant, elegant party this is”> From High Society of course. Then there was the lunch at the Icebergers, Bondi, on that sparkling day with views across the beach so filled with boyhood memories before we were uprooted and moved up to Meadowbank. Incidentally, I did not overlook a most significant event called out for recognition. On the 9th April made a pilgrimage to Mary Immaculate Church at Waverly. If there is a more beautiful church, in Italian style, with impressive frescoes, a company of saints aloft and some surprising featureThen there was the lunch at the Icebergers, Bondi, on that sparkling day with views across the beach so filled with boyhood memories before we were uprooted and moved up to Meadowbank. And at another level there was the trip to Katoomba and lunching at the Carrington, filled with that old world charm, out of the 19th century. How can I weave all this into our opera? Maybe we need an Overture as well as a Finale. Then I’m sure we could slip in an Intermezzo or two. Lots of work to be done. And what about a name? Any ideas? I do have a capable librettist in mind who could create one of those fantastical dramas in the Mozart or Verdi stories where impossible plots keep the audience in a state of disbelief and delight for three hours. s, I haven’t seen it. It was a quiet Mass with maybe 20 worshippers. After Mass I had to pop in and compliment the Indian priest and then surprised him. “Father John, eighty years ago to the day, my mum and dad brought me here and I was baptised.” Impressed, he congratulated me. “Thanks Father and I have to tell you, we Murphies have left a large footprint here. At the front near the altar is a memorial to ‘The young men who fought for their country in 1914-18 war’. There’s M.G Murphy- who later became a Marist Brother and died the year I was born. And at the entrance there is a similar memorial for World War 2. There you will find Stan Dillon- also from the Murphy line.” A few days later I slipped over to Bondi for another anniversary Mass. It was only 73 years since my First Communion Day. I remember it well enough. Mum made really great efforts to outfit me with the best brown pants, fawn shirt with TWO pockets! There was some drama over some kid having a sip of water on that hot day, not having drunk since midnight!! I’m not sure whether he was shot or just excommunicated! And then, was it I who let the host slip from my tongue with Father O’Sullivan palpitating as he rescued the bread from the carpet. I do recall that at the Communion breakfast, lots of cakes and sweets I gorged myself while looking up and seeing mum craning to get a peep at us kids. I knew that wasn’t right. I felt a pang that injustice was happening here. Why wasn’t mum allowed in while Sister patrolled up and down and kept order? After all, she had cooked some of those delicious cakes. It was only much later that I realised the true importance of that occasion. It was one of the rare occasions, when, in a family of three or four boys, I was the total focus. Later that day we visited our Murphy grand parents, somewhat distant and awesome. Grand dad rummaged in his pocket and drew out a florin, two shillings!! What a treasure! Probably could buy a house today. Cant’ remember saying ‘thank you’. I took the opportunity for a nostalgic stroll. The convent school where the tender Sister Brigid took little Terry under her voluminous black wings, has been engulfed by some flash international school called Reddam College. The convent, a fine brick building still commanded the corner of Blair and Mitchell Streets; but somehow, it seems to have lost that conventual feel. Indeed it had. Fr. Neil Brown informed me it was now a Jewish Synagogue! Around the corner is the old Marist school, now melded into an impressive Galilee Catholic Primary. The dark brick single storied building had worn well. Gone was the expanse of sand that surrounded it and gave such pleasure at playtime. But to the right of the building there was the garage where some 20-30 of us crammed into Br. Fulgentius’ second class. It was only much later I realised I must have been his pet. Probably the connection with uncle George-Brother Canice might explain the little present, a cracked glass picture of Madonna that I treasured for many years. Reminiscing thus I realised that here I had come full circle. When we Murphs scurried up the Parramatta river to Meadowbank, with the threat of invasion on the barb-wired Bondi Beach it was a great blow to us beach boys. But some 60 years later I’m back in the gentle embrace of Eastern suburbs with its “scimitars of sun-drenched beachers and the gentling sea breezes that cooled fevered brows in summer heats.” In fact I live in the very same street that my grandparents and dad graced back in the twenties! The celebrations have a course to run. I head for Queensland in early June on my “mission” of Oral History where I spend a few weeks recording the life stories of some Brothers. There will be time for some excursions and a final kick-on, or maybe, the death throes of this fabulous Octo time. Did I deserve all this “glory” and was it worthwhile ploughing all this time into organising such a series of events? Well, the Ying side of me would modestly deny my worthiness. That Yang side would smile, smirk and say “Why not”? But, the deeper response would be a mix of wonder aAnd at another level there was the trip to Katoomba and lunching at the Carrington, filled with that old world charm, out of the 19th century. How can I weave all this into our opera? Maybe we need an Overture as well as a Finale. Then I’m sure we could slip in an Intermezzo or two. Lots of work to be done. And what about a name? Any ideas? I do have a capable librettist in mind who could create one of those fantastical dramas in the Mozart or Verdi stories where impossible plots keep the audience in a state of disbelief and delight for three hours. nd thanks. Really, if that 80 had not popped up where would I have got the energy and creativity to enjoy such a unique family celebration?