John's 90th Birthday

HAPPY 90^TH BIRTHDAY, JOHN O’ROURKE (by Monica)

In a family of talkers, it seems odd that the quietest, shyest one should get to talk at the most important functions. I fought hard for the honour. And this is an important weekend, as Dad celebrates his 90^th birthday.  I know that Dad is delighted to see so many of his family and friends gathered around.

I was fortunate to grow up in a family where family was always the focus and always talked about.  I have clear recollections of Dad talking about his parents and grandparents and his life as he grew up. The stories he told about My Grandfather (his father) related to community life. It tickled my fancy when I was a kid to hear about grandfather being asked for a quote to move postholes, when he had the only truck in the district. His answer was: so much a dozen and you load them. No wonder we are all appreciate quick wittedness. He talked about Granny (his mother) and her kindness and generosity. I certainly remember how open hearted she was to her grandkids - and how we repaid that when we visited. How many of you here were guilty of hoeing into the bread so that she’d have to make fried scones instead?

As I look around here today, I see family members of almost all his brothers and sisters. When he talked about Norah, Dad always said how unjust it was for her to have to leave school early and help look after the house. He was always determined that none of his girls would miss out on the opportunity to have a good job or career. Norah must have been very like her mother in temperament and Dad has talked about her looking after an orphaned koala.

When I think about Flo, I don’t think just of the successful chemist but the young fellow who was called Aunty Flo at Nudgee, when schools were the breeding grounds for nicknames. Dad, when he followed along, became Little Aunty.

Dad always had a soft spot for Maurie and believed the weeks he spent with Granny leading up to her death, gave a peace of mind, which balanced out his years of restlessness. I can’t say I really knew Maurie well but he returned to Traveston from time to time so Rod and Cherie knew him much better.

We had a lot to do with Ted and his family as we grew up but my favourite memory is one of Dad’s stories. The family were gathered with visitors one day when the young Ted rushed into the house yelling, I’ve swallowed an elephant.  I’ve swallowed an elephant.  They should never have put such small toys into Easter eggs!

My memory of Len is totally my own. I don’t know why we were at the farm at the same time as Len but I do remember when he gave me a small red chilli from a shrub in the house yard. I also remember how angry Dad was with him for that. I also know why my favourite flavour is, no not chilli, it’s ‘bland’.

Although I was relatively young when Frank died, I think of him as the young postman riding a bike uphill and down through Gympie after he left school. He had always been encouraged to do as much as he could despite the heart problems which he endured for his entire life.

Bet was also a favourite of Dad. Although she was much younger, she seemed to follow him around when he was a young adult. When he came home from work she would sometime stand behind him while he was sitting reading the paper and would brush or comb his hair. Once she spent ages, doing his hair and chatting. When he went out to dinner, he discovered that she had arranged his hair in rows of kiss curls. I do know that he would have had endless patience with her, as he always does with children.

Anyone who has read his reminiscences will know his story about Pat getting lost at Mrs Griffin’s. For me, stopping off at the Powells in Cooroy on the way to Traveston was always an important part of a trip, for quick a cuppa and a chat. This cuppa and chat took ages because I know Dad can talk and got the impression early that Pat was quite a talker too. Nothing I’ve seen since has contradicted that.

This was the heritage he has carried into his own family. I look back at early photos of him and Mum, and later ones too for that matter, and realise why we are such a good looking family. I’m not going to go through and talk about each of us. I’d be here for days – and besides everyone would want right of reply! I think it is quite amazing that all 13 of us are still alive – and so are Mum and Dad.

After the hard life of growing up on a dairy farm and being always broke, Dad really moved into adulthood with the depression. Many of the stories he tells come from this time when he was a young bloke, doing the blokey things with his mates – the fishing and outings, movies and cards.

He was then fortunate to get work surveying at Cunnamulla where he learned to be broke in a different way. He talked about learning to find his way home following the angle of the shadows – and also driving in circles at night while the moon moved from being directly behind him to right in front!

Eventually he ended up in Mackay where one of his more interesting jobs was shovelling sand in the river. Because of the fast flowing river, sand built up very quickly and caused problems for boats coming in. When the tide was low, Dad was one of the lucky fellows who stood in the water, stirring up the sand with a shovel so that it would drift away with the tide. It is a job like that which brings home the futility of life!

Dad met Mum at the Catholic Club in Mackay where they were both keen dancers. When I was at primary school, we always had a St Patrick’s day dance. I was always thrilled to dance with Dad as he was a wonderful dancer and so light on his feet.  However before that, he had danced his way into the heart of Enid Hardy who remains his beloved partner. Together they went on to have thirteen children, thirty-one grandchildren and, to date, thirteen great-grand children.

The attributes which marked his early life were repeated in his own family.  A hard worker, Dad paid his home off in a very few years from a meagre income, after-hours slaving over a pineapple or banana patch and a tribe of kids who were more hindrance than help. The house was always freshly painted and in wonderful condition. His lawn was his pride and joy. I was constantly amazed that the bowls club didn’t hold their competition in our back yard. Every other competition was held there- running, tennis practice, fisticuffs and climbing the mango tree. I’m sure the mango tree was one of the features which sold the house a couple of years ago. There were so many photos taken in the tree that it could almost be called the family tree!

Dad is probably the only person I know to dig a hole to bury dirt. He says that the area along the car runners was filled with concrete scraps and stones. However, he dug a deep hole in the back yard, took out some fresh dirt for the front yard and buried the dirty dirt –deep! He has also raised eyebrows by walking around the yard in the rain, with an umbrella, watering the lawn. He knew and we knew that he was watering in fertilizer which needed to be soaked.  People going by didn’t know that!

We were encouraged to do our best academically. I have never done a count but if his children and grandchildren lined up all their degrees and diplomas and certificates, it would be an impressive sight. Of course, some of us celebrated our freedom at tertiary studies by having the first year socialising rather than studying! But we are quick learners and the second year put us back on track – with very strong encouragement!!

Mum and Dad have an enviable record of marriage – 64 years and still going strong. We have tried to emulate that and although some of us were not so wise in our choice of spouse, we still have the model there and we are trying to pass those same values along to our own children.

Many of the images of Dad that come to mind are the small ones – making porridge in a huge saucepan over the wood stove in Winter, bread toasted in the coals at night as visitors sat around the kitchen table with tea and hot toast, walking around with a baby lying along his arm with the head firmly held down by the elbow. A couple of months ago I could have demonstrated this with Krista’s little Cory, the youngest great-grandchild.

The last few months have not been kind to Dad health wise and he is far less mobile than he would want to be. However, those who have visited with him recently know that he is still in good form, sharing his memories of different stages of his life.  His great sense of humour has never deserted him. Many times in the past few months he has told stories which have had him laughing so hard that the tears were running down his cheeks. If there is a funny side to something, he is sure to see it. I have been trying to learn the Italian language and told him one day that I had trouble rolling my r’s . I knew immediately, when the corners of his mouth trembled that he had a picture of a different kind of rolling r’s. 

Ninety years is a wonderful milestone and I am proud to stand here today and honour Dad as he celebrates this birthday. But a life is more than a number of years. A measure of life is the number of other lives that are touched and enriched. As I look around I know that there is not one person here today whose life has not been enhanced in some way by knowing John O’Rourke. Some of us owe him everything because we wouldn’t be here without him. Others, aunts and cousins, relatives and friends, have all been part of the tapestry of his life. Your presence here today is an acknowledgement of that.

90 years Dad! That is wonderful! And just remember as you celebrate today, that birthdays are good for you. The more you have, the longer you live. Happy Birthday, John O’Rourke.