Sepia Saturday: Paper…Expo…read all about it

Even though I had some photos which suited this week’s theme, they just didn’t seem to have a thread to draw them together – other than one of us reading the newspaper. I had decided I would pass on this theme, when a related sub-theme came to mind. It just didn’t occur to me until this morning that the event in question would commence its 25^th anniversary tomorrow.

1988 was Australia’s Bicentennial year, celebrating 200 years of white settlement and Australia as it’s come to be today. From an Indigenous point of view it was certainly contentious and perhaps was also a turning point in the debate about the impact of settlement and colonisation on the country’s indigenous peoples.

Sydney Harbour, Australia Day 1988

Overall it was a year full of events and celebrations for those so inclined, starting with the arrival of the Tall Ships. On Australia Day the huge display of Tall Ships, sailing boats and large navy vessels cheek-by-jowl in Sydney Harbour was thrilling and the day culminated in one of Sydney’s iconic  fireworks display.

A view of the Expo site from a hot air balloon, early 1987.

In Brisbane, the event of the year was World Expo 1988. Starting on 30^th April, early autumn, it last an exciting, interesting, and fun six months. Brisbane turned on its best winter weather full of sunshine and clear blue skies and the westerly winds didn’t turn up too soon. I remember that we’d planned only to get a multiple-entry pass for financial reasons given we had school fees etc to take care of. Then someone (who??) talked me into the merits of a full season pass. It was a fantastic decision because it meant we could come and go as we pleased, for as long or as short a time as we liked.

Opening Day of Expo was a crush and a buzz of happiness.

Expo was held on the south bank of the Brisbane River, clearing a huge area, and most unfortunately displacing many of the poorer people who lived in the area. It had been the dry dock area and I recall that my great aunt lived there with her son, for a while after a stroke.

And here’s the link ! A statue “reads” the newspaper at Expo.

The morning Expo 88 opened the crowds were packed densely at the gates, but full of anticipation. There was a surge of excitement when the gates opened, but It really didn’t matter when you went, there was always so much going on and so much to see. The Canadian and New Zealand pavilions rapidly became high-demand venues, so if you walked past and there was no queue you didn’t miss a chance. We loved the Nepalese pavilion, now preserved in the South Bank Parklands. Everywhere there were fun statues in poses which suited their location (many have been resited around Brisbane). Taking family photos near them became everyone’s hobby.

I had to include this one of Mr Cassmob’s parents with the statues-great newspaper reader themselves and her hat echoes that of the woman’s.

Mr Cassmob’s aunt, moi, and DD2 and 3 outside the Oz pavilion.

There were concerts at the river which attracted huge crowds, and parades in the streets. Our older two then-teenaged daughters would sometimes go on their own to meet friends on a weekend after school or their part-time work. It was great because you knew they were safe.

There were street performers to entertain, footpath artists and a wondrous array of objects, even an original copy of the Magna Carta, to enjoy in the pavilions. Brisbane had never seen the like before. Even if our daughters had missed out on our travel gene (unlikely!), this certainly ensured that foreign lands captured their imaginations. Youngest daughter and I would often visit on the earlier evenings of the week while Mr Cassmob was studying, then he and I would have a date night later in the week.

The Nepalese pavilion had delicious sweets and samosas if I remember correctly.

There it is!

Each of the countries represented had their own food stall and there was such variety to choose from. Unfortunately I didn’t get to enjoy this so much because it coincided with a fun period on a rigorous food elimination diet: potatoes and beans anyone?

One of the events at Expo was the Irish release of the Australian-Irish convict register on computer. On it I discovered information for my expat friend in the USA who was also researching Gavins but not my mob.

There really was something for everyone with so much entertainment and new experiences. It became a great place to catch up with friends and family and I was so pleased that we stretched the budget to a full pass for each of us. It was a great investment and we surely got our money’s worth.

We were there on opening day and it was such fun as our eyes popped with all the new sights and experiences. We were there on closing day and it was so sad: no surprise that youngest daughter had her face painted with tears. In the words of the Seekers’ song “The Carnival is Over”. Expo 88 had been a six month festival that had captured hearts and changed Brisbane forever.

There was much public debate as to how the site should be used and eventually it became a public parkland with a large pool. Adjoining the Brisbane Performing Arts and close to the Art Gallery, Museum and State Library it adds a different dimension to the city.

Grass Dukes and Shepherd Kings at SLQ

If you live within striking distance of Brisbane you might be interested in a visit to see the Queensland State Library’s display entitled Grass Dukes and Shepherd Kings, especially if you have ancestry from the Darling Downs.

I saw this exhibition when I was in Brisbane a few weeks ago and was very impressed with the items on display. It reinforces the points I made during the Beyond the Internet series last year about the vast array of resources which remain undigitised, awaiting the determined family historian’s sleuthing.

There were excellent maps on the walls as well as beautiful paintings – I particularly like Conrad Martens’ paintings of early Darling Downs scenes. Then there are the treasured items of daily life displayed in the cabinets.

But what is really tempting for the family historians are the glimpses of books which would be invaluable to anyone whose family were involved with particular stations eg Talgai Station’s ration book (1866-1868) or Glengallan’s pay register or labour book.  Just imagine those early shepherds on Talgai being issued with their rations.

If you haven’t already dropped by SLQ to have a look why not plan a visit this weekend before the exhibition finishes on 21^st April: it’s on the fourth floor near John Oxley Library.

If I get to Queensland again in the next couple of months I’ll be equally interested in their upcoming exhibition Live! Queensland Band Culture. Not only might it provide me clues on various family musicians, but there’s bound to be some happy memories of my own tied up in it.

Fab Feb Photo Collage Festival: Day 27 Christmases Past

As this series was all about my early years and those of our own family, I had to include some Christmas photos. I’m not going to write much about the different Christmases here because I’ve written extensively about them in the Advent Series a year ago.

So without further ado, here are some family snaps from that period, some not great photographically but good family memories. I’ve substituted the collage photo with a similar one with both girls in it.

Xmas delight

Miss-Nearly-Three and the joy of seeing the Christmas tree in all its glory.

This year the Xmas tree was a casuarina.

The little one was very miserable with an ear ache for her first Christmas -we had to put them in the car and go for a drive to settle her down. Poor possum. If you’re wondering why all the long sleeves and jumpers, it’s because Goroka is at an altitude of 1600m or 5249ft, so it can be chilly overnight and in the morning.

And then we moved on to a gum tree (eucalyptus)

Apparently by the end of our stay in Moresby we had bought the artificial tree which we kept for many years, but first there was the gum tree version.

The clowns were presents from my parents.

That same year Mr Cassmob excelled himself (with a little help from Mrs Claus) in the making of a dolls’ house. It was a good home for the Fisher Price dolls!

This is the house that Mr Cassmob (aka Santa) built.

This post is part of the February Photo Collage Festival and the Family History Writing Challenge.

Fab Feb Photo Collage Festival: Day 26 Going Finish

Going Finish was a pivotal point in the life of those who had worked in the administration of Papua New Guinea. Some of the old-timers left prior to Independence, as did those who were convinced “we’d all be ruined”. Others remained for a number of years after Independence. Some left as their jobs became handed over to Papua New Guineans as they gained the skills and competencies for their newly formed country. Others left before then, knowing that otherwise they might never leave the ties were so strong.

So the ritual of going finish was a significant cultural event. As nearly all those who left the country permanently departed through Port Moresby, where were living by then, we have many photos of groups of people going finish. This photo is an important one for our family, showing Mr Cassmob’s family leaving PNG after 23 years. Never ones to wear their emotions on their sleeves, they look quite calm but I imagine that inside they were feeling very sad.

One of our going finish parties.

A few years later we would join the trek to the south where we learned to be Australians in our own country all over again. Strangely we have no photos of our departure though it’s likely our friends have one, so I must put out a query on that. What we do have though is this picture of one of our many farewells, this one by our gang of Gerehuligans (Gerehu was the suburb where we lived). As we flew out of Jackson’s airport I know I had tears in my eyes, mitigated only by the champagne handed to us, and the camera lending some emotional distance.

 I’m going to leave you with a special poem written for Mr Cassmob’s parents when they left Milne Bay (but not going finish). Written by the local teachers it’s a very touching tribute.

This post is part of the February Photo Collage Festival and the Family History Writing Challenge.

Fab Feb Photo Collage Festival: Day 25 Behind Independence

The theme of this collage was the events and experiences of my first 28 years so how could I not include a photo which related to the Independence of Papua New Guinea. Regular readers will have read other posts on this topic here so for this story I needed a different angle. It occurred to me that while I’ve talked about the celebratory events, I haven’t actually talked about what it meant on a day to day level.

As with any celebration, there was a certain amount of waiting around on 15 Sept 1975. The high school kids were in colourful costumes and some were wearing traditional dress.

I asked Mr Cassmob for his thoughts on this last night and to an extent we were surprised at how little practical difference it made to our lives: we went to the same workplaces, we got our pay in the same bank account (even though the bank’s name had been rebadged), we did the same social things and lived in the same government house. For sure the structures and legislation underpinning all of this had changed, and there were more brown faces than white at the top level, but that didn’t bother us as it had been an emerging trend throughout out our then-short careers. We were neither senior enough to be displaced from our positions, nor were in positions which gave us any real power. We just kept on doing our jobs to the best of our ability.

Prince Charles arrives for the flag lowering ceremony.

There were some changes to consider at work: the need to consider the implications of a changed currency, from the dollar to the kina or vice versa, on the payment of school subsidies (Pauleen), or the practicalities of helping to establish the diplomatic training corps program at the Administrative College (Peter).

The Australian flag was lowered formally for the last time “with respect”.

After I moved from Education to Finance I suppose I was involved in minor administrative ways with the new bank Board structures as well as some organisation for visiting delegations from the International Monetary Fund which came to assess PNG’s financial status. We worked with local colleagues who were developing their skills and experience preparing for more senior roles within the public service over the years to come. Working in Finance was the only time I ever got to use the theory I’d learned in my economics degree.

The Police Band looked very smart in their sulus/lap laps with Bird of Paradise emblem. Independence Hill 16 September 1975.

Many Australians did leave after either self-government or Independence. Some of the more colonial types couldn’t handle the relinquishing of power to those whom they’d once had power over. Others, like Peter’s father, left because their jobs were superseded or had been localised. Over the years between self-government and Independence one of the employment trends was the departure of these Australians and the increased reliance on recruitment from the United Kingdom, New Zealand and the Philippines.

From the Prince to the Bishop and the warrior, everyone was in their finery.

We were pleased to stay for another few years and in the end decided to relocate to Australia so we could re-start our careers there before time got away from us. We were also determined our children would not go to boarding school.  Although there were jobs for us in PNG and we loved being there, it was time to go despite our sadness. We had contemplated taking out citizenship but decided against it. Peter had already been challenged that he wasn’t a Papua New Guinean by some over-eager student, to which Peter simply replied “I’ve lived here longer than you’ve been alive”. And so the next stage of our lives began, back in our country of birth, but forever changed by our experiences in that amazing, challenging and exciting country, PNG.

Michael Somare arrives at the Catholic Cathedral near Ela Beach for the church service.

It’s appropriate that the collage photo I chose for today was one of Michael Somare walking towards the Catholic Cathedral near Ela Beach for an Independence service. Lots of dignitaries were there from Prince Charles to Australia’s Prime Minister, Gough Whitlam and former Foreign Minister Andrew Peacock.  Apart from being the inaugural Prime Minister Somare was one of a select group of men who were chosen to fill the most senior roles in the country. Among the public service heading departments were Mekere Morauta (Finance), Charles Lepani, Rabbie Namaliu and Tony Siagaru, the commonly named “Gang of Four”, two of whom we worked for either closely or indirectly.

This post is part of the February Photo Collage Festival and the Family History Writing Challenge.

Fab Feb Photo Collage Festival: Day 22 Let’s go picnicing

Much as we love the little snippets of information about our ancestors, we still tend to keep focusing on the “big ticket” items in our own lives. My photo today is about the ordinary moments, the ones we often forget to capture. Over the years picnics have been big in our family: at the beach, in the hills, in the bush, overseas, with others, on our own. I’m not going to write much about each because there’s no need. So let’s go picnicking…as much a challenge in the snowy north at the moment as it is Down Under with 35C heat.

Peter and DD1 and 2

This may have been our classiest picnic -across from Buckhingham Palace on our 1977 trip. Mr Cassmob and our two darling daughters (henceforth DD1 and 2).

Peter and DD1 and 2 at Ela Beach.

How better to celebrate our relocation from the Highlands to the coast than a picnic at Ela Beach 1974.

Mr Cassmob, roast chicken and a wine in the grounds of Heidelberg Castle.

(Above) Varirata National Park (we used to call it Variarata) outside Port Moresby, up in the hills near Sogeri, was a family favourite for picnics and BBQs. Boxing Day, visitors, any day. Often a group of us would go up travelling in convoy.

(Below) Most times we visited we took photos from the lookout which had a lovely view down towards Moresby and out to the sea -not that you’d know it from this picture. Unfortunately the good ones all have lots of still-living people in them.

DD1 photographs her Dad while Mum photographs both!

For some reason we quite liked a picnic BBQ beside Obi Obi creek near Nambour (this is a later photo).

A rare photo of a picnic with Peter’s parents at Mary Cairncross Park near Nambour (his Mum didn’t do picnics).  His father obviously took the photo. Another from beyond the 28 year span.

This post is part of the February Photo Collage Festival and the Family History Writing Challenge.

Fab Feb Photo Collage Festival: Day 21 Family Christenings

It will come as no surprise after my Day 5 Collage post, that our children were all christened.  Eldest daughter was baptised in my home parish in Brisbane shortly before we returned to Alotau a few weeks after her birth. My paternal grandmother was still alive, and I feel there should be a photo of the two of them together, even though she didn’t come to the church. If it exists, where is it, that is the question?!

Our children’s christening frock.

Her christening frock was one of the earliest creations on my new Bernina. The beautiful hand smocking was done by my mother and I have the notion that I did the crochet despite my lack of expertise. I should check to see if Mum can remember, perhaps she did it.. I checked with her today and she’s not sure either. I’m thinking now it’s more likely to have been her work. She also had a special crocheted coat, bonnet and bootees outfit that I think my parents bought her for the occasion. Our other daughters wore the christening robe also in their turn, one in Goroka and one in Brisbane.

Daughter 2′s christening at home in West Goroka.

I just had to include this photo of Daughter #2’s christening, mainly for the joy of knowing how much this photo stirs them up! So much paisley in evidence: his shirt, his tie, and my dress. I’m surprised that I hadn’t also made Miss 2 a paisley outfit for good measure <smile>. This christening was in our home rather than the local parish church, from memory because we wanted a priest, who was a good friend, to do the ceremony. It was also very ecumenical as many of the attendees were non-Catholics.

My christening dress. What was my thing with handbags, at this age!

Among my baby book photo is this one of me wearing my own christening dress. It certainly wasn’t taken when I was christened so it must have been a good deal larger than necessary when I first wore it. I also have this frock in my possession even though it’s quite fragile being made of a type of chiffon.  Mum tells me my Aunty Mary (whom you met last week) made this dress for me, with specially covered seams to meet my grandmother’s critical professional dressmaking standards.

As far as I know we have no photos of Mr Cassmob’s christening or any of the earlier generations.

I would regard both these christening frocks, and the bonnets, as family heirlooms which I hope will be treasured whether or not they’re ever worn again.

A trio of hand-crafted baby bonnets.

This post is part of the February Photo Collage Festival and the Family History Writing Challenge.

Fab Feb Photo Collage Festival: Day 20 Papua New Guinea

Imagine if you will a country with spectacular, awe-inspiring scenery from fierce mountain ranges clothed in almost impenetrable jungle to deep aquamarine seas with an abundance of tropical fish.

Highlands children on a pit-pit fence near Lufa, Eastern Highlands, PNG © P Cass 1972

Imagine a country with hundreds of tribal groups, languages and specific cultures. Imagine the potential for clashes between those tribal groups, the payback[i] and potential for inter-clan fighting, and the translation of traditional sorcery into the recent horrors of witch-burning.

The Asaro Mudmen at the Goroka Show. © Pauleen Cass 1972

Imagine the variety of costumes and sounds when thousands of warriors come together from diverse places for a sing-sing, or music and dance. Where even other clans and tribal groups look on astonished at what they’re seeing. This can either be in a traditional environment or replicated from traditional practices into a form of performance for visitors eg the Goroka Show or the Kenu and Kundu Festival which we recently visited.

Wahgi warriors at the Goroka Show © P Cass 1972

I think this was 1973. The showground was a tad muddy, as you can see. © Pauleen Cass 1972

This truly unique place is Papua New Guinea, venue of A Million Different Journeys. When I moved there only weeks after my marriage it was still the Territory of Papua New Guinea, under the jurisdiction and administration of the Australian government.

What an amazing experience, so incredibly different from suburban Australia, and where sights and sounds are like nothing ever before experienced. For close to a decade, this country was home. For my husband it will always be home as apart from his earliest years, and school absences, this was his place which very much shaped who he is and how he sees the world.

Memories of coastal villages, mountains and mountain valleys and passes, semi-naked people dressed in elaborate costumes. The unique smell of pig-grease spread on the skin to keep out the cold, blended with smoke from a chimney-less hut. Women loaded down with kau-kau[ii] in their bilums[iii]. The blood-red stain of buai spit on the ground. The sounds of the kundu and the ululation of chanting during a sing-sing.

Milne Bay women at the 2012 Kenu and Kundu festival. © Pauleen Cass 2012

I feel very privileged to have lived in PNG and come to love it. In my heart it’s like a good friend who I’ve lost contact with, and from whom I’ve grown apart, but is treasured for how it shaped my view of the world, and myself, turning me into a very different person from the one I’d have been if I had stayed in Australia. I’m privileged too that it’s enabled me to understand my husband’s formative years.

This post is part of the February Photo Collage Festival and the Family History Writing Challenge

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[i] The practice of exacting punishment from another person or clan, for injury to the pigs or people of another clan or village.  Punishment may be exacted by payment of fines or by physical violence.

[ii] Kau-kau is the Tok Pisin name for sweet potato.

[iii] A bilum is a string bag worn by women with the strap over the head, and carrying the load (or the baby) leaning against their back.

Fab Feb Photo Collage Festival: Day 19 Ode to a Friend

Today I want to introduce you to one of my oldest friends, one whose permission I don’t need before we “go public”. Ms Bernina first came into my life when I was seven months pregnant with my first child. We’ve been mates ever since, but like all friends there are days when we have a falling out because things aren’t working well between us. However over the years we’ve shared so many experiences. She’s been such a robust friend, notching up many air miles travelling between Papua New Guinea and Australia, and then coming on a road trip with us to Darwin.

Poor Ms Bernina, she’s looking a bit tired and needed some flowers to cheer her up.

Together we’ve shared memorable moments like christenings, balls, First Communion, school formals, Christmas gifts and ice skating as well as those day-to-day moments like school uniforms, travel outfits, work clothes or new curtains each time we’ve made a new home. So many fabrics have passed under Ms Bernina’s dainty feet: chiffon, velvet, lycra, brocades, knits and cottons in geometric patterns, stripes, flowers, prints, polka dots and paisley. Together we favoured patterns made by Vogue –they may have looked complicated but in a different version of “read the *** manual” were just fine so long as you followed the steps. Butterick and Simplicity also got an occasional workout but Burda wasn’t a favourite.

Ms Bernina is getting older now and after a lifetime spent in humid climates, her joints don’t always work as well as they could, especially if they’re not given a regular spa bath of oil. Many months go past when she’s superseded by that Johnny-come-lately laptop, but there’s life in her yet.

The connection to today’s collage photo is fairly obvious I think. Ms Bernina made this outfit for me when I was matron-of-honour to my sister-in-law. Around my neck I have a simple lilac velvet ribbon on which was a pretty cameo in lilac and green with a  marcasite surround, a gift from my Aunty Emily whom you’ve already met.

In the best traditions of family dressmaking, the bride’s lovely frock was made by her mother and she looked gorgeous. It was quite the event in Mt Hagen, one of PNG’s tea-growing areas, as it was held on the tea plantation where the groom worked. The reception was at the Club and the guests were all “ex-India” don’cha know, “not a single Singalese” (property) among them! I smiled and helped serve the canapés…there were benefits to all those school lessons in charm and deportment.

Thanks for always being a reliable friend my dear Bernina…I hope we have a few years friendship left in us yet.

This post is part of the February Photo Collage Festival and the Family History Writing Challenge.

Sepia Saturday 164: Red Bicycles Touring Club, Brisbane 1913

This week’s Sepia Saturday photo offers a variety of possibilities: pipes, pets, tortoises and hats (especially military). As luck would have it, I’d just come across this photo which I acquired as part of my aunt’s estate. I have no idea why she would have it, because the reverse shows it’s a photo from 1913, some years before either her husband or she were born.

Red Bicycles Touring Club 1913

If you look carefully you will see that two of the men in the back row have their pipes lolling from the sides of their mouths, much as my grandfather used to do and several of the men are wearing spectacularly silly hats. What I love about the picture is the whimsical attitudes of the men, the casual clothes and the mix of seriousness and frivolity.  A question I asked myself is what on earth the Red Bicycles Touring Club has to do with musical instruments but unfortunately I don’t have an answer.

The notations on the reverse. I can’t help wondering if 6.6.85 was someone’s birthday.

I turned to my good friend Trove which came up with some interesting snippets, including the identical photograph, but presumably without the notations on the back (what do they mean?).

The Queenslander newspaper, 20 December 1913.

The Red Bicycles Touring Club was a cycling club based in Brisbane.  From the stories I read it was part fun and definitely a large slice of seriousness. They were incredibly fit, riding in bike races, swimming, running, playing water polo, boxing and diving, interspersed with fun like blindfolded boxing! However they also had a club house at Cleveland, which is on Brisbane’s outskirts and on Moreton Bay. which they used for weekend camps of increasing popularity. I’m guessing that’s where this photo was taken hence the sky-larking element of it. It may even be from the December 1913 camp mentioned in The Queenslander.

I also found this more formal photo of the men from 1913. I’m assuming that the two photos should include all or most of the same men (there’s 10 in each picture) and it would be intriguing to see if the ones in the fun photo could be identified. According to the formal photo, the members of the club in 1913 were (back row) W Hurst, Dave Young, W Allen, F Johnson, B Muir, (front row): F Pryor, John (Jack) Hilton, F Campbell, Jim Dunning (see below) and S Gee. The members do seem to have changed a bit from year to year.

Image from Trove.picqld-2007-09-11-13-36

The Queenslander 4 Feb 1911 (click to enlarge)

It’s interesting to compare the two photos and see if the same man can be identified in both. Although the club only commenced in 1910, it essentially shut down in 1914, only a year after this photo, as several of the members went off to war. I’d really like to know which of them served and whether any of them failed to return, but unfortunately with only initials to go by in most cases, it’s difficult to pin them down. Unfortunately the only ones named are generally those winning the prizes.

The Brisbane Bicycle Touring Association 2007 newsletter, page 4, quotes former RBTC member, Jim Dunning, aged 93: “The First World war caused the end of our touring club. Several of us joined the forces. We were in different units and lost touch with one another after we return. I rejoined

The Queenslander 13 May 1911

my racing club after I returned from the war, but as an official – I was too badly wounded for racing. I have not ridden a bike for nearly thirty years.” The WWI service records show that he suffered from a gunshot wound to the right arm.

So I suppose in the end there were two links between this photo and the Sepia Saturday topic: the pipes and the fact that some of these men would soon have been wearing the Australia Army’s slouch hats.

The Queenslander 1 April 1911