It is 36 years today, 21st April, since I lost my Dad. Recently, I have been scanning old photos as I renovate old albums. I came across photos of my dad and remembered what a great Dad he was.
Back in 1949 when he was 35, he was brave enough to gather up his family and emigrate from war torn England with stringent rationing and come to Australia an unknown land with no family or friends.
|On the MS Georgic ship on the way to Australia|
While we lived in a tent and then a garage, he built our house with his own hands.
After seven years of working hard and building the house on weekends, he together with my mum, saved enough money for a car and a caravan holiday from Sydney to Brisbane.
When the house was finished he attended night school and upgraded his education qualifications. He and I were studying for the 'Leaving Certificate' at the same time.
He took us on holidays every year and we had fun together.
When I floundered in my teenage years he spent time talking to me and supporting me through my troubles.
He helped me find jobs and encouraged me to go to PNG and start a new life and an exciting career. This photo was how I remember him when I left home in 1963.
Seven years later when I returned to Oz married, he continued to support my family. He became sick at the same time that he retired and after 2 years of pain and suffering with bone cancer he passed away on 21st April, 1983. He's always in my memories.