Tradition is an important aspect of my faith, some of my strongest life memories are connected with the traditions of my faith. I remember my schooling with the St. Joseph Sisters, and as I age, I realize what a strong influence they have had on all of my life.

When my nephew died in 1975 I recall being soothed by the soft repetition of their Hail Marys. My sister had three children, two daughters and a son. Living in Brisbane, away from the rest of the family, she and her husband had built a support group from their Church family. My sister had a strong faith and was never afraid to voice her beliefs and stand up for what she believed in.

I travelled to Brisbane for the funeral, wanting to give comfort and support. I can recall feeling surprised at the numbers of Priests and Religious who visited their home at this time. I knew their faith was strong but I had never seen support like this before. I reasoned that numbers were more plentiful in the City areas.

I felt trepidation about what was ahead, expecting tears and great distress, he was young and their only son, I hoped I could help them cope. The reality was so different and became a wonderful memory and a source of blessing for me.

The Church was packed; I doubt there would have been many spare seats. So many people and so much love and compassion. As the ceremony progressed I remember a feeling of great peace coming over me. I became aware of the timelessness of our traditional ways and prayers. I remember feeling great comfort from the knowledge that this ceremonial process would be in place long after I had lived on earth, - that time would make no difference, and somehow this was a source of much comfort to me. I am sure the same blessings touched my sister and her family, their peacefulness was real.

God uses many things to touch us. The comfort from the continuity of ritual. The smell of the incense. Tradition is an important and vital part of our faith, it helps cement our beliefs. We are so much richer from what has gone before us and from what we know will continue, after we have gone from this world. It brings, for me, a sense that ‘all is right with my world’.

It’s good to have our thoughts prodded and challenged. What do our traditions mean to me? These essentials of our faith, - “life after death” scripture, the Sacraments, our practices, customs and institutions all contribute to how we encounter Our God; they help me to “see” in my minds eye what I believe, - that bring me comfort, peace and security.

Graham Green wrote in “The Power and the Glory” of how he despaired because he felt that he had wasted the life that God had given to him. We shouldn’t waste the experiences that God has given to us.

What is achieved if we don’t share our experiences? This sharing helps us to grow in faith. Where would we be if our ancestors hadn’t written their stories? These early Christians were ordinary, mostly uneducated people, showing courage in recording the events that were memorable for them. Are we any less courageous?

Our lives and what we think and feel are just as important today as were the lives of the people and Prophets of the Old and New Testament. Our contribution, this sharing of our experiences can be as valuable as what was shared in those earlier times. Moments or events, seemingly unimportant at the time, upon reflection, emerge into significance.

One of the changes to my prayers for some time now is that I thank God for those who have been before us and I ask for help for those who will follow us. I have become more aware of how my life is transitory. This is my time but others will follow-

And so it continues

The story of the parish dedicated to Our Lady of the Way began in 1964 when it was decided that Catholics in the Petrie area could support a church and school. However, several decades before that time Irish settlers had been kindling the faith using Mass stations in private homes and in 1898 building a church dedicated to St. Francis Xavier on a hill on the outskirts of Dayboro. The land for the purpose had been donated by Rody Cruice and the community was served by Caboolture priests.

In the following years St. Francis Xavier's saw time with Enoggera (1920 - 1932) and then Zillmere (1932-1962) when Fr. Tom Guy then Administrator of St. Dymphna's had initiated moves for Mass to be celebrated at Petrie on a regular basis, Dayboro found adrift from Zillmere. For almost three decades Fr. John O'Callaghan from Zillmere had claimed the title of most colourful and memorable P.P. Fr. Guy was given the task to move towards a new parish at Petrie where Fr. Richard Wilson was to be appointed first parish priest.

1968 saw Fr. Denis Long replace Fr. Wilson and it was during his time many of the present buildings were erected at Petrie. At homily time Father Denis lived up to his name so one Sunday at Dayboro the "Altar boys" decided to "ring the bell" when he spoke too long.

More changes in the period 1979-1989 saw hymns introduced during Mass under the guidance of Fr. Leo Skelly who encouraged us to sing.(Fr. Long had taken the opposite view) Catherine Rowley, an eleven year old novice piano player, volunteered to play the organ and did so for several years.

The Silver Jubilee celebrations at O.L.W.Petrie in 1989 saw Fr. John Manthey as P.P., however when Dayboro's turn to celebrate its centenary in 1998 arrived our pastor was Fr. Peter McCartin where he remains to the present day.

Memories of our little church at Dayboro would not be complete without mention of Rose Rospigaroff who came to the district as a young school teacher. She became involved with the religious education in the community and was responsible for the first visit to Dayboro of Archbishop James Duhig for Confirmation of many adults and children. The date was 14th February 1926.

St Benedict's is a Pastoral Mission under the administration of Petrie parish. It is a Eucharistic community and provides a Catholic Church presence and pastoral outreach to the fast growing populations of North Lakes, Mango Hill, and Griffin.First Eucharist was held in April 2009. St.Benedict's runs a school, a community playgroup, provides preparation for Baptism and sacramental initiation for children and also pastoral support for the sick.

In the story of our parish prayer has yielded rich rewards. A dedicated band of women had regularily prayed the Rosary at the Murrumba homestead site for a parish church to be build there before all came to fruition in 1964.The Pascoe, Scarott, Cooke, Cruice and Fallon families claim vocations to the priesthood and religious life. Many members of OLW and St. Francis communities serve in the various ministries throughout the parish so we go forward with great faith and hope for the future.

Submitted by: Mary Rowley

Sunday mornings in the Kangaroo Point Parish during the late 1940’s saw Monsignor Prout driving his T model Ford around to pick up parishioners who required transport to attend church services. It was optional at times for my family to attend services at Kangaroo Point or the cathedral in the City, where Mass was generally conducted by Archbishop Duhig. Following return from church services and short rest on Sunday after a hasty breakfast, I would find myself either fishing from a local jetty, or attempting to catch up on homework not yet completed.

Each Monday morning would find those attending school feverishly completing assignments and gathering on the front verandah of our single level weatherboard residence at 44 Prospect St, Kangaroo Point. Pencils dropped on the floor would fall through due to gaps between the floorboards. Soon it was off to school where parade and roll call was held before moving to classrooms. So life went on and hurdles were overcome until around 1952 when I was called upon for the occasional pruning of bushes and other duties.

Assigned to just a few students from higher classes and living close by on the Point, was canvassing the nearby area of Woolloongabba for donations to help construct the mater Mothers Hospital. The Sisters of Mercy were deeply involved in running the hospital and Kangaroo point School (St Joseph’s) was also expected to lend support. I was assigned to an area close by Hubert St where Blessed Mary MacKillop had founded the original school called The Swamp School. This area was of course the famed ‘fiveways’ at Woolloongabba, where I roamed after school hours (mainly on Thursdays and Fridays), together with my wooden collection box (with coins to jingle). It was soon learnt that the workers seeking a cooling ale while on their way home at the hotel on Stanley St was the most profitable collection place. From memory I can recall great response to the task at hand. Of those that gave many expressed hope that completion of the Mater Mother’s and Children’s Hospital would be swift.

Following completion of scholarship year at Kangaroo Point primary school, entry was gained to St Joseph’s College at Gregory terrace. One of the most important figures to have attended classes there before the end of the 19th century was of course the legendary Archbishop Duhig, who attended there twice around the early 1890’s.

At terrace I found study methods for advanced students were maybe geared to those receiving extra tuition along the way. As the son of a bridge labourer I took home hastily written notes and attempted to unravel myself the methodology behind subjects such as Latin and Bookkeeping, where I felt a little more proficient – being in my mind subjects requiring retentive memory.

While studying one weekend in 1956 I overheard the results of a Mater Hospital Art Union. A small valve radio that I had switched on to obtain some background music came to life as winners were being announced. About the fifth name there it was – Mrs E Hobbins of Kangaroo Point. I immediately thought ‘that’s got to be mum’ and anyway there can’t be too many names like ours on the Point! So out I went and up the street guessing where I’d find her. There was mum leaning on the fence and talking to Mrs Dunne a few doors up from 44 Prospect St. First words I uttered were ‘we’ve won a motor car’. However knowing my ways at times, mum turned and said ‘ you’re kidding’. It was confirmed later that we had won a Volkswagen – one of the first imported into Australia. Incredibly mother had purchased just one twenty cent ticket to win the car! Had the win been pure luck or reward for effort?

Submitted by: Tom Hobbins

I came into Brisbane in 1951 as a 15 year old deck officer cadet on the M.V Stanrealm. On handing in a crew list to the Port authorities, a Brisbane newspaper tried to get me an appointment with the great man, after establishing that I was a catholic. I could not understand why, me, as the lowest form of life onboard, not yet an officer, and not a seaman, that the Archbishop would want to see me! And they would not tell me, they said I would ‘find out’. They were unable to fix it up before we departed with sugar for the USA. They finally told me “What’s your name son?”...”Well, that’s his too!” I never touched down in Brisbane again unfortunately, though I spent a lot of time in Aussie ports. I tried hard to get my wife to emigrate, but she would not leave her mother.

Submitted by: Jim (James Patrick) Duhig, Gravesend, UK

I first experienced St. Stephen’s Cathedral in January 1949. Some six of us Year 10’s from Rockhampton Christian Brothers’ College were attending a cadet officers’ training camp at Wacol. There was a Youth Week celebration in Brisbane and the cadets of various denominations were expected to attend church service in any of the three major denominations. Naturally we went to St. Stephens. The great Archbishop James Duhig was the preacher and we lesser lights from Rocky were deeply impressed. The cathedral did not much win our hearts because we reckoned the Rockhampton Cathedral of St. Joseph’ was more to our liking...

By 1954 in Brisbane, I was an apprentice, a national service trainee and a practicing Roman Catholic. My second trip to the cathedral of St. Stephen was an attendance at a Sunday evening Mass. A newly ordained Father Owen Oxenham was the celebrant and preacher and his presence and words reached right down to my innermost aspirations. The cathedral building still made no impact. Then came my seminary training and each year we were bussed into the cathedral for various ceremonies. This was a great escape from seminary routine and most welcome. The place began to grow on me and by the time of my ordination in June 1962, it had charmed me. That day was a memorable one. Outside, a south westerly was roaring and cold. Inside, the cathedral was warmth, peace and joy.

When Archbishop Sir James Duhig died in 1965, I was privileged to be part of the crowd that packed the cathedral and then walked the streets of Brisbane in his funeral cortege. That for me was the experience of a lifetime, not because of the procession and the silent multitudes who lined the streets, but because of the cathedral. Duhig’s body was taken out of the cathedral and then back into it. He is buried there alongside first Bishop Quinn and second Bishop (and first Archbishop) Dunne. These three men secured the Brisbane faith community and the Cathedral of St. Stephen was the seat of their apostolate. I really love the cathedral and admire the people like Archbishop John Bathersby and Dean Ken Howell who make its stones a living eloquence. Age has not wearied this beautiful edifice and each subsequent renovation has added joy and splendour to its years.

I go back to Rockhampton occasionally and pay a visit to its Cathedral of St. Joseph. That brings back boyhood memories. The Cathedral of St. Stephen however is present not past for me. It is a living stone that brought joy to my youth, accompanied my manhood and now feeds my maturity with renewed purpose.

Submitted by Fr Harry Bliss

St Mary’s Ipswich was a successful parish in Fr Horan’s time, not merely because of Fr Horan’s leadership and his great curates, but in very large part because of the support he received from many fine parishioners. One of these was Mrs Sam Watson.

Born Margaret Noonan in the mid 1840s in Limerick, she married Sam Watson, grazier and butcher, in Ipswich on 16 Jan 1866 The couple produced 4 boys and 4 girls the last being born in the 1880s. Margaret lived to celebrate her golden wedding anniversary in January 1916, but died the following year on 30th January.

In the 1890s she was founding president of the women’s branch of the Sacred Heart Association and remained such until her death.

In March 1894 she was part of a committee which formed a sewing guild attached to the Sacred Heart Association to provide clothes and blankets to the poor of Ipswich in the aftermath of the great flood of February 1893. The sewing guild quickly changed its name to Benevolent Society to attract a little funding from the government.

To raise funds for the Benevolent Society Mrs Watson undertook to organize a series of socials which were advertised and reported on very favourably in the Queensland Times. Mrs Watson became president of the Benevolent Society after the death of first president Mrs Brady.

When Fr Horan took 6 months leave in 1897-98 to try to recuperate his health, the men of the parish set up a committee to welcome him home; a men’s committee to make real decisions, and it was decided “to invite the ladies of the parish to cooperate”. Mrs Watson rebelled at being a mere adjunct to the all-male group, and established her own agenda for a women’s committee. The women’s committee produced its own illuminated address, bought its own present - an inscribed chalice - and collected its own purse of sovereigns to present to their beloved parish priest. At the same time, the women’s committee did what was expected of women’s committees: they “arranged for the comfort of visitors” as the newspaper report quaintly expressed it.

Now briefly in reasonable health, Fr Horan began to prepare for his most expensive work, construction of a new St Mary’s to replace Fr McGinty’s church. This meant serious money gathering events. Mrs Watson and her associates were ready to volunteer. For the next few years this group of expert organizers ran yearly giant bazaars, musical evenings, monthly socials and numerous other money raising parties. It was almost a full-time job for the middle-class matrons of Ipswich. When the refreshment stalls were mentioned in reports, Mrs Watson and her daughters were usually mentioned.

Money raising was also a necessity for the choir at St Mary’s to pay for music. A member of the choir and mother of very musical children, especially Vi, who became conductor, Mrs Watson was naturally also a member of the choir committee which organized a yearly social to provide the funds required.

Of course, when a committee was organized to raise funds to buy a pipe organ, Mrs Watson, with her daughters Vi and Cissy and her son R.P. Watson, were prominent members.

Mrs Watson found time for other church activities. 1906 confirmation was reported in detail in the newspapers, Mrs Watson can be found as one of two sponsors introducing the girls to the Archbishop.

It is no surprise that Archbishop Duhig came to celebrate Mrs Watson’s requiem. One sentence in The Age’s obituary summed up her life thus: “She led an exemplary life, was of a charitable and benevolent disposition, and took a leading part in all the Catholic associations in Ipswich..”

The Sacred Heart altar was built and erected in Mrs Watson’s memory on 23 December 1917. Ten years later the Watson family erected the Sacred Heart window alongside the altar in memory of her husband Mr Sam Watson.

Submitted by John Kane

Themes of life and everlasting life are at the heart of the message of the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures. Our readings tell us that life in the biblical tradition is the quality of living in God’s presence in the community of the faithful. That significantly, Jesus’ life, death and resurrection offer the hope that this loving relationship will continue into life in union with God after death.

Is this the message we receive from the written word? It’s good to have our thoughts prodded and challenged. As I reflected on this, my thoughts settled on our tradition. How do I feel about the recording of the experiences of earlier times. How do I feel about the authenticity of what has been handed down, both verbally and then the written word. Do I truly believe?

What do our traditions mean to me? Comfort, peace, safety - these are some of the words that come to mind.

Some of my strongest life memories, from back in my childhood, are connected to the traditions of my faith. I remember my schooling with the St. Joseph sisters, their wearing the long black habit with their rosary beads hanging down from their wide black leather belt. They always seemed so complete within themselves, remote and aloof. They lived a life so different from our daily efforts - or so I imagined!

Their Rosary beads - the chronicle of our lives, so many stories they could tell. I remember the sisters walking around the school yard, so quiet and almost majestic, but always their hands were slipping over their beads. I wonder how many graces we children received as a result of those rosaries.

When my nephew died in 1975, I recall being soothed by the soft consistent repetition of the Hail Mary’s. These Sisters were wonderful women, they have left me with a sense of awe. I’m sure many of us were gifted with faith from their intercessions.

My sister had three children, two daughters and a son. Living in the City, away from the rest of our family, she and her husband had built a support group from their Church family. This sister had a strong faith and was never afraid to voice her beliefs and stand up for what she believed in.

I travelled to be with them for their son’s funeral, wanting to give comfort and support. I can recall feeling surprised at the numbers of Priests and Religious Sisters who visited their home. I knew the family’s faith was strong, but I had not seen support like this before. I reasoned that the numbers were more plentiful in the City areas. I felt trepidation about the funeral, expecting tears and great distress, and hoped I could help them cope. The reality was different and became a wonderful memory for me.

The Church was packed, I doubt there would have been many spare seats. So many people and so much love and compassion. As the ceremony progressed I remember a feeling of peace coming over me. I became aware of the timelessness of our traditional ways and prayers. I remember feeling great comfort from the knowledge that this ceremonial process would be in place long after I had lived on this earth. That time would make no difference and somehow, that was a source of great comfort to me. I feel sure my sister’s family were very blessed.

God uses many things to touch us. The comfort from the continuity of ritual. The smell of the incense. Tradition is an important and vital part of our faith, it helps cement our beliefs. We are so much richer from what has gone before us, and from what we know will continue, after we have gone from this world. It brings, for me, a sense that ‘all is right with my world’.

St. Paul in 2 Corinthians Ch. 5 shares his beliefs about the afterlife with everybody, and again in 1 Thessalonians.Ch.4. There are many references to our afterlife in the Bible.

What I have shared with you seems to me to be a combination of our Tradition [ with a capital “T”] - the essentials of our faith, “Life after death”, “Scripture,” and “The Sacraments”, as well as tradition [with a small “t”], our practices, customs, and institutions. It is how we encounter our God, and helps us to “see” in our minds eye what we believe.

I remember reading about the Priest in Graham Greene’s novel, “The Power and the Glory”. He despaired because he felt he had wasted the life God had given to him. We shouldn’t waste the experiences God has given to us.

What is achieved if we don’t share our experiences. This sharing helps us to grow in faith. Where would we be if our ancestors hadn’t written their stories. These early Christians were ordinary, mostly uneducated people, showing courage in recording the events that were memorable for them. Are we any less courageous?

Our lives and what we think and feel are just as important today as were the lives of the people and prophets of the Old and the New testament, [Hebrews and Christian Scriptures]. Our contribution, this sharing of what we think and feel is as valuable, as what was shared in those early times. Moments or events, seemingly unimportant at the time, upon reflection, emerge into significance.

One of the changes to my prayers for some time now is that I thank God for those who have been before us and I ask for help for those who will follow us. I have become more aware of how my life is transitory. This is my time, but others will follow - and so it continues....

Submitted by: Mrs Patricia Deeley

I grew up in Bundaberg in Central Queensland, so not in the Brisbane Archdiocese. I am now 33 and living in Mt Gravatt, however, I have vivid memories of family holidays spent with my grandparents in Moorooka. My grandmother, Lil Fagan, was the Principal at St Brendan's Primary School and both her and my grandfather, Len Fagan, were active members of the St Brendan's Parish community for many, many years. I believe they served on the Parish Council for many years. Obviously as I child I don't recollect anything in regards to Parish Council meetings and the like. However some of my strongest childhood memories are of times spent with my grandparents in service at St Brendan's Parish. We always attended mass as a family on Saturday evening. We headed in early and helped granddad to set out the Parish newsletters, the collection plates for the collectors and generally to prepare for the evening's mass. Then when all was in readiness we took our positions at the front doors of the Church to hand out the Parish newsletters and sell The Catholic Leader. At the end of Mass we once again attended to selling The Catholic Leader. Once the congregation had left we stayed on to help to tidy up - collect the newsletters that had been left in the pews, taking the collection money from the altar to the safe in the sacristy, closing all the windows and locking up. I also remember every visit, many, many parishioners, most of whom I didn't know, coming along to talk to me and my brothers and sisters and parents about how we were and everything we had been up to since our last visit - Lil and Len were very proud of us all and obviously shared our achievements and our challenges with all of their parish friends. Even though I was only very young and our family irregular visitors, I remember how we were always made to feel very welcome and part of the St Brendan's Parish family. I loved times spent at Mass with my grandparents and will always be grateful for their example of service to us all and am fortunate they allowed us to help out.

And I would like to end by saying thank you to everyone who serves in any capacity in their Parish Community, no matter how large or small of a role you have your contributions are all great.

Submitted by: Robyn Stephensen

In times of crisis, ministries come together to support one another. Nowhere was this more clearly demonstrated, than ninety years ago when Brisbane was in the grip of the “Spanish flu” pandemic. The influenza, that began overseas in 1918 and eventually killed up to 50 million worldwide, struck Queensland in early 1919.

Although the Queensland authorities attempted to halt the spread by closing the borders, the first cases appeared in Brisbane in May 1919. Hospitals were soon full and the staff of the Brisbane General Hospital was so depleted by the epidemic that it was forced to close. The Home Secretary asked if Mater Misericordiae Hospital at South Brisbane would take on extra outpatients and operations. Mater agreed but no sooner had the hospital taken on the extra work, when all but three of the Mater nurses in training also succumbed to influenza. All Hallows Convent came to their aid by sending teaching Sisters of Mercy to help with the nursing.

In addition, Archbishop Duhig and the Christian Brothers offered St Laurence’s School, situated next to the Mater, as the site of an isolation hospital to be staffed by the Sisters of Mercy. The Brothers residence was turned into nurses’ quarters and the Brothers were consequently accommodated in other districts for the duration. In three weeks, part of the school was converted into an isolation hospital. The media of the day reported that every detail had been carefully thought out. Even the school blackboards were put to good purpose as “in each ward these blackboards bear cheery crayon drawings, destined to delight the patients”.

While the Christian Brothers provided the buildings, the government the fittings and the Sisters of Mercy gave their services free, members of the Catholic community also contributed. Great quantities of hospital linen were made by the students of St Stephen’s, St Patrick’s (Valley) and St Joseph’s (Kangaroo Point) schools.

Life for the Sisters of Mercy was extremely difficult for several months, as they nursed patients in the Mater hospitals as well as the isolation hospital at St Laurence’s, but they were sustained by their faith. By the end of the year, things were returning to normal. The hospital equipment was removed, the school fumigated and school equipment restored.

Submitted by Jackie Chamberlin of Mater Archives

The Congregation of the Canossian Daughters of Charity was invited to Australia and to the Archdiocese of Brisbane by the late Archbishop Sir James Duhig. He saw their work with the poor in Singapore and asked them to come to Brisbane to open schools for the children of Italian migrants.

To the Minister of Immigration the Archbishop wrote:

“Last year I made application to the Canossian Sisters at Rome to send out a community of Italian and English speaking Missionary Sisters who would interest themselves particularly in Italian families of poor classes in city and country, teaching from English and other subjects comprised in a primary education, as well as domestic science, home management, etc.”

Five sisters arrived in Brisbane from Rome on February 6, 1949. Post-war restrictions delayed the establishment of a convent for them. They were housed with the Sisters of Nazareth at Wynnum and eventually were asked to begin nursing care of elderly people in a small private hospital at 341 Gregory Terrace, Spring Hill.

The teaching Sisters adapted themselves to nursing until there were joined by two nursing Sisters from Hong Kong. Later the hospital was transferred to Oxley and developed into the present Canossa Care Services.

The Sisters spread to other city suburbs and other states of Australia to meet further and newly arising areas and needs. However, the house at Spring Hill is considered by all as the mother House of the Congregation in Australia and the Sisters have a fond attachment to the Archdiocese Brisbane who gave the reason for their coming into this land of the Southern Cross.

Submitted by the Canossian Daughters of Charity

In the mid-1950’s I attended Star of the Sea Convent. Fr Shannon was our Parish Priest. My vivid recollection is of him arranging the Saturday night dance at the Church Hall for all the young folk of the area to attend. Any teenager was welcome. He wanted to make sure all young people were being supervised and cared for. He was a wonderful priest with fore -thought, compassion and genuine caring for his Parishioners.

Submitted by: Colleen Lowther (nee Payne)

The Christian Brothers have been part of the Brisbane diocese since 1875, just 16 years after its establishment. Br Ambrose Treacy was the energetic leader of the Brothers. When it became evident that a boarding school beyond the city of Brisbane was needed, he immediately set to work, writing to the Superior General in Ireland, “Today I signed the contract for the building of Nudgee without a penny in the bank or a brother to staff it.” His trust was in Providence. To finance the College, he travelled to Townsville by boat, hired a horse and set out for the Croydon goldfield, near the Gulf of Carpentaria. The latter part of his journey had to be done on foot over a black soil track, just after heavy tropical rain. With trousers rolled up he puddled on through the mud and water till he reached the mining township. After a wash and a bite to eat, he began calling personally on the miners. They admired his pluck and responded with great generosity. In less than a day Br Treacy collected £300.

Many old boys of the Brothers worked in the railways in Rockhampton, Ipswich and other centres and ensured that the Brothers, during the Depression of the 1930s and later, could take a holiday from their taxing work. Ignatius Park, Townsville, is a particular example of the loyalty of old boys. With funds raised from raffles, Mr Joe Griffin and other old boys acquired land for a Brothers’ school in what was at the time the outskirts of the city. Joe was a real estate agent who knew where the city was moving. Ignatius Park College, built in the early 1970s, nearly folded because of severe financial problems, but eventually under Br Tony White and later Principals found its feet and is now an essential part of Catholic educational life in Townsville.

An outstanding initiative has been the development of Flexible Learning Centres. Br Terry Kingston wanted to help students who found that mainstream schools did not meet their needs. He began Centre Ed in a small way in 1986, initially operating in the Youth Activity Centre in Woodridge. In 1989, the project was moved to Kingston. The Presentation Sisters were involved from 1988 to 1994. Centre Ed provided the model from which, in time, the Flexible Learning Centres grew. They are now recognised by the State Government as one of the best ways of handling a widespread social problem. The present director is Mr Dale Murray. Flexible Learning Centres are now in Kingston, Townsville, Noosa, Deception Bay and Albert Park, Brisbane, with outreaches in Ipswich, Beaudesert, Caboolture, Gympie and Mt Isa. Brs Phil Joyner and Mick Talty are currently working in this ministry.

A major outreach of the Queensland Brothers has been the mission to East Timor. Tragedy overtook the mission when Br Dan Courtney was seriously injured in a motor bike accident, from which he has never recovered. Br Bill Tynan took over the direction of the mission, lifting the standard of education and helping the people with solar electricity and water supplies. St Joseph’s College, Gregory Terrace, has taken the mission under its wing, providing much needed support.

When the five Australasian Provinces amalgamated in 2007, Brisbane was chosen as its headquarters. Brisbane is sacred to the Christian Brothers, with the grave of their great pioneer, Br Ambrose Treacy, in Nudgee cemetery.

Submitted by the Christian Brothers Oceania Province

We arrived in Inala in 1954. At that time homes were still being built in Hydrangea St. To go to mass on a Sunday we travelled to Darra. Before the end of the year, the Divine Word Missionaries who had a seminary at Marburg decided to start a mass centre at Inala on the corner of Lilac and Eucalypts Sts. The first priest was Father Kaspuris who held the first mass in the old presbytery. We could not all fit into the house so we stood outside and looked in through the windows.

A meeting of parishioners was held and it was decided to clear the land where the present church and school are. Swinging the axe and cutting down trees was hard work and many a blister was raised! Two ex army huts were bought from Victoria Park and erected as a temporary church. The ladies of the parish got together and formed the Legion of Mary, and taught the children catechism. Original members were Mrs Story, Mrs Dorothy Eagen and Mrs Velma Melvold and another lady I cannot remember. The young ladies formed the Children of Mary. We also had a Holy Name Society. With the changes in the church these groups have all disappeared.

There was still a lot of clearing to be done when the Divine Mission gave the parish back to the Archdiocese. Father Lyons asked for this parish. When he arrived there was enough money to buy two second hand tractors - an International and a Ferguson with a scraper blade. These were used to snig the trees to where they could be burned and to pull out the stumps. The larger International tractor needed an overhaul - it was decided by the Committee and Father that I would strip the engine. At that time I was a mechanic at Bloxsidge & Stone Garage in Grey Street, and I was able to have the engine reconditioned at trade price. These tractors were sold when they were no longer needed.

Father Lyons built the present church and school before moving to Maryborough. There were not a lot of activities available for our young people so I decided to form an Archery Club. With Father Lyons permission we ran chook and meat tray raffles after mass to buy bows and arrows. We made our own targets. The ground across Eucalypt St was cleared and after every Sunday mass we had a shoot. Our club name was “The Inala Bowman”. We had 125 members including Father Lyons. We entered into world tournaments and did very well. After two years we closed the club as many members had left the district and moved into their own homes in other suburbs.

The first conference of St Vincent de Paul was formed in Father Kaspurus days. Members I can remember are George Attley, Johnny Tousa, H. Morgan, Kel Jackson. I am the only one left of this mob as far as I know.

Contributed by: (The late) T.H. Melvold.

St Vincent’s has been part of Surfers Paradise Catholic Community since 1948. From its humble beginnings, it has grown to become the second largest Catholic School in the Archdiocese of Brisbane. Many dedicated and passionate people from our parish have shaped and contributed to the establishment and development of such a vibrant and flourishing community.

In 1948 the single storey church building provided the necessary classrooms for a much needed parish school. The Sisters of Mercy were appointed to administer and service the educational and spiritual needs of the children of the parish. Sr. Mary Flora was appointed as the inaugural Principal of the school with an enrolment of 30 students.

The church continued to be used as a school with the building of a second storey in 1954 to cope with 150 students. The coming years saw an extensive building program to satisfy the growing school enrolment. The original two storey building was used solely as a school after the construction of the new parish church in 1963.

In 1970, to keep up with the growing demand for enrolment, another six classrooms were built, followed by two more at a later stage. During this period Sister St Anthony was the last religious (Sisters of Mercy) Principal.

The first lay Principal Mr Brian Dunlea was appointed in 1975.

Due to the lack of available land in Surfers Paradise Dr Owen Oxenham the Parish Priest at the time, initiated and supervised the relocation of the new parish complex. In 1986 Sacred Heart Parish Church and St Vincent’s Primary School were established in Clear Island Waters. The initial school community at the new location was approximately 200 students, and 20 staff members with Mr Jim O’Brien the foundational Principal.

The proud tradition of the involvement of the Sisters of Mercy in the school came to an end in 1992 with the departure of Sr. Agnes Kearney who had been teaching at St Vincent’s since 1986. At its new site, the school expanded from a two stream to a three stream school.

Today St Vincent’s School is continuing to go through enormous change. A new building project has been planned to accommodate four streams with a final anticipated enrolment of 890 students. These plans incorporate a double storey block of eight classrooms as well as extensions and modifications to the Library,After School Care, Tuckshop, Staffroom and School Office. Building is expected to commence in 2009 with projected completion in 2010.

Submitted by St Vincent’s School, Clear Island Waters

In the year 1933 my family moved from Toowoomba to Brisbane and settled in the parish of Nundah. The beautiful Corpus Christi Church holds many happy memories for me, as it was there I made my first Confession, Holy Communion and Confirmation. They were carried out in that order in those days. Father Martin Jordan was our Parish Priest, and he was a very fine man. I understood from my mother, that on his arrival from Ireland, Father Jordan was sent to Gympie where she and her family lived, and for a short time he boarded with them.

Nundah had a very thriving Catholic community. I attended St. Joseph's Primary school - an old wooden building, since pulled down and replaced by a more modern structure. The Sisters of St. Joseph were dedicated teachers, and we children received a very solid grounding in English, Arithmetic. etc. as well as religious instruction. I had a great love for the nuns, and some years ago we had a parish reunion, and it was lovely to see some of our nuns still alive, as well old friends with whom we could compare wrinkles!

My primary school days occurred in the middle of the great depression, and the St. Joseph sisters followed their founder, Blesses Mary MacKillop in helping the poor of the parish, albeit in a small way, hampered by their own lack of resources. They also encouraged the children to help those less fortunate than themselves.

Corpus Christi Church Had an adult choir, which besides singing Masses etc. produced some entertaining concerts. The children also had concerts especially on St. Patrick's Day. The sodalities of that period - Children of Mary. Sacred Heart Sodality and Holy Name Sodality were well patronised. Sunday nights were dedicated to the Rosary or Benediction or both, practices which sadly, seem to have lapsed.

Corpus Christi Parish really came of age with the building of the secondary school for girls, Mary MacKillop College. The College has added a new dimension to the Parish, catering as it does, for the spiritual and educational needs of young people, and being in such close proximity to the church, public transport etc.

The history of the Catholic Church in Queensland is something of which all people can be proud, and the parish of Nundah has made a significant contribution to that history along with many other suburban parishes.

Submitted by Kay Carter

When Jack and I and our family of five arrived in Surfers Paradise in 1950, Fr (John) Neal Shannon was the newly appointed Parish priest. He had married us in 1939 and we were happy to be his Parishioners.

The small wooden church had a central aisle and bench seats reached the outer walls. It had been built by the Vincentian Fathers soon after they arrived in Southport – hence the name St Vincent’s. Fr Shannon had the onerous task of building a new church, presbytery and school.

Foundation Parishioners who live in my memory are the Carol’s, the Kelly’s, the Stafford’s, the Law’s, the Emzin’s, the Schmidt’s, the Lavering’s, the Heatley’s. Many more as well. The new school was a fine brick building facing the highway. Four Sisters of Mercy taught the children and a group of Parishioners (including myself) cooked hot dinners each day in our homes and delivered them hot to our wonderful Sisters.

The presbytery was built facing Hamilton Ave.

Ultimately a second story was erected above the school and the ground floor was converted to a very beautiful church. As we left Surfers for Southport in 1967, the Cronin family (now 7 children) had no part in the restructuring of the Parish or the demolition of Fr Shannon’s dedicated buildings. Now there is a beautiful church at Clear Island Waters. St Vincent’s original church, now Stella Maris, has a resting ground at Broadbeach.

I have now been a Parishioner of Guardian Angels Church (Southport Parish)for over thirty years.

Submitted by: Joan Cronin (aged 94)

When I first moved into Inala in the 1950s there was no St. Mark’s parish. We had two missionary priests and the church was known as the Divine Word. It took me two months to find the presbytery as there was no signs nor was there one on the church. The church was an old hut with trees and scrub around it. The choir which was led by Mrs Storey playing an old piano, had to put umbrellas when it rained as the roof leaked. The children had classes after mass every Sunday morning for their religious instructions. Their teachers were lay people.

After a few years Father Lyons came to build a school. With the help of his parishioners the first wing of the school was built to cater for grades one, two and three. The Sisters of Mercy travelled from Darra and back every day to teach these grades until the convent was built. One of the big events was the first communion of the new school’s pupils. The pupils won a lot of trophies for sports and the school grew to have three wings and a library which was built on the old church site when the new church was built. In the early days of the school the parents were all volunteers to man and supply the tuckshop, clean the school and maintain the grounds. There was no carpet in the class rooms and the floor boards had to be scrubbed and the foyer polished every day. We also had a paint-a-thon to save money and we had a lot of fun doing it.

Some of the fathers were keen to start a rugby league football club, so they cleared a bit of scrubby land to the left of the old church to teach the boys. With a lot of support from the parents the first oval was started, the grass was hand planted by the fathers, mothers and the children. St Mark’s junior Rugby league started with an under eight and I think an under tens in 1966 with the Brisbane rugby league. They won many premierships in the years that followed as the club grew to field teams from under sevens to under 23s.

The building of the tennis courts was the beginning of St Mark’s tennis club which is still going strong. At the start you would not believe that a strong club would ever be started. There was no clubhouse - our shelter was four boughs with a bit of rusty tin for the roof. When it rained we drove the cars to which ever side the rain was beating to try to keep dry. The tennis club played a lot of fixtures on the courts for many years until time and money made the courts unplayable for fixtures. With regret the club had to find another venue but are proud to be called St. Mark’s tennis club.

These are some of my recollections of St Mark’s parish. I would like to say how privileged I feel to be associated with these parishioners - some of whom are no longer with us - who helped to build such a loving and caring parish called St Mark’s Inala.

Submitted by: (The late) Nan Flynn

In 1946 Surfers Paradise Parish was separated from Southport Parish. Masses were held in a tiny wooden church, with the overflow accommodated in a marquee. This humble structure was the first Surfers Paradise Parish church. Later it was relocated to Broadbeach and eventually named Stella Maris When a single-story St Vincent’s school was built, Mass was held in the school. Christmas Mass was in the movie theatre. After Lennon’s hotel was built, it was upstairs in the hotel. In 1954, a second story was added to the school. Mass was then held on the ground floor. The tiny church became the music room for the school.

When the church was in Surfers, Father Shannon would walk in to start the 8 a.m. Mass to the sound of the ABC News to get people used to being on time!

In 1963 a new St Vincent’s church was opened. The tiny church-cum-music-room was relocated to Broadbeach and it was extended to accommodate a growing population. It was then named Sacred Heart. After Sacred Heart was built at Clear Island Waters, the church was re-named: Sacred Heart Annex. Later it was called Stella Maris.

When the wooden church building was moved from Surfers to Broadbeach, at the commissioning the tradespeople and all who had worked on the building were thanked profusely. However, one unfortunate electrician who donated all his work was not mentioned. He hadn’t put in an account and everyone forgot about him…

When asked: Why do you attend Stella Maris? people replied

1.“We came here with family on holidays and on moving to the Coast we want to attend here, even though Sacred Heart is closer to where we live”.

2. “People are so friendly at Stella”.

3. “It feels like “family”.

4. “In the summer we go to the beach for a picnic after Mass”.

One real-Identity, Fr Vincent Kiss used to arrive at Mass in his red sports car with all the boys he looked after. He would inspire the congregation to sing boldly.

As a small church, there is little room to place a choir. However, the congregation move from their special Sunday-seats to accommodate the singers (who always sound better at Stella Maris because of the wooden building and low ceiling!). At the front door, there is plenty of parking and a cup-of-hospitality after Mass. No wonder people congregate at Stella!!

Submitted by a parishioner of Stella Maris

My second son Tony was one of the first babies baptised in Inala. At that time there was no church and mass was held at the presbytery. Later the fibro building was erected and that became our church. Much later the beautiful church we have today was constructed and became St. Marks.

My children commenced school at St Mark’s convent, in the early sixties, having transferred from the convent school at Darra. There was Jim [6] and Tony [5]. Cheryl who was 8 remained at Darra and later attended the Sacred Heart College at Booval. Julie and Frank followed the boys to St Marks a year or so later.

The memories we have of their First Holy Communions and Confirmations are etched in our minds. How happy the children were! The girls in their beautiful white frocks and veils, the boys immaculate in their white shirts and tie, dark trousers, knee high socks and shoes, as they went to receive Holy Communion for the very first time. Over the years their certificates, which I kept in the family Bible, until each took them to their own homes, became a little worn with time.

Jim, Tony and Frank excelled at Rugby League, and of a Sunday morning after Mass, we would go to the oval to watch St Mark’s Little League in their gold and green jerseys play Souths Inala in their Maroons, or one of the other Brisbane clubs. How proud we all were of the St. Mark’s team, as we urged them to score even more tries.

This brings to mind the time when St. Marks team were to play Liverpool in Sydney. Frank and his team mates were about 10 years old and there was a free bus for the team and their supporters. There was one bus comfortable with airline seats and one much less comfortable bus. My son Robert was five at the time and he and I took seats on the comfortable bus. The boys of the team chose the other bus. However one of the officials suggested I go to the bus with the boys, as he felt the boys would behave better with adults present. I was amazed that as we took our seats, the team opted for the other bus and the more comfortable ride, while we were left in the bumpy bus. I can’t remember who won the game.

As the years went by the boys played more serious football, and even today they reminisce with their mates of the great times they had as children growing up at St. Marks.

Sports Days also were very memorable, as the children and parents would congregate on the oval, and sporting events would commence. It was great to see these little people in their white shorts and t-shirts strive to win medals for their teams, and how proudly they would present their parents with the ribbons they won. Then afterwards the reward - the fete with all the goodies.

I must not forget my daughters and the pleasant thoughts they have of their time at St. Marks. Cheryl made her confirmation at St. Marks, and I will never forget the happiness of Julie, years later when she made her debut at St. Marks Ball. I have only good memories of the sisters and priests at St. Marks who helped mould my children’s lives as they grew up. Thank you.

Submitted by: E. Pembroke

When Fr Peter Dillon was in our Parish (Surfers Paradise – circa 1986) he actually rode a donkey down the aisle on a Palm Sunday in St Vincent’s. The aisles are steep. He revealed later how he was falling forward and had to cling on as he imagined himself somersaulting over the donkey’s ears to the floor. It was all he could do to hang on. He presumed Jesus never had this hassle.

Submitted by: Maureen Scott

There is one homily I never forget, even after 20 years. On the Sunday after Easter in1986 Fr John McKeon read the gospel about Doubting Thomas. Then he went in front of the Altar and stood on his head. There wasn’t a sound in the Church. I thought ‘he’s lost the plot’. After a long minute, back on his feet, went to the Lectern and said “Now, I would like all of you to . . . (I gasped - we might be expected to stand on our heads). .go home and tell those not here tonight that Father stood on his head during Mass. Will they believe you?” We responded ‘No”. “Well, Thomas found it hard to believe because he wasn’t there”. We were reminded to have more understanding and compassion for Doubting Thomas.

Each year I retell the story of that Second Sunday of Easter. And I smile.

Submitted by: Sr Brigid Frawley

Honouring diversity was evident at Christmas liturgies when children were the focus of the Vigil Mass while the midnight Mass was more solemn. These children’s Masses were a source of amazement – a very large community, colour, song, drama, costumes.

At one Mass the children had gathered on the sanctuary with adults potted among them to ensure they sat still and were quiet – relatively! We needed to watch that they did not move over to the Baptism Font. However, one young girl decided to climb onto the Presidential Chair – a very heavy piece of furniture so she was safe. After a while she decided standing would be better than sitting so she climbed up onto to the arm of the chair. By this time Fr Bill Morris (now Bishop Morris of Toowoomba) was praying the Eucharistic Prayer and extended his arms . . that’s right....this little girl jumped into mid-air thinking Fr Bill was playing with her. Without missing a beat Fr Bill caught her in his arms, said “Miracles do happen” and continued on with the Eucharist Prayer.

Submitted by: Sr. Anne Bond

We had to pick up a new contact, an 85 year-old lady from Southport. She was our first pick up and we collected her at 8.15a.m. We eventually arrived at Church at 10.15am. When taking our passengers home this lady was particularly vocal and enthusiastic about how much she enjoyed Mass and morning tea. She commented excitedly on the many sites she hadn’t seen for years; and many others she had never seen at all. She had a ‘wow” of a time. Eventually we dropped her home at 1.30pm. An hour later her husband called to say she would not be coming again. He had thought she would be back home in an hour. To the great surprise of our lady when she had entered her house she was confronted by a husband, a granddaughter and two burly policemen. She had been reported missing!!

Submitted by Doug & Lois Wood - Drivers of Rosies bus for the monthly Anointing Mass.

One particularly talented presenter who lectured in adult education for many years was Tim Keating. His focus on the Greek translation of the Bible generated in me a thirst for greater knowledge of Biblical customs and traditions as a way to understand why people of those times behaved as they did. I am forever grateful to Tim for his enthusiasm, ability to impart knowledge, challenges, and most of all, his ingenuous love for our Faith. Tim died of cancer and is warmly remembered by those of us who knew and learned from him.

Submitted by Jeanette Koorey

In the 1990’s I joined the (Surfers Paradise) Parish and noticed Judy Andersen everywhere: Playing the violin, Communion minister, Prison visitor, Playgroup organiser, Adult faith organiser. Always committed to ensuring that women had a meaningful role in her beloved Catholic Church. She studied for her brilliant Theology degrees at Banyo. When the seminarians were ordained they asked her to lead them into the church for they knew how bitterly she regretted being denied priesthood. Sadly, Judy died suddenly. She is not here today to participate in the increasingly important role of laity in Parish life. I am so glad I heard her prophetic voice and I miss the “spiritual workout” that a meeting with her always contained.

Submitted by: Jean Di Benedetto

After joining the family of St Mark’s Parish in 1973 our first memory is of the tables made by Rob Milford and Bernie Green to enable Bingo to start. In those early days the old St Mark’s football club [recently vacated] was the ideal venue for such activities along with Christmas luncheons put on by the local St Vincent de Paul society. I have fond memories of the hard work put in by Mary Philips with daughters Jillian and Jan, Rose and Don Robinson, Pat Blumke and daughter Jan, Bill and Dot Simpson and their daughter Carol, Frank and Pam Wright and not forgetting Santa who made sure every invited guest had a small present to represent what Christmas is all about. Of course there were many more workers but room does not allow to mention them all. We know as a family who have worked for many years for the Society how spiritually rewarding it is for the whole family. I remember an occasion where on visiting a family prior to Christmas a young family member was making his own decorations and he asked whether I would like him to make us some for our tree.

Another event that springs to mind was a school fete held at the clubhouse. It took on a carnival atmosphere with all the usual goodies. The funniest thing was the sight of John Dale donning a trilby hat from the White Elephant Stall of which he and wife Emmy were in charge of. We have experienced many school/parish fetes, and I’m sure each and everyone of us has a funny tale to tell.

Some of our parish members would remember with some sadness the large funerals in our church. Two that spring to my mind are of Mr Kevin Hooper - the church was overflowing - and Paul Robinson a young fellow, very well-liked, outstandingly talented with the gift of music of which every churchgoer enjoyed. He was a mere teenager and had attended school with our own daughters when his life was cut short. I still chill when I hear a piece of music played by “Pink Floyd” the likes of which took pride and place of the ceremony.

On a brighter note the celebrations of the children’s first communions, reconciliations and graduation ceremonies were happy occasions for everyone concerned. In 1991 Bernard was invited to receive a group of Debutants. It was an honour and a highlight of our lives here. During the month of September 1997 another joyous event will take place in our parish for us - the marriage of our eldest daughter Julia to her sweetheart of five years.

No doubt the lives of every parishioner will have its highs and lows in the coming years.

Submitted by: Heather Green.

In 1946 Fr. (John) Neal Shannon was made Parish priest of Surfers, a small town. The little wooden Church catered for 60 people. St Vincent’s school opened in 1949 with 30 children with Sr Mary Flora Heaney RSM as principal. In 1954 a second story was added. The school was on the top story, and the ground floor was used as the Church. He built a beautiful St Vincent’s Church in Surfers that was used by many visitors. He urged visitors: “ Help us pay for this Church – buy a brick”. A brick cost 20 cents. Brickie Shannon -a man who could be firm yet had a heart-of-gold. Parishioners loved him. He died in 1978.

Submitted by: Fr Dan Ryan

His life was dedicated to people of all ages, colour and creed. He displayed true Christian charity at all times; in later years with complete disregard for his failing health… The stories about him are legend. Always concerned for children he would be in the church grounds after Sunday Masses directing traffic. With vestments flying in breezes he would caution, “Please be careful backing”. There was never a child turned away due to lack of funds for school fees, uniforms or books. In the playground a kindly figure ensured no child was forgotten on tuckshop days. Always beds and meals were found for the homeless and needy.

Submitted by: Kathleen Laws

Many people achieve great things. A special few achieve great things when plagued with illness. The Horan brothers had their own personal weaknesses like everyone, but at least three of them were also ill for much of their lives and yet were famously productive.

All four brothers were well educated and reputed to be scholars. Their scholastic achievements in Europe and their missionary achievements in Australia must be assessed against a backdrop of ongoing ill-health.

The oldest brother and first to arrive (and third to die) was Matthew. Dean Matthew Horan had charge of Gympie for 55 years from 1868 to 1923. He was born in January 1842 (working from his age on the death certificate) and ordained in June 1865. He arrived in Queensland in 1865 and moved to Gympie in 1868. He died 6 July 1923 aged 81 yrs 6 mths of pneumonia during a flu epidemic. Matthew may have been the healthiest of the four.

The second to arrive, third in age, (and second to die) was James John. Dean James John Horan was frequently ill during his first years in Queensland, and laboured 29 years in Warwick from 1876 until his death in 1905. He was born on 1st January 1846 (six weeks premature if his and Andrew’s birth dates are correct) and ordained with special permission on 18 January 1868, aged barely 22. He arrived in Moreton Bay 4 July 1868 on the “Zealandia” – a trip of over 4 months. J.J. died young, only 59, on 23 May 1905, of pneumonia. His life was perhaps shortened by alcoholism.

John Joseph was third to arrive and youngest of the four but first to die. He was born around 1848 and ordained in 1870. He arrived on 2nd February 1871 on the “Glendower” and joined his uncle Bishop Quinn of Bathurst. He died on 6th January 1888 only aged 40. This JJ spent most of his short life as president and teacher at St Stanislaus College, Bathurst. He died after a long illness as PP of Carcoar.

The second eldest brother was Andrew, but he was last to arrive and the longest lived. Dean Andrew Horan was in charge of Ipswich for 44 years from 1873 until he retired due to illness in 1917. He was born on 11th May 1845 and ordained on Pentecost 1870. He arrived in Brisbane on 4th May 1873 on the “Storm King”. He died on 10 October 1924 aged 79 from senility and heart failure.

It became clear to all that Andrew Horan’s health was broken when he suffered a major collapse in August 1897 - after he had made the decision to build a new church - and he had to take six months’ sick leave. He tried the curative powers of the mountains of Ceylon and mineral springs in Victoria to no avail. He suffered continual intermittent set-backs, physical and mental, thereafter.

Andrew Horan nearly died in 1901 during the building of his pride and joy, St Mary’s Ipswich. He was holidaying in Tenterfield when Matthew was called to be by the dying priest’s bedside. The stricken man however recovered and soldiered on while his curates shouldered much of the parish work. Somehow he still managed to preach many appeals for finance to pay off St Mary’s and to build more of his amazing tally of churches, schools and convents. His would have been a great record had he been well. For such a sick man, the record is almost unbelievable.

Dementia and feebleness forced his retirement in 1917.

Submitted by: John Kane

In the eleven years that I was president of the Springsure St Pats Race Committee there was one year in particular that stands out from the rest. The year was 1983. It was, up until that time, the only year that the race track was washed out on the day and the meeting was not cancelled. It was on that day that the rulebook was thrown out the window and every race record, which incidentally was not recorded, for posterity, was broken and those records will stand for all time.

The Saturday morning of St Patrick’s Day 1983 did not bring with it its usual rays of sunshine but rather heavy cumulous clouds rolling ominously in from the west and getting darker by the minute. No one believed it was going to rain. St Patrick up until now had not let us down in the twenty three years that we had conducted the meeting and no one in the district would ever concede that it was about to happen now. With the usual large crowd of people from the town and surrounding district going through the turnstiles clearly indicated that this was the case.

Thirty minutes before the first race the heavens opened and it rained like it never rained before. It was reminiscent of biblical times with the wrath of God raining down upon his people for sins committed. However, as suddenly as it started the rain suddenly stopped, as if there was some mythical mistake, and the skies cleared as quickly as it had started. The black soil race track was awash. The damage was done.

A rushed meeting was called to decide what could be done under the circumstances. I could visualise six months of detailed planning going up into Irish smoke. The volunteer workers, horses, owners and jockeys were ready and the bookies were expectantly waiting for the crowd to place their first bets or had already done so.

The decision that was made that day would never be taken again under the same circumstances. The decision was either to race or cancel. To cancel the meeting meant a loss financially to the recipients, who in this case was the church and school, which was their biggest fund raising event for the year. Adjournment meant a huge disappointment to the people that had travelled long distances in support of the meeting. To cancel was unthinkable.

The decision to race surprised no one except for the jockeys, when informed; their faces indicated they had already surmised the races would not proceed. We than gave them their riding instructions, which normally come from the horse owners themselves. The emphasis was on safety. If they galloped they were automatically disqualified. If trotting appeared dangerous they were to walk the course. This was how the five races were conducted. What it amounted to was that the races were conducted virtually in slow motion where each race was than recorded as the slowest on record. No one complained.

What started out appeared to be a mitigating disaster in every respect ended victoriously. None of us were in any doubt that St Paddy would let us down. I believe that at the end of the day he most likely would have walked away shaking his head. This race meeting occurred seventeen years ago and while meetings have been cancelled due to rain none so on St Pat’s day itself, which is not surprising, as I could not imagine St Patrick wanting to go through all that again.

Submitted by: Kerry Martin

Mother Berchmans Daly, Superior General of the Sisters of Charity, arrived in Queensland in May 1920 upon the invitation of Archbishop Duhig to establish a hospital in Toowoomba. The hospital was built to the Sister’s design and included the latest in medical technology as well as featuring an elegant neo-Palladian exterior. St Vincent’s Toowoomba was opened on 19 November 1922 by Archbishop Mannix of Melbourne.

Initially medical and nursing staff was sourced from the larger St Vincent’s hospitals in Sydney and Melbourne. However, a Nursing School was established and Toowoomba nurses were soon able to access a high standard of nursing education.

The Sisters extended their ministry to Brisbane in 1925, opening their first Convent and School at St Finbarr’s at Ashgrove. The original Convent building, “Grantuly”, remains on the site and is now incorporated into Mount St. Michael’s College.

The Sisters of Charity in Brisbane knew of the desperate need for a facility to care for the terminally ill. For nearly 100 years, the only option for those Queenslanders requiring palliative or long term care was to be isolated at the Dunwich Benevolent Asylum. Sister Mary Agnes Fitzgerald, rsc, was from a pioneering North Queensland family and, although a music teacher, petitioned her Superior General for a hospice in Queensland from the early 1930s.

Her prayers were finally answered in the 1950s when Miss Mary Josephine Bedford, through contact with Father Archibald Mills offered her property to establish just such a facility. Miss Bedford was a tireless worker for charity and for the welfare of women and children. She wanted the sick and suffering of all denominations and classes to have the magnificent River and City views from her central cliff-top property as a memorial to the work of her life-long friend, Dr. Lilian Cooper, the first woman doctor registered in Queensland and the second in Australia.

Queenslanders took to the cause of building the much needed hospice. Fundraising under the first Sister Administrator, Mother M.Giovanni Ackman, rsc, reached a fever pitch in the mid 1950s with a State-wide Door Knock, Art Union Raffle and numerous social functions. The five-story Mount Olivet was finally opened by Archbishop Dr. James Duhig on 8 September, 1957 much to the delight of the entire community. It has remained dear to the heart of many Queensland families ever since. Over this period of time many devoted people helped out with much of the fund raising effort however one particular dedicated group was the Xavier Society. This Society of professional and business Catholic laymen were well known for the promotion of ‘charity’. This group supported Mt Olivet from its first beginning with monies raised for the furnishing of the new hospital and continued through much of the Mt Olivet story.

In 2000 the Sisters of Charity and the Holy Spirit Sisters merged the administration of their health institutions to form the St Vincent’s and Holy Spirit Health Service.

Together, they built and opened the Holy Spirit Northside hospital at Chermside. Although reduced in numbers, the work of the Sisters of Charity continues to expand in Queensland inspired by the founding vision. To quote the Most Reverend F.R. Rush, D.D, Archbishop of Brisbane in his forward from the book “Life comes to Newness” May 1981. “Although set amidst the bustle of a modern city, Mt Olivet is a peaceful place of refreshment and love. It will always be that, as long as its people are faithful to the motto of the Sisters of Charity – “Caritas Christi Urget Nos - The love of Christ impels us”. (2 Cor.5/14).

With this in mind on June 15, 2009 the hospital was given a new name, St Vincent’s Brisbane. The name change will bring the hospital into line with other Sisters of Charity hospitals throughout Australia. St Vincent’s will continue to build upon the strong foundations of its Mt Olivet history and continue to meet the needs of the community it serves.

Early in their academic career, in fact in their first year at the University of Queensland, they (David & Bruce) were Anglicans involved in the Student Christian Movement. It so happened they acted as co-organizers with representatives of the Newman Society, to bring to Brisbane, in 1957, the traveling exhibition of The Blake Prize for Religious Art. Brisbane otherwise would have been culturally out of the loop. So both University organizations (through student interaction) worked together to give profile to a form of Modern Art, that would allow artists to explore more readily symbolist or religious content, and which could be communicated to both viewer and worshipper alike.

In a context of secular expression of Abstract Art prevailing on the international scene, it seemed that Brisbane was still given over to landscape painting, still life and portraiture. This cooperative effort, between Catholics and Anglicans in particular, was innovative in seeking to accommodate modern forms of art to communicate the Gospel message with all the vigor of current relevance.

This prestigious Prize emanating from Melbourne through the Myer Emporium was well worth bringing to Brisbane. This funded sponsorship attracted the leading modern artists of the day like Lawrence Daws, Donald Friend, Eric Smith, and Leonard French to submit religious works. An ecumenical move of this kind also involved exhibiting Modern Art in a private gallery very centrally located on Edward at Queen Street. David and Bruce, products of Anglican forbears, met with the proprietor, Mr. Jimmy Wieneke, a devout Catholic man, who later became Director of the Queensland Art Gallery.

Together, they were responsible for arranging lunch hour addresses which were highly successful, bringing together an otherwise diverse forum of speakers – Archbishop Halse, Monsignor Roberts, Canon Bennie and Dr. Gertrude Langer. Banyo Seminary purchased a large scale work of Eric Smith, who had actually won the prize that year. The Christus figure still occupies a prominent place on campus there.

In the immediate post-Federation phase of Queensland history, when Catholic-Anglican relations were rather stand-offish, there were still personal connections between certain families. Now, Molly Martin was a devoutly dedicated teacher in Catholic schools who had struck up a firm friendship with the Anglican-dedicated family of the Harvey-Nobles. She used to ‘come to tea,’ as they said it in Edwardian days.

The venue was the townhouse of well known sculptor L. J. Harvey on George Street, close to the location of the Queen Victoria statue in Jubilee regalia. Molly, a devout Catholic, was winsomely Irish. The date was 1912. Conversation went on into the evening, and Molly went out into the unlit conservatory to “pay a visit,” as the euphemism went. She returned in double quick time, as white as the ghost she thought she had seen amid the potted palms. L. J. Harvey, the sculptor, explained that the larger-than-life clay figure draped in white cheese-cloth was drying out.

‘It’s alright’, she was told re-assuringly by a Protestant
‘It’s only St. Brigid.’

Still trembling with fright, her exclamation was to be relayed back to her, for years to come:

‘Damn St. Brigid!’

Despite the banter, Molly Martin & her sister Liz (also a lay teacher, at Holy Cross Convent, Woolowin) remained dear friends of the Harvey-Nobles. They were present at many a family Christmas party at Milo House. They both went on to late old age almost 45 years after this humorous incident, which had become an “in-house” joke.

It was this experience which must have led both of us to keep on referring to Blessed St. Brigid, which, quite possibly, led us to seek the Communion of Saints within the Holy Roman Church.

For an available picture of the figure of St. Brigid in her niche, atop Red Hill, you could request photo by courtesy of the Queensland Art Gallery, page 72, L. J. Harvey and His School, 1983. The current Exhibition being shown there is entitled “L. J. Harvey and His Times,” till the 15th of June, 2009.

The Daughters of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart came to Queensland at the request of the Archbishop of Brisbane in 1917 to help in the development of the Catholic School System in the Archdiocese. They settled in a house in Clewley Street, Corinda – not yet a Parish, but administered by the Parish Priest at Goodna.

The Sisters’ first apostolate was teaching in the primary school of St. Josephs Corinda and later they established a junior boarding school for boys in a house adjacent to the convent in Clewley Street. When this relocated at Whinstanes on the north side, the Sisters opened a Secondary School for girls – both for boarders and day students, using the vacated premises.

In addition to their involvement in education, the sisters visited the parents of their pupils in their homes as well as the sick in hospitals. For many years, the Sisters took care of the sacristy, floral decorations and preparation of the Church for liturgical celebrations. They have been part of various ministries, such as Catechetics in State Schools, Adult Faith Education, the RCIA, St. Vincent de Paul Activities, the Music Ministry and served on Parish Councils and Committees. Before Darra became a Parish, the Sisters travelled there by train to teach the primary school children.

In 1926, the Sisters made a foundation at Coolangatta where they commenced a small Junior Boarding School for boys. For a period, the Sisters travelled from Coolangatta to Burleigh where they taught in the church/school.

Over the years, the Daughters of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart have established communities in Toowoomba, Taroom, Tara, Mt. Isa and Mackay. There has also been a Daughter of OLSH working as Pastoral Associate in the Parishes of Daisy Hill, Runaway Bay, Toowoomba, Coorparoo and Rochedale.

Currently, the OLSH sisters of Corinda assist with the life of the parish through visiting people in their homes, in Bethesda, Hopetoun and Canossa Aged Care facilities, helping with Meals on wheels doing volunteer work in the Parish Office and by their active participation in Liturgical Ministries - as Readers of the Word, Special Ministers of the Eucharist and Organist.

In addition, the sisters are involved in Ministries outside the parish at St. Vincent de Paul Headquarters in the city and as Pastoral Carers at the P.A. hospital and Catholic Psychiatric Pastoral Care in Fortitude Valley.

Having been born on Christmas Day 1945 I considered myself one of the luckiest children of my generation which was fondly referred to as the “baby boomers’ generation.

I grew up on a cattle property of twelve thousand acres, just north of Gatton, called ‘Adare’. Although it was hard to imagine fighting and killing when one is surrounded by peace and tranquillity, nevertheless by the time I was five I came to understand there had been a terrible event called World War II.

I also came to understand that my father had been a soldier and had been away to places such as the Middle East, New Guinea and the Philippines. So when ANZAC Day came around the whole family went to town to watch the ANZAC Day parade. This time it was going to be a special event because even though Dad was only in his early thirties he had been made a Colonel at 26 years of age and although he would have been considered to be one of the youngest returned servicemen, Dad was going to take the salute. It started out a fun day with the whole town turning out. The band started up and the men began the parade. I was very proud stood in the front row so I could see everything especially Dad. As one of the bands marched pass I looked across at Dad and to my horror I noticed tears in his eyes. “Oh no” I thought “wasn’t it he who told me “brave soldiers don’t cry” and wasn’t he the biggest bravest soldier in the whole world? I felt embarrassed and hoped nobody else noticed his tears. Just then a lone bugler stepped forward and played the “Last Post” and to my relief – EVERYBODY CRIED. So then I understood, crying was part of the ANZAC Day tradition.

Adare was a magical place to grow and live. Every day was an adventure. My mother was a great horsewoman. She could ride like the wind and when it came time for a muster Mum was a good as any of the men – perhaps even better. She also had a hobby of breading Shetlands, which she did with great success. She had learnt to train the foals by using the famous Kel B Jeffrey’s method (and myself and my two sisters as riders) and when the foals were weaned and trained (they were always in demand) Another one of her interests was acting in plays and tis too she did with great success with Win Davson at the Gatton Mercury Theatre. We had two vehicles, one was an Oldsmobile and the other was a truck we called the ‘blitz’. The truck was as tough as nails even though it was only a skeleton of a truck. There were two seats, a steering wheel, an engine, four wheels and a metal frame at the back which we children used to sit on and dangle our feet over the edge as we watched the wheels turning below.

All too soon my carefree days were over and it was time for me to go to school. The year was 1951 and there was some talk of trouble in Europe – something about Russia and people called Communists. Still it all seemed a long way away and besides I was having my one battle with the slate board and slate pencil. I attended Our Lady of Good Counsel College in Gatton with my elder sister Kay.

Next was the A B C. A is for apple and A says a. (100 times) B is for bat and ball and B says b (100 times). This went on for days and I was beginning to wonder if we would ever get to Z. After all I had more important things to learn and do at home.

For the past couple of years, with my big sister already at school and my little sister still just a toddler I had become Dad’s ‘right-hand-man’ a ‘Shiralee’ a ‘girl Friday’ so to speak. When he was ploughing I would sit on the back of the plough and tell him when the fertilizer or seed was running low so he could stop and top them up. When we were our fencing I would fetch the tools or keep him supplied with cold drinks of water from the hesian bag hanging on the side of the Blitz. Dad taught me how to mend fences with the strainer and all the time he was reciting poetry or singing songs. Happy songs, sad songs, funny songs but mainly Army songs. And there were the important jobs to do everyday like fed the dogs, cats ducks and hens and check for goanna tracks in the hen house.

We had had trouble with a goanna before and Mum was anxious that we didn’t have a repeat performance. That time she was sure a goanna or snake had been eating the eggs so we were on the lookout every time we fed the chooks and ducks. This morning I was about to do just that when I noticed the hens seemed very nervous and were cackling more the usual, so I thought I would inspect the nesting house. There he was – the biggest, fattest goanna I had ever seen staring at me with his greedy eyes as he licked his lips!

“Help help,” I yelled, “Mum there is a goanna in the hen house!” Mum yelled for Dad and there was great noise and rushing about as the dogs had joined in as well. Dad raced out with his rifle. The goanna decided to make a get away. Up the shade tree he went. Dad aimed, fired and missed. The goanna raced out on to a limb. The screaming and barking and cackling were tremendous. “Get him Geoff – get him,” Mum yelled. Dad aimed and fired again – missed. The goanna was poised ready to leap to another tree and to freedom when Mum rushed over to Dad, grabbed the rifle from him, aimed, fired and SPLAT – goodbye goanna.

“Huh” she said with a toss of her head “no wonder it took you six years to win the war!” and marched off to inspect the corpse.

Dad stood there for a few seconds collecting his thoughts then he threw back his head and roared with laughter – he was such a good sport Dad. But just the same deep in my heart I felt sure he was only trying to scare off the goanna – he hated killing. E is for egg and E says e.

Ho hum back to school but I felt I already knew a tremendous amount about the important things of life. Certainly I knew much more than my cousins who were ‘city slickers’ and mostly boys and mostly older than me. I could ride better than they and I could definitely climb trees quicker than they. Not to be beaten my a mere girl they would try to shock me by saying such ridiculous things as THERE WAS NO SUCH THING AS SANTA CLAUS. Their egos were badly bruised and I knew they were just trying to get even. After a while I got used to them telling me ‘shocking’ things so I learnt to keep a straight face and not blink. Remember what ever you do don’t let them beat you.

K kicks his leg up and K says k. I wished I could kick those shoes and socks off; I was used to bare feet and THAT UNIFORM!! I had heard of the expression “as hot as hell” before I went to school but now I knew what it felt like. It consisted of a white blouse and a heavy navy blue pleated tunic over the top. Sister said it was good to suffer a bit when you are young - it toughened you up for later in life. Then one day my Mother arrived home from shopping very excited. She had with her two bundles of material, one white one navy in a new fabric called NYLON. All weekend she madly cut and pinned and sewed until al last they were ready. New uniforms, and what’s more she had made one uniform look like a tunic! A blouse by cutting sleeves and sewing them to the tunic and cutting the collar and sewing it into the neckline. When I put it on I thought I could float – it felt so light (perhaps I could float right out of that class room). And what more as Mum loved to demonstrate to all her friends, when she washed them, if you pegged them very neatly on the line – they didn’t need any ironing!! Did we have the cleverest mother in the world?

P is for pipe and P says p. It was frustrating sitting in a Classroom when I knew I should be out helping Dad fix that broken pipe on the pump at the well. Sometimes my smaller fingers could do the job better than Dad's fingers especially when it was a fiddly job. And P is also for phone, pole, and PMG. Mum had wanted a phone for a long time but the PMG said Dad would have to provide all the poles between Gatton and Adare and then they would run the wires to the house. So Dad worked very hard for several months cutting and preparing all the poles.

The preparation of the poles was a big job and my Grandfather and grand uncle came out to lend a hand. Now whilst my grandfather was quite elderly, my uncle was definitely THE oldest man in the world. Progress slowed to a snail's pace. To speed things up a little Dad assigned me to be their 'apprentice'. Each pole had to be capped with a metal plate and I had to hold that metal plate in place so my grandfather could nail it in. It wasn't that he was a bit unsteady on his feet, or that his hands shook a little that worried me. But the fact that he only had ONE EYE made me rather nervous. His other eye was made of glass and he used to keep a box of 'eyes' beside his bed and every morning he would pick the glass eye that matched his good eye and pop it into the socket. I held my breath every time he raised the hammer above his head - if he blinked - I was a goner. My guardian Angel was working overtime.

R is for rain and the sound of the rain bird made everybody happy. There were two creeks leading out of Gatton on the way to Adare. First the Lockyer Creek on the edge of Gatton then Redbank Creek just before the main gate leading up to the homestead. Lockyer had a steep embankment and an old bridge no doubt built by the pioneers. Redbank Creek was low and flat and could only be crossed when it was a trickle. It was a nice sandy creek and we could play a game called ‘dare’. The idea was to find a patch of quicksand and sink into to it until covered our legs and the first to pull out was a ‘scaredy cat’. There was a time when it rained and rained and rained. Fortunately we now had the phone connected as we were cut off from town and were running out of food. Dad got a message through to the grocery store and Gatton’s one and only taxi driver drove out with a large box of food. The creek was flowing so swiftly that dad had to tie a rope around his waist and attach it to the blitz before he waded across. The water came up to his chest but he managed to make it to the other side. He perched the box on his head and waded back into the water. He was about half way across when suddenly he lost his footing and disappeared under the water.

“Dad Dad” I screamed but all I could see was two hands holding the box moving down the creek. It was terrifying. Then just as suddenly the rope tightened, Dad found some ground and rose up out of the water like a fountain. His face was bright red as he gasped for air. He managed to slowly make it make to the edge with all the supplies still undamaged – ‘oh what a hero’.

The skies cleared and it was back to school as usual. Still the rain had taken its toll on the old bridge and it became a traumatic exercise getting to and from Gatton. It was now so rickety that Mum used to stop the car and walk us across the bridge first before she would drive across. Even that was nerve wrecking, as we had to walk on the horizontal planks as some of the vertical planks were missing. Kay had to hold Pam’s hand because that’s what big sister a supposed to do. Mum would then drive very slowly across while the old bridge rattled and shook. Sometimes she drove the door open in case she had to leap out. I had many nightmares of Mum crashing down into the creek. Then one night a big storm swept through the valley. There was real thunder and lightening but it had cleared by the morning and we dressed for school. We were able to drive through the first creek even though the water covered our tyres but when we turned to cross the Lockyer the old bridge was GONE. Completely washed away, not even a stump was left. Hurrah no more school for a while at least and no more nightmares. The Shire Council built a new bridge further up the creek, to quickly for my liking, but Mum and Dad were pleased.

No school for the time being meant I could go back to my old routine of going out with Dad for the day, which I loved. This day we were mending some fences on the ridge near one the little farms Dad had bought near Redbank Creek. I knew how to the strain fences and Dad would say complimentary things such as “Your bloods worth bottling Kiddo” or “You deserve a leather medal”. This made me feel happy although I did prefer the leather medal to the first suggestion.

It was now about high noon and not a sound around except for the crickets who’s singing rose with the heat. I had moved under the shade of a gum tree and was drawing picture in the dirt with a long stick as Dad finished tying the wire of the lowest rung of the fence. An old crow perched himself on branch above my head and began to examine my artwork when suddenly the stillness was SHATTERED by a gunshot. The bullet hit the very tree I was standing under and crow squawked and flew off. I turned and faced Dad not sure if I should move. Dad was kneeling down on one knee but he leapt like a gazelle and raced over to me. He grabbed me, raced back to the blitz, pushed me under, crawled under and covered me with his body. A stab of terror rose in my chest. Was there some mad man out there and why was he shooting at us? Could he see us but we couldn’t see him? I managed to wiggle out from under Dad and whispered “Who do you think could be shooting at us Dad?” Dad said “Listen Kiddo, if someone is trying to shoot you just remember this – don’t just stand there – HIT THE DIRT” There was another blast. Dad called our “Hold your fire”. Silence. Dad crawled to the back of the blitz and called again “Hold your fire”. Silence. Then not one, but two men appeared over the ridge with their rifles lowered. Dad approached them and turned from being Gentle Geoff Grazier to the Supreme Commander of the allied forces and gave them a lecture they will probably never forget. After all this was cattle country and we had a ‘No shooting” sign on our main gate.

I couldn’t wait to tell Mum but Dad was still mad I could tell as he didn’t sing all the way home.

I was gazing out the window wondering how Dad was managing without me (fixing the pump that is) when suddenly my view was completely blackened out. I looked up. It was Sister leaning over me and saying, "and what is your answer, child?" I stood up. Answer? Answer? Did she ask a question? I am sure I could answer the question if only I knew what it was. But all I could remember was NEVER NEVER SAY WHAT it was the absolute height of bad manners. One had to say “I beg your pardon” I prayed for the answer - nothing. Sister moved to the front of the classroom but all eyes were on me. My stomach started to churn and my hands felt all wet. "Well child I'm waiting..." My life flashed before me. Finally in desperation I blurted out "EXCUSE ME SISTER BUT WHAT DID YOU SAY?" Sister hesitated for a moment then collapsed into her chair. Her legs went straight out from under her and her head fell back. I thought she had fainted - oh what a wretched child I was! Then she started to choke and gasp for air and when she had enough air inside her lungs, she started to laugh. She laughed and laughed. She laughed till the tears rolled down her face. I had never seen a nun laugh like that before. I would live for at least another day.

Just when I was beginning to feel rather burnt out from sitting at a desk all day the school granted us some holidays – thank goodness. It was the Easter holidays.

On Easter Sunday, Dad had us all out on the verandah on the lookout for the Easter Bird. Adare was a huge house with verandahs on all sides and Dad was rushing up and down yelling, “Can you see the Easter Bird”? It was tremendous fu. This went on for quite a while and I am not sure who was having the most fun, Dad or us. Then the most amazing thing happened. A bird DID appear. It was a bit hard to see because it was hight up in the huge Moreton Bay Fig tree we had beside the house, but it was loud and clear. “Oo-oo” it called. “Oo-oo”Dad called back. Once again the bird answered “Oo-oo” “Yes it is the Easter bird Dad yelled I was so excited I thought I would burst. Finally Mum appeared and Dad again spoke to the bird and again the bird answered. It was time to find the Easter eggs! Down the steps we ran and into the garden to begin the hunt. The garden around Adare was so big that we had to play “hot” and “cold” with Dad getting information from the bird all the time I finally found the nest and it was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. It was mad out of maiden fern with red and yellow and blue flowers all threaded through it and inside were these beautiful, wonderful, delicious large white decorated Easter eggs.

It rained all that week so the ‘city slicker’ cousins didn’t come down until the following weekend. I proudly brought out the eggs to show them. They were wonderful eggs would last and last if you only picked little bits off at a time.

“THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS AN EASTERBIRD” the cousins scoffed. Poor poor sad creatures they were. Then the youngest one of the three thought he would add his bit too (he was a year older than me) “Yes” he said with a mouth full of my egg “You silly girl – everybody knows it is the Easter Bunny!” The other ran off laughing and I was left alone with him. Perhaps I could help this one before it was too late. There was definitely no hope for those older ones. Perhaps, I thought if I could just get him up to the hen house and explain the facts of life to him he might have some chance in life. I would say to him “Look – hens lay eggs, cows have calves, horses have foals etc and bunnies definitely do NOT lay eggs”!!

A few years rolled by. I made my 1st Holy Communion but it seemed things weren’t getting any better in Russia. Communism was spreading over the world. About that time Dad was recalled to reform the 2/14th Queensland Mounted Infantry (QMI) at Wacol. It was hard to understand, as children we were only given bits of information and we had to come to our own conclusions.

Then one day Sister came into the classroom looking very grave and she told us she felt quite sure the COMMUNISTS WERE COMING!! I was very frightened. We knew it wasn’t going to be easy not even the great powers of Britain or America were able to stop them and there seemed so few of us and our fathers were tired of war. Sister said it was going to be especially tough on us because communists didn’t like anyone, especially Catholics. But she would prepare us by teaching us our Creed and if we knew our Creed thoroughly we would never be conquered.

I BELIEVE IN GOD HE FATHER ALLMIGHTY CREATOR OF ALL THINGS SEEN AND UNSEEN.

Perhaps these Communists were a bit like my cousins, born in the city and didn’t know very much. Perhaps they had never seen the beauty and wonder of the world. If only I could get them to come out to Adare and see all the horses, cows, ducks, hens, dogs cats and pet birds we had around the house. I would even let them hold my pet wallaby joey who loved to dive down my shirt then pop her head out and suck on my earlobe. I could take them for a walk through the gardens, which were established by Lord Huntingfield. There were many beautiful plants and trees especially the Poinciana when it was in full bloom and the row of Jacaranda trees in summer looked heavenly. We could play all day and not get hungry when the mangoes were in season and there were always macadamia nuts to eat and mulberries and bunya nuts occasionally. With any luck Bullen Bros circus would be in town and then they really could see all God’s creatures great and small. It was the greatest show on earth – so the sign said. I would make them sleep out on the verandah so they could see the ‘everlasting-glory-of-the never-ending-stars’. They would also hear the possums running across the roof and the dingos howling in the hills behind the house. In the morning they would see the sunrise over the Minden ranges and smell the freshness of another day. Could they see all these things and not believe in God?

I BELIEVE IN JESUS CHRIST, HIS SON, OUR LORD

Sister said that the Communists would say THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS JESUS CHRIST”. This sounded familiar, and somehow I was grateful to my cousins for preparing me for this. Remember keep a straight face and don’t blink. Poor sad creatures these Communists must be. But mostly I felt sorry for their children. Imagine having parents who did not believe in Christmas and Easter Imagine never learning the words and music of ‘Silent Night’. Never knowing the story of the ‘Littlest Donkey’ or the Star over Bethlehem or the Baby in the manger. And imagine never ever going on an Easter egg hunt. They must be the saddest children in the whole world.

BORN OF THE VIRGIN MARY…

I didn’t know if I could get these Communists up to the hen house to explain the facts of life but I guess I would have to try. “Look here Mr. Communist” I would say “If God can create the Sun the Moon and all the stars, creating one little baby would be the easiest of all God’s miracles” Besides I had overheard my Grandfather say “it was just like shelling peas” having a baby that is. My mother was having afternoon tea with two of her friends, Mary and Leila, when my Grandfather joined them for a chat. They had children our age but when my grandfather told them this it made them very happy because they laughed and laughed. My oldest cousin had married a Murphy girl and they had a new baby every time they visited. Then he became an interstate truck driver and they didn’t have any more but Mum thought eight little Australians children was enough!

I BELIEVE IN THE HOLY SPIRIT…

Actually we called Him the Holy Ghost and I knew this was not going to be easy to convince a Communist of the Holy Ghost. Sister said the Communists were very cruel and tortured people, even children. I lay awake at night wondering how I was going to explain the Holy Ghost to these unbelievers. After all if they didn’t believe in God they would never believe in the Holy Ghost. I had no evidence, and Sister said one of their methods of torture was pulling out fingernails. I was scared. Then the idea came to me if I were to bite my finger nails down very low they wouldn’t be able to get a grip them so they might pass over me. If I couldn’t convert them I would just have to outsmart them.

I BELIEVE IN THE HOLY CATHOLIC CHURCH…

Sister said the Communists would try to burn down the Church and she and all the nuns and Father Cahill would be taken away. If we thought this was going to happen we had to go over to the Church, find where Father kept the Holy Eucharist and hide it from the Communist but only the youngest child, the purest child, was allowed to carry the Holy Eucharist. Sister suggested that would probably someone in Grade one. We would have to be brave “but “Sister said, “Remember children even if they destroy your bodies – they can never destroy your souls – because your souls belong to God”. Strangely I found this to be rather comforting. Besides I knew about death. I had seen it on many occasions out in the country and certainly smelt death on even more occasions. I knew too that sometimes some things die young. Suppose I die.

THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS

THE FORGIVENESS OF SINS

AND LIFE EVERLASTING …

If Salt Peter had to die young so perhaps I might die. Salt Peter was my father’s horse. He was big and strong and a magnificent looking horse. When it was time for a muster and the horses were brought into the yards I would climb up the fence to get a glimpse of him. He was not the sort of horse children could play with, he had such a proud look in his eyes, and I could only admire him from a distance.

Then one terrible day Salt Peter was found lying motionless on the ground at the end of Sandy Paddock. He tried to raise his head when Dad and I approached but couldn’t. His Eyes were full of pain and fear. The vet, Charlie Barr, came out from Gatton as soon as he could but there was no hope. “Must have eaten something poisonous” I heard him say to Dad. Dad took me back to the homestead and left me there while he returned to the paddock with his rifle. I stood at the end of he verandah looking down to the paddock, and then I heard the blast. I felt sick with grief. The beautiful strong Salt Peter was gone forever. I cried and cried. The only relief was knowing that he was not suffering anymore and that shooting him was the quickest and kindest thing to do.

So if those communists decide to shoot me I’ll defy them to the end. I’ll look them in the eye and keep a straight face and not blink because I know it will be all over in a flash. And then I’ll be in heaven – safe in the arms of my heavenly Father, surrounded by all the wonderful Saints and everyone I love.
 

Roll me up with my stock whip and blanket

And bury me deep down below

Where the dingos and crows won’t molest me

Down where the Coolabah grows.
 

written by Janice Marsha Drake Nee Godsall

Janice is married to former Rugby League International Frank Drake. They have five daughters, five sons-in-law and eleven grandchildren so far.

I remember when the new St Mary’s College, Ipswich, opened and how excited we were to be going to the NEW BRICK College from the little timber convent across the oval. I know that history records that we then had a room for sewing (with sewing machines!!) and a room for cooking (where ‘stick-jaws’ were the favourite product, especially for fund-raising efforts by the various classes), but the thing we were most impressed with was ….THE TUCKSHOP!!

Whoever had heard of a school having a tuckshop! It was opened one day a week – Fridays – and sold only 2 things: Salad Rolls or Spaghetti Rolls (tinned spaghetti of course!). We thought we were CHRISTMAS!!!!

Glenice Porst (nee Sheehy)

Current parishioners Pat and Desley Loth compiled the following reflection on the story of St Patrick’s through conversations with Monnie Lawson and Kath Robinson who have both been part of St Patrick’s since circa 1920.

Masses were said at 6,7,8:30, and 10:00am. All were well patronized.

The school choir sang at the 8:30am mass and the church choir sang at the 10:00am Mass. The first hymn was usually a bit rough as with fasting the vocal chords were a bit dry. The streets were filled with parishioners coming to or going from Mass. Robertson Street provided a shortcut that led into the churchyard. In the days of Fr. O’Hare, the churchyard was the home for turkeys who didn’t always appreciate visitors. Dogs sometimes followed their owners to church to the amusement of the children. “Tess” Robinson chewed a box of candles at Our Lady’s side alter.

Many parishioners sat in the same seat at the same mass every week. Many of the older members of the community favoured the 6:00am Mass. They collected on corners and made the walk together.

Sodalities were well attended at the 7:00am Mass - Holy Name for men and Sacred Heart for women. One of the altar cloths was made by the ladies of the Sacred Heart sodality. The 4th Sunday was usually Children of Mary in blue cloaks and veils and Holy Angels in their red capes.

The priests were kept busy visiting all parishioners. St. Patrick’s was always a favourite choice for weddings and in the days of fasting Nuptial Masses started at 8:00am. Fr. Egan, who was a keen race goer, discouraged weddings in the afternoon of big race days.

Altar boys were taught their Latin responses by the Sisters of Mercy and faithfully filled their roster. Robert Hodge (brother of Fr. Clem Hodge), Brian Robinson and Frank O’Dea (now Fr. Frank O’Dea) were squabbling over which soutane to wear. Brian was locked in the cupboard and forcing his way out, broke the lock. Brian’s father purchased a lock as a temporary measure which is still there today. Fr. Mick Egan and Mr. Vic O’Dea drove the altar boys to their annual picnic at Surfers Paradise. They never had any trouble parking their cars side by side on the beachfront.

Parishioners played a large part in maintaining the church and grounds. One family in particular must be mentioned. Maisie Connors helped Kath Robinson with the altar every Friday. The Robinson girls dusted the seats, father Vince and son Brian cut the grass. The Junior Legion of Mary organized through the school, cleaned the brass vases and the candlesticks on a Saturday morning. A glass of cordial and a cupcake was their reward. Fetes were often held to boost parish funds. One parishioner told me she would rather spend £10 on an old pumpkin at a fete than just make a £2 donation.

Sometimes in very heavy downpours the drain situated near the grotto, would block and water would come in through the side door of the church.

Pat and Desley conclude with the following:

Monica Lawson, now 95, joined the parish around 1919. She and Kath Robinson, who was baptized here about the same time, still regularly attend the 9:00am mass. They have witnessed many changes over the years. Both of their families had a strong connection with St. Patrick’s and have had brothers, sisters and children being married there. St. Patrick’s Parish community continues to flourish through the work of a dedicated band of parishioners. May God bless all who sail in her!!!!!

This story relates to a number of priests who had faith in the untested nascent hobby skills of a parishioner but were prepared to give it a go and let the Holy Spirit work it out! The focus of their faith was the creation of six leadlight windows/panels designed and constructed in 3 different churches in Queensland.

The story begins in 1989 in central Qld in Moranbah in the St Joseph the Worker Church, in the Isaac River Parish. Parishioner, Mike Duggan keen to contribute to an approaching Renew Program, offered to design and construct a small leadlight panel as one way of drawing attention to the upcoming program. His offer was accepted by Fr Pat McCluskey. For Mike, the gesture was just as much an act of faith as was Fr Pat’s acceptance. Until that point, leadlighting was simply a hobby – his skills had never been given a public airing. Mike had been drawn into leadlighting as a hobby as a result of an initiative by his manager at the local coal mine, Bruce Grieve, who was keen that his staff, and their wives, develop themselves together, or separately, beyond the professional setting. Mike’s wife, Marilyn, enrolled him in a one-day course in basic leadlighting skills, conducted by Ron Ede of Claremont, and from that solitary, one–day event evolved a lifelong passion and artist pursuit.

Fr. Pat had faith that it would be OK to entrust the construction of a leadlight panel for the Church to a “novice” and the window panel was made and installed in one of the windows at the front of the Church to the side of the altar (it was later installed into a light box and relocated a corner of the Church).

With his faith in Mike justified Fr Pat challenged him to take on a bigger project. It was decided on this occasion to design and construct a leadlight panel for the entire window opening on the left hand side of the altar and after 4 months or so of part-time work at home the window was completed, installed into a frame and inserted into the window opening.

The window was a collage of symbols of the Trinity, Alpha/Omega, Mary and the child Jesus, the Holy Spirit, etc , which aimed, through the imagery, to arouse spiritual nourishment and hopefully to inspire some thought to deepen the viewer’s faith. The Presentation Nuns at Moranbah at the time helped with the design by providing diagrams of the various symbols used in the design.

The new leadlight window installation was reported in The Review in May 1990 with a photograph of a happy and “relieved” Fr Pat looking at the final product.

Word of the new installation soon spread through the small community of Moranbah and Anne Poole of the Uniting Church requested Mike to make a small hanging panel which was immediately crafted.

With confidence in Mike’s ability growing, the Parish asked him to take on the challenge to create the final church window. This time the theme would reflect the elements of the community of the Isaac River Parish.

This resulted in a combination of symbols showing the railways, the coal mines, the farmers, the Isaac River and the surrounding hills and of course St Joseph, the worker.

This window was installed in 1991 not long before Mike Duggan and family left Moranbah after 9 years and went to Brisbane. Fr. Brian Johnston was the PP at the time. Fr. Brian was very handy indeed in constructing and building anything, and he presented Mike and Marilyn with a beautifully crafted timber folder with photos of the two Moranbah windows.

After settling in to Brisbane, Mike and his family attended the St Martin’s church in Eight Mile Plains and St Bernard’s in Upper Mt Gravatt and it wasn’t long before another priest with “faith” in the skills of an unprofessional hobby lead-lighter was prepared to give it a go! Fr. Peter Meneely commissioned a window for the St Martin’s Church which was being renovated and refreshed at the time.

Gary Priest, a professional glassworker, who was building a major window in the St Bernard’s Church at the time, helped Mike with some comments on the design.

The finished window was delivered to the Church in the back of Mike’s trailer. The builders working on the Church renovation constructed a steel frame to securely enclose the leadlight window and were responsible for hoisting it up into place and securing it – a nerve-racking job.

A small panel was also constructed and installed over the tabernacle (with a red light shining behind it) as part of the Church renovations.

The church renovations and the lead light window and panel were blessed during a mass on the 26th of September 1993 by Fr. Tom Hegarty, Dean of the Southern Deanery, and Fr. Peter Meneely PP.

The completion of this project (and its acceptance) lead fairly quickly to another window, this time a much bigger window requiring lots more “faith”, both on Fr. Meneely’s part and also Mike’s, as he was now moving into an size of construction which he had not ventured into before!!

As part of the Jubilee celebrations for St Bernard’s, a memorial window (for Fr. Kevin Aspinall) was commissioned by Fr. Meneely. Mike’s wife, Marilyn, who was a quilter and experienced with colours, helped with the design layout, colour combinations and glass selection. The overall design was based substantially on a quilt made by ecclesiastical quilt maker Mrs Suzann Bailey of Perth, who gave permission for her quilt design to be used in the window. A major part of the design also came from a contact of Fr. Peter’s - Mrs Barbara Nye, a Maleny artist. Mike and marilyn drove up to Maleny with a full size working diagram of the window and Barbara very skillfully and quickly created the “troubled waters” and the “people rising from the waters “section at the bottom of the window.

Gary Priest also helped with hints on how to make the panels strong enough to last. Mike worked on the six panels which made up the window over many months as he was also working in PNG at the time. Fortunately the work was completed before he headed back to PNG. This proved fortunate as while in PNG Mike damaged his back and was unable to undertake any leadlighting for an extended period. However, as the panels were completed it was just a matter of installing them – but that was not an easy task as the window is located quite high above the ground. Gary Priest, who was very experienced in glazing work, took on the difficult task of modifying the aluminum frames of the existing windows and installed the 6 panels while Mike was in hospital. When Mike was being driven home from hospital after the operation he insisted in going via the church and hobbled in on a walking stick to inspect the installed window!

The window was blessed during a mass celebrated by Archbishop Bathersby on Sunday the 21st August 1994.

After 10 years overseas and in NSW, Mike and Marilyn now reside in St Rita’s Parish in Victoria Point. Mike is currently having discussions with Fr Leo Burke about some possible leadlight window designs for the Church there. All of the windows which Mike has made have been at no cost to the parishes’ other than the cost of materials and consumables e.g. glass, lead came, solder, putty, grinding heads, etc as he feels that the blessing of a God-given skill should be offered back to the community. He is adamant that his own journey would not have begun if not for the actions of certain priests in the past that ‘let it happen’!

On the 1st November 1862, the sailing ship, Ocean Chief, berthed in Brisbane. On board were my great-grandfather, Alexander Macpherson, his wife Annie and their eight children. The Bishop of Brisbane, Bishop Quinn was on the wharf to greet this important pioneer Catholic family, newly arrived from Scotland.

Alexander was a man of many interests and talents. Although he was forty-nine when he arrived in Queensland, he went on to contribute much to his new country. His roles included: involvement with the Acclimatisation Society; Superintendent for the Board of Inquiry into Causes of Disease in Livestock and Plants; experimental gardener who performed pioneering trials with rice; inventor of a fencing machine; and collector of botanical and geological specimens at the Queensland Museum. He did not retire from this last position until he was 78 years old. In July 2006, Alexander’s achievements were recognised by the Brisbane City Council when a new park at St. Conel Street Nudgee was dedicated to him. Signs outlining his accomplishments were erected at this site and also at Nudgee Beach.

On 8th September 1863, Alexander accompanied Bishop Quinn to a sale of Crown Land within the Parish of Toombul, County of Stanley, in the Nudgee area. Family legend has it that the pair stopped the sulky along the way in order to boil the billy making them late for the land sale. Even so, a total of 679 acres and 24 Perches were purchased, all in Alexander’s name. This was an enormous amount of land for one person to buy. In fact, more would have been purchased if they had arrived on time. It appears that Alexander bid under the instruction of the Bishop, using funds supplied by the Church. Apparently it was not government policy to sell such a large parcel of land to the Catholic Church. Within the family it was always said that Bishop Quinn was relying on the fact that a Scottish Highlander with a name like Macpherson would not be readily identified as a Catholic! After a period of two years, all this land was transferred to Diocese of Brisbane.

Alexander Macpherson died in August 1894 and he is buried at Nudgee Cemetery on the land that he originally purchased for the Church. His daughter Isabella (Sister Mary Zita) was one of the Sisters of Mercy at the nearby St Vincent’s Orphanage. At his funeral the children from the institution formed a guard of honour and the convent bell tolled as the cortege passed by.

I am one of Alexander Macpherson’s many descendants who still live in the Archdiocese of Brisbane. We are all proud of our remarkable Catholic ancestor’s achievements.

Mary Duffy (nee Macpherson)

Now that I have retired, I can reflect on some eventful experiences I have had at the Mater Hospitals in Brisbane among colleagues committed as I was to the care of the poor and sick.

As time went by, it dawned on me that the contacts I had made and the experiences I had had, could enable me to be an advocate for people who needed a helping hand.

Perhaps the most memorable is the opportunity I had in the mid-1980s, of reaching out to those who had HIV/AIDS.

Having been accepted by the Queensland AIDS Council, I assured the members I would not impose our values, that all we wished was to walk alongside them, to be there when they needed us.

Like most people of the day, I was ignorant of the disease and its consequences and I was fearful.

It was only when I stood at the bedside of a man dying of AIDS where a priest was saying Mass for him, that I discovered my role.

As the man neared death, his friend threw himself across the bed in a paroxysm of grief.

I saw them – and I shall see them forever – two grieving human beings in need of human kindness and compassion, and loved by Jesus just as I and all others are loved by Him.

Instinctively, I reached down, put my arms around the man and raised him up. In that moment, it was as if I had become one with the entire community of those who had HIV/AIDS.

I understood why Jesus Himself always associated with those who were disadvantaged or suffering. I know that a much-needed grace had been given to me – I realised it was all a matter of love.

My friendship with those gentle men lasted for years, for as long as they needed me. Then I stepped back.

Another and entirely different experience for the deepening of my faith, came in the form of a three-month biblical study program for my sister Nuala and me in the Holy Land.

The Lake of Galilee so well known to Jesus held a particular attraction for us. One of the many comforting stories about Jesus is that told by John in Chapter 21 of his Gospel.

It was after the Resurrection and the Apostles could not quite bring themselves to believe that Jesus had risen. They had been fishing all night but had caught nothing and in the morning when they pulled in to shore, a man was standing there who asked them if they had caught anything.

When they told him they had not, he advised them to cast the net to the right side of the boat, which they did, and immediately there were results.

On coming ashore, they saw a fire with fish on the coals and bread ready. Jesus graciously invited them to bring some of what they had caught.

They had breakfast together, the Apostles still in disbelief that it could really be Jesus. Jesus had not a word of reproach to the Apostles for abandoning him in the hour of his greatest need, he just welcomed them and, significantly, used some of the fish which he had helped them catch.

My firm belief is that when we pull in to our respective shores, Jesus will be there to welcome us, knowing our hands are pretty well empty except for what he himself has put in them, examining us on love as he did Peter.

Reflection provided by SR ANGELA MARY RSM,
Former Administrator, Mater Hospitals, South Brisbane
Courtesy of The Catholic Leader November 30, 2008

One of my early morning walk friends has a “Jack Russell” terrier named Zac. It’s a bit of a charmer. If Zac spots me in the distance he refuses to venture further until I arrive and give him a pat. Then his tail wags. Or rather his stump wags because Zac had his tail docked just before that procedure was declared illegal. A wagging stump apparently is still able to express a woofer’s state of happiness. One wonders at the canine engineering that allows the dogs pleasure to be expressed by the wagging of its aftermost appendage.

The late Monsignor John English (PP at Clayfield for many years) had a lovely Golden retriever named “Lana”. John was always intrigued by the way Lana would slobber in ecstasy if she was rubbed above the tail. John referred to it as a “delectatio morosa”

At Gympie Christian Brothers some years back, Brother Jack Cummings was college principal. He had a dog named “Toby”. Toby would follow Brother Jack all over the place. Late one afternoon Brother Jack was closing the science room doors. Toby followed. As the door slammed shut Toby’s tail was caught and severed. As Brother later described the event “there was Toby wagging his stump and spraying blood all over.”

When I arrived at Clayfield parish in January 1967, I was introduced to Mons. English’s dog, Lana. I enquired as to whether Lana was a he or a she, one to which the master replied “Neither, she’s been defrosted.”

Recently I met one of the Scarborough matrons on my morning walk. She had in tow two dogs which I patted and fussed over. Said she “What did you do before retirement?” So I told her. To which she made this extraordinary reply “Yes I thought as much; I could tell by the tone of your voice.” Woof, woof!

Reflection provided by Rev Harry Bliss (Retired to the Redcliffe peninsula).
Courtesy of The Catholic Leader November 30, 2008

When I tell my sons that I can remember when there was no television in Brisbane and that I used pounds, shillings and pence until the end of primary school, they think that I must be at least 150 years old!

My memories of the Church in Brisbane, however, begin in the late 1950s with parish life at Christ the King, Graceville – chilly early morning Masses in Latin, Stations of the Cross in Lent and Benediction on Sunday nights with our Irish parish priest.

Even though it was suburban Brisbane it had the feel of a village. None of us would have considered going all the way to Corinda or Indooroopilly to attend Mass or to shop!

Many families did not have a car or even a phone and the train was our lifeline to the rest of the world.

Life in the ’60s and early ’70s centered on the parish and school.

The commitment and energy of the Presentation Sisters and later the Marist Brothers at Rosalie were lasting influences on me.

Sr Vianney taught me in Grade 1. I thought she was so kind and beautiful.

By the time I made it to high school Vatican II had transformed our understanding of what it meant to be Catholic.

Fr Harry Bliss impressed when he came to speak about vocations to the priesthood and back in the parish Fr (now Bishop) Brian Heenan was the energetic young curate showing us how priesthood could be a real gift to a community.

My university years saw me meet up with an enquiring and energetic band of young Catholics in the Newman Society. We had a great time together worshiping, camping, debating the big issues and taking out the children from St Vincent’s Orphanage at Nudgee.

It was stimulating intellectually, spiritually and of course socially.

During the ensuing 30 years I have been privileged to continue to meet God through the people and events of the Church of Brisbane during the good times and the challenging times. Events like the Sesquicentenary are primarily about gratitude – a time to say thanks.

Brisbane has changed and so has the Church, but gratitude never goes out of fashion.

Reflection provided by DAVID HUTTON, Executive Director of Brisbane Catholic Education.
Courtesy of The Catholic Leader November 30, 2008

This issue of Parish news is a few weeks overdue. It comes to you two months after the death of our Parish Priest, Fr Leo Hayes. Memories of him are still fresh. In fact they have taken on a new freshness as people sit and recall the man they knew. Mail is still coming for him, as some have yet to learn of his death. Every letter and card that has come since his admission to hospital has carried the same message - concern for a friend who was sick, and later sadness at the loss of a friend. It is no exaggeration to say that dozens have written "our lives will never be the same."

Memories of this kind and gentle man will remain with us for years. We all have our very own. My first memory of him is the sight of him standing on the steps of the Church in Warwick surrounded by several hundred children. He was occasional speaker at a Centenary function. His hair was crying out to be cut, his hat askew but he radiated kindness as he stood there handing out lollies to the local children.

The talk he gave that day was, as usual, excellent. His appearance - a short small man, silver hair, an ill fitting coat and unlaced boots - fascinated you to start off with. Then the words rolled from his tongue with an ease that many a poet would have envied. Fr Hayes was aware of his great gift as a public speaker. Often when home from a speaking engagement he'd quietly say "I gave the best speech" and so he would have. All his historical talks were absorbing because he always told a human interest story. His last public speech was in Oakey, Anzac Day, 1967. After a minute account of the landing at Gallipoli he told of the last man to leave when the Australians evacuated. This soldier, tired out, went to rest in a shelter. His mates promised to wake him. In the haste of leaving they forgot. He awoke to see the lights of the last boats about to pull out, and so we all dashed across those yards of sand with the breathless digger.

Fr Hayes loved Anzac Day and other great Australian occasions. He admired courage and heroism. One of his epic talks was given at the opening of the Corporal John French Memorial Library at Crow's Nest. A great crowd, including Sir William Slim, the then Governor General, were enthralled that day as Fr Hayes told of John French, "in the breast of a youth, there beat the heart of a man."

Most of his talks were homespun with a ring of poetry in them. Years of reading Kendall, John Shaw Neilson, Patterson showed their effect in every sentence. We recall the morning he read a Steele Rudd story from the pulpit and the people voted it the sermon that made them pray better.

I was in Oakey two or three days when a new postage stamp was to be issued. He came home from the pictures and sat down at a small table heaped two feet high with papers and books. Clearing a space he put down a bottle of ink minus the lid (to lose the lid seems to have been a practice) and then set to work with a scratchy fountain pen. He was sending out forty-three first day cover envelopes next day to stamp collecting friends. Every time a new stamp came out he repeated this. That night I thought I'd like to photograph him, then, after hearing the pen, I thought a tape recording of his writing more fitting. That pen was very dear to him. It was gift of General Douglas MacArthur.

When MacArthur came to Australia, knowledge of New Guinea and the Pacific Islands was sparse. Fr Hayes supplied the General with heaps of valuable books and maps. MacArthur offered a cheque, which Fr Hayes refused. A dinner was given in his honour and he was presented with a bottle of whisky (still intact) and a fountain pen. That's the fountain pen he used to write his thousands of letters of encouragement, congratulations and sympathy, to say nothing of his Christmas Cards over the past twenty-five years.

His letter writing was amazing. Every child in this district who passed a public examination received a letter and there'd be hundreds of them. Armed with the Toowoomba Chronicle, by means of telephone calls and interviews he'd find the addresses. He'd peruse the domestic notices columns to see whom he'd congratulate on a birth, engagement or marriage or to whom he could be God's instrument of sympathy in a sad loss. It would be no exaggeration to say he received seven or eight personal letters a day. It was a slack Christmas that didn't bring six hundred cards.

We're all familiar with those visits to the post office. After he'd read the morning papers he'd sit on them and proceed to read his prayer book. It was a sight visitors marvelled at - this well known scholar sitting on the top step of the post office quietly saying his prayers. Every so often he'd pause to lift his hat to a lady or speak to a child. Many a child stopped to tell him of a forthcoming birthday. Within a day or two, a handkerchief, often crumbled, would be sent off to mark the occasion. Some of us feared that in later life these habits could lead to derision. They never did. To his dying day, Fr Hayes held the respect and love of all. We remember the excursions to the local pictures. He never missed the pictures, irrespective of what programmes came or went. Often as he got out of the car he'd say "I didn't like it last night. It's on again. I might like it better tonight." He disliked Elvis Presley, but considered his pictures a challenge to be sat through. For days before he'd talk of the coming of a Beatle film "I dread it"- but still he went. He loved westerns. I've known him to see the one "outdoor film" eight times. One day an American priest prominent in the field of education called, all day they sat on the verandah and talked. As he was leaving the American told me how the knowledge of Fr Hayes about America amazed him. He learnt more about the Wild West and how it was won that he thought possible for an Australian to know. This interest in the bird and plant life and in the history of the country was helped by the picture shows. Late that afternoon Fr Hayes said to him "And do you know how the Black Hills of Dakota got their name?" The visitor said he didn't. Fr Hayes replied "sit there and I'll tell you."

It was at the pictures too he fed the children on lollies. Seated in the front row he'd be surrounded by dozens of children attracted by sweets. In winter time he'd take everything off his bed except the sheets, plus a spare overcoat and dressing gown to keep them warm. Stories of this old car are unbelievable but true, but it offered transport to many who would have otherwise walked.

Those large coat pockets were like a magician's hat. Almost anything could come out of them. One day we forgot to clean them out before sending the coat to the dry cleaner. In an envelope that came back with the coat were some old coins, a few rock specimens, some jelly beans, a string of Rosary Beads, some string, a few stamps, a key and...a shark's tooth. His port when travelling was an expanded version of this with a few books thrown in. Wherever he went he had things to give away.

On my table is a copy of the booklet produced on the Canarvon Ranges after the expedition of which Fr Hayes was a member. I quote: "The splendid work performed by the Rev Fr Leo Hayes as geologist and ethnologist, is of great value and will live in the history of the State." For his work on the expeditions of 1937, 1938 and 1940 he was awarded the Thomson Gold medal of the Royal Geographic Society.

In April of 1967 his work as a collector of the rare and valuable in Australian literature was recognised by the University of Queensland when he received the honorary degree if Master of Arts. The Brisbane City Hall gave him a great ovation that night. From some years of first hand contact with both Fr Hayes and members of the University staff I've learnt how much they admired and respected him both as scholar and as a Priest. It is true to say that these men and women, highly place in their fields of learning, often came to consult him. Fr Hayes, besides a deep knowledge of literature and science, could give all kinds of interesting little personal notes about authors. His memory went back for years and lost little of its sharpness in later life.

There were twenty-five tons of books, aboriginal artefacts, mineral specimens, coins, stamps and other objects in his collection. Forty thousand books took up a big part of it. This is not the place to go into detail. Suffice it to say that as a book collector he knew what to look for. In the collection were many first editions, autographed copies, limited editions, copies with rare printing and binding. Most of these covered Australia and the surrounding islands. Practically every Australian writer of any standing was represented in the most sought after editions of his works. The accounts of the travels of the great explorers helped make up the most valuable part of the collection.

He prized the books for what they were. Seldom if ever did he realise that their money value was growing apace as the years went by. It was common to see a volume he bought for a few shillings years ago, now worth many times that, lying amidst children's books, the daily papers or piles of calendars. In amongst the books were bottles of snakes, piece of rock specimens, bags of old coins, cases of bird's eggs, at least four human skulls, old firearms, aboriginal weapons, postcards, letters, lollies and as often as not, small tins of wedding cake. People used to send him pieces of wedding cake and often they'd sink into the mass. To him a wedding was a great time. Every girl desired to be a bride. The poor at times couldn't afford a wedding dress, so he got one.

The same went for girls who couldn't manage a debutante frock. He loved seeing people come together for a family occasion, he loved speaking publicly to these groups, but was often out of place when it came to sitting around and talking privately. His collection accumulated many photos and accounts of marriages. Education was one of his great interests. Denied the opportunities when young he helped dozens to a higher education. The local Catholic school was always his pride and joy.

The collection had no order in it at all. Roughly half of it was in the Presbytery - the house will never be the same again. It was placed on book shelves reaching from the floor to the ceiling and then tossed in heaps on the floor. Each pile kept growing until it collapsed. His bedroom was a challenge to anyone with a mind for tidyness. There was room only for the bed and that was often partly obscured. It was said that in one of his former places of residence the bath tub was full of books, chairs were taken away and books put in their place.

Stories and memories of him are many but everyone, both those of his own or other faiths and those of no faith at all, look upon him as the representative of a kind and loving God. Whatever they believed here was the gentle little man who believed in God. With perfect ease he moved amongst all classes. What funeral cortege has ever had a delegation of "men of the road" as he had mingling with the leaders of the business and academic world. To all he gave friendship. On many an occasions he'd sit on a bus stop, or outside a hotel and yarn with the dead beats who chanced along. That's why they came to his funeral. It is no exaggeration to say that in at least seventy-five per cent of the shops in Toowoomba where I went during his last illness the shop assistant asked about him and told the story of some act of kindness remembered. It may have been only a handful of lollies to a child but it was remembered.

Dame Mary Gilmour, the great Australian authoress, wrote of him in 1960, "If the sun shines on an act of kindness, it must always be shining on Fr Leo Hayes."

Here in Oakey we had to have two Masses for him before his body left for the solemn Mass in Toowoomba, otherwise we'd have no room. There were enough people of other Churches to fill our church once. On the Sunday before his funeral, history was made when the Ministers of the other Churches asked their flocks to come to Mass for Fr Hayes. hey came - both the people and the ministers. The only wreath placed on the casket in the church came from old friends, the Presbyterian people of Oakey.

His kindness and gentleness were with him to the end. Every day in those last days he'd ask me to write or contact someone to "see if you can do anything for them." In the room next to him in St Vincent's Toowoomba, a man in his late fifties was dying. Fr Hayes had been confined to bed for over a month, he was too weak even to sit up. Yet he demanded to be taken to see that man as "I used to say Mass in his father’s house forty years ago". Eventually the Sisters agreed to put him in a wheel chair, and so he went on another message to help a family in need of kindness.

A man of simple but deep faith, Fr Hayes had a great respect for every person. He looked on each one as someone who knew more about something than himself. In the world around him, he saw things that led him to a deeper knowledge of God, in human beings with their qualities ranging from deeds of heroism to the worst of human nature again showed him as much about his Creator.

His priesthood was carried beyond the sanctuary into every field of human endeavour. Looking back now, I feel that whatever he did in connection with his hobbies he saw as the work of a Priest. I recall him trudging about the house with clothes awry and saying "where's my collar?" He'd as often as not find he'd been sitting on it, but he'd never venture out without it. In all his little talks whether they be on the Canarvon Ranges or the story of Leichardt he'd bring the listeners back to God. His greatest pride was in the people given him to bring to God. He loved the company of his fellow Priests, although in his early life he was often denied it through isolation. The Churches he built and maintained in Maleny, Chinchilla, Laidley, Taroom, Crow's Nest and Oakey, he regarded as his monuments. They were places where man and God could be brought close together.

In doing the work of God Fr Hayes was able to see essentials. Years before Christian unity became a talking point he was busy giving kindness and charity to all. After all, this is the Christ like approach to Christian unity. How else can there be unity without respect and charity to all. Everyday he'd visit every patient in the local hospital, carrying little items of cheer to the sick. The needs and concern of people were his.

This is best shown in the great scientific work he did in connection with the introduction of cactoblastis into the prickly pear infested areas of Western Queensland. All this caused him to leave behind him an atmosphere of friendship amongst people of all faiths. While we have said goodbye to the earthly remains of this simple Priest we are all better for having known him, not only better, but proud because into our lives came a dedicated man of God - a model of Priestly zeal and piety, whom people of every creed looked on as a true father and friend, a gentle unassuming and retiring Priest whose first concern was always to make better known and loved the God he gave his life to serve.

This article was written by Fr Kevin Ryan – and contained in the parish news at St Monica's Parish, Oakey on 28th January 1968.

Submitted by: Margaret Fox.

“WHERE is the city of Brisbane?” asked Dr James Quinn, the newly arrived Bishop of Brisbane as he looked down muddy Queen Street in 1859. He could also have asked: “where is my flock; where are the faithful with whom I am to build the Church in Queensland?” A statistic of 1848 gave the number of Catholic families in Queensland as 60. The 1871 census counted 20,972 residents of Irish birth. This large increase of Irish Catholic immigrants, or who some might call refugees, were recruited by Fr Patrick Dunne on behalf of the Queensland Immigration Society.

The QIS was established under the auspices of Bishop Quinn and the recruitment drives of Fr Dunne in Ireland. The QIS chartered ships to bring the migrants to Australia. The Erin Go Bragh (“Éirinn go brach”) was the first of these ships. The hardships suffered in their homeland continued to be horrific on the crowded ship. The voyage to Australia was prolonged and tragic. With outbreaks of cholera and scarlet fever there were no fewer than 54 deaths, mainly children.

The birth pains of the diocese were the grief and hurts of the parents/families at the loss of many of the infants and children not only on the voyage to Queensland but also in settling on the land. Many took up holdings in the Beenleigh and Beaudesert areas with only basic materials to provide shelter. This comparatively large number of Irish settlers, particularly from the same midlands of Ireland made an enormous impact on the culture and development of the former penal colony, now a state. Bishop Quinn’s initiative saved many of the Irish from the extreme suffering in Ireland and so built up the faith community of the diocese of Brisbane. The refugees/immigrants became pioneers in a new state as well as the founder of a new diocese.

In this year of celebrating Q150 and the founding of the Catholic and Anglican archdioceses in Brisbane, we remember these early pioneer immigrants.

On October 11, 2009 in particular we are celebrating with a (family) gathering and reunion of the descendants of two brothers – Peter and John Burke, whose migration to Queensland was associated with the early endeavours of Bishop Quinn. The contributions of these two families of John and Peter Burke to the Great South East and Queensland is noteworthy. Peter and John were born in Kinsale, on the Bandon River, County Cork, Ireland, the sons of Dennis O’Hara-Burke, a fisherman, and Ellen O’Connor. Both, with the salt in their blood, became seamen and eventually master mariners. Like so many other Irish they left home quite young and went to sea. Both had also been in America on different ships. It seems that the impending outbreak of civil war brought both Peter and John back closer to home.

Peter joined the crew of the “Thereas” and left Plymouth, England, on April 26, 1892, and arrived in Brisbane on August 6, 1863. He jumped ship but was later caught and spent three months in a government “boarding house” for desertion. It has been said that in these penal days of Australia there were as many people leaving as arriving in the country. It seems there were plenty of would-be seamen to crew the departing ships. On November 8, 1864, Peter married Mary Ann Walsh, daughter of Dennis Walsh (farmer) and Sarah Ann O’Halloran, in St Stephen’s Church, Brisbane – they were married by Fr Dunne.

Mary Ann was born in 1847 in Ballinonore, Tipperary, and travelled to Australia in 1863 with her brother and two sisters after the death of their parents. Peter and Mary Ann had 12 children. Peter, having worked as a ferryman on the Brisbane River, was also a ferryman on the Logan River. However, he later settled on the land on a property on California Creek, off Carbrook Road, Mt Cotton, on the northern bank of the Logan River downstream from Beenleigh. Peter and Mary Ann’s eighth child Margaret Ellen, along with her sister Polly, founded a hospital, St Monica’s, in Beenleigh.

For 20 years Nurse Margaret devoted herself unstintingly to the care of the sick, especially during a ’flu epidemic. In those days, when travel to Brisbane hospitals was impossible, she became famous throughout the Albert Shire. On her death, a memorial crucifix was placed above the altar of the parish church. Still today, the crucifix and a tribute to her hangs in the newer St Patrick’s Church in Tobruk Street, Beenleigh.

After his voyages to America, John Burke found himself in Queenstown, Ireland, as one of the crew of the Erin Go Bragh, as it prepared to sail to Moreton Bay. As Queenstown (today’s Cohb) is across the estuarial waters of Kinsale he would have visited his parents there. John never returned to Ireland, and saying goodbye to his parents would have been a final farewell. On board he met his future wife Alicia Swords, one of the émigrés recruited under the QIS scheme of Bishop Quinn. John jumped ship on arrival in Brisbane and eluded authorities (if one deserted a ship and was not caught for 12 months and one day he could remain without penalty). John’s brother Peter wasn’t so lucky. The Erin Go Bragh arrived in Brisbane on August 11, 1862. John married Alicia the following year, living first on Gregory Terrace but eventually at the very end of Kangaroo Point. Captain John Burke Park, under the Story Bridge, is named after him. John and Alicia had nine children, three of whom died while very young. Ellen, the eldest died in childbirth, and Agnes never married. We celebrated these descendants along with their cousins, descendants of Peter Burke, on the October 11 gathering/reunion at Tudor Park, Loganholme, south of Brisbane.

John and Peter having gone their separate shipping lanes after leaving their home in Kinsale as young seamen were to meet several years later in Brisbane.

Peter was running a ferry service across the Brisbane River in the St Lucia area. John met his brother, whom he had not seen since they left their family home in Kinsale, on this ferry. John, with only sixpence in his pocket, encouraged by finding his brother and with a sweetheart waiting in the wings, faced the New World undismayed. After helping out his brother on the ferry, he was later employed in the pilot service on the Moreton Bay/Brisbane River shipping and, working on the vessels of the ASN Company, he embarked in business on his own account, first with his steamers running to Ipswich, the Moreton Bay settlements and islands, down to the Logan and Albert rivers.

During the big flood in the Logan in 1878 John himself, with a crew of four on his small steamer “Fanny”, displayed absolute fearlessness in the rescue of settlers caught by the flood waters, many rescued off roof-tops. It is on record that he was responsible for the saving of 57 lives. This trading in the rivers and around Moreton Bay settlements led to the expansion of trade up the coast of Queensland. As the new state opened up and road and rail connections were not developed, John Burke’s ships plied the trade of the coast of Queensland into the Gulf of Carpentaria and to Thursday Island. During the Pacific war the ships visited New Guinea as well.

Burke’s small steamers of shallow draught could enter the coastal rivers and ports cautiously. We can say that Burke’s ships provided an essential service, indeed often a lifeline, to the Queensland coastal towns. Elderly people have told me how the arrival of Burke’s boats at the coastal towns were welcomed with great enthusiasm. At the family reunion, the growing family tree, with more than 800 names recording now five generations of descendants, was on display, with opportunity to supply further dates and information relating to dates. We also took time to remember our forebears and give thanks to God for their journey of faith to our land and their achievements from which we have so greatly benefited.

Submitted by: Fr Brian Burke

The Holy Spirit Missionary Sisters, founded in Europe in 1889, are an international group of women dedicated to sharing God’s love throughout the world. The Sisters are now active in close to 50 countries; they are known and loved for their simplicity of life and for their devotion to expressing the love of God in practical ministries.

So it was with the pioneering sisters who founded the Province of Holy Spirit Missionary Sisters in Australia.

Since 1896 many sisters of the Congregation had been engaged in mission work in New Guinea. Tragically, 54 lost their lives during World War II. The survivors were taken as Prisoners of War; they would endure much tragedy and hardship before being rescued by the Australian and US Armies and repatriated to Australia in May 1944.

The first five sisters who arrived in Brisbane had found their way to safety after tracking for six months through the rugged mountain terrain from Wewak on the North coast to Port Moresby in the south. They were the first European women ever to make this crossing.

In March 1945 the Holy Spirit Sisters had been granted permission by the Apostolic Delegate to make a foundation at Aspley in the Archdiocese of Brisbane.

Six sisters arrived from the USA to join the community. They were to prepare for teaching and nursing in Australia. Among them was Sister Edith Engel who was to become the superior and first matron of the purposed hospital. At that time education and health were the primary focus of the Congregation’s ministries, and the sisters believed they could best serve their mission by offering the healing ministry through a Congregation run hospital.

Discussions began with Archbishop James Duhig, Archbishop of Brisbane, as to the possibility to establish a small private hospital in Brisbane. Because of financial constrains the acquisition of a small existing hospital was thought to be desirable. Several sites for the hospital were investigated. However, after months of negotiation and much prayer and discernment it was decided to buy the Lister Hospital – a 40 bed private hospital situated on 259 Wickham Terrace overlooking Brisbane City Centre. The two-story building - which was to become the HOLY SPIRIT HOSPITAL – was one of the oldest buildings on Wickham Terrace. The house was built some time prior to the 1860. After a success of owners, including Robert Dunne, an earlier Catholic Archbishop of Brisbane, it became a hostel for a girls’ school and later a boarding house.

Randolph Bedford had bought the house in 1928; he converted it into a private hospital. It became known as the LISTER HOSPITAL; it operated successfully for a number of years. However, by the early 1940s the hospital was in poor condition because of financial problems, and it became necessary for the owners to sell the hospital.

In contrast to the frustrations, delays and aggressions of the past months, the events relating to the acquisition of the Lister Hospital by the Holy Spirit Sisters now began to move rapidly. On Friday, 8th of November 1946 the Sisters signed the purchase document, and the first payments were made. The occupancy of the hospital took place on Sunday, the 1st of December 1946 when three sisters travelled by bus from the convent at Aspley into the city, and carried their suitcases up the hill to Wickham Terrace.

At midnight on the 6th of December 1946 the former Lister Hospital became the property of the Mission Congregation Servants of the Holy Spirit. A new area in the sisters’ mission had begun.

Sunday, the 15th December 1946, was chosen as the day of blessing and opening of Holy Spirit Hospital. Archbishop James Duhig, Archbishop of Brisbane, celebrated the 6:00 am mass in the new chapel. The opening ceremony was scheduled for 3:00 pm.

For the celebration a platform had been erected in the grounds for the official guests. Archbishop Duhig, Rev. Dean Carlton, Rev. P. Meenagh CM. M.A., rector of St. Leo’s College, Professor Neville Sutton of the faculty of Medicine at the University of Queensland. Doctors A. V. Meehan, S. F. McDonald, F. Dittmar, L. J. J. Nye, M. J. Eakin, V. Byrne, W. L. Fothergill, A. J. Parer, A.V. Vatturone, P. B. English.

The Archbishop touched on the historical background of the Missionary Sisters; he expressed his admiration for the courage of the sisters in facing heavy financial obligation connected with the purchase of the hospital property and equipment. He forecast that the hospital would prosper and grow until its building would be an imposing site, and its service to the public would be widely appreciated. The Archbishop saw the presence of so many leading members from the medical profession as particularly encouraging. He assured them they could rely on the service of the Holy Spirit Sisters, and their exemplary devotion to duty. Although conducted by a religious order, like other such hospitals, the sisters and their services would be available to all, he said. The Archbishop then declared the Hospital officially opened.

From its very inception the Hospital’s philosophy reflected the simplicity and caring of the sisters: to provide compassionate healing of body and soul, to witness, to heal, and to offer hope in an environment of Christ-like compassion and unconditional love. The 40 bed hospital catered for general, medical and surgical patients. Under its new management the hospital was becoming well known in Brisbane. This had much to do with the missionary enthusiasm and religious spirit of the sisters, combined with their professional skills and emphasis on excellent patient care. Many of the city’s leading physicians and surgeons showed confidence in the sisters by sending patients to the hospital; they also helped with professional advice. The first full year of operation at Holy Spirit Hospital had been a knitting together of people. The sisters’ community by now had risen to 12 sisters.

With what would become characteristic foresight, the Sisters recognized as pressing needs for the future, the expansion of the Hospital and the education of nurses. The challenge of building a new hospital was the catalyst for a remarkable area of fund raising. A building committee, established in 1948, engaged patients, staff and friends to rally support for public appeals, fetes, socials, and concerts.

A public appeal for funds was officially launched at the laying of the cornerstone of the purposed building by Archbishop James Duhig on the 20. May 1951. The motto of the Congregation MAY THE HOLY TRIUNE GOD REIGN IN OUR HEARTS was engraved on the cornerstone.

The Art Union Office was a shed behind the kitchen, and the Campaign Director was under the direction of Sr. Eunan O’Reilly. Sister Delores O’Sullivan recalls the event of the first Art Union held in 1953. The Prize was a trip for two by sea to London for the Coronation of Elizabeth II:

“On the morning of the drawing we were still trying to get marbles for the drawing – the first lot promised had only four figures and we needed six – the Ambulance lent us theirs.

All was ready in the Matron’s Office with the tickets lined up on the table in their correct hundreds, the Justice Department had sent their representative, all was as solemn and correct with the unsold tickets in a cardboard box in the office behind the kitchen. When the number was drawn, the number was not on the table, nor was it among the unsold tickets in the box. It had never been printed. There was a gap in the numbers as the printer had delivered the order in two batches. The representative from the Justice Department was convinced however of the sisters’ honesty – even if not impressed by our system. The marbles rolled again, a number that was on the table came up, and the winner was declared.”

The Holy Spirit Hospital of the 1950’s has remained in the memories of those who participated in its work and shared its set-backs in this sometimes troubled period. The sisters’ convent was situated behind the hospital – close to the suburb of Spring Hill. Many poor and migrant families were living there at the time. Some obtained employment at the Hospital, particularly in the laundry, housekeeping and kitchen. They were hard-working, loyal employees, and soon became part of the Hospital family.

One of the pressing needs of the Hospital in the early 1950’s was to obtain trained nursing staff. In 1951 permission was granted for the establishment of a Nurse Training School at Holy Spirit Hospital. On August 22nd, 1951 – the Feast of the Immaculate Heart of Mary – the Training School was opened. Among the first students were Sr. Mary Anthony Thorn, SSpS and Sr. Carmelann McKee, SSpS. At first the intake of students was in small groups. Sr. Edith Engel was director of this school; she was greatly assisted by some of the doctors who gave lectures to the students. Small though it might have been, it was obvious that Sr. Edith wanted to make the hospital a Teaching Hospital along the line of the American system. This approach raised the standard of training which nurses received under her supervision; their studies covered more than the requirement of the Australian Curriculum.

The nurses were accommodated in the upper floor of the old cottage at the rear of the Hospital, with the sisters living at the basement-level below. This brought further problems for the sisters as the noise level increased when the young and energetic nurses, coming off duty, ran down the hill, leaping up the stairs above. One of the sisters had a reputation among the nurses as the “nun with the mobile bed” as sister would bang with the broom on the floor above if the noise became too violent, often she would chose a different place for her “communication”.

The colourful atmosphere of the Hospital in the early years was enhanced by the presence of the university students at St. Leo’s College next door, whose antics can be imagined, considering the close proximity of the Nurses Quarters.

One such story was that during an electricity black-out the St. Leo’s students carried one of their sleeping collages – bed and all – to the veranda of the nurses’ quarters, where he continued to sleep until the sounds of the sisters attending chapel in the early morning disturbed his rest. A nurse going on duty screamed in alarm as the figure leapt up and disappeared.

The sisters threw medals across the fence on either side of their property to get additional land for the Hospital’s expansion. Sr. Edith Engel had successfully negotiated the purchase of a small part of land from the Edwards family, at the back of their residence.

In the meantime St. Leo’s was sold to a rich man from Sydney. However, the deal fell through because the man was not allowed to build a hotel at the address. At the time, Father Thomas Johnson SJ, the rector of St. Leo’s College, was a patient at the hospital, he kept the sisters informed. The Coadjutor Archbishop Patrick Mary O’Donnell, at that time, was in Rome. He was contacted, and he agreed that the Holy Spirit Sisters could buy St. Leo’s, if they had the cash to pay for it. The Archdiocese needed the money for building St. Leo’s College at the University at St. Lucia. The papers were signed in the morning, and that afternoon another party wanted to buy the Land at Wickham Terrace; they were offering 15.000 Pounds more. The Archbishop said he lost money, but he could not beat the medals the sisters had thrown over the fence.

In 1990 a new building – the Arnold Janssen Centre, at the back of the Hospital - was opened. The Centre housed the Damascus Alcohol and Drug Rehabilitation Unit – a specialised centre providing assessment, detoxification and aftercare for alcohol and drug related addictions, especially for priests, religious and professional people. With the opening of Damascus under the guidance of Father Gerry Nichol a dream came true of the sisters who had seen the need for this ministry in the very early years of the Hospital.

The Sisters’ journey at Holy Spirit Hospital continued until 2003 when the sisters withdrew from the hospital. However, they continued their involvement in the health ministry in the partnership with the Sisters of Charity of Australia in running the Holy Spirit Northside Private Hospital at Chermside.

Great Stories, Great Memories! Many more could be told - they would fill volumes!

Submitted by Sr Ursula Juelich