Dear Lachlan
I must apologise for our disagreement of yesterday. I was brought up in a different world and I would never have argued with my elders. I recognise now that you young people have been told to stand up for yourselves. We did but we expected to be corrected, advised, warned etc.
My father was a stickler for the doing the right thing. He taught me to stand up for my 'betters' and for ladies.
"That's the correct thing!'
I always stood back to let people through doors, I opened car doors for my mother and would assist in easing her chair behind her at the table.
"Just as a young officer and a gentleman, should."
A clip around the ear greeted any perceived mistake.
As a soldier, this formalised routine was very much a part of his world and the world I inhabited as an 'army brat'. And to this day I can clearly hear his instructions.
Anthems were played.
"Stand up straight."
Salutes were made.
"Always address the colonel as Sir."
Orders were shouted.
"Move, like a good soldier!"
Woe to any who failed to meet the expected standard.
Dad dominated the family - not in a brutal way, but by force of personality, by his army persona. He had been away when I was born. My mother hoping for a girl after three boys decided to embroider R for Ruth on everything. This unexpected baby, born 6 years after the last was to be hers - free from the Army. My obvious boyness forced a change of mind onto this practical woman and she called me Robert after my father and Lachlan after her father who had been dead for years. Dad would not hear of it. Two Roberts would be confusing, Bobby was not a name for a soldier. I was called Lachlan for 12 years.
If Dad thought about it he would have simply assumed all was well. But it wasn't. I had trouble with passport and my savings account. At school some teachers would call me Robert as that was in the school records. That caused some confusion with friends. MUm, would call me either - particularly in the early days (before I could remember) when I still wore embroidered clothes and she found it easier with her friends, who then compounded the difficulties.
Some parts of dad's world I enjoyed. I remember lying in bed and watching a night shoot by the artillery, the shells, illuminated by tracer arcing over the darker hills to crump satisfactorily with a momentary spot lit glow on the horizon. Sometimes we would be bundled into our warmest clothes and taken out to watch the tanks shoot into the night. One night some drunken trooper bushwacked the military police and we were still in 'lock down' when I was meant to go to school. Dad would explain how duty worked and the consequences of failure. In his voice you could plainly detect his contempt for the offenders. "They lack self-discipline, Lachlan. Something you must never lose!"
The summer before dad was killed his time on the current deployment was coming to an end and we were returning to Australia. My mother got the idea that I could return to Australia by the 'school ship'. A bit of an adventure she said. I realise that she now wanted to finish packing without an eleven year old moping around. Dad saw it as making a man of me! His parting words were: "Remember to behave like a true little officer and a gentleman, Lachlan."
SS Gorgon, a Blue Funnel liner ran a regular service Western Australian ports, to SIngapore and Hong Kong. It carried passengers and cattle. It always ponged of cattle who were stored below decks in special pens. The rest of the ship was ours. For two voyages both ways, at the appropriate school times, the ship carried the children of military personnel returning to school or to their parents for the holidays. We were unsupervised. The boys slept in the Lounge on camp beds or when we could, on the open deck. We ate the rich curries prepared by the Lascar cooks, we sun-baked, played deck games, slept and read. On the second night out, as we slipped between the last of the islands, the port-holes were shut and the outer doors locked from inside to protect us from pirates. In those days, these pick pockets of the sea, were only interested in anything unlocked and unbolted.
One day an Australian destroyer came up from the south. As it approached us it picked up speed, its bow wave flashing long along her side. We could clearly hear its alarms ringing across the water and two flares soared into the sky. Immediately an AA gun opened fire and promptly extinguished them. The navy kids cheered and yelled and waved. They were the last to go below and Billy Kydd swore that he could plainly see his father. The Airforce provided a turn, when a Canberra bomber flew low alongside us, twice, just out from Perth. Us army brats just had to take it. I was a perfect little officer and gentleman and practised my self-disciplne. Even then, I knew I wanted to be something else!
It was fun being apart of this world and yet not a part. I was a school boy and I recognised that there were other world's beyond my father's. My father would have been horrified if he knew I saw it as a boy's world.
Then he was killed!
Even to this day I dread the advertisement with the young boy wearing a slouch hat and his faher's medals. I once stood in his shoes and more than my father had died - my world had died. I do not know what they do these days and I recognise that it occurred over time but to me I lost my father, my home, my school, my mates and best friend, I was packed up and sent to board in hell, I did not see mum for 12 months and I never saw my gran again as she died and it was; "Just too far!" I look at the boy in the photo and say, "You poor bugger."
What did I have left?
My father's training and my name, which was not my name! I had self-discipline, I was a proper little officer and a gentleman with name confusion. You can imagine how that went down in the rough and tumble and anarchy of a boy's school. I was different and I hated them back. Dad had taught me to box. He had been an Army title holder and his great uncle held a world title. So I was eventually left alone to fail. I took my defeat as an officer and gentleman should. On one occasion, in those golden old days, my family and I had been guests aboard the British flagship, at anchor in the Singapore roads, to witness a Beating of Retreat, the formal and ceremonial ending of the naval day. The Band of the Royal Marines played patriotic songs and airs and the moving hymns of the sea. As I failed, I stood straight, faced my accusers squarely and played that solemn scene in my head. I was expelled. My final remark to the Principal, in front of my distraught mother was, "My name is Robert!"
I had allowed myself to be overwhelmed by circumstances. I had abandoned self-discipline. I promised never again. At the local high school, from day one, I was Robert but I kept to myself, stood straight, behaved with impeccable manners like an officer and a gentleman.
It paid off - I have retired now from a most satisfying job. However, I am what you see - formal, concerned about manners, standing straight still, despite my age.
Let us accept that we are from different generations and from different backgrounds. You are a member of an informal generation. I have always accepted that, afterall Lachlan, you are named after me.
With fond love
Robert Lachlan O'Connor
I must apologise for our disagreement of yesterday. I was brought up in a different world and I would never have argued with my elders. I recognise now that you young people have been told to stand up for yourselves. We did but we expected to be corrected, advised, warned etc.
My father was a stickler for the doing the right thing. He taught me to stand up for my 'betters' and for ladies.
"That's the correct thing!'
I always stood back to let people through doors, I opened car doors for my mother and would assist in easing her chair behind her at the table.
"Just as a young officer and a gentleman, should."
A clip around the ear greeted any perceived mistake.
As a soldier, this formalised routine was very much a part of his world and the world I inhabited as an 'army brat'. And to this day I can clearly hear his instructions.
Anthems were played.
"Stand up straight."
Salutes were made.
"Always address the colonel as Sir."
Orders were shouted.
"Move, like a good soldier!"
Woe to any who failed to meet the expected standard.
Dad dominated the family - not in a brutal way, but by force of personality, by his army persona. He had been away when I was born. My mother hoping for a girl after three boys decided to embroider R for Ruth on everything. This unexpected baby, born 6 years after the last was to be hers - free from the Army. My obvious boyness forced a change of mind onto this practical woman and she called me Robert after my father and Lachlan after her father who had been dead for years. Dad would not hear of it. Two Roberts would be confusing, Bobby was not a name for a soldier. I was called Lachlan for 12 years.
If Dad thought about it he would have simply assumed all was well. But it wasn't. I had trouble with passport and my savings account. At school some teachers would call me Robert as that was in the school records. That caused some confusion with friends. MUm, would call me either - particularly in the early days (before I could remember) when I still wore embroidered clothes and she found it easier with her friends, who then compounded the difficulties.
Some parts of dad's world I enjoyed. I remember lying in bed and watching a night shoot by the artillery, the shells, illuminated by tracer arcing over the darker hills to crump satisfactorily with a momentary spot lit glow on the horizon. Sometimes we would be bundled into our warmest clothes and taken out to watch the tanks shoot into the night. One night some drunken trooper bushwacked the military police and we were still in 'lock down' when I was meant to go to school. Dad would explain how duty worked and the consequences of failure. In his voice you could plainly detect his contempt for the offenders. "They lack self-discipline, Lachlan. Something you must never lose!"
The summer before dad was killed his time on the current deployment was coming to an end and we were returning to Australia. My mother got the idea that I could return to Australia by the 'school ship'. A bit of an adventure she said. I realise that she now wanted to finish packing without an eleven year old moping around. Dad saw it as making a man of me! His parting words were: "Remember to behave like a true little officer and a gentleman, Lachlan."
SS Gorgon, a Blue Funnel liner ran a regular service Western Australian ports, to SIngapore and Hong Kong. It carried passengers and cattle. It always ponged of cattle who were stored below decks in special pens. The rest of the ship was ours. For two voyages both ways, at the appropriate school times, the ship carried the children of military personnel returning to school or to their parents for the holidays. We were unsupervised. The boys slept in the Lounge on camp beds or when we could, on the open deck. We ate the rich curries prepared by the Lascar cooks, we sun-baked, played deck games, slept and read. On the second night out, as we slipped between the last of the islands, the port-holes were shut and the outer doors locked from inside to protect us from pirates. In those days, these pick pockets of the sea, were only interested in anything unlocked and unbolted.
One day an Australian destroyer came up from the south. As it approached us it picked up speed, its bow wave flashing long along her side. We could clearly hear its alarms ringing across the water and two flares soared into the sky. Immediately an AA gun opened fire and promptly extinguished them. The navy kids cheered and yelled and waved. They were the last to go below and Billy Kydd swore that he could plainly see his father. The Airforce provided a turn, when a Canberra bomber flew low alongside us, twice, just out from Perth. Us army brats just had to take it. I was a perfect little officer and gentleman and practised my self-disciplne. Even then, I knew I wanted to be something else!
It was fun being apart of this world and yet not a part. I was a school boy and I recognised that there were other world's beyond my father's. My father would have been horrified if he knew I saw it as a boy's world.
Then he was killed!
Even to this day I dread the advertisement with the young boy wearing a slouch hat and his faher's medals. I once stood in his shoes and more than my father had died - my world had died. I do not know what they do these days and I recognise that it occurred over time but to me I lost my father, my home, my school, my mates and best friend, I was packed up and sent to board in hell, I did not see mum for 12 months and I never saw my gran again as she died and it was; "Just too far!" I look at the boy in the photo and say, "You poor bugger."
What did I have left?
My father's training and my name, which was not my name! I had self-discipline, I was a proper little officer and a gentleman with name confusion. You can imagine how that went down in the rough and tumble and anarchy of a boy's school. I was different and I hated them back. Dad had taught me to box. He had been an Army title holder and his great uncle held a world title. So I was eventually left alone to fail. I took my defeat as an officer and gentleman should. On one occasion, in those golden old days, my family and I had been guests aboard the British flagship, at anchor in the Singapore roads, to witness a Beating of Retreat, the formal and ceremonial ending of the naval day. The Band of the Royal Marines played patriotic songs and airs and the moving hymns of the sea. As I failed, I stood straight, faced my accusers squarely and played that solemn scene in my head. I was expelled. My final remark to the Principal, in front of my distraught mother was, "My name is Robert!"
I had allowed myself to be overwhelmed by circumstances. I had abandoned self-discipline. I promised never again. At the local high school, from day one, I was Robert but I kept to myself, stood straight, behaved with impeccable manners like an officer and a gentleman.
It paid off - I have retired now from a most satisfying job. However, I am what you see - formal, concerned about manners, standing straight still, despite my age.
Let us accept that we are from different generations and from different backgrounds. You are a member of an informal generation. I have always accepted that, afterall Lachlan, you are named after me.
With fond love
Robert Lachlan O'Connor