31 January 2020, Tobin Brothers, Doncaster, Melbourne, Australia
Early Days
Dad was born on 26th October 1931 to Robert James Wesley Blainey and Ivy Isobel Blainey in a hospital in Moreland Road in the then Vaucluse Hospital, now Brunswick Private. A child during the war, too young to serve, but not too young to be affected by it. In his early days he lived in Brunswick and in due course he went to Brunswick South PS.
Later the family moved to West Preston and he started secondary school at Northcote High. There, dad is a capable student and good athlete excelling in maths, track and field and the weird version of mortal combat known as Lacrosse. A minor sport then and still that way now, it had its origins in Canada and North America developed by their indigenous peoples and was introduced into Australia by a Canadian in the late 19th Century. A sport of speed, agility and violence, Dad loved it. And excelled at it. He played from his pre-teens until his early 30’s. Again, he loved it.
Lacrosse
While at Northcote High Dad met friends that he’d have for life including in particular Reg Ratcliffe and Wes George. The school was one of a handful in the North and another few in the East that had Lacrosse teams and these mates took it up with gusto. They later played together for Coburg, a team that was affiliated with the Coburg Harriers, an athletics club and those clubs had playing fields and aths tracks that are still there and in use today. McDonald’s Reserve in Bell Street in the shadows of the infamous Blue Stone College aka Her Majesty’s Prison, Pentridge. The Coburg Lacrosse team was where he met David Jackson, Graeme Reid, Don Stapleton and Nobby O’Brien all lifelong mates. Dad ran for the Harriers in the summer and played Lacrosse in winter. His forte in aths was then called the Hop, Step and Jump and is now known as the Triple Jump. He was a State Junior champ at that but also competed at a high level in the hurdles and the sprints.
His Dad
Sadly an event that would have a profound effect on Dad then and for much of the remainder of his life happened soon after he started High School. When he was 12 his father, the archetypal soldier of fortune, left for Sydney to drive Taxis. US forces were stationed there while the War in the Pacific was in full swing. They had money to spend, economically times were tough in Melbourne and he took off never to return. In his late teens when dad was competing in a National Aths Championship in Sydney he looked him up but I can only assume that that proved to be a disappointing encounter. Dad never saw his father again after the age of 19. Much later in life for reasons that are reasonably easy to guess at Dad became interested in the family tree. He was delivered another shattering blow when in 1994 he discovered that his father had passed away in 1971.
Which leads me to what I regard as the central motif of my father’s life. His love of family and his resolve, never shaken, that, not on his watch, would such a thing happen to anyone in his care. This was the Signifying Event in dad’s life.
Family
A direct result of his dad’s departure was that my father was now the child of a single mum, the redoubtable Ivy (my Nana), who then went to work in retail at Coles. With a 12 YO boy to look after. As the proverb goes It Takes a Village. Nana’s family swung into action. Her brother Murray Exelby, a lifelong bachelor, moved into the family home in West Preston. Another income, a bit of rent. Her sister Grace’s family, the Wilsons, became a de facto surrogate family, minded him after school, fed him and looked out for him. And another brother Les offered Dad his first job. At the age of just 14, somewhat forced by circumstance dad left school and went to work for Uncle Les. Selling women’s lingerie. Not kidding. Heady days I daresay.
Work
But that wasn’t dad’s forte. At school it had been sport and maths and English and trade related subjects. He loved fixing things, seeing how they worked. So another family member, Les Chapple, offered dad a job at his small engineering factory in Preston. Chapple Brothers, a family business. Dad loved it, loved working with the uncles and their sons, his cousins. But he could see the value in getting a qualification, having missed out on proceeding to tertiary because of his early exit from school and, in those days, because working class boys didn’t go to Uni as readily as now. So he went to night school to RMIT to get a Boilermakers ticket which he duly completed. A Boilermaker. An old skill. It’s sheet metal work. Boilermakers assemble, maintain and repair large vessels and enclosed vats.
Mum
Now while all of this running and jumping and medieval violence involving sticks (Lacrosse) and learning and earning is going on I can hear you say “What of love Trev? When did he meet your mum?”. At age 17 Dad’s mate from NHS, Reg, invited Dad to a Mystery Picnic. Mum’s friend from up the street, Beverley invited mum to the same outing. Reg and Bev were boyfriend and girlfriend. Can you see where this is heading? A Mystery Picnic has a group gather at a location, get picked up by a furniture van fitted out for passengers (not very safely I wouldn’t have thought) and taken to a mystery picnic spot. In this case Canadian Bay, a small beach near Mount Eliza. Now at 17 Dad was shy, at least around girls. It was a hot day and his concession to the heat was a short sleeved shirt. But long pants and shoes. Wouldn’t doff his kit into his swimmers. Reckoned his legs were too skinny. But a walk along the beach seemed OK. And thus started a love that remained undiminished from that day until now. Pretty good by any measure.
On the 27th February 1954 Ron Blainey of West Preston and June Chadwick of West Heidelberg were married at St Patrick’s Cathedral in bright sunshine on a perfect day. Reg Ratcliffe was Dad’s groomsman, as Dad was his. A mixed marriage. Mum, a good catholic girl from Mercy College and dad? When I asked a few times what his tribe was he shrugged and said “A Calathumpian I guess.” It wasn’t clear. It didn’t matter.
Children and Bulleen
Mum and dad spent the first three years of their married life living with Nana in West Preston while they saved for a house. In 1955 I was born. While his friends are in the marrying season and buying property in Coburg and Pascoe Vale and Glenroy Dad buys a block of land in …. Bulleen. No made roads, no sewerage, no telephone. Orchards, paddocks, a quarry where the Yarralean estate now sits. Ever seen a horse born? I have. In the paddock two doors away. Crikey. No supermarket, just a little strip of shops with a butcher, a greengrocer and a general store. What else would you need?
On the back of the Boilermakers ticket and his experience at Chapple Bros dad had gotten a job at a company called Pict. A frozen foods processing factory. In Notting Hill. Not the quaint London suburb. Near Clayton, near Monash Uni. No freeways. Driving from Bulleen each day. He’s a fitter and turner and he’s now really on the path in something that he’s well suited to.
In 1958 along came Gary and in 1960, Janine. That was our lot, our family. We were what many Australian families then looked like. Dad was our protector and provider. Mum looked after us. On top of the day job at Pict which involved long hours I remember him wrung out and stressed a lot of the time. He was however committed to the cause. He was determined to provide for us and also to look after his mother. Despite his somewhat irreligious outlook we were to go to the local Catholic schools. They cost more than the State schools.
Despite being in the wilds of the shire of Manningham Dad and Mum were keen to maintain contact with friends and family over in the North. So was born the notion of the monthly turn whereby once a month they’d all gather on a Saturday night at one house or another for a get together. Beer, shandy’s and Cinzano and lemonade, maybe some moselle and a barbecue. Cards, board games, knitting, music, maybe some dancing and talk. Lot’s of talking. Home by 11. Thus the boys of Northcote High and the girls they’d met and married stayed united and in touch. The monthly turns stopped eventually but those friendship bonds never did.
Work
Dad’s fortunes at Pict improved. The company was the subject of mergers and takeovers and eventually it had merged with an NZ company called Watties. Dad continued up the ladder, shift work and second jobs no longer necessary and he was promoted to the role of Plant Engineer. He supervised the entire processing plant and was responsible for keeping those wheels turning. He became known for his ability to problem solve the many widgets and wodgets that a food processing factory has and was often sent to other factories in the Wattie Pict empire to fix things. I can remember him being flown in light aircraft to the factory in Millicent in SA and also in bigger planes to the plant in Glenn Innes in Queensland when things went awry there. Later in life he had an aversion to flying and I wonder if a bumpy ride one day might not have put the kibosh on future air travel.
He is remembered fondly now by those work mates of his still alive. An aspect of his time at Wattie Pict is that he was a mentor and good boss to many young people who worked there. In their number was a good friend of mine Gerry Collins, now sadly deceased himself, who worked there for a few years after spending a year mucking around with me at Swinburne. Gerry went on to establish his own successful company in due course. His wife Lisa recently reflected kindly on Dad’s mentorship of Gerry at that time.
As time went by more takeovers, more mergers and the frozen food business suffered a downturn. Finally Streets the ice cream maker had taken over the factory and in the end dad had the melancholy duty of being the one to put the chain through the gate, put the padlock on it as they ceased to manufacture in Victoria. The journey through that industry had seen him become valued and expert in a business that like many others chose to develop new methods in new places that no longer had the need for many of its workers or much of its machinery. And therefore no need for Dad. It’s 1984 and for the first time since he was 14, my dad is out of work. He’s 53. I’ve never forgotten the look on his face when he came home that day.
Children Growing and Blainair
But otherwise we’d prospered. Janine and I had finished degrees and started our working lives, Gary had just started his company called Blainair installing ducted heating and airconditioning. Like our parents we were in the marrying and partnering season and we were on the way. Dad’s hard work had laid the foundations for all of that. Job done perhaps but not quite. In 1985 Dad and Gary agree that he will join Blainair. Gary is the tradesman who can do the work but needs help with managing and running a small business. The nature of the work is in dad’s experience anyway. He understands machinery, gadgets, how things work and they set out to see how they fit into the building industry. They learn together and the business grows. They start in the house in Bulleen, Dad and Gary, mum answering the phone. They get a shop in Camberwell, then a factory in Bulleen. I remember the milestones, the sales targets achieved, units sold. They grow slowly and steadily carving out a niche in the North East – father and son. They add employees a few of whom now have 20+ years service. Nick Cook starts as an 18 YO boy and is now a partner in the business. Has his own family. My daughter Claire had one of his kids at the kinder she taught at. I like that. Pete and Dave have worked there 20+ years.
By the time dad eases out at the age of 72 in 2004 the business is on a steady footing. Gary runs the business. His son Marcus works there too and has told his dad to move over. They now employ 14 people full time and use 6 regular subbies. Dad had a great influence on that success.
Anglesea
But along the way dad and mum have had their eyes on other prizes. They love the West Coast. Had their honeymoon in Lorne. Stayed at the Cumberland Hotel. Great friends of theirs in John and Joy Puxley have a big ramshackle place on the hill behind the shops at Anglesea. We had many holidays there, a tribe of kids, several adults, the monthly turn goes coastal. Dad gets a caravan and leaves it at the Narambi Caravan Park year around. We get the coastal holidays at our own place now. In 1989 they buy a block in a quiet court and put a 10 square fibro shack on it. 4 rooms, a postage stamp on a hanky but it’s theirs.
Still Dad looks ahead. We’ve started to marry and have our own children. Cassie and I marry in 1980, later Gary and Janine also marry. Matthew arrived in 1987, followed by Marcus, Alex, Claire, Ruby and Eliza, all Dad’s cherished and much loved grandchildren. Later in the piece Gary welcomes Jed and Lilly via his new partner Jane into the family and Dad and Mum are replete. The kids all love the beach. But the shack in Brierley Court is too small. One day Dad says “Let’s get in the car, we’re going for a drive.” We arrive at 25 Second Avenue in Anglesea. On the hill overlooking Point Roadknight. It’s an auction. He puts his hand up a few times and wins the day. The place at the coast now has a bit of heft to it. A swimming pool even. He loved that pool. And a pool table. Bigger than the tricky little one at Robert Street.
In 2000 before retirement officially but when things have slowed down they move down to Anglesea to start the Final Quarter. They settle into the town and it settles into them. They make friends, new friends, not the same as old mates with shared histories and weddings and babies, but great mates nonetheless. Many in their own twilights but all of whom love the winter quiet of a small town and the things on offer in the summer. A meeting place in what’s now called Bumblebeez Café becomes the hub for the local retirees. It’s now run by Ben and Bruno. But before that its John Danielle and then Furio and Allyson. All are kind to the older couple who come in each day to meet their new friends. John Birt, Elaine and Barry Browning, Margaret and John Cummings and Bill and Marlene Hughes. Brian and Jill Emerson and their son Jamie. Brian died a few years ago and the next time Jamie saw dad he wrapped him in a bear hug and cried. And thanked him. In the street. New friends, great mates.
I’ve left a couple of stories and some important relationships and connections until last.
First the stories which I think say something about my dad.
Anecdotes
In the Order of Service (put together by Eliza, thank you) that follows you’ll see a shot that shows just how close the Coburg playing fields were to the walls of Pentridge. One day while playing Lacrosse an errant pass saw the ball sail over that wall into the prison. It’s not now. It’s then. Post war, the effects of the Great Depression keenly felt. Back then noone goes to play cricket with 15 bats in their kit. I’m looking at you Steve Smith. Noone changes racquets every set if not more often. Noone has a pair of footy boots for every day of the week. Times are tough. Even Lacrosse balls aren’t cheap. So over he goes. Over the wall. Dad. Into the prison. To fetch the ball. Gives the guards a wave. They wave back. Jumps back over, game on. I’ve grilled mum about this and she swears it happened. I believe her. Dad had a cheeky side that we all loved. In his final days Cassie whispered into his ear “It’s me Cassie, I’m here with Trevor.” He blinked in recognition and said “Well I’ll be buggered. How about that.” With a smile. And went back to sleep.
He loved to ride his bike and had a great mate in his cousin Bill Parsons. They used to ride from Brunswick to Sylvan to pick strawberries at the Parsons Family Strawberry Farm. Put that into Google Maps and see how you go. No lycra, no gears, no helmets. Modern bikes could be hoisted overhead by a toddler. Back then? No titanium in those days. Steel frames, tyres from tractors. It would have been hard work. All in a days lark for dad.
Breaking The News
I had to break the news to some old people in the last couple of weeks. It’s sad for us all but very sad for them who’ve lost touch and still remember him fondly. I rang Madge Hartwig (formerly Exelby) a twin of Jean now deceased. Madge married Rex, a tennis Hall of Famer in doubles, Davis Cup, Wimbledon the lot. A brush with fame for the family. Her uncle Les paid for dad and Madge and Jean’s tennis lessons. The village again. She said, sadly, “He was my favorite cousin.” There’s been a lot of that.
Close Friends and the Bombers
I have to mention one of mum and dad’s Anglesea friends in John Birt. Partly because it allows me to talk about the Essendon footy club and dad’s odd relationship with it. John played for Essendon in the sixties and would have played in the premierships in 1962 and 1965. He later went over to the Dark Side and played for Collingwood. He’s otherwise a good fella. He’s been a very good friend to mum and dad in their Anglesea phase and particularly helpful and kind recently. Kept in touch with me and mum, ran errands for them, took the bins in at the house and so on. Knows clearly what being a mate is. Thanks to you John.
But back to the Bombers. You wouldn’t call Dad an Essendon supporter. He was really an Essendon critic. He reminded me of Waldorf and Statler from the Muppets. You’ll have to ask Mrs Google that too if you don’t know what I mean. The last time he took me to the footy was the Preliminary final in 1966. We got flogged in the wet by the Saints and mainly by Darrel Baldock. I don’t think he ever recovered. And this despite the fact that his Uncles Murray Exelby and Stan Wilson both played over 100 games for the Dons, took him to the footy VFL, VFA and the metropolitan clubs they later played and coached for. After I left home he’d ring me after every game. “Didja go?” “Yeah dad, they were pretty good to day.” He had an answer. “They can’t kick” or “they’re too slow” or “why do they handball all the time? And backwards.” It was a conversation I could never make headway in. A few years ago we’d added Adam Saad and Connor McKenna. The call came after a game we’d won and they’d been good in. “Did you see Saady and Connor dad? Jet propelled they were. I think we’ve fixed the speed problem.” He paused. “What’s the good of running like buggery down the ground if you don’t know what to do when you get there?” Checkmate.
He had a particular regard (or lack of it) for certain players. Had them in the gun. Most recently it was Joe Daniher. “He can’t kick straight. What are they paying him all that money for if he can’t kick straight?” Per custom I defended Joey. “He’s got OP Dad. A lot of the big fellas get it. Buddy has got it.” Pause. “He can’t kick …”. Ever hopeful late last year at the end of the trade period I spoke to Dad. “We’ve stuck to our guns Dad. We’ve hung onto Joey. He’ll play for us next year.” Pause. A long pause. “Oh. Shit.” He then went quiet.
Ron Blainey, with sons Gary and Trevor
Family
OK so it’s time on in the last quarter. Nearly there. Family. I’d be remiss not to mention the Wilson family again. Stan and Grace and their children Russell, Lance, Dianne and my great mate Glenda. Parents, brothers and sisters to my dad always. A great support to my Nana and for my dad. They moved into our street in Bulleen when we were in our teens. Dad and Stan and Russell and Lance raced greyhounds with a lot of success. Poor man’s racing but fun all the same. Stan and dad walked them. Stan, about whom I could speak forever (don’t worry I wont) was quite a fella. Backman’s knuckles, teetotaller, kind and gentle he called in every night about tea time. We looked forward to it. I know dad did. Uncle Stan was making sure we were OK. The village. Family. Bless ‘em all.
Not a footnote so much as a late note. My sister in law Jan, her husband Tim and their children Rick, Serena and Jamie are our family down the coast, the Torquay connection. Jan and Tim have been great recently with Jan in particular visiting mum and dad many times. Not to labour the point but it is the point. Dad’s point. Family. Thanks Jannie. We had a great Christmas at the Kaisers in Dad’s last proper outing. In the video presentation coming up (thanks to Ruby who prepared it with the help of Eliza, Claire and Alex) you’ll see him sitting there at the end smiling, happy as. Guarding his presents and his chocolates I should say. A really good day.
Dad didn’t like crowds. I think that’s why he gave the footy a wide berth. Never went to the cinema, the theatre, no galleries except little country ones, I doubt that he ever set foot in Fed Square. Or the city in the last half century for that matter. However I really mean he didn’t like big crowds. But there was a type of crowd he loved. The gatherings of family and friends at his home whether it was in the Bulleen house or the one at Anglesea. Usually on the feast days, Christmas, birthdays. He loved those occasions. Loved having all those familiar and loved nearby. That extended to my friends and I assume Gary’s and Janine’s. The house in Bulleen became a hub for our mates. Beer in the fridge, the pool table ready to use. A mate from school Des Maloney and his brother Bernie used to go to the bike races at Bathurst every year. Year after year they’d drop into Robert Street at sparrows fart on the day they left for cackleberries and toast and a cuppa and then get on their way. I don’t think Bulleen is on the way to Bathurst from their home in Burwood but there it is. It was that kind of place.
We had a lot of family days at Anglesea. He loved his grandkids. Made sure everything was ready for when they came. Cleaned the pool to laboratory cleanliness in the days leading up to a family do. Rang me and told me he was doing it. Not the most exciting of topics but it seemed important that I know. “what’ll we need? Two chops and a sausage each enough for everybody? Chicken kebabs? I’ve got a slab of heavy and a slab of light. Enough? Are you bringing the red? I’ve got one that one of the suppliers gave me last Christmas. Looks alright.” Just checking. Making sure. Providing. Family paramount. And he’d ring back two days later and run through the list again.
Legacy
When someone who has reached a good age passes away there is inevitably a reflection on their legacy. As I’ve said often throughout Dad loved family and was keen for all to prosper. Often asked how each was going, what they were up to. Just checking. He would be well pleased with what he left behind. Amongst his grandchildren there is a nurse working in aged care, a kinder teacher, a graphic design student, a filmmaker and radio presenter, a young manager in retail, the heir to the family business (look out Gaz) and a lawyer. Still others working in marketing and the building trade. All doing stuff. Interested in sports, fashion, the arts, the environment. Some interested in politics, some not. Good types all of them. Look you in the eye, shake your hand, smile a lot. You did well dad.
So I speak today on behalf of my brother, sister, their children and mine, Ian and Jane and my wife Cassie and of course my mum. We’ve all worked hard in recent times to shepherd my parents through this stage of their lives. Our hope is that we’ve made good on dad’s resolve all those years ago. That was always the aim.
Our dad, our grandpa and a much loved husband and friend to many has passed on. I have wondered where to if anywhere. I’d like to think he’s gone where the Calathumpians go. And that wherever that is they’re young again. Those Calathumpians. Fit and agile. Playing Lacrosse probably. Dad’s got Reg and Don and Wes playing with him. And Nobby O’Brien. Did I mention him? He also passed away this week. RIP Nobby. They’re being cheered on by Bev and Don’s beautiful Betty and Graeme’s lovely Gwen. Pucko might be there and Jack. And over the cheering can be heard the voice of Jacko’s mum, Coburg’s Number 1 supporter. “Give the ball to Ronnie. They can’t catch him. He’s too fast. Go Ronnie go.” And go he does. At a clip charging towards the net. Look out. And if the ball goes over the wall we know who’ll fetch it.
Job’s done dad.
The Pools clean, the water sparkling in the sun.
The dogs have been walked, the bins are out and there are plenty of soft drinks in the fridge in case the grandkids come over. And you’ve got an endless supply of chocolate ginger and licorice to enjoy.
Rest easy, old man. You’ve earnt it.
26 October 1931 – 20 January 2020