Personal recollections of Hawkie, aka Bob Hawke, 1929-2019.

1984 ALP election memorabilia

The public tributes and personal recollections have been flowing on news of the death of former Prime Minister of Australia, and general larrikin, Bob Hawke, and his memorial service has been held today.  Now, that takes me back, so I thought that I should record a few personal recollections of the "Hawke era".

My parents were heavily involved in both the union movement and Australian Labor Party in those days, and I followed suit, joining the ALP at age 16.

My first recollection of actually meeting Bob Hawke was in the lift at the Victorian Trades Hall in Carlton, somewhere in the late 1960s.  I was a fairly young teenager, and was accompanying my dad, who was a union organiser with the Building Workers' Industrial Union, and who had known Bob for quite a while.  Bob had been Industrial Advocate for the Australian Council of Trade Unions for quite some time by then, but was fast becoming a leading light in the labour movement, and I only remember thinking "gee, he's not very tall!"

Dad seemed to be a bit chuffed that he had attended (much earlier) the same secondary school as Bob, the academically selective Perth Modern School.  He admired Bob's intelligence and abilities, but also liked to say that he felt that the secret of Bob's success in resolving industrial disputes lay in his timing - Bob knew exactly how long to hold back until the parties to a dispute were desperate for a resolution, then he would step in to propose something, usually with success!

In mid 1976, a family friend was the Industrial Advocate for the ACTU, when Bob, who was ACTU President by then, decided that he had something urgent to discuss, so phoned my parents' house smack bang in the middle of Ian's and my engagement party - naturally that evening Bob was not the most popular person with our family.

Our involvement in Labor politics continued, and in about 1977 we were collecting entry fees for an ALP fundraiser, when who should appear but Bob Hawke, who was attending as an invited high profile Labor and union personality.  He seemed a little nonplussed when we told him that we expected him to pay to enter, as after all, it was a fundraiser and the ALP was a socialist party (we were probably still holding a grudge over the "Engagement Party Incident"), however, he actually paid up!

Over the years, we saw Bob at many ALP functions, and he clearly enjoyed the adulation of those around him, including the attention of many women, who literally couldn't seem to keep their hands off him!   Mum related a story, with great amusement, of bumping into Hazel and Bob, returning from a trip, at Melbourne Airport.  Bob was "chucking a wobbly" because the airline had misplaced their luggage.  Finally Hazel had had enough, and walked off, saying something like "for God's sake, Bob, put a sock in it!".  According to Mum, Bob visibly pulled himself together, and scuttled off after Hazel.

Both Ian and I happened to be members of the Administrative and Clerical Officers' Association (now the Community and Public Sector Union), and again in about 1977, during a major public sector union dispute, attended a large union rally at Melbourne's Festival Hall.  Bob Hawke had been invited to address the very large crowd of union members, but it became clear during his overly long and rambling speech that he had probably arrived after a "liquid lunch".   Despite his enormous popularity in the union movement, the crowd was not pleased and made its feelings known, resulting in his departure from the stage.

In 1979 Ian happened to be a member of the Victorian ALP Central Preselection Panel for the House of Representatives electorate of Wills, which of course was the seat that Bob was elected to in 1980.  We still have the letter written by Bob to Ian asking for his vote.  There would originally have been a total of 70 of those letters, so I guess this one is now a family heirloom.

We had moved from Melbourne to Canberra in 1980, and as it happened, moved house on the day of the March 1983 Federal election, as well as working for the ALP on the 4-6pm shift at a polling place, closing up and then scrutineering for the ALP in the polling place count after.  By then we were pretty exhausted but had been given access passes to the National Tally Room at EPIC (aka the Canberra Showgrounds).  We knew that this was a momentous occasion in Australian politics, so we drove across town, using our pass to enter the invited guest car park, and parking our tiny Suzuki Hatch next to the Thai Ambassador's Mercedes.

Honestly, I was so tired that I don't clearly remember Bob's victory speech as the next Prime Minister of Australia, although for some reason I do recall Malcolm Fraser becoming a bit teary during his speech conceding defeat!

Almost anyone who was around during the "Hawke era" seems to have quite clear memories, large and small, of that time, and so many people felt, and still feel, a personal connection to a character who was both flawed and brilliant.  Love him or hate him, Bob Hawke left an indelible mark on Australian history, and changed the face of the Australia we live in today.

As it was said at his memorial service, it was a life triumphantly well-lived.  Rest in peace, Hawkie.

Bob Hawke and Gough Whitlam

Hazel and Bob, election night 1983

Are we there yet? Are we there yet?

NO! Shut up you annoying kid (me) in the back seat.

Still checking lists, to make sure nothing important is forgotten.

The trip to the Kimberley, so long in the planning, starts tomorrow.  My left leg has chosen to cause problems at a bad time.  I have spoken to it severely, but seeing I have to drag it along regardless of how it behaves, a "wheely walker" has had to be added at the last minute, or there will be more falls.  This is complicating air and other travel a bit.

Why doesn't anyone seem to make a sturdy travel bag for the folded walker, for when it gets checked in as airline luggage?  Luckily, we found a bicycle bag the right size.  There is a picture of a bike on the outside, and we discussed whether to put a lock on the zipper, but both got the giggles at the thought of someone stealing it, thinking it contained a fancy bike, to discover what was really inside.

I want to blog a travel diary, but internet connections will be few and far between in the Kimberley, so an actual book is coming along, so I can take notes.

Aunty Glad’s cockie. And other birds. Expletives not deleted.

At home on the deck

For those who don’t understand Australian slang, a “cockie” is a cockatoo, and in this case a Sulphur Crested Cockatoo.  (It could also mean a farmer, but I’m not going into that here!)

Cockies are renowned for screeching, being destructive, and sometimes learning to talk.  When we lived in a previous house, there was a large flock of wild cockies which circled the area, and in amongst the very loud screeching, we could regularly hear one voice saying “hello cockie”!  Presumably someone’s domestic pet had escaped, and joined the wild flock.

We have a number of native birds that visit our current home.  When the drought was really bad, we would put out seed on the bird feeder, and we noticed a definite “pecking order”.  The crimson rosellas would chase off the eastern rosellas, the galahs would chase the crimson rosellas, then the sulphur crested cockatoos would chase off the galahs!  Basil the beagle and Jasper the Belpie would happily ignore any birds, until the cockies started coming in.  Then Jasper (see Obituary for a dog, June 2014) would loudly voice his objection, and chase them off.

Now to Aunty Glad’s cockie.  Aunty Glad was actually my great-aunt, and she lived with her second husband, Uncle Tommy.  There was endless fascination when visiting Aunty Glad and Uncle Tommy, not least of all because Uncle Tommy, who always seemed to me to be smiling and cheerful, had been in the merchant navy, and was covered in tattoos.  Fascinating to all the kids!

Then there was Cockie (I can’t remember any other name).  Now it seems to have been traditional when teaching a bird to talk, to teach phrases like “hello cockie”, “pretty boy”, and other innocuous things.   Sometimes there was a snatch of a popular tune whistled.

Not so with Cockie.  On going up to his cage, we would be treated to “Tommy’s pissed again, Tommy’s pissed again, piss off Tommy!”  I gather that Aunty Glad and Uncle Tommy both liked a drink, or two, or three.  I only remember adults having cups of tea while visiting, but it became clear that at other times Cockie was witness to loud arguments, sprinkled with quite a few choice expletives.  Once a cockie has learned something, you can’t shut it up, so we kids had quite an education in generally impolite language, although we worked out pretty quickly that for us, repeating it brought adverse consequences!

There became a favourite family story of the new girlfriend who was being introduced to the family, and who walked up to Cockie’s cage, saying “hello cockie” and “pretty boy”.  Cockie then shrieked “Piss off, you bastard!”  Oops.