Wightman

Across many Labor households, you were either Bob Hawke or Paul Keating disciples. Such was the bitterness of their feud during the 1991 ALP leadership spills, families were left feeling they had to choose. Mr Keating gained our admiration; the great economic reformer and man of merely a high school education who donned bespoke Italian suits and believed classical music to be the one true artform. He remains a contradiction. Mr Hawke was a consensus leader, the problem solver, who brought Australians and his Cabinet together. He was Australia’s Chairman of the Board. But if truth be told, and even though vastly different, they were at their best together. Bob Hawke, the popular, charismatic, easy in a crowd leader of people, yet with significant flaws and Paul Keating, with arrogance, one of the last who could convince and explain difficult economic concepts. Their collective achievements were numerous, and they changed Australian forever. The Accord; bringing the political and...

Florence sat still. She wasn’t frozen, just pensive; a little concerned, yet accepting. Florence loved to sing. She also loved to dance and draw and paint and just float about. Both her brother and sister loved to run. They also loved to jump and tumble and kick and wrestle. Florence and her siblings were different, but similar. She was the youngest and permitted to try things earlier. Florence embraced family life at full-throttle as a result. Their parents loved, recognised and celebrated the children’s unique talents and differences. High expectations were important but so was not simply comparing. They were not born of privilege and fortunate to gain university education; a first for their extended families. Florence loved school. Her friends were mostly kind and caring, and the teachers prided themselves on student learning and improvement in all aspects. She was bright and capable, but only stretched to maximise her talents in subjects where she felt passionate. The na...

The official crowd for an epic AFL clash between Hawthorn and Carlton last Sunday was 15,888. It felt like more as loud and passionate supporters made their feelings known on everything from the umpiring to the wait for hot chips. The Northern Terrace at York Park, a terrific spot to watch the game, was dominated by supporters donning the navy blue. The much maligned, taunted, misunderstood ‘top end of towners’, who are experts at reflecting on past glories, couldn’t believe their eyes when six goals were kicked in the first quarter. As a long-suffering Carlton supporter (my favourite colour as a child was blue), utter disbelief hovered over the crowd like clouds; we don’t often kick six in a half let alone a quarter. Unfortunately, with a 31-point lead at half-time, the ‘premiership quarter’ proved our downfall, but you couldn’t fault the effort. Blues’ coach Brendan Bolton, the proud George Town lad said, “I probably won’t sleep tonight,” in response to a question about disappo...

How I dream of being a surfer. To effortlessly drop from the top of an unbroken wave, finding speed and grace in the middle before cutting back to continue a perfect ride would be magnificent. At 43 years of age, I have decided to stand on a foam board more regularly. It has been a very slow process. Add a list of ailments including tight hip flexors, hamstrings, calves, shoulders and back, and a general lack of flexibility, compounded by not being a kid of the surf, and you understand my struggle. The mind is willing, but the body fails to respond with small waves halting their momentum before I can complete a basic pop-up. Never athletic, more determined – pride motivates effort. The kid’s pop-up, often simply hopping to a standing position, light and nimble on small boards, not the 9-foot version I am offered, providing opportunity for a modicum of success. Most times, I have not attempted to surf. Pushing the kids into waves my primary role; paddling out through the white...

I have visited Hellfire Pass. And although not a man of pilgrimage, I respect and acknowledge sacrifice. But I do not glorify war. War should never be an aspiration; it is tragedy and heartache and sadness and death and waste. Volunteering is brave and courageous, and you may pay the ultimate sacrifice. In modern times, conscription is too difficult to fathom, and I hope never for my children. Yet I know why we enjoy freedom and understand that Australia is the best country in the world as a result. The Thai-Burma Railway, where 60,000 allied prisoners of war were enslaved, was a 415-kilometre section of railway line that supplied Japanese soldiers based in Burma (Myanmar). Of the 13,000 Australians, who daily chiselled and carted rock, railway iron and sleepers, more than 2,700 perished. More than 12,000 prisoners of war died on the aptly memorialised, ‘Death Railway’. There were also 200,000 Asian workers, or Romusha, who supported construction. 90,000 never returned hom...

A colleague recently rhetorically asked of me, have you ever changed someone’s opinion at a dinner party? I struggled to answer and, consequently, it caused me to reflect. When a gathering assembles to socialise - good food, wine and company often fuel topical and free-flowing conversations, which can lead to debate. The outcome is predictable with tête-à-tête expanding to ridiculous heights, offering irrelevant points to pursue or maintain a line of argument. Humour and good-natured ribbing also play a part, but rarely have I experienced a situation where opinions or views are changed. Perhaps, that’s more to do with circumstance rather than a lack of open-mindedness. After several years and hundreds of debates where, considered a sport I thrived, learning a few lessons has taken time. Over the decades my family has participated in numerous ongoing verbal battles, informed by our parents’ life experiences before arriving in Australia. It is an environment that allowed us to ...