Chapter 1

Introduction by Geoffrey Selkirk Cottew (1925-2009)

A few years ago I read of an incident that made an impression on me and probably was the catalyst for the writing that follows.

It seems that a certain man was about to undertake a train journey to see his sister who lived in Perth. Many years had passed since they were together. He set out from Sydney, but before the train left he had a sudden thought. He leapt out and from a stall on the station he bought a pencil and a school exercise book. It had occurred to him that his sister knew nothing of how he had spent his years. He was approaching the end of a knockabout life and were anything to happen to him, all his experiences would be lost unless they were recorded in some form. As the train pulled out he started to jot down some notes about his past activities. The story goes that by the time he arrived in Perth he had worn out several pencils and had covered several exercise books with details of his interesting life.

Those who have been persuaded that the life they have lived would make the basis of an interesting /entertaining book have been responsible for most of the autobiographies published. Happily most have proved interesting. More recently a spate of lesser works have come from lesser lights in the shape of retired politicians or sportsmen who have put pen to paper at almost the first sign of achieving prominence. There are others, including some friends who may have had thoughts similar to mine and have written down details of their lives for their next of kin, usually their children. Somewhere in the above motivations lies the stimulus that persuaded me to record events in my life and the times for the interest of my children and theirs.

A great driving force for me was simply the almost complete lack of any documentation of my own ancestors. Not having even the simplest of documents to show, or stories to tell to grandchildren of their line of descent has been frustrating for me, and the following words have been written in an attempt to improve that position for those that follow on from us. Perhaps they will add their own notes and then somewhere down the line a descendant will look at it all and say, “I am glad that my forbears started the practice of recording their life stories”.

Chapter 1

I have always felt that my father, in his later years, was reluctant, too tired, or perhaps too distracted by poor health, to discuss “old times”. With almost nothing of those times written down I have only my weakening memory from which to bring to light any stories of his life and thoughts. Added to this was the fact that for much of the time that would have been valuable for getting this information, we were living in separate cities, and we saw far too little of him, or indeed of my mother who outlived him by many years. I am pleased to say that I had a good relationship with both parents. I admired and loved them both, but it was to Dad that I looked for the stories of deeds and people. To some extent the same was true of Mum, of course, but at least we have kept all the letters she wrote to us. Mum kept most of our letters to her. Happily we found them amongst her possessions.

Now I find myself in much the same position, being long separated from our children who thus have missed the reminiscing that almost surely would have taken place had we been together. Do I hear them sighing with relief? There are now four grandchildren at latest count, all away from constant contact with us. Even if we cannot often communicate face to face, at lest there will be something written down for them to read later on in their own time.

Prior to the (for me) eventful year of 1925, Mum and Dad had the pleasure of the birth of their first son, Richard Graham Cottew in Auckland on February 25, 1923. Dad was born in Brisbane on October 20, 1888 and Mum was born in Charters Towers on January 11, 1888. They were married on August 1, 1921 at St Marks Church of England, Albion. A later church designed by architect Norman Allom, my Mother’s brother, has replaced the original. His name is remembered on a plaque in the clerestory of the church.

I was born on August 30, 1925 in Sandown Hospital that was on the Esplanade at Southport. This building has long since gone. At the time we were living in the central building of the Cable Station complex in Bauer Street, Southport. Half the building was our house, and the other half was the Office of the Pacific Cable Board. These buildings, too, have been removed. Parts were used to construct a building at The Southport School (TSS) of the same general appearance as the original. This is now the Music School. Had she known, Mum would have been intrigued as she played the piano within the original walls. Being a Silver Medallist in piano playing from some competition, she played well. Dad had a pleasing baritone voice and often sang to her playing of tunes sung on the radio by Peter Dawson, possibly the best baritone in Australia at the time. His songs on gramophone records had sold in greater number than had those of anyone else up to 1939.

Strangely I remember nothing of my birth and little of my early years. I was not by age 3, for example, playing the piano or doing calculus. Somewhere along the line I learned to walk and talk. The earliest impressions I can recall are vague and occurred in Sydney, to which city we moved around 1926, living in the suburb of Mosman. These memories consist of sitting on or riding a tricycle or some pedal-driven appliance waiting for Dad to come home from work.