On June 30th, 1984, on what was his 60th birthday, my dad retired as Principal of Macleod High School in Melbourne’s northern suburbs. He’d worked extremely hard all of his life and, having seen some of his peers push too hard and keel over soon after retiring, he opted to pull the safety chute at the earliest possible opportunity.
I was lucky enough to be there at his retirement send off at a community hall in Eltham. Apart from mum, I was the only other family member present and, surrounded by his gushing peers, it gave me a much deeper insight into how well he was regarded amongst his education fraternity. I use the word fraternity judiciously as I felt I was being allowed entry into the inner sanctum of a guild. However, there was an overt friendliness to their sorority. As the son of their esteemed colleague, and myself midway through a teaching degree, I was made to feel like an anointed successor.
There were a number of speeches, full of respect and good humour. One speech in particular had a lasting impact. Don Grant was not only a peer of my father, but shared his love of theatre and literature. As he leant casually on the lectern, he had the room in stitches and, in the palm of his hand. I had never seen anything like it. Don’s ease with public speaking and the intoxicating laughter he was effortlessly generating, stayed with me and may have been an early seed planted for the career I would latterly pursue. Dad also spoke wonderfully well. He peppered his speech with equal parts humour and sincere gratitude for the role his cohorts had played in his career. I was so proud of him. In many ways this event inspired both of my careers. It left me wanting to strive to be as good an educator as dad, but as competent an orator.
From the day he retired, dad decided to keep a diary. To my knowledge he’d never previously kept a journal of any kind. However, the man who had up until this moment, lived a rich & varied life as a successful educator, gifted sportsman, war veteran and amateur actor, had decided to diarise the least interesting part of it … or so I thought.
There are 23 volumes of the ‘Retirement Diaries’, as my siblings and I have dubbed them. The journals mostly portray what was occurring in his family life, but occasionally broadens the canvas to include world events. In each tome, he notates pretty much everything that is happening around him in forensic police report like detail. As a result, there is little separation of import from one subject to the next. Thus, everything appears to be given equal weight …
- Had another prostate check. Not a fan.
- An earthquake devastated Armenia killing thousands.
- Damian came to remove the leaves from the spouting.
- Sr Fran had a hysterectomy.
- We watched ‘Keeping Up Appearances’ followed by ‘Twin Peaks’ - a baffling show, but we’ve decided to give it another try.
One of my favourite recurring elements in his diaries, are the minutes from the Monday morning staff meetings that he foisted upon mum after he retired. The headmaster in him hadn’t been able to let go of his attachment to procedures. To her credit, mum humoured him and they became a fixture. However, his offspring couldn’t resist taunting him and we’d regularly ring to ask to have matters added to the agenda.
On the night of dad’s funeral in 2018, my sister dragged out the box containing dad diaries and handed them over to me. At this point none of us had taken the deep dive into the vast collection, and the rest of the family thought I was the most likely to make the leap.
I’m the youngest of five and as a result I’m often wilfully excluded from family secrets. Case in point: I only found out recently that our Great Great Uncle was a notorious criminal. In fact, if I hadn’t recently stopped for petrol in Glenrowan ...
However, I was about to discover a family secret that had to that point in time, eluded all strata of the Callinan siblings from eldest to youngest. The existence of the the 1946 diary of Kathleen Purcell: our mum.
(Kathleen Purcell aged 19)
Until that night, the diary had remained obscured in the box amongst the copious editions of dad’s daily ponderings. That evening as I began to read aloud extracts from the slender, pale blue pamphlet sized journal, it soon became apparent that we had uncovered a gift of inestimable value. The diary charts a period of time leading up to her first meeting dad on June 8th, 1946 and the giddy early stages of their courtship. It notates their first meeting in gorgeous detail …
Saturday June 8th - As we were walking down the hill, Pat Cullen thought she saw Jack Cooper & sure enough it was East Brunswick CYMS playing Ivanhoe. Tom Duffy & Jack were both playing. At half time, Jack & Tom came over & brought a friend with them. He’s been away with the RAAF, that’s why we haven’t met him previously. His name is Adrian …
And later that same night …
I was cold, so he lent me his heavy Air force coat. We got a ride home in the van. Adrian got in and he sat next to me & had his arm along the back of the seat. We got out at the Merri Bridge & as Adrian lives on St Georges Rd, he came home with us.
I continued to pick out extracts to read and we savoured every one of them. In particular, we revelled in learning of the seemingly endless number of suitors who were knocking on her door. Adrian ‘Fly Boy’ Callinan had some stiff competition if he was to win the favour of the lass from 12 Wilcox Street, Preston. Jack Bowlen had the persistence of a dog with a tennis ball; Jack Griffiths had a 1942 Pontiac Streamliner and Leo ‘Something or other’ could dance everything from the Canadian Two Step to the Lindy Hop. Though as Kathleen had described Ron Rogan as a member of the wandering hand society, he had him covered.
From her altruistic visits to Heidelberg Military Hospital to play cards with the recuperating servicemen to the planning meetings for the Victorian Catholic Lawn Tennis Association Ball at Northcote Town Hall, it became apparent that this wasn’t just a window into our mum as a 19 year old, it was also an important time capsule of life in post WW2 Melbourne.
The discovery of the diary had a particularly joyous veneer for us due to the tragic circumstances of mum’s passing. 8 years previously, dad had accidentally run mum over and, after 5 days in intensive care with her condition described as a ‘non-survivable brain injury’, we made the decision to turn off life support.
Having collectively helped dad hold his life together over those 8 years, there was great catharsis in now being able to picture the young version of our parents in the infancy of their relationship. With them both now gone, it seemed almost miraculous that we’d been gifted these new memories to cherish.
I knew almost immediately that one day I’d find a way to bring mum’s diary to life on stage or screen, but I decided not force it and wait for the right inspiration. That revelation came the day I decided to dip into the box and began reading dad’s retirement diaries. It is at times a mundane and repetitive read, and he seems obsessed with keeping track of the whereabouts of his lawn mower.
Chris came to collect the mower, but it was at Damians. Rang Damian and he agreed to take the mower to Chris’s. I reminded him to get petrol. 2 stroke.
It is at other times hilarious. Sometimes accidentally …
Realised it was Sunday and we hadn’t been to Mass. It was 5.05pm, so too late for St Mary’s, Greensborough. We drove to St Martin of Tours in Rosanna only to discover they too had a 5pm mass. Drove to Our Lady’s Heidelberg, but it was 6.30 Mass there, so we drove to Immaculate Conception in Ivanhoe in plenty of time for their 6pm mass. Crisis averted.
Sometimes deliberately …
Fr Jim had an appointment with his chiropodist so mass only went for 15 minutes. Hopefully his feet continue to trouble him.
Sometimes both …
Dr Westmore performed a procedure to widen the neck of my urethra. Felt a trifle invaded, but it worked. Flow was immediately improved. 4 stars
However, most profoundly, the diaries gave me a deeper insight into the kindness of my father. Much like mum’s diary, it revealed the full extent of his selflessness. He devoted much time to others, either formally through his work with the St Vincent De Paul Society or in the benevolence he showed his friends. Reading of the lengths he went to, to support his great teaching colleague and friend, Barry Jones as he was dying of cancer, had me weeping with pride.
I’ve now combined the two literary sources into a single theatrical production called ‘Double Feature’. It’s a one man show that sees me reimagine mum’s diary as a 1940’s Hollywood Romantic blockbuster, combining dad’s diary as a split narrative. The show premiered at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival in March 2022 and has just commenced a national tour, kicking off at Perth Fringeworld Festival, before playing Adelaide Fringe Festival and a return season at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival. There is also regional tour happening in NSW [May/June] Victoria [September/October] Brisbane, Sydney & Hobart seasons are yet to be announced. You can find all the details here at my Gig Guide.
In February 2022, whilst the show was still being written, I talked to Richard Fidler on ABC Conversations. The feedback I received was extraordinary and it helped shaped the later stages of the writing process.
As the generation of my parents passes, there is a palpable sense of nostalgia for the WW2 generation. This combined with the theme of parental grief that we all ultimately experience, has seen this show resonate perhaps more than any of my previous shows. Due to this emotional reverberation, I let the audience know that I’ll be in the bar after the show, so that those that wish to, can impart their shared story.
It may seem a bit ‘Weekend at Bernies’ to say it, but it feels like mum and dad are on tour with me. Seeing their pictures up in lights outside the State Theatre Centre of Western Australia gave me a genuine thrill. Telling their story every night is even better.
I’ll see you in the bar. Sorry? … Oh, thanks for asking. I’m happy with a glass of red or white … even a cheeky rose.
(Kathleen Purcell married Adrian Callinan on December 26th, 1949 at Sacred Heart Catholic Church, Preston, Victoria)
Just loved the read Damien. Was Sr a sibling or a nun? Where did your Dad train in the RAAF and which Squadron was he in? Ian was named after his uncle who was shot down over Germany in one of the last raids. You must come to Hamilton with this show I will find some Heathers to attend. Best Wishes Heather Macgugan Dunkeld Vic
You’re crying, I’m not crying. Amazing storytelling as always bro. Can’t wait to see the show again.