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reetings from Bellingen, Australia.

Welcome to this Red-Letter Day. Below you will find today's global celebrations, birthdays and events.

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Carpe diem! (Seize the day!) And, as they say in McDonald’s, ‘have a nice da-ay’ (add plastic smile). Nup. Make a great day.

Pip Wilson

 

I suppose I might have said these things elsewhere at Wilson's Almanac, but they are so important to me, I shall write them again. I come from quite a large family. My beloved father was one of eleven children, five of whom died in their childhood.  It is a very moving experience for us as a family, or alone, to visit Rookwood Cemetery, in Sydney. One was Gracie, and another was Bill. He was named after my paternal grandfather, William Lucas Wilson, who was born in 1890 and was dux of his school, at Paddington. So was his wife. He was a very good linotype operator and proofreader . We called him 'Pampa', and my paternal grandmother, we called Mamma. Many kids call me Grandpa, or Grandpa Pip, although I have fewer of my own (I have three children who I love, and five lovely grandkids), but as I get older, I would like to be Pampa. I thought it was quite a unique name, but have found on the Internet that it is very common. Many children can only say "Mamma" and "Pampa", as their infant tongues can do no better. Poor Bill got hit by a train and was quite a problem for my family, but they loved and cared for him.

I believe that Pampa brought Henry Lawson home for a meal. If you'd  like to know why, please ask me, but in a nutshell, Lawson was Australia's most famous man, with a very distinctive face, and used to beg for money very close where Pampa worked in the newspaper industry, which Lawson frequented. Pampa had already taken indigent people home, even building a shed in his backyard for a poor man.

My late mother was Marjorie June Hillis. When I was about 10 years of age, I changed my name by Deed Poll from Philip Elton Wilson to Philip Elton Hillis Wilson.

One of the reasons, of course, was because of my mother's devotion to her husband and family. She was the child of a poor widow. One of four children who she supported before pensions. She cleaned offices before dawn.

Another was Uncle Ray, and I had three Uncle Rays. Because of this, we distinguished them by surname. The eldest was Uncle Ray Harrison. My mum and dad called him Unk. He was a returned serviceman from to tours of duty in the Boer War, where he lost at least one horse. A lot of blokes in those days were armless, having lost an arm in WWI. They usually worked as 'brown bombers' (parking policemen), lift drivers at big department stores like Anthony Hordern's, but Unk had never been shot. He'd dodged a lot of bullet's in WWI, and counted his blessings. He kept a gold watch in his fob pocket (and I carry on the tradition of keeping coins and so on in my fob pocket, out of respect for him). Unk was an interesting old man from Burwood, in Sydney. He was apparently quite poor, but grew lovely carnations, and would visit us quite often. His practice was to bring carnations to Mum, and licorice allsorts, or XXXX mints to we children. (I was one of four . My elder sister Rosie also suffered a brain injury, but is doing well, as I am.) My younger brother John and younger sister Lizzie are also well, I'm told, and very important to me, as siblings should always be. John and Lizzie helped me escape that terrible 'hospital' at Ryde, and assisted with much more.

Unk lived in a boarding house in Burwood. There were no buses in those days when we lived in West Penno, and Mum used to walk to Beecroft Station, catch a train to Burwood, and look after him. There was nothing for the owner of the boarding house, or Mum, in his will. He left it all to the RSPCA. All that was left of him was a New Testament, a copy of Emerson's poems, and three suits in a wardrobe. Mum didn't whinge about it. Unk used to complain that young blokes in Burwood wouldn't get out of his way when he was walking down a path. Some things haven't changed much in Australia.

Another Uncle Ray was Uncle Ray Wilson. Dr Raymond Wilson was superintendent of Rockhampton Hospital, and often visited us at Christmas. He would drive a car all the way to Sydney from 'Rocky', towing a caravan, with seven children aboard.

Then there was Uncle Ray Hillis. One of the reasons I changed my name was because of Uncle Ray, now deceased. Uncle Ray Hillis left me some excellent legacies. He kept a beautiful garden at Roseville near the River Park. All my friends know that I love gardening, and that's largely because of Ray Hillis. He kept a wonderful aviary, and my friends also know that I very much love birds.

Ray Hillis and his late wife, Norma, also used to visit at Christmas. Their love for me was remarkable all my life, and later for some of my children and grandchildren. Norma, a home economist and excellent cook, never forgot to bring good food, and presents, and she and Ray Hillis were my special friends. Their love for me was remarkable.

Requiescat in pace, Uncle Ray Hillis and Auntie Norma. Thank you very much. I love Christmas Day, largely in your honour.

 

Wikipedia and David Brown's prodigious Daily Bleed are both excellent resources which aid my research.
I frequently make use of their generously liberal 'fair use', 'copyleft' and 'anti-copyright' policies, with much gratitude.
© My own copyright policy is also liberal, but as this is my livelihood, conditions apply.

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