From the desk of Roland Rocchiccioli – 1 January

The death of another year is cause for pause and reflection; a time to take stock, and with determination and pluck, to march-on, and enjoy!

AS the years slip-by, and they do with alarming swiftness, the temptation to sink into melancholy hangs over one’s head like the sword of Damocles; however, there is nothing to be achieved by pondering what might have been, when what has been, has been so good. Certainly, living life in the doldrums is not the answer.

What is good for the soul, is to reflect on what the years have given; what one has learned; and how one has used the time. To be grateful.

I was born in 1947 – three-years before the middle of the last century, and two years after the end of the Second World War. My parents, Ginger and Beria, were born in 1909 and 1911, respectively. My father would be 113, and my mother 111. That is unfathomable!

The years from 1945-1970 were a glorious time in the history of this country. Basking in victory, Australia was on the march. The Nation’s post-war period of reconstruction, and which lasted for about 25 years, was a golden age of prosperity and security. It was, also, a less sophisticated age. Symbols were important. The 1954 Royal Visit of The Queen and Prince Philip brought the country to a standstill. There was a willingness to accept the status quo.

The men and women of Australia’s armed forces fought for our freedom. Many gave their today for our tomorrow. Consequently, the Second World War came to define our lives. Those of us born in the long shadow of that conflict had an expectation. The hard-won victory was for us, the children of today and the adults of tomorrow. We accepted, with alacrity, the world was our oyster.

Also, it was the Age of Space. A race between the United States of America and the USSR. I recall, with clarity, standing in the deafening silence of the outback, and staring into the vast, night, desert sky, watching incredulously as Sputnik passed overhead. It was a moment of childhood incomprehensiveness. When at school Mr Reilly explained that one day man might walk on the moon, it boggled my mind.

Immigration changed the face of Australia. During my childhood there were 28 different nationalities working on the Sons of Gwalia goldmine. I grew-up with the sound of all those languages ringing in my ears, and the taste of their foods developing my palate. It was a time and a place the like of which the world will never know again. It taught me tolerance, and helped mould me into the person I am today.

Between 1945 and 1965, two-million immigrants arrived in Australia. The Australian government’s decision was based on the notion of ‘populate or perish’ which emerged in the wake of WWII, and a consequence of the Japanese bombing of Darwin. Their threat of invasion was real.

Australia’s first Minister for Immigration, Arthur Calwell, introduced the ‘ten-pound Pom’ assisted migrant program. It proved so popular, by 1947 more than 400,000 war-weary Britons had registered to immigrate to Australia.

Europe’s overflowing displaced persons’ camps were targeted and yielded a rich harvest. February 1947, the first shipload from Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania arrived in Fremantle. They were young and single, and quickly became known as the ‘beautiful Balts’. They were our first new-Australians, and it marked a radical change.

On grateful reflection: all that has been could not have been, without the passing of the years…

Happy New Year!

Roland can be contacted via [email protected].