Book: Redemption - Part III - Chapter 1...SECTION ONE....

SECTION ONE

Chapter One

The Early Years

1912 – 1943

Charters Towers would undoubtedly be the most famous of Queensland’s great gold mining towns. Its story began in the 1870s when a young Aboriginal boy named Jupiter stopped to drink from a creek. He was travelling with three prospectors out searching for their horses which had scattered during a storm. Forty years later, as the town’s fortunes were beginning to wane, my father was born. He wasn’t christened Hugh, James or George in honour of the city’s founders; he was named for another prospector, Ernest Henry. Looking back, I can’t help but wonder if he ever saw the irony in that.

Ernest Henry spent twenty years searching for a mineral of different kind before finding it near Cloncurry. Copper was what drove him for copper was what drove the times in which he lived. Unfortunately, his “Great Australian Mine” was useless without the infrastructure needed to extract it. Those investing in the Chillagoe mine, west of Cairns, discovered that. They had to finance the building of brickworks, sawmills, railways, smelting plant and even towns before their mine could be worked. Great Australian mines in the Cloncurry region would eventually go into production, but they weren’t his.

At the time of my father’s birth, his father was eking out a meagre living at the Mount Elliot mine at Selwyn, south of Cloncurry. His mother, the daughter of a Charters Towers publican, was staying with her family to await the birth of her son. When they left the Towers Jack left the Mount Elliot to take a ‘better’ job at the Hampden-Cloncurry. Cloncurry’s mines included the Hampden-Cloncurry and the Hampden Consols at Kuridala, the Mount Elliot at Selwyn, and the Mount Cobalt.

L - R: Sarah, Ernest and John A. Warman

Mining towns are built to service their mines, but Kuridala didn’t come into being until 1905, nearly twenty years after Henry’s discovery and eight years after mining commenced. In its heyday, it was a thriving community boasting the very best of accommodation and entertainment. On the eve of the First World War, with copper in such high demand, the Cloncurry region was the centre of the boom. By 1916, with its smelters producing the largest source of copper in Australia, there was every reason for my grandparents to be hopeful. The end of the war changed all that. Forty thousand tons of copper were stacked and ready for the world markets when the price collapsed. Paradoxically, at a time when 650 Mount Elliot miners lost their jobs, a letter was issued to Hamden-Cloncurry Mines Pty Ltd employees requesting they work harder because output was falling and costs were increasing.



Kuridala smelter 1918

In 1920, into what could only be described as a bleak and formidable environment, Jack and Sarah Warman welcomed their only other child, a girl named Gladys. Perhaps it was the loneliness and desperation of her circumstances, but Sarah changed after Gladys was born. She became a cold and distant mother to her son at a time when doors were closing all around him. For a bright and inquisitive eight-year-old like Ernest Warman, one of the most important of those doors belonged to the schoolhouse. Selwyn was twenty-nine kilometres away but a boy had to go to school.

In 1923, the fortunes of the west were forever changed when a man named John Campbell Miles discovered lead, silver and zinc deposits near the Leichhardt River. The town of Mt Isa, which eventually overtook Cloncurry as the largest copper producer in Australia, sprung up virtually overnight as Kuridala and Selwyn, all but abandoned by then, were stripped of their buildings. By then Jack was kept busy working as a representative of the Australian Workers’ Union (AWU), in addition to being secretary of the Selwyn branch of the Australian Labor Party, and an accurate and much sought-after forecaster of state election results.

In 1924, he resigned from the AWU to join the Australian Railways Union after applying for a position as a fettler with Queensland Railways. He was unsuccessful due to a lack of vacancies, but the following year the Queensland Government passed a Bill to extend the railway line from Duchess to Mount Isa to ensure heavy excavating equipment could be hauled in to work the lucrative new mines. When the three-year project got underway in 1926, Jack was assigned to a section gang based at Duchess. He was no stranger to hard work, but his stint on the tracks was to take a heavy toll.

Union member, J. A. Warman 1927

The year Mount Isa was born my father returned to the town of his birth to complete his education as a boarder at Mount Carmel College. Happier than he had been in a long time, he quickly gained a reputation as an exceptional student and an outstanding athlete.  Encouraged by the Christian Brothers, he excelled at everything he turned his hand to and went on to captain the school’s first XI in cricket and win medals and trophies in numerous sports. In 1929, Ernest Warman graduated Dux of Mount Carmel College. Such an achievement could have seen him carve out a prestigious career in law or medicine, but he chose to become a teacher. His first appointment, in 1932, was at Parkhurst, near Rockhampton. His last was at Oxley State School in Brisbane. In between, he served at several one-teacher schools in various far-flung parts of the state. At the end of the 1936 school year, on account of his father’s failing health, he accepted a position in the Public Curator’s Office.

A series of heart attacks between 1930 and 1932 had weakened Jack’s health to the point where he had no choice but to move to Brisbane. In 1933, he applied for, and was granted, less arduous work as a carriage clearer at Mayne Junction. It was there he met Thomas Casey, my maternal grandfather. Unfortunately, Jack’s health continued to deteriorate and in March 1937, he was forced to retire. The men of the Carriage Shed held him in such high regard that they raised enough money to present him with a fine wallet containing nine pounds, a princely sum during the Depression years.

Jack’s retirement set off a chain of events that would not be laid to rest for nearly seventy years. In seeking to create stability at a time of uncertainty, my father took out a loan and bought, in his father’s name, a modest three bedroom house in the inner Brisbane suburb of Wilston. He knew his father was not long for this world so this was done for his mother’s sake. Sarah never really had a home to call her own. In married life, home was a rough-hewn miner’s cottage or fettlers’ digs. In childhood, it was a few rooms above a rowdy and violent public house. Ernest Warman may have been intellectually brilliant, but he was a socially awkward man who fervently believed God never intended him to marry. He had no reason to believe his actions would come back to bite him.

At the time my father was only truly happy when able to indulge his passion for politics – a passion which later saw him expelled from the Queensland Parliament on a number of occasions. He had been introduced to politics though his father’s friendship with Edward “Red Ted” Theodore [1], co-founder of the Amalgamated Workers Association.

The ‘fighting AWA’, as it was known, was the first successful worker’s organization in North Queensland. Originating in the mines of Irvinebank, near Atherton, in 1907, it grew to encompass workers from all over the region in almost every industry. In 1913, Theodore’s union merged with the Australian Workers’ Union, dominant in the southern states, thereby becoming the first such organisation to go national. However, it was not the first organised union.

  

That honour belongs to the Queensland Railway Employees Association (QREA), which was formed in 1886 after a group of railwaymen, led by Gilbert Casey (no relation), met at Bundamba, near Ipswich. Previous attempts by unaffiliated groups to improve their lot were doomed to failure by the simple fact that they were unaffiliated. By comparison, the QREA was an all-category union and attracted members from across the state. By the early 1890s, it was the largest union in the colony. The famous shearers’ strike of 1891, closely monitored by railway workers and their families, went on to play a pivotal role in Australian political history. Two years after the strike ended, the Australian Workers’ Party, later to become the Australian Labor Party, was born in Barcaldine.

Jack Warman and Tom Casey were kindred spirits. Both had experienced life on the front lines of the fledging trade union movement, but both were seasoned enough to realise a new and even greater battle was looming – one that threatened to destroy their hard-won rights and even the union movement itself.

The sense of hopelessness generated by the Great Depression had seen many workers succumb to the desperation of the times and take whatever work they could find. Others, believing the Scullin Labor government (1929-1931) had failed to tackle the economic disaster, fell prey to the seductive promises of the communists. This set the scene for one of the greatest conflicts in Australian political history when the Australian Labor Party (ALP) all but tore itself apart.

In the 1940s and ‘50s, an ideological war was escalating out of control in Victoria due to the infiltration of the trade union movement by members of the Communist Party of Australia (CPA). In 1941, some Roman Catholics, inspired by the fervently anti-communist Archbishop Daniel Mannix, took matters into their own hands by establishing a secret society known as “The Movement”. Its agenda was to keep trade unions free of communism and ensure young minds were not poisoned by the lure of the red flag. To counter these activities the CPA commissioned Melbourne author, Frank Hardy, to write a semi-fictional story designed to discredit shady Victorian power broker John Wren, and through him the Catholic Church’s anti-communist activities in that State.

Power Without Glory[2] was written and published amid great secrecy. Countless volunteers worked tirelessly over a period of years to ensure its successful completion, and all manner of subterfuge was adopted in the printing and distribution process. Ernest Warman, on the other hand, whilst also writing in secret, sat alone at his desk long after the sun had gone down to pen evocative verses like:

Now, the Hammer and the Sickle,

Hisses o’er the Christian world,

Streams of blood begin to trickle,

Reddening more that flag unfurled.

The lines above are from his poem Kneeling At St. Peter’s Tomb. Poetry had a way of taking him outside the limitations of his everyday self. But the emotions that inspired those words were rising in people throughout the nation. Vince Gair, the Queensland Labor Premier of the time, assumed the leadership of a small splinter group and was subsequently expelled from the ALP while still Premier. This resulted in the shortest-lived Parliament in Queensland’s history (May 1956 – August 1957) and more than thirty years of Country (later National) Party-led governments. On the national scene, the Labor Party split led to the formation of the DLP (Democratic Labor Party) and ensured the Liberal-led Coalition held the reins of power in Canberra until 1972. None of this is what my father would have wanted, but at the time, the religious fervour which contributed to the debacle was part of who he was. The situation was a topic of discussion at the dinner table more times than I care to remember. Dad was so obsessed with the whole business he forgot we were a bunch of kids, too young to care. He railed against the evils of communism with a passion I had rarely seen in him.

During the 1930s, the Warman and Casey families gathered at Tom’s Newmarket home to partake in political debates with whoever was foolhardy enough to join them. Tom’s wife enjoyed these sessions as much as the menfolk for not only did they bring lively company into her home, they allowed for some serious matchmaking! Lillian had all but given up hope her eldest girl would settle down with a good man. Edna had inherited her mother’s propensity to call a spade a spade and her sense of humour went over the heads of most suitors. Still, Lillian could not fail to notice that whenever Edna engaged Ernest in serious conversation he lost his reserve. As the months went by, the tall, dark-haired, bespectacled man, with overly large ears and intense brown eyes began to feel more comfortable in female company. This was just as well because four of Tom and Lillian’s five children were girls!

Back L-R: Pat, Edna (Mum), Tom, Lillian. Front L-R: Kathleen, Marie, Irene

Edna was the couple’s second child, but unlike the man she would marry, she received only a basic education before being apprenticed as a tailoress at the age of fourteen. She was not a classic beauty, but her dazzling smile, flashing blue-grey eyes and eye-catching mass of unruly chestnut hair certainly ensured she was noticed. The normally peaceful Newmarket home was transformed into a hive of activity on weekends and holidays as young men, intent on sweeping the Casey girls and Gladys Warman off their feet, came to do battle with their fathers and brothers. The majority were embarrassingly out of their depth but, as they were seated around long tables on the verandah, those who wished to escape the maelstrom by losing themselves in the panoramic views of the city beyond could do so. Sadly, such halcyon days were short-lived for in March 1939, Jack’s frail heart finally gave out.

Ernest by name and earnest by nature, my father dutifully assumed the mantle of breadwinner and devoted himself solely to the welfare of his mother and sister. He left the Public Curator’s Office and took a job in the Stamps Office while attending university at night to qualify as an accountant. As far as he was concerned, he could give no thought to a future with Edna Casey, or any other woman, while his mother’s need was greater.

Without her husband, Sarah was a lost soul. She developed into a reclusive, fearful, vicious and spiteful woman, jealously guarding her son from anyone or anything that threatened to steal him away. Yet, at the same time, she seemed strangely unperturbed by Gladys’ budding relationship with the dashing Jack Walsh. In April 1943, an unexpected turn of events shifted the focus from Sarah Warman to Lillian Casey.  Jack had paid her a surprise visit after enlisting in the army. He wanted to show off his uniform before setting off for the mosquito-infested jungles of New Guinea. With all the grace and charm of a young Clark Gable, he strode into the kitchen sweeping off his hat with a flourish and a smile. Lillian, always excited to see Jack, spun on her heels to welcome him, but a haunted expression replaced her smile as she let out a wail only a banshee could match.

That evening she was caught trying to flee into the darkness, clad only in her nightgown.  As Tom was working the night shift he felt he had no choice but to take measures to restrict his wife’s nocturnal escapades. These included tying her to the bed or having his daughters take turns to watch her. Despite this, Lillian still managed to slip away on occasion causing her family no end of worry. Around this time, with the war going badly in the Pacific, her eldest child and only son announced his intention to enlist. Something snapped and Lillian was committed to the Goodna Mental Asylum. Not long afterwards, with her will to live gone with her mind, she was allowed home to die.

In the little time given them, Edna and her sisters did the best they could to make their mother as comfortable as possible. The hardest times were when she seemed her bright and bubbly self, laughing with them at the silliest things. But without warning, she would slip into a depression so deep nothing could penetrate it. When she died, in July 1943, just three short months after Jack’s fateful visit, Edna chose not to return to her job. In opting to stay home and manage the household for her father, she was allowing her sisters the chance to move on with their lives. My mother was a practical woman. She told them Ernest’s life had been decided for him just as hers had been decided for her.  It was the way things were and wishing otherwise would not change them.

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For assistance in writing this chapter I turned to my mother’s sister, Kathleen. Over the years she had given me some insight into my mother’s early life, but on the whole, I knew very little about my father’s. Unfortunately, she wasn’t well enough and it was a waste of time asking my brother. I was still waiting for what he promised me back in 1996. However, an unexpected opportunity was afforded me shortly afterwards when Gladys rang to say she was in Brisbane, at the Greenslopes Hospital, recuperating from a heart attack. She wanted to see me so I arranged to spend a day with her.

She told me she had a lot of time for Tom Casey because every day, for the last years of her father’s life, the tall, lanky railway inspector called in at the Wilston house to “chew the fat” with his old mate. It mattered little what the weather was like or how tired he was. This provided me with a chance to ask about Lillian. Unfortunately, Gladys was reluctant to add much to what I already knew. She did say Lillian had a “difficult menopause”, and was a “capricious soul” and “chronic asthmatic” who tended to be “flighty and fidgety”. I had obviously touched a nerve because she turned the conversation back to her family and her childhood in outback Queensland. Considering she was only thirteen when she moved to Brisbane, I was amazed at her ability to recall names, facts and events from so long ago. But the day took its toll and I had to leave without getting an answer to the greatest mystery of all. On April 26^th 1947, at St. Columba’s Roman Catholic Church, Wilston, Ernest Dominic Warman wed Edna Isabel Casey. How? Why?  Their circumstances had not changed.

L-R: Jack Walsh, Marie Casey, Ernest Warman, Edna Warman (nee Casey)

On the way home I wondered if perhaps Marie, the youngest of the Casey girls, had offered to take over as household manager, thus freeing my mother to marry.  I was still left with the problem of Dad’s situation, but it was a start. After all, I told myself, Marie was the last to marry and she did end up with the family home. Not so, I learned. Kathleen told me Marie got the house simply because she was the last to marry. Tom was approaching his seventieth year by then and needed someone to “keep an eye on him”. When he died, twelve years later, Marie and her family simply stayed on.

Some months later, when I had cause to phone her on an unrelated matter, I mentioned my latest theory, that Dad had simply had enough. The very thought horrified her. She told me my father was dedicated to his mother and saw no other role for himself. After a lengthy pause, she said, more to herself than to me: “The priest.”

“What priest?” I asked, spurred on by a new possibility.

“I can’t remember his name, but I do know he was an old school friend of your father’s who did some missionary work overseas. I only met him once. Why they married when they did was a mystery. No one really knew anything for sure. It’s just that I can’t imagine anyone else having had such influence over your father.”

I cast my mind back. There was a priest about Dad’s age who was a missionary of sorts. I remember finding him rather exotic because he suffered from bouts of malaria and collected stamps for the orphans of New Guinea. It was time to ring my brother.

John needed no time to think: “Jack Webber. He was a Marist.”

“A Marist?” I said bewilderingly. “Then who was the Franciscan?”

“What Franciscan?”

“The Franciscan who used to stay over.  You know, the guy with the black-hair, brown tunic, sandals and rope belt.”

“I know what a Franciscan looks like.” John snarled sarcastically. He was adamant the priest Kathleen had spoken of was Jack Webber and he went on to tell me quite a lot about the man. I was still pondering this when he added: “He was there, you know, with Dad at the end.”

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[1] Edward Granville Theodore (1884-1950) was one of the ALP’s most powerful and controversial men. Elected to state parliament in 1909, he was appointed Treasurer in 1915. In 1919, at the age of 34, he became Queensland’s youngest Premier. In 1925, he resigned from state politics to enter the federal arena. He failed on his first attempt, but he took the seat of Dalley in 1927. As Federal Treasurer and Deputy Prime-Minister in James Scullin’s government, Theodore had to contend with a Queensland Royal Commission into a scandal involving dubious mining interests at the Chillagoe copper smelter. In 1933, two years after losing his seat when his party was thrown out of office, he co-published the first issue of The Australian Women’s Weekly with Frank Packer before going on to help him set up Consolidated Press. A staunch anti-communist, Theodore was immortalised as ‘Red Ted’ Thurgood in Frank Hardy’s contentious political novel “Power Without Glory”.

[2] Published in 1950, Power Without Glory was a thinly veiled chronicle of the political, religious and criminal figures involved in the life of John Wren (John West in the book). Initially distributed through trade unions only, it eventually made its way into the wider community. In 1951, the family of John Wren instigated a charge of criminal libel against Frank Hardy, citing the author’s allegation of adultery on the part of the character of Nellie West (Ellen Wren). The ensuing trial captured the attention of the nation and when Hardy was acquitted, demand for his book exceeded all expectations. The focus of the prosecution’s case was a relatively minor one in the overall scheme of things because it overlooked more serious allegations such as bribery, corruption and murder.