Pop an Australian like the rest of us.

My blogs are to expose and inform to tell as it is, mostly activities Downunder

Listening to Marcia Langton on Q & A tonight inspired me to write this, also a part of my life.

I’m sick of listening to bleeding hearts about aboriginals and the hardship they are having, and the so called persecution.

I need to tell this story about the time in my life when I was spending most of it with my Step farther, we called him Pop, from the earliest age I can remember up to about thirteen, we lived on farms in Western Australia, and for a short time in South Australia. Pop and my Mum had five kids but before they came along he took on three kids from another man my Father. That alone was a kind and generous thing to do, especially at that time, coming back from the War, he was a Prisoner of War, my Mother and Pop came from the same small town Perenjori, a wheat growing district north of Perth, Perth being the capital City of Western Australia.

Something extraordinary about this man was, he had aboriginal blood, even though we knew this, it never showed and he never called himself Aboriginal, we just thought of him as Pop, he worked hard and bought us kids up as if we were his own, the Aboriginal blood in him was never an issue, and this is what I want to write about mostly.

He may have had faults, like any of us, being half white has nothing to do with his faults, no one is perfect, and any he had I would forgive him, knowing what he went through during the War and being a prisoner of War and later bringing up eight kids.

From all of us eight kids I probably knew him better than all his five kids, as I was at that age in life where I was able to work with him on a Land settlement Farm in Perillup, allocated to him as he was a Returned Serviceman, we worked together mostly weekends and school holidays until I left school at age thirteen, we cared for sheep, milked cows, ploughing the ground, spread seed and super phosphate, he did contract fencing on other farms also contract ploughing, I drove the tractor whenever I could, we also put up a telegraph line.

Later in my life when I become a shearer, we went shearing together, on several farms, I had only been shearing up to this time about twelve Months aged seventeen, and it was a good experience working with him again. I had been away from the Farm for a few years worked on a Shearing team.

 Pop was kicked off the Farm as he would go off on drinking binges, apparently the stress was too much, Mum and Pop had some difficult years together, I didn’t know about the difficult times they were having because I was away and go to the North of Western Australia for a few Months at a time, It wasn’t till later that I was able to be with Mum and understand her dilemma.

I give him credit for the good things he did, and admire him for his strength to not give in, knowing  what he could have been, he never called himself Aboriginal or blamed the White Man for his life, he was a Man and worked hard, he never asked for much, he didn’t loiter around the Parks and feel sorry for himself, he didn’t blame anyone for his unfortunate life, he played a Mouth Organ and a Piano Accordion, and sang Country Western songs at Parties held in Shearing sheds, I think he learnt to play while he was in a prison camp, he came back from war stuttering, what affected him most was the Share farming with other Farmers they cheated him many times, he was kick in the gut so to speak.

 He went to war and fought for his country and never talked about the difficult times during the war, he did what he was able to do and he did it well.

Jim Feehan. His Kids Meryl, Jillian, Maureen, Colin. Ross.

His War Medal he gave them to me just before he died.