Friday, April 26, 2013

Symbols and survival


April 25th is a poignant time of self-reflection in Australia.  It's a day when the nation stops and takes a hard look at itself, indeed at what its become.  To the outside world Australians are happy-go-lucky and gregarious lot by nature, but on a day like ANZAC day it's a solem and subdued affair.  


As many of my readers know my Grandfather (Henry Montgomery Foxley-Conolly) was a soldier in the Great War (WWI). This week was ANZAC day and it really crept up on me more so that at any other time in my life and got me thinking about why a 35-year-old man would enlist in the army at the height of the war when he has a wife and four children at home.  

There are likely a number of scenarios that could have been playing out at the time. Firstly, we know from my past stories he was a bit of a “jack-the-lad” with a keen sense of adventure so that definitely could have been obvious reason.  Another may have been that he was bored to death and feeling a little left out of the action (as you do when you’re reaching what was often considered in those days as “middle aged”), or the most likely for that period would be the passing of a “white feather”.

Unfortunately for many men, the passing of a white feather to a man of enlistment age irrespective of background, circumstance or fitness was a very common occurrence.   This was especially true for those within a community who had already lost a loved one at Gallipoli or the Western Front.   No one - and I mean no one was left unquestioned by the local women who’d lost someone dear – a “why them and not you” mindset prevailed quite strongly.
The infamous "white feather"

It struck at the very heart of a man’s psyche and soul – what was wrong with him if he didn’t volunteer….well, the answer was clear.   He was a coward!   In those days the unremitting reality was that he would be shunned by his local community, and be viewed as “less of a man” for not volunteering.  It must have been excruciating be stuck in that no-mans land of self-doubt.

How many white feathers would a man have to endure before his resolve to stay with his wife and children was overcome with shame?   

My guess is probably just one.    Shame is a powerful emotion and one not be trifled with, trust me I know…but I guess you know that from the memories of my childhood that I so often speak of and share via this blog.

Irrespective of being a devout adventurer or someone dealing with a potential mid life crisis would drag me away from my kids, not even the perceived “greater good” as was likely thought of then, but shame – well, now we’re talking a whole new ball game aren’t we.

There is no cure for that deep feeling of shame.

Private H.M Foxley-Conolly - taken
Brisbane, Australia
prior to embarkation for France
(Dec 1916)
In those days he would have been surrounded by a more than constant drumming of propaganda and “for King and country”, and I’d imagine that a white feather would have just put him over the top.

With everything to live for and little to be gained from becoming canon fodder on the Western Front he walked the mile or so into the Mount Morgan (Queensland) recruiting office and volunteered.   The date was November 11th, 1916 – the significance of the date is not lost on me, although at the time totally coincidental (two years to the day till the end of the war). 

 Grandfather quickly underwent basic training, so basic in fact that he embarked on the SS Demosthenes from Sydney as part of the 13th Reinforcements on December 23rd 1916.  I suppose they had 3 months on the ship as part of a convoy headed for England to continue training in some form.  

After disembarkation at Plymouth, his first stop was the training facility on Salisbury Plain in the south of England, this was the final phase for all soldiers heading to France and where they would be placed within the ANZAC Corp.   He ended up being assigned as reinforcement to the 49th Battalion, Australian 4th Division and took part in a number of major battles – Messines (June 1917), Polygon Wood (September 1917) and the battle of Villers-Bretonneux (April 1918).   His battalion lost 769 men killed and a further 1419 wounded over the course of the war.   Somehow he survived the carnage…

It’s an incredibly high price to pay for your personal honor and to avoid shame but there you have it.   From a simple symbol to a life threatening situation in the blink of an eye…

Hand written field message to warn of
an immediate attack on the 49th battalion lines
(Courtesy of the Australian War Memorial)
I can’t imagine that this is an unusual story either; in fact my guess is that tens of thousands of men from both sides had been put in this very predicament.   And now that he was here he would do what needed to be done – “stiff upper lip and all that”.

How he survived when another 769 men from his battalion didn’t survive completely boggles my mind – now don’t get me wrong, he didn’t have a charmed life from what I can see.

As with all wars there are the physical injuries and the mental ones – Grandfather suffered both, with his final physical wound occurring on the 9th July 1918 with a G.S.W (gunshot wound) to the face.  This came at the end of sixteen months of front line service and was finally enough (he was partially blinded) that saw him repatriated to England and out of the mayhem once and for all.  

Over the course of those long and unremitting months on the front line he also endured a bout of pneumonia, a case of septic nostrils (sounds painful – especially as penicillin hadn’t been invented yet) and influenza (which killed 20 million people at the end of the war).   Yet he survived it all.

We’ll never know what horrors he witnessed, what loss he suffered or the terrible mental anguish that he must have had to face as he prepared for each battle, or even worse the survivors guilt of coming through it and somehow surviving while his mates died all around him…

It’s no wonder that at wars end he just went “walkabout” for almost two years.   Was he trying to make sense of what he’d been a party to?  Or was he just tying to make the “crazy” go away?

Epilogue:  

ANZAC Day is a very special day for all Australians and I want to thank my grandfather and the tens of thousands of other diggers who sacrificed so much for us all - "lest we forget"




Friday, April 19, 2013

As time goes by...

Find me on Facebook, like the page and check out the upcoming Indelible Adventure trips to Montalcino and Barcelona.  Why not join me to create your own "Indelible Adventure", for more information email me at terence@indelible-adventures.com

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It’s hard to believe but tomorrow is my birthday, it feels like just yesterday that I sat down to write last years blog entitled the “Amazing Tales of Grandfather Conolly” which by the way has been my most popular blog of all with over 600 people reading it from all corners of the earth.

Wow, pretty big shoes to fill considering the epic story of Grandfather Conolly, so to bolster my creative genius (okay, that might have been a bit of a stretch) I thought I’d treat myself to a glass of scotch to get me going!   The good kind from the back of the cupboard, the sipping kind not the kind that you’d dare mix anything with or heaven forbid…quaff.  I settled on a Talisker, single malt…what a exquisite treat!    So with aperitif in hand here goes! 

Writing my blog at my kitchen counter - Friday nights!   Tonights
blog was accompanied by a scotch...
 Actually I thought I’d check back into my old photo collection and see if there was any of me on my birthday from my childhood.   Sadly there were no birthday photos per see but surprisingly I found a clutch of cards and telegrams in a bag that I had rescued from dad’s after he had died that were from my first birthday.   Wow, what a find!

To be honest I can’t remember seeing these cards after dad died, clearly I was in a fog and so have no recollection of finding them let alone packing them up with me and bringing them back to Canada.   It was a rather nostalgic find, and one that brought back many memories, especially seeing mum’s beautiful handwriting.   

Unfortunately my birthday is coupled with a tragic memory in that it is today (April 19th) is that day that mum passed away, this year marks the 26th anniversary so it was a rather poignant find to say the least when I started opening the cards and saw her handwriting.  

There was even a card from my sister Glenda who would have been 11 at the time, strangely her handwriting is the same as it is today….go figure?  ☺  There was even a telegram from my oldest brother Gary who was by then living and working in Melbourne at the ripe old age of 16.   


Note the time and date stamp - yes, completely
dating myself now...
Clearly it was a different era, as you can tell by the images of the cards, but also the telegram.  When was the last time you even thought of using the word “telegram” in a sentence?   The concept and term has been lost over a couple (okay so maybe more than a couple) of generations – I find that so strange, but then again turning 54 is strange unto itself for thousands of reasons.

If I get too gross just flip to the next paragraph – but since when do your eyebrows and nose hair grow faster than your actual hair (yes, fortunately I still have lots thank you very much!)?   And what about the myriad of aches and pains for no particular reason? I used to be able to run everyday, not so much any more as my muscles get too stiff and sore to the point of seizing up - which is rather unpleasant to say the least!!   So rather than feel like an 80 year old (I figure they’ll be plenty of time to feel like that when I’m actually 80) I’ve had to cut back on my level of physical activity, instead of running or working out everyday I’ve had to diversify – as you know I’ve taken up yoga (no really I have), and surprisingly I feel like a million bucks after an hour and a half of stretching.  

As well, Zach and I have fitted out a workout area in our new place, complete with large 16’x16’ padded floor, bench and free weights. I’m helping him with his rugby-training regime and he’s helping me work out regularly which is a fair exchange don’t you think?   In addition I try to squeeze in a run 2 to 3 times a week just to keep in the game, I suppose I'm fortunate to be able to workout as much as I do, but it feels like I’ve had to cut back quite a lot – a painful compromise to say the least.


Birthday card from mum and dad - April 1960
Anyway, back to my “find”!   As I read the cards and telegrams I only recognized Mum & Dads, Gary’s, Glenda and Suthi’s (family friend) but none of the others….who on earth were Alex or Judy and family?   I guess I’ll never know, but at least they sent me a birthday card in 1960, perhaps I should consult Glenda or Gary on that?

I was completely surprised when I noticed the card from Suthi, I don’t remember them personally, although I do remember mum telling me (on many occasions) about my near death experience during a visit to Suthi’s when I was about four or five years old.  

The way mum used to tell it was that we were visiting Suthi in Melbourne, and they had a scooter that I was playing with and trying to learn to ride.  I was "racing (mum’s words not mine) up and down the bloody path" at the side of their house on the scooter; apparently they could hear me (that clip, clop sound) as I sped back and forth over the breaks in the concrete.  

All of the adults were all inside the house drinking and having a good time – it could get pretty loud as I recall, when the scooter must have skidded from under me and I landed heavily on my head right on the concrete path knocking me out completely.  When dad came outside to investigate why they couldn’t hear me he found me laying on the path - I had stopped breathing and was turning a rather whitish shade of blue – widespread panic ensured as they quickly called an ambulance and fortunately they were able to get me breathing again although it frightened the hell out of everyone there at the time.   Apparently I had put a rather large dampener on the party!   

One of the high points of this birthday weekend is that I have a dinner planned with Zach and Sami on Sunday night, which will be great!  Sami was so cute last night when I picked her up after soccer training, as we were riding home she asked me what I wanted for my birthday – my response “just to be with you and Zach!”   She smiled broadly and said “I like that too dad!”

Here’s to many more…. ☺



Friday, April 12, 2013

The Road to Improv


During my six plus years at Accenture I had the good fortune to be able to teach at their Corporate University on a great many occasions.  In fact I enjoyed teaching so much that at times my leadership were less than happy, by what they considered my overly close relationship and involvement with the team that supported our university…I guess they felt that I was not doing my job and clearly being distracted by non-value added activities.

Arguably passing on your knowledge and experience is critical to any corporate culture, and so I felt compelled to embrace this aspect of my role and actively participate.   I guess it also said a lot about my level of comfort in being in front of a class, which I found out, is not always that common for some people.  Go figure???

TW with some other faculty in Kuala Lumpur last year
with the Petronas Towers in the background
(Skybar)
The notion of teaching at our Corporate University is completely aligned with my earlier teaching career, where I lectured at the University of the Northern Territory (Darwin) for two years on a part time basis while at the same time I was teaching at one of the local High schools.   

It was a great opportunity to get in front of adults and build my confidence, no surprise that I actually like it.   

My teaching also had other side benefits – like teaching in London, Kuala Lumpur and in Chicago.   It was a pretty cool to go teach in Malaysia and the UK, not saying that the United States was boring or anything ☺ but come on – you can’t beat a little exotic locale to make it a tad more enticing, although really…I didn’t need much encouragement if you know what I mean.

In fact, prior to leaving Accenture I had the opportunity to be the school lead on two occasions.   The school lead role is pretty interesting and if you can imagine a cross between a talk show host, MC and school Principal you’ve got it nailed.   The school lead role is a one-week commitment in which you oversee the (hopefully) successful conduct of a school.  At any given time there may be up to 4 or 5 courses underway within the school.   Course sizes can be up to many as 400 participants (Analyst, Consultant or Manager schools in particular), plus additional specialty courses in some cases.   As school lead, I had the opportunity to manage a couple of concurrent schools, which gave me the opportunity to be up on stage for much of the week…

The absolute best part of my role was to be on-stage in front of a double ballroom full of people and talk for an hour or two (depending on the content).   Some of the people reading this blog have been part of one of these schools and have seen me on-stage…clearly I’m sorry for your pain! ☺

My first MC gig at Longview Solutions....
Although I know many of my peers were a little overwhelmed with the thought of going on-stage just to be introduced to the group, but the reverse was true for me – I never felt more at home and just plain loved it!   I’m not sure if it was the rush of adrenalin that accompanied me being introduced to such a large audience or the emotional connection I felt as soon as I stepped on stage.   All I can say is that it was electrifying!

So what has this got to do with Improv you ask????

Many of you will know that I changed jobs at the end of last summer and am now heading up the Global Sales & Marketing functions for Longview Solutions (software company) and that in my role I get to be the MC at this years User Conference which is scheduled for May in Atlanta.    

There was never a doubt (at least in my mind) that I would be the MC for the event, not that I pushed too hard on my peers in the management team but they all acquiesced graciously – even my colleague Gerard who was visibly ecstatic by my announcement (in that he didn’t have to do it again)…yes, I noticed the wave of relief break across your face mate!

In preparation for my upcoming MC role I had enquired about taking a course to hone my stage skills but all of the March courses were already full and so I went onto a waiting list for which I never got a call (no surprise there – its so popular!).   

I figured given my true enjoyment of being on stage I should explore this a little more, so earlier this week I followed up and enrolled in the Second City Training program for – Introduction to Improv.  

Got to start somewhere - right?

When I told Zach earlier tonight – his response was classic “like, so you’re going to be a stand-up comic?”   I explained that I wanted to feel even more comfortable (if indeed that’s possible on stage), and at first he was a little surprised and not sure that he wanted his dad going down this road…but I reassured him that it was going to useful for my career.   No really…(you can stop rolling your eyes – I can see you!)

However, what he told me next completely floored me –  “I could do that course, I do Improv all the time at school.”   Really? I asked – how so?   “Well earlier this week, for example we were in Health class and we had to identify different types of relationships and so we had to do skits to demonstrate”.    Apparently the teacher had to cut him off after 10 minutes…as he and his two school mates had completely taken over the class and had all of the other boys in stitches - Zach was the main event...well, no surprise there either I suppose.

I’m really excited about my first class on May 7th – it will be my Tuesday night for the subsequent 8 weeks, although my MC gig is May 14th, so not sure I'm going to get much to use for the following week but definitely looking forward to it.    

Who knows, I may get hooked and have to go all the way – now wouldn’t that be something?



Friday, April 5, 2013

The Shirt Maker


Last year during my Italian retreat (my fancy name for three weeks of R&R in Italy) I used Milan as my starting point and consequently my end point for the adventure.  For those of you that haven’t been to Milan it truly rivals Paris for the fashion and sense of style.  The streets are laden with every high end brand know to man…you name it, its there somewhere. 

I spent three days in Milan absorbing the history and observing the fashion, it was a lesson how to look stylish no matter what time of day or night – male and female were always beautifully and impeccably dressed.   Now I’ve never been one to be on the cutting edge of fashion…(seriously – that’s your outside voice!) J but after a few short minutes standing in the streets of Milan I indeed felt rather frumpy. 

Then and there I decided to begin the reinvention of my image, what better place than Milan to get my sense of style, although I wasn't truly sure it was possible.   For those of you that know me also know that I can be rather driven and anal about something that I really want, so with a rather foggy sense of what "look" I wanted I dove in.

Milan - the fashion capital of the
world!
 
Wandering the fashion district it became rather apparent that I needed help to shape my new image so whenever possible I would ask for assistance in my rather poorly structured and broken pidgin Italian.   Most of the people were very helpful, even in the high-end stores (I guess there is a recession on after all so that helps!), but most spoke enough English and I had enough Italian words to somehow understand each other.

My first day was a bit of a bust with not a single purchase to my name, but as I traipsed back to the hotel across town late in the afternoon I could see past the need for visible gains on day one toward my objective.   I was clearly taking it all in and had a pretty good sense of what I liked and what I didn’t particularly fancy.   Sometimes it looked better on the mannequin than on me or it was just too "out there" even for me.   Sometimes no matter how much you want it to look good it just doesn't.  I found that simple acceptance and quickly moving on was the best policy - to conserve time and effort.

Day two dawned with me taking a morning stroll to “Piazzale Loreto” to check out one of Milan’s most famous locations.   Give up???   It was in this Piazza where on April 29th 1945 the bodies of Benito Mussolini, his mistress Carla Petacci and a number of other high-ranking Italian fascists were hung up for all to see. 

Today however, its part of a busy intersection so impossible to see anything of note except for a small parkette and a statue for the 15 partisans that were executed in the Piazza the year before Mussolini.   So interesting to stroll through such recent history, but Europe is chock full of this stuff and after a while you can become rather blasé...

Anyway, back to the story at hand – my fashion education!   I definitely wanted to go to the Hugo Boss store as I generally found that the clothes fit reasonably well, but as I browsed nothing really caught my interest…   I was starting to doubt whether I’d actually find anything of note, so as I exited the store I turned left (for no particular reason). 
Vittorio Marchesi store front - Milan

Right next to the Hugo store was a store with the words Vittorio Marchesi –  embossed above the glass doorway.  It was a little store, some might say a "hole in the wall" type of store although in this case it was very upmarket and fashionable, it was small.

Perhaps it was the shelves of brightly colored shirts that caught my eye, but stepping over the threshold into the store was quite an experience….   Without so much as a conversation I was being told to go try on a shirt, yes the one that had been thrust into my hands.  You see I had been visually sized up within seconds of entering the store by the very experienced store associate.  Interesting approach I thought - it wasn't an offer to try on the shirt it was a direct order!

Louisa had a wonderful mastery of languages, which was evident during my time in the store as she effortlessly crossed back and forth into Italian, Spanish, French and English depending on the prospective customer or regular who came in to visit.

The shirt she had thrust into my hands fit me like a glove!   Unbelievable I thought to myself…   For the next hour we discussed every aspect of what I was looking for in a shirt – fabric, shirt design, patterns vs. non-patterns, cuffs, collars, buttons vs. snaps…yes, a rather exhaustive process but one that I’d never really thought about until I’d been fully immersed in it.

As I checked my watch I was astounded to see that a full hour had gone but I’d yet to see an actual shirt that I could buy.   The only measurement she made was to validate my neck size as we disagreed on what it was – yes, she knew better than me on that front as well!   Bugger.....

With all this information swimming in her head she excused herself and exited via a circular staircase in the back of the store that went up to the second story.   For the next five minutes she bustled around upstairs, opening draws and cupboards, then banging them closed, muttering to herself as she went.  From time to time she would call down to me that she was almost done and to remain patient.

Gorgeous selection - but you can see how small the store is... 
She finally descended the stairs with her arms overflowing with shirts.   She began to lay them out before me and asked “how many would you like – all of these shirts are hand made and will fit you perfectly”.    I was amazed as each one of them fit the specifications of what we had discussed in all the various combinations.

I stood there with my mouth open (hoping that it wasn’t too obvious) – it was like being in a candy store – sooooooo many choices, so little euros to spend!    I asked about the pricing (strangely this hadn’t been a topic of conversation in the hour we’d spent) J 

Each shirt was priced at €80.00 which is about $100 CAD, so about half the price for a similar shirt in Toronto at Harry Rosen…nice!

I could have purchased each and everyone, but for once I showed a little (very little) self-restraint and only chose three.  

Now, my scathingly brilliant idea is to fly to Milan for the weekend (using flight and hotel points), buy a bunch of shirts, soak up a little of my second favorite culture (sorry Australia always wins out!) and be ahead of the game in terms of overall cost vs. if I brought them locally.  

Wow – now that’s a business model I could live with J