This was done. Andrew packed the suitcase away but kept the photo albums and packet of photos. These were taken upstairs. After tea, and after the TV news, he spread them out on the dining room table. Carmen joined him and then both parents. Andrew found a head-and-shoulders photo of a man in an old-fashioned diving suit but without the helmet. The man was standing on the deck of a small sailing vessel and the people in the background looked to be Melanesians. Andrew glanced at the back, found no writing and grimaced, then said, “Who is that Dad?”
His father shrugged. “He looks like my dad, but I’m not sure,” he replied.
Andrew was even more irritated by that. “These photos are really interesting but it is frustrating when they don’t say who it is or where it is.”
“Your Gran might know,” his father said.
Andrew hesitated before asking the question that was on his mind. “Dad, can you tell us more about Grandad?” he finally asked.
His father looked uncomfortable. After thinking for a moment he replied, “Well... yes... I can. But I am ashamed to admit I don’t know too much. I was only three when he died you see and Mum, your Gran I mean, wasn’t too keen to talk about him. Over the years it sort of stayed that way. I was reluctant to ask and you know how it is, the longer you leave something, the harder it gets.”
“Do you mind if I try to find out some more about him,” Andrew asked, anxious that he not cause further embarrassment.
His father laughed. “No. Go ahead. I don’t think there are any skeletons in the family closet.”
That image, and the concept of family scandals, caused Andrew to blush. To change the subject he picked up another photo. This showed the ramp of a navy Landing Barge on a beach. Standing on the ramp were two naval officers in white uniforms. Behind them, clustered on the bows and around the nose of a truck parked in the barge’s well deck, were a dozen men in a variety of clothes: mostly khaki shorts and shirts with their sleeves rolled up, or with no shirts at all.
“That is your Grandad on the ramp,” Andrew’s father said. “He was a lieutenant in the navy then. I think it was at one of those amphibious landings in New Guinea during World War Two.”
That made Andrew feel very ignorant. He was vaguely aware that there had been fighting on and around New Guinea during the Second World War but he did not know any details. A glance at the back of the photo was no help. ‘Unloading trucks,’ was all it said.
“No date. No place. No names. How annoying!” he muttered.
They looked through other photos. There was one of a wooden tourist launch. Andrew recognized Castle Hill, the main landmark in Townsville, in the background. ‘MV Malita’ was all that was written on it.
There were others showing several groups of people on a beach or under palms on Brampton Island. “Where is that?” Andrew asked.
“Not sure. One of those tourist resorts in the Whitsundays I think,” his father replied.
“Further south, closer to Mackay,” his mother put in. “I went there once for a trip. Lovely place.”
They sorted the photos into groups. Some were obvious: Herbert Collins in uniform as a naval officer, on various navy ships, standing on the deck of some small ship, standing in a full helmet diving rig on a ladder over the side of a lugger, baby photos, a wedding photo, several ships and barges in unknown harbours. It was simultaneously both fascinating and frustrating.
“Ask Gran,” his mother advised.
“I don’t want to upset her or make her embarrassed,” Andrew answered.
His mother shrugged. “I don’t think you will, not too much. It was a long time ago after all. Besides, I think you have a right to know.”
Andrew was still reluctant. Seeing this his mother said, “I will arrange it. After school tomorrow. I will invite her over for afternoon tea and explain why. That way she will be able to prepare herself.”
So it was arranged. Tuesday afternoon found Andrew, Carmen, their parents and Gran (Mrs Collins Senior), all seated around the dining room table, the tea cups pushed aside and the photos laid out. Andrew was still anxious so he said, “I hope you don’t mind Gran. It is just that I.. we.. felt we wanted to know. If it is going to upset you then don’t.”
Gran smiled at him and shook her head. “Oh, it’s alright. I was just a bit annoyed with him- the silly man- going off treasure hunting and then dying so that I had to bring up three kids on my own. Very hard going it was, and there weren’t all the Social Security payments in those days. We were very poor and had a lot of trouble making ends meet I can tell you. But I loved him. He was a good man.”
They were silent for a moment, waiting while Gran wandered back over the years in her memory. As Andrew watched he saw her face soften and she smiled several times. Then she picked up a baby photo. “This is him, when he was six months old. He was born in 1919, just after the Great War. His dad was a regular naval officer, Lieutenant Commander, Royal Navy, but after the war the British cut the size of their navy a lot and he was one of the ones dismissed. He came out to Australia to try his hand at business.”
She picked up a photo that showed a very stern looking man with a large spade-shaped beard. He was wearing an old-style naval officer’s full-dress uniform. On the back it was noted ‘Lt Cdr Egbert Collins, HMS Sword’, but no date. Andrew had known that both his great grandad and grandad had been naval officers and seeing the photo made him very proud.
Next Gran picked up a photo of three boys sitting on a rug on the lawn. They wore shorts with a bib and shoulder straps. Gran pointed to each in turn, “Norbert, Egbert and Albert,” she said. “There was a sister too. Ah! Here she is- Matilda.”
Andrew stared hard at the faces of these relatives of long ago with fascinated interest. The word ‘ancestors’ crossed his mind but he wasn’t sure if it was appropriate. Carmen took the photo and began writing the details on the back. Next were photos of various houses, mostly old-style ‘Colonial’ bungalows or high-set ‘Old Queenslanders’. Gran named the places and Carmen carefully wrote the details onto the back of each photo.
“As you can see, they were quite well off,” Gran commented, pointing to a photo which showed a garden setting with a large house in the background.
Next she picked up the one of the MV Malita at Townsville. Now she did smile. “That is where your grandfather and I met,” she explained. “He was on his first job, as a deckhand; and I was on my first job too. I was the girl who served behind the refreshment counter.” She smiled again and then added, “I’ve never been able to see a packet of ‘Jaffas’ or ‘Fantales’ since without thinking of him.”
Carmen leaned over and hugged her. “Oh Gran! How romantic!” she gushed.
Gran nodded and patted her hand, then picked up one of the photos of Brampton Island. “This is where we met next. He was still a deckhand on a tourist launch but was working on his Mate’s Ticket. I had a job as a ‘domestic’ at the little tourist resort. It was a lovely place, and a wonderful time to be alive. Nineteen thirty seven that was. He was eighteen and I was seventeen.”
Once again Carmen sighed and smiled. Andrew quickly worked out the dates and deduced that it was only two years before World War 2 began. The next photo was smudgy little one of a small coastal steamship. There was no name and Gran could not remember it. “It was a sugar lighter,” she said. “I can remember that much. It was used to carry bagged sugar from the little ports like Mourilyan and Lucinda to Cairns or Townsville, where it was transferred to big ocean-going vessels. There were none of the bulk sugar terminals in those days. It was all loaded by hand in those bags. Bert was the Mate.”
Several very small photos, now faded to a yellowish brown, showed small sailing ‘luggers’ and groups of black men sorting sea shells. “That was just before the war broke out,” Gran said. “The second war I mean. Bert had earned a Coastal Master’s