Taxi Driver To Doctor

By Derek Ambrose

The journey of an ordinary person with learning constraints, disease affected rising to the top of personal and academic achievement, against considerable odds. A story of persistence, commitment and dedication.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ReadOnTime BV
• Release date: Feb 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781742845159

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Taxi Driver To Doctor

An Inspirational Story

Dr Derek J Ambrose

Taxi Driver To Doctor

Copyright © 2015 Smartpublicleadership Pty Ltd

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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The information, views, opinions and visuals expressed in this publication are solely those of the author(s) and do not reflect those of the publisher. The publisher disclaims any liabilities or responsibilities whatsoever for any damages, libel or liabilities arising directly or indirectly from the contents of this publication.

A copy of this publication can be found in the National Library of Australia.

ISBN:  978-1-742845-15-9 (pbk.)

Published by Book Pal

www.bookpal.com.au

TRIBUTARY

IN MEMORY

In loving memory of my dear mother Eunice Marjorie Ambrose. I dedicate this book to the lady who made me what I am today, and was the greatest source of inspiration and comfort to me.

God saw you getting tired and a cure was not to be

So he put his arms around you, and whispered

Come With Me.

With tearful eyes we watched you slowly fade away,

Although we loved you dearly,

we would not make you stay.

A golden heart stopped beating,

hardworking hands at rest.

God broke our hearts to prove to us, he only takes the best.

Your life was full of loving deeds

Forever thoughtful of our special needs,

Today and Tomorrow, our whole life through,

We will always love and cherish you.

Adam Males

Your eyes are now closed, and as the sadness fades, the memories prevail.

Acknowledgement

My Mother - Who was all I aspire to be

My Father - Who supported me and later looked after my mother

My Glenys - Love of my life; a lifetime partnership of support

Michelle, Mark, Lauren - Dad is mostly right, thanks

My Family - Thanks for the support

Glenys’ Family - Thanks so much

Wendy and Peter - A lifetime of great times

Jennifer and Bruce - Forever remembering

The Chook and Jan - A great mate and thinker; a wonderful person

Margaret - Greatest supporter of all time, thanks

Sue - A lifetime friend of immense compassion

Denise (Dec’d) - Always a treasure

Wendy - Always bright and clever

Julie - Frenetic and fantastic

Tom - The rock of assistance

Doctor Gribble - So talented and unbelievable support

The Creekers - Nearly as nuts as I am

The Industry Department People - Just simply great

The IP Australia People - It doesn’t get any better than that

All the people I have worked with - Simply the best

Peter & Felicity - great friends and support

Canberra Institute of Technology - for the guidance and direction

Jim & Julie - sage advice

My neighbours - always interested and supportive

Doctor Gow - You’re a legend

Paul and Victoria - Legendary support

Contents

Chapter 1

So It Began

Chapter 2

Big School Had Arrived

Chapter 3

Commerce World Here I Come

Chapter 4

Disaster Turned Into Opportunity

Chapter 5

Into the Valley of Sharks We Do Wander

Chapter 6

Chameleons, Trickers and Pretenders

Chapter 7

The Public Sector Spaceship

Chapter 8

The Golfing Antidote

Chapter 9

Time to Prove Yourself

Chapter 10

An Unfortunate Experience

Chapter 11

More of the Same

Chapter 12

Time to Go

Introduction

This book describes the life of an ordinary Australian born into a rural environment, suffering early childhood setbacks through illness and learning difficulties. The story portrays an inspiring journey from school through to work, private enterprise and finishing in the public sector with an array of difficulties, triumphs and disasters littering the way, but not thwarting success.

The story is factual in every detail and demonstrates through a number of instances the perseverance and resilience of the story teller coping with calamities, and the depths of despair he faced throughout this inspiring and eventful journey. From a stroke, financial ruin, taxi driving, and a whirlwind trip through education. The journey is littered with small stories of instances which demonstrate the character and environments of the author, capturing his life learning’s step by step.

This story continually demonstrates the unfairness of the world, and the difficulties people face when they are down. The continual application of resilience, hard work and determination sees the author rise from an ordinary beginning to achieve and become an inspirational futurist. The author ends up winning and earning a high level of respect, and now is recognised as a competent public speaker and acknowledged academic.

Foreword

By Doctor Lynn Gribble, Ph.D.

We often look at successful people and believe that they were lucky, more educated, more talented or given more opportunities but this book will take you on a journey that shows being successful is not about any of this. It is about persistence, overcoming obstacles and taking a can do attitude. Getting back up and finding a way forward is the key to Derek’s achievements.

This is a story about resilience and about achieving against, what at times seemed insurmountable difficulties. It shows the ‘odds’ do not have to be in your favour, but you do have to step up and give things a try. More importantly all of this can be fun. It shows your past does not create your future, instead showing we can make incredible change, once we determine what we want.

Join Derek for the ride of his life and see how you can take that ride too, we can all make change and a difference along the way. Regardless of your life circumstances, this book is for you, to remind you how incredible life can be, and even when it does not seem so good to find the gifts and grit to make it through.

Chapter 1

So It Began

I was born on 5 February 1954 in the modest Victorian country town named Yarragon, to the world’s most lovely lady. My mother’s name was Eunice and my father’s name is Jack. My mother was born in Australia and had spent most of her life on the land, whereas my father migrated from Sunderland in the United Kingdom as a chief electrical engineer in the merchant navy. The dramatic change from being a ships officer to becoming a dairy share farmer, some 12,000 miles away was, in reality, a dramatic change from one career skill to another vocation. This was extremely challenging considering that my father possessed no farming skills. However, together Eunice and Jack battled through, and in the end became successful farmers.

At six months of age I was diagnosed with asthma. From that point onwards, it was a constant thorn in my side. My asthma condition was life threatening on occasions, and it interfered dramatically with a large proportion of my life.

Throughout my life my mother was, and remained, one of those Australian country women devoted to her family. A very hard worker who gave everything, volunteered for everything, helped everyone, and didn’t have a bad word for anyone; she was the most loving, generous human being one could ever know. At the great height of five foot- two inches, a small lady, she was so graceful and radiated kindness to, and through, everyone she knew; nobody in my entire life had anything derogatory to say about my mother. Unfortunately, in August 2014, aged 84, and after a long battle with two illnesses, my beautiful mother passed away.

Eunice possessed that very unique ability to be both so strong and compassionate at all times. She had a special place for her grandchildren, with a special smile and cuddle that they all knew was just for them. She was a lady who was the ultimate achiever in life, whilst being the ultimate team player. She possessed a unique ability to be poised with balance at every moment of her life, was extremely hard working, diligent, caring, compassionate, special to all, and was extraordinary to her last breath.

My memories of the first farm at Gordon’s Road just two kilometres outside the country town of Yarragon are vivid. It was here that my hard working parents worked all year round for little, and were subjected to flood and drought on a regular basis. I remember seeing a wooden slay, roped up to a horse from which hay would be thrown to the awaiting hungry cows. How simple and hard life was then.

I remember the milk being picked up from the milking shed in 12 gallon steel milk cans with lids on them. Then loaded onto a tray truck and taken away to the factory; the only refrigeration in those days occurred when the milk moved through milking machines over a water cooler, and was then dropped into the milk cans below. The ritual of milking was conducted twice daily. The farmer had to be very aware on how full the cans were getting in the dairy. If he wasn’t, the milk would simply overflow onto the floor and be lost. When the cans were filled, they were then lifted by my father onto the milk-stand that stood directly outside the dairy to await pickup by the milk truck. Strong people lifting twelve gallon cans of milk up onto a wooden stand certainly illustrated the strength of the people of that time and the psychical requirements of this activity. This process happened twice daily, every day of the week, every week of the year. Looking back, farming was gruelling work, and in some years for no gain or benefit, other than just surviving.

In hindsight, I am sure my father would have been better off to settle in Melbourne and apply his electrical trade skills. However, that was not the case and my parents worked extremely hard on the land with little time for rest and relaxation. I remember being stuck in an open drain outside the dairy one night whilst my parents were milking the cows, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get out and my cries for help could not be heard over the noise of the machinery. I had to wait until the milking was over and the machinery had been switched off before my father heard me and came over to lift me out of the drain. I have at times revisited the old farm and the drain and noticed that it barely comes up to my thigh now, but at that time it was about head high and very daunting for a little person.

Another memory of the first farm was where my brother smashed a steel toy truck on my head in the sandpit, and my head blew up with an egg-sized welt on top of it. Ouch! It must have really hurt as I remember it vividly to this day. This was country Victoria, where the toilet was located outside of the house and our toilet paper was the Melbourne phone book, and when that ran out, it was the newspaper. When you look back on it now, it was really roughing it, compared to today’s luxury of having a choice of soft toilet paper brands. And just think of it, in those days, the phone book pages were quite shiny, so I doubt that it did the job as properly as that of our modern day toilet paper. Even worse, think of all those horrible, smelly, not properly wiped bottoms running around, as we only had a bath once a week in those days. It was eldest in first for the clean water; luckily, I was the eldest, but somehow we all survived it.

The small town of Yarragon in South West Gippsland was a very small community of some 400 people surrounded by dairy farms. This was lush dairy country, where the land was very fertile with the green rolling hills of the Strzelecki Ranges providing a landscape of picturesque postcard quality. The grass was always an English green in colour. In this small community, the values of honesty and doing the best you could was a given and was part of the folklore that made up rural Australia. This was a low key safe place and this little community, was dominated by hardworking people that generously shared what little they had with the community and a place where strangers were recognised and welcomed. My peaceful upbringing in this community had a dangerous side to it, as we were much unprepared for the dangers of the big cities, as unknown to us then, we were shielded by our parents and secluded from big city issues and experiences.

The ability to roam the roads and streets without any precaution to one’s safety is in stark comparison with today’s complexities of self-preservation. In those days nobody locked their houses, and life’s actions were slow and methodical, as the impact of television and modern media had not yet infiltrated this small community.

Life’s social undertakings were very simple. Weekdays were spent attending school; Saturday was a free day for children to do what they wanted to do on the farm. On Sunday it was off to Sunday school, followed by visiting other farmers for Sunday afternoon tea or hosting them. Then it was back to that old habitual routine of milking the cows, which religiously commenced at around 4.30 in the afternoon. These farmers were all very hard working people who performed routines, day after day, month after month and year after year. This was the way life was supposed to be - hardworking people who sometimes would have nothing to show at the end of a year for all that had gone before.

As I remember it, Yarragon town consisted of two banks and a bank receiving office operated periodically from the adjoining, and larger, town of Warragul. On the corner of Campbell Street was Knight’s Butchers, across the road was Chalker’s Electrical Shop, Stott’s General Store, hairdresser, mechanic’s shop, road stop café, newsagent, chemist, hotel, police station with one policemen, post office, four churches, a community hall, bakery and railway station. On the other side of the railway station was the local milk factory that specialised in making yoghurt, and where some small businesses were located. Yarragon was, and still is, a very tight community that looked out for all and has prospered into a larger town with a population of 2,400 people.

This closely held community spirit was very evident in my family as my mother, her sister and brother, Enid and Max, took up residence on a farm outside the town in 1939. All of them stayed within the locality until their deaths in 2014 - Enid in February, and Max and Eunice in August. Their families lived in and around Yarragon. Such was the bond between my mother Eunice and her siblings. They went everywhere together. In their younger years this was evidenced by the fact that they only had one bike between the three of them. So innovation was required; Enid rode on the back carryall, with Max pedalling and doing all the hard work, and Eunice on the handlebars. Such was the closeness of them all. Throughout their lives, this closeness never faltered and remained until their deaths.

In small towns such as Yarragon there was a necessity to be involved in sporting activities, and in a lot of cases just to make up the numbers. Whilst I was a very moderate performer in the cricket and football teams I learnt from the actions of others in aspects of leadership and moral courage. Later in life I was constantly disappointed at being overlooked by the lauded gentry of the town when team selections occurred. It seemed that my pedigree was an issue. Even my cousins laughed in recognition of me being a dysfunctional person during these times, and maybe rightly so, as I was a very skinny, gangly boy.

In these small communities, the power and the status of the school and church were the mainstays of authoritarian rule. That is, you had to do both, and I attended both - those who didn’t were frowned upon. In