His Life Worth Living

By Pat Ritter

Every adversity carries with it the seed of an equivalent or greater benefit.
≈ Napoleon Hill ≈

Courage, determination, independence are some of the words to describe George Burtenshaw. His passing, aged one hundred and two years and a half truly showed inspiration with such self-determination, willpower and a ‘what he wanted attitude’ combined with a deep love for his huge family.
Born in 1911 at Newport Wales at seven years old his home destroyed by bombs at the close of World War 1. His family taken. He with his sister Lou taken to a Children's Home. Alone with only his sister, he had no knowledge where his brothers and parents were. His life in a Children's Home proceeded until his fifteenth birthday when he applied through Church of England, Council of Empire Settlement to go to Canada. Instead he ended up in Australia.
His arrival in Australia with four shillings to begin a new life, a job with a place to live in a new country and close to the town Gympie. His work ethics proved how important his life became. Aged eighteen years old, beginning of the Great Depression, he travelled by train to Rockhampton to seek work. Unable to find work he purchased a bicycle for seven shillings and sixpence leaving him little money. Four days riding along the beach, sleeping under a sheet of canvas returned to Kia Ora to be welcomed.
George worked for his old boss when a family arrived to share farm the property. Must had been 'love at first sight' because this family's daughter Eva caught George's eye. Eva later became his wife and they celebrated their sixty-fifth wedding anniversary before she sadly passed aged ninety-six years old.
Having worked his apprecenticeship at a dairy farm he purchased a motor cycle journeyed west to find work. By 1942 World War 11 exploded across the globe. George enlisted. Before going to war he married Eva. Twelve months after leaving Australian shores for Mayala Japanese invaded Singapore. He became a Prisoner-of-War and incarcerated in Changi Prison until World War 11 ended.
He recorded a daily record in a series of war diaries. If his captors found these diaries he would have been decapitated. He concealed them in plastic and safe from the enemy. When reading this portion of the book one cannot help but wonder at the suffering and atrocities Prisoners-of-War suffered at the hands of their enemy.
After such an horrific time in his life, he returned to Australia. Eva nursed him back to health. George went on to live a life worth living.
At 10am on Thursday 13 September 2007 George attended a DEDICATION OF COMMEMORATIVE PLAQUE to recognise the sacrifice and service of the members of 2/10th Australian Field Regiment 8th Division, Australian Imperial Force conducted at the Australian War Memorial, Canberra when at last he was recognised for his time as a Prisoner Of War.
George has certainly proven the words spoken by Napoleon Hill - Every adversity carries with it the seed of an equivalent or greater benefit. This is truly an inspirational story of survival mixed with self-determination with his life worth living.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pat Ritter
• Release date: Nov 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311598028

Pat Ritter

Hi Everyone,Let me introduce myself. My name is Pat Ritter. Since 1988 I have been writing and publishing books. In 2009 I decided to publish my books as e-books on this and other websites.Writing and self-publishing became expensive especially the marketing end of the business. I experienced little problems with my first book 'Closing The Gap' however after writing and self-publishing six other books the printing costs out-weighed the cost of production.At this stage of my writing I am converting from writing true life stories to fictional or better known - storytelling and it's difficult I can tell you. I'm giving it my best.Reading is a passion. When I read I try and place myself in the writer's seat and endeavour to work out how they wrote the story. I enjoy reading interesting stories filled with passion, desire with a happy ending.If you have a look at my website www.patritter.com.au all of my books are exhibited plus stories I have written and published.I'm happy to meet you.I'm also proud to be involved in Operation eBook Drop.Pat RitterAuthor/Self Publisher

Book preview

His Life Worth Living

George Burtenshaw Story

By

Pat Ritter

Published by Pat Ritter on Smashwords

Copyright 2015 Pat Ritter

Thank you for downloading this ebook. It remains the copyright property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

First published by Pat Ritter in 2015. Copyright © Pat Ritter. Publishing and printing rights held by Pat Ritter. The author takes no responsibility for how the reader might apply the ideas contained in this book.

Acknowledgements:

Without the help from a number of people this book may not have been possible.

My personal appreciation goes to George for his time and effort he gave in providing his information in writing this book. Thank you George.

Dorothy Andreassen, George's eldest daughter who kindly deciphered the written notes from her father’s War Diaries. She needed to use a magnifying glass, each line written in pencil, some so illegible and difficult to read. At times three lines of words fitted between each line on the page, sometimes two, but mainly one line of words in small notebooks. She has recorded an accurate record from the written words. Thank you Dorothy.

Grace Schafer, George's youngest daughter who shared her stories of what she did when her father experienced nightmares. Thank you Grace.

Gwen Andreassen, George's middle daughter whose patience and tolerance has been a tower of strength for putting up with me during this time. Thank you Gwen.

Front and back covers. I want to express my gratitude to Melissa Smith. Thank you for doing a great job. If you want Melissa to create your next cover I highly recommend you do. She can be contacted on [e-mail]. The cover taken from a photograph of George and Eva's farm at Brooloo around 1956.

Disclaimer By George Percy Burtenshaw:

Abbreviation of words in the War Diaries is subject to reader’s interruption. I wish to point out these stories are what I heard and what I was told and what I saw. Rumours were rife throughout the camp and some were true whilst others false and spread by the authorities as propaganda. They were also hearsay. From these stories I deduced subsequent happenings, which eventually proved correct.

AUTHORS NOTE

Every adversity carries with it the seed of an equivalent or greater benefit.

≈ Napoleon Hill ≈

Courage, determination, independence are some of the words to describe George Burtenshaw. His passing, aged one hundred and two years and a half truly showed inspiration with such self-determination, willpower and a ‘what he wanted attitude’ combined with a deep love for his huge family.

Born in 1911 at Newport Wales at seven years old his home destroyed by bombs at the close of World War 1. His family taken. He with his sister Lou taken to a Children's Home. Alone with only his sister, he had no knowledge where his brothers and parents were. His life in a Children's Home proceeded until his fifteenth birthday when he applied through Church of England, Council of Empire Settlement to go to Canada. Instead he ended up in Australia.

His arrival in Australia with four shillings to begin a new life, a job with a place to live in a new country and close to the town Gympie. His work ethics proved how important his life became. Aged eighteen years old, beginning of the Great Depression, he travelled by train to Rockhampton to seek work. Unable to find work he purchased a bicycle for seven shillings and sixpence leaving him little money. Four days riding along the beach, sleeping under a sheet of canvas returned to Kia Ora to be welcomed.

George worked for his old boss when a family arrived to share farm the property. Must had been 'love at first sight' because this family's daughter Eva caught George's eye. Eva later became his wife and they celebrated their sixty-fifth wedding anniversary before she sadly passed aged ninety-six years old.

Having worked his apprecenticeship at a dairy farm he purchased a motor cycle journeyed west to find work. By 1942 World War 11 exploded across the globe. George enlisted. Before going to war he married Eva. Twelve months after leaving Australian shores for Mayala Japanese invaded Singapore. He became a Prisoner-of-War and incarcerated in Changi Prison until World War 11 ended.

He recorded a daily record in a series of war diaries. If his captors found these diaries he would have been decapitated. He concealed them in plastic and safe from the enemy. When reading this portion of the book one cannot help but wonder at the suffering and atrocities Prisoners-of-War suffered at the hands of their enemy.

After such an horrific time in his life, he returned to Australia. Eva nursed him back to health. George went on to live a life worth living.

At 10am on Thursday 13 September 2007 George attended a DEDICATION OF COMMEMORATIVE PLAQUE to recognise the sacrifice and service of the members of 2/10thAustralian Field Regiment 8thDivision, Australian Imperial Force conducted at the Australian War Memorial, Canberra when at last he was recognised for his time as a Prisoner Of War.

George has certainly proven the words spoken by Napoleon Hill - Every adversity carries with it the seed of an equivalent or greater benefit. This is truly an inspirational story of survival mixed with self-determination with his life worth living.

Pat Ritter

Author

Chapter 1

Knowledge is proud that he knows so much

Wisdom is humble because he knows no more

Eight in the family, two sisters and five brothers. I might say here, we were more than poor: ‘poor as church mice’. I don’t remember going hungry. In hindsight, I must say I don’t remember more than once when I sat around the table for a meal, and on this occasion the only time seeing my father. I have little or no memory of him. Only person close, my sister Lou, who I partly grew up with.

I was born in Newport in Wales on 23rd December 1911. I do remember during the war years 1914-1918 (WW1), although I was only a child. I must have been either six or seven years old. Every hall in the town was full to over flowing with war wounded. Hundreds of wounded people crowded the hall waiting for a handout of bread and jam. On another occasion after the war was over, the victory parade going down the main road, this huge army truck rumbled down, thundering down towards us, my mother picked me up in her arms to nurse me. Such small things I remember.

I don’t remember, aged probably about seven years old. I do remember a Saturday morning. We were coming from the pictures. Little boys were allowed in free if they behaved themselves and sat in the front on the canvas seats or on the floor. Number 3 James Building was empty. That was where I lived. I asked where everyone was and told they were taken. Taken. Later I was taken to a Children’s Home with my sister Lou and other kids. I must have been cheeky because I remember someone saying, give him a swipe. My brothers were taken to another home outside of Newport. My Home was opposite the Workhouse complete with buildings housing the poor, a huge laundry and infirmary.

From Stow Hel Home I was taken to Beechwood Boys Home. Lou taken to a Girls Home nearby. While at Stow Hel School I used to leave the Home and race the tram to school. One morning half way to school I looked back behind me and ran smack bang into a lamppost. Someone carried me onto a nearby house where I regained consciousness. They bandaged me. I continued to school. Nobody appeared alarmed. I still have the scar on my forehead today. Shortly afterwards I became a patient of the infirmary after practising jumping over a skipping rope. I broke my left arm in two places, which when set used no anaesthetic. My arm strapped to my chest.

I went to the local school and must have been cheeky. This was all a front because my self-esteem at its lowest. I recall having to bend over the desk and threatened with a huge cane, but for some reason the Headmaster did not hit me. I still didn’t understand what I did wrong. I went to church regularly, confirmed, and attended Sunday School. I am not religious. I try to believe in God. A Church saying, ‘give me a child until he is the age of seven and ye can have him for the rest of his life’.

What ideas are impressed in the mind of a child will remain with the person for the rest of his or her life. The treatment in the Homes strict but not harsh. Life became dispassionate, lacking in affection - no love. As I grew older I had a degree of freedom outside of the Home, especially at weekends. Living at Beechwood Home in a three-storey building I started to take an interest in things. I did odd jobs for the Matron. Once sick with pneumonia, she came back herself, rubbed my chest and nursed me. She was kind. I found not all people in authority are harsh or cruel.

About twelve or thirteen years old I did my share of housework, clean floors, make the fire in the kitchen and later, occasionally cook the Sunday roast and vegetables for dinner. A big range, which is a stove, both the range and the hot water system used a lot of coal. When I was fifteen years old I played Santa Claus and went around the beds filling the Christmas stockings with nuts, lollies and a toy.

My brothers were taken to a Navy School. None of them wrote to me and as I had no addresses I couldn't write to them. I remember my eldest brother Bert my other brothers, Fred and Charlie, from photographs. John, I met when Eva and I went to England in 1959. Fred, on my next trip to England, but, they were complete strangers and I had nothing in common with them.

I liked school and learned to like sport especially running. 1923 or 1924 I went with a party of other boys to the Wembley Exhibitions in London. The School Master asked if I had any money. I told him four shillings. He gave me a strange look. I thought I was a millionaire. Obviously he thought differently. The Board of Guardian under the Poor Law Act gave me this money.

At Beechwood one of the many cross roads of my life happened. I won a place at Hatherleigh School, twenty boys and twenty girls to a class. I was in 3B. Nothing memorable academically with my ability but I was good at sport reaching the finals in soccer with a gold and silver medal. The football grounds at Newport were in the country, about one mile away. We won the match. I was on a high. No celebrations afterwards only a mile walk back home telling everyone we won. Oh yes. That was all. I was on a high for about three hours. After all these years the indifference still hurts.

I was first in high jump, also first in throwing the cricket ball. This is one of the things which happened often. On this day I was sent out onto the grounds with a message from the Headmaster to the Master of Sports who was training a squad in throwing. I did not think much of their efforts so I asked for a throw. The others threw forty to fifty yards. My first and only throw seventy yards. In the finals I threw over eighty yards.

At the end of my school days at Hatherleigh, I realised a change of attitude in my outlook on life. Not physical as much as mental. From nobody I was now somebody, accepted by my schoolmates and no longer a loner. The Headmaster, a remarkable man who instilled confidence in those he spoke with.

The morning started with everyone in the forecourt and morning prayers. The Headmaster would say, ‘fall out those who may’. Religion was not forced upon anyone. Those who did were of other faiths, or those not inclined. A hymn was sung followed by the Lords Prayer, and finally, the following ‘the day returns and brings us the petty round of irritating concerns and duties. Help us to perform them with laughter and kind faces. Give us to go blithely on our business all this day. Bring us to our resting place weary and content and under honoured, and in the end the gift of sleep. Amen.’

I remained at school to continue for an extra year and curriculum. In that year of freedom I found loyalty. I became George Burtenshaw and not a ‘poor low home boy’. The Headmaster asked me what I intended to do when I left. During my schooling at Hatherleigh I attended night school doing bookkeeping, shorthand and maths. I learned but hated them all and although I was supposed to go to an office job my choice was outdoors. I applied through Church Of England, Council Of Empire Settlement to go to Canada. For whatever reason, I ended up in Australia.

I left Newport with no tears. The railway station not packed with friends or relatives to wish me goodbye. A lone representative to farewell me, to an unknown future. I looked forward to a new life. Alone to seek out a new life in a new country. Reliant on no one but myself. The Board founded me with clothes and boots, two sports coats, two shirts, underclothes, hat and a long warm overcoat, my books, a box I made at school and some extras. In all, my possessions filled a fair size metal trunk and a large suitcase.

My train left Newport to London and thence to Tilbury dock where I boarded the ship R.M.S ORAMA. The ship looked immense. I was shown to my cabin, which I shared with five other boys – young men. They were similar in age to myself. The ship sailed on 21st of July 1928. With my new cabin friends we proceeded to explore parts of the ship, which we were allowed. As is usual 1st, 2nd, and 3rd class passengers. Our cabin on the ground floor, the bottom of the ship. Six bunks, three sets of two, the ground floor bare concrete and hot. Not too bad when we were travelling, the air being forced through tunnels and air ducts all through the ship. The toilets, baths and washbasins communal sufficient for about twenty. The trunk went into the ship’s hold and my suitcase stowed away in my cabin. Males in one section and females in another. Many steps to climb before we got above water level, long way down in the ship.

An Italian party on the ship led by a Catholic Priest from the Vatican named Cardinal Cirette who came to Queensland to meet with Archbishop Duhig on matters relating to propose Cathedral in Brisbane, which had already had some of the foundations and walls built. When the Cardinal left, work stopped and never started again. This became a mystery why the building never completed.

Sometime after I arrived in Australia I wrote to the Headmaster of Hatherleigh School, my account of the voyage to Australia and the article taken from the Old Pupil’s section of the school magazine is set out here in full. A naïve account of the voyage by a youth straight from school and now on reading the article again especially in the first few days is really a geography lesson of the various points on the map of the ports and points on a map which we sailed past. Gibraltar we were in foreign parts. Remember I was just out of school, just out into the world and as I said previously very naïve indeed.

To Australia On The R.M.S. ORAMA:

The Royal Mail steamer Orama, on which I was a passenger, sailed from Tilbury Docks on the 21stJuly 1928.

We sailed very close to Dover, the harbour, castle and the white cliffs very distinctly, and the last of England on Sunday morning, when we dropped the pilot at Torbay, but I had no qualms or misgivings about my future.

Later on in the day the coast of France loomed into sight, and early next morning the ship entered the Bay, but instead of being rough, very calm indeed.

On the 23rdJuly we passed Cape Finisterre, and the ship ran into a fog. Being in dangerous waters, we had to go dead slow, and the foghorn sounded continuously. We were all glad when the fog cleared, the coast of Portugal in the distance.

On the 25thJuly we sailed into the harbour of Gibraltar, and for the charge of 2s we were allowed to go ashore. Admiralty Docks, where several gunboats were at anchor. The Welfare Officer told the party of boys who were migrating that the Rock contained many gun galleries, which were really hidden roads containing the British guns.

From the top of the Alameda Gardens, which are situated on the hillside, a bird’s eye view of the harbour may be had, and faintly, across the Straits, Africa. When we got on the ship again, I was told that the Rock had been besieged fourteen times, and now is almost impregnable. More than 1200 years ago, the Rock was of naval importance, but now its importance cannot be over-estimated.

In the next two days the ship crossed the Gulf of Lyons, arriving at Toulon on the 27thJuly. For such an important town, not so impressive as should be. The streets very dirty, and narrow in most places, but in the Boulevard Strasburg some fine shops, buildings and statues. We went into the Cathedral, which was very beautiful, and the large dockyard. Most of us had the new experience of changing English money into French at the rate of five francs for a shilling.

On the voyage from Toulon to Naples, the northern part of Corsica, where Napoleon was born, and later on Elba, where he spent his last days. We reached Naples on Sunday, the 29thJuly, and instead of anchoring in the harbour, as we did in other ports, we went right alongside the quay, so we were able to go ashore as we pleased.

I went through the dirty, narrow streets, being Sunday, most of the shops closed. Many beautiful buildings, the best being the Museum, but the streets were in a terribly dirty state. When we got back to the ship Vesuvius stood out very plainly. The steam and smoke very interesting; sometimes rose to the heavens in spiral wreaths, and sometimes in clouds, but would never be the same for a minute. In daytime, the glare of the volcano, but ten hours later the glare of Stromboli, and later in the night Etna visible.

On Monday the ship passed through the Straits of Messina, and on the last day of July we passed the island of Crete. Next day we sailed into the harbour of Port Said, and the first thing the Statue of M. de Lesseps, the Frenchman who was in charge of the construction of the Suez Canal. Whilst a slow journey through the Canal, very interesting, by day and night, for at night lit up by buoys and the ship’s searchlight. I was told that the southern part of the Canal was closely associated with the Scriptures.

On the 6thof August, the island Perim, and later, the ship entered the Gulf of Aden. After a few days uninteresting sailing through the Persian Gulf, we ran into South-West Monsoon, experiencing rough weather. The sky as blue as blue, sun shining quite strong, but the waves huge, and the wind (I was afterwards told) blew at about 200 miles an hour. Most of the passengers were sick, and very few were present at meal-times. Early on the morning of the 11thof August we found ourselves in Colombo Harbour, and we made a party to go for a trip to Mount Lavinia and to have tea ashore.

The drive to the Mount very pretty, and when we reached our distination a native walked up a coconut palm. Instead of the Mount being a mountain, as I thought, a beautiful beach, miles long, fringed with coconut palms. We were driven back to town by a native in a rattling old Ford car, through the cinnamon gardens and along the Galte Face Promenade. After tea, as was our custom in every port of call, we went through the native quarters. In the streets many strong odours, the chief being fish and incense.

We sailed from Colombo at 10 p.m. the same night, and next day we crossed the Equator at 10 a.m. The fun which is usually associated with the crossing of the line was absent from the Orama. We did not sight land after leaving Colombo for nine days, until we reached Fremantle, the most important port in Western Australia. Very quiet for a port, but its importance is due to its nearness to Perth, the capital, which is only 12 miles away, on the Swan River, this making excellent for shipping.

We sailed from Fremantle the same day, and arrived at Port Adelaide on the 24thof August. I went through Port Adelaide to Adelaide by train, but the state trains are very slow, ours going nine miles in forty-five minutes. Pleasure broad, clean streets after the filthy streets of the foreign countries.

The ship left port the same day, and arrived at Port Melbourne on the 25thof August. I went to Melbourne by electric train, which was faster than the last train I travelled to view some of its wonderful parks and gardens. Most of the trains are run by electricity, carried by overhead wires.

The city has an excellent supply of tramcars. After two days in Melbourne, and one day’s sailing after leaving Melbourne, we arrived at one of the most wonderful harbours in the world, Sydney Harbour. The entrance is guarded by the Heads, which make the entrance very narrow, thus doing away with break waters.

The harbour stretches inland for about five miles, and in some places three miles wide. The shore formed in bays, usually covered with bushes and trees. We were welcomed by an Y.M.C.A. agent, who looked after our welfare for the next three days. Most of the buildings were ten storeys high, and the streets are typical of London streets. Hyde Park, a Cleopatra’s Needle, and Paddington in the city, similar to London. We sailed from Sydney on the 1stof September, and arrived at our destination, Brisbane, on the 3rdof September.

Chapter 2

Arrival in Brisbane my accommodation a very old building at Kangaroo Point, historical whitewashed inside and out and looked, an Immigration Centre. My first meal midday dinner, corned beef, pumpkin, mashed potatoes. I'd never before eaten pumpkin or salt beef and didn't eat any. Next time food was placed in front of me I overcome my scruples and cleaned my plate.

Two days later I met the Dean of Brisbane on Coronation Drive. A bearded man, overpowering, a look of determination in his eye, sat behind a huge wooden desk. He smoked.

'Where is your four shillings landing money? Your tin trunk was taken off at Sydney. You will pay to have it transhipped to Brisbane. The money will be taken from my wages.' He roared.

I signed papers in triplicate and received a sermon on economy otherwise I wouldn't survive in Australia. I had no money whatsoever for I couldn’t afford one penny to pay the ferry fare across the Brisbane River. Instead I walked from Kangaroo Point to Coronation Drive and back again.

A few days later I found work at a place called Kia Ora near Gympie. The train journey took six hours, a distance of about one hundred and twenty miles. I met my future boss driving a Ford Truck. I'd never seen a vehicle like this before. An old truck with a wooden floor and sides, wooden seat and a plank of wood about two feet long which jutted out each side so four passengers fitted. The hood, a canopy sheltered the driver and passengers with a curved wooden shield in front. No windscreen and travelled at speed of twenty to twenty-five miles per hour. The journey most