Some history about my Dad .....
THOMAS JOSEPH GUTHRIE (known as Tom) – some history about my Dad
“To accompany Tom’s ‘bomber jacket’ from WW2 to the Canberra War Memorial”
Tom was born in West Hartlepool, United Kingdom on 12th May 1921 and died in Nowra, NSW, Australia on 6th April 2009. He led a happy, successful and adventurous life in three different continents.
My Dad was married to my Mother, Vera, for 66 years, in a very happy marriage and they had three children, Susan, Sandra and Ian. After the Second World War, Britain was, in my parents’ words, ‘bombed out’, with major shortages and food still being rationed, cold, grey, bleak and depressed. They felt there were few opportunities for a young couple with big dreams. So when they saw an advert in a London newspaper captioned “Emigrate to South Africa!” with a picture of Table Mountain and the sun shining, they did just that! Within a couple of months, my Dad caught a ship to that faraway land, and some months later, my mother and older sister, Susan, joined him. They spent eight years in Cape Town, where I was born, followed by my younger brother Ian. My Dad was still eager for adventure and wanted to create a more prosperous future, so in 1956, Tom travelled to what was colloquially known as “The Black North” (Northern Rhodesia) to find employment on the copper mines.
Vera followed with the children a few months later after my Dad had secured a job in Bancroft, which was close to the border with the (then) Belgian Congo. In 1960 the Congo Civil War broke out, during which Tom served for a year before evacuating his family to the United Kingdom to avoid the escalating violence. Our family spent a miserable eighteen months in the land of their birth before returning to Central Africa, and another mining town, Chingola (Nchanga).
In 1964 Northern Rhodesia gained Independence and Zambia was born, and like many, our family lived through the dangerous political unrest which led to that historic transition. Tom was a hard worker, and was shortly promoted to Chief Engineer at the Open Pit, at that time the largest in the world, at Nchanga Consolidated Copper Mines. He gained a reputation for bravery for several incidents. In his early years, during a deadly mud rush at Bancroft Mine, he was trapped underground for sixteen hours with several of his ‘crew’, and was commended for working tirelessly to get his men safely to the surface without a single loss of life. His team, mostly local black men, bestowed upon him the title “Bwana Tembo” (“Boss Strong Rope”) for his strength and courage. This title followed him when he worked at the Open Pit, where 200 tonne earth moving trucks were being used. Occasionally, these would land up in dangerous positions perched on the edge of the Open Pit, when the terrified drivers abandoned them and fled. Legend says that Bwana Tembo was the only man brave enough (or silly enough, my mother said) to climb up into the cabin of the vehicle to save it from plunging hundreds of yards into the open pit below. He was a volunteer life saver at the mine swimming pool, and was featured in our newspaper after resuscitating and saving the lives of children on three separate occasions. He was a physical education instructor, a champion diver, and took up yoga at the age of 45, a practise he followed until two years before he died (a month before his 88th birthday) when he was still strong enough to do chin ups on the door frame. He was a very disciplined man, neat and tidy, organised and punctual (a hangover from his army days, he would say) he ate moderately and healthily, seldom drank and never smoked, for he believed his body was ‘A Temple’ and treated it with great respect.
My parents spent another eighteen years in Zambia, South Africa, and Angola (the latter where my Dad worked on the diamond mines) where another Civil War had just ended. It is ironic that his Landrover was badly damaged, whilst he remained miraculously unhurt, after it plunged into a crater caused by one of the many unexploded land mines left behind after the war. That incident precipitated his leaving Africa permanently and emigrating to Australia in 1982.
My parents lived firstly in Maroochydore in Queensland, then moved to Sydney to Turramurra, Gordon (where my husband, Gerald and I lived) and Crows Nest in Sydney. Our family moved to Berry NSW in 2001, after my husband and I bought acreage and a house for my parents to live in.
They were both very active members of the community, Dad was a skilled bowler and coach, he was an active member of the Masonic Lodge (he was a Grand Master in Zambia), he was a talented singer and played the mouth organ to entertain the elderly and children alike, and every year they were sought after as the Best Santa and Mrs. Claus at our local nursing homes and kindergartens, and they attended Mass weekly at their local Catholic Church. He was frequently a ‘model’ for our local art groups, posing in many colourful costumes, including proudly wearing his own Scots kilt. One of the activities he was most proud to be a part of was the Anzac Day March every year, firstly in Sydney, and then in Berry. Since his death, my family and I have marched in his honour, wearing his medals, pushing an empty wheelchair which bears his favourite hat and cane, and a photo of him wearing his medals, proudly posing with our son, Joshua.
My Dad was a true gentleman of the Old School, a snappy dresser who manicured his hands and trimmed his moustache, he was a poet, a writer and a gifted story teller. His tales about the African bush – and his hair raising confrontations with wild animals, his days in the bush in the army, the eccentric characters who, like him, made their way to the middle of Africa to seek their fortune – were the stuff of legends. My Father was an adventurer, always one to take a risk, and curious to see what was over the next mountain – he loved to travel which they did frequently and circumnavigated the globe visiting dozens of countries.
I was blessed with my parents and the privileged and happy life they provided. He started life in poverty in the north of England, and lived a passionate, adventurous and successful life. He made a difference in his time on the planet, and I am grateful for the opportunity to share this remnant from his war years, his ‘bomber jacket’ (battle fatigues?) with you.
The following is a eulogy presented by the RSL representative, Fred Dawson of Nowra, at my Father’s funeral on 15th April 2009, at St. Patricks Catholic Church, officiated by Father Pat Faherty. It is an overview of my Father’s military service.
“We have come to say farewell and to give due honour to one who served in his country’s Armed Forces during the dark days of the Second World War. And on behalf of the Returned and Services Community, we offer our sympathies to all of Tom’s family.
During the early years of the war, Thomas Joseph Guthrie completed his trade training and worked as a diesel mechanic on one of three large ship building yards on the River Tyne, Newcastle (????), which belonged to Vickers-Armstrong who were involved in submarine construction and maintenance.
In 1944, Tom enlisted in the Oxford and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry Regiment, a Regiment whose history dates back to 1751, for it was an amalgamation of the 43r Foot (Monmouthshire) and 52nd Foot (Oxfordshire) which in 1908 was joined by the 14th Foot (Buckinghamshire). The 52nd and 43re an 14th served with Wellington during the Peninsular wars of 1812-14, and the 52nd during the war with Wellington at Waterloo in 1815.
The 1st Battalion, the 43rd, were with the B.E.F. in France in 1939 and were rescued at Dunkirk afer suffering heavy casualties. The 2nd Battalion, the 52nd, were part of the airbourne glider troops, being among the first to arrive in Normandy before the beach landings had begun, they seized and held the Pegasus Bridge over the Caen canal and the Horsebridge over the River Orne.
It was the 2nd Battalion that Tom joined in October of 1944 as the Allies moved through France and Germany. In March of 1945 the Battalion suffered heavy losses as they attempted to cross the Rhine; they fought their way across Germany, eventually meeting up with the Russians on the Baltic Sea.
One of the tasks allocated to the 2nd Battalion was the clean up of the Belsen Concentration Camp, with all its horrors. Tom remained in Germany with the Occupation Forces until 1947. He was awarded the 1939-45 Star, the France and Germany Star, the 1939-45 War Medal and was demobbed as Acting Sergeant.
In 1958 the Oxford and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry Regiment changed its name to the First Green Jackets and saw action in Malaya, Borneo, and Brunei in the sixties.
Tom’s days in uniform did not end in 1947, for in 1960-61 during the Congo Civil War, he served as a Sergeant Major with the Northern Rhodesian Pioneers.
We thank him for his Service. We salute his Service.”
“Their bodies are buried in peace and the name liveth for evermore.
Oh valiant hearts, who to your glory came
Through dust of conflict and through battle flame
Tranquil you lie, your Knightly virtue proved
Your memory hallowed in the lands you loved.
The hour has come for rest. This poppy – an emblem of sacrifice, the symbol of a life offered in the service of one’s country, is a line between our comrade and us who remain.
We place it on his coffin remembrance.”