Further to the above.

My first English ancestors in Australia came from Stourpaine in Dorset. Stourpaine in its day was briefly famous having made it to the centre spread of the Illustrated London News of the 5th of September 1846, but for all the wrong reasons;

" Of one of the villages, Stourpain, about midway between Blandford and Sturminster Newton, the Times Correspondent gives this lamentable account:--
"The first feature which attracts the attention of a stranger on entering the village is the total want of cleanliness which pervades it. A stream, composed of the matter which constantly escapes from pigsties and other receptacles of filth, meanders down each street, being here and there collected into standing Pools, which lie festering and rotting in the sun so as to create wonder that the place is not the continual abode of pestilence-indeed the worst malignant fevers have raged here at different times. It may be sufficient to add for the present that the inside of the cottages in every respect corresponds with the external appearance of the place. The wages here in very few instances exceed seven shillings per week".

Did they drive Holdens Is Mise?

Nope, but one of their descendants married Bill Holden.

I always knew you were related to royalty Issy, King Hog and Queen Sow! Don't take offence. Anyway moving on to more important business.

Issy as you know I come from around the Wellington Shire in New South Wales, between Orange and Wellington. Did a bit of panning in the creek from time to time with the grandfather, as a kid, lots of fun. Had to watch out for the black snakes in the creek. Never found anything the size of the 'Holterman Nugget' couldn't fit it in our pan. The grandfather had the "gold bug", always claimed there was still plenty of gold around the district if a fella knew where to look. He had found some gold, particularity a nugget about the size and shape of a peanut. The grandfather had it put on a gold chain and always wore it around his neck.

Talk about living rough, I recall two old blokes living in the last of those "pioneer shacks", out in the bush, the last of the real bushies. A place built out of rough sawn timber, bark, and a bit of old galvanised iron and stone around the fireplace, dirt floor, no electricity, no running water, water from the creek. They lived their for years, Mum said they were brothers. It must have been bloody cold in winter, we got snow now and then. Kept their meat hanging in a bag in a shady tree. Mum once said they offered her a piece of mutton (they had too much, they worked a bit on properties in the district, they might get half a sheep to put in the bag) it was crawling with maggots, but they did not seem to mind, boil it up, maggots and all. I think they lived to old age, maybe into their 80's.

Paul,

Unions are like a cancer where businesses infested with unions slowly become less efficient, less profitable and without state subsidies die an ignominious death.

Shadow, you have always leeched the hard won benefits of unionism, without ever contributing to the struggle. You simply apply the "begging bowl" mentality to workers, but not to yourself of course, you are far superior to mere workers, you consider yourself an elite employee. White shirt and tie, up there in the rarefied atmosphere of the 27th floor, sipping coffee, and playing with your mobile phone from 9 to 5, never venturing near the coal face. Must be a nice working life for you, not contributing anything, just reaping the benefits.