General News
19 June, 2026
UNCLE TOM: An adopted relative
Tom had lived at Brunswick Street as long as I could remember. He arrived as one of Jim’s “down on your luck” people. Unlike many others, he stayed permanently.
He was an imposing figure standing well over six feet. As a teenager, he competed at state level as a diver. Unfortunately while lairising at the Brunswick Pool he broke his back.
Some of the divers as a prank bombed onlookers by jumping into the corner of the pool and splashing everyone. This was done from the high tower.
After years of treatment, he made a successful recovery. Jim had found him in a distressed state drowning his sorrows after having been jilted by his sweetheart.
Tom became part of the family. When Ossie Porter started his shoe factory, Tom was trained as a tanner.
Ossie Porter was a remarkable philanthropist. During the depression he handed out money to the poor.
All the stake money his highly successful team of racehorses won was shared with his workers. For years he was president and the major benefactor for the Fitzroy Football Club.
He had chauffeur driven Bentleys and always waited for me to deliver The Herald newspaper. Tom was a fanatical Carlton supporter as was my father, Uncle Jim and all my other relatives.
It was natural enough as they all had grown up in Carlton. They gathered on “Spitter’s Hill” on the wing in front of the curator’s house.
Tom’s best mate was the legendary Carlton “Iron Man”, Bob Chitty. Tom was fond of an ale and was such a regular at the Tramway Hotel that they installed a plaque in his corner of the bar.
The house in Brunswick Street was once Stuchberry’s Dairy and had several massive bluestone buildings at the rear. These were rented out to a jam factory and were filled with large tins of fruit pulp.
One room was rented by Bob Saville who was a dry cleaner.
He had Tom engaged in non-stop debate from who signed the Magna Carta, to the Menzies Government. Politics was a “no no” in the house as they were all emitted Labor followers.
Although he disliked Fitzroy Football Club as much as he loved Carlton, he was a life member of the Fitzroy Cricket Club social club. He shared the bar with “Honest John” Gilbert, Bert and Tom Newton. Tom never had a drivers’ licence and travelled by taxi everywhere. He claimed that he saved thousands by using this mode of transport.
When you include the cost of depreciation, insurance, registration, servicing and petrol, he is certainly right. Tom’s elder brother was the general manager of the British Shoe Corporation in Collingwood.
I lived virtually opposite the Brunswick Street oval. My mates and I used the oval as our own playground. Our most popular game was “Three Goals In”.
Our dog Betsy always followed us across the road and after a brief spell chasing the ball, she would wander off to explore the oval. On this particular Saturday, Fitzroy were hosting the match of the day.
As was the custom, the last quarter of the match of the day was telecast on the ABC. With Fitzroy and Essendon engaged in a tight struggle, the jam-packed crowd were tense.
Suddenly a dog appeared on the oval and pursued the ball. It was Betsy. Showing the skills of Kevin Murray, she attacked the ball.
The players were tentative, the game was interrupted. Officials and players pursued her in vain.
The supporters saw the humour as she constantly evaded their attempts to catch her.
One trainer was particularly embarrassed by her elusiveness.
Suddenly Betsy lost interest and made her escape.
Ted, the trainer, was a work colleague of Tom’s at Porter’s Shoe Factory and wasn’t pleased to be the “butt” of everyone’s jokes. On the Monday his workmates constantly ribbed him. He confided to Tom, “I’d like to get my hands on that dog’s owner!”.
Aunty Pat cut Tom’s lunch and I delivered it. Betsy as was her want, followed me to the factory. When Tom saw her he was petrified that Ted would see her and I had to remove her immediately. Tom had several bouts of the “gout” so bad that even the slightest touch was agony.
He was in so much pain that he slept with foot out of his bedroom window.
The last time I visited Tom was when he was mortally ill. He told me he was concerned that if countries kept fooling around with nuclear bombs, they might accidently blow every brewery off the map!