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| Macarthur Chronicle 21 April 1992 |
From a pioneer family, he was a student of local history and we’d met through the local historical society. He was later honoured with life membership and became patron of the society.
He may have been weakened by arthritis and his eyesight poor, but he was quick-witted and intelligent. He had a cheeky laugh, a twinkle in his blue eyes and a bushy grey beard.
Retiring in 1958, aged 64, he returned to his childhood home. He’d fought in World War I, raised three children on his own, had a part time music career as a comic baritone and a fulltime job.
Quoted as saying “Life is about creating memories”, he was happy to share his many memories; I was happy to listen.
With deteriorating eyesight, he didn’t watch television. His pleasure was the radio - the news, current affairs, parliament, cricket or a quiz show playing and, yes, he answered most of the questions. He probably got his trivia skills from doing the Sydney Morning Herald crossword every day until the age of 96 when his eyesight finally failed.
If the radio wasn’t playing, a selection from his extensive classical music collection resounded from his home. Often, he would break into song; he could still hold a tune. His musical expertise wasn’t limited to private guests. He brought his love of music to a new generation forming and directing the Macquarie Singers. He’d arrange for Sydney artists to visit and entertain. Still having a good voice, he was a choir member of St John’s Church.
The love of his life, his wife, Lil, passed away in her early forties. When he spoke about her his eyes twinkled, other times there would be a tear.
He recalled the mud, lice and other horrors of the trenches in France during the war. He was awarded the Military Medal for keeping communications lines open under fire. “All I did was my job and they gave me this.” There was pride in his voice as he gently stroked the medal in its faded box.
He became a local hero leading the Anzac Day March proudly holding his head high and recounting stories to children at the end of the day.
He spent hours with the Local History Librarian recording his early life. Each year during Book Week, he read stories of Fisher’s Ghost to school children. Many town visitors remembered the impromptu history guide. A philatelist all his life, he formed a club and encouraged many school children to take up the hobby. As an active parishioner, he established a stall selling devotional items. He visited ill and house-bound people and taught his faith to Beverley Park Special School students.
Working for a government department responsible for marketing the district, I was given the task of assisting a film maker on a promotional film. The script called for an elderly gentleman to play a scribe chronicling his impressions of the town in the 1800s. Always keen to promote his town, Ambrose jumped at the opportunity. Filming done, I went off to get lunch for everyone returning to find him holding court. The young film crew sat around entranced by his life stories. One of them wanted to take him home.
He was to record a voice over for the scene saying, “I am much pleased with the siting of Campbelltown ...”. It wasn’t included, his voice sounded too young for the image on the film, so they got someone else to speak the words. He was 87 at the time.
My son, Clinton, accompanied me on my visits. He soaked in the stories and Ambrose was thrilled someone so young was interested.
Our visits made an impression on Clinton. Knowing someone who had fought under similar conditions, he cried at the end of the movie Gallipoli. While on holidays with his father, he rang me lonely, bored and depressed. We talked for a while then he said, “I am going to find some old people to talk to.” The next time he rang he related stories an elderly couple on the beach told him about their life as farmers during the depression. I was very proud my son was growing into a young man who had time, and interest, to listen and learn from his elders.
At 96 Ambrose decided to go into a nursing home. He lasted one year and moved back home. “They are all too old, I’m not ready to sit around doing nothing!” He’d tried to get a singing group going, enthuse them into playing cards or having quizzes, all without success.
On Thursday 19 March 1996, hundreds of mourners gathered to farewell Ambrose when he died at the great age of 101. The funeral parade was led by military and police escorts to the Northern Suburbs Cemetery where he was laid to rest beside his wife.
We aspire to grow old gracefully. Ambrose Bourke, an eloquent embodiment of grace, wit, enthusiasm and devotion, succeeded in a way many failed.
Like a child saying, “when I grow up…” I’d think, “When I get old I will be like Ambrose.” Now, as I approach the end of my seventh decade, I fill my life with passions and activities.
My son is married with a baby girl. I’m a doting grandmother, more reason to stay physically and mentally healthy.
Positive aging, we are told, is an attitude, feeling good about yourself and engaging fully in life.
I think it is more. It is what we leave behind in our experiences and life’s lessons.
As the ‘older generation’ we must engage the young, recounting stories with love, humour and candour. By passing on our life stories our aging will be ‘positive’ for future generations, and help them understand why things happened, putting history in perspective.
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