This book was given me by a woman of Italian ancestry who was raised in Australia. In handing it over she noted that it was a text familiar to most Australisns. Having the impression that it was fictional I wasn't sure I'd read it. Given our friendship, however, I resolved to give it a try.
As it happens this is an autobiography of one Albert B. Facey, born just before the turn of one century and dead shortly before the beginning of the next. The focus of the work is on the first quarter of the twentieth century and most of that in Western Australia wheat-belt region. Being primarily self-educated, he is an author without pretensions, the story of his life being told straight and clear.
And a hard life it was! His father having died, his mother abandoned him and most of his siblings in early childhood, leaving them in the care of a widowed grandmother who took them to what was then a rather wild and underpopulated area in western Australia. Disappointment followed disappointment, leaving Facey, beginning at the age of eight, to substantially fend for himself as a hired hand. Often unpaid and sometimes abused, he went from job to job, working on farms, driving cattle, boxing etc. until enlisting in the Australian army during the first war. Serving in the disastrous Gallipoli campaign, he returned home, substantially disabled.
This was the hardest part of his life and fills most of the memoir. The rest, over sixty years, was better, not because he became successful, but because he met and happily married a woman with whom he raised a family. As his unhappy early life was characterized by loneliness and abandonment, his adult life was 'fortunate', despite the Depression, despite his disabilities, because of others: because of her, because of their children, because of his comrades in his union and because of the voters in his constituencies.
I've read many, many autobiographies, most by famous people, most quite self-conscious, many defensive. Other than the memoirs, most of them oral, most of them much shorter, of ordinary American workers, this is one of the best, because most honest and substantial, autobiographies I've ever encountered. I found it quite moving.
A final note. There is one man I've personally known in my life whose own story resembled Facey's. That was Paul Berquist, my former wife's maternal grandfather. Born in Sweden to coppersmiths, a veteran of the Swedish airforce (back in biplane days), an immigrant to the USA, he rose to become an independent tool and die maker in Chicago while raising a family and participating in virtually every fraternal organization I'd ever heard of. Like Facey, Paul was the kind of man who could live off the land, build his own house and fix virtually anything. Like Facey and unlike myself, I'd say much of his life was hard, but very well lived--lived until his ninety-sixth year, a model to all of us fortunate enough to have known him.