But some of those, even those who only stayed here a short time, such as Pawel Strzelecki, left lasting legacies. And we are here today in Tumbarumba to celebrate some of his outstanding achievements. To help us do so, it is entirely fitting that we have as our guests their Excellencies the Ambassadors of Poland and Ireland.

Despite the fact that a desert, a mountain range, a track and a national park have been named after him, and despite the fact that he named our tallest mountain after the Polish hero Kosciuszko, Strzelecki’s name is not particularly well-known by average Australians. Almost none can spell it, let alone pronounce it correctly. Neither can they spell or pronounce the names of other Poles who came here in the nineteenth century. Indeed, until recently, Mount Kosciuszko was spelled incorrectly in official maps.

Take my own family, which achieved much under the public radar, but without fanfare or much acknowledgement. My great grandfather, Gracius Broinowski, fled Wieluñ as a refugee from Russian oppression in 1854. He reached Australia and took on a variety of jobs before marrying the daughter of an English whaling captain and proceeded to have seven children. Gracius became a well-known explorer and ornithologist in Australia, and a friend of our first prime minister, Edmund Barton. Gracius’s series of books, Birds of Australia, are valued collectors’ items, and the New South Wales Premier, Henry Parkes, commissioned him to send them to every secondary school in the state.

One of his Gracius’s sons, Felix, became assistant to Charles Robert Scrivener, the principal surveyor of Canberra and its Lake Burley Griffin. Another son, Stefan, worked in the NSW Railways. A third, Leo, joined Barton in a frantic electoral campaign to promote the benefits of federation in 1898. Another, Herbert, became a doctor and worked in the Hay District Hospital before becoming surgeon-general in Narrandera and helped set up the town’s sewerage and water supply.

Richard Broinowski delivering a speech at Tumbarumba Function Hall. Photo Kris Malek

My own grandfather, Robert Arthur, sixth child in the litter, became private secretary to three early Commonwealth Defence Ministers – Cook, Ewing and Pierce. He then joined the fledgling Commonwealth Parliament as a reporter, quickly rising through the ranks to be Usher of the Black Rod in the late 1920s, a ceremonial but powerful position. Tall, with flaming red hair and a Polish temper to match, Robert brow-best the senators in correct parliamentary procedure. He also banned table tennis and poppy sellers from Canberra’s new Parliament House. In a widely published poem, the Australian poet C J Dennis satirised him, one verse being:

Oh, his brows were wreathed in thunder
As he gazed in stupid wonder,
As he heard the sinful pinging and the sacrilegious pong
And he said ‘Henceforth I ban it,
If I knew who ‘twas began it
I’d have him drawn and quartered, for ‘tis obviously wrong!’
Then back adown the corridors unbending as a God
Strode the adamantine Usher of the Big Black Rod.

Robert went on to become Clerk of the Senate, and established rose gardens on either side of Parliament House. A gate remains with his name on it. On his retirement in 1942, Robert became a well-known radio commentator on the ABC.

Ngarigo Elders: Uncle John Casey with Aunty Lorna. Photo Kris Malek

My point here is that many distinguished and inventive Poles came to Australia and merged, often unnoticed, into the Anglo-Celtic social landscape. I am so glad my own great grandfather and his sons and one daughter, remained and built worthwhile careers here. And I am proud of becoming a part, even a non-Polish speaking part, in the Australian Polish community.

Richard Broinowski
Tumbarumba
9 March 2021