I wrote this a few months ago in response to a request from a columnist who writes for the New York Times for 'life reports' from older Americans; he wanted to do a piece about their experiences. I'm not an American, but I am older, so I sent in my piece which, not surprisingly, he didn't refer to. I wasn't too hurt; he did say he got thousands of offerings and, as I said, I am not an American. However, thought it might be worth putting up on my blog, so here it is.
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I was born in 1938 in
the country then known as Rhodesia. An African farm was a good place for a boy
free to wander in the bush, much of the time with an air rifle. I was vaguely
aware that things were tough for my parents, and also aware that the African
people who worked for us were extremely poor, but concern over that, and the
fact that we — the white people — had taken over their country, only came much
later. My mother taught me until I was 11, when I was packed off to boarding
school.
Seven undistinguished
years later school was over and, after 18 weeks national service training I
took an excruciatingly boring job in a government office. To the undisguised
relief of my boss, I resigned after about 18 months. Which left the question:
what to do now? My school results
were marginally good enough to get me into a South African university (there
was no university in Rhodesia at that time) so, after difficult
discussions with my long-suffering
parents I applied to study agriculture and they found the money to fund my
first year. After that, assuming I passed (an event that my relatives all
assumed was unlikely), I was on my own.
If you don’t enjoy being
an undergraduate you have a problem. I did enjoy it. Also, an element of stubbornness
(the idea of proving my relatives correct was not attractive) and the emergence
of a surprising capacity to focus, combined to get me through my first year. Later
I learned how to study effectively. Money problems were sorted out by loans and
a small scholarship and after four years, to everyone’s surprise, I emerged
with a first class degree and a beautiful fiancée: Diana had one year to go
when I finished.
My first job was on an
agricultural research station in rangeland country in the southern part of
Rhodesia. There was a staff of about 20 white professionals and of course (this
was still a white-ruled country) many more black assistants and labourers. The
research we were doing wasn’t particularly high-powered, but it was interesting
and potentially very useful to the country. Diana and I were married not long
after she finished her degree and she had to adapt to life in a rather limited
community. She managed fine, but I got an itch to get more involved with
science — to publish papers and test myself in a wider world,. This led to us moving to South Africa and
then, through a set of curious chances[1]
to Scotland on a one-year fellowship, intended to support one post-graduate.
We had four little girls
by that time — we were good Catholics and anyway, it took us a while to figure
out what was causing them — so this move was, in the view of my wife’s parents
anyway, irresponsible lunacy. But we went. My wife is a brave lady; it was the
only chance we were going to get to go overseas and we reckoned we would
survive somehow. It was the key move of our lives. Life wasn’t easy because we
were really dirt poor, but we survived the Scottish climate, and the social
customs — the third time we had had to adapt to a community new to us. It’s
different when you have kids.
I also had to learn a
lot of new science quickly: I became an ecophysiologist working on the
interactions between weather and trees. That’s been my area of research ever
since then. The fellowship was extended from one year to three and I began to
work my way into the sub-culture of scientists with PhDs from Oxford and
Edinburgh and Stanford. There were opportunities to go to international
meetings and I found that I could get scientific papers published in
international journals. A job came up in England leading a small team, so we
moved there. Another community. Dreams of returning to Africa were pushed ‘onto
the back burner’.
The girls knew they were
African, but settled comfortably for England. Diana taught school and ran girl
guides. I obtained my PhD and gradually moved up (if that’s the right word)
through the system: more meetings, more publications. Eventually I noticed that
some younger scientists were seeking ME out! Science was exhilarating and
satisfying. I was a visiting
lecturer[2]
in Western Australia for a year we all enjoyed then, when we had been in
England longer than we ever thought we’d stay, I was appointed to a senior
research management job in Australia’s premier scientific organization. So, it
seemed, the boy from the African bush had made it in the world of international
science.
We have been in
Australia for 30 years. The girls are all married — apparently happily: we were
blessed with comely, smart kids, who can manage their lives. (Maybe we did
things right in their growing up.) They are our greatest friends and we have 12
grandchildren. I am now retired — we’re in yet another community — my third
book was published last year and my golf game is deteriorating (old age is not a condition I would
recommend, except for the alternative).
Regrets: not many,
except for the usual embarrassing events that we probably all have locked in
our memories, undoubtedly far more important to us than to anyone else who may
remember them. With regard to the big decisions — no regrets. We took our
chances and they paid off. If I
were to presume to give advice to young people, I would say: ‘go for the thing
that will let you challenge yourself; take the long, high-risk shots (unless,
perhaps, the consequences of failure could be catastrophic.) That way lies
fulfillment.’
But there’s a price to
be paid for a peripatetic life. Every time you move you have to adapt to a new
community and that takes time and effort and, sometimes, a psychological toll.
We have lived in five different countries and I have worked in several others
for extended periods — including the United States, at Oak Ridge National
Laboratories, TN, and with NASA in Washington DC. We have left a trail of great
friends round the world, but we seldom, if ever, see most of them. At this
stage of my life I find myself looking back with vain regret: it would have
been good to have ended up in Africa, where my roots are, in the community that
I grew up with. Many are gone but a nucleus remains. And most Africans are great
people, although Zimbabweans are currently afflicted with an appalling
kleptocratic tyranny.
I might presume to say a
word about marriage. The central support through my life has been — and is — my
wife. The essential ingredient for a happy and successful marriage, we believe,
is that the first consideration in any decision must be what is best for your
partner. What does she/he want to do? It might seem that Diana has made all the
concessions for my career, and indeed she worked very hard for it, but for 17
years in Australia I supported her, financially and practically, in the work
with youth that she loved and did so well. (For that she was rewarded with a
national medal.) We are not calculating balance sheets, just trying to fill
with rewarding activity the time we have left.
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