Brighid's Ogham Grove

By Veronica Smith and her sisters

Our brother Bernard liked to tell stories but, like the Irish Leprechauns, he could not tell the truth!  So, for the sake of those few honest people, who would like to hear the other side of Bernard’s fairy tales, here are eye-witness accounts by his three sisters, who were actually there!

Bernard Robert Smith was born in Adelaide, South Australia, at the end of World War Two.  His parents, Audrey and Robert, were neither rich nor famous.  In fact, they came from poor backgrounds and had survived the Great Depression and the War by sheer hard work and determination. 

Robert was the first member of his family to go to third level education.  He had won a series of scholarships, which covered his tuition but not his accommodation and food.  So, during the holidays, Robert worked as a farm-labourer, to earn enough money to live on during the university term.  Those, who were jealous of Robert’s later achievements, tried to say that he had had everything handed to him on a plate!  In truth, it was Bernard, who had everything handed to him on a plate.  He would never have sullied his hands doing menial work, like his father had done.

Although Bernard was not an only child, he was the only son.  To the older generation, this made him a “special person”, the Son and Heir!  His two grandmothers in particular fussed over him.  Granny Smith had lost two sons during the war, leaving Robert as her only surviving boy and now Bernard would carry on the next generation of Smiths. That was understandable but it was his maternal grandmother, Nan Morgan, who did the real damage. 

Nan’s husband, our grandfather, was distantly related to the Welsh titled family, the Morgans of Tredegar.  Nan filled the boy’s head with nonsensical dreams of inheriting that peerage one day and he believed her.  In his mind (and that of our grandmother Morgan) he became Little Lord Bernard.  This attitude would colour his behaviour for the rest of his 79 years, causing him to live beyond his means in an attempt to be “worthy” of the title! 

One of the many fairy tales that Bernard liked to tell his drinking buddies is that he had been abused and / or neglected as a child.  He told them that he had been dumped into boarding school at the age of five by cruel, uncaring parents!  Funny that, because his sister Celia, only three years older than Bernard, clearly remembers walking her five-year-old brother to school each day.  The school was about five minutes from where the family were living at that time. 

Apart from anything else, in 1950, Audrey and Robert were still struggling to pay the bills and could never have afforded to send any of their kids to boarding school!  Bernard and his two older sisters did not go to boarding school until the family were living in England.  He was ten years old by then and he was only in boarding school for two years before the family moved across to Ireland. 

Another of Bernard’s fantasies was that he never received any pocket money, which was his excuse for being such a bad money manager!  It is hard not to laugh at this!  No matter what was happening to our parents’ finances, all of us received pocket money. The problem with Bernard was that he always had his pre-spent before he received it, so he was always short of cash! 

In 1957, Audrey became pregnant with her fourth child, Veronica.  While visiting Ireland, she suffered a near-miscarriage, which grounded the family until my birth.  At this stage, Audrey was in her forties.  Her first three children were now teenagers and she could not face moving from country to country with a new baby in tow. 

The family had left Australia in 1952, so that Robert could take up work with F.A.O., the Food and Agricultural Organisation of the United Nations.  They had lived in various countries, including Egypt and Rome.  As my sisters say, they had gone to so many different schools in different countries that there was little continuity to their education. 

As the youngest (until my arrival) Bernard was several years behind his sisters.  When the family arrived in Ireland, he was still only thirteen and so was able to start secondary school without any interruptions.  The only problem was that the Irish educational system at the time insisted on students learning the Irish language.  Our family was “foreign” and could not speak it.  So, although Bernard did well in the majority of his Leaving Certificate subjects, he was not awarded the Leaving Certificate because he did not have the Irish language. 

Luckily, he was accepted into Trinity College, Dublin, as a “foreign student”, having passed the Matriculation exams.  His acceptance was also due to his father’s good reputation as an international scientist.  Robert and Audrey were determined to give their children all the advantages that they themselves had not had, when they were growing up. 

It was Bernard’s parents, who were paying his expensive University fees.  He did not have to win scholarships or do farm-labouring during the holidays.  Unlike his father Robert, who had walked bare-foot to school, Bernard was always well-dressed by the best tailors in Dublin.  His mother even bought him a brand-new sports car, a grey Triumph Spitfire, so that he would not look like a hick at University.

The first week that Bernard drove the sportscar, he crashed it.  That meant expensive repairs, which his parents paid for.  Instead of being grateful, Bernard just kept on partying rather than studying.  It was no surprise that he failed his exams.    

In desperation, his father wondered if some military discipline might jolt his son in to a more responsible attitude.  Pulling strings with his contacts in England, Robert managed to get Bernard into the British Royal Naval College at Dartmouth.  This was a very prestigious place, where the children of international royalty went to train.  Of course it suited Little Lord Bernard down to the ground!  He looked very handsome in his naval uniform and attracted lots of attention from the ladies! 

It seemed like Robert’s prayers had been answered.  Nonetheless, whenever his mother Audrey tried phoning the college, she was always told the same thing, that Bernard was “missing”, out partying, and this time with a much worse crowd than in Dublin. It was a very worrying time for our parents.  What on earth were they going to do for the best?

In the end, Bernard resolved the situation himself.  He deliberately failed his naval exams because (and I quote his exact words) he “did not like taking orders from Wogs!” 

Back in Dublin, his parents managed to get him into the other University, UCD, for a second chance at an academic career but Bernard never learnt. He kept on partying and once again, failed his exams.  The only other talent he seemed to display was an ability to work with electrical circuit boards.

His parents helped him set up his own company and at first, all went well.  It was the time of Disco and Bernard made the lighting systems to go into night-clubs.  His sister Celia helped by looking after the company’s books.  So it was Celia, who first recognised potential trouble.  The Irish banks were shaky.  Celia kept telling Bernard to insist on cash payments rather than cheques but he never listened.  He foolishly believed that those doing business with him were “gentlemen”. 

Then the Irish banks crashed.  Cheques bounced.  Bernard’s company crashed with it.  He could not pay off his debts. 

What made matters worse for our family is that Bernard owed a local business man a lot of money.  Even though our mother Audrey had warned this man not to cash any of Bernard’s cheques, because his parents could not guarantee them, the man did not listen.  He cashed cheques for many people, not just Bernard. 

Inevitably, this man’s business went to the wall.  In shock, the man had a heart-attack and died.  His widow blamed Bernard in particular for the tragedy.  Our family were never very popular in the area because we were “foreigners” but after this incident, the locals turned nasty. 

Robert tried hard to help his son out of this fix.  With Celia’s book-keeping skills, they calculated exactly what was owed but the sum total was too great to clear.  The only option would have been to mortgage the family home and that would have put the rest of the family at risk of having no home at all. 

Bernard’s creditors were after his blood and we all feared that he would be arrested at any moment.  Then a solution unexpectedly presented itself.  The Australian government were promoting assisted passages for Europeans to emigrate to Australia for just £10!  Bernard had married an Irish girl and they had a baby daughter.  Returning to Australia seemed about the only viable solution to their problems. 

Despite all his family pulling together to help him out, Bernard maintained, until his death, that his father Robert had “kicked him out” and forced him to go back to Australia!  He conveniently forgot that he was in danger of going to prison for bad debt and that he was only accepted in the emigration scheme because he was already an Australian citizen! 

Once back in Australia, Bernard and his young family were helped out by more family members and by old family friends, who had known his grandparents.  For a brief moment in time, he was the “Golden Boy” again, not that he ever bothered writing to his parents and siblings.  It was his Irish wife, who kept us up to date with news and photos. 

When Bernard no longer needed their help, he dumped those people, who had kindly assisted them to resettle.  He set up a new company, making circuit boards.  Then another and another.  We lost count of the number of times his businesses went bankrupt.  It was always somebody else’s fault: untrustworthy business partners; difficult economic climate; the usual excuses. 

He frequently turned to alcohol, to drown his sorrows and told his tales of woe to anyone who would listen: about his deprived childhood and evil parents and jealous siblings!  Those people in Australia, who were already envious of Robert’s achievements overseas, lapped up Bernard’s stories.  They told Bernard trumped-up stories of their own, about his father’s “mis-deeds”.  Sadly, Bernard hated his father so much that he believed them. 

Looking back, I realise that my brother suffered from an Oedipus complex.  He obsessed about our mother and regarded our father as his “rival” for Audrey’s affections.  Long after our father’s death, Bernard was still repeating the malicious gossip that was circulating in Australia about Robert.  I have investigated these stories myself and they are without foundation. 

Bernard’s affliction affected his relationships.  He was married three times and boasted of numerous affairs, which usually ended in disaster.  Only Wife # 3 lasted longer than the others, perhaps because she was a professional with her own money and Bernard did not have to worry about going bankrupt again. 

When he died, his widow did Little Lord Bernard proud, with an ostentatious funeral.  It culminated with his ashes being scattered at sea, out of Freemantle Yacht Club, where he had kept a boat for many years.  He was an acceptable member of that club, being ex- Royal Navy, don’t you know?!  It was where he had met Wife # 3 and where two of his weddings had taken place!    

I know that many people will not accept this version of events.  They prefer to remember “Dear Ole Bernie”, the party-lover, and his colourful tales.  That is inevitable.  Just remember that us three sisters know what really happened because we were there! 

Author:  Veronica Smith  first published 20^th January 2025