“The thing that worries me now is the loss of vocabulary. I love words, but sometimes I forget them”.

As those words came from his mouth, I looked over my shoulder at his bookcase crammed with tomes from Matt Fox’s 1921 three-volume History of Queensland to David Day’s 1996 Contraband and controversy: The customs history of Australia from 1901.

I’m sitting across the kitchen table from 95 year-old Ken Murchison, a man who, given his age, is history himself – and history is his life.

Ken Murchison, St George, Queensland, January, 2008

He was born in Bathurst in 1912 to whom he considers “well-educated parents”. Yet, he says regrettably, “they never read to us kids”. There were three of them: an older sister, Ken, and a younger brother. “A lot of people make themselves unhappy,” he tells me, “pushing kids beyond their own abilities. Their expectations are beyond the ability of the kids.” I couldn’t help thinking he would have appreciated more enthusiasm from his own parents.

His school education didn’t begin till the age of nine and finished at 14, when he topped his class of 32. “Within a fortnight,” he recalls, “I was apprenticed into surgical dentistry.” But his interest lay elsewhere. He became an avid reader of The Bulletin. “I was brought up on the Bulletin,” he says, with a glint in his eye. And you can tell he was from what he loves to talk about.

Ken has an inspiring passion for the history of this nation, from the arrival of convicts to this land to K. B. Cameron’s local battle against the prickly pear. Excitedly, he tells me about how 12 children died on the first ship of convict women to these shores. “Oh, anybody can find that out and think nothing of it,” he says. “But history to me is food and drink.”

But history, well, that history, is not what drew me to be sitting in Ken’s kitchen. The history I was after was his – story. As Ken himself acknowledges, anyone can pick up a book and read about how Burke and Wills did whatever it was they were trying to do with camels in the Simpson Desert. But where, I asked myself, was the book that would tell me the history, the memories, the life experiences of someone like Ken – an unassuming gentleman who, despite his bent and frail body, commands a respect which anyone of his age should expect without question. When you look into his eyes, you can’t help but wonder what they’ve seen.

The first thing he said to me when I walked into the house was “Wisdom doesn’t grow with age.” It didn’t take long for me to realise what Ken had meant by this. A man who is almost twice my age; whose speech and articulation is arguably more precise and coherent than my own; who, despite his eye-sight being reduced to peripheral vision only, can still look you straight in the eye – Ken is a very shy and humble man, but he has a wry sense of humour.

“Many a fella’s swung a pick or an axe,” he tells me, “would’ve made a good doctor.” Then he leans over toward me with a mischievous grin and says, “And many a doctor who shoulda been out swingin’ a pick or an axe.”

Moving to St George at the age of 23, Ken has only ever been away from the town once. I stated the obvious: “You must have seen a lot of changes in the place over the years.”

“Oh yes,” he replies. “Too many cars. The world moves on wheels now.” He is not a fan of traffic, which is rather ironic given he’d moved here to be a road builder. “Things always change. People come and go,” he continues. “The world has changed, but that’s what happens. Everything changes. It’s not progress, it’s reality. K. B. Cameron once said ‘Sons have got to be brighter than their fathers if there’s to be progress in this world’.”

Well Ken, I have to say, if your sons and grandsons are any brighter than you, then yes, there is progress. I’m not sure if I really learnt anything much about Ken’s personal history, but I feel meeting him has been an experience to be treasured. Thanks Ken.

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