My Father’s Eyes

It was eight years ago that I first started blogging and so much has happened in that time.  Much of what I wrote on that first blog was about things that were happening to me at the time but there were also a lot of posts about what it was like for me growing up.

In recent times I have been scanning old photographs and it is amazing what memories are triggered.  Were the memories a reflection of the reality of what really happened or do those faded photos tell a small part of a much bigger story.

I have decided to start this new blog with an emphasis on those old photos and in documenting my own story and through it the story of my family.   I would love all of you who are related to consider picking an old photo and writing down the story it tells so I can add it here.   If you don’t there will oly be my perspective, my reality that may or may not reflect yours.  If you have visited I invite you to join the site as a follower and to leave a comment.

I’m going to start by re-posting the eulogy I gave at Dad’s funeral eight years ago.

On Saturday 14th August 2004 my father died. When I was told that Dad had passed away on that Saturday night I got angry and my immediate memories were of times that I would have rather forgotten. Of the times I’d go to work on school holidays with Dad and how inevitably we’d end up at a pub in the afternoon and he’s drive us both home drunk. Of the rows that were caused at home in those times. But then I started to think that those things weren’t all there was to Dad, and to talk only of them was to only tell part of the story. So if I may I’d like to tell you a bit more of the story.

Allan John Joyce was born at Vaucluse in Brunswick on 28th May 1928, youngest child of Bill and Alice and brother to Keith, Norma and Andy. Bill was actually the grandson of four Roman Catholic Irish convicts but in those days having convict ancestors wasn’t something you spoke about. And in later years that connection seems a bit ironic given the strict Protestant environment that the Joyce and Dunn families of those days were raised in.

The family lived in Mashoobra Street, Merlynston, surrounded by cousins and aunties and uncles. I think our family was unique in that way. When we visited Nana and Pa as kids we would spend the afternoon knocking on doors and visiting relatives who all lived within a couple of blocks of each other.

This was the shadows of the Depression and Pa Joyce in those times packed up his horse and cart and travelled the state as a tinker, selling ribbons and other things, in order to make ends meet.

Dad was attending Merlynston State School. He used to tell us stories of one of his teachers, “Daddy Egan” who it seemed was forever belting kids over the knuckles with the edge of a steel ruler. We’d often sit around the kitchen table as kids and ask Mum and Dad to tell us stories about the “olden days”.

Dad was probably a bit of a bugger even then – a trait that stayed with him all his life – so if he did get the cuts I suspect that there may well have been times when they were deserved.

Dad went to work as a window dresser at Snow’s Menswear in the City back in the days when there wasn’t anything wrong with being a window dresser and he won awards for some of the window displays he designed.

He was also a talented sportsman – playing footy for the Merlynston football club and being invited to train with Carlton on a couple of occasions. He told me he didn’t go down because he thought he was too skinny. He was a pacey wingman and an indication of that pace is reflected in the fact that he ran as a professional foot runner at the Stawell Gift meeting for a few years. In his last year there he was disqualified for telling the starter he was an effing idiot.

Dad met Mum at Daylesford on a holiday they were both on with their friends. They travelled back to Melbourne by train and Dad got off at Brunswick to walk Mum home. He went on another holiday subsequently to Perth but on returning to Melbourne asked Mum to marry him.

They married at the Brunswick Methodist Church on the 28th March 1953 and all the family gathered with Mum and Dad last year to celebrate their Golden Wedding anniversary.

For the first few years of married life they lived in a bungalow at the back of my Grandprents place in Orvieto Street Merlynston, but around the time my sister Karen was born and I was 18 months old, moved way out in the sticks to a new estate in Box Hill South on former orchard lands.

The roads were unmade and the drains open ditches infested with weeds and rats. I knew there were rats because most weekends Dad would stand in Massey Street and pour a couple of gallons of petrol down the drain then light it with a match and the rats would often scurry away after the explosion. He was a bit of a pyromaniac and loved to build fires and burn leaves which I think was something he got from his own father.

I remember visits to our grandparents on Sundays and if we happened to be home Dad would meet the other blokes in the neighbourhood across the road at the Scott’s for a pleasant Sunday morning. They weren’t called longnecks in those days but just the same there were more than one top knocked off – always after 11 and it was followed up by roast dinners for lunch and a day in front of the telly watching World of Sport and the VFA on Channel 10.

Sunday night meals were often toasted sandwiches watching Disneyland.

I remember Dad getting very angry when our dog Noddy was poisoned.

And I remember in the good weather having barbecues in the backyard with sausages and chips cooked to perfection over a BBQ made of bricks and a steel hot plate. That BBQ ended up in the back of my mate Ian’s Morris Oxford which went to the tip in Vermont when Ian and I decided to get rid of the old car one day. We didn’t know Dad had put the pile of bricks in the boot until after we got home from that adventure. But he found more bricks and built another one

I remember days spent setting up the cowboys and Indians he bought me and having a shootout with marbles with him, of drawing a chalk circle on a blanket and playing marbles with him on the grass in the backyard. I remember the tree house he built with an old ladder in the wattle trees in the backyard and the times we built cubbies with masonite sheets he’d brought home from work.

I said early that I got angry about some of my memories. One was when we had a sex education father and son night at Burwood High. We were late because Dad got home late from work and was under the weather. When we arrived at the hall and had to sit through a movie called “The birth of a red kangaroo”. I remember in the question time afterwards Dad got a lot of laughs because of the questions he asked while I cringed in my seat beside him. I can’t remember what he said but I do know my mates at school the next day told me what a cool old man I had.

It was a sign of how Dad was always the life of the party. Wherever we went he would wind up enjoying himself and making a bit of a spectacle of himself. He was gregarious and people who met him liked him and that was true right through his life. It always amazed us that he would run into people he knew wherever we happened to be.

We would often go on drives on weekends when we weren’t visiting the family. There’d be BBQ’s at far away places like the park by the Yarra in Eltham where the little train line still is today or to that distant place up Burwood Road called Ferntree Gully National Park. A lot of those times were spent with the Brown family and they were terrific fun. At the end of those days after a few sherbets Dad and Uncle Arthur would serenade Mum and Aunty Gloria with the Indian Love call and some silly song about being drunk like highland, lowland, Rotterdam and God damn Dutch.

We went on a lot of holidays. I can just remember one to Adelaide when Dad had his first company car – a mini minor – which was piled high with the five of us and a pack rack that doubled the height of the little car.

In those days Dad was working as a “Commercial Traveller” a sales executive it would now be called – for EC Blackwood, a paper manufacturer who had their warehouse in what is now South Bank. I remember the days he’d come home with a new company car – after the mini he graduated to a HR holden and had a few others after that. In the early 70’s he moved from Blackwoods to a competitor “Deeko” and was there for a few years before he was retrenched. Through all those times he was working a second job firstly at the Stackade Hotel in Carlton owned by my godfather Ivan and his Dad Hugh McNiece and later at the Riversdale in Hawthorn. When he left Deeko he went to work fulltime at Leonda Restaurant in Hawthorn and from there to Kingston Heath Golf Club and later Yarra Yarra where he worked till he was forced to retire at 65.

We went camping a lot as kids to Myrtleford and eventually found Corowa where we went every Christmas for years. Much of the attraction for the border town for Mum and Dad was the pokies, but for us kids it was the river, fishing, golf and the swimming pool. We were talking the other day about how Dad used to invite people he met back to the camp for a beer and dinner – it was also something he’d do at home for Christmas Day and other occasions – strangers to us kids would often be breaking bread with us.

His pride and joy was an old Ford Thames van and later his Datsun Homer, which were loaded to the gunnels with camping gear before we set off each Boxing Day. If we took someone with us –my Cousin Gavin or on occasions my mates David Palmer or Geoff Millist we’d set up a deck chair behind the passenger seat for them to sit in on the drive up. No seatbelt laws in those days and no danger of speeding in those old trucks either.

They were also good times which ended when us kids got jobs and had to work. I think one of the last years was the first year Lyn had arrived in the family. Karen, Gerry, Lyn and I, went up on Boxing Day to help set up the camp. We had to work quickly to pitch the tent because it was absolutely pelting down and after a while we realised Dad had disappeared. Lyn took something into the tent and found him in his y fronts and singlet about to climb into bed saying “I love the sound of rain on the tent.” Lyn had known him for two weeks at the time.

It was during one of these early holidays when dad’s illness first raised it’s ugly head – he spent some time in hospital. He had a form of travel sickness or agoraphobia or something that meant he had trouble going places. When our kids were born, he and Mum would take turns spending Christmas Eve with each of us. One year he decided on Christmas Day that he wouldn’t get in the car and walked home from Tecoma to Box Hill again in the rain.

But last Christmas he did get up to our place to be with the family and also got to his sister Norma’s 80th birthday earlier this year which we will all now be forever grateful for.

We often joked that Dad could have wallpapered the house with tatts tickets. He would always tell us not to worry about any financial problems because he was going to win Tatts next week. All that time he should have know he’d already hit the jackpot with his wife, his kids and grandkids. He was very proud of all of us.

There is an old Mexican Indian proverb that talks about us dying three times. The first is when our spirit leaves our body, the second when our mortal remains pass from the sight of human eyes and the third and final time when our name is last spoken aloud by our friends and families. Dad I’ll miss you and you won’t pass that final time at least until I am gone.


Blink of an eye 2

A long time ago now I wrote a post called “In the Blink of an Eye” where I spoke about how quickly life is seeming to pass.  A couple of weeks ago my oldest son had his engagement party and I made the following speech and make no apologies for some bad Dad Jokes.

Thankyou to everyone for attending Meg and Luke’s engagement and I want to say that this is the first formal welcome of Meg into Luke’s extended family and Lyn and Glen and Raelene and I welcome her and look forward to getting to know someone we hope will one day be the mother of our grandchildren over the years to come.
I googled engagement speeches and found that there are a few etiquettes about what format such a speech should take.  I thought about Dad jokes and thought I’d start with the story about that American actress who got stabbed overnight, Reese ummmm, Reese help me out here.  Witherspoon.  No with a knife [and there were groans].
Then I thought that I’d tell a couple of brief stories about Luke and some of my memories of the way he grew up.  
I remember very well not long after Luke was born when the nurses asked me if I’d like to give him his first bath, so I carefully wrapped one arm around his shoulders and grabbed his legs with the other hand and as I lifted him he bent in the middle and his feet kicked him in the head.  Even then he looked at me and gave me that WTF expression.
It’s fair to say that Luke’s driving ability is a bit scary.  I gave him his first lesson at Narooma in our Starwagon van and he planted his foot on the accelerator and took his hand off the break and we headed, wheels spinning towards a ditch.  I had to pull the hand break on quickly to save us.
In 2001 I was in the States at a conference and Lyn let Luke drive to the airport to pick me up.  I got a running commentary from Erin all the way home – that was where Luke side swiped a car, that was where he mounted a gutter, that was where he nearly hit Evan xxxxxx.  Poor Evan waved to Luke as he was turning the corner and leaving the wheel on full lock he took one hand off to wave back and started heading straight towards him.   I never saw Evan again.  I don’t know if he kept running after his near brush with death or whether everytime he saw us coming down the street he dove behind a bush or letter box or wheelie bin to make sure Luke never waved at him again.    
Then there is the story about the car accident Luke had recently where he ran up someones bum, and anyone who has driven with Luke would know that is not out of the question.  Both cars pulled over and Luke was surprised when he looked up and coming towards him he saw that the driver of the other car was a little person, a dwarf for those who are politically incorrect.  And he was fuming, smoke was coming out of his ears and he said to Luke “Ï’m not Happy” and he said “Which one are you then”.
Those of you who are Facebook friends will know that Luke is quite opinionated and doesn’t have a high degree of toleration for people he thinks are wrong and I blame that on his Prep Teacher.  One night after I got home from work and asked him what he had done at school he told me that they were learning “P”words and the teacher was asking each of the kids to give a word that started with P – there was the usual Pop, Puppy and Pear but when it got to Luke’s turn he said Pteradactyl and the teacher told him he was wrong.   He was really indignant because at that age he new about the life habits of every dinosaur that had ever lived and that’s probably why he knew this dinosaur of a father would attempt to tell some Dad jokes during a speech.
Those of you who know me know that I am the family historian and if I look back at the women in the lives of Joyce men they will tell you that we are sometimes hard to live with, untidy, lazy sometimes, hoarders and opinionated.  They need plenty of patience and tolerance to live with us.  On the upside, we are all handsome and intelligent and I have to say get far better with age.
Enough rabbiting on – I’ll finish with this.   You can plan your life but not predict it.  Much of the journey Luke and Meg are undertaking will be fantastic but there will be times when it isn’t so good.   The lot of an army wife is a difficult one sometimes, but so is life.    It has peaks and troughs.   Each and every one of you in this room are important to Luke and Meg now.   There are new friends and old, family, aunts and Uncles, cousins, siblings.   Some of you will be around to share in the successes of the relationship for the rest of your or their lives, some of you will drift on in different directions.  For those who stick for the long haul I charge you with this duty – celebrate the many good times that Meg and Luke have coming but please be there for each of them if times get tough.

Wilkie or won’t he

Image by Matt Golding- WA Today

And he did…sort of.   Andrew Wilkie withdrew his support for the Gillard Labor government because they failed to honour a written commitment given to him as they were scrambling to form government, that they would support mandatory precommitment in poker machine venues.  Setting aside whether that would have worked or not what really happened here?

Julia Gillard reneged on an agreement she had given him supposedly because it didn’t have the required Parliamentary support.   She gave the commitment at a time when she needed his support to form government When Peter Slipper jumped ship from the Liberal Party to become Speaker in the House of Representatives therefore giving her an extra vote she no longer needed Wilkie’s support.  She couldn’t continue to push ahead with what he was asking because members of her own party in New South Wales and Queensland who are in marginal seats were under a lot of pressure from their local clubs not to support the legislation.  A bad look if a Prime Minister gets rolled by her own party on the floor of the House, so easier to break a promise.

And let’s face it she doesn’t have a problem breaking promises….”Kevin Rudd has my full support”…”there will be no carbon tax under any government I lead”.   Political expediency is everything for our Julia.

And what about Andrew Wilkie.   Some will say a man of conviction, a man who stands by his principles.   This is a bloke who stood up to the Federal government over whether or not Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction or not.    I would argue that point with him because I spent a fair bit of time with a lot of Melbourne Kurdish people a number of years ago who had first hand knowledge of entire villages wiped out by chemical weapons that Saddam used on them.  So I”ve always been a bit skeptical about Andrew Wilkie’s assessment of Iraqi capabilities at the time the second Gulf War began.

In this case though, Wilkie has decided that he can no longer support a government who broke a commitment they gave him.   He had no trouble supporting that same government when it broke a pre-election commitment given to the Australian people about the fact that a carbon tax wouldn’t be introduced.  And that is the problem with moral high horses, you run the risk of being called a hypocrit if you don’t consistently apply the same standards to all promises instead of just the ones that you want them to keep.  You cannot vote to support legislation that breaks one promise and then yell and scream about the same people breaking another one.

The sooner the next election comes the better.  Irrespective of who has the power let’s hope that we don’t have to put up with wacky independents with pet causes that hamstring proper decisive and honest governance.

I am judgemental

I try not to be but sometimes it happens.   For example I drive past a new build in Chantenay Parade every day and like most new builds there is a bin out on the nature strip so that the builder can get rid of the rubbish.  Now some muppet or collection of muppets has been dumping their unwanted furniture around the bin.  There are beds and mattresses, chairs, a table, an old treadmill and a couple of ancient TVs as well as boxes of general household garbage.   These idiots are showing absolutely no respect for people who are going to be their new neighbours.

Woolen Trousers, Levis and Bum Cracks

Must admit that my favourite jeans are Levi 101’s.  Pulling on a pair with button up fly is like meeting an old friend.  Of course these days the waist has gotten somewhat bigger than that of my first pair circa 1974.

It was a long time before Mum agreed to let me wear denim.  She’d send me to the snow in shorts in winter and off to school in grey woollen sorts all year round but there wasn’t a pair of long legged trousers to be seen anywhere in my single wardrobe at Box Hill South.  Until Form 1 that is.

That year, 1969, we had an excursion at the end of the year to the gold mining town of Maldon and I was the somewhat embarrassed wearer of the only pair of long pants I owned – brown checked woollen trousers.  At least I was warm but when everyone else is wearing jeans it was a bit hard to take.

Mum eventually realised that maybe denim wasn’t so bad after all and I got a pair of Stirling jeans – the ones with the checkered flag logo and a really cool pocket on the side of the leg where you could fit a comb.  Not that I needed one because they were the years when Dad would take me up to the barbers on the corner of Middleborough and Eley Roads for a college cut.   These days it would be called a number one.

After the Stirling jeans came my first really expensive pair – Amco Heavyweights with a suede patch on the back.  Not quite Levis but I was getting there.  Of course as I got older and graduated to Lee Jeans which were bought at a mens wear store in Flinders street in the City next to Lindrums Pool Hall.  If you read this Andrew help me out here.

And as we got older the jeans were pulled down a little further exposing both the few pubic hairs we had at the front and the bum crack at the back – unless Mum was around of course.

Mid to late 70’s the fashion changes again.  The legs got wider and Juz Jeans and Staggers were the brand of choice.  I bought a pair of Staggers that were so tight I could barely move.  The sales girl told me they would stretch but after a couple of wears I gave them to my sister Karen because my voice kept getting higher.

Another thing I remember about the jeans of Burwood High days were that for a while there is was really cool to wear them as low down as possible, showing a few pubic hairs if you had them or exposing the bum crack if you didn’t.  Of course we had graduated from y fronts to jockettes in those days which were pretty brief and not big enough to show above the waist of the jeans anyway.

Jeans are still my trouser of choice these days and over the years I’ve gone through the plain navy denim, light blue denim, brown denim and white denim.  The there were the acid wash and stone washed versions in black or navy mostly with legs that varied from stove pipe to wide flares.  But through all that the 501’s have remained the favourite.

Less than 33 days

Not sure who you are but if you thought it might have been a good idea to tell my daughters about my 33 Days post, it wasn’t.   Apparently I shouldn’t be guilt tripping them because they are very busy and I now live too far away for them to be able to find the time to visit once a month.  So I stopped trying to ring them once a week to see how they are and I have no intention of guilt tripping them any more.   So I appreciate that you may have thought you were doing the right thing by me but to be honest, please don’t do it again.  It’s not worth my grief and as I was told this isn’t about me anyway.   They’ll get around to contacting me sooner or later.  Maybe.

Now onto things that are about me.  I had a lump come up on the palm of my left hand a few weeks back.  The doctor thought it was a ganglion cyst but sent me off for an ultrasound which pointed to it being a possible tumor.   I saw a surgeon had it removed and it turned out to be a ganglion cyst which I am happy about.

My lady had a bad back, saw a doctor who told her that she should go home take some panadol and he would refer her to a counselor because she was depressed.   She got a second opinion and that doctor sent her off for an MRI and on getting the results told her to get straight to hospital because she needed an emergency operation to remover the pressure on the nerves in her spinal cord or risk becoming a paraplegic.   She was admitted that day, operated on the next and sent home the day after that.  Now more than three weeks into an initial 6 week convalescence she is pain free if still unable to move totally freely and improving every day.

Which brings me to my next point and the fact that we have both started a Light and Easy diet.  Which I’m finding Light and Difficult having cut my food intake by half.  Still I have dropped from 92 kgs, last time I gave blood a month ago to 87.9 kg at the end of the first week of the diet and 84.6 kg when I weighed myself this morning at the end of the second week.   That bit of a pot belly that men of a certain age get has already shrunk significantly and I can stand in a certain place now and see my naughty bits.   That has to be good I think.    The thought of a leg of lamb or a whole roast chicken is still pretty good though.

My first Sunday breakfast on the diet and I had one egg and even that had a sad face.   And then I remember how many people in this world do actually go to bed genuinely hungry every day and I realise once again how lucky I really am.

It was 30 years ago today….

..that I entered the Police Academy in Glen Waverley and commenced a journey that was to last 16 years.  This Friday night I am attending a reunion of Squads 22 and 23 of 1981 and of the 50 who walked in that day, fourteen are left in the job.  Of those 9 are attending the reunion together with myself and one other.  I’m looking forward to it.

And here’s a few memories


In 2001 I was the Executive Officer of the Victorian Basketball League and at the end of each season our Champion and Runner-up in both men and women came together with the winners of other Leagues to compete in the Australian Basketball Championships to determine who was the best team in the country.  It was September and on the Tuesday prior to the weekend of the Championships the date was one that would go down as one of the most infamous in history, September 11.   That same week Ansett Airlines here in Australia collapsed and that meant that the teams could not get to Bendigo in regional Victoria to compete.

The Championships were cancelled that year and there was a major hue and cry from many people about what a tragedy it was.  I wrote an article for the VBL website that week and said in part that there were thousands of people who would go to bed that night never seeing their mother, father, son, daughter, husband and wife again.   I told people to get a grip and understand what true tragedy was and it wasn’t about the cancellation of basketball games.

In the past couple of days we’ve seen another airline, Qantas shut down for a few days and the ranting and raving of people stranded around the world and unable to get home.  There was a photo of a bloke in the Sunday Herald Sun who refused to give his name but who was displaying such anger and hatred in his expression that it looked as if he could have gotten hold of Qantas CEO Alan Joyce that he would have ripped his throat out.

And at the same time that the Qantas Board made the decision to ground the airline on Saturday there were a company of Australian soldiers in Afghanistan who were being slaughtered by an Afghan soldier they had  mentored.  Three brave young Australians and an Afghan interpreter were killed and seven other Australians injured.   This act had it’s genesis on that same day more than ten years ago and it sickens me that I sit here now having to write the same thing that I did back then.

I don’t give a stuff about an airline going bust or being grounded.  It’s an inconvenience for all those people delayed.   The sun will come up tomorrow and other planes will fly.  But again we have young wives who won’t see their husbands, children without fathers, Mums and Dads who will wake to nightmare again tomorrow and the day after and the day after that.

Get some perspective people.  Understand what really matters.  RIP guys may you never be forgotten.

Thirty Three Days

One of themost commonly visited pages on this blog is one I called “The Loneliness of theLong Distance Father” which was at a time shortly after my separation where mykids didn’t really want to have a lot to do with me.  

As withmany things, time alone can cure some of the angst and distress that comes tomost kids when their parents break up.   But whilst the pain eases for the kids perhapsso too does the desire to keep contact with both parents, or maybe it’s justthe classic cats in the cradle stuff, the natural pulling away as you get olderand become more independent.
We built abig house because at the time we entered into the contract we had four of thesix kids we have between us that needed a place to live.   Over the months of waiting for the title tosettle and the house to be built their needs changed and so we have a fourbedroom house occupied by the two of us and the two furkids and in an area nowfar away from where the kids mostly reside.
And that’sOK, the place is there if some time in the future they need it, but there aretimes when I miss knowing what is happening in their lives.   It seems that unless I make a call then wedon’t talk and I am left to watching facebook for updates.
Last week Iasked my two daughters if they would like to set aside one Sunday evening permonth, visit us for dinner and watch a movie.  I was actually hoping that maybe we would justsit around the dinner table and chat and just find out who they were loving orfeuding with, what books they were reading or movies they had seen, any one ofhundreds of mundane day to day things that they do.  One daughter said she heard me but it wouldhave to wait awhile because she’s working a lot of overtime and very busy but Idid find out on Facebook that she enjoyed her day at the Races and her roastdinner at her mothers in the past few days.   Daughter number two has been silent and thatusually means I am in the bad books with her.
It got methinking that if they spent 3 hours one day a month with me that would be atotal of 1 and a half days a year.  If Ilive as long as my father (and I hope it is longer than that) then I have 22years left and that would mean that for the rest of my life I would spend amaximum of 33 days with my kids, half of which I would probably be sleeping.
So if theremainder of my life was equivalent to an hour on a clock for every month thatpasses without seeing them the clock advances another two minutes and we allknow that as you get older time speeds up and the 33 days will rapidly become30 and then 20 and 5, until those last few precious minutes come in a hugerush.
And knowingall that makes me regret the times I didn’t call my own Mum and Dad other thanon the special occasions.   So maybe what goes around…

My Money Ralph

Last week we settled on the old house and Raelene deposited a Commonwealth Bank Bank Cheque into our Commonwealth Bank account.  That was Tuesday.  On Friday I sent an email asking why a Bank Cheque which is supposed to be as good as cash from what I remember, still hadn’t cleared.    Today I get this back from the Bank -“Dear Laurence,

My name is xxxx your Online Specialist, I am pleased to assist you today with your recent email enquiry in regards to clearance fo bank cheque.

First of all I would like to sincerely apologise for the delay in my response as our team are currently receiving a high number of online enquiries.

Laurence, it is a Business Rule for cheques to get cleared in 3 business days and not calendar days.

What I can suggest for further clarifications, you can contact us on 13 2221, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week or visit any of the nearest branches.
It has been a pleasure assisting you Laurence, I hope this information has assisted with your enquiry today and I wish you all the best for the rest of your week.
Sincerely, xxxx”

So I of course had to reply “I understand that but that was not the question. Your own website states – “Cheque deposits attract a number of clearance days as the cheque itself is a paper based payment instrument. This requires the physical cheque to be forwarded to the drawing institution to determine the payment decision after inspecting the cheque for authorised signatures”. However, in this case you were the drawing institution. Why does it take 3 days to forward a cheque to yourself to gain approval?”CBA if you monitor this sort of thing maybe you can reply.

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