Which was all very inspiring. Back in 1953 doing National Service, some of our platoon carried out night watchman duties but in vain. The frustra happened as a result of our failure to light the water heater fires for the officer quarters. The commissioned gentry were not amused. We were paraded before the OC and ordered to do another night patrol. This time it was sine frustra!

Often enough things can go ‘frustra’ in spite of our best efforts. Launching my boat from a ramp in the Maroochy River it was all as usual except my forgetting that I had greased the trailer rollers. So, instead of the boat coming off the trailer nice and slow, like, it went with a rush and floated out into the stream. Swimming out to retract the vessel would have been less embarrassing were it not for a group of tourist onlookers who cheered or something. A similar kind of boating frustra happened when my boat-building cousin took a group of tourists from Daydream Island in the Whitsundays. When time came to anchor he gave a great display of hurling the anchor into the sea…but forgot to tie the rope to the boat.

Most of us remember that dreaded seminary “on the spot” oral examination known as “the repetition”. We (the class) would watch in awe as one of our number was called to stand in front of the class and respond to the professor’s interrogation. This process was a dreadful form of torture. My turn came when I was in my final year and ordained a priest. It happened that the excruciation was further exacerbated by my status as head prefect. Frustra would be an understatement. I still remember the question handed to me orally and in Latin: “quid de mediatione Christi secundum Paulum”, which translated was: “what did I know about Christ’s mediation according to the teaching of St. Paul?”. Nothing. Nil. Zilch. I was left standing in front of my peers while the tormentor went on teaching.

In my earlier days there was a great fun in flying with the late Father Pat McCormick. As some of you would know, Pat was a pilot of great skill. There was no sense of frustra about his flying ability except on one occasion when we returned from a flight from Brisbane to Bundaberg. The plane was a Victa single engine, built by the same crowd who manufacture lawn mowers. All went well until we were about fifteen minutes from Brisbane. At that point Pat was sickened with a severe migraine. It seemed that he could not possibly land the plane because pain overwhelmed him. But he did and brought us both safely to the tarmac where he was dragged from the plane and taken to a doctor. In vain would I have been able to land that plane since I knew nothing about flying. Nisi Deus frustra!! Pat recovered and flew many more thousands of miles.

At the time of writing, bushfires are threatening many parts of Queensland. One of the homes destroyed was in the small suburb of Lakes Creek, at Rockhampton. I was born and reared in that suburb which boasted the largest meatworks in Australia. Almost every summer fires broke out in the mountains behind our home but they were never a threat. On leaving school after completing Year 10 I was deemed worthy of taking a job at the local meatworks as an apprentice saw- doctor. After five weeks of pushing a button on a saw-sharpening machine and patting the foreman’s dog, this calling seemed to me to be frustra so I quit and became an electrician instead.

Being a “sparkey” didn’t help me one little bit when, six years later, I faced the Archdiocesan Board of examiners and sought acceptance into the seminary.
There, one of the august panel suggested I should be able to pay the seminary fees since I was a qualified electrician. I declined the offer so another of the Monsignori said, “Son, do you think the church is made of money?”” Well!! I replied “No” but deep down inside of me was a voice that wanted to say “Yes, yes!” Any way it was not in vain because they let me in.

I guess we would all pay tribute to the Divine Watchman who never fails to keep vigil over us. Priesthood is just so full of blind alleys that we would never enjoy the adventure were it not for His vigil over us. In June 1970 things did not look too good for me. Influenza and asthma put me in hospital where I received the Last Rites at 5.30 that morning. It seemed as though it was the end of the road but the Watchman kept vigil and all was not frustra. Three months later I was back on deck.

Frustra would be appropriate designation of my ability to plumb the depths of computer technology. I can manage the keys and work the printer and perhaps work out how to purchase the airline tickets but for the rest it is nisi Deus frustra.
Harry Bliss