by Ken Wilson
In 1986 I commenced working on the Matthew Talbot Fitzroy Soup Van (a part of the St
Vincent de Paul Society), then operating out of the old Ozanam House.
I remember my first night coldly. It was filled with fun, seediness and a fair bit of fear from
the violence that had erupted late in the evening. The experienced team members that
night didn't expect me to return. But I've stuck.
Over the course of time I got to know a whole. bunch of people from the streets, many of
the famous and infamous characters!
Every volunteer, who puts in a fair stint, has their favourites. In my first few years there
were quite a few with whom I was able to build special relationships, especially those from
European countries I had visited. So often these people would come to the can looking for
a little food but craving some friendly conversation. This I was able to offer through the
simple connection of having visited their country, town or city, providing me with something
that would spark some fluid conversation, in the may that footy does with the locals
throughout the year.
There were more than one or two people who would ask me for cigarettes, which I brought
back from frequent overseas business trips. For one fellow in particular it became a
regular habit for him to wait for the Soup Van at St. Vincent's Hospital casualty watching
TV, then he would wander across the street and sleep in a bus shelter opposite. I was
usually the last person to speak to him before we moved on and always gave him the last
of the cigarettes I had that night.
We all knew him as Paddy O'Connor, an instantly identifiable Irish name. For ten years
Paddy and I would talk and banter away, arguing the politics of Irish affairs and history.
Our birthdays were quite close so we seemed to share more than just a few passing
characteristics.
For the last year or so of his life Paddy lived around Sandringham, either in or near the
station or at Sheila & Nezy's place. If I was down the street with my kids and saw him, I
would wander over and have a yarn. He would play with the kids, sit them on his knee,
dance with them. They thought he was great and just another nice old man. For me they
are treasured moments, stored in the memory banks forever. He died in Sandringham
hospital in October 1995.
It came as a surprise that when Paddy died, he wasn't who he said he was. After
exhausting all enquiries, the local police had Paddy finger printed. It matched with a record
from 1952 of one Antony Dellys. This name though lead to several others until one
Alexander Anthony "Rex" McCracken was found to be his true name. This was established
courtesy of a police interview with him in 1954,during which he disclosed his servicemen's
number from his time in the Royal Marines.
Paddy/Rex body was finally released for burial two months after his death. The Soup Van
buried him following Mass at All Saints Church in King William St. Fitzroy.
The police continued enquiries and were able to establish his last known address in
Northern Ireland and eventually a family member in Belfast.
During April 1996 I was asked by the local police to write to the family in response to a
letter they had received from the youngest brother Douglas McCracken. This was
something of a privilege, as the police allowed me to view parts of the file they had
compiled. but also because they could see that the Soup Van had had contact with Rex for
a long time and knew him quite well.
In April I sent off a 12 page letter giving the family as much information on Rex as I could
remember and also laying bare the sort of existence he had been living for the past 40 plus
years.
I sat back and waited and in May received a letter from Doug, telling me a potted family
history, and to say they were shocked to learn he only died recently and of the life Rex had
lived They really struggled to come to gaps with why he didn't contact his family after
jumping ship in 1948.
Rex was the eldest of 5 children, at the time of Doug writing his parents and one brother
were deceased He served in the Royal Marines out of Plymouth during the war. signing up
when he was just sixteen He was married with a child still born.
He joined the merchant navy in 1947 and on a voyage to Australia. 'refused duty and was
put ashore in Adelaide in 1948 From that point on he never contact. his family again and
lived under an alias for the rest of his life.
It appears he never secured a steady job and never registered for social security. He was
charged with some minor offences In the 1950s, one of which resulted in his finger
printing. The last record on his police file is dated 1960.
In the early 1960's, record was found of him having stayed at Ozanan House. a homeless
men's shelter run by the St Vincent de Paul Society in North Melbourne.
His family in Belfast made numerous attempts to locate him through missing persons and
the Salvation Army but without success. His parents on moving to a house in the country
insisted on one of the brothers and his family, living in the original family home in case
Rex should try to contact him. His parents and particularly his mother died heartbroken,
as she never let a day pass without mentioning his name.
A couple of weeks after receiving Doug McCracken's letter, I took an unusual phone call
early one morning to had it was hen on the line. He offered his families many thanks and
asked me to come and visit him should I ever find myself in Europe.
So began another chapter in this remarkable story Having fixed the dates and flights of
the business side of this tap, I set about planning a visit to Belfast, a city with not so fond
memories from a visit there in 1980.
The business side of the trip took me to Cologne. While sitting in the very famous
Cathedral looking at the windows, day dreaming during Mass (it was in German after all,
of which I know about two words, one being a Rex Huntism!!) I sensed this visit to Belfast
to be a certain kind of pilgrimage.
I was quite excited by the prospect of meeting the McCrackens. although I sensed there
would be awkward silences and even difficulties with accents, pronunciations and local
colloquialisms.
Doug, and wife Margaret. were most welcoming They had arranged a gathering for the one
evening I had, fittingly a Tuesday night being my usual night to work on the soup van, with
Jean, Doug's sister and her husband Bill. The other brother Hall had died a couple of years
earlier aged 71, the same as Paddy/Rex. (Brother Lenard had died in the sixties aged 40).
In discussions and hearing stories during the course of the evening, I discovered many
new things about Paddy/ex and why I think he decided to "disappear".
The McCrackens are not Catholic, but Jean related a story of a girl that Rex had dated for
a time during the war years. Betty Anderson. Betty was Catholic and loved Rex dearly,
expectantly awaiting his return on cessation of the war.
The story unfolded though that Rex was forced to marry another girl, Constance O'Connor
and also a Catholic, who he had met in England. Their child was stillborn.
Almost immediately of his discharge from service, Rex joined the merchant navy. On what
was to be his final trip home, he destroyed every photograph of himself he could find.
Every photo of his teenage years, those in uniform and wedding photos.
It would seem he was wanting to forget or be forgotten and contemplating disappearing.
His parents were heartbroken that he never contacted them again. They were aware that
he was in Australia and there were many vain attempts to have him traced through missing
persons and Salvation Army.
Betty Anderson didn't marry until quite late — she apparently waited in hope that Rex
would return at some stage. She conveyed this story to Margaret McCracken who bumped
into Betty one day in Belfast and informed her Rex had been located, deceased. Betty
apparently couldn't hold back her emotion.
I find it curious though that he used his wife's maiden name with most of the aliases he
went by — perhaps a more acceptable Irish name one that gave him some advantage and
made him harder to locate.
Part of this story is that Rex never registered his presence in Australia If it wasn't for the
two petty larcenies his fingerprints would never have been taken and the admission and
reference to his services number, he would have left no clue. He never came under police
notice after 1960. He never registered or received welfare benefits, never had a tax file
number and when he died he had a couple of Medicare cards, of other peoples!
For 35 years this very proud man never fell foul of the law. This means he would rarely
have been seen drunk and disorderly, never made a public nuisance of himself He kept
himself clean and generally well groomed. Overall he kept good health and if you
consider that for the most part he was sleeping rough, he did remarkably well to live to 71.
He must have no doubt had the support of many kind people and organisations, whose
generosity was what sustained, kept him fed, clothed and showered. What a fellow, what
a life, what a story!
So my pilgrimage was complete. It was something I had to do before the last of the
McCrackens were no more I will always think of Rex, as Paddy O'Connor. I will always
think well of him (and his family), he did no harm to anyone, he gave much pleasure and
he didn't take a lot in return.
KN Dole
October, 2005.
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