A centrally located settlement and among Kythera's oldest, referenced in the 14th century and likely dating to at least the 13th. The name suggests great antiquity, with the ending pointing to a Byzantine surname or nickname. The earliest reference is in the Venier land distribution: "Va alla casa di Carvonades"—a mention of a house implying an established settlement. The name derives from the Byzantine surname or nickname Karvounas. After the 17th century, branches of the noble Kasimatis (Bolanis) and Marcello families settled here and remain dominant. The church of Saint George (Marcello family) and the parish church of Panagia (Kasimatis family) were once in different locations. In the 19th century, the village grew and became the seat of a local community. Today, it is known for its lively commercial activity.
Condensed from Emmanuel Kalligeros's excellent Kytherian Geographical Placenames which is available
here
wonderful old windmill near the entrance to karvounades where the wheat was milled to make bread for the village and next to it this tree has had many years of strong northely winds !!
This image is part of a photographic documentary series entitled “One Year on Kythera”. “One Year on Kythera” was created by photographer Kristina Williamson, who spent one calender year living on Kythera, documenting the lives of Kytherians today; what aspects of traditional life remain in practice and in what ways the island is changing.
For more information on this project please visit www.oneyearonkythera.com
one of the best little secerets on the island .. the bakery at karavounathes , great for a stop on the way to chora , and sit on the main road and watch the world go by ! with agios georgis [ saint george ] looking on !
Sir Nicholas (Nick) Laurantus (1890-1980), businessman and philanthropist, was born on 5 February 1890 on the island of Kythera, Greece, third of twelve children of Panayiotis Lourantos, contractor, and his wife Angeliki, née Marsellos. After seven years of schooling, Nicholas helped his father as an apprentice carpenter and blacksmith. Letters from relations overseas stimulated his desire to emigrate. When a cousin at Grenfell, New South Wales, offered to look after him, Nick and his younger brother George sailed for Australia in the Seidlich, reaching Sydney on 1 November 1908.
George remained there with friends. Nick began work in the Thermopylae Café at Grenfell for 7s. 6d. a week, with accommodation above the shop. He determined to learn English in three months and kept a dictionary beside his bed, constantly checking and memorizing new words. 'I knew I was in a good country', he later said, 'and I wanted to stay here'. By the time he was naturalized in 1911 he had Latinized the spelling of his surname to Laurantus. He was then a short, good-looking young man with alert brown eyes and an outgoing personality. Frugal and hardworking, by 1913 he had saved enough money to buy the café in partnership with an American relation and to establish Laurantus & Co. He sent for George, who was to be a partner in many of his later business ventures.
In 1914 Nicholas Laurantus acquired the lease of the Albion Hotel at Young. At St John's Anglican Church, Cowra, on 29 March 1920 he married Clare May Barker (d.1954), a 33-year-old housekeeper. Three hotels later, in 1921, he decided to try farming, and took his wife and baby daughter to a small wheat farm near Cowra. He chose a bad year and almost lost his money. In 1922 he moved to Narrandera where he acquired the lease of the open-air Globe Theatre, announcing his intention in the local newspaper 'to show before Narrandera audiences the best and latest productions in the way of moving pictures'. The Globe marked the start of a successful chain of cinemas across south-western New South Wales which he ran with the aid of George and other family members whom he brought from Kythera.
In 1938 Laurantus bought Windella station near Narrandera; he later acquired other properties, including Lake Midgeon station which reputedly had the largest shearing shed in New South Wales. In a few years he was very wealthy. One of his managers said of him, 'Nick was purely a financier but he did have this love of the land. His knowledge was such that he could look into the future and say, ''Wool's going to be good, so we'll grow sheep", or, at another time, ''Wheat's going to be good, so we'll farm country"'.
Laurantus went out of his way to advise young Greek immigrants and assist them financially. By breaking out of the café circuit and venturing into cinemas, hotels and grazing, and by being completely at ease in both Greek and Anglo-Australian society, he set an example for other Greeks: if they learned English, mixed with Australians and worked hard, they too could succeed. At the same time he felt that Greek immigrants should know and love their own language and culture. In 1968 he gave $100,000 to establish a chair of modern Greek at the University of Sydney. During the 1970s he donated about $450,000 to St Basil's Homes in Australia for aged people. Lourantos Village at Lakemba was named after him.
Appointed M.B.E. in 1977, Laurantus was overjoyed to be knighted in 1979 and described his investiture at Government House, Canberra, as the happiest day of his life. From 1968 he had lived in Sydney at the Masonic Club. A frail but stubborn old man, still fond of jokes and good company, Sir Nicholas died on 26 July 1980 at Greenacre and was buried in the Greek section of Botany cemetery. His only child Helen survived him.
Select Bibliography
■J. Michaelides, Portrait of Uncle Nick (Syd, 1987), and for bibliography
■To Yofiri, 3-4, 1978, p 16
■Narrandera Argus, 17 Oct 1922
■Sun (Sydney), 10 Sept 1968
■Sydney Morning Herald, 11 Sept 1968, 31 Dec 1976, 16 June 1979, 28 July 1980
■naturalisation file, A1/1 item 11/17987 (National Archives of Australia)
■private information.
Citation details
Michaelides, Jean, 'Laurantus, Sir Nicholas (Nick) (1890–1980)', Australian Dictionary of Biography, National Centre of Biography, Australian National University, http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/laurantus-sir-nicholas-nick-10789/text19135, accessed 28 February 2012.
This article was first published in hardcopy in Australian Dictionary of Biography, Volume 15, (MUP), 2000
To purchase Portrait of Uncle Nick; a biography of Sir Nicholas Laurantus MBE
Author: Jean Michaelides
When Published: 1987
Publisher: Sydney University Press
ISBN: 0 424 00121 7
Description: Hard back. 144 pages. Photographs. Index and Bibilography
Price: $20
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Note the self grown and self prepared olives in the foreground, on the counter. Some are full, some halved. Paul sells them in large jars in the shop. They are both "horyutika" and beautiful tasting.
Paul has operated the Canberra Cafe for 53 years in a row. A Kytherian world record?!?!
On 16th April, 2007, after the Brisbane megaevent of the 15th April, George Poulos, Peter Prineas, Dr Archie Kalokerinos & Professor Manuel Aroney travelled by 2-car convoy to the North Western NSW town of Bingara. Bingara lies in the mid-north western region of New South Wales.
There we were treated like Royalty - as all Kytherians are when they arrive in Bingara, and "we" hit the front page of the Bingara Advocate on the Wednesday. View/download/save a copy of the Front page as a .pdf
On the Tuesday 17th April, the "convoy" stopped in to visit fellow-Kytherians Pau (Petros) & Helen Kalokerinos in the Canberra Cafe, Manilla. Helen was originally a Petrochilos. Their children John and Mary, and Mary's husband, Joe, a Manilla local, were also present. The Calokerinos family derives from the town of Karvounathes on Kythera.
Paul set about and treated us with a fish meal fit for Royalty. 4 of the largest and most delicious Sole were served up, with good Kytherian potato chips and salad.
Whilst the meal was being prepared we saw a wonderful bench top olive seed remover in operation, on the adjoining table. Made from stainless steel, and "invented" in Manilla, it was the most ingenius olive seed remover that we had ever seen. Well worth patenting.
As we left we were supplied with many jars of home grown and home "cured" olives of the highest quality.
Thank you Paul & family for that wonderful Kytherian generosity.
It was one of those gestures which make involvement in kythera-family and Kytherian affairs generally, so rewarding and fulfilling for me.
[[picture:"PP Paul Kalokerinos behind counter Canberra Cafe Manilla.jpg" ID:12625]]
Note the self grown and self prepared olives in the foreground, on the counter. Some are full, some halved. Paul sells them in large jars in the shop. They are both "horyutika" and beautiful tasting.
Paul has operated the Canberra Cafe for 53 years in a row. A Kytherian world record?!?!
Photograph by Peter Prineas, Koutsaftis.
On 16th April, 2007, after the Brisbane megaevent of the 15th April, George Poulos, Peter Prineas, Dr Archie Kalokerinos & Professor Manuel Aroney travelled by 2-car convoy to the North Western NSW town of Bingara. Bingara lies in the mid-north western region of New South Wales.
There we were treated like Royalty - as all Kytherians are when they arrive in Bingara, and "we" hit the front page of the Bingara Advocate on the Wednesday. View/download/save a copy of the Front page as a .pdf
On the Tuesday 17th April, the "convoy" stopped in to visit fellow-Kytherians Pau (Petros) & Helen Kalokerinos in the Canberra Cafe, Manilla. Helen was originally a Petrochilos. Their children John and Mary, and Mary's husband, Joe, a Manilla local, were also present. The Kalokerinos family derives from the town of Karvounathes on Kythera.
Paul set about and treated us with a fish meal fit for Royalty. 4 of the largest and most delicious Sole were served up, with good Kytherian potato chips and salad.
Whilst the meal was being prepared we saw a wonderful bench top olive seed remover in operation, on the adjoining table. Made from stainless steel, and "invented" in Manilla, it was the most ingenius olive seed remover that we had ever seen. Well worth patenting.
As we left we were supplied with many jars of home grown and home "cured" olives of the highest quality.
Thank you Paul & family for that wonderful Kytherian generosity.
It was one of those gestures which make involvement in kythera-family and Kytherian affairs generally, so rewarding and fulfilling for me.
..., about fifty centimetres in height, that he prized greatly.
Coming upon them as he did after World War I in a country shop, he had paid £2 for the pair, believing them to be antiques and of great value.
Made of some bronze alloy and finely detailed in their workmanship, they depicted the effects of flood and fire which Nicholas perceived to be the farmer's worst threats. One statuette was of a woman on a rooftop with a child in her arms, the flood waters lapping at her bare feet; the other was of a man holding a child, a blanket over both heads as they descend a ladder from a burning roof. Nicgolas was eager to take them from the shelf and explain their significance to visitors, happy to see them admired by his friends.
Page 87-89, Jean Michaelides. Portrait of Uncle Nick. A Biography of Sir Nicholas Laurantus MBE. Sydney University Press, Sydney. 1987.
In 1974, on the recommendation of the Archbishop, Nicholas Laurantus was made an Archon of the Greek Orthodox Church in recognition of his many gifts to his birthplace, Kythera, to St Basil’s Homes for the Aged, and to the University of Sydney. The ceremony took place in the Archdiocesan church at Redfern one Sunday evening. The Archbishop, officiating, placed the plain black robe over Nicholas’ bowed head as he stood in front of the congregation, then, when he knelt, invested him with the title of Archon. The church was full that evening, about 500 people being present to witness the ceremony, and after it was over many of them went to the front of the church to congratulate the new Archon, this being the highest honour the Greek Orthodox Church can bestow on the laity.
Some years earlier the Greek government had awarded Nicholas the medal of the ver Cross of the Phoenix the memorative Medal of National Regeneration. The Academy of Athens also awarded him a medal for his efforts to raise the prestige of the Greek community in Australia. Then in 1977 he was honoured by the New South Wales government with an MBE, a distinction which gave him a great deal of satisfaction. Two years later, in June 1979, at the age of eighty-nine, he was knighted.
The front page of the Sydney Morning Herald — the ‘Bible of Sydney’, as Nicholas called it — carried a large photo of the new Knight Bachelor, seated in front of his two cherished statuettes, both hands resting on the head of his walking-stick, as he beamed proudly at the camera. The newspaper made this its lead story, titling it - AN IMMIGRANT ADDS A
KNIGHTHOOD TO HIS TREASURES.
It would be an understatement to say that Nicholas was delighted at the knighthood. He was overjoyed, considering this the greatest of all honours, a priceless reward for a life of quiet achievement. The penniless Greek youth who had set out to prove himself in an alien environment had, one by one, carried off all the prizes. This latest and most-esteemed of all its trophies was the one usually reserved by an Anglo-Australian community to honour its own. His happiness was total.
One of the first to ring Sir Nicholas that Saturday morning in June was his journalist friend, Frances Shoolman. ‘Now it’s your turn to be on the front page of the Herald,’ she said, explaining that she had suggested to the newspaper that they might contact him. ‘You were so pleased when our Annette had her photo in the paper that Father John and I decided it would be nice if you were front-page news too.’ Knowing how much he admired the Herald, it was, they thought, the best present for him.
After that there were many other phone calls to his room, as well as a great many written messages of congratulation, and to each of them Nicholas wrote a separate reply in his firm, flowing hand.
If he was pro-British before his knighthood, he was doubly so the day after. Hilda Heatherington, congratulating him when he called at Lourantos Village, said, ‘Are you going to London for the investiture?’
‘I don’t think I could stand that long flight,’ he said regretfully.
‘Don’t you? But imagine what a marvellous occasion it would be.’ His eyes gleamed and he said eagerly, ‘Tell me about it. Tell me what happens.’ So Hilda described the investiture ceremony at Buckingham Palace while Nicholas listened intently, his eyes shining. Seeing this, she said mischievously, ‘But you don’t want any part of that, do you? You’re not that sort of man.’
‘But I’d love to go,’ he said quickly, refuting her. ‘I really would. Wearing a top hat and one of those coats that trail down behind, and going to Buckingham Palace — oh yes, I’d really love to do that.’ She could see that the picture appealed to his imagination, but nothing more, and they went on talking about the Village.
His investiture took place at Government House, Canberra, on Wednesday 22 August. Nicholas invited three guests: his niece, Thalia Karras, holidaying then in Sydney, and the Kapetases. At first the gentle young priest was reluctant to accept, suggesting it might be better if Nicholas took someone else who was closer to him. ‘I have nobody else,’ said Nicholas firmly.
On the morning before the investiture he was very excited when Thalia called for him at the Masonic Club where they were to meet the Kapetases, who had offered to drive them to Canberra. Thalia hoped that the trip would not prove too much for him but said nothing as they got into the priest’s Holden and set off.
It was a clear, cold, typical mid-winter day and they enjoyed their drive through the countryside, commenting on its greenness and on the large flocks of dust-brown sheep grazing on the rich paddocks around Goulburn. Passing by Lake George, they noticed the shimmering expanse of water, for so many times, as Nicholas said, Lake George was more of a mudflat than a lake, but this was a good year and the lake was full.
It was afternoon when they arrived in Canberra, driving up to the Kythera Motel where Father John had booked rooms for them. Nicholas, tired by the excitement and the long drive, went to bed early, leaving the other three to explore the city. It was the opening night of a new session of the Federal parliament, so the long white building was ablaze with light. A group of protesters, overcoated against the chilly night, milled around the front entrance, chanting, so Father John drove on without stopping.
Wednesday was cold, clear and sunny. Nicholas was very nervous and rather shaky, so the two women went into his room to help him dress. He had brought his best three-piece navy suit and a dark-blue tie splashed with paler blue, but he had refused to buy a new shirt for the event, muttering that this one was perfectly all right. When Thalia looked about the motel room for his socks, she could find only one. ‘Look under the pillow,’ said her uncle. Puzzled, she did so. Underneath the pillow was the other sock — and inside the sock, his wallet.
With a twinkle in his eyes, Nicholas explained to the two women that many years earlier, when he had been staying at a small country pub, he had put his wallet under the pillow before he went to sleep, as was his habit then, only on this occasion he had left the hotel immediately after breakfast without going back to his room. Later in the morning, when he remembered his wallet and returned to the hotel to collect it, he found that all the bed linen had been changed and there was no trace of the wallet. ‘After that experience,’ he said, ‘I devised this foolproof method of putting it in one of my socks, for there’s no way I can leave with only one sock on’. They laughed, watching him put on the other sock.
He was always a careful dresser. ‘How do I look? Do I look all right?’ he used to say before going out. This particular morning was no exception. ‘Uncle Nick, you look wonderful,’ the women assured him as they left the motel room together.
Father John dropped them at the front entrance to Government House, a white Victorian mansion with a green roof, set in extensive grounds, before parking the car and returning to join them in the crowded hall. Ushers led the visitors to their seats in a long blue and pink room with paintings and big bowls of mixed flowers. Those to be honoured sat apart at the rear.
The ceremony started at eleven o’clock. One by one, as names were called out, their owners went up to the Governor-General, Sir Zelman Cowen, to receive their decoration, leaving immediately after by a side door. At eighty-nine, Nicholas was by far the oldest recipient there, but when his name was called he walked up unhesitatingly, leaning just slightly on his stick, stopped in front of Sir Zelman and knelt on the stool. The Governor-General tapped him lightly on the shoulder with his sword and placed the red ribbon of knighthood around his neck. Sir Nicholas then rose and left the room. ‘He made his exit in a most dignified manner,’ said his niece later. ‘He looked as though he was knighted every day.’ Watching him, full of pride for him, she felt the tears trickling slowly down her cheeks. ‘He looked so old and frail.’
After the ceremony, drinks were served on the lawns outside. Sir Nicholas, proudly wearing his ribbon with the gold medallion, introduced his guests to Sir Zelman and Lady Cowen who were circulating among their visitors in the garden. Then Father Kapetas went off to get the car, for they were expected at the Canberra Hellenic Club at two o’clock for a special luncheon hosted by the Greek Embassy in honour of the new knight.
That night the Governor-General gave a dinner party for the recipients of honours and their partners. As time drew near for his departure from the motel, Sir Nicholas became more and more anxious, watching the clock constantly. He looked well in his dinner suit and bow tie but his niece noticed, with a twinge of pity, that the black suit which he had had for so many years was now a little large on his small frame. Finally Father John drove him off, leaving him at the door of Government House with a promise to return after ten. However, when Father John returned, the function was still in progress, so he stayed in the car, shivering in the chill, damp air, until well after eleven o’clock.
When the guests emerged at last into the misty night, Sir Nicholas, despite his age and the long day, was on top of the world. It had been a splendid evening, he said in answer to the priest’s query, but now he was ready for bed. He added that he had had a most interesting chat with the Governor-General about the Greek course at Armidale. Sir Zelman had been Vice-Chancellor at the University of New England when modern Greek was introduced there in 1968, several years ahead of the University of Sydney. It had been most enlightening to compare the two courses, said Sir Nicholas, stifling a yawn as the Holden headed for the motel.
After breakfast he wrote on his copy of the investiture programme, ‘The happiest day of my life. With me Father John, Mrs Kapetas and my niece, Thalia.’ Then he signed his name with a flourish: ‘Sir Nicholas Laurantus’. It was the first time he had written it. He looked thoughtfully at it for a moment, then, smiling broadly, showed it to the priest who was sitting next to him. ‘Doesn’t it look good!’ The other three agreed. Laurantus then looked around the table at them and smiled with deepest satisfaction, ‘Now — now I can die happy’.
On the way back to Sydney, Sir Nicholas felt hungry so they stopped at a café near Marulan for lunch. Thalia Karras recorded in her diary: ‘Uncle Nick had three plates of pea and ham soup and five slices of bread’.
The knighthood changed Nicholas’ life, filling him with a warm inner glow until he died. Not that he had pursued a knighthood, or even desired it, for he respected it too highly to feel that he, Nick Laurantus, should merit this tribute to excellence. But once he had grown accustomed to this thank-you from the country he loved, the knowledge that his efforts had been rewarded with an equal generosity brought him a deep, lasting satisfaction. He was a happy man.
Text - pages 124-130, Photograph - page 125; Jean Michaelides. Portrait of Uncle Nick. A Biography of Sir Nicholas Laurantus MBE. Sydney University Press, Sydney. 1987.
Female???
Female???
Jim Samios
Male???
Male???
Father John Kapetas
Male???
Seated:
Nick Laurantus , far left.
His Eminence Archbishop Stylianos is seated to his right (opposite).
Young boy.????
Man, seated right???
Priest 1???
Priest 2???
Front:
Female, front centre, back to camera???
Male, front right, back to camera???
Nick Laurantus is seated, far left.
His Eminence Archbishop Stylianos is seated to his right (opposite).
Young boy.????
Man standing???
Man, seated right???
Priest ???
Female, front centre, back to camera???
Male, front right, back to camera???
Nicholas Laurantus is suited, in the middle row, far left.
In 1918, Nicholas and George Laurantus sold the Railway Hotel in Koorawatha, and returned to Grenfell.
They had bought the Albion Hotel, an imposing building on a corner block in Main Street, almost opposite the Thermopylae Cafe. Nicholas was pleased to leave Koorawatha, for some of his customers — in the main, shearers — drank too heavily with unpleasant results.
Going back to Grenfell was like going home again. Nicholas knew the people and they knew him, welcoming him back as an old friend. He began to borrow books again from the Literary Institute library in the School of Arts and resumed his support for the town’s athletic clubs.
He became patron of the football club whose members made the Albion Hotel their regular drinking place. A contemporary photograph shows the team in their striped jerseys, having successfully defended the Albion Cup — possibly donated by Nicholas — posing with their solemn coach and, seated beside them, one leg crossed above the other, their no-less serious patron. Nicholas is a short, slim man in a dark, three-piece suit with watch-chain and bow tie. The face is full, the mouth wide and set firmly, with a full underlip, and the eyes are looking straight ahead at the camera. It is the face of an intelligent, responsible young businessman, the licensee of the best hotel in Grenfell.
Pages 23-24, Jean Michaelides. Portrait of Uncle Nick. A Biography of Sir Nicholas Laurantus MBE. Sydney University Press, Sydney. 1987.
Photographed by Loukas Dedes,
6 England Avenue,
Marrickville.
9560 7357.
After his return from a family visit to South Africa in 1971, Laurantus began casting around for another project on which to spend his money. Setting up the Chair of Modern Greek had given him so much pleasure and satisfaction that he wanted to find another equally worthy cause, so he asked Jack Stamell one day whether he knew of any suitable charity that was Greek-sponsored without being a purely church organization. As a solicitor, Stamell was aware of the range of charities in Sydney, and besides, Laurantus had a high regard for his solicitor’s integrity and judgement.
After making a few inquiries, Stamell suggested that St Basil’s Homes for the Aged might be what he was seeking. This was a non-denominational charity run by an efficient board of Greek businessmen who had taken over the management of the homes from the founder, Sister Mary Dorothea, a controversial Roman Catholic nun. Nicholas was interested enough to arrange an appointment with the administrator, Father John Kapetas, not knowing that this meeting was to be a turning-point in his life.
The gentle, bearded young priest who called for him at the Masonic Club and showed him around St Basil’s, quietly explaining the aims of the charity and pointing out the site the board had selected for a new hostel should they raise enough money, made a strong impression on the older man. Nicholas asked only a few questions over the lunch that followed and was driven back to his club without revealing anything of his intentions.
By this time the Whitlam Labor government was in power, and was subsidizing retirement homes by giving one dollar for ever y three raised by the builders. Nicholas liked this idea that for every three dollars he might donate, the Federal government would add another.
Father John had no sooner returned to his office in Ashfield than he received a phone call from his recent visitor. ‘Father John,’ Nicholas said, ‘go ahead and buy that land. I’ll put the money up.’ This generous offer was so unexpected that it left the priest speechless. When he replaced the receiver, he could not remember what he had said, nor even if he had properly thanked Laurantus. He could never have dreamed, still less expected, that anyone should so easily offer one quarter of a million dollars. But that was only the beginning, for in the next seven years Laurantus would make regular donations to the charity, bringing the total before he died to $425,000.
The Board of St Basil’s Homes went ahead with the purchase of a site for the new building — the earlier site that Laurantus was shown having been rejected as unsuitable — and the erection of eighty-four motel-type units, which the Board later decided to name Lourantos Village after the charity’s most significant benefactor, proceeded rapidly.
It was typical of Nicholas Laurantus that, at this stage of his life, when the preservation of the Greek language and Greek culture in Australia was so important to him personally, he accepted the Greek form of his surname in the title of the Village. Although he would not have asked for this recognition, he was gratified by the Board’s decision. Writing to them in 1976, he said:
I can only praise your Committee and all those associated in the carrying out of this magnificent project, for it has been obvious that efficiency prevailed throughout and efficiency in all undertakings is not a small matter.
I am also grateful to St Basil’s organization for naming the edifice ‘Lourantos Village’ - a fine gesture by your Committee, which not only more than satisfies my own limited vanity, but also it appears to have delighted the feelings and pride of the multitude of the Greek community. That in itself is full compensation.
In April 1976 the Village was ready for occupation. Situated in a quiet street in Lakemba, a ten-minute walk from the railway station, the Village is a narrow two-storeyed brick building, horseshoe-shaped, with a sweeping, semi-circular drive passing the porticoed front entrance. A large entrance vestibule with comfortable armchairs leads to the administration area and a communal dining room, while upstairs the single and double rooms are fully carpeted and well appointed, their wide windows offering a distant glimpse of the city to the east. Several lounge rooms, a television room and a sunny terrace outside the main lounge complete the comfortable, even luxurious accommodation.
On the opening day, Father John Kapetas put a carnation and a card of welcome in each of the newcomers’ rooms. It was a friendly and gracious beginning for what was to become a very happy life for many old people, mostly British-Australians, who wanted to remain in the suburb where they had lived as independent residents, often for many years.
The official opening of the new retirement home took place one month later, a golden May afternoon, with a number of official guests, including Archbishop Stylianos, Nicholas Laurantus and Gough Whitlam. Gough Whitlam, now Leader of the Opposition, performed the opening ceremony, having promised to do so nine months earlier when, as Prime Minister, he had laid the foundation stone. Archbishop Stylianos then blessed the new building, Whitlam unlocked the front door and the official tour of inspection began.
As soon as he could safely slip away from the official party, Nicholas went to talk to the new residents, some of whom he had already met. One of them, Clarrie Carpenter, an Englishman who had served in the Australian navy, became a friend. On later visits, Nicholas would leave any group of officials and disappear into Carpenter’s room for a quiet chat about life in the navy. They also corresponded. Nicholas kept for a long time a letter from Carpenter saying, ‘on two occasions you asked me whether I wanted anything. Well, here is my sincere wish — Be my friend always.
The superintendent of the new Village, Hilda Heatherington, met Laurantus for the first time at the official opening ceremony and took an immediate liking to him. ‘He looked so frail and yet he spoke so forcefully and to the point,’ she said afterwards. He impressed her as a decisive man who knew what he wanted; a simple, straightforward man whom she felt she could trust. He told her that he had come from Greece, penniless, and that he had had to prove himself. Now that he had done so, he said, he wanted to do some good with his money; he wanted to see people benefit from it while he was still alive.
A newspaper reporter who was at the opening ceremony asked Laurantus about his plans for the future. ‘All I want to do now,’ he said, ‘is to give back the money I have made to other people to enjoy, especially children. Eventually I intend to leave all my money to charity. I have no sons.’ He broke off, then added with a smile, ‘If I did, I might not be so generous He said that he had given away $600,000 in his lifetime. ‘But don’t build me up or boast about that. I can spare the money,’ he added quickly.23 ‘What point is there in accumulating wealth? It’s not healthy.’
Not long after the opening of the Village — according to one account, later denied — Laurantus went to lunch with Gough Whitlam who had extended the invitation while they were talking together that afternoon. It was a lively meal. Afterwards Whitlam said to his guest, ‘I trust that you enjoyed our lunch, Mr Laurantus’.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I enjoyed the lunch very much. I enjoyed your company too — but I still won’t vote for you.’
Whitlam laughed heartily, knowing well that the wildest of horses could not make Laurantus a Labor voter.
Pages 107-111, Jean Michaelides. Portrait of Uncle Nick. A Biography of Sir Nicholas Laurantus MBE. Sydney University Press, Sydney. 1987.
After his return from a family visit to South Africa in 1971, Laurantus began casting around for another project on which to spend his money. Setting up the Chair of Modern Greek had given him so much pleasure and satisfaction that he wanted to find another equally worthy cause, so he asked Jack Stamell one day whether he knew of any suitable charity that was Greek-sponsored without being a purely church organization. As a solicitor, Stamell was aware of the range of charities in Sydney, and besides, Laurantus had a high regard for his solicitor’s integrity and judgement.
After making a few inquiries, Stamell suggested that St Basil’s Homes for the Aged might be what he was seeking. This was a non-denominational charity run by an efficient board of Greek businessmen who had taken over the management of the homes from the founder, Sister Mary Dorothea, a controversial Roman Catholic nun. Nicholas was interested enough to arrange an appointment with the administrator, Father John Kapetas, not knowing that this meeting was to be a turning-point in his life.
The gentle, bearded young priest who called for him at the Masonic Club and showed him around St Basil’s, quietly explaining the aims of the charity and pointing out the site the board had selected for a new hostel should they raise enough money, made a strong impression on the older man. Nicholas asked only a few questions over the lunch that followed and was driven back to his club without revealing anything of his intentions.
By this time the Whitlam Labor government was in power, and was subsidizing retirement homes by giving one dollar for every three raised by the builders. Nicholas liked this idea that for every three dollars he might donate, the Federal government would add another.
Father John had no sooner returned to his office in Ashfield than he received a phone call from his recent visitor. ‘Father John,’ Nicholas said, ‘go ahead and buy that land. I’ll put the money up.’ This generous offer was so unexpected that it left the priest speechless. When he replaced the receiver, he could not remember what he had said, nor even if he had properly thanked Laurantus. He could never have dreamed, still less expected, that anyone should so easily offer one quarter of a million dollars. But that was only the beginning, for in the next seven years Laurantus would make regular donations to the charity, bringing the total before he died to $425,000.
The Board of St Basil’s Homes went ahead with the purchase of a site for the new building — the earlier site that Laurantus was shown having been rejected as unsuitable — and the erection of eighty-four motel-type units, which the Board later decided to name Lourantos Village after the charity’s most significant benefactor, proceeded rapidly.
It was typical of Nicholas Laurantus that, at this stage of his life, when the preservation of the Greek language and Greek culture in Australia was so important to him personally, he accepted the Greek form of his surname in the title of the Village. Although he would not have asked for this recognition, he was gratified by the Board’s decision. Writing to them in 1976, he said:
I can only praise your Committee and all those associated in the carrying out of this magnificent project, for it has been obvious that efficiency prevailed throughout and efficiency in all undertakings is not a small matter.
I am also grateful to St Basil’s organization for naming the edifice ‘Lourantos Village’ - a fine gesture by your Committee, which not only more than satisfies my own limited vanity, but also it appears to have delighted the feelings and pride of the multitude of the Greek community. That in itself is full compensation.
In April 1976 the Village was ready for occupation. Situated in a quiet street in Lakemba, a ten-minute walk from the railway station, the Village is a narrow two-storeyed brick building, horseshoe-shaped, with a sweeping, semi-circular drive passing the porticoed front entrance. A large entrance vestibule with comfortable armchairs leads to the administration area and a communal dining room, while upstairs the single and double rooms are fully carpeted and well appointed, their wide windows offering a distant glimpse of the city to the east. Several lounge rooms, a television room and a sunny terrace outside the main lounge complete the comfortable, even luxurious accommodation.
On the opening day, Father John Kapetas put a carnation and a card of welcome in each of the newcomers’ rooms. It was a friendly and gracious beginning for what was to become a very happy life for many old people, mostly British-Australians, who wanted to remain in the suburb where they had lived as independent residents, often for many years.
The official opening of the new retirement home took place one month later, a golden May afternoon, with a number of official guests, including Archbishop Stylianos, Nicholas Laurantus and Gough Whitlam. Gough Whitlam, now Leader of the Opposition, performed the opening ceremony, having promised to do so nine months earlier when, as Prime Minister, he had laid the foundation stone. Archbishop Stylianos then blessed the new building, Whitlam unlocked the front door and the official tour of inspection began.
As soon as he could safely slip away from the official party, Nicholas went to talk to the new residents, some of whom he had already met. One of them, Clarrie Carpenter, an Englishman who had served in the Australian navy, became a friend. On later visits, Nicholas would leave any group of officials and disappear into Carpenter’s room for a quiet chat about life in the navy. They also corresponded. Nicholas kept for a long time a letter from Carpenter saying, ‘on two occasions you asked me whether I wanted anything. Well, here is my sincere wish — Be my friend always.
The superintendent of the new Village, Hilda Heatherington, met Laurantus for the first time at the official opening ceremony and took an immediate liking to him. ‘He looked so frail and yet he spoke so forcefully and to the point,’ she said afterwards. He impressed her as a decisive man who knew what he wanted; a simple, straightforward man whom she felt she could trust. He told her that he had come from Greece, penniless, and that he had had to prove himself. Now that he had done so, he said, he wanted to do some good with his money; he wanted to see people benefit from it while he was still alive.
A newspaper reporter who was at the opening ceremony asked Laurantus about his plans for the future. ‘All I want to do now,’ he said, ‘is to give back the money I have made to other people to enjoy, especially children. Eventually I intend to leave all my money to charity. I have no sons.’ He broke off, then added with a smile, ‘If I did, I might not be so generous He said that he had given away $600,000 in his lifetime. ‘But don’t build me up or boast about that. I can spare the money,’ he added quickly. ‘What point is there in accumulating wealth? It’s not healthy.’
Not long after the opening of the Village — according to one account, later denied — Laurantus went to lunch with Gough Whitlam who had extended the invitation while they were talking together that afternoon. It was a lively meal. Afterwards Whitlam said to his guest, ‘I trust that you enjoyed our lunch, Mr Laurantus’.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I enjoyed the lunch very much. I enjoyed your company too — but I still won’t vote for you.’
Whitlam laughed heartily, knowing well that the wildest of horses could not make Laurantus a Labor voter.
Pages 107-111, Jean Michaelides. Portrait of Uncle Nick. A Biography of Sir Nicholas Laurantus MBE. Sydney University Press, Sydney. 1987.
Nicholas Laurantus replies to a speech by Jim Samios (standing), a St Basil's Board member, and NSW Upper House Parliamentarian.
Also present are Prime Minister Gough Whitlam, and Margaret Whitlam, and His Eminence Archbishop Stylianos (far right).
After his return from a family visit to South Africa in 1971, Laurantus began casting around for another project on which to spend his money. Setting up the Chair of Modern Greek had given him so much pleasure and satisfaction that he wanted to find another equally worthy cause, so he asked Jack Stamell one day whether he knew of any suitable charity that was Greek-sponsored without being a purely church organization. As a solicitor, Stamell was aware of the range of charities in Sydney, and besides, Laurantus had a high regard for his solicitor’s integrity and judgement.
After making a few inquiries, Stamell suggested that St Basil’s Homes for the Aged might be what he was seeking. This was a non-denominational charity run by an efficient board of Greek businessmen who had taken over the management of the homes from the founder, Sister Mary Dorothea, a controversial Roman Catholic nun. Nicholas was interested enough to arrange an appointment with the administrator, Father John Kapetas, not knowing that this meeting was to be a turning-point in his life.
The gentle, bearded young priest who called for him at the Masonic Club and showed him around St Basil’s, quietly explaining the aims of the charity and pointing out the site the board had selected for a new hostel should they raise enough money, made a strong impression on the older man. Nicholas asked only a few questions over the lunch that followed and was driven back to his club without revealing anything of his intentions.
By this time the Whitlam Labor government was in power, and was subsidizing retirement homes by giving one dollar for ever y three raised by the builders. Nicholas liked this idea that for every three dollars he might donate, the Federal government would add another.
Father John had no sooner returned to his office in Ashfield than he received a phone call from his recent visitor. ‘Father John,’ Nicholas said, ‘go ahead and buy that land. I’ll put the money up.’ This generous offer was so unexpected that it left the priest speechless. When he replaced the receiver, he could not remember what he had said, nor even if he had properly thanked Laurantus. He could never have dreamed, still less expected, that anyone should so easily offer one quarter of a million dollars. But that was only the beginning, for in the next seven years Laurantus would make regular donations to the charity, bringing the total before he died to $425,000.
The Board of St Basil’s Homes went ahead with the purchase of a site for the new building — the earlier site that Laurantus was shown having been rejected as unsuitable — and the erection of eighty-four motel-type units, which the Board later decided to name Lourantos Village after the charity’s most significant benefactor, proceeded rapidly.
It was typical of Nicholas Laurantus that, at this stage of his life, when the preservation of the Greek language and Greek culture in Australia was so important to him personally, he accepted the Greek form of his surname in the title of the Village. Although he would not have asked for this recognition, he was gratified by the Board’s decision. Writing to them in 1976, he said:
I can only praise your Committee and all those associated in the carrying out of this magnificent project, for it has been obvious that efficiency prevailed throughout and efficiency in all undertakings is not a small matter.
I am also grateful to St Basil’s organization for naming the edifice ‘Lourantos Village’ - a fine gesture by your Committee, which not only more than satisfies my own limited vanity, but also it appears to have delighted the feelings and pride of the multitude of the Greek community. That in itself is full compensation.
In April 1976 the Village was ready for occupation. Situated in a quiet street in Lakemba, a ten-minute walk from the railway station, the Village is a narrow two-storeyed brick building, horseshoe-shaped, with a sweeping, semi-circular drive passing the porticoed front entrance. A large entrance vestibule with comfortable armchairs leads to the administration area and a communal dining room, while upstairs the single and double rooms are fully carpeted and well appointed, their wide windows offering a distant glimpse of the city to the east. Several lounge rooms, a television room and a sunny terrace outside the main lounge complete the comfortable, even luxurious accommodation.
On the opening day, Father John Kapetas put a carnation and a card of welcome in each of the newcomers’ rooms. It was a friendly and gracious beginning for what was to become a very happy life for many old people, mostly British-Australians, who wanted to remain in the suburb where they had lived as independent residents, often for many years.
The official opening of the new retirement home took place one month later, a golden May afternoon, with a number of official guests, including Archbishop Stylianos, Nicholas Laurantus and Gough Whitlam. Gough Whitlam, now Leader of the Opposition, performed the opening ceremony, having promised to do so nine months earlier when, as Prime Minister, he had laid the foundation stone. Archbishop Stylianos then blessed the new building, Whitlam unlocked the front door and the official tour of inspection began.
As soon as he could safely slip away from the official party, Nicholas went to talk to the new residents, some of whom he had already met. One of them, Clarrie Carpenter, an Englishman who had served in the Australian navy, became a friend. On later visits, Nicholas would leave any group of officials and disappear into Carpenter’s room for a quiet chat about life in the navy. They also corresponded. Nicholas kept for a long time a letter from Carpenter saying, ‘on two occasions you asked me whether I wanted anything. Well, here is my sincere wish — Be my friend always.
The superintendent of the new Village, Hilda Heatherington, met Laurantus for the first time at the official opening ceremony and took an immediate liking to him. ‘He looked so frail and yet he spoke so forcefully and to the point,’ she said afterwards. He impressed her as a decisive man who knew what he wanted; a simple, straightforward man whom she felt she could trust. He told her that he had come from Greece, penniless, and that he had had to prove himself. Now that he had done so, he said, he wanted to do some good with his money; he wanted to see people benefit from it while he was still alive.
A newspaper reporter who was at the opening ceremony asked Laurantus about his plans for the future. ‘All I want to do now,’ he said, ‘is to give back the money I have made to other people to enjoy, especially children. Eventually I intend to leave all my money to charity. I have no sons.’ He broke off, then added with a smile, ‘If I did, I might not be so generous He said that he had given away $600,000 in his lifetime. ‘But don’t build me up or boast about that. I can spare the money,’ he added quickly.23 ‘What point is there in accumulating wealth? It’s not healthy.’
Not long after the opening of the Village — according to one account, later denied — Laurantus went to lunch with Gough Whitlam who had extended the invitation while they were talking together that afternoon. It was a lively meal. Afterwards Whitlam said to his guest, ‘I trust that you enjoyed our lunch, Mr Laurantus’.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I enjoyed the lunch very much. I enjoyed your company too — but I still won’t vote for you.’
Whitlam laughed heartily, knowing well that the wildest of horses could not make Laurantus a Labor voter.
Pages 107-111, Jean Michaelides. Portrait of Uncle Nick. A Biography of Sir Nicholas Laurantus MBE. Sydney University Press, Sydney. 1987.
Laurantus is standing, second left.
Father John Kapetas is standing second from right.
Anna Kapetas is sitting front left.
Jim Samios, standing to right behind the guest of honour.
His Eminence Archbishop Stylianos is seated in the middle.
Others.........??
After his return from a family visit to South Africa in 1971, Laurantus began casting around for another project on which to spend his money. Setting up the Chair of Modern Greek had given him so much pleasure and satisfaction that he wanted to find another equally worthy cause, so he asked Jack Stamell one day whether he knew of any suitable charity that was Greek-sponsored without being a purely church organization. As a solicitor, Stamell was aware of the range of charities in Sydney, and besides, Laurantus had a high regard for his solicitor’s integrity and judgement.
After making a few inquiries, Stamell suggested that St Basil’s Homes for the Aged might be what he was seeking. This was a non-denominational charity run by an efficient board of Greek businessmen who had taken over the management of the homes from the founder, Sister Mary Dorothea, a controversial Roman Catholic nun. Nicholas was interested enough to arrange an appointment with the administrator, Father John Kapetas, not knowing that this meeting was to be a turning-point in his life.
The gentle, bearded young priest who called for him at the Masonic Club and showed him around St Basil’s, quietly explaining the aims of the charity and pointing out the site the board had selected for a new hostel should they raise enough money, made a strong impression on the older man. Nicholas asked only a few questions over the lunch that followed and was driven back to his club without revealing anything of his intentions.
By this time the Whitlam Labor government was in power, and was subsidizing retirement homes by giving one dollar for ever y three raised by the builders. Nicholas liked this idea that for every three dollars he might donate, the Federal government would add another.
Father John had no sooner returned to his office in Ashfield than he received a phone call from his recent visitor. ‘Father John,’ Nicholas said, ‘go ahead and buy that land. I’ll put the money up.’ This generous offer was so unexpected that it left the priest speechless. When he replaced the receiver, he could not remember what he had said, nor even if he had properly thanked Laurantus. He could never have dreamed, still less expected, that anyone should so easily offer one quarter of a million dollars. But that was only the beginning, for in the next seven years Laurantus would make regular donations to the charity, bringing the total before he died to $425,000.
The Board of St Basil’s Homes went ahead with the purchase of a site for the new building — the earlier site that Laurantus was shown having been rejected as unsuitable — and the erection of eighty-four motel-type units, which the Board later decided to name Lourantos Village after the charity’s most significant benefactor, proceeded rapidly.
It was typical of Nicholas Laurantus that, at this stage of his life, when the preservation of the Greek language and Greek culture in Australia was so important to him personally, he accepted the Greek form of his surname in the title of the Village. Although he would not have asked for this recognition, he was gratified by the Board’s decision. Writing to them in 1976, he said:
I can only praise your Committee and all those associated in the carrying out of this magnificent project, for it has been obvious that efficiency prevailed throughout and efficiency in all undertakings is not a small matter.
I am also grateful to St Basil’s organization for naming the edifice ‘Lourantos Village’ - a fine gesture by your Committee, which not only more than satisfies my own limited vanity, but also it appears to have delighted the feelings and pride of the multitude of the Greek community. That in itself is full compensation.
In April 1976 the Village was ready for occupation. Situated in a quiet street in Lakemba, a ten-minute walk from the railway station, the Village is a narrow two-storeyed brick building, horseshoe-shaped, with a sweeping, semi-circular drive passing the porticoed front entrance. A large entrance vestibule with comfortable armchairs leads to the administration area and a communal dining room, while upstairs the single and double rooms are fully carpeted and well appointed, their wide windows offering a distant glimpse of the city to the east. Several lounge rooms, a television room and a sunny terrace outside the main lounge complete the comfortable, even luxurious accommodation.
On the opening day, Father John Kapetas put a carnation and a card of welcome in each of the newcomers’ rooms. It was a friendly and gracious beginning for what was to become a very happy life for many old people, mostly British-Australians, who wanted to remain in the suburb where they had lived as independent residents, often for many years.
The official opening of the new retirement home took place one month later, a golden May afternoon, with a number of official guests, including Archbishop Stylianos, Nicholas Laurantus and Gough Whitlam. Gough Whitlam, now Leader of the Opposition, performed the opening ceremony, having promised to do so nine months earlier when, as Prime Minister, he had laid the foundation stone. Archbishop Stylianos then blessed the new building, Whitlam unlocked the front door and the official tour of inspection began.
As soon as he could safely slip away from the official party, Nicholas went to talk to the new residents, some of whom he had already met. One of them, Clarrie Carpenter, an Englishman who had served in the Australian navy, became a friend. On later visits, Nicholas would leave any group of officials and disappear into Carpenter’s room for a quiet chat about life in the navy. They also corresponded. Nicholas kept for a long time a letter from Carpenter saying, ‘on two occasions you asked me whether I wanted anything. Well, here is my sincere wish — Be my friend always.
The superintendent of the new Village, Hilda Heatherington, met Laurantus for the first time at the official opening ceremony and took an immediate liking to him. ‘He looked so frail and yet he spoke so forcefully and to the point,’ she said afterwards. He impressed her as a decisive man who knew what he wanted; a simple, straightforward man whom she felt she could trust. He told her that he had come from Greece, penniless, and that he had had to prove himself. Now that he had done so, he said, he wanted to do some good with his money; he wanted to see people benefit from it while he was still alive.
A newspaper reporter who was at the opening ceremony asked Laurantus about his plans for the future. ‘All I want to do now,’ he said, ‘is to give back the money I have made to other people to enjoy, especially children. Eventually I intend to leave all my money to charity. I have no sons.’ He broke off, then added with a smile, ‘If I did, I might not be so generous He said that he had given away $600,000 in his lifetime. ‘But don’t build me up or boast about that. I can spare the money,’ he added quickly.23 ‘What point is there in accumulating wealth? It’s not healthy.’
Not long after the opening of the Village — according to one account, later denied — Laurantus went to lunch with Gough Whitlam who had extended the invitation while they were talking together that afternoon. It was a lively meal. Afterwards Whitlam said to his guest, ‘I trust that you enjoyed our lunch, Mr Laurantus’.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I enjoyed the lunch very much. I enjoyed your company too — but I still won’t vote for you.’
Whitlam laughed heartily, knowing well that the wildest of horses could not make Laurantus a Labor voter.
Pages 107-111, Jean Michaelides. Portrait of Uncle Nick. A Biography of Sir Nicholas Laurantus MBE. Sydney University Press, Sydney. 1987.
Nicholas Laurantus, centre.
NSW Upper House Parliamentarian, Jim Samios, left foreground.
Right......??
After his return from a family visit to South Africa in 1971, Laurantus began casting around for another project on which to spend his money. Setting up the Chair of Modern Greek had given him so much pleasure and satisfaction that he wanted to find another equally worthy cause, so he asked Jack Stamell one day whether he knew of any suitable charity that was Greek-sponsored without being a purely church organization. As a solicitor, Stamell was aware of the range of charities in Sydney, and besides, Laurantus had a high regard for his solicitor’s integrity and judgement.
After making a few inquiries, Stamell suggested that St Basil’s Homes for the Aged might be what he was seeking. This was a non-denominational charity run by an efficient board of Greek businessmen who had taken over the management of the homes from the founder, Sister Mary Dorothea, a controversial Roman Catholic nun. Nicholas was interested enough to arrange an appointment with the administrator, Father John Kapetas, not knowing that this meeting was to be a turning-point in his life.
The gentle, bearded young priest who called for him at the Masonic Club and showed him around St Basil’s, quietly explaining the aims of the charity and pointing out the site the board had selected for a new hostel should they raise enough money, made a strong impression on the older man. Nicholas asked only a few questions over the lunch that followed and was driven back to his club without revealing anything of his intentions.
By this time the Whitlam Labor government was in power, and was subsidizing retirement homes by giving one dollar for ever y three raised by the builders. Nicholas liked this idea that for every three dollars he might donate, the Federal government would add another.
Father John had no sooner returned to his office in Ashfield than he received a phone call from his recent visitor. ‘Father John,’ Nicholas said, ‘go ahead and buy that land. I’ll put the money up.’ This generous offer was so unexpected that it left the priest speechless. When he replaced the receiver, he could not remember what he had said, nor even if he had properly thanked Laurantus. He could never have dreamed, still less expected, that anyone should so easily offer one quarter of a million dollars. But that was only the beginning, for in the next seven years Laurantus would make regular donations to the charity, bringing the total before he died to $425,000.
The Board of St Basil’s Homes went ahead with the purchase of a site for the new building — the earlier site that Laurantus was shown having been rejected as unsuitable — and the erection of eighty-four motel-type units, which the Board later decided to name Lourantos Village after the charity’s most significant benefactor, proceeded rapidly.
It was typical of Nicholas Laurantus that, at this stage of his life, when the preservation of the Greek language and Greek culture in Australia was so important to him personally, he accepted the Greek form of his surname in the title of the Village. Although he would not have asked for this recognition, he was gratified by the Board’s decision. Writing to them in 1976, he said:
I can only praise your Committee and all those associated in the carrying out of this magnificent project, for it has been obvious that efficiency prevailed throughout and efficiency in all undertakings is not a small matter.
I am also grateful to St Basil’s organization for naming the edifice ‘Lourantos Village’ - a fine gesture by your Committee, which not only more than satisfies my own limited vanity, but also it appears to have delighted the feelings and pride of the multitude of the Greek community. That in itself is full compensation.
In April 1976 the Village was ready for occupation. Situated in a quiet street in Lakemba, a ten-minute walk from the railway station, the Village is a narrow two-storeyed brick building, horseshoe-shaped, with a sweeping, semi-circular drive passing the porticoed front entrance. A large entrance vestibule with comfortable armchairs leads to the administration area and a communal dining room, while upstairs the single and double rooms are fully carpeted and well appointed, their wide windows offering a distant glimpse of the city to the east. Several lounge rooms, a television room and a sunny terrace outside the main lounge complete the comfortable, even luxurious accommodation.
On the opening day, Father John Kapetas put a carnation and a card of welcome in each of the newcomers’ rooms. It was a friendly and gracious beginning for what was to become a very happy life for many old people, mostly British-Australians, who wanted to remain in the suburb where they had lived as independent residents, often for many years.
The official opening of the new retirement home took place one month later, a golden May afternoon, with a number of official guests, including Archbishop Stylianos, Nicholas Laurantus and Gough Whitlam. Gough Whitlam, now Leader of the Opposition, performed the opening ceremony, having promised to do so nine months earlier when, as Prime Minister, he had laid the foundation stone. Archbishop Stylianos then blessed the new building, Whitlam unlocked the front door and the official tour of inspection began.
As soon as he could safely slip away from the official party, Nicholas went to talk to the new residents, some of whom he had already met. One of them, Clarrie Carpenter, an Englishman who had served in the Australian navy, became a friend. On later visits, Nicholas would leave any group of officials and disappear into Carpenter’s room for a quiet chat about life in the navy. They also corresponded. Nicholas kept for a long time a letter from Carpenter saying, ‘on two occasions you asked me whether I wanted anything. Well, here is my sincere wish — Be my friend always.
The superintendent of the new Village, Hilda Heatherington, met Laurantus for the first time at the official opening ceremony and took an immediate liking to him. ‘He looked so frail and yet he spoke so forcefully and to the point,’ she said afterwards. He impressed her as a decisive man who knew what he wanted; a simple, straightforward man whom she felt she could trust. He told her that he had come from Greece, penniless, and that he had had to prove himself. Now that he had done so, he said, he wanted to do some good with his money; he wanted to see people benefit from it while he was still alive.
A newspaper reporter who was at the opening ceremony asked Laurantus about his plans for the future. ‘All I want to do now,’ he said, ‘is to give back the money I have made to other people to enjoy, especially children. Eventually I intend to leave all my money to charity. I have no sons.’ He broke off, then added with a smile, ‘If I did, I might not be so generous He said that he had given away $600,000 in his lifetime. ‘But don’t build me up or boast about that. I can spare the money,’ he added quickly.23 ‘What point is there in accumulating wealth? It’s not healthy.’
Not long after the opening of the Village — according to one account, later denied — Laurantus went to lunch with Gough Whitlam who had extended the invitation while they were talking together that afternoon. It was a lively meal. Afterwards Whitlam said to his guest, ‘I trust that you enjoyed our lunch, Mr Laurantus’.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I enjoyed the lunch very much. I enjoyed your company too — but I still won’t vote for you.’
Whitlam laughed heartily, knowing well that the wildest of horses could not make Laurantus a Labor voter.
Pages 107-111, Jean Michaelides. Portrait of Uncle Nick. A Biography of Sir Nicholas Laurantus MBE. Sydney University Press, Sydney. 1987.
Lake Midgeon Station woolshed, Narrandera. Shearing at the turn of the century, c.1900.
[Nicholas and his brother George had become partners in cinemas, and in Windella station in the period before, during, and after WWII.]
"By 1947 Windella had become profitable and Nicholas no longer had to rely on outside income to survive. The end of the war in Europe meant a greater demand for Australian wool and wheat as the war-damaged countries struggled to feed and to clothe their people. This caused a sharp rise in prices which was pushed even higher by the Korean War in 1950, leading to a boom in wool, with prices at an all-time high of 60 pence per pound, more than four times its fixed wartime price.
As the wool cheques rolled in, Nicholas began to feel much happier about his investment. George, however, had had enough. In 1947 he left Windella, taking his family to Sydney to look for another cinema. But Nicholas was still, as his sister-in-law said, ‘in love with the land’.
In 1949 Lake Midgeon Station came onto the market. Owned by the Austin family, it was one of the best-known properties in the Narrandera area, and one with a long history. Bill Rourke, who was the agent for the sale, suggested to Nicholas that he should put in a bid for it. The price was £98,000 on a walk-out walk-in basis, covering 24,000 acres of land with 12,000 sheep, 200 head of cattle and including the last wool clip, then on its way to Melbourne to be sold.
Nicholas considered it for a week. The long-term prospects were good, he felt, but as usual he had very little cash. He was always a great believer in overdrafts. ‘If you haven’t got an overdraft,’ he used to say, ‘you’re not in business.’ So he rang Elder Smith, a well-known pastoral company in Melbourne, and using his existing properties as collateral, arranged a loan of £56,000. The sale was clinched.
The wool clip, then en route to Melbourne, came onto the auction market shortly afterwards and was sold in the early ‘fifties wool boom'. The proceeds of the sale almost wiped out the loan.
The next ten years were good ones. Nicholas engaged a new manager and they decided to breed their own sheep, using some of the existing merinos as the nucleus of a new flock. When the price of wool started to decline, he began to grow wheat as well, using sharefarmers. Then the newly-discovered myxamotosis virus wiped out the rabbits infesting the hills on Lake Midgeon. They had plagued the previous owner for nearly twenty years.
In 1950, with prices running high for wool and wheat, and a consequent demand for good pastoral properties, Nicholas sold Windella. In 1951, on his three properties, Gum Swamp, Niangay and Lake Midgeon — an area altogether larger than Kythera — he was shearing 28,000 sheep and his wool cheque alone was over £100,000. His income tax went up proportionately.
One day his bank manager met him in the street and said, ‘By the way, Mr Laurantus, there’s £14,000 waiting for you in your account’.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Nicholas, with a cheerful grin, ‘I’ll need some more yet.’ His tax bill of £72,000 was due to be paid. When Nicholas saw the large amounts he now had to pay to the government in annual taxation, he said to himself, ‘Nick, you’d better try to make less and less income and not have this worry’. And it was then he began to look for ways of reducing his tax burden.
Although Nicholas was now a very wealthy man, his lifestyle was unchanged. Still an early riser, he liked to potter about in his workshop at the rear of his house in Larmer Street, experimenting at one stage with a device for self-opening farm gates. At Lake Midgeon he built two good wheat silos, each holding 700 bags, out of riveted iron sheets under a timber shelter. He also made a small metal shed with a rough-hewn timber frame but this was less successful. After a few years it acquired a slightly skewed look, like an early pioneer’s lean-to. A house he built in 1951 in Larmer Street from concrete blocks made on the site with the help of George and John Stathis later developed a large crack in the facade, but it was still occupied a quarter of a century later.
He was always busy, his restless mind considering some new project or other, whether it related to carpentry or finance. He smoked heavily, and always had a cigarette in his fingers. His felt hat pulled down over his eyes against the glare of the sun, he could often be seen walking quickly down the streets of Narrandera — there was no time to walk siowiy — or else passing in a car on his way to one of his properties.
Sometimes he drove out to Lake Midgeon himself, for in 1948 he had bought his first car, a Chevrolet — ‘for Helen,’ he said later — but he never became a good driver. Jim Allen, who worked at Lake Midgeon for many years, winced whenever he saw him at the wheel.
Even after he went to Sydney to live, Nicholas continued to pay visits to Lake Midgeon Station, staying sometimes for a month, a week, or only a few hours. He always liked to work with his hands, even when he was a thin, slightly stooped seventy-year-old. He once climbed onto the roof of the historic Midgeon shearing shed, the largest in the state, determined to repair it himself for he knew that he could do it, and do it unaided. Jim Allen, a quiet countryman with laughing eyes, chuckled at the sight of his frail, elderly boss, hammer in hand, scampering over the galvanized-iron roof ‘like an old possum’.
In 1962 Nicholas employed a new manager, a man of considerable experience on the land, to try to build up the property again, for it had slipped back considerably. John Colhoun and Nicholas soon became close friends, a friendship based on mutual trust and respect. If Colhoun suggested it was time to buy a new harvester, Nicholas made no objection. ‘If you say we need one, John,’ he said, ‘go ahead — buy it.’
Nicholas was very proud of the way Lake Midgeon Station improved under his new manager’s skilful administration. Whenever Nicholas went to the farm to pay bills or discuss plans for the next season, Colhoun would take him on a tour of the property, pointing out the various changes since his last visit. Nicholas listened, but without any close interest, satisfied that the farm was in capable hands once more. He was more interested, Colhoun thought as he took him around the paddocks, in discussing the future of western civilization or the history of ancient Greece. After the tour of inspection had ended, the bills had been presented and cheques made out in Colhoun’s office, Nicholas would take his copy of the newspaper outside to one of the trucks in the sun and climb up into the driver’s cabin to read it. He stayed there, quite happily, for several hours. As the sun moved higher in the sky, he turned the truck, using it, as Colhoun said, ‘like a mobile sunroom’ for the best part of the day.
Nicholas always said that he knew nothing about the land, but as one friend said, he was smart enough to get good managers. A Narrandera business associate commented that Nicholas knew more about the land than he pretended, but whatever the truth, it was certain that he let the experts talk while he listened carefully, asking questions from time to time that were very pertinent.
Jim Colhoun considered him to be an unusual man. ‘He didn’t know
a thing about the technical aspects of farming,’ he said. ‘Nick was purely
a financier, but he did have this love for the land. His knowledge was
such that he could look into the future and say, “Wool’s going to be good,
so we’ll grow sheep”. Or at another time, “Wheat’s going to be good,
so we’ll farm country".
This vision of his, this ability to see ahead into the future, was the main reason for Nicholas’ success as a grazier, as it was in all his ventures. When a journalist once asked him the reason for his success, he merely said, in his modest way, ‘Oh, I’ve been lucky’.
During the years that he lived in Narrandera, Nicholas was invited many times to take part in civic affairs. His leadership qualities and business acumen would have been an asset to any council, and his cheerful personality assured him of a welcome in any company, but he involved himself with only two organizations, the Masonic Lodge which he joined in 1945, and the Narrandera Ambulance Board. Clare was also involved with the Board through her membership of the ladies’ auxiliary, which raised money towards the building of a fine ambulance station at the top end of East Street in 1952. Lady McCaughey of Koonong Station, and Nicholas Laurantus were both substantial individual donors.
A good twenty-four-hour ambulance service for country people was something that Nicholas firmly believed in and which he worked hard to provide during his years of association with the Board. He was vice-president from 1948 to 1952 and then president from 1952 to 1962. In 1960 the New South Wales Ambulance Board awarded him their long-service medal for his thirteen years of committee work.
His association with Lady McCaughey on the Narrandera Ambulance Board was probably the origin of what later became a charming foible. Courteous in his dealings with women, even formal, in his later years, Nicholas often addressed women he knew as ‘Lady . . .‘ Once, when he was in hospital recovering from a broken hip, a Greek friend rang to inquire after his progress. ‘I’m fine,’ said Nicholas, ‘and how are Lady Alma and the little ones?’ Yet, whenever he met the family, he invariably addressed his friend’s wife as simply, ‘Alma’.
Journalist Frances Shoolman later became a good friend of Nicholas and in conversation he addressed her as ‘Frances’, yet letters from him — warm, friendly letters written in his neat, flowing, rather elegant script — always began ‘Dear Lady Shoolman’. Frances, like others, found this an endearing characteristic: ‘He probably felt that “Lady” was more courteous and conveyed more status than “Mrs” or “Miss”, which are everyday words. Perhaps he had heard shearers and others talking about “the missus” and wanted to use a more formal term of address.’
Words always fascinated Nicholas. It was part of his desire, as a former migrant knowing no English, to use the right words, to do the right thing, to fit in. While living in Narrandera and driving out to Windella Station, he would refer to his house in town as ‘my sleeping quarters’. Later, when he lived at the Masonic Club in Sydney, he would often jokingly call his room on the tenth floor ‘my camp’, and any man he approved was usually ‘a good bloke’. A journalist who interviewed him in Sydney once wrote that his talk was ‘liberally sprinkled with “fair dinkums”, “mates", and the Great Australian Adjective — a legacy of years spent in the Outback’. But, like most people, his style of talk varied with his company. Many city friends of Nicholas Laurantus would not have recognized him from that journalist’s description.
Pages 68-70, Jean Michaelides. Portrait of Uncle Nick. A Biography of Sir Nicholas Laurantus MBE. Sydney University Press, Sydney. 1987.
In 1974, on the recommendation of the Archbishop, Nicholas Laurantus was made an Archon of the Greek Orthodox Church in recognition of his many gifts to his birthplace, Kythera, to St Basil’s Homes for the Aged, and to the University of Sydney. The ceremony took place in the Archdiocesan church at Redfern one Sunday evening. The Archbishop, officiating, placed the plain black robe over Nicholas’ bowed head as he stood in front of the congregation, then, when he knelt, invested him with the title of Archon. The church was full that evening, about 500 people being present to witness the ceremony, and after it was over many of them went to the front of the church to congratulate the new Archon, this being the highest honour the Greek Orthodox Church can bestow on the laity.
Some years earlier the Greek government had awarded Nicholas the medal of the ver Cross of the Phoenix the memorative Medal of National Regeneration. The Academy of Athens also awarded him a medal for his efforts to raise the prestige of the Greek community in Australia. Then in 1977 he was honoured by the New South Wales government with an MBE, a distinction which gave him a great deal of satisfaction. Two years later, in June 1979, at the age of eighty-nine, he was knighted.
The front page of the Sydney Morning Herald — the ‘Bible of Sydney’, as Nicholas called it — carried a large photo of the new Knight Bachelor, seated in front of his two cherished statuettes, both hands resting on the head of his walking-stick, as he beamed proudly at the camera. The newspaper made this its lead story, titling it - AN IMMIGRANT ADDS A
KNIGHTHOOD TO HIS TREASURES.
It would be an understatement to say that Nicholas was delighted at the knighthood. He was overjoyed, considering this the greatest of all honours, a priceless reward for a life of quiet achievement. The penniless Greek youth who had set out to prove himself in an alien environment had, one by one, carried off all the prizes. This latest and most-esteemed of all its trophies was the one usually reserved by an Anglo-Australian community to honour its own. His happiness was total.
One of the first to ring Sir Nicholas that Saturday morning in June was his journalist friend, Frances Shoolman. ‘Now it’s your turn to be on the front page of the Herald,’ she said, explaining that she had suggested to the newspaper that they might contact him. ‘You were so pleased when our Annette had her photo in the paper that Father John and I decided it would be nice if you were front-page news too.’ Knowing how much he admired the Herald, it was, they thought, the best present for him.
After that there were many other phone calls to his room, as well as a great many written messages of congratulation, and to each of them Nicholas wrote a separate reply in his firm, flowing hand.
If he was pro-British before his knighthood, he was doubly so the day after. Hilda Heatherington, congratulating him when he called at Lourantos Village, said, ‘Are you going to London for the investiture?’
‘I don’t think I could stand that long flight,’ he said regretfully.
‘Don’t you? But imagine what a marvellous occasion it would be.’ His eyes gleamed and he said eagerly, ‘Tell me about it. Tell me what happens.’ So Hilda described the investiture ceremony at Buckingham Palace while Nicholas listened intently, his eyes shining. Seeing this, she said mischievously, ‘But you don’t want any part of that, do you? You’re not that sort of man.’
‘But I’d love to go,’ he said quickly, refuting her. ‘I really would. Wearing a top hat and one of those coats that trail down behind, and going to Buckingham Palace — oh yes, I’d really love to do that.’ She could see that the picture appealed to his imagination, but nothing more, and they went on talking about the Village.
His investiture took place at Government House, Canberra, on Wednesday 22 August. Nicholas invited three guests: his niece, Thalia Karras, holidaying then in Sydney, and the Kapetases. At first the gentle young priest was reluctant to accept, suggesting it might be better if Nicholas took someone else who was closer to him. ‘I have nobody else,’ said Nicholas firmly.
On the morning before the investiture he was very excited when Thalia called for him at the Masonic Club where they were to meet the Kapetases, who had offered to drive them to Canberra. Thalia hoped that the trip would not prove too much for him but said nothing as they got into the priest’s Holden and set off.
It was a clear, cold, typical mid-winter day and they enjoyed their drive through the countryside, commenting on its greenness and on the large flocks of dust-brown sheep grazing on the rich paddocks around Goulburn. Passing by Lake George, they noticed the shimmering expanse of water, for so many times, as Nicholas said, Lake George was more of a mudflat than a lake, but this was a good year and the lake was full.
It was afternoon when they arrived in Canberra, driving up to the Kythera Motel where Father John had booked rooms for them. Nicholas, tired by the excitement and the long drive, went to bed early, leaving the other three to explore the city. It was the opening night of a new session of the Federal parliament, so the long white building was ablaze with light. A group of protesters, overcoated against the chilly night, milled around the front entrance, chanting, so Father John drove on without stopping.
Wednesday was cold, clear and sunny. Nicholas was very nervous and rather shaky, so the two women went into his room to help him dress. He had brought his best three-piece navy suit and a dark-blue tie splashed with paler blue, but he had refused to buy a new shirt for the event, muttering that this one was perfectly all right. When Thalia looked about the motel room for his socks, she could find only one. ‘Look under the pillow,’ said her uncle. Puzzled, she did so. Underneath the pillow was the other sock — and inside the sock, his wallet.
With a twinkle in his eyes, Nicholas explained to the two women that many years earlier, when he had been staying at a small country pub, he had put his wallet under the pillow before he went to sleep, as was his habit then, only on this occasion he had left the hotel immediately after breakfast without going back to his room. Later in the morning, when he remembered his wallet and returned to the hotel to collect it, he found that all the bed linen had been changed and there was no trace of the wallet. ‘After that experience,’ he said, ‘I devised this foolproof method of putting it in one of my socks, for there’s no way I can leave with only one sock on’. They laughed, watching him put on the other sock.
He was always a careful dresser. ‘How do I look? Do I look all right?’ he used to say before going out. This particular morning was no exception. ‘Uncle Nick, you look wonderful,’ the women assured him as they left the motel room together.
Father John dropped them at the front entrance to Government House, a white Victorian mansion with a green roof, set in extensive grounds, before parking the car and returning to join them in the crowded hall. Ushers led the visitors to their seats in a long blue and pink room with paintings and big bowls of mixed flowers. Those to be honoured sat apart at the rear.
The ceremony started at eleven o’clock. One by one, as names were called out, their owners went up to the Governor-General, Sir Zelman Cowen, to receive their decoration, leaving immediately after by a side door. At eighty-nine, Nicholas was by far the oldest recipient there, but when his name was called he walked up unhesitatingly, leaning just slightly on his stick, stopped in front of Sir Zelman and knelt on the stool. The Governor-General tapped him lightly on the shoulder with his sword and placed the red ribbon of knighthood around his neck. Sir Nicholas then rose and left the room. ‘He made his exit in a most dignified manner,’ said his niece later. ‘He looked as though he was knighted every day.’ Watching him, full of pride for him, she felt the tears trickling slowly down her cheeks. ‘He looked so old and frail.’
After the ceremony, drinks were served on the lawns outside. Sir Nicholas, proudly wearing his ribbon with the gold medallion, introduced his guests to Sir Zelman and Lady Cowen who were circulating among their visitors in the garden. Then Father Kapetas went off to get the car, for they were expected at the Canberra Hellenic Club at two o’clock for a special luncheon hosted by the Greek Embassy in honour of the new knight.
That night the Governor-General gave a dinner party for the recipients of honours and their partners. As time drew near for his departure from the motel, Sir Nicholas became more and more anxious, watching the clock constantly. He looked well in his dinner suit and bow tie but his niece noticed, with a twinge of pity, that the black suit which he had had for so many years was now a little large on his small frame. Finally Father John drove him off, leaving him at the door of Government House with a promise to return after ten. However, when Father John returned, the function was still in progress, so he stayed in the car, shivering in the chill, damp air, until well after eleven o’clock.
When the guests emerged at last into the misty night, Sir Nicholas, despite his age and the long day, was on top of the world. It had been a splendid evening, he said in answer to the priest’s query, but now he was ready for bed. He added that he had had a most interesting chat with the Governor-General about the Greek course at Armidale. Sir Zelman had been Vice-Chancellor at the University of New England when modern Greek was introduced there in 1968, several years ahead of the University of Sydney. It had been most enlightening to compare the two courses, said Sir Nicholas, stifling a yawn as the Holden headed for the motel.
After breakfast he wrote on his copy of the investiture programme, ‘The happiest day of my life. With me Father John, Mrs Kapetas and my niece, Thalia.’ Then he signed his name with a flourish: ‘Sir Nicholas Laurantus’. It was the first time he had written it. He looked thoughtfully at it for a moment, then, smiling broadly, showed it to the priest who was sitting next to him. ‘Doesn’t it look good!’ The other three agreed. Laurantus then looked around the table at them and smiled with deepest satisfaction, ‘Now — now I can die happy’.
On the way back to Sydney, Sir Nicholas felt hungry so they stopped at a café near Marulan for lunch. Thalia Karras recorded in her diary: ‘Uncle Nick had three plates of pea and ham soup and five slices of bread’.
The knighthood changed Nicholas’ life, filling him with a warm inner glow until he died. Not that he had pursued a knighthood, or even desired it, for he respected it too highly to feel that he, Nick Laurantus, should merit this tribute to excellence. But once he had grown accustomed to this thank-you from the country he loved, the knowledge that his efforts had been rewarded with an equal generosity brought him a deep, lasting satisfaction. He was a happy man.
Page 124-130, Jean Michaelides. Portrait of Uncle Nick. A Biography of Sir Nicholas Laurantus MBE. Sydney University Press, Sydney. 1987.
On the 21st August, 1979, Nicholas Laurantus travelled with neice Thalia and father John Kapetas and his wife Anna to accept his MBE from Governor-General, Sir Zelman Cowen. They stayed at the Kythera Motel, Canberra.
"Wednesday was cold, clear and sunny. Nicholas was very nervous and rather shaky, so the two women went into his room to help him dress. He had brought his best three-piece navy suit and a dark-blue tie splashed with paler blue, but he had refused to buy a new shirt for the event, muttering that this one was perfectly all right. When Thalia looked about the motel room for his socks, she could find only one. ‘Look under the pillow,’ said her uncle. Puzzled, she did so. Underneath the pillow was the other sock — and inside the sock, his wallet.
With a twinkle in his eyes, Nicholas explained to the two women that many years earlier, when he had been staying at a small country pub, had put his wallet under the pillow before he went to sleep, as was his habit then, only on this occasion he had left the hotel immediately after breakfast without going back to his room. Later in the morning, when he remembered his wallet and returned to the hotel to collect it, he found that all the bed linen had been changed and there was no trace of the wallet. ‘After that experience,’ he said, ‘I devised this foolproof method of putting it in one of my socks, for there’s no way I can leave with only one sock on’. They laughed, watching him put on the other sock".
Page 126-127, Jean Michaelides. Portrait of Uncle Nick. A Biography of Sir Nicholas Laurantus MBE. Sydney University Press, Sydney. 1987.
In 1974, on the recommendation of the Archbishop, Nicholas Laurantus was made an Archon of the Greek Orthodox Church in recognition of his many gifts to his birthplace, Kythera, to St Basil’s Homes for the Aged, and to the University of Sydney. The ceremony took place in the Archdiocesan church at Redfern one Sunday evening. The Archbishop, officiating, placed the plain black robe over Nicholas’ bowed head as he stood in front of the congregation, then, when he knelt, invested him with the title of Archon. The church was full that evening, about 500 people being present to witness the ceremony, and after it was over many of them went to the front of the church to congratulate the new Archon, this being the highest honour the Greek Orthodox Church can bestow on the laity.
Some years earlier the Greek government had awarded Nicholas the medal of the ver Cross of the Phoenix the memorative Medal of National Regeneration. The Academy of Athens also awarded him a medal for his efforts to raise the prestige of the Greek community in Australia. Then in 1977 he was honoured by the New South Wales government with an MBE, a distinction which gave him a great deal of satisfaction. Two years later, in June 1979, at the age of eighty-nine, he was knighted.
The front page of the Sydney Morning Herald — the ‘Bible of Sydney’, as Nicholas called it — carried a large photo of the new Knight Bachelor, seated in front of his two cherished statuettes, both hands resting on the head of his walking-stick, as he beamed proudly at the camera. The newspaper made this its lead story, titling it - AN IMMIGRANT ADDS A
KNIGHTHOOD TO HIS TREASURES.
It would be an understatement to say that Nicholas was delighted at the knighthood. He was overjoyed, considering this the greatest of all honours, a priceless reward for a life of quiet achievement. The penniless Greek youth who had set out to prove himself in an alien environment had, one by one, carried off all the prizes. This latest and most-esteemed of all its trophies was the one usually reserved by an Anglo-Australian community to honour its own. His happiness was total.
One of the first to ring Sir Nicholas that Saturday morning in June was his journalist friend, Frances Shoolman. ‘Now it’s your turn to be on the front page of the Herald,’ she said, explaining that she had suggested to the newspaper that they might contact him. ‘You were so pleased when our Annette had her photo in the paper that Father John and I decided it would be nice if you were front-page news too.’ Knowing how much he admired the Herald, it was, they thought, the best present for him.
After that there were many other phone calls to his room, as well as a great many written messages of congratulation, and to each of them Nicholas wrote a separate reply in his firm, flowing hand.
If he was pro-British before his knighthood, he was doubly so the day after. Hilda Heatherington, congratulating him when he called at Lourantos Village, said, ‘Are you going to London for the investiture?’
‘I don’t think I could stand that long flight,’ he said regretfully.
‘Don’t you? But imagine what a marvellous occasion it would be.’ His eyes gleamed and he said eagerly, ‘Tell me about it. Tell me what happens.’ So Hilda described the investiture ceremony at Buckingham Palace while Nicholas listened intently, his eyes shining. Seeing this, she said mischievously, ‘But you don’t want any part of that, do you? You’re not that sort of man.’
‘But I’d love to go,’ he said quickly, refuting her. ‘I really would. Wearing a top hat and one of those coats that trail down behind, and going to Buckingham Palace — oh yes, I’d really love to do that.’ She could see that the picture appealed to his imagination, but nothing more, and they went on talking about the Village.
His investiture took place at Government House, Canberra, on Wednesday 22 August. Nicholas invited three guests: his niece, Thalia Karras, holidaying then in Sydney, and the Kapetases. At first the gentle young priest was reluctant to accept, suggesting it might be better if Nicholas took someone else who was closer to him. ‘I have nobody else,’ said Nicholas firmly.
On the morning before the investiture he was very excited when Thalia called for him at the Masonic Club where they were to meet the Kapetases, who had offered to drive them to Canberra. Thalia hoped that the trip would not prove too much for him but said nothing as they got into the priest’s Holden and set off.
It was a clear, cold, typical mid-winter day and they enjoyed their drive through the countryside, commenting on its greenness and on the large flocks of dust-brown sheep grazing on the rich paddocks around Goulburn. Passing by Lake George, they noticed the shimmering expanse of water, for so many times, as Nicholas said, Lake George was more of a mudflat than a lake, but this was a good year and the lake was full.
It was afternoon when they arrived in Canberra, driving up to the Kythera Motel where Father John had booked rooms for them. Nicholas, tired by the excitement and the long drive, went to bed early, leaving the other three to explore the city. It was the opening night of a new session of the Federal parliament, so the long white building was ablaze with light. A group of protesters, overcoated against the chilly night, milled around the front entrance, chanting, so Father John drove on without stopping.
Wednesday was cold, clear and sunny. Nicholas was very nervous and rather shaky, so the two women went into his room to help him dress. He had brought his best three-piece navy suit and a dark-blue tie splashed with paler blue, but he had refused to buy a new shirt for the event, muttering that this one was perfectly all right. When Thalia looked about the motel room for his socks, she could find only one. ‘Look under the pillow,’ said her uncle. Puzzled, she did so. Underneath the pillow was the other sock — and inside the sock, his wallet.
With a twinkle in his eyes, Nicholas explained to the two women that many years earlier, when he had been staying at a small country pub, he had put his wallet under the pillow before he went to sleep, as was his habit then, only on this occasion he had left the hotel immediately after breakfast without going back to his room. Later in the morning, when he remembered his wallet and returned to the hotel to collect it, he found that all the bed linen had been changed and there was no trace of the wallet. ‘After that experience,’ he said, ‘I devised this foolproof method of putting it in one of my socks, for there’s no way I can leave with only one sock on’. They laughed, watching him put on the other sock.
He was always a careful dresser. ‘How do I look? Do I look all right?’ he used to say before going out. This particular morning was no exception. ‘Uncle Nick, you look wonderful,’ the women assured him as they left the motel room together.
Father John dropped them at the front entrance to Government House, a white Victorian mansion with a green roof, set in extensive grounds, before parking the car and returning to join them in the crowded hall. Ushers led the visitors to their seats in a long blue and pink room with paintings and big bowls of mixed flowers. Those to be honoured sat apart at the rear.
The ceremony started at eleven o’clock. One by one, as names were called out, their owners went up to the Governor-General, Sir Zelman Cowen, to receive their decoration, leaving immediately after by a side door. At eighty-nine, Nicholas was by far the oldest recipient there, but when his name was called he walked up unhesitatingly, leaning just slightly on his stick, stopped in front of Sir Zelman and knelt on the stool. The Governor-General tapped him lightly on the shoulder with his sword and placed the red ribbon of knighthood around his neck. Sir Nicholas then rose and left the room. ‘He made his exit in a most dignified manner,’ said his niece later. ‘He looked as though he was knighted every day.’ Watching him, full of pride for him, she felt the tears trickling slowly down her cheeks. ‘He looked so old and frail.’
After the ceremony, drinks were served on the lawns outside. Sir Nicholas, proudly wearing his ribbon with the gold medallion, introduced his guests to Sir Zelman and Lady Cowen who were circulating among their visitors in the garden. Then Father Kapetas went off to get the car, for they were expected at the Canberra Hellenic Club at two o’clock for a special luncheon hosted by the Greek Embassy in honour of the new knight.
That night the Governor-General gave a dinner party for the recipients of honours and their partners. As time drew near for his departure from the motel, Sir Nicholas became more and more anxious, watching the clock constantly. He looked well in his dinner suit and bow tie but his niece noticed, with a twinge of pity, that the black suit which he had had for so many years was now a little large on his small frame. Finally Father John drove him off, leaving him at the door of Government House with a promise to return after ten. However, when Father John returned, the function was still in progress, so he stayed in the car, shivering in the chill, damp air, until well after eleven o’clock.
When the guests emerged at last into the misty night, Sir Nicholas, despite his age and the long day, was on top of the world. It had been a splendid evening, he said in answer to the priest’s query, but now he was ready for bed. He added that he had had a most interesting chat with the Governor-General about the Greek course at Armidale. Sir Zelman had been Vice-Chancellor at the University of New England when modern Greek was introduced there in 1968, several years ahead of the University of Sydney. It had been most enlightening to compare the two courses, said Sir Nicholas, stifling a yawn as the Holden headed for the motel.
After breakfast he wrote on his copy of the investiture programme, ‘The happiest day of my life. With me Father John, Mrs Kapetas and my niece, Thalia.’ Then he signed his name with a flourish: ‘Sir Nicholas Laurantus’. It was the first time he had written it. He looked thoughtfully at it for a moment, then, smiling broadly, showed it to the priest who was sitting next to him. ‘Doesn’t it look good!’ The other three agreed. Laurantus then looked around the table at them and smiled with deepest satisfaction, ‘Now — now I can die happy’.
On the way back to Sydney, Sir Nicholas felt hungry so they stopped at a café near Marulan for lunch. Thalia Karras recorded in her diary: ‘Uncle Nick had three plates of pea and ham soup and five slices of bread’.
The knighthood changed Nicholas’ life, filling him with a warm inner glow until he died. Not that he had pursued a knighthood, or even desired it, for he respected it too highly to feel that he, Nick Laurantus, should merit this tribute to excellence. But once he had grown accustomed to this thank-you from the country he loved, the knowledge that his efforts had been rewarded with an equal generosity brought him a deep, lasting satisfaction. He was a happy man.
Page 124-130, Jean Michaelides. Portrait of Uncle Nick. A Biography of Sir Nicholas Laurantus MBE. Sydney University Press, Sydney. 1987.
[[picture:"Laurantus N + investiture 22 8 1979.jpeg" ID:11923]]
In 1974, on the recommendation of the Archbishop, Nicholas Laurantus was made an Archon of the Greek Orthodox Church in recognition of his many gifts to his birthplace, Kythera, to St Basil’s Homes for the Aged, and to the University of Sydney. The ceremony took place in the Archdiocesan church at Redfern one Sunday evening. The Archbishop, officiating, placed the plain black robe over Nicholas’ bowed head as he stood in front of the congregation, then, when he knelt, invested him with the title of Archon. The church was full that evening, about 500 people being present to witness the ceremony, and after it was over many of them went to the front of the church to congratulate the new Archon, this being the highest honour the Greek Orthodox Church can bestow on the laity.
Some years earlier the Greek government had awarded Nicholas the medal of the ver Cross of the Phoenix the memorative Medal of National Regeneration. The Academy of Athens also awarded him a medal for his efforts to raise the prestige of the Greek community in Australia. Then in 1977 he was honoured by the New South Wales government with an MBE, a distinction which gave him a great deal of satisfaction. Two years later, in June 1979, at the age of eighty-nine, he was knighted.
The front page of the Sydney Morning Herald — the ‘Bible of Sydney’, as Nicholas called it — carried a large photo of the new Knight Bachelor, seated in front of his two cherished statuettes, both hands resting on the head of his walking-stick, as he beamed proudly at the camera. The newspaper made this its lead story, titling it - AN IMMIGRANT ADDS A
KNIGHTHOOD TO HIS TREASURES.
It would be an understatement to say that Nicholas was delighted at the knighthood. He was overjoyed, considering this the greatest of all honours, a priceless reward for a life of quiet achievement. The penniless Greek youth who had set out to prove himself in an alien environment had, one by one, carried off all the prizes. This latest and most-esteemed of all its trophies was the one usually reserved by an Anglo-Australian community to honour its own. His happiness was total.
One of the first to ring Sir Nicholas that Saturday morning in June was his journalist friend, Frances Shoolman. ‘Now it’s your turn to be on the front page of the Herald,’ she said, explaining that she had suggested to the newspaper that they might contact him. ‘You were so pleased when our Annette had her photo in the paper that Father John and I decided it would be nice if you were front-page news too.’ Knowing how much he admired the Herald, it was, they thought, the best present for him.
After that there were many other phone calls to his room, as well as a great many written messages of congratulation, and to each of them Nicholas wrote a separate reply in his firm, flowing hand.
If he was pro-British before his knighthood, he was doubly so the day after. Hilda Heatherington, congratulating him when he called at Lourantos Village, said, ‘Are you going to London for the investiture?’
‘I don’t think I could stand that long flight,’ he said regretfully.
‘Don’t you? But imagine what a marvellous occasion it would be.’ His eyes gleamed and he said eagerly, ‘Tell me about it. Tell me what happens.’ So Hilda described the investiture ceremony at Buckingham Palace while Nicholas listened intently, his eyes shining. Seeing this, she said mischievously, ‘But you don’t want any part of that, do you? You’re not that sort of man.’
‘But I’d love to go,’ he said quickly, refuting her. ‘I really would. Wearing a top hat and one of those coats that trail down behind, and going to Buckingham Palace — oh yes, I’d really love to do that.’ She could see that the picture appealed to his imagination, but nothing more, and they went on talking about the Village.
His investiture took place at Government House, Canberra, on Wednesday 22 August. Nicholas invited three guests: his niece, Thalia Karras, holidaying then in Sydney, and the Kapetases. At first the gentle young priest was reluctant to accept, suggesting it might be better if Nicholas took someone else who was closer to him. ‘I have nobody else,’ said Nicholas firmly.
On the morning before the investiture he was very excited when Thalia called for him at the Masonic Club where they were to meet the Kapetases, who had offered to drive them to Canberra. Thalia hoped that the trip would not prove too much for him but said nothing as they got into the priest’s Holden and set off.
It was a clear, cold, typical mid-winter day and they enjoyed their drive through the countryside, commenting on its greenness and on the large flocks of dust-brown sheep grazing on the rich paddocks around Goulburn. Passing by Lake George, they noticed the shimmering expanse of water, for so many times, as Nicholas said, Lake George was more of a mudflat than a lake, but this was a good year and the lake was full.
It was afternoon when they arrived in Canberra, driving up to the Kythera Motel where Father John had booked rooms for them. Nicholas, tired by the excitement and the long drive, went to bed early, leaving the other three to explore the city. It was the opening night of a new session of the Federal parliament, so the long white building was ablaze with light. A group of protesters, overcoated against the chilly night, milled around the front entrance, chanting, so Father John drove on without stopping.
Wednesday was cold, clear and sunny. Nicholas was very nervous and rather shaky, so the two women went into his room to help him dress. He had brought his best three-piece navy suit and a dark-blue tie splashed with paler blue, but he had refused to buy a new shirt for the event, muttering that this one was perfectly all right. When Thalia looked about the motel room for his socks, she could find only one. ‘Look under the pillow,’ said her uncle. Puzzled, she did so. Underneath the pillow was the other sock — and inside the sock, his wallet.
With a twinkle in his eyes, Nicholas explained to the two women that many years earlier, when he had been staying at a small country pub, he had put his wallet under the pillow before he went to sleep, as was his habit then, only on this occasion he had left the hotel immediately after breakfast without going back to his room. Later in the morning, when he remembered his wallet and returned to the hotel to collect it, he found that all the bed linen had been changed and there was no trace of the wallet. ‘After that experience,’ he said, ‘I devised this foolproof method of putting it in one of my socks, for there’s no way I can leave with only one sock on’. They laughed, watching him put on the other sock.
He was always a careful dresser. ‘How do I look? Do I look all right?’ he used to say before going out. This particular morning was no exception. ‘Uncle Nick, you look wonderful,’ the women assured him as they left the motel room together.
Father John dropped them at the front entrance to Government House, a white Victorian mansion with a green roof, set in extensive grounds, before parking the car and returning to join them in the crowded hall. Ushers led the visitors to their seats in a long blue and pink room with paintings and big bowls of mixed flowers. Those to be honoured sat apart at the rear.
The ceremony started at eleven o’clock. One by one, as names were called out, their owners went up to the Governor-General, Sir Zelman Cowen, to receive their decoration, leaving immediately after by a side door. At eighty-nine, Nicholas was by far the oldest recipient there, but when his name was called he walked up unhesitatingly, leaning just slightly on his stick, stopped in front of Sir Zelman and knelt on the stool. The Governor-General tapped him lightly on the shoulder with his sword and placed the red ribbon of knighthood around his neck. Sir Nicholas then rose and left the room. ‘He made his exit in a most dignified manner,’ said his niece later. ‘He looked as though he was knighted every day.’ Watching him, full of pride for him, she felt the tears trickling slowly down her cheeks. ‘He looked so old and frail.’
After the ceremony, drinks were served on the lawns outside. Sir Nicholas, proudly wearing his ribbon with the gold medallion, introduced his guests to Sir Zelman and Lady Cowen who were circulating among their visitors in the garden. Then Father Kapetas went off to get the car, for they were expected at the Canberra Hellenic Club at two o’clock for a special luncheon hosted by the Greek Embassy in honour of the new knight.
That night the Governor-General gave a dinner party for the recipients of honours and their partners. As time drew near for his departure from the motel, Sir Nicholas became more and more anxious, watching the clock constantly. He looked well in his dinner suit and bow tie but his niece noticed, with a twinge of pity, that the black suit which he had had for so many years was now a little large on his small frame. Finally Father John drove him off, leaving him at the door of Government House with a promise to return after ten. However, when Father John returned, the function was still in progress, so he stayed in the car, shivering in the chill, damp air, until well after eleven o’clock.
When the guests emerged at last into the misty night, Sir Nicholas, despite his age and the long day, was on top of the world. It had been a splendid evening, he said in answer to the priest’s query, but now he was ready for bed. He added that he had had a most interesting chat with the Governor-General about the Greek course at Armidale. Sir Zelman had been Vice-Chancellor at the University of New England when modern Greek was introduced there in 1968, several years ahead of the University of Sydney. It had been most enlightening to compare the two courses, said Sir Nicholas, stifling a yawn as the Holden headed for the motel.
After breakfast he wrote on his copy of the investiture programme, ‘The happiest day of my life. With me Father John, Mrs Kapetas and my niece, Thalia.’ Then he signed his name with a flourish: ‘Sir Nicholas Laurantus’. It was the first time he had written it. He looked thoughtfully at it for a moment, then, smiling broadly, showed it to the priest who was sitting next to him. ‘Doesn’t it look good!’ The other three agreed. Laurantus then looked around the table at them and smiled with deepest satisfaction, ‘Now — now I can die happy’.
On the way back to Sydney, Sir Nicholas felt hungry so they stopped at a café near Marulan for lunch. Thalia Karras recorded in her diary: ‘Uncle Nick had three plates of pea and ham soup and five slices of bread’.
The knighthood changed Nicholas’ life, filling him with a warm inner glow until he died. Not that he had pursued a knighthood, or even desired it, for he respected it too highly to feel that he, Nick Laurantus, should merit this tribute to excellence. But once he had grown accustomed to this thank-you from the country he loved, the knowledge that his efforts had been rewarded with an equal generosity brought him a deep, lasting satisfaction. He was a happy man.
Page 124-130, Jean Michaelides. Portrait of Uncle Nick. A Biography of Sir Nicholas Laurantus MBE. Sydney University Press, Sydney. 1987.
This is the most amazing website for someone like me, whose Kytherian heritage would otherwise be almost inaccessible. My grandfather was Manuel Marsellos, born in Karvounathes 2 Feb 1890. He migrated to Australia in 1908 and married in 1914. Unfortunately he died when my mother was only 5 years old, and there was no contact with his family, so we know very little about his background. We believe his father was Peter and his mother was Sarah (she was apparently born in France). Does anyone know anything about the family?
Xenophon was born in Karvounathes, Kythera, in 1914. He came out to Australia in 1928 as part of a group of nine young Kytherian boys sent to work in Greek cafes.
[You can see a photograph of Xenophon with five of the other young boys on their embarkation from Kythera on kythera-family by searching under Xenofon on the internal search engine. The entry etitled A journey for a better Life was submitted by a son of one of the "boy men", Arthur Sklavos.]
Immediately after arriving in Sydney he journeyed by rail to Wagga Wagga, and commenced work at the Popular Cafe. Its proprietors were Spiros and Stamatina Psaltis.
'I had a tag on my coat here (pointing to his chest) - "Put him out at Wagga"...I was a very luck boy, I come to a place, I never knew a soul...they took me in as their own son...they didn't have any family themselves...I was with them from the day I come to Wagga till they died, except nearly six years when I was in the army. That's the only time I was away from them...I went to enlist...in the hope to see my parents.
Unfortunately, I wasn't naturalised at that time. It was 1939...Not long after that it was in the newspaper that I was naturalised ....So a fortnight later I was conscripted...That bit of paper, naturalisation...it never changed me...I took it (not being accepted for army service without first being naturalised) a bit hard because I was still the same person...(I went) to the islands in the Pacific...was at New Guinea...I came back to Australia on the hospital boat...I finished up (as a) sergeant.'
Xenophon was discharged on 26 June, 1946. He then returned to Wagga Wagga and took over the Popular Cafe from the Psaltis's.
Ten years later Xenophon married Patricia whom he describes as a 'third-generation Australian'. The ceremony was conducted by a Greek priest who was brought in from Sydney for the occasion in Wagga Wagga's local Anglican church. The couple have two sons, Peter and Spiros.
In 1968, Xenophon sold the cafe business. His only trip back to Greece was in 1986. 'I went with my wife and Spiros...You know, I did like to go and see me sisters. But apart from that, I didn't like it - because the home I was born, there's nothing there'.
Reflecting on being a Greek-Australian Xenophon recalls: 'Australian fella (said to me once)..."Doný worry boy" he says, "You're one of us now". He says, "We accept you as one of us". Well that hurts, doesn't it. He says "We accept you as one of us". Well what the hell am I? In other words he still looks at me as wog, doesn't he? Well that hurts'.
From, Images of Home, p. 156-157.
*There are about 33 other Kytherian images and entries in the book, Images of Home.
Hale & Iremonger
PO Box 205,
Alexandria, NSW. 2015.
Ph: 02 9656 2955
Fax: 02 9550 2012
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Website: www.haleiremonger.com
Documentary photographer Effy Alexakis and social historian Leonard Janiszewski have been researching their history and contemporary presence since 1982, and have made many field trips throughout both Australia and Greece, painstakingly piecing together what has become a giant jigsaw puzzle.
Effy Alexakis:
"The idea for this project began in Greece in 1985 whilst I was staying with the parents of family friends in the village of Mitata, on the island of Kythera. Although I had already noticed many deserted homes throughout Greece, it wasn't until I saw a whole street of deserted homes and ventured inside them that I realised that many of the people had left their homes with the intention of returning. Letters, photographs and other personal documents had been left behind. Like pieces of a huge jigsaw puzzle, these items provided small clues about the life within these homes. Australia's migration history is to be found in these homes. Unfortunately, through time, much is being lost."
