Monday, 10 August 2020
I was born with a tarnished silver spoon in my mouth. My paternal grandfather came to Australia as a fatherless teenager, and became a wealthy jeweller. By 1901 he was prosperous enough to pay for three portraits of his daughters by the state's leading portrait artist, and he lived in a two story home with four servants. None of this money came down to the next generation, I might add. My parents were small businessmen who lost their business and ended up as unskilled labourers, leaving me to climb my own way up into the middle class. I wouldn't want all you socialists and assorted Marxists to think I am speaking from some sort of privileged background. But I would like to ask you this: would you prefer to live as the owner of big jewellery store in 1901, or as a shop assistant in such a store today?