A number of years ago, I had occasion to fly, one Friday afternoon, back to New Zealand where I was living at the time. On arriving at the gate, I was surprised that the wonderful Qantas staff at the gate had upgraded me to Business Class. My seat was in the centre aisle, and so I took my seat, opened my book, and sipped on the glass of Champagne offered by the crew.

Shortly after, an older gentleman arrived at the seat adjacent to mine, put his bag on the seat, his passport on the armrest, and proceeded to take off his coat. As you do, I glanced at the passport in front of me and noticed, as you would, that it was an Australian Diplomatic Passport. The gentleman, on taking his seat, said hello, and I ventured to ask how he managed to get the passport to which he replied that he had worked for the Australian Diplomatic service most of his career.

Being interested, I asked him what he actually did, and he advised that he was John Dauth, the Australian High Commissioner to New Zealand – a lofty position indeed. Having introduced myself, John and I continued to talk throughout the three hour flight about the diplomatic service and my software company, Intilecta Corporation. A new glasses of Aussie red each later, and just prior to the plane landing in Auckland, I turned to John and asked “John, excuse me for being forward, but how does one get an invitation to the dinner parties held at the Embassy residence..?”.

I was surprised when John turned to me and said “Des, in your case, just give me your card and I will make it happen..?”. After the plan landed, and business cards exchanged, I said goodbye to my new friend not really expecting any further communication.

Naturally when I arrived back down in Hamilton, I was keen to relay the story of my flight to my wife, and then thought nothing more about it until Monday morning when, sitting in my home office, I got a call from a young lady, who identified herself as the Personal Assistant to the Australian High Commissioner. She asked me if my wife and I would be available to attend the residence for dinner a few weeks hence. Naturally, I was extremely keen to accept. The formal crested invitation arrived a few days later, along with the guest list including: Fiji Ambassador to New Zealand and wife, NZ Head of Commerce and Trade and wife, NZ Head of Foreign Affairs and wife, Chairman of NZ Post and wife (my company had just started to do some pilot work with a subsidiary of NZ Post),  a few other diplomats and their partners, the Mayor of Wellington and his wife, and Des and Debra..!!

After drinks in the lobby, we were ushered into the main banquet room, and prior to entrees, John, from the centre of the table, addressed the group thanking them all for attending the informal occasion, and suggested that all enjoy the Australian wines, and hospitality, which we all did.

When entrees where finished, John once again rose to his feet, and said the following “I am going to something unusual this evening. Des Kennedy, over here on my left, I have only known for a few weeks having made his acquaintance on a flight to Auckland, but Des has a very interesting business and I would like to give him the opportunity to talk about what his company does and what makes it so different. So, Des, please take the floor..?”.

After gulping a little red, I rose to my feet and spoke, off the cuff, for about fifteen minutes on my company, and its software product, to these distinguished people including the Chairman of the company we had been pursuing – and he was very enthusiastic about what I had to say, to the point that we did get the business…!!

Since then I have been back a number of times to the Embassy and, since John, has now been appointed Australian High Commissioner to the United Kingdom, I have an open invitation to dinner in London at Australia House. Further, the High Commissioner from Fiji has become a good friend, and my wife and I attended their daughter’s wedding last year.

The message is that you never know who is beside you, or what contacts you can make..!!

I left Belfast at the age of 27, with my then wife and two young children, and migrated to Sydney, Australia. When in Belfast I had worked for a number of companies including the IT function at the largest bakery in Belfast, the Ormo Bakery.

After a number of years in Sydney, I was offered a consulting role in Broken Hill putting a fibre network down the mine shafts, and broadband across the mine surface. As part of that project, I needed to spend nine weeks actually on site working at the mine. With the heat of the day, and working down the mine, I got into a routine of going back to the motel after work to clean up and then heading out for some food and ales.

On this particular day, I was extremely hot and I decided to stop over for a beer rather than heading straight back to the motel and so I pulled over to the first pub I could find in Argent Street, the main drag through Broken Hill.

The pub was empty other than two blokes drinking at the bar when I entered. Having been asked what I wanted, and responding with “any beer would be good as long as it is cold”, one of the two blokes leant across the bar and asked “what part of Belfast are you from..?”.

Now being from that wonderful city, I decided, understandably, to be cautious about my response and so replied with “North Belfast”.

This response then drew a second question “What part of North Belfast..?”

Getting even more concerned, I responded with “Ballysillan” – not expecting the gentleman to have any clue as to where exactly I had lived.

The following question came back in raised tones “Whereabouts in Ballysillan are you from.?”.

I thought to myself, “what the heck is going on here..?”, and replied “Tyndale Park” to which the gentleman asked “What number..?”.

As it turned out, Ian had lived immediately behind me in Tyndale Park, we had gone to the same school, Boy’s Model Secondary School, although I was a year older. He had also worked in the Bakery at the same time but had worked different shifts – but knew lots of the same people.

He had migrated, as a plumber, with his wife and three children to Adelaide. I had migrated with my wife and two children to Sydney, and we met for the very first time in a pub on the main street of Broken Hill..!!  Small World indeed..!!

Contributor: Des Kennedy 

My mother-in-law, Norma Bathurst, who is approaching 80, spends quite a bit of her time at the local library teaching the “old people” how to use the internet, the keyboard, and computers in general. Interestingly, she is teaching folk who are generally younger than her – in their 60’s and 70’s. Norma is extremely conversant with email, Internet Browser, etc.

It was a quiet white room. About six people sat in reclining chairs next to long silver polls. 
Small clear veins snaked their way into each person’s arm. I was hooked up to one of these silver trees. Plastic veins carried chemo into my arm on a robotic schedule. 

This was my first time sitting in this chair, the chemo chair. There was a strange routine. I remember feeling support from every fellow traveler and family. I was alone. The first hour was hazy, quickly lost. Just after that first hour a series of chimes on the silver tree played a short alert and I started to shiver and shake. “Chemo sucks”, I remember thinking. I tried to tough it out.

“Hey”, the man in the chair to my right yelled at the nurse. I was starting to pass out. “Hey he needs help now,” my unknown friend insisted getting the nurse to arrive just as consciousness slipped.
I saw panic in the nurse’s eyes as realization of my growing allergic reaction set in. “Don’t worry, you are going to be…,” and with that I was gone for a moment. When I came back a nurse and a doctor told me I had had a reaction and was, “stable” now.

People around me, my fellow chemo travelers who I never met, had protected my life as if it were their own. They knew what I did not. Their unselfish connection saved my life.

The hardest part about being a Brit family living in Australia, is the distance between our kids and their grandparents. Standard phone calls never really cut it and you begin to feel the kids becoming more distant and their grandparents more saddened.

That was until we turned to digital to help out.

Now, instead of having to demand Miss 9 & Mr. 7 make an effort to call their grandparents each week, they’re up and talking / interacting before we’ve even stepped out of bed. Yep, thanks to digital, we now have virtual babysitters.

Here’s how it works…

Every Saturday morning, Miss 9 goes down to the office and Skype videos her Nana, before they both go onto Club Penguin or do Miss 9′s Mathletics homework together. At the same time, Mr. 7 goes to the lounge, puts on his Xbox 360 headset, connects to Xbox live and plays a co-op game of Horde with his granddad and cousin [from another house in the UK] whilst talking their tactics through with each other.

Not only are their relationships growing stronger, we get an undisturbed lie-in… and don’t even have to worry about the cost of the 3 hour call/game.

:happy sigh: oh digital world, you are so utterly fabulous.

Thanks for your Connection Story, Jen!