It is here, in this small room that we would be likely to meet Harry Calthorpe. While his work as a successful and well respected stock and station agent keeps him away on workdays, Harry Calthorpe is the undisputed head of this household. Admired for his business acumen, his strong sense of community and his genuine compassion for people, he is a devoted husband and father. To the girls he is ‘Pop’.

Born John Henry Calthorpe, but always known as ‘Harry’, his love of the land drew him to a career as a stock and station agent in Queanbeyan in partnership with Woodgers. His sense of duty was forged before that as a young soldier in the First Light Horse Regiment, trained in Egypt and sent to Gallipoli. There, in August 1915, he suffered wounds to his face from an exploding shell.  He was sent to convalesce in Egypt, and then was repatriated home. His wounds never fully healed, requiring regular radium treatment in Sydney and he always preferred to be photographed showing his ‘best side’.

By day, this room is used for breakfast and lunch which came through the servery. Mrs Calthorpe also does her sewing in here.  Come the evening, after a day’s work and dinner with his girls, it’s Harry’s domain – his home office. Here, he will be on the ‘blower’ each evening because it is the best time to talk to farmers, who are only really at home after the sun has set. 

Harry has an ever widening circle of friends and acquaintances, made through his support of the RSL, the Bushfire Brigade, Legacy, Rotary and the Salvation Army. He loves sport too – polo, golf and bowls – but especially the sport of kings – racing. 

Harry’s head for business and his heart for people is legendary.

A light went out on Mugga Way the day Harry died. 

The best thing about school holidays is going to work with Pop. He’s a stock and station agent.  That means he helps farmers to buy and sell animals, land and equipment.  He often takes me to sheep and cattle sales. Our day starts before sunrise. Pop calls the sunrise ‘God’s Art Gallery’ because it’s always so beautiful, and never the same.

My job is to sit up on the railing of the sheep yard and when the drovers and dogs round the sheep in, I have to push them with a long stick to make them run up the race. Pop is at the other end, swinging a gate to sort them out. The sheep get very noisy and jump up on each other. When the work is done, the men all have their Smoko and some fresh brewed billy tea.  I am allowed to join in of course.