Norm Smith’s successful St Joseph’s team, 1976. His son Stephen is third from
the right, front row.
the right, front row.
By Bruce Phillips
OUR Norm Smith was a footballer with one eye and a banged-up body. His skills were ordinary. He couldn’t kick a ball more than 25 metres and overhead marks always required two grabs. He more than compensated with guts and determination.
Norm brought the best out in people, uniting them around a shared purpose. He had a way of making your day better. The comedian, the healer, the philosopher with a constantly positive outlook. He never changed. A born leader he didn’t have to do much to make people follow.
They say sport is a metaphor for life. Norm’s was one big powerful metaphor, channeling the experience of incredible hardship and deprivation into the game - and the life - he loved.
OUR Norm Smith was a footballer with one eye and a banged-up body. His skills were ordinary. He couldn’t kick a ball more than 25 metres and overhead marks always required two grabs. He more than compensated with guts and determination.
Norm brought the best out in people, uniting them around a shared purpose. He had a way of making your day better. The comedian, the healer, the philosopher with a constantly positive outlook. He never changed. A born leader he didn’t have to do much to make people follow.
They say sport is a metaphor for life. Norm’s was one big powerful metaphor, channeling the experience of incredible hardship and deprivation into the game - and the life - he loved.
Norm Smith was a caretaker in more ways than one Born in 1937 to Linda and Alfred Smith, Norm and his older brother Alfie lived next to the railway line near the Sunbeam coal mine in Korumburra where Alfred worked. While hanging out the clothes one day Linda was bitten by a snake, walked the line with two small children to seek help from a neighbour, and narrowly survived.
After the birth of his sister Janet in 1939 the family moved to a farmhouse on the edge of town. It was cold with one wooden stove. Norm and Alfie played in an open drain nearby and – perhaps not surprisingly – Norm suffered two bouts of pneumonia.
Corporal punishment was liberally dispensed at the local primary school. These were the war years and the children regularly practised racing to the underground air raid shelter at the front of the school. The Smiths moved again to a bigger two-bedroom house in Shellcot Road where another brother, Bryan, known as “Butch”, arrived in 1943. (Bryan was later to become a famous runner, winner of the 1991 Sydney to Melbourne, and has been described as “the greatest Australian-born ultra runner of all time”)
Water was heated in a backyard copper once a week which the children all bathed in. Alfred scrounged firewood wherever he could. He kept ferrets to catch rabbits the family survived on, along with eels, mushrooms and errant fruit and vegetables. Alfred repeatedly used old linoleum to cover holes in the boys’ shoes.
At age 11 Norm suffered a life-changing injury: he and Alfie were using rubber bands to flick matches at bees when Norm was struck in the eye. The eye was removed at Melbourne’s Eye and Ear Hospital where Norm stayed for a month. He wore an eye patch for three months before a glass eye was fitted.
Life returned to a form of normality. Norm and Alfie could not resist the call of the bush – catching yabbies, minnows and eels; liberating plums, apples, pears and corn from farms; building huts, lighting fires and baking potatoes. The boys experimented smoking an array of substances, including gum tree bark, dry dock weed, cabbage leaves and even dry horse manure, which they concluded was “a bit strong”.
While they roamed the bush, their parents were struggling financially and emotionally. The arrival of a fifth child – Karen – after a three-day labour in 1951 proved too much for Linda. This was a profoundly defining moment for the family. Linda was transferred to a psychiatric facility in Melbourne. She would be in and out of such places for the next 22 years. Karen was adopted out and the family never got to see her.
Lacking support, Alfred was forced to place three of the four remaining children in orphanages. With Alfie now working in Melbourne, Norm and Janet went to separate homes in Broadmeadows while Bryan went to one in Mornington.
The orphanage was run with military-style discipline and Norm discovered he needed to stick up for himself and was constantly in fights. He spent a lonely 13th birthday on his own missing his family. Each night he would bath and dress the smaller children in their pajamas. One day when his father visited, Norm threatened to run away if he, Janet and Bryan could not come home.
Alfred relented and the children were brought back to Shellcot Road. Norm left school at 13 years nine months. He worked on farms, at the butter factory and a local clothing factory.
After the birth of his sister Janet in 1939 the family moved to a farmhouse on the edge of town. It was cold with one wooden stove. Norm and Alfie played in an open drain nearby and – perhaps not surprisingly – Norm suffered two bouts of pneumonia.
Corporal punishment was liberally dispensed at the local primary school. These were the war years and the children regularly practised racing to the underground air raid shelter at the front of the school. The Smiths moved again to a bigger two-bedroom house in Shellcot Road where another brother, Bryan, known as “Butch”, arrived in 1943. (Bryan was later to become a famous runner, winner of the 1991 Sydney to Melbourne, and has been described as “the greatest Australian-born ultra runner of all time”)
Water was heated in a backyard copper once a week which the children all bathed in. Alfred scrounged firewood wherever he could. He kept ferrets to catch rabbits the family survived on, along with eels, mushrooms and errant fruit and vegetables. Alfred repeatedly used old linoleum to cover holes in the boys’ shoes.
At age 11 Norm suffered a life-changing injury: he and Alfie were using rubber bands to flick matches at bees when Norm was struck in the eye. The eye was removed at Melbourne’s Eye and Ear Hospital where Norm stayed for a month. He wore an eye patch for three months before a glass eye was fitted.
Life returned to a form of normality. Norm and Alfie could not resist the call of the bush – catching yabbies, minnows and eels; liberating plums, apples, pears and corn from farms; building huts, lighting fires and baking potatoes. The boys experimented smoking an array of substances, including gum tree bark, dry dock weed, cabbage leaves and even dry horse manure, which they concluded was “a bit strong”.
While they roamed the bush, their parents were struggling financially and emotionally. The arrival of a fifth child – Karen – after a three-day labour in 1951 proved too much for Linda. This was a profoundly defining moment for the family. Linda was transferred to a psychiatric facility in Melbourne. She would be in and out of such places for the next 22 years. Karen was adopted out and the family never got to see her.
Lacking support, Alfred was forced to place three of the four remaining children in orphanages. With Alfie now working in Melbourne, Norm and Janet went to separate homes in Broadmeadows while Bryan went to one in Mornington.
The orphanage was run with military-style discipline and Norm discovered he needed to stick up for himself and was constantly in fights. He spent a lonely 13th birthday on his own missing his family. Each night he would bath and dress the smaller children in their pajamas. One day when his father visited, Norm threatened to run away if he, Janet and Bryan could not come home.
Alfred relented and the children were brought back to Shellcot Road. Norm left school at 13 years nine months. He worked on farms, at the butter factory and a local clothing factory.
Norm’s beautifully coiffured hair à la Elvis He started playing football, the game for which he would develop an everlasting passion. Things were well and truly on the up and by 1956 Norm was able to buy a Standard Ten four-door car – “pink with a white roof” – and was frequently seen at dances and movies. Around this time, he discovered Elvis, and fastidiously copied his well-oiled flick-back hairstyle. He was a Californian Poppy man constantly using his comb to pull through his shiny black locks. Norm cut a fine figure with his beaming smile and twinkling mischievous good eye. To add to the look, he had a repertoire of Elvis songs he whistled endlessly with “Love Me Tender” a favourite. Indeed, Norm’s whistling became his trademark that always heralded a warm welcome wherever he went.
The number of movies and dances made Norm and his Korumburra friends realise that “Wonthaggi was the place to go”. It was at the fire brigade dance he met Valery Beattie from a big Catholic family. She fell hopelessly for the Elvis routine and he was so smitten he would drive the 60kms to Wonthaggi and back just to take her home from work. On weekends he slept in his car at the recreation reserve until Val’s mum took pity on him and allowed him to stay with the Beatties.
The number of movies and dances made Norm and his Korumburra friends realise that “Wonthaggi was the place to go”. It was at the fire brigade dance he met Valery Beattie from a big Catholic family. She fell hopelessly for the Elvis routine and he was so smitten he would drive the 60kms to Wonthaggi and back just to take her home from work. On weekends he slept in his car at the recreation reserve until Val’s mum took pity on him and allowed him to stay with the Beatties.
Norm and Val on their wedding day, 1959
They were married at St Josephs in 1959 and Norm became a dedicated Catholic. He was 20 and Val 19. Having played football for Korumburra and Kongwak, Norm was now a key figure for the Wonthaggi Rovers. Like Val, it was to become a life-long love affair.
Following Janet’s wedding in 1960, Norm was hurt when his dad told him he’d endured “years of hell”, that he was off to start a new life and that they would never see him again – and they never did.
By 1961 the couple were share farming at Kongwak. Norm recalled: “We did not know where our next feed was coming from but we were just so happy … our strength and love for each other carried us through.”
By 1964 Norm and Val had moved to Wonthaggi for good. Living in a number of houses they finally dropped anchor at 33 Fincher Street. It was nothing for Norm to work multiple jobs. A long-term position at Archies Creek butter factory earnt him the nickname “Storeman Norman”. Two other nicknames were “The Whistler” and “Pirate”. He also worked for Dalton’s Tyre Service and the Workmen’s Club.
Norm carved a name for himself captaining and coaching Rovers seconds, playing in a number of premiership teams and winning three league best and fairests. He was an inspirational leader, willing himself to each contest, setting an example, showing insane courage and not asking his players do anything he wouldn’t do himself. He even made time to coach the boys at St Josephs Primary to great success. Young fellows ate out of his hand.
Following Janet’s wedding in 1960, Norm was hurt when his dad told him he’d endured “years of hell”, that he was off to start a new life and that they would never see him again – and they never did.
By 1961 the couple were share farming at Kongwak. Norm recalled: “We did not know where our next feed was coming from but we were just so happy … our strength and love for each other carried us through.”
By 1964 Norm and Val had moved to Wonthaggi for good. Living in a number of houses they finally dropped anchor at 33 Fincher Street. It was nothing for Norm to work multiple jobs. A long-term position at Archies Creek butter factory earnt him the nickname “Storeman Norman”. Two other nicknames were “The Whistler” and “Pirate”. He also worked for Dalton’s Tyre Service and the Workmen’s Club.
Norm carved a name for himself captaining and coaching Rovers seconds, playing in a number of premiership teams and winning three league best and fairests. He was an inspirational leader, willing himself to each contest, setting an example, showing insane courage and not asking his players do anything he wouldn’t do himself. He even made time to coach the boys at St Josephs Primary to great success. Young fellows ate out of his hand.
By 1967 Norm was also club president. Usually when we hear about a president’s fall it involves an uprising or use of military. This was different: during an end-of-season football trip to Bairnsdale, Norm suffered serious injuries in a bizarre early-morning accident that saw him fall more than 10 metres from the second floor of the Commercial Hotel.
Norm’s fall made front page news in The Express
According to Norm it was a doorway – not a window: “I walked out the second floor balcony door, the only trouble was they removed the balcony two years before.” As well as cracking the concrete (Norm’s humour) he broke his left hip, shattered his wrist, had nine stitches to his eyebrow and a steel pin and four stainless steel screws inserted in his left leg – the latter remaining for the rest of his life. Suffice to say he did not play in 1968.
Norm loved a beer and everyone marveled how he could drink copious amounts but stay sober. Few realised he drank shandies (combination of beer and lemonade) and explains why when others were sleeping off hangovers on footy trips he was at early mass.
By 1976 the Smith had had three children – Stephen, Jamie and Kelly. His mum had settled comfortably in Korumburra. The family became regular Cape Paterson campers. While he had retired from football, Norm was fit enough to win the $500 first prize in the Wonthaggi Festival coal shoveling competition at the ripe old age of 41.
Norm loved a beer and everyone marveled how he could drink copious amounts but stay sober. Few realised he drank shandies (combination of beer and lemonade) and explains why when others were sleeping off hangovers on footy trips he was at early mass.
By 1976 the Smith had had three children – Stephen, Jamie and Kelly. His mum had settled comfortably in Korumburra. The family became regular Cape Paterson campers. While he had retired from football, Norm was fit enough to win the $500 first prize in the Wonthaggi Festival coal shoveling competition at the ripe old age of 41.
A proud dad with sons Stephen, left, and Jamie, right.
In the late 80s Norm’s life took another dramatic twist: sister Karen, whom he has not seen in 37 years, got in contact. “I kept looking at the phone wondering what I would say,” he recalled. Karen had moved many times, became a nurse, and did not learn she was adopted until adulthood. They reconnected immediately, with Karen and her family making frequent visits, especially to Cape Paterson which became the focal point of many family reunions. Norm was so proud of Karen, introducing her to anyone they ran into and in constant contact. He described it as “a special and wonderful feeling” to have his baby sister back.
Norm and his daughter Kelly shared a special bond In 1986 Norm left Daltons and worked as cleaner-caretaker at Wonthaggi Primary where he also taught woodwork. Motivated by his own experience, Norm and Val also hosted a number of foster children over several years. One turned up 30 years later to thank them. Norm finished his working life doing gardening and handyman work. By this time he no longer had to visit Melbourne to get his glass eye cleaned and polished, having discovered the local dental technician could do that for nothing.
Despite all she had suffered Linda died happy at aged 94 in a Loch nursing home in 2004. Alfred, Bryan, Karen and Alfie all predeceased Norm.
He agonised over having an 80th birthday but it took place at the Workmen’s Club in late 2017 where he was presented with the “Norm Smith Medal”. He recalled: “I was so proud and happy to have had the opportunity to have all my friends and family around me.”
Despite all she had suffered Linda died happy at aged 94 in a Loch nursing home in 2004. Alfred, Bryan, Karen and Alfie all predeceased Norm.
He agonised over having an 80th birthday but it took place at the Workmen’s Club in late 2017 where he was presented with the “Norm Smith Medal”. He recalled: “I was so proud and happy to have had the opportunity to have all my friends and family around me.”
Val and Norm - a union that lasted almost 60 years
Norm Smith died on ANZAC day 2019 – the day Australia remembers those who served. It was just two months before his and Val’s 60th wedding anniversary. Widely remembered as a rascal, jokester and comedian, his real story is one of incredible endurance, resilience, gratitude, kindness and courage.
This story draws heavily on Norm Smith’s unpublished memoir kindly provided by his daughter Kelly Smith. The author is indebted to Kelly, brothers Stephen and Jamie Smith, Aldo and Vera Sartori, Colin and Caroline Donohue and Teresa Coldebella
This story draws heavily on Norm Smith’s unpublished memoir kindly provided by his daughter Kelly Smith. The author is indebted to Kelly, brothers Stephen and Jamie Smith, Aldo and Vera Sartori, Colin and Caroline Donohue and Teresa Coldebella