Vic Benetti: Everyone remembers the smile. By Frank Coldebella and Catherine Watson
COMMENTS about the recently departed tend to be over-generous but Vic Benetti’s epitaph was spot on: “A kind humble man who found joy in helping others.”
Everyone remembers the smile. That and the Tuscan villa he built when he was a young bachelor. In Italy it wouldn’t have attracted a second look. In Wonthaggi it was a landmark. Cars still slow as they pass.
Vic was just over a month shy of his 98th birthday when he died on August 31. He’d spent the past few years living at Rose Lodge, after his beloved Maureen died. There were always visitors: five of his seven children live locally, as well as many of his 17 grandchildren and 15 great-grandchildren.
COMMENTS about the recently departed tend to be over-generous but Vic Benetti’s epitaph was spot on: “A kind humble man who found joy in helping others.”
Everyone remembers the smile. That and the Tuscan villa he built when he was a young bachelor. In Italy it wouldn’t have attracted a second look. In Wonthaggi it was a landmark. Cars still slow as they pass.
Vic was just over a month shy of his 98th birthday when he died on August 31. He’d spent the past few years living at Rose Lodge, after his beloved Maureen died. There were always visitors: five of his seven children live locally, as well as many of his 17 grandchildren and 15 great-grandchildren.
Vic’s father Emelio (later Ben to his Australian mates) came out from Italy in 1925 and the family followed 12 months later. Vic was born in Wonthaggi in 1927. His mother died when he was seven. When he spoke about her, even in his later years, it would bring him to tears.
Vic’s son Brendan Benetti said Emilio, a stonemason and carpenter, applied for a job at the State Coal Mine and was given a job to make wheelbarrows. “They were testing him out. Wheelbarrows are actually quite difficult because they've got so many different angles. They gave him a big pile of wood and left him to it. He finished in three days then they gave him the job.”
Like his father, Vic was a skilled tradesman, part of a cohort who were apprenticed to the State Coal Mine. He started at 15, learning from Norman Smith, a legendary blacksmith and farrier. In an interview with the Post in 2013, Vic recalled the work: “We did all sorts of iron work. I can remember us making a new dray wheel. It was five foot six inches diameter [almost two metres]. We rolled it up and had to bevel the two ends. We worked flat out while the welding heat lasted.”
He worked as a blacksmith/farrier for more than 50 years, including some 30 years at the mine. He had a reputation as one of the best farriers in the business. Locals said he only needed to look at a horse’s hoof to forge a perfectly fitting shoe for the mine ponies.
In 1988, in his early 60s and 20 years after the mine closed, he entered an international farriers’ challenge at Werribee Park. The 31 competitors in the Eagle Eye event had 10 seconds to study a horse’s hoof and 20 minutes to hand-work the shoe. Vic won in a canter, not because he was the fastest but because he was the most accurate.
Coal mining in Wonthaggi depended on the pit ponies. When John Bordignon was working at the State Coal Mine as a Parks Victoria ranger, there was one remaining horse, a Welsh pony called Cobber (who had never actually worked in the mine but was there for the tourists).
"Vic used to come up there all the time to maintain Cobber’s shoes and check that everything was all right with him.
“Having been a blacksmith at the mine workshops he would repoint all the picks for us. He had a little portable forge that he would bring up to the mine, fire it up and re-point or draw out the ends of the picks to make them sharp and re-harden them. That was his specialty. He’d always do little jobs like that for us."
Vic’s son Brendan Benetti said Emilio, a stonemason and carpenter, applied for a job at the State Coal Mine and was given a job to make wheelbarrows. “They were testing him out. Wheelbarrows are actually quite difficult because they've got so many different angles. They gave him a big pile of wood and left him to it. He finished in three days then they gave him the job.”
Like his father, Vic was a skilled tradesman, part of a cohort who were apprenticed to the State Coal Mine. He started at 15, learning from Norman Smith, a legendary blacksmith and farrier. In an interview with the Post in 2013, Vic recalled the work: “We did all sorts of iron work. I can remember us making a new dray wheel. It was five foot six inches diameter [almost two metres]. We rolled it up and had to bevel the two ends. We worked flat out while the welding heat lasted.”
He worked as a blacksmith/farrier for more than 50 years, including some 30 years at the mine. He had a reputation as one of the best farriers in the business. Locals said he only needed to look at a horse’s hoof to forge a perfectly fitting shoe for the mine ponies.
In 1988, in his early 60s and 20 years after the mine closed, he entered an international farriers’ challenge at Werribee Park. The 31 competitors in the Eagle Eye event had 10 seconds to study a horse’s hoof and 20 minutes to hand-work the shoe. Vic won in a canter, not because he was the fastest but because he was the most accurate.
Coal mining in Wonthaggi depended on the pit ponies. When John Bordignon was working at the State Coal Mine as a Parks Victoria ranger, there was one remaining horse, a Welsh pony called Cobber (who had never actually worked in the mine but was there for the tourists).
"Vic used to come up there all the time to maintain Cobber’s shoes and check that everything was all right with him.
“Having been a blacksmith at the mine workshops he would repoint all the picks for us. He had a little portable forge that he would bring up to the mine, fire it up and re-point or draw out the ends of the picks to make them sharp and re-harden them. That was his specialty. He’d always do little jobs like that for us."
“He was a quiet, gentle man. He had a warmness about him. He always talked in this slow, deliberate manner, and you never heard a bad word come out of his mouth.”
John Bordignon
It was the Tuscan villa that gained Vic notoriety. An article in The Powlett Express of October 15, 1953, opens with the bold statement: “Twenty-six-year-old blacksmith Vic Benetti is Wonthaggi's most eligible bachelor”.
What made him so eligible, according to the article, was his almost-completed house in Hagelthorn Street. Emilio had brought the plans with him from Italy. Vic and his father hand-made 8300 concrete bricks and laid them in the double-storeyed house in Hagelthorn Street, across the road from the family home.
When we called at Vic’s house almost 60 years later, in 2013, Vic showed us the clipping in a scrapbook. “Tom Gannon [Express editor] wrote it,” he said. Gannon also sent it to a Melbourne’s daily, The Argus.
Vic didn’t recall any city women coming to seek out this most eligible of bachelors. In fact, it took him four more years to find the love of his life, Maureen, at a dance in the Berry’s Creek Hall.
What made him so eligible, according to the article, was his almost-completed house in Hagelthorn Street. Emilio had brought the plans with him from Italy. Vic and his father hand-made 8300 concrete bricks and laid them in the double-storeyed house in Hagelthorn Street, across the road from the family home.
When we called at Vic’s house almost 60 years later, in 2013, Vic showed us the clipping in a scrapbook. “Tom Gannon [Express editor] wrote it,” he said. Gannon also sent it to a Melbourne’s daily, The Argus.
Vic didn’t recall any city women coming to seek out this most eligible of bachelors. In fact, it took him four more years to find the love of his life, Maureen, at a dance in the Berry’s Creek Hall.
Vic and Maureen Benetti, 2013
Maureen told us their first date was almost the last. “He took me out to Yarram. Coming back, he said he had to stop at a hotel.” She sat in the car while Vic went in and had a drink. “I thought that’s it. I wiped him off.”
He explained, “It was no place for a lady!” But he got the message. He came back to the next dance and they made it up. They were together for over 60 years.
Asked what it was about Maureen that he liked so much, he was overcome with emotion. “I just reckoned she was it and a bit. I knew she was a very good person.”
For Maureen, marrying Vic meant leaving her lovely country lifestyle and moving to Wonthaggi. “The people here were very nice. They took me out for an afternoon tea. Wonthaggi was a very friendly place then. People used to speak to one another, not like today.”
The eight-roomed Tuscan villa came in handy as the family grew to seven kids. As if nine people wasn’t enough, Vic and Maureen would often look after homeless people.
“Mum and Dad managed the St Vincent’s store for 16 years,” Brendan said. “All unpaid, of course. In the early days they used to pick up food from the bakeries and bring it home and put it in the freezer then they’d distribute that during the week.
“I used to have lunch with Mum and it always struck me how many people she helped. There would be a young woman with two or three kids. They’d lost their house or there was family violence. She’d be crying. And Mum would say “Don’t worry, we’ll get this sorted out.”
“They would open their home to anyone. There was a woman who lived in a caravan in the back yard with a couple of kids for quite a while.”
He said Maureen and Vic were motivated by their strong Catholic faith. “I had wonderful parents. I couldn’t have been luckier.”
Pam Dunlop worked with Maureen and Vic at St Vinnies. “They were beautiful people, very caring and loving. They went out of their way to help people.”
Being Italian Vic naturally had a bountiful garden. Long after he’d finished at St Vinnies he would drop off fresh vegies for people, recalls Mary, another St Vinnies volunteer.
And then there was the Austrian scythe he used to trim the lush spring growth.
“He could operate that scythe like a lawnmower,” John Bordignon says. When he finished cutting, it looked perfect. I've tried to use a scythe over the years, and it’s not easy, but Vic just knew what angle to hold it on so it glided.”
John’s one final memory: “In her later years Mrs Benetti’s health wasn't the best but they would walk around what we call the block. “From their house down Drysdale Street, through the little cut-through at King Street and then come back up Cameron Street past my mum and dad's place, stopping to have a look at the flowers in the garden along the way.
“They were always so appreciative. They were just beautiful people.”
He explained, “It was no place for a lady!” But he got the message. He came back to the next dance and they made it up. They were together for over 60 years.
Asked what it was about Maureen that he liked so much, he was overcome with emotion. “I just reckoned she was it and a bit. I knew she was a very good person.”
For Maureen, marrying Vic meant leaving her lovely country lifestyle and moving to Wonthaggi. “The people here were very nice. They took me out for an afternoon tea. Wonthaggi was a very friendly place then. People used to speak to one another, not like today.”
The eight-roomed Tuscan villa came in handy as the family grew to seven kids. As if nine people wasn’t enough, Vic and Maureen would often look after homeless people.
“Mum and Dad managed the St Vincent’s store for 16 years,” Brendan said. “All unpaid, of course. In the early days they used to pick up food from the bakeries and bring it home and put it in the freezer then they’d distribute that during the week.
“I used to have lunch with Mum and it always struck me how many people she helped. There would be a young woman with two or three kids. They’d lost their house or there was family violence. She’d be crying. And Mum would say “Don’t worry, we’ll get this sorted out.”
“They would open their home to anyone. There was a woman who lived in a caravan in the back yard with a couple of kids for quite a while.”
He said Maureen and Vic were motivated by their strong Catholic faith. “I had wonderful parents. I couldn’t have been luckier.”
Pam Dunlop worked with Maureen and Vic at St Vinnies. “They were beautiful people, very caring and loving. They went out of their way to help people.”
Being Italian Vic naturally had a bountiful garden. Long after he’d finished at St Vinnies he would drop off fresh vegies for people, recalls Mary, another St Vinnies volunteer.
And then there was the Austrian scythe he used to trim the lush spring growth.
“He could operate that scythe like a lawnmower,” John Bordignon says. When he finished cutting, it looked perfect. I've tried to use a scythe over the years, and it’s not easy, but Vic just knew what angle to hold it on so it glided.”
John’s one final memory: “In her later years Mrs Benetti’s health wasn't the best but they would walk around what we call the block. “From their house down Drysdale Street, through the little cut-through at King Street and then come back up Cameron Street past my mum and dad's place, stopping to have a look at the flowers in the garden along the way.
“They were always so appreciative. They were just beautiful people.”
Vic Benetti with his trusty Austrian scythe, 2005