I'm not really accustomed to public speaking, as you probably
well know, and I'm not as well prepared as everybody else, my
writing is too small, so I'm gonna use my glasses.
Good afternoon, Chancellor, distinguished guests, university
staff and most of all, the graduates that are here to
celebrate today. You're probably thinking it's a bit odd that I'm
standing here and I feel exactly the same way. Usually if I'm on
stage and I have a microphone any near anywhere near me, I'm
screaming at people, but I'm going to spare you that today.
Instead. They've just given me an honorary degree and and some
of you are graduating with honours. So I'd like to talk
about what honour actually means to me.
I was born in a place called Cowcaddens, a working class suburb
near the centre of Glasgow in Scotland, and Glasgow, if you
don't know it, is a very tough town.
In fact Billy Connolly was quoted as saying that Glasgow so tough
that if you see a cat with a tail and it's it's a tourist and
so you know that's one of my favourite quotes but I wasn't only
born in a tough town. I was born into a tough family and it was a
family that thought that really that school was a bit of a waste
of time because I was never going to use it and and so they
they had to you know the most they had to look forward to
really was a lifetime of working in the shipyards and.
And there was a lot of honour in hard work. Don't get me wrong,
you know, I think that's a very respectful thing to do. But
unfortunately, even in those days, even the shipyards didn't
have many jobs, so a lot of people were out of work. So my
grandfather took up ...
bare knuckles fighting in the in the back alleys of Glasgow he
was doing 30 sometimes 40 rounds of of brutal fighting and he
come home battered and bruised with a with a pocket full of
cash. He's made a lot of money and he he it was his way of
earning respect, was fighting. And he he'd come home and he'd
and he'd buy breakfast, breakfast for all the kids in
the street and that made him, you know, a hero. And then he'd go
to the pub and spend the rest of the money and we'd all starve
for the rest of the week. But.
But for that moment he was a hero and it was his version of
honour. You know, everybody has a different take on this. My dad
wasn't well educated, he was very street smart, but he wanted
to be a boxer too and he became the amateur featherweight
champion of Scotland. And he was, he was a very good fighter,
he. But he didn't want to turn professional because the sport
was too corrupt. It wasn't. It was dishonourable, it wasn't
honourable. So when it time came time for him to hang up his
gloves and leave that.
honourable, noble out of boxing, he took a job as an enforcer for
the local gangsters.
And, you know, they say there's honour among thieves and all
that sort of stuff. I'm not so sure about that. But that's
another story. That's so that's probably the future that my dad
thought I would have. You know, he wanted me to use my fists to
smash down all the doors that were, you know, usually slamming
in our faces. But luckily for me, when I was, you know, five
years old, my family left Glasgow and we emigrated to
sunny South Australia. That's what the ads and and and in Scotland were,
would say, and we came to Adelaide.
And after living for a few years in in migrant hostels, we
finally settled in a new satellite city called Elizabeth.
It was the the city of the future at the time. And
initially I went to school there and you know, primary school for
me really was a way of escaping violence at home. It was you
know, there was, it was the only place I felt safe and.
But, you know, I got to school and and I sort of forgot about
home and I was like, I was like a sponge. I I took everything in
and I wanted to learn and grow to be a better person, but I
didn't, you know, it didn't take long really, till it wore me
down. All the the problems at home and I felt doomed to the
same dead end as my parents and my grandparents, living
day-to-day, hand to mouth, struggling to make ends meet and
then giving up and eventually disappearing.
I lost hope and I lost interest in school and all I remember
hearing from everyone was hurry up and finish. Go and get a job.
Any job will do, you know.
And apparently that was as much honour as people like like like
us deserved. So I quit school midway through year 10 and ...
which I deeply regret and I went into pump petrol until
I found an apprenticeship at pouring molten metal, which
was really a lot of fun in the midsummer, as a young Scotsman
it nearly killed me.
And about that time I started getting on in with the wrong
crowd. You know there were taking lots of drugs and and
drinking and there was a lot of fighting and and and that was
sort of just doing all this to escape, trying not to feel the
pain that was still burning inside me from from my
childhood. And that I remember, you know, on one of our outings,
you know, walking through the city looking for trouble. I
walked past a university up the road from here and and I
remember stopping and stood.
All my mates were looking for trouble and I looked at it and I
wondered what it was like and you know, to to be a student in
there. I just thought it would have been fabulous, but it was
it was only for good people. It wasn't for people like us,
honourable people. I was the other kind, you know, I was the
kind that couldn't, you know, get through the front gate. They
wouldn't let me through the front gate. So eventually I
jumped the fence and that's literally I jumped the fence. I
remember they had a university ball with a with a rock band
playing there one night and my mates and I jumped the fence and
and crashed the party.
And while my friends were shuffling around, literally
looking to start trouble, I was sort of walking around and
looking through windows and and you know, sort of wondering what
it would like to have the honour to be able to study in there.
And and as it turned out, you know, I was, I was one of the
lucky ones. I, you know, I wasn't destined to end up in
gaol like a lot of my friends. I made a bunch of guys, guys who
had plans. They wanted to actually be something and and
they wanted to make music that touched people's souls and.
It wasn't long before, you know, their dreams became my dreams as
well, and and music transported us all to a better place. It
sounds really corny, but musically, music literally set
us free. It was incredible.
And it was around that same time that I'm, you know, just just
after we started that I met the girl of my dreams. I met my
wife, Jane and Jane. When I met Jane, my life changed even more.
You know, Jane was we were literally two worlds colliding.
And and Jane, you know, she loved poetry and literature, and
she couldn't believe that I'd missed out on all that. So she
took to, she wanted to share it all with me. And so she started
doing things like she she went out. And when I was in my early
20s,
she bought me a copy of Shakespeare for children written
by Charles and Mary Lang, and that was like a light switched
on that is that where this guy is writing about, you know, this
is incredible. And it opened up this whole new world to me, and
I loved it. Every time Jane gave me a book, you know, I went away
and I wrote song or, you know, I wrote, you know, a story.
And and I found that the more read, the more I was inspired and
and and, you know, and the more the world started to actually
make sense to me. It was it was, you know, it was a a life
changing event. Maybe things didn't have to stay the same for
me as they had for my dad after all, maybe there are other
lives I could lead, other choices I could make.
Eventually, you know, I've got lots of professional honours,
you know, they all came my way. Gold records, you know, plaques,
statues, awards, you name it, and when it and I was grateful for
them all, you know? But it never really changed the way I felt
about myself inside.
It was about six years ago I realised that I had to deal with
my past if I was going to have any sort of future and and it
was a a frightening prospect to me. But I couldn't and I
couldn't do it alone. I got the help of a really great therapist
and anybody who's having trouble with life, I recommend it. I
I've been you know, I honestly believe that. You know, I
always, I've always been one of those guys who tries to beat his
chest and act tough and stuff like this. I honestly believe
the most courageous thing I ever did was put my hand up and say I
needed help.
And so that day changed my life. But I also had the great, you
know, the understanding and the help of a beautiful family and
my beautiful wife Jane. And I started making sense of all the
things I've been through and.
So I started to write it down at the same time. It was painful,
but with every page I wrote, I felt like it was a weight lifted
off my shoulders and I felt lighter. Eventually I sat with
the final manuscript from that, my first book Working Class
Boy. And for that, just for a minute, I thought, nah, I'll
just burn it. It's not that good. And, you know, it's like
old habits, they die hard. So. But I had to let go of those old
habits that I was going to change. And so I released the
book and and the act of letting go,
actually changed my life once and for all, you know, and and I
became a better person. I knew it, but I like everybody in this
room, I'm still a work in progress. So, you know, I could,
you know, hope for the best.
So yes, it is odd that I'm standing here today, but it's
not for all the obvious reasons.
In Glasgow and in Elizabeth, the only degree we ever got was a
third degree. Options for honour were were limited to us and
distorted, so a lot of us decided to run away.
I'm sure some of you know what I'm talking about there, many of
you won't.
But I guess what I'm trying to say is, now I understand that
despite this magnificent occasion and honour, it's not
actually something that can, an honour is not something that can
be actually bestowed on you. It's something, it's a feeling
you have to cultivate in yourself. It's ... we have to
create honour in our lives everyday by what we do, by what
we what we work on, what we create and how we relate to
others. It's ... it's something, it's something that grows inside
you.
And and only grows through a lot of hard work, and that's that's
the truth of it. Caps and gowns are really great and I'm really
happy to have one, but their symbols are something much more
grand than that. So congratulations to each and
every one of you guys. The honours you received today recognise
what you're capable of achieving, when you refuse to
let anyone's limitations of you stop you, may you continue to
strive for that kind of honour and everything you do in the
years ahead.
And finally, thanks to the University of South Australia
for granting me this honour.
I'm very emotional about it.
I accept it on behalf of all the auto workers in Elizabeth, the
petrol pumpers and the guys that pour molten metal who weren't
lucky enough to escape.
May their children and their great grandchildren have the
opportunity to enter great institutions like this one
through the front gate and not have to jump the fence. Thank
you very much.