Mike Consedine: An Appreciation
Phil Barker and Poppy Buchanan-Barker
First Impressions
We first encountered Mike Consedine as we
stepped out of a lift in the Rydges Hotel, Canberra.
We had just arrived for the Annual Conference of the
Australian and New Zealand College of Mental Health
Nursing. Mike was one of the Pre-Conference Workshop
Leaders.
There he stood, larger than life, with that engaging
smile he always used to good effect. Whether he was
blessing you or challenging you, it was the same
damned, attractive smile. On that first encounter
Mike was a complete stranger, but it didn’t take
long to strike up a relationship; and not much
longer to have our first, laugh-punctuated argument.
Mike connected with us as long lost kin from his
romantic roots. We were living, breathing Celts, who
reminded him of the croft burning, authority-defying
great-grandfather, who was sent ‘ down under’ for
his fiery impertinence. Passion was a key thread in
the Consedine narrative; as he searched to find the
roots of his peculiar sense of being; trying to
connect with those who brought him to where
and what he was.
Mike was the first person to tell us that “we
shouldn’t let the facts get in the way of a good
story”. Well, he was the first person who was not a
thoroughbred Irishman to repeat the maxim. Mike was
a great story-teller, who loved the ‘craic’ and who
beamed his big smile through every tale, whether
uplifting or harrowing. Maybe it was a genetic gift.
His long-gone, croft burning great-grandfather was,
perhaps, still smouldering away inside Mike, trying
to light the darkness outside. It often felt like
that.
Lighting the Darkness
Mike did light the darkness, and there is probably
no darker place than psychiatric nursing, with all
its aspirations and misgivings. When we met Mike he
had recently jumped ship from psychiatric nursing,
and had established his training consultancy in
Christchurch. He had begun to focus on his real
interest – human relationships and their place
within psychodrama and supervision. Those who have
participated in his supervision group seminars, or
read some of his writing will know that he was an
original, passionate, yet tormented philosopher on
the human condition. It was all so simple, yet
people made it so complicated – including Mike. What
was that all about? He was keen to find out and we
spent many a long and bruising night ‘discussing’
these issues. Invariably, we hugged and went to bed
none the wiser. It was all about engaging with the
issues, not finding enlightenment.
Mike came to stay with us in Scotland several times,
the first time with his son, Seth, at the end of the
90’s, off the back of our challenge that he had
never properly retraced his roots in Ireland. We
organised several supervision workshops across
England, Wales and Scotland before putting Mike on a
boat for Ireland where Seth and Mike hired a car and
drove ‘home’ to the ‘Ring o’ Kerry’. When they came
back to Scotland for the inevitable ‘de-brief’, the
stories out ran the whisky, but eventually Mike
brought the narrative to a fitting conclusion with
‘one last story’.
Welcome Home!
They had driven into a small village in the West of
Ireland that Mike recognised as ‘the place’. “This
must be the home of the Consedines”, he said.
For there was Consedine’s the bakers, and
Consedine’s the butchers, and down the street, Paddy
Consedine’s betting shop.
They barged into a bar and, loudly and proudly
‘owned’ their Irish roots. The bar-tender just kept
cleaning the glasses.
Mike thumped the counter and again proclaimed his
Irish heritage, announcing that he was an Irish-Kiwi
come home. Still the bar-tender was unmoved.
Now, Mike was thundering. “Did you not hear me“, he
roared. “I said the Consedines have come home!”
The bar-tender turned, slowly; lifted a glass to his
eye, turned it slowly in the light and said: “Ah, to
be sure, they’re all fucking Consedines that come in
here!”
In that moment Mike re-discovered his Irish
heritage. He realised where all his blustering
blarney had come from, and he realised how important
it was. At the end of the day, most people are
trying to ‘be’ somebody, but nobody is that
important.
A Fortunate Life
Those who knew Mike, know that he was a ‘real’
psychiatric nurse; interested in people and what had
befallen them; interested in helping them back on to
their feet; but not all that interested in
comforting or stroking them. Why should he? There
was nothing really ‘wrong’ with them; life had just
kicked them in the arse and he was fortunate enough
to be there, to lend a helping hand, to raise them
to their feet. And, he got paid for the pleasure of
being helpful. That said, he could be an awkward
sod, much taken to pacing back and forth, muttering
god-knows-what under his breath. All that was part
of the irritating charm. If you have Celtic roots
you will know what we are talking about.
Mike was also the first man to introduce us to
Albert Facey. At the end of a workshop in Napier in
’97, Mike was asked to say a ‘few words’. As was his
wont, Mike gave a speech; passionate and
tear-filled. He recalled meeting us two years
earlier in Australia. He recalled some of our
conversations; and he recalled the sense of
connection he had felt, in our presence. We were
honoured. Finally, he recalled that one or other of
us had said that we had led a ‘fortunate life’. Mike
too, felt that he had led a most ‘fortunate life’,
and he believed that our meeting was not accidental
but, in some sense, pre-destined.
That night we flew to Sydney, where we were met at
the airport, rushed to our hotel and then rushed us
out to dinner, with a group of colleagues. One of
the group was late, as he had gone out to buy a
gift. He arrived, breathless but excited. At the end
of the dinner, he laid his small package on the
table. We opened it, to discover Albert Facey’s
book: “A Fortunate Life”.
Conicidence or synchronicity? What we do know is
that Kevin Kellehear, who breathlessly laid the book
on the table, had no idea that we had been with
Mike, far less that Mike had been talking about
Albert Facey, only a few hours earlier. Events like
these remind us that Life is special and that
nothing can ever be taken for granted.
Mike did not appear all that interested in achieving
high office; he enjoyed too much being outspoken if
not downright rude. But he was a founding member of
the New Zealand College of Mental Health Nursing,
and became a Fellow of the Australian and
New Zealand College of Mental Health Nurses.
Latterly, he was elected President of the
Australian and New Zealand Psychodrama Association.
Living Life Simply - Simply Living Life
As a supervisor and trainer Mike’s thinking
connected strongly with our own – further bonding
us. He believed that it wasn’t really possible to
‘teach’ anyone anything, as he didn’t really know
what they needed to learn. Instead, he provided the
kind of environment needed for clients to become
aware of what they needed to know and then they
could talk about how this might be done. All the
complex problems of life are quite simple but
enormously complicated to deal with.
Mike graced us with a steady
supply of his poems during his long illness updating
us on the lessons he was learning during treatment,
but especially during the quiet moments, when he
would simply ‘sit’, settling into the ‘oneness’ of
his world. He wrote a poem, along with a piece on
“the space I’m in”, specifically for a new book that
will be published later this year. Invariably, he
would end his messages with gratitude for our
friendship and the encouragement to: ”Keep up the
good work - not too much though, there is a life to
be lived”. Absolutely!
Mike appeared to live to the
full a very good life, despite the years he spent on
dialysis, that were resolved when his sister donated
one of her kidneys. However, a few short years later
he began a new struggle with the cancer that would
finally lift him out of life. However, he was
supported greatly through both his illnesses, by his
wife Julie. They made a great couple.
We are sure that his many
friends and colleagues in Australia and New Zealand
will remember Mike for his many different
contributions to his various fields of interest –
psychiatric nursing, clinical supervision and
psychodrama. He certainly made an impact on his
trips to the Old World, where he is still recalled
with great fondness.
Perhaps, like us, however,
most people will remember Mike for the spirited way
he embraced his life. We hope that ‘living by
example’ will be Mike Consedine’s enduring legacy.
Phil and Poppy
Newport on Tay
Fife
Scotland
(home)
