Maiden Speech
The Hon. H.J. GUMBYS (15:33): Thank you, Mr President. As it is my first opportunity to speak, may I congratulate you on your election, and for your great office too, by the way. Thank you for the humbling opportunity to stand here before you today for the first time and address you all in this beautiful, historic chamber to share my story and the stories of the people and experiences that have shaped my life. I would like to acknowledge that we meet here today on the lands of the Kaurna people, the original custodians of this place, and I wish to pay my respects to elders past, present and emerging.
I am a first-generation Australian, the son of a migrant and a refugee, and I am so proud and honoured to be able to welcome my mother, Isabella, to the gallery today. My mother arrived in Australia at 20 years of age as Isabella McRae Kucharzewski from Dunfermline, Scotland, in 1963. Her father served in the Polish army and returned to Scotland at the end of World War II to marry my grandmother.
Growing up, mum was trained by her father, who was by this time a master tailor. He was a demanding Polish man, so mum, along with her older brother, had no choice but to learn his craft and work in his business. Often after school, they would work late into the night completing alterations in grandpa's shop, adhering to his exacting standards, then they would finally head home on foot through the cold, dark streets of Dunfermline.
Those principles, attention to detail and precise workmanship that mum was taught would flow through to me over time. Threading needles and sewing buttons on my own school shirts in junior primary developed my fine motor skills from a young age and would stand me in good stead for my future career as a first-class machinist and fitter in the defence and aerospace industry.
My father, Jonas Petras Gumbys, who sadly passed on his 52nd birthday in 1994, was better known to the family as 'Johnny' and to his workmates as 'Jack'. He was a refugee from Lithuania. Accompanied by his mother and what remained of his brothers and sisters, they made their way through war-torn Europe, moving from one displaced persons camp to another, eventually arriving in Australia and ultimately settling in Adelaide in the late 1940s. He was a young boy with no English.
The hardship that surrounded his family meant that he was soon sent away to an orphanage to be educated in the strict ways of the Salesian brothers. This whole time he was without his father. My grandfather was missing, lost in the conflict, his whereabouts unknown, but grandpa never gave up searching for his family. Sadly, the Iron Curtain had by that time descended, dividing Europe into east and west.
However, with the assistance of the Red Cross and after four years of negotiations, he became one of the first people to be allowed to leave communist Lithuania, and in poor health he travelled from Kaunas to Moscow and then to East Germany, where he was detained for 10 days. He then flew to the Mediterranean, across the Middle East and what was then Malaya, and finally on to Sydney. Sixteen and a half long years had passed, but he was at long last reunited with what was left of his family in Adelaide. The occasion was marked by an article published in the AdelaideAdvertiser and a copy of the newspaper clipping hangs in pride of place in my Legislative Council office as a testament to my heritage.
I am Johnny and Isabella's first child. I was born in Darwin but grew up in Dernancourt, South Australia. I have a younger brother and a sister, Richard and Elena, and I am delighted to welcome my sister, Elena, to the chamber today. Our upbringing was probably relatively strict in many respects, in comparison to this day and age, but it came from a genuine working-class environment and a foundation built on the importance of family, a strong work ethic and providing a safe, stable home life for us children, all from relatively modest wages.
When I was young, dad worked at Blue Ribbon Smallgoods. As a continental butcher, he was trained in the traditions of the European migrants he worked with. Dad worked long hours, always gone in the morning when we woke up for school, often unable to come to Saturday morning football games as he would be working then too. Because of his skills and his deep knowledge of the numerous techniques and recipes required, he became renowned throughout the smallgoods industry and was in high demand.
Occasionally, dad would work on weekends for other butchers and other companies. One of those was Nino's Smallgoods. It remains in business today on Lower North East Road in Paradise and now Nino's cacciatore is the only one that I will buy because it still tastes like my dad's. He also spent considerable time working with an old Polish friend, helping him get his dream business off the ground, and eventually Standom Smallgoods was born.
Growing up, I learned dad did not care much for unions. 'You pay your dues and you get nothing for it,' he would say. This used to grate me somewhat years later when I became a proud member of the Australian Manufacturing Workers' Union. However, I would always take note when I watched with admiration how he interacted with his workmates, young and old. When I attended the modules of trade school at Regency Park, I would drive dad to work. I would pick up a mate on the way and drop dad off at Rossi Smallgoods, then we would meet him and his workmates at the Hendon Hotel after I had finished.
I would watch tradesmen and apprentices alike come to him with whatever issue they had either with the factory or their management. They would ask Jack earnestly what could be done. I watched him tell them, 'Don't worry, I'll take care of it,' and he would. He was a mentor and a leader, and he was their representative. My dad was a workplace delegate, he just did not know it. Many years after his passing, when I became a shop steward myself, I finally understood: a lazy, disengaged or generally bad delegate had the potential to destroy the perception of a whole union. I vowed never to be that delegate.
In 2024, on the 30th anniversary of Dad's passing, we visited his grave and found a letter in a ziplock bag wedged into his headstone. It was from one of his apprentices from Blue Ribbon in 1976. The gentleman who wrote this letter said he would never forget what dad had taught him and how dad took him under his wing. He wrote that Jack would explain to him not only how to do something but why it was done in a particular way. This gentleman also wrote that he had gone on to teach many apprentices himself as the owner of several businesses and was now a trainer and assessor. It was an emotional day but also one of proud reflection.
Mum was, and still is, a night owl. Many nights she would be up until midnight or later, ironing or sewing, often patching and repairing jeans that my brother and I seemed to somehow destroy with regularity. These were the days when television stations would sign off every night and go to white noise static or a test pattern, but sometimes, only occasionally, there would be a special event known as a movie marathon. I would sneak into the lounge and beg mum to be allowed to watch along with her for a while, and I would sit transfixed.
The Great Escape, Spartacus, Moby Dick, Cool Hand Luke and The Hustler remain some of my personal favourites to this day and, of course, John Wayne classics such as The Searchers, True Grit, Rio Bravo and the quintessential coming-of-age movie The Cowboys—I highly recommend that one. We grew up in a time before devices, handheld screens or social media, when our imaginations, again often fuelled by the movies we watched, would shape our own adventures. We would watch Moby Dick then form the shape of an imaginary whale with our garden hose on the back lawn. Standing on the outdoor table with a length of rebar as our harpoon, we would re-enact the famous scenes.
Unfortunately, Queequeg's aim was not always true. Dad's hose was speared numerous times and was hastily coiled until it was time for him to put the sprinkler on. Dad's yelling of an expletive signalled that we had been discovered. A John Wayne movie would mean grabbing our Czechoslovakian-made air rifle and setting up some Coke cans. We would take turns where one of us would cock and load the slug gun and throw it to the other before rapidly taking the shot. Needless to say, eventually the air rifle was disappeared by our parents, never to be seen again.
During my childhood, Glenelg jetty played host to the Birdman Rally. Flying contraptions of wideranging designs and effectiveness would launch themselves toward the horizon with varying degrees of success to see how far they could fly. The Birdman Rally would inspire my first foray into aerospace design. A couple of lengths of wooden dowel and a blanket were lashed together and my hang-glider was ready to test, so it was onto the roof for my younger brother, who proclaimed often that when he grew up he was going to be a stuntman—handy. He plummeted straight to the ground, thankfully with no significant injury, and that was the end of that escapade.
I attended Dernancourt Primary School. Only a few doors down from my house, when doorknocking on behalf of Jenn Roberts in Hartley, I was able to revisit the old neighbourhood and witness how many of the original houses had been knocked down and the block subdivided. Our old house was still there. I then attended Gilles Plains High School, the alma mater of my now colleague the Hon. Ian Hunter. Growing up as a Sturt supporter during the seventies, I was chuffed to wear their double blue football guernsey. Gilles Plains High was not an affluent school, and we were the only team to still wear the old lace-up Vic Hill brand football jackets, but we loved them, ripped numbers and torn stripes included.
During years 11 and 12, I worked part time at Mobil Hilltop, now an On the Run. It was directly across North East Road from the Highlander Hotel. We were open 24/7, and in those days we stocked videos and, significantly, hot food, so frequently the trouble that was ejected from the Highlander would find its way to our door. It certainly was an eye-opening education, especially on the graveyard shift over Easter, Christmas and new year.
Still unsure of what direction to take in life, I took a five-day-a-week morning shift at our sister servo, Mobil Ridgehaven, but I finally decided that I wanted a trade. As I excelled at metalwork at school, I went looking for an apprenticeship as a machinist or a toolmaker. The problem was that these were the days when apprentices were usually taken on at 16. I was 18 and one application rejection after another suggested I may have missed the boat. That was until I discovered an advertisement for what we now know as a group training scheme. It was with the Engineering Employers Association of South Australia.
As there was an opportunity to gain selection via a guaranteed interview and by sitting mechanical aptitude and maths tests, I felt some degree of hope. Although there were over 200 applicants for seven apprentice positions, I was one of the successful candidates and, surprisingly, not the oldest. Times were starting to change.
We were immediately sent to the DSTO Apprentice Training School for an intensive and broad introduction to fitting and machining. It was during this time, at the DSTO ATS at Edinburgh, that I was first exposed to what an apprentice training school could be. The seven of us, to a man, were wishing that we had landed an apprenticeship at DSTO, all wishing we had the opportunity to be part of what was obviously a premium learning environment. Our group was shown the basics of fitting and machining in readiness to join our host companies, but the additional classes and training we attended at DSTO laid the foundation of trade knowledge that would underpin the rest of my working life.
The machining workshops were filled with machines and equipment that were by no means modern but were meticulously maintained. Lines of lathes, both large and small, horizontal and vertical mills, a grinding section covering surface, cylindrical and thread grinding, and there were dedicated metrology and inspection areas as part of everyday learning. We broke off into classes covering drafting and geometric tolerancing, toolmaking essentials, hydraulics and pneumatics.
There were organised visits to outlying workshops in the restricted areas, something that DSTO apprentices in the later stages of their time would experience for extended periods, working with qualified tradesmen as part of their final assessments.
We shared the lunch room with apprentice electricians, sheet metal workers and welders—trades that had intakes of 10 to a dozen new apprentices each year, every year. DSTO was by no means unique. In South Australia, the railways, Tubemakers, E&WS and ETSA all had their own dedicated training facilities. By using this model, they ensured their own constant flow of skilled tradespeople.
Having witnessed firsthand the decades-long decline in the priority of trades in favour of university and STEM pathways, I am incredibly excited to be part of a Labor government that is actively building technical colleges again, not only in the metropolitan area but also in the regions.
Next, we were sent to our host companies. Some of my intake was sent to heavy die tool rooms, some to plastic injection moulding tool rooms, others to machine shops. I was sent to Fairey Australasia, formerly known as Fairey Aviation. The initial theory of my apprenticeship was that we would rotate between companies to expand our knowledge. This never eventuated and subsequently I have spent nearly 38 years working solely in defence and aerospace advanced manufacturing. Through mergers and acquisitions, Fairey Aviation became AWA Defence Industries, which eventually amalgamated with British Aerospace to finally become the BAE Systems we recognise today.
Starting from the ground up in the defence industry, I immediately loved the high-end precision machining, the pursuit of quality, bordering on perfection, the responsibility of adherence to traceability, trust and integrity. Additionally, I grew to appreciate the understanding that I was working on products that had to work first time every time or face the reality that lives could be lost. And I grew to hold the knowledge that skills and precision could be taught, but the right attitude was paramount.
I loved my time in defence manufacturing, every day striving to achieve the tight tolerances required to manufacture components for systems and products that I am proud to say protect those who protect us. Aside from general manual machining and fitting, I spent time 3D modelling and programming CNC machining centres. I have assembled key components for the F-35 Joint Strike Fighter in the Evolved Sea Sparrow Missile, but without question I am most proud of my work on the Nulka active missile decoy.
Nulka is an Australian Aboriginal word meaning 'be quick'. It is a hovering rocket designed to decoy, and it is mounted on naval warships. The word 'active' in the title refers to the fact that it actively communicates with an incoming threat, it actively deceives the incoming missile into thinking that its projected silhouette is the ship, and it seduces the missile away from the naval asset, saving countless lives and millions of dollars. In recently declassified documents, Nulka was reportedly deployed by the United States on their warships under attack off the coast of Yemen. It performed flawlessly and negated the missiles, saving the fleet.
I worked with the tradesmen on the prototype tooling as an apprentice in 1988 and, aside from only a handful of occasions in the past 20 years, I was the world's sole manufacturer and assembler of critical components for the Nulka's thrust control unit. Nulka is Australia's longest running and most lucrative Australian defence export product and, to my knowledge, is still the only foreign manufactured munition that has been allowed on US Navy warships.
Throughout my journey on the machine shop floor I have been a member of the Australian Manufacturing Workers Union, and 16 years ago I had the opportunity to step up and become the shop steward or lead delegate for BAE Systems advanced manufacturing at Edinburgh. It was in the latter part of that journey that I was able to truly realise and appreciate what is possible when you find a way to unite and bring together a group of workers.
Through my final of many enterprise agreement negotiations we were able to unify and strengthen the resolve of a truly diverse workforce. Rapid onboarding of new starters meant that we were flooded with non-union workers who had no previous experience with a union or how it operated in any way, shape or form. There were young workers, some with young families, concerned that any industrial action would cost them money that their household budgets could not afford.
There were older, dare I say grumpy workers, who were more financially secure and, not having taken industrial action in over 20 years, were itching for a fight. There were workers of English and Australian descent and workers who were predominantly new migrants with English as their second language. We were able to convene and find common ground and values and, throughout the process, I learnt that many of these workers had come from places where they did not have a voice, they did not have a choice, but now the AMWU had given them their voice.
I learnt how to unite and advocate for people through the AMWU, to listen with impartial empathy, to research and organise to create a cohesive strategy to win, to meet and debate those strategies behind closed doors, and to arrive at a final position and present a united front. I was told several times over that year, 'Hilt, I don't know much about unions but I like the way you run things.'
Midway through my time as a workplace delegate I was given the opportunity to join the newly formed AMWU Defence and Aerospace National Industry Committee, and I was voted up as their national convener. The goal of this committee was to influence government policy, to change the attitudes of decision-makers and to visit Canberra to lobby members of parliament, ministers and senators, and deliver the message that Australian sovereign capability was of the utmost importance, that making things in Australia again was the only way forward, that skills and training were the backbone and the foundation of not only defence manufacturing but Australian manufacturing as a whole. Our committee felt that these issues needed to be addressed and appreciated at the highest level immediately.
After the pandemic I was asked to head to Canberra again, this time with the AMWU Aussie Made campaign. As the delegate for defence and aerospace, I was accompanied by delegates from the bus industry and the train industry, along with food and beverage delegates. We had all experienced firsthand during COVID what damaging world supply chain disruptions meant to manufacturing, and it was obvious again that expanded sovereign capability was the answer. Again, the AMWU gave me this opportunity.
Recently, I attended the Workers Memorial Day Service at the Pilgrim Uniting Church on Flinders Street. I sat watching the seemingly endless slide show of faces of workers who had left for work one day only to never return home to their loved ones at the end of their shift. This hit me hard and a heavy realisation struck me: that twice in my time as a machinist our workshop wrapped its arms around tradesmen who had joined us from other machine shops, shops where workers had been killed in catastrophic circumstances and where the post-traumatic stress was too much for them to bear. They found that they could no longer work in that shop ever again and would have to leave.
It is no coincidence that these tragic deaths occurred in non-unionised workshops. Due to the extensive training, knowledge and empowerment afforded to a union-trained health and safety rep, the statistics lay bare the stark reality that a unionised machine shop is far and away a safer machine shop. I am heartened to stand in a Labor government that has shown great leadership in strengthening industrial manslaughter laws in recent times.
Early last year, due to the hard work and endorsement of South Australia's AMWU State Secretary Stuart Gordon and former AMWU State Secretary Peter Bauer, my name was presented to Senator Karen Grogan, convener of the progressive left unions and sub-branches, for preselection to the Legislative Council. I have always been a keen political observer, but never genuinely considered myself to be candidate material. I have never been a political operative and subsequently I never actively manoeuvred for a position such as this, always preferring instead to do all I could to look after my workers and advocate for Australian manufacturing and the defence industry to the best of my ability.
But my advocacy, activism and passionate representation of manufacturing workers had been noted. A proposition that I never considered to be a possibility was becoming a reality. Over the past year, I have met many new people and made many new friends—people from all walks of life and from many workplaces and on the street. They have spoken to me about their hope and optimism at the possibility of a working-class voice in government—their voice in government. They have an expectation for me to speak to the importance of dignity at work, the creation of safe, well-paid, meaningful jobs, the further growth of skills and training and apprenticeships, of public education and early childhood development, about the cost-of-living pressures of the working class, and housing affordability—a critical issue on which this Labor government has again shown proactive leadership.
I have now learned and come to appreciate that many people close to me—my family, my workmates and union colleagues—have often seen in me qualities and abilities that I did not always appreciate or see in myself. They have given me the belief and the courage to grab this opportunity with both hands. Since 2025, from start to finish, I have slowly but surely become embedded and welcomed within the South Australian Labor Party inner circle, and as the year progressed I wanted to contribute increasingly to the party, to roll up my sleeves and really get involved.
After preselection and after the state caucus late last year it was a natural progression for me to engage myself as much as possible in the campaign for the 2026 state election. I am a volunteer by nature, whether it was cooking the barbeque at my children's primary school functions, managing my son's football and soccer teams, even helping to organise and chaperone a camping trip to Second Valley for French exchange students visiting Adelaide High School, or stepping up to become a workplace union delegate. I have found that getting involved in immersing myself in the team aspect of anything was the best way to meet people, make new friends and make a significant contribution. I am a loyal team man first and foremost, and I was excited that I walked into a solid team environment in the South Australian Labor Party.
To help guide me through this process, I was introduced to Georgia Thompson, who I am glad to say joins us in the chamber today. Georgia's political knowledge, her energy, her positivity and encouragement is infectious. She not only helped me coordinate my campaign developments and activism, she orchestrated my new social media presence too. Not having an electorate of my own as such, I dedicated my time travelling wherever the South Australian Labor Party needed me, letterboxing, wobble boarding and door knocking, from Port Adelaide, Colton and up to Heysen, from Hammond to Hartley, and to Kavel, Bragg and Mawson.
Then, I was off on a road trip with Georgia to her hometown of Mount Gambier, where we met with an outstanding Labor candidate, Matthew Key. We doorknocked, set up street corner and shopping centre meetings and, the old favourite, politics in the pub, joined by Minister Clare Scriven. Without a doubt, the highlight was the opportunity to attend the opening of the Limestone Coast Technical College, a cause so close to my heart, again with Minister Blair Boyer and Minister Clare Scriven.
With election day getting closer, we hit the road again and headed on a run up to the electorates of Stuart and Giles, loaded up with corflutes and how-to-vote cards. We stayed in Whyalla then drove the next day to Port Augusta where we manned the pre-poll booth for Eddie Hughes. Georgia's knowledge of political machinations and procedures, both state and federal, was my valuable resource, and I lost count of the informative conversations we shared over the hundreds of kilometres that we spent on the road together.
Finally granting her access to my Spotify account, she expanded my already eclectic musical library, which saw the rapid addition of Cold Chisel's Shipping Steel specifically to commemorate our departure from Whyalla early on a Sunday morning, closely followed by John Williamson's Rip Rip Woodchip, which she sang along to enthusiastically. Thanks for everything, G. I will never forget it.
Meeting candidates and members from both the upper and lower houses and the literal army of volunteers in the background, including the Young Labor movement, which I cannot speak highly enough of, I enjoyed and benefitted from every aspect of the campaign.
For over 25 years now my family and I have lived in the north-east, in the electorate of Newland, and I would like to acknowledge my parliamentary representative, Olivia Savvas, whose strong voice and advocacy ensured the Malinauskas Labor government began work on upgrading an antiquated enclave of sewer systems in our area and is now well into the process of finally moving hundreds of homes off septic tanks.
It has been a special experience to be accepted as part of team north-east. Along with Olivia, I would like to acknowledge and thank the Hon. Rhiannon Pearce, member for King, and the Hon. Blair Boyer, member for Wright, who was one of the first ministers to call me and offer support and encouragement during my preselection process. Their warm welcome and guidance has been greatly appreciated. I have heard many new members of parliament speak proudly of their electorates, and rightly so, but when your home is nestled at the feet of the beautiful Adelaide Hills and surrounds, well, let's just say when you know, you know.
Without a doubt, this is a fresh start and a change in my life's direction, but it is one that has energised me and expanded my mind and horizons to the possibility of advocacy and service to the state I love. With over 37 years in any industry, you develop a deep understanding of your role and a comprehensive knowledge base. It was no different for me with the components that I created and assembled.
To come from an environment not that long ago where I had three high-end engineers asking my opinion on the possible design modifications of a hovering rocket to now starting at the bottom of the class and learning from the ground up, it is going to take a little getting used to, but I have always committed myself 100 per cent to any opportunity that I have decided to undertake. My role in the upper house of the South Australian parliament will be no exception, and I could not be prouder than to stand before you here today as a member of the Legislative Council for the South Australian Labor Party.
To my son and daughter, I have always said that you guys make me look good, and I know your mum feels the same. By the time your mum and I were 25, we had the responsibility of raising two little humans together. I distinctly remember carefully placing my daughter in the capsule when leaving the hospital for the first time. The weight of fatherhood was real. At the time, I distinctly remember an older couple watching us across the car park, smiling at us and smiling at each other. They understood.
When I finally returned to my job, it was one of the best days at work ever. I knew in my heart why I was there and what I had to do. It was like an epiphany. My life had purpose and meaning like never before. A man's proudest moment in life is watching his children grow into resilient, productive, hardworking and compassionate members of society. You make us proud every day with your willingness to undertake new responsibilities, to step outside of your own comfort zones and to take the career opportunities afforded to you and make more of them than I could ever imagine, all the while earning the respect of your friends and peers along the way. I love you both and could not be prouder to be your dad.
To my wife, Rosalind, also a first-generation Australian, the daughter of migrants from the Netherlands, we first met in year 8 at Gilles Plains High School. We served on the student representative council together and fell in love at work when you joined the team at Mobil Hilltop in year 11. Needless to say, when it was discovered that we were a couple—exposed by our frequent absences at that year's Mobil Christmas party—we were never rostered on again together. We have been together since we were 16, nearly 40 years, and it was my proud honour to celebrate our 35th wedding anniversary with you last December.
In many ways, Rosalind, you have been my compass. Travelling the highway of life for the last 40 years, both of us have grown, changed and evolved. But ever since I was a young guy—essentially a bogan with a mullet, Nike high-tops and acid-wash jeans—you have made me want to be a better man. Rosalind, you were my girlfriend, you are my wife, you are the love of my life.
As has become customary in recent times, I would like to end with a poem. This poem has struck a deep chord with me of late and has become somewhat of a mantra or affirmation that I return to frequently, and now even more so as I embark on my new responsibilities. It is by an American poet, Dale Wimbrow, and was penned in 1934. It also hangs in my office and is a framework for how I intend to navigate my latest chapter in life. It is called The Man in the Glass. You may have heard of it:
When you get what you want in your struggle for self,
And the world makes you king for a day,
Just go to the mirror and look at yourself,
And see what that man has to say.
For it isn't your father, or mother, or wife,
Whose judgement upon you must pass;
The fellow whose verdict counts most in your life,
Is the one staring back from the glass.
He's the fellow to please—never mind all the rest,
For he's with you—clear to the end;
And you've passed your most difficult, dangerous test,
If the man in the glass is your friend.
You may fool the whole world down the pathway of years,
And get pats on the back as you pass,
But your final reward will be heartache and tears,
If you've cheated the man in the glass.