We all go back to our roots. My father went to the central west

Quentin Bryce, the first woman to serve as Governor-General of Australia, once reflected on her heritage, saying: “We all go back to our roots. My father went to the central west, went to Ilfracombe in 1919. He was the manager of the wool scour there. And, Ilfracombe was right at the heart of Australia’s great wool industry, and my mother was a teacher at Winton.” These words, though personal, carry a universal truth: that our beginnings—our roots—hold within them the soil from which we grow, the memory that nourishes our identity, and the foundation that strengthens us when we rise to great heights.

The origin of this reflection is deeply tied to Australia’s story itself. The town of Ilfracombe, set in the rugged heart of Queensland’s west, was once sustained by the wool industry, a trade that clothed the world and symbolized the young nation’s prosperity. Quentin Bryce’s father, a manager of the wool scour, was part of this great enterprise, while her mother, a teacher, carried the torch of knowledge in Winton, another town marked by resilience and community spirit. Together, their lives embodied the nobility of labor and the dignity of service—industry and education, the twin pillars of a flourishing people.

Her words are not mere remembrance, but a recognition of lineage. She acknowledges that “we all go back to our roots,” meaning that no matter how far we travel, no matter what offices we attain, we are always tethered to the sacrifices, struggles, and labors of those who came before us. The wool scour and the classroom, humble places in themselves, became the foundation upon which she would stand to reach the highest office in the land. Her greatness was not born in isolation but rooted in the toil and faithfulness of her parents.

History echoes this truth in countless lives. Consider Abraham Lincoln, who rose from the log cabin of the American frontier to the presidency of a nation. Though he stood at the pinnacle of political power, he never denied the formative power of his roots: the axe, the fields, the books borrowed by candlelight. Or think of Mahatma Gandhi, who carried with him the simplicity of his Indian upbringing even as he confronted empires. In both men, as in Quentin Bryce, the greatness of their later lives was inseparable from the humility of their beginnings.

The meaning here is deeply emotional: our roots remind us of who we are and keep us anchored against the temptations of pride. They remind us that behind every triumph stands a hidden history of sacrifice—parents, teachers, workers, communities—that shaped us. To forget these roots is to sever ourselves from the very life that sustains us. To remember them is to walk humbly, with gratitude, knowing that our story is never ours alone.

And it is also heroic: for to honor one’s roots is to honor endurance. The wool industry of Ilfracombe was not glamorous, but it built a nation. The classrooms of Winton were not celebrated, but they formed young minds. These quiet labors, unnoticed by the world, carried the same nobility as the grandest achievements. Quentin Bryce reminds us that true greatness is not a rejection of the past, but its fulfillment.

The lesson for us is clear: return to your roots often. Remember the places and people that shaped you. Speak of them with gratitude. If your parents labored with their hands, honor their toil by the integrity of your own work. If a teacher once guided you, let their wisdom live through your actions. Do not despise humble beginnings, for they are the foundation of all enduring greatness.

Practically, this means cultivating gratitude daily. Tell your children the stories of their ancestors. Visit the places of your upbringing, however small, and draw strength from them. And above all, when you rise in life, do not forget to look back and honor the soil from which you sprang. For as Bryce teaches: we all go back to our roots—and it is there we find not weakness, but the truest strength of all.