In the grand theatre of Australian politics, where every player is both a performer and a prop, Edward Francis Cleary stands as an amusing character, a mixture of farmer and politician who plowed through the fields of democracy with the same enthusiasm one might reserve for a particularly fruitful harvest. Born in Nooramunga, this gentleman farmer turned politician took the art of sowing far beyond mere agricultural pursuits. He was, in every sense of the word, Cleary a politician. Our tale begins on the sun-kissed farms of Goorambat, where Cleary no doubt learned that the only thing harder than tilling the soil was navigating the soil of political discourse. Armed with a pitchfork in one hand and a sign that said "Vote for Me!" in the other, Cleary took to local government like crops to rain. His early political career on the Benalla Shire Council was marked by fervor and a commitment arguably rivaling that of any overly caffeinated hen at a farm show. From 1910 to 1936, he served as the dutiful gardener, pulling the weeds of local governance with both vigor and a dash of questionable horticulture. He even found time to become president from 1913 to 1914, likely wondering if the position came with a complimentary tractor. In a plot twist that could only be rivaled by a soap opera, Cleary found his calling in the Victorian Legislative Assembly, wading through the muddy waters of politics as though it were a refreshing creek in the summer heat. Elected in 1927 for the Country Progressive Party, he clearly was a party-goer—after all, when you have nine children, one learns to appreciate any form of gathering, including those with ‘political talk’. By 1930, the Country Progressives united with the Country Party, resulting in a political alliance that might have left some wondering if they were cultivating camaraderie or just mixing the fertilizer with the seed corn. Fast forward to 1935, and our esteemed farmer found himself donning the cap of government whip. Yes, you heard that right—a farmer turned whip! One can only imagine Cleary eyeing his fellow politicians with the same scrutiny he must have given to runaway sheep on his farm. With his trusty whip—allegedly just a metaphorical one unless he took his agricultural tools to Parliament—he was set to keep his colleagues in line. It's a wonder he didn’t address them with “All right, mates! Back to the barn. No grazing until you’ve finished your business!” But it wasn’t all political haymaking. One must also admire Cleary's dedication to family—he had nine children, after all! While sowing seeds in the political arena, he was clocking in overtime at home, perhaps contemplating how one could cultivate local votes while ensuring the kids didn’t accidentally vote for “The Funny Farmer” whose campaign consisted solely of making whimsical hay bales. In conclusion, Edward Francis Cleary was not just a man of the land; he was a magnificent mixologist of politics and farming, crafting a cocktail of comedic governance that involved mixing the fertilizer of straight talk with a spritz of charm. Not just a politician, but a genuine character who gave many a story worthy of the front page—or at least the village gossip. Perhaps in his next political life, he might consider running for a role in one of those reality TV shows: “Farming Votes: Who Will Plow Their Way to Victory?” Because if there’s anything that Cleary demonstrated, it’s that in the political fields, as in farming, it's all about how you cultivate those relationships—and not letting them rot in the summer heat.