Yesterday we farewelled Dad. It was a beautiful service and I am so relieved to have read my father's eulogy. I hate public speaking but I wanted to do this, a last thing I could do for him. Damn, anxiety on top of grief is quite a thing. Have to say I nailed it, though the very last bit I had to pass to my son to read as I started crying. Everyone said I did a great job and I felt very present as I spoke each word, even making eye contact with people who I mentioned in the piece. I don't think anyone who knew me had thought I had it in me! I tell you what though, I felt such relief afterwards and had the best sleep I had all week last night!
Dad was born near Munich, but by 3 years old he had arrived at the Bonegilla migrant camp near Albury Wodonga with his parents and older brother. As the youngest, he attended the camp kinder to learn English. Lud would be waiting outside for Dad to push books out under the crack in the door. It could have been a good story about the beginnings of his life of crime, but as a man who had a very strong sense of right and wrong, it’s more an example of the generosity that we all loved about him.
Dad used to give Mum’s brother John a lift home from work, which of course was a ploy to get to know her. He had a cool FC Holden that he’d saved up for, and they went to their first party in that. He’d pick her up early on weekends to go down the coast, often in a convoy with Dad’sbrothers and mates. They’d check out surf spots or have picnics when the surf was flat, sometimes driving their cars on the beach at Point Addis where the FC got bogged and all the surfers had to bounce it out.
In 1968, he was drafted into the army for two years National Service, training at Puckapunyal.Mum remembers the army barbers having a field day on all the long haired louts. In ‘69, he went to Vietnam for a tour of duty. His role was in intelligence, which Mum teased him about. After five months, he came back to real life - surfing, continuing his work as a structural steel draftsman, and marrying Mum, the start of a very long life and solid marriage together.
They built their first house in Kealba, and the first job when they moved in, of course, was building shelves for the sound system. We’d always wake up to loud music on Saturday mornings, and we had a lifetime of sitting in front of good speakers listening to the latest song or album Dad had fallen in love with.
They had me in ‘71 and Caren in ‘74, and we were promptly put in the car seat for drives down the coast. When we think of our childhood, a good part of it was playing on the beach at Point Impossible or Bells, waiting for Dad to come in. Saying that, he was always a hands-on Dad. Mum remembers him insisting on being in the delivery room, which was unusual at the time.
George remembers driving to Urquarts with the FC. They got cleaned up by a big swell, so they came in, chucked the boards on the roof and raced all the way back to Fishos. When they jumped out of the car, they found the boards hadn't made the journey with them. A few other near misses led to an unwritten rule that everyone is responsible for the security of their own board - if “we” lose it, it’s YOUR fault.
The brothers had a lifetime of surfing together, and later windsurfing, kiting and stand up paddle boarding. He used to tell me that salt water fixed everything, a philosophy I live by today. I can still hear him yelling ‘paddle paddle paddle!’.
In the early ‘80’s, he and Mum moved down to Jan Juc, as did his Mum and brothers. He’d commute up to Footscray for half the week, and the other half would be at home drawing in his study. He was certainly glad to be done with that drive when he retired, but he couldn’t help himself, and soon started drawing house plans for Ron Dennehy, which he always enjoyed. Jarrah remembers sitting in that study as a little kid, watching in silent awe from an adjacent office chair as he tapped and clicked away at the entirely indecipherable AutoCad screen until suddenly the facade of a house would appear.
Dad always had a good sense of adventure, even if he had to invent it himself. We never went on bush walks, we went on bush ‘bashes’, where we veered off the path, scrabbling through undergrowth to catch up to Dad where he'd be hanging from a tree.
He’d put our feet in the board straps of his windsurfer, and we’d hang on for dear life as we flew through the water.
One day he rocked up at school to take us on a ski adventure to Falls Creek. When Caren heard there was a blizzard coming, she was so terrified she sat right down in the snow and refused to move - for the first time ever, he swore blind at her, and she moved alright!
When Caren and I wanted horses, he pushed aside his fear of them and taught himself to ride. We'd bush bash the horses through the Iron Bark basin with our knees on the saddle to avoid tree trunks. We'd thunder them along the beach at Addis, or over to Torquay and the beach at Fishos. Once, we were galloping up the stretch of grass that leads along the fence line from Bells, and I turned around to see Dad being thrown off. He was pissing blood for a week.
Even in the last few weeks, he miraculously got off the couch and came storm chasing with me and Jamie at Addis. Naturally, he had to ring a mate to tell them about it.
It was hard not to get caught up in his enthusiasm. He’d ring you out of the blue to chat to you about something he’d seen or thought of, launching into it without asking what you were doing or if you had time to listen. It was really lovely to see so many of his friends coming by or going out for coffee in the last few months, often hanging out longer than expected as Dad always had a lot to chat about.
If you rang my folks up to see if they wanted to do something, it’d always be a ‘yes’, even if poor Mum suddenly had to drop what she was doing and throw together a picnic, or grab her
sneakers and run out the door on Dad’s whim.
We always had great family holidays. There were camping trips and trips up to NSW, the Grampians or down the coast. There was the epic trip to Cactus with George, the Cook Islands, Europe and Japan with Mum, Bali with Caren, Matt and the kids. There was the UK, where he met Jamie for the first time just before we got married. We went to Raglan in New Zealand where he walked my best mate down the aisle. Mum and him would always be off somewhere in the van or up to Melbourne. He got stir crazy hanging about the house. He would always say to keep it simple and just rough it, but Mum drew the absolute line on camping without chairs.
It was also a ‘yes’ when I asked him if he wanted to do a ten day silent meditation retreat in the Blue Mountains. I remember sitting on one side of the hall in pain, totally ready to ditch the whole idea. Glancing over, he looked so strong that I was motivated to persist. Apparently, he was similarly ready to bail and was thinking the same thing about me.
When he started doing yoga, we would come home to him doing headstands in the middle of the living room. The yoga he enjoyed always needed a lot of physical and mental strength, so if I was in the studio with him, I couldn't collapse either. He used to awe and inspire people, especially as he became the oldest yogi in the room. It was a practice that gave him some good tools to get through some difficult times.
He was vegetarian very early on, which he used to be teased about. He didn’t drink much(though he enjoyed red wine, which had to be poured out exactly equally in every glass) and didn’t smoke, but jeez he could tuck into trifle or cream with cake if it was on offer. This was countered by obsessively doing sit ups if he felt he was getting ‘podgy’. Once, he went on a diet because he accidentally put on his 14 year old grandson’s board shorts. Of course, this level of fitness stood him in good stead when he got really ill.
Dad imparted a wealth of wisdom. If us girls were ever half arsed about something, we were told “if you’re going to do it, do it properly”. When we were learning to drive, we were instructed to treat everyone on the road like they were idiots. None of us could say much about his driving skills later in life though, and we know he racked up a few speeding fines going down to the Point. He also encouraged us to buy the more expensive camera, or backpack, or television - it was a false economy otherwise. He’d always say ‘it was only money’, and if we were passionate enough about something we shouldn’t worry about what it costs.
He was also a second father for Matt and Jamie. Poor Matt was confronted with Dad’s unique sense of humour when meeting him for the first time at Sunset Strip. ‘Thanks for letting me stay,’ he offered. ‘I haven’t let you stay yet,’ said Dad, deadpan. Poor Matt didn’t know what to say.
Luckily, the rest of the evening went well, with the conversation turning quickly to surfing.
Matt remembers when they built their house and he’d ring up at 6 in the morning, as he’d been awake thinking of extending a wall by 5cm. Dad also helped Jamie lay wooden flooring, remove and install a few windows, and build a gazebo. Even a fortnight ago, he was helping Jamie design a pergola, or ‘pergola’, as he would say. He’d always drop everything if anyone asked him for a hand. He always treated both Matt and Jamie as part of the family, and was so proud of the both of them as sons in law.
He adored his grandsons, and was just as great a granddad as he was a Dad. When Jarrah was born, he wondered why all the other babies in the hospital were so ugly when his own grandchild was so beautiful. In turn, of course, they idolised him, fuelling their enthusiasm for the outdoors, walking, surfing, appreciating good music, and, of course, the guitar. He always had time to play music with them, and would spend hours learning Shadows covers with Jarrah when he first started playing.
He had a genuine passion for supporting them in whatever they wanted to do - he’d take them fishing and surfing, give them an old camera, or even a guitar. Of course, this always had to be shared equally between the three of them, so it was lucky they all played music. He was incredibly chuffed with Asher’s album on Spotify. He’d sneak them bits of dark chocolate, dried figs, and extra dessert, and famously encouraged 2-year-old Jarrah to suck red wine off the cork. He’d send Ash and Ry up the roof to track possums down, convinced he’d win the battle against them eventually. Even in his last weeks he was making everyone clap to scare away rabbits. The neighbours must have thought we were nuts.
He was taking photos til the end, something he always loved. Caren in particular would spend hours talking to him about cameras and photography and, again due to his generous nature, ended up with a better camera than she had her eyes on. He just wanted to see her with a
hobby that took her outdoors and closer to nature, and thought her photos were absolutely brilliant.
He also lived to see a great grandson named after him, Ned Hans, which he was super chuffed about. Even when he was struggling with pain he would always grin ear to ear seeing a photo of Ned.
About a month ago Dad and I were listening to music in the back living room. He was a little spaced out and staring pensively at his guitars.
‘Just wondering how I can sneak ‘em in’, he said.
‘Where, Dad?’ I ask.
‘Well.’ he said slowly. ‘Wherever it is I’m going’.
I like to imagine that wherever he is, there’s a well set-up guitar there just for him. There’s a top-of-the-range stereo in a beautifully designed house with an ocean view. The garden is in full bloom, not a rabbit in sight, and there's a tripod on the deck to take photos of the birds. Waves are peeling across the bay, there's a steady offshore breeze, and the tide will be just right any moment now.
See ya out there, Dad.
