I remember your smile and your laughter, your deliciously dry sense of humour and your jokes, you were so handsome and charismatic. How much you loved to work away in the garden and how Mum always took out a glass of lemonade or ginger beer to you when it was a hot day. I remember you getting ready to go to a gig; that distinctive aftershave (was it Old Spice…?) and hint of eye-liner you wore for being under the stage lights. That very tiny nip of sweet sherry you took just to calm your nerves before you kissed me, Mum and Julie goodnight and left the house to go to do a show. On Sunday nights, after a gig, you would drive for miles out of your way just to buy a small bag of sweets at a petrol station for Julie and me…the shops used to be closed on Sunday’s back then. How you loved a beer with your dinner in the summer, and those dreadful cocktails you invented for any guests who visited us. How handsome you looked and sounded on stage playing your violin and doing your monologues. You loved to listen to you Perry Como and Vic Damone records. You loved the songs Stella by Starlight and Ebb Tide…
You adored animals, especially our pet dogs Susie, Sam, Sheppie and Nicki, and you always cried during sad films (you bawled your eyes out watching Blossoms in the Dust and Kings Row…) and you really loved The Two Ronnies, Benny Hill, Porridge, Morecambe and Wise, Parkinson. You had spent your youth riding horses on your sister Doris’s property in the Burragorang Valley…before the NSW Govt bought her out, filled the valley in and named it the Warragamba Dam.
You were dreadfully impractical when it came to DIY around the house; if wallpaper did not stick properly you would nail it to the wall. You once tried to create an indoor fireplace by placing the BBQ on the living room floor…and burnt the floor. You were the worlds worst driver. And your exaggerated stories…about your age especially. You loved to listen to the John Laws Show on the radio everyday regardless of the station he was on – 2GB, 2UE – who cared? and how you loved listening to 2CH each morning…Len London, Howard Craven, the ‘Secret Sound’…
You seemed indestructible – until you felt terribly sick that day in May 1982. Your desperate fight to recover after your illness, the asthma and emphysema that left you so debilitated you could no longer work in your beloved garden. Your trips to the hospital that grew more frequent, and the stays longer. Your passionate and unstoppable love for your family - I was the apple of your eye. You always bragged about my swimming achievements, my progress on the organ and piano; and you always read my little poems to all your friends. How you adored your grandchildren – Ashley, Patrick (‘The Golden Boy’) and William (‘Willy’) – you’ve have three more grandchildren born since you left us. And guess what? I finally became a professional musician – a violinist like you. I know that you would have approved in the end, I think we both knew all along I was never going to be the concert pianist you hoped I’d be, but I have to say that I tried…I really did.
The space in our lives where you once existed has never been filled, and never will be.
I was terrified of the dark when I was little; you would let me sleep in your bed with Mum while you went and slept in my bed whenever I was frightened at night. I remember your temper and your moods – you could be so difficult at times. Your kindness and deep compassion – you were always such a softie. You bought some hens so we could have fresh eggs, and then you could not bear to take those eggs from the nest.
Those last few moments with you; I brushed your hair (you were always so fussy about your appearance) and I put some cream on your lips - they were all chapped and dry from the oxygen mask. Then I had to leave…I whispered in your ear that I loved you. How I wish I had done that so much more often and so much sooner, but I told you, and I just know that you heard me, I know that you did…and how very long you had been waiting for those words from me…your ‘Wen‘ - your little girl. A few hours later your soul took flight from this world and I am so, so sorry I was not there at that moment you left us. You’d have been there for me…
And afterwards – discovering the love I had for you that I never knew the strength of until after I lost you. Picking the phone up two days after you had gone to tell you about your favourite show being on TV, and then realising a second later that you were no longer there to tell. You always wanted me to write a book, you always said I had a flair for writing. Well, I have not written a book - yet - but I have written something far more valuable…this - just for you.
You would have been 95 today but you wouldn’t have looked it, and you most certainly would never have admitted to it…
Happy Birthday Dad
With undying love - your Wen. 
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