15/08/2025
On Tuesday 12th August, I lost my beautiful Dad, my best friend and my constant throughout my entire life.
Dad had this incredible way of coming up with ideas and pulling off an event, the kind that felt effortless, like they’d just “happened,” even though you knew he’d been quietly orchestrating every detail in the background. He was like those people who can whip up a meal out of nothing, and you never even notice them in the kitchen until you sit down and realise it’s perfect. That was Dad: calm, clever, and making sure everyone else was having a great time, without ever making it about himself.
He knew everyone. Everyone knew him. And if he didn’t know you, chances are you’d be in his circle of friends before the day was out. He always had time for people, and he made the effort to genuinely be interested in what you were up to.
He was always there for me, through the long hospital days, through any crazy idea I came up with, through everything. He was my steady point in life. I rang him often, and he always rang me back, usually with a story to tell.
Just a few weeks ago we were on a girls’ trip with my friends from intermediate school. They’ve always called him Wal. They suggested we FaceTime him, and so we did. They all had a good old chat with him and remembered him exactly as I do, warm, caring, and always up for a good time.
There are so many stories. One Christmas, when I wanted a CD player, Dad gave me an old record player with a Canterbury Draught can sitting on it. “There you go,” he said. I didn’t get the real one until much later that day.
When we were in the UK once, I’d organised a bowls tournament with all the girls. When we arrived, it had been booked out, so we headed to the pub instead. Dad came along, and at some point, he disappeared into the kitchen. Next thing we knew, he was back with a handful of eggs and spoons, and we were racing around the streets outside the pub. That was Dad, forever coming up with unique, funny ways to entertain people.
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