Farewell, Dad
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Farewell, Dad |
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I just wanted to say a few words about Dad's life "before Queensland". It's really only in recent years that I've learned much about his childhood and youth, as a result of trying to trace the family history. I always used to think of him as a Newcastle person because I'd never seen him anywhere else, but actually he came from around here - no wonder he fitted back in so comfortably.
Dad was born on the first day of Spring in 1921, the youngest child and only son of Wallace Thomson of Lismore and Mabel Newstead of Casino. He was christened Andrew Thomas Thomson, a name which gave rise to some criticism on the grounds of repetition. But he was named for his mother's beloved younger brother, Thomas, who survived Gallipoli only to die in France in World War I. I've always thought it a distinguished name, and very Scottish.
It was a happy family of modest means. Dad's sisters Joan and Myrnie loved him dearly and took part in caring for the new baby and later escorted their brother to school on his first day. His mother, from whom he inherited those lovely green eyes, doted on him in her quiet way. His father appreciated having another male in the household, and took Dad on excursions - to the railwaymen's annual picnic in Sydney, for example.
Here's a story of one of their outings, in Dad's own words:
On [one] occasion my father took me down onto the wharves where the North Coast Steam Navigation boats berthed, right in the heart of Lismore. [...] From there my father had gathered some small gear wheels and put them in a sugar bag. I was very interested and in reply to my questions about what they were, I was told they were sausage wheels like the serrated blade on the old family mincer which itself must have survived in the family for about 30 years. I remember my intense interest in the gears and I think without any doubt this presaged my continuing love of things mechanical or of an engineering nature. For my whole life I have been saying mentally every time I saw a small gear or pinion "That's a sausage wheel". I will probably say it on my deathbed just like Citizen Kane said "Rosebud" and no one will have an earthly idea of what it signifies.
When Dad was still very small, the family moved to Grafton, where they stayed for about 10 years. Dad had many fond memories of this time - having electric light in the house, being given a meccano set, having a gramophone and a range of records to listen to, seeing his first aeroplane. The family returned to Lismore for holidays sometimes, but I suspect this was when contact with the extended family started to wane. People just didn't have the mobility we have nowadays.
One of Dad's memories from visiting Lismore:
The rate of change in technology during my lifetime has been nothing short of amazing, but what is often overlooked is that the rate of social change has been equally dramatic. It is hard to believe that one of my father's brothers should have been disowned by the family because he married a Catholic, but this was the case, and was observed to the extent that I was always introduced by the Lismore faction as "The Only Thomson"!! Which was certainly not the case and could only have been true if Brother Bill, who was a policeman, was similarly disowned.
It is all a bit of a mystery to me, but "The Only Thomson" bit is quite true.
Reading this was what made me take up family history: I wanted to find those other Thomsons for Dad. Progress has been very slow, but I was contacted by his Uncle Bill's granddaughter just recently. Last week I told Dad about hearing from her, and I think he was pleased.
Dad's family moved next to Lithgow. Somehow I'd got the impression this was where Dad was from. When he realised, his response was: "Nah! It's a horrible cold place."
The final move was to Newcastle, where the family settled, and where Dad attended a junior boys' high school, leaving at the age of 14 for the working world. For the next 12 years he studied part-time to achieve what he'd always known he wanted: to be an engineer.
Ross is going to talk about Dad's remarkable career, so I'll just say that despite his work commitments, he was always there for me and for Fiona. In 1976, a difficult year for Dad, he told me how grateful he was for Fiona's existence - he said she'd made his life worth living. He was still there for us right up to the end, holding our concerns in mind, caring about our children, and sharing his wisdom and experience.
With our brother Glenn, the situation was more complicated: after the halcyon years of Glenn's boyhood, reflected in scores of father-and-son photos, differences arose and comunication broke down. Nevertheless I know Glenn was never far from Dad's thoughts. He was proud of Glenn's brilliance and of his engineering achievements, and sad that their estrangement was never bridged.
Dad was a wonderful and inspiring father. He was interested in everything, from art, literature and music to technology and sport. As well as all this, he:
I could go on! I believe he taught Fiona to read. He taught us to swim and to draw and later to drive, and he talked to us about moral issues. He took an incandescent joy in human endeavour, believing in the capacity of humankind to solve any problem. And he could fillet an apple like no one else! I should also mention that he could dance. More about that shortly.
As Dad moved up into management, he had to be away from time to time. As a young girl, I used to wail and howl at his departures. I was terrified he would disappear or die, so I was sensibly told: you'll be grown up with a life of your own by the time Daddy dies, and you won't miss him so much. I've said similar things to my daughter, Helen, and I know Fiona has to Amy as well. Fiona and I are both discovering now that it's true only up to a point. We will miss him always.
But to go back to the dancing: that's how he met Eva, and what a joy it has been to see him so happy in his marriage to her. He loved Ross and Lynne as his own, and was very proud of them - incredibly touched at Ross dedicating his book to "my father, Andrew Thomson"; full of praise for Lynne's strength and capability; enchanted by the grandchildren.
Fiona and I owe a debt of gratitude to Eva for getting Dad to travel south as often as she did, giving us and our children a chance to spend more time with him than we'd have been able to otherwise. And we honour and thank her for the way she loved and supported him, especially in recent difficult times.
[At this point, before handing over to Ross, I read out a short message from my daughter Helen, Dad's eldest grandchild, and introduced the musical tribute, In Paradisum, she recorded for the funeral.]
- Val Thomson
Page created 29 July 2005; last updated 25 October 2005