paul’s paternal grandfather was determined and resourceful.

The following passage is a portion of the eulogy I wrote for Pop upon his death at 88 years old, in 2007. I was unable to deliver the eulogy due to my grief and anxiety. I document it here to honour my paternal grandfather, and share some insights into how his life influenced mine.

For three weeks every Christmas we would travel as an extended family to the highland lakes to fish for trout. The annual pilgrimage to Arthurs Lake was my favourite time of year because of the time I could spend with my grandparents, and cousins. Some years we celebrated Christmas early so that we could leave the day before the public holidays and secure the prime camping spots. 

Pop had a small aluminium dingy with three bench seats. My Dad usually steered the small outboard motor, Nan usually sat in the middle, and Pop sat in a modified seat bolted to the bench – sitting up nice and high at the front of the boat. There wasn’t much that would keep Pop off the lake – only bad weather. He was always weather wise – he’d rise before dawn every morning, check the lake and the weather and come over to our tent and attempt to whisper, “You awake boy? Are you coming out?”. Questions directed primarily at my Dad that everyone heard. Almost every morning began like that. As reliable as a rooster Pop was.

I remember one windy day in early January, when it was not safe to go boating, Pop potted around our camp site. Tightening tent ropes, and repeatedly entered the bush behind our site to collect wood for our camp fire. He used his trusty axe as a walking sticking as much as it was used to chop wood. After disappearing in the bush once more he did not return for quite a while. We assumed he had headed off to set some deadlines or check some, probably both, but when he came back he had a decent sized log on his shoulder. He placed his axe in the back of the Ute, and dumped the log it in front of his camp chair. Once comfortable he began to hack at the timber with his tomahawk. Intrigued by Pop’s activity we sat and watched quietly. No talk. All action Pop was.

After an industrious period, all was revealed. Pop had noticed that my brother and I had failed to pack our cricket gear for this trip. So he was fashioning the log into a cricket bat. I was 11 or 12 at the time, and this bat was not like anything you could buy in the stores. For very good reason, it weighed twice that of a regular bat, but it was a beauty. It had a scoop in the back, and a knot in the sweet spot on the face. To protect our hands on the grip Pop fixed a rag to the handle with loops of electrical tap. It was now fit for cricket. 

Pop was always resourceful. He’d never asked others to do what he could complete himself. He was a man of action and a problem solver. He also demonstrated his love for others through his acts of service. It is these traits that I admired in my Pop.