10 September 2018, Perth, Western Australia
Speaker’s note: I am the eldest son of six siblings. My father had invited me to go on his annual fishing trip. He died of a heart attack on the small boat 30kms offshore. It was Fathers' day.
Neil Alister Turner,
He always hated that name. Neil.
Just last week at the Airport, when we were checking in the lady wanted to know who this Neil Turner was?
Dad had to bring out his drivers license and explain the whole story to prove who he was.
He turned to me and said “stupid name - every time I go to the Airport , this is always a fucked up show”
Alister Turner
That was the name of my Dad.
I was proud of my Dad.
Not because he was a brilliant surgeon who changed so many lives.
Not because he was a loving father who brought up a horde of kids in difficult circumstances.
… but because he was good man.
He wasn’t one to show too much emotion.
He hated big dramas and fuss.
He never got angry … well maybe a little bit when his racehorse ran badly.
But he was always there to help no matter what. He just wanted to fix things up and then get on with life.
Growing up he showed me what it was to work hard.
He would get up early, 6 days a week and work all day in a job that not many of us could do.
He never complained and always had time to help us with a costume or a some school project that was always due the next day.
My Dad loved books. He was always reading some crappy crime thriller. He always tried to palm them off to me; I must have 3 boxes of them in my shed.
He even wrote a few of books himself. I think one may be coming out pretty soon.
Seriously … Licorice Lunch. It is autobiographical.
Go out and buy it.
You are probably in it.
I reckon it will probably need one more last chapter added.
My Dad had a swagger about him, like he was almost arrogant.
He thought he was a great dancer. He was actually pretty good.
He thought all the women loved him. Maybe they did.
He said to me one day “I have been working out at the gym Matt. I am feeling really strong. But no matter how hard I train my muscles won’t get any bigger”
If you ever saw my Dad in shorts you would know he had legs like a crayfish.
He complained “My calf muscles just won’t grow”
I told him “ You are nearly 80 years old … what do want with huge calf muscles?”
I was lucky enough to get invited along on my Dad's annual fishing trip last couple of years.
The Happy Hookers.
These guys have been going up north for decades. During the day they go out on the boats fishing and at night the play cards and …. have a couple drinks.
Tits Turner, as they called him, was always amongst the winners of best fish at the end of the trip.
He seemed to be able to be pulling up Red Emperors when everyone else was getting catfish.
Recently he has not been as strong as he use to be and struggled to pull fish up from a great depth.
He would turn to me and say “Dan , here you better pull this one up”
As I hauled in a large Coral trout , I would be like ” Geez Dad my name is Matt, Dan is you other son ….the one who would be spewing over the side of the gunnel.”
Sorry Dan.
This year Dad was worried the fishing trip was going to be no good. That nobody would enjoy it.
He thought the accommodation would be crap. The boat would be too small. The weather would be bad and the fish wouldn't bite.
It didn't turn out like that.
The cabin was fantastic, the boat was best ever. The ocean glassed off at high tide each day and the fish were varied and abundant.
Pulling up fish and putting down cans of export with his mates out on the ocean.
I am only speaking for myself but I think that was a perfect way for my Dad to go out.
Dad if you listening “Your journey was a success, it was not a fucked up show…. you nailed it perfectly”