For Ian Mason: 'The funniest man I ever met', by John Allen - 2024

4 September 2024, Camberwell Grammar School, Melbourne, Australia

In preparing these reflections, a colleague said to me: 'Mase seemed to know everyone, and everyone knew Mase'.

That led me to recall a tale told by John Stafford, whose long life we celebrated recently. Staff loved this story, so as he is no longer here to tell it, shall narrate it in his memory.

Many years ago Staff was taking a Year 9 excursion to the Port of Melbourne. The plan was for the boys to board a cargo ship but this apparently was disallowed. Staff and his fellow teacher were immersed in discussion with the Port Authority while the boys were waiting, standing on the pier.

A boom came over their heads, Sitting on top of it was a wharfie (sporting a tattoo; something CGS boys would never have seen, as they were the precinct of seamen, wharfies and criminals which often constituted the same identity), singlet in the of colour blue, fag in the corner corner of his mouth. The boom stopped just over the boys' heads.

The wharfie called out, 'G'day boys. You're schoolboys aren't you? I was a schoolboy once. What youse doin' here?

The class nodded at this chap, a world away from Mont Albert  Road Canterbury, One lad apparently explaining that they were schoolboys and apparently not allowed on the boat, and teacher was discussing matters with the captain of the cargo ship.

'School boys', mused the grarled figure on the beam. ‘I  know a teacher. 'Funny  bloke. Likes a sip or two. His name’s Mason. Do you know Mason.’

‘Sure’ replied a boy , ‘He's a teacher at our school'.

'Bloody hell! Mason!'

The Wharfie stood up on his boom and cried out, "Hey Captain. Let the kids on board or we're all out!'

What we all appreciate is that that tale could not be told of any person here... but no-one here would for a moment doubt the veracity of that story, or be surprised that its subject was that magnetic personality, lan Mason.

Only once, during his student years at CGS, did my son, Andrew, ask if I could place him in a particular class. Having had !an as his Year 10 English teacher, he asked if he could go into his class in Year 12.

'Why?' I asked.

'Well, Andrew replied, 'He'll make me work really hard with no excuses... and he's the funniest man I've ever met.'

These two qualities exemplified lan. With the minimum of fuss, no-one worked harder than lan —there at his table in the common room, later at his desk when we have had offices, by 7.20 each morning. School holidays didn’t exist for Ian. He was there every day – assiduously correcting student work, which was always returned for the next class, writing text studies, preparing exercises and tests, tabulating results, editing Spectemur and The Camberwell Grammarian. Yes he worked hard and demanded others, whether they be students or staff, to do the same.

Following Tony Brown, I was Head of English for 26 years. I simply could not have managed that unwavering task without the support of lan. The English classrooms in the M block are duly named in his honour.

Yet it wasn't simply work that made Ian such an important figure in the school. Once in my early years as a teacher I was struggling sa to know how best to maange a difficult situation. ‘Ask Mase’  advised a colleague. ‘He knows more about boys than anyone else here.’ 

As for 'the funniest man I've ever met'. Well, where does one start? At times one recalls almost incidental moments. While lan would not allow anyone other than his students to enter his classroom, I was able to sneak in occasionally. Some of you will  remember, prior to the advent of photocopies we had a gestetnor machine, where one ran-off light yellow copies of faintly printed material which smelt of methylated spirits. I recall one occasion in my early years going into lan's classroom where the boys were busy doing a test.

One boy came out was a very faintly printed question paper and said, 'Mr. Mason, I'm having trouble reading this'.
'Well, replied, his teacher, with tongue-in-cheek, it is after all a comprehension test.'

We were teaching the Ancient Greek play Antigone, by Sophocles, I came into Ian’s classroom as he was giving the class a spelling test of Ancient Greek names. ‘Oedipus, Creon, Jocasta. Now the playwrights. Aristophanes, Aeschylus, Euripides, Sophocles, Ponyrides.’

'Excuse me Mr Mason', queried one perplexed student. ‘Who was Ponyrides?'
"Oh,  hang on,"  said the teacher. I'm getting muddled. I looked at the
wrong list. These are the things I have to do with my daughter on the weekend, she likes horse riding. Pony Rides!’ Testing. Always testing, and creating hilarity in doing so. All of us here will have a catalogue of stories.

Together, lan and I were teachers of English at Camberwell Grammar School for 110 years. Hence I had the privilege of getting to know that veritable dynamo very well indeed. During that time he deeply enriched my life, as he did that of all present here this afternoon, together with thousands of students, staff and the extended family of Camberwell Grammar School and, yes, even the odd Wharfie.

Vale lan, dear friend.

.

For Louis Waller: "A life devoted to justice, kindness, humility", Speech at Shloshim, by Ian Waller - 2019



7 November 2019, St Kilda Hebrew Congregation, Melbourne, Australia

Speaking at a dinner in honor of my father in 2000, Justice Michael Kirby then a High Court judge said:

In a life, such as Louis Waller has lived, it is not enough to begin with his academic laurels. To understand him, and the wellsprings of his humanity, it is essential to journey back to Siedlce in Poland.

My father, Peter Louis Waller,

הריני כפרת משכבו פנחס יהודה בן יעקב דב הכהן

was born Pinchas Leib Waligora in Siedlce Poland on 9th February 1935.

His birth was registered by his father the following day, so 10th February became his official birthday.

Like many other cities in Europe, Siedlce (which is situated about 100 km east of Warsaw) had a significant Jewish population. In 1935 Jews constituted some 40% of the city's population of 30,000.

Of course, all that changed forever during the Second World War. By the end of 1942, almost every member of its Jewish population had been murdered in Treblinka.

That was the fate that befell almost all of my father’s Siedlce family.

Somehow, sensing the impending doom, Dad’s parents managed to leave Poland with their 3 year old son in 1938 and made their way by sea to Melbourne.

Dad’s parents had both been raised in orthodox hassidic homes. Indeed, the sandek at Dad’s bris in 1935 (given the honor of holding Dad while he was circumcised) was the Biale Rebbe. There were also strong family connections on my grandmother’s side to the Alexander Rebbe.

Dad’s father had received a cheder and yeshiva education in Siedlce, but at the age of 18 he was conscripted into the Polish army for 4 years, and thereafter became a fervent supporter of the Linke Poale Zion, the left wing Socialist Zionist movement, and the life-style associated with it. So, by the time they arrived in Melbourne in 1938 with Dad then aged 3, my grandparents’ religious observance had diminished.

But my grandparents had decided that their son would have a Jewish education and a Jewish life. They understood that while in Siedlce, yiddishkeit was all-pervasive whatever one’s personal practice, in Melbourne they had to work at being Jewish especially if they wanted to ensure that Dad would remain so.

So, in 1940, aged 5, Dad became a pupil at the St Kilda Hebrew School. And from 1942 (while his father was conscripted, this time as a “friendly alien” in the Sixth Employment Company of the Australian Army) he began walking with his mother every Shabbat morning to St Kilda Synagogue from their rented cottage in Argyle Street. From the age of 9, Dad attended services every Friday evening as well.

After the Second World War my grandfather became a regular congregant here too, and he remained so until he died in 1981.

It is therefore particularly appropriate that this Shloshim service, marking 30 days since my father left this world, is being held here at St Kilda Synagogue.

* * *

Rabbi Jacob Danglow, who led this Synagogue for more than half a century between 1905 and 1957, had a powerful impact on my grandparents and on Dad.

In a speech he delivered in 1980 on the 100th anniversary of Rabbi Danglow’s birth, Dad said that when Rabbi Danglow stood in the pulpit – this pulpit – delivering his sermons he could, as a child, imagine no other occupant.

This is how Dad described Rabbi Danglow in that speech:

...pre-eminent always...- dark; a sun-tanned face, an iron-grey moustache, black canonicals, relieved a little by the bands of white at his throat, and draped in a silk tallit with blue stripes, a tiny replica of which I and every boy in the synagogue wore in those days...

Although he could imagine no one else occupying the pulpit, as an 8 year old attending Sunday school here, on one occasion Dad was directed to go into the shule ascend the pulpit and read from the Singers Prayer Book until he was told to stop. A microphone was being installed for some occasion and the electrician wanted to test its effectiveness. Dad said:

I mounted the steps with trepidation. The view I had was breathtaking, but I was also seized by a terrible fear. What if Rabbi Danglow should at that moment come through the door and see me? He would surely thunder “Get out!” and banish me forever from the shule.

Dad celebrated his barmitzvah in this shule on 21st February 1948 (parshat Tetzaveh). He remembers standing in the Warden’s box as Rabbi Danglow implored him to conduct himself so as to be a source of pride to his parents, his family and his school.

Exactly 3 months later, on 21st May 1948, David Ben Gurion proclaimed the declaration formally establishing the State of Israel.

Dad recalls attending a special thanksgiving service in this shule after the establishment of Medinat Yisrael.

He said:

Rabbi Danglow delivered a sermon which I do remember — it was on the theme that Israel should be a Jewish state. And when the choir, which throughout the war had sung the National Anthem to end the service, concluded instead with Hatikvah, I knew that the world had changed. Whatever happened, my life and the lives of my contemporaries would thereafter in large degree, be bound up with the life and future of Israel.

Of course, Dad’s words were prescient.

Because it would be in Israel where he would fall in love with Mum in the summer of 1957.

And it would be in Israel where my brother Anthony and sister Elly would make their homes, and together with Michal and Michael would raise their families.

And it would be in Israel where we would celebrate Mum and Dad’s 60th wedding anniversary - returning to the place where it all began, but this time surrounded by their 35 children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.

And it will be in Israel tomorrow that a Shloshim service will take place in Modi’in arranged by Anthony and Elly, at which a siyum mishnayot will be conducted marking the special learning that has been undertaken in Dad’s memory during the last 30 days.
* * *

Dad continued to attend this Synagogue regularly until he sailed to England to commence post graduate study at Oxford in 1956. And in later years Dad continued to attend here on those days when he could drive to shule.

So, he would return to the synagogue of his youth to celebrate the triumph of Purim and to commemorate the tragedy of Tisha B’Av and on other occasions as well.

As a boy, Dad also continued his formal Jewish education at its Hebrew school, attending classes on Shabbat mornings after shule, on Sunday mornings and on Monday, Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.

Dad’s life changed completely when, in March 1950, Reverend Bert Wreschner, then assistant minister of STKHC and Headmaster of the Hebrew School, appointed Dad, then aged 15, as a teacher in the Hebrew School responsible for a class of 10 and 11 year old boys and girls.

Dad said that that experience was “to light the fires of enthusiasm for Jewish learning and for teaching” in his impressionable mind.

In his matriculation exams in 1951 Dad received first class honours in Hebrew.

And in each year of his law degree, Dad continued his studies in Biblical Hebrew and Aramaic at Melbourne University in the Department of Semitic Studies under the renowned Professor Maurice David Goldman.

* * *

While Dad received his formal Jewish education at St Kilda Hebrew School, his informal Jewish education was probably more influential.

Of course, it came primarily from his home, from his mother and from his father who as a young boy had been a Talmudic prodigy and was well versed in Jewish law and practice.

Dad recalls being taught by his father to read Rashi script and, together with him, studying the biblical commentaries on the weekly Torah portion. His father also taught him how to read and write Yiddish which had been Dad’s mamaloshen (his mother tongue) from the time he could speak.

Dad’s informal Jewish education also came from 2 other principal sources.

From the age of 11 until he was 14, Dad attended an informal gathering called Oyneg Shabbos organised and led by a young man named Eli Loebenstein. Meetings were held on Shabbat afternoons in the homes of some of the participants where there were stories, games, songs – as well as cake and lemonade. Eli spoke to them about the forthcoming Jewish holidays, or about an episode in the Torah reading of the week, or about tallis and tefillin, or about all manner of matters Jewish and made sure that every person in the group was regarded as an important participant.

Dad later wrote:

I didn't see Eli often after the end of Oyneg Shabbos. I remember him today with undiminished fondness, and with deep respect. What he did for me, and my Oyneg Shabbos companions, he did because he wanted to ensure that we Melbourne Jewish kids understood how wonderful was our inheritance, and how precious was each Shabbos we enjoyed.

The second major informal influence on Dad was Bnei Akiva. Between the ages of 12 and 21, a large part of Dad’s life was lived in this Religious Zionist youth movement.

As a madrich or youth leader Dad welcomed the opportunities for autonomy and independence.

And his own madrichim left indelible impressions on him, particularly Arnold Bloch ע׳ה who showed Dad that Jewish learning and secular studies not only could, but should, merit equal attention and that the insights from one could illuminate the other.

The seeds of Jewish life and learning that were planted in Dad as a boy took root and flourished, imbuing his life with a spiritual dimension that permeated everything he did thereafter.

* * *

Dad returned to Melbourne in 1959 having obtained a BCL with first class honours from Oxford, but more importantly having met and married Mum.

Their first home was a flat in Glenhuntly Road Elwood. So from about June 1959 until October 1962 Dad davened at Elwood TTC. Dad especially enjoyed the davening of Chazan Adler who he described as “a superb ba'al tefila, and free of prima-donnaish characteristics”.

In 1962, Mum and Dad moved to Hartley Ave, Caulfield and Dad began a life-long association with another, very different, sort of synagogue.

In fact, in name not a synagogue or Bet Knesset, but a Bet Midrash (a house of learning) - the Caulfield Beth HaMedrash, colloquially known to many as Katanga.

Interestingly, Dad rarely if ever used that appellation, referring to it simply as “the Beis Medrash”.

It had no ornate sanctuary, no imposing dome, no Anglo-Jewish heritage, indeed no official rabbi.

Instead it comprised devout and learned Holocaust survivors whose mother tongue was Yiddish. Dad enjoyed its simplicity and authenticity and forged close personal relationships with generations of its mitpallelim.

For at least the last 20 years Dad would speak on Shabbat afternoons twice a year - on Parshat Mishpatim and Parshat Shoftim whose Torah readings dealt with legal matters.

Dad, the public teacher of law, enjoyed preparing and delivering these intimate lectures in which he would skilfully weave his own experiences, insights and reflections into the biblical text.

He delivered his last such talk just 2 months ago.

Dad’s final appearance at his beloved Beis Medrash was on Rosh Hashana the Jewish New Year - less than 6 weeks ago.

His last public pronouncement that day was his recitation of the Birkat Kohanim – the Priestly Blessing – which he always did with pride and more importantly be’ahava with love.

The memory of that day will stay with me forever.

Dad’s affiliation with, and attraction to, these very different places of worship – to St Kilda Hebrew Congregation and to the Caulfield Beth HaMedrash - speaks to his openness to different forms of Orthodox Jewish expression.

Dad understood the need for fidelity to tradition, to halacha, but accepted that there were “shivim panim letorah” many ways of expressing that connection.

That openness to different outlooks and approaches characterized Dad’s involvement with a vast range of Jewish organisations during his life - in education, in welfare, and in communal life.

With Bert Wreschner, Dad assisted the newly established Moriah College which we attended in the 1960’s. Later, when we moved to Mount Scopus College, Dad chaired its Education Committee.

He helped establish programs to enhance tertiary Jewish studies at both Monash University and the University of Melbourne.

Dad served as Chairman of the Advisory Committee of the Australian Centre for Jewish Civilisation at Monash University which is dedicated to teaching about the evolution of Jewish civilisation and its contribution to the world.
He also served on the Board of Governors of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and of Tel Aviv University. And he was instrumental in the development of the Hillel Foundation in Victoria promoting Jewish life on university campuses and the establishment of Australian Academics for Peace in the Middle East.
Together with Mum he was actively involved with Bnai Brith for decades and more recently also with Courage to Care, the Makor Library and Jewish Care.

Throughout his life, Dad’s love of learning never ceased, his study overflowing with books, especially of Jewish law and lore (L.O.R.E. as Dad would say) spilling into bookshelves in every room of their home.
In recent years Dad rekindled his love of Yiddish, topping the State in VCE Yiddish and attending weekly conversation classes.
* * *
In a recently published book by Susan Bartie on Pioneering Australian Legal Scholars, she writes that as a law teacher, together with Peter Brett, Dad’s goal was not simply to produce competent legal practitioners, but to foster a sense of moral awareness in their students and to impress upon them the onerous moral responsibilities lawyers faced.

In teaching criminal law Dad would introduce his first lecture with Rv Dudley & Stevens the famous case involving human cannibalism on the high seas to illustrate the tension that exists between law and morality. That lesson and the issues it raised have remained with Dad’s students throughout their lives.

And as a pioneering law reformer, much of Dad’s work concerned the beginning and the end of life. Dad had to grapple with the most difficult legal, social and ethical dilemmas thrown up by scientific and medical advances in IVF and assisted reproduction technology.

A feature article in the Age in June 1982 stated:
The professor’s respect for human life is informed by his religious belief.
It quoted Dad as saying : “I am Jewish; it is part of the fabric of my life”.

And so it was.

In everything that he was, and in everything that he did.

* * *


In his study of Biblical Hebrew at University, and in the years since, Dad read the famous verse in the Book of Michah, where the Prophet says:

He has told you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord demands of you;
Only that you do justice,
love kindness,
and walk Humbly with your God.

הִגִּ֥יד לְךָ֛ אָדָ֖ם מַה־טּ֑וֹב וּמָה ה דּוֹרֵ֣שׁ מִמְּךָ֗ כִּ֣י אִם־עֲשׂ֚וֹת מִשְׁפָּט֙ וְאַ֣הֲבַת חֶ֔סֶד וְהַצְנֵ֥עַ לֶ֖כֶת עִם־אֱלֹקיךָ:

That simple yet profound verse encapsulates so beautifully Dad’s life.

A life devoted to justice – to teaching generations of lawyers, judges and legislators that the law must be an instrument of justice, to reforming the law so that it achieved that end, and to living a life of personal integrity

A life infused with kindness – in his lifelong relationships and in his daily interactions.

And – despite his enormous achievements - a life characterized by humility.

To have been so close to someone who embodied these qualities is a privilege that Adina and I and our children and our grandchildren will always cherish.

And a constant reminder to us of what we should strive to be.

* * *

In the speech he gave about Rabbi Danglow, Dad recalls a final memory.

It is Yom Kippur. The day of Atonement.
The shule is full, and almost still, darkened by approaching night.
It is Neilah, the final service on this holiest of holy days.
On the bimah, enveloped in white kittel and woollen tallit stands the rabbi.

In Dad’s description:

The limpid words of the liturgical poem capture the scene and fix the atmosphere:

Hayom yifneh,
hashemesh yavo v’yifneh
Navo’ah sh’arecha

The day is passing,
The sun is low, the day is growing late.
O – let us come into Thy gates at last.

So let me conclude with my final memory of my father.

It is Yom Kippur. The Day of Atonement.
Night has fallen.
It is Kol Nidrei, the first service on this holiest of holy days.
But we are not in shule.
We are gathered around Dad’s hospital bed.
Enveloped in white kittel and woollen tallit, we sing the haunting melodies that have resonated with our people for centuries and which Dad loved.
Then, we begin to recite our silent devotion.
As we symbolically beat our chests in confession - we see that Dad’s chest is now still.

The day has now passed,
the sun has now set
And Dad’s soul is about to enter Thy gates at last.

Yehi zichro baruch

May his memory be a blessing

For Ron Wootton: 'For me, as the lights in the auditorium fade and the overture starts, he will be there in the wings', by Ian Mason

A tribute presented at St Mark’s Church, on behalf of Camberwell Grammar School:

In the early 1960s, when the Camberwell Grammar School Council decided to engage the services of an efficiency expert, a Time and Motion guru, to determine whether full use was being made of the school day, they made one fundamental mistake: they organised it so that Ron Wootton was one of the first to be interviewed.

At this stage of the year, it was not unusual for Ron to be painting the play set at midnight or even later, having already taught a full class-room programme during the day, and then taken a 1st XV111 football practice after school. Having spent some time with Ron, our visiting expert came to the conclusion that schools were different. He was right, of course, and the thing that makes them different is people like Ron Wootton. For him, a seventy- or eighty-hour school week was not unusual; as he put it, it was part of the job; it was what one did, if one taught at a private school.

At this stage the School was growing and, for many of those new to the school, myself included, it was Ron’s tireless contribution to the all-round life of the school that was to have such a profound influence.

Ron joined the staff at CGS in 1957, as an art teacher, having already had some contact with the School through Harrie Rice, whom he had helped the previous year with sets for that year’s play, in those days a very humble affair, performed in a green Nissen hut, that doubled as an Assembly Hall. In many ways, the whole school at that time was a very humble affair: its numbers, though improving, were still low, and its sporting teams often suffered humiliating defeats at the hands of their opponents. The Headmaster, the Rev Tom Timpson, asked Ron to take on the role of Sportsmaster, a position he was to fill with distinction for 34 years, during which he coached almost every major sport.

He took the 1st XV111 for over twenty years, and, although he never achieved his dream of beating Assumption, he earned the respect of opponents like Brother Domnus and Ray Carroll, as an astute coach, who could extract the best from his players.  

While he was a dedicated Australian Rules player and supporter, he also saw the need to broaden opportunities for boys to participate in team sports and was a prime mover in the introduction of soccer to the AGS. For a number of years, he coached the 1st Soccer X1, and the perpetual trophy for the inter-school six-a-side soccer competition is fittingly named after its inaugurator.

He took the school swimming team, for many years without the luxury of a venue at school, training wherever he could find an empty pool. On one memorable occasion, he strode into the Richmond Pool during Caulfield Grammar’s House Sports. Competitors, staff, parents and pool attendants were stunned, when he walked in, stopped the programme, commandeered a lane, and trialled a new boy who had arrived at CGS that morning. The Combined Sports were only a day away. It was 1961, the boy made the team, and CGS won the title by one point.

He revolutionised the School’s approach to Athletics. Realising one coach could not look after the whole team, he allocated the staff to individual events. If you pleaded ignorance of the particular field, Ron gave you a book on the subject, and arranged expert coaching from his extraordinarily wide circle of friends. It was part of Ron’s whimiscal nature and eye for the absurd, that saw him place a diminutive John Hantken in charge of the discus, and then organise as his assistant, a vast Argentinian discus thrower, who had carried her nation’s flag at the 1956 Olympics. There was no way you could turn him down; his energy and enthusiasm were infectious.

He introduced a great variety of new sports to the school, and saw them become part of the AGS sports programme. Water Polo became popular within the school, and, although it must have seemed a far cry from his days as coach of Australia’s Olympic team, he used his profound knowledge of the game to establish Camberwell Grammar as one of the top Water Polo schools in the State.

He was a great believer in the value of camps and trips in the education process. He was the first to take a Senior School camp at Bambara, and many of you here today will remember boats on the Hawkesbury, the Murray, the Gippsland Lakes; Art camps at Somers; overseas trips to Europe and Asia. As OC of the School Cadet Unit, he dispensed with much of the formal military training and drill to focus on developing the individual through bivouacs and outdoor activities. He founded the Duke of Edinburgh Scheme within the school, raising money so that no boy would be denied the opportunity to participate.

With Roy McDonald, Ron set up the Photographic Society; he established a students’ newspaper, which, unlike its short-lived predecessors, still operates today; he ran the School Printing Club; he was never too busy to help with the lay-out of school publications; his cover designs for play programmes were outstanding. No task was too much trouble, and he was at the beck and call of everyone, and, usually at such excruciatingly short notice, that a lesser man would have been tempted to refuse - the Parents’ Association, the Ladies Auxiliary, any department of the school that wanted a notice, needed a sign or some kind of art work for a function turned to Ron, and he always seemed to find the time to meet the demands made of him.

Ron was a superb artist, and this was recognised by the School Council when they named the new Art Studios in his honour. His guidance and inspired efforts in the class-room touched the lives of many Camberwell Grammarians. At the first Old Boys’ Art Show held last year, many of the more successful exhibitors were past students of his, and his own painting of Roystead was one of the first to be sold. Ron’s artistic abilities were nowhere better demonstrated than in his creative set designs. So good where they, that, one evening in the mid ’sixties, the Headmaster received a phone call from a nearby resident, complaining that there was a naked woman posing on the grand piano in the Memorial Hall. It was one of Ron’s paintings, part of the set for an Old Boys’ play. He designed, built and painted the sets for over 100 plays, and most recently, had been talking about how he could assist in this year’s school production of My Fair Lady.

To remember Ron Wootton is to remember a man whose presence could turn the most dreary occasion into something lively and entertaining. His talent for creating fun was extraordinary. Many of us have had the ‘pleasure’, albeit dubiously, of being part of his love of practical joking. At an Art Camp at Somers, Ron had organised John Frith, the former Herald cartoonist, to visit the camp. Ron thought it would be a good idea if we pretended that John was a hypnotist, and, at the concert on the last night, the staff, Ron included, would seemingly succumb to John Frith’s hypnotic skills. All went well, until Ron, who had arranged to be last in line, declared that he was not an appropriate subject and could not be hypnotised, but would be John’s assistant. I remember Harrie Rice muttering into my ear that we were in trouble. Four staff sitting on chairs, pretending to be hypnotised in front of an audience of boys, with Ron Wootton on the loose, was enough to make the bravest of men apprehensive, and, as it proved, rightly so too.

But above all, Ron was a schoolmaster; not a school teacher, for that term seems to imply something of the nine-to-three mentality. Ron was a real schoolmaster, and remains today as much a part of Camberwell Grammar as any building, any patch of ground. The School has a fine new Performing Arts Complex, a splendid Music School, and one of the best science buildings in the State. However, a school is more than bricks and mortar: its real worth lies in its less tangible assets. Notable among these is a man whose memory will live on in the hearts and minds of the hundreds of boys who passed through his hands, their lives forever influenced by a man with a great love of his art, his sport, his school. I do not use the phrase ‘his school’ lightly, for in the Camberwell Grammar School of today there is so much that is, and will continue to be, Ron Wootton.

I am not here today to say farewell for this is not really ‘good-bye’. Ron will be there every time I walk up the Roystead steps at five o’clock into the Common Room; he will be on the boundary line whenever the 1st XV111 runs out on to the Gordon Barnard Oval; he will be at every Old Boys’ Dinner in the memories and anecdotes of the generations he taught, and, , watching the curtain rise on another School play.

To you, Jenny, Kim, Lisa, and Andrea, and to you, John and your family, the whole School community offers its deepest sympathy. We share in your sorrow, for, with Ron’s death, we have all lost part of ourselves. He was, indeed,

                   ‘A man so various that he seem’d to be

                    Not one, but all mankind’s epitome.’

for Michael Gordon: "He would tap me on the shoulder and say, 'You're OK. You're strong'", by Ali Mullaie - 2018

16 February 2018, MCG, Melbourne, Australia

It is a great honour to be asked to share my story of my relationship with Michael Gordon.

I keep thinking and dreaming of Michael and the many things that were between us.

It is impossible to find the words that describe who he was to me.

He was the closest friend a person could have.

He was a father figure. A brother. A role model and he was my colleague when I worked at The Age in Information Technology.

He introduced me to his family Robyn, Sarah and Scott and I became a part of his family.

He helped me with job opportunities.

He was always there for me and I was there for him.

I could pick up the phone any time and speak to him.

We would meet for coffee, go for lunch and dinner.

He would take me on drives to Phillip Island.   

He took me to the footy and to the beaches where he went surfing.

He discussed his designs for the holiday house he was building.

He introduced me to the Australian way of life.

We hugged each other whenever we met.

We sent each other messages. When I was feeling down, he would tap me on the shoulder and say, 'You're OK. You're strong.'

We would talk about everything, or we said nothing and enjoyed each other's company. Or we would just have a laugh.

What can I say? We connected.

We first met on Nauru in the computer lab at Nauru College, where I was a teacher of English and computer science.

The connection was instant. I could feel it. I was appointed his interpreter.

We spent a lot of time walking around the island.

He wondered if my name was Ali or Sir, because everywhere I went, the students called me Sir.

He saw how they ran up to me and how we walked together.

He saw that the locals respected me because I taught their children and because I was engaged with the community. He understood my achievement.

On Nauru, I taught myself English and Computer Science.

I did not waste my time. But I had no family. Michael could truly hear me. Until then no one outside Nauru knew me. No one had told my story.

And because he was there, and spent time with me and with those inside the camp and because he listened he wrote the truth about our despair and our aspirations.

He did not see me as a victim.

Our friendship had nothing to do with this.

It was not based on sympathy.

He was human and he saw me as human.

I want to get the words right as if Michael is listening and can feel what I am saying.

We were born in separate countries and came from different cultures.

I was Hazara but it made no difference.

Our friendship was not about the past.

It was about now and about the future.

It was about total trust and about two human beings.

Two Australians.

I deeply miss him.

Cathleen (Sue) Lawrence: 'Underneath there was one tough cookie', by Ray Wilson - 2017

Ray Wilson delivers eulogy in Wangaratta for sister Sue Lawrence. 14 July 2017. Published on Speakola.com

14 August 2017, Wangaratta, Victoria, Australia

Most of what I will deliver today was prepared by Sue’s son Neville. Neville, her daughters in law Roslynne and Janine, her six grandchildren and her 13 great grandchildren have been the centre of Sue’s life. They have all done a wonderful job in looking after her in recent years. But Neville thought speaking today was one last job that would be a bit too hard for him. So sit back brother, I’m honoured to step in.

Cathleen Lesley Wilson was born in 1924 in the Melbourne suburb of Murrumbeena, the first of 10 children of Leslie Wilson. a returned serviceman from WW1, and Millie Morton. It is not known why she was always called Sue not Cathleen, but nicknames became a family habit. Next born child David was only ever called Mickey, and third child Les is known as Dolly.

Sue’s life was long, fruitful, and with periods of joy and happiness. But by any measure it contained more hardship and setbacks than was her fair share. That she never showed the scars of them to any of us, her family and friends, is in itself a remarkable tribute to her strength of character.

The first of these setbacks came when Les Wilson lost his job in the Great Depression and he and Millie lost the house they were buying. It started a series of forced house moves for the next 15 years. Sue started school at Port Melbourne Primary, shortly after moving to Kensington Primary. By then sister Rosie had arrived, with Leila, always called Bubby, to follow soon after.

Dolly, who I’m pleased is hale and hearty and here today, recalls their walk to school being considerably shorter if they cut through the Newmarket Cattle Saleyards, which were off limits for children. This fact was frequently explained to the trespassers and in the colourful language of the saleyards, but with no effect. The Wilson kids toughened up quickly, but always under the protective wing of big sister Sue.

Even paying the rent at Kensington was beyond the parents means, and the family moved next to Koo Wee Rup. It was then a small country hamlet, not as now on the fringe of the Melbourne metropolis. There child number six Robert was added. Les and Millie were clearly below par with his label, just settling on Bobby. However they returned to form with Vera, coming up with Tuppy as her moniker.

By now Sue was in full swing as the big sister. She safely ushered her brood to and from school, which when another move was made to nearby Monomeath, involved a three mile walk there and back along the railway line. Once again her vocabulary was improved by the railway workers they occasionally encountered who advised them to use the road. No chance of that, Sue with her mathematics knowledge knew the shortest way between two points is a straight line.

Maths wasn’t her only academic talent. She was smart enough to win a Commonwealth scholarship, and attended Dandenong High, taking Mickey every day by train. I’m told there is a plaque at the Koo Wee Rup school with her and Mickey’s names on it.

After three years at Dandenong High they were on the move again to Moonee Ponds, where Sue completed year 11, the old Leaving Certificate,  at Essendon High School. In the 1930’s that was considered quite an achievement for a female.

Sue often joked about her inability at the creative arts. At Essendon she was hopeless at sewing, music and art, so was thrilled to be asked to be in the end of year performance, only to be told she was on the door selling tickets because “you are good with money and numbers”.

Take a moment to think about what opportunities her academic ability would have afforded her had she been born two generations later. Certainly good enough to get a university degree, she would have had a wide range of careers from which to choose. But the attitudes of the time and the tough family economic circumstances saw her commence work as a secretary and bookkeeper. She would have been a very, very good one.

The next move, and thankfully the last for Les and Millie, was to a Housing Commission house in Preston. They had run out of inspiration for Maxine and Noelle’s naming, they just were Maxine and Noelle. I brought up the rear, and I think with Bobby’s help I became Mort, named after Mortein, because I was considered to be a pest. So unfair, particularly as Dolly had been named after a brand of chocolates, Dolly Varden.

While the teenage Sue was still running the show, she added on a new focus of attention. She had met a young Koo Wee Rup native when living there, a fella named Allen Burgan, who only ever answered to Ginner (more bloody nicknames). Dolly says Ginner stayed a short while at Preston while looking for work in Melbourne, and his and Sue’s relationship blossomed into something stronger. It was unfortunately interrupted by Ginner serving in New Guinea in WW2. On his return they married in 1946 and their first child Alan was born in 1947, followed 18 months later by Neville. All four of them lived with the eleven Wilsons in the small three bedroomed house which also had an outdoor sleep-out until the army allocated them a place at Camp Pell. Camp Pell was a village of army huts at Parkville adjoining the zoo. Today it is parkland, with no sign of a makeshift village similar to the refugee camps we see on television today.

In September 1949 brother Mickey, who had joined the Air Force at 18, was lost at sea while in a training flight over Bass Straight. The front page of the Melbourne Herald recorded the family’s anguish, made worse as he had been to Melbourne two days before to see his young wife who was still in hospital with their first child. The following year Millie had a stroke which rendered her an invalid for the rest of her life. These two events probably catapulted Sue into being the official head of the Wilson family, while also managing her own family with Ginner.

It’s impossible to over-emphasise her devotion to looking after others. It was a lifelong calling, she was an Olympic medallist at it. She was the one who kept up the contact with telephone calls when her siblings moved all over Australia, she never forgot a birthday, she was always there to comfort and advise but rarely to burden others with any troubles she had.

In fairness though, she did find it hard to give the role up. Earlier this year, when ringing her baby sister Noelle and getting the message machine, Sue opened the conversation the next day with “where were you last night?”, and saying Noelle should not be out on her own. Another night she rang four times on the hour, the last saying she was sending out a search party to find her. Noelle is 76, a widow with four kids and several grandkids.

Back to the narrative. The Housing Commission was building rapidly to accommodate the returned soldiers, and the Burgans were allocated a two bedroom brick house in West Heidelberg. Life was sweet and Ginner set about making their house the best in the neighbourhood. He was a terrific worker.

Soon after, probably about 1952 or 1953, Sue gained employment with the Education Department. After completing “on the job” training she commenced at North Heidelberg Primary, always teaching infant grades. It became Olympic Village Primary in 1956 when the Games Village was built on the school boundary.

This was a tough area but Sue loved it and stayed more than 20 years. She continued studying for higher qualifications allowing her to gain senior positions at Banyule and later McLeod primary schools

In 1970 Sue’s life was again thrown into turmoil when Ginner died at the unthinkable early age of 47. As with other setbacks she collected herself and carried on. She continued teaching and finally retired at the age of 60.

She now had time to spare and so decided to work on her weaknesses. She had earlier completed a short dressmaking class and became interested in ballroom dancing. However the dressmaking class didn’t achieve its intended goal, as most alterations landed on the doorstep of daughter-in-law Roslynne.

It was a time for Sue to enjoy her growing number of grandkids, and she made several trips to Disneyland and Hong Kong with them. She loved having the kids stay over and the kids loved it even more. Grandma really knew how to spoil and entertain grandkids.

It was time to also put the dancing lessons to work, and Sue, often visiting Wangaratta where Alan and Neville and their wives had a growing business, started to attend the country dances. It was at the Wangaratta CWA that Sue met George Lawrance, a Public Works inspector, who was about to retire. Their friendship grew and they married in 1984, and settled in a house in Franklin St Wangaratta. They enjoyed outback touring and camping, although by age 70 Sue said roughing it was no longer her forte.

They were energetic members of Wangaratta Lions where George served as President and Sue was elected Lady President. She was still the leader, the organiser, the giver to others. George and Sue made lasting friends at Lions, some of whom are present today.

Sue also was a member of the Ex Teachers Club, staying involved until well into her eighties. She volunteered as a reader at “Chronicle for the Blind”, and both she and George spent years delivering Meals on Wheels.

Possibly Sue’s greatest disappointment in life occurred in 2001 when her older son Alan succumbed to cancer. They had been very close and his passing hit her hard. You wonder if a parent is ever the same after losing a child. She battled on, beat her own breast cancer and then had to cope when George was found to have throat cancer. He passed away in 2015.

 Sue was that wonderful blend of kindness and softness, and we shouldn’t forget that she was genuinely funny. Not with well told long stories or remembered jokes, but with lightning fast quips and razor sharp put downs, which she was still delivering in her nineties. It’s annoying when a 92 year old is funnier than you?

But underneath was one tough cookie. She wanted to remain in her own house, and did for a while courtesy of loving visits multiple times in the day from her family here in Wang. On behalf of those of us in her family who live far away, who did so little, I want to publicly thank you all for looking after our big sister, as well as she had looked after us over so many years, and as she so deserved to be looked after.

In autumn last year, and in the autumn of her years, she performed perhaps her last great act of unselfishness. She had both a fall and a kidney infection and was in Wangaratta Hospital. Although she would have really wanted to return home she knew that she would be putting extra burden and unreasonable responsibility on her family, and so she readily agreed to go to St John’s Village. Class act at age 91

But happily, Sue found St John’s “not so bad after all” In no time she was presiding over the communal meals from the head of the largest table. She won the hearts of all the staff who attended to her. They have remarked on her humour and agree she will be sadly missed.

I will finish with these exact words of Neville, of Roslynne and Janine, of grandchildren Michelle, Jodie, Nicky, Justine, Brad and Sarah, and of her 13 great grandchildren.

We would like to tell you about our amazing Mum, Mother-in-law, Grandma, Great Grandma Sue, and big sister. She was generous with her time and money and always prepared to help others. She was proud of us, her offspring, and followed our scholastic and sporting endeavours enthusiastically.

She always said her two daughters-in-law were more like her daughters.

She was a mother who made us proud.

She was always well groomed, kept a very welcoming house and made our friends feel immediately welcome.

She was supportive and always there if we were in trouble

She was simply a special mum.

Sue lived a wonderful life and she died the way she had wished for.

A great innings from our most valuable player.

 We will always love her.

For Peter Hutchinson: 'All that mighty heart is lying still', by Ian Mason - 2016

24 September 2016, Powerhouse clubhouse, Albert Park, Melbourne, Australia

When David Dyer became Headmaster in 1966, he was determined to take CGS to the forefront of private schools in this state, if not in Australia. Vital to the achievement of this goal was the securing of appropriate staff.  By appointing Peter Hutchinson to the staff in 1967, he selected a man who was to become an integral part of the journey towards recognition, his contribution to the School in keeping with a man of his stature.

Hutchie enjoyed teaching; he enjoyed being in the classroom. It mattered not whether it was with a lowly stream of Year 9 Maths or a Year 12 Physics class; he loved it all. He was an excellent judge of his students, and they responded well to his encouragement and motivation. In 1984, he became Head of Science, much to the delight of his colleagues, who appreciated his style of leadership. The David Danks Science Laboratories were in the planning stage, and, until their opening in 1991, Hutch attended many meetings with the architects and builders, being closely involved in the creation of what were to be outstanding facilities.

In 1973, when David Dyer wanted to increase the number of Houses from four to six, to meet the demand of burgeoning numbers, it was a move he could not make without being absolutely certain he had the right people to fill the new positions. Hutchie became the inaugural House Master of Schofield, his house rapidly becoming a force to be reckoned with. As Housemaster, first of Schofield and later Bridgland, he earned the trust and respect of his charges; they knew they could always come to him for advice, for a fair hearing and support, and literally hundreds of boys have cause to be grateful for his tutelage.

Hutchie excelled, not only in the class room, but also on the sporting field. He had joined Power House Football Club when he first came to Melbourne in 1956 to pursue his Science degree at Melbourne University, and over the next twenty years, played 363 games with the Club, being Captain for six seasons and winning its Best and Fairest Award a record seven times. He was declared a VAFA Legend and awarded Life Membership of the Association. After many years of football and cricket, Hutchie took up tennis. A keen player, he became President of his local club, steering it through the difficult years of massive water restrictions, obtaining grants from the Boroondara City Council, the School and the Bendigo Bank to build water-free courts and then overseeing their construction. When he set his mind on achieving something, he was a hard man to refuse.

At CGS, Hutchie played a vital role in the resurgence of the School’s reputation on the sporting field. As Master-in-charge of Football, he played an important role in creating a strong ethos in the School’s football teams and establishing a style of play that saw the School win the majority of its AGS games during the ‘seventies and ‘eighties, though not even he could break the Assumption hoodoo. In Ron Wootton’s absence at the Olympics in Munich, Hutchie took over the lst XVlll and the School AGS Swimming team. For thirty odd years in the Athletics season, he trained the School’s shot putters, introducing what is still remembered as the Sigalas glide. All this in addition to a seriously full House sport programme, with Schofield being the first of the new Houses to win the coveted Jarrett Cup.  When he retired from playing football with Power House, the Old Camberwell Grammarians Football Club was quick to make the most of his extraordinary knowledge of the game, appointing him as its coach. Hutch quickly took the team to a premiership, ironically disposing of Power House in the preliminary final on the way. His contribution to the OCGA was rewarded later with Life Membership.

Over the years, despite his heavy commitment to CGS, Hutch retained his strong ties with Power House, especially as Chef de Cuisine at Big Camp, Easter Camp, Special Kids’ camps, work camps. In recognition of his dedication, he was awarded Honorary Life Membership of Lord Somers Camp and Power House. He shared his culinary skills with Camberwell Grammar, cooking at all sorts of School camps, many of them at Somers: play rehearsal camps; Art camps; lst XVlll football training camps.

He worked tirelessly as the Common Room Association’s representative on the Superannuation Board, and was directly responsible for many of the improvements that came in staff salaries and conditions. At various times, he was President of both the CGS Past Parents’ and the CGS PastStaff associations, organizing functions as diverse as Croquet days at Kingussie, Frog racing in the Common Room and, in the PAC, a TAB race meeting and auction.

Hutchie loved a good party and had a seemingly endless repertoire of jokes, limericks and songs. Be it in Swannie’s or the Common Room, his love of life was infectious. His singing voice had its own quite distinctive pitch, and many have revelled in listening to such classics as The Little Red Hen’ and ‘Sweet Little Angeline’, a rendition of the former featuring in his commemorative service at Power House Lakeside. Hutch was to say the least, an enthusiastic participant and joined in a number of School productions, most notably the 1986 Centenary Revue at the National Theatre in St Kilda, where he featured in both the show’s opening number and its finale. The revue began with ‘Willcommen’ from Cabaret and there was Hutch in the chorus line, replete with a frilly tutu and fishnet stockings – he made a formidable Grundhilde. And that was not the last the audience were to see of him. The finale included ‘Farewell Auntie Jack’, with the ABC icon being played by Hutch, sidecar, boxing glove, an energetic Kid Edgar, played by Irving Lenton and all. The School magazine for 1986 records the closing of the revue in the following manner:

“Song and dance was plentiful at the conclusion to Act ll … and the cast returned to bid goodbye to Auntie Jack, played by the great, great Peter Hutchinson. Appropriately, in our Centenary Year, ‘The Best of Times is now’ ended a memorable evening’s entertainment.”

“… the great, great Peter Hutchinson” - such was the respect and affection  he had earned from staff and students.

In an attempt to quantify Hutchie’s contribution to Camberwell Grammar over his 33 years at the School, CGS could be compared to an ocean liner: the Headmaster, hand on helm, directing the course; below in the engine room, the likes of Hutch being the source of the power that keeps the vessel moving.

Over the last few tears, Peter traversed fairly stormy seas, but at last he has found his peace and as William Wordsworth would have it,

“… all that mighty heart is lying still.”

CGS is forever in his debt.

For Adrian Bennetto: 'The lucky star may seem dim on a day like today', by son Casey Bennetto - 2013

29 July, 2013, Melbourne, Australia

"Born under a lucky star!" If you spent time with Dad, it was a phrase with which you became familiar. Of course the old saw about "the harder you work, the luckier you get" was as true here as ever, but Dad's gratitude was always genuine nonetheless, and often delivered with a beaming smile, surprised anew at his good fortune. "Born under a lucky star!"

If you'd been around when he was actually born, you would have got pretty good odds on a lucky star being involved. With their father gone early, Dad and Damien were left to find their paternal role models where they could. In essence, he had to teach himself how to be a man, in a time and environment where man was often pronounced with a capital M. It can't have been easy, but in the process I guess it established one of his defining characteristics: Adrian Bennetto was a man who knew his own mind.

You can see it in his expression in those early university photos - although I know his mind was not very highly rated by some then, and nor was it the first aspect of him that attracted general comment. The washboard stomach! The muscles! It was a devotion to physical fitness that he retained to the very end. (Pause for extended laughter.) But there's a cheeky confidence in some of those shots that looks like it could go either way. This guy will either climb the highest mountain in the world, or pull off the heist of the century.

Of course, according to him, he effectively did both shortly thereafter, in the successful courting of Elizabeth Rosemary Ellis. If Mum's parents were taken aback when the jock suitor suddenly demonstrated cryptic crossword chops, or his English tutors were surprised when the average student started having profound insights about Gatsby, they would soon cotton on to his way of thinking: Pay attention, and you might learn something.

And there was always more to learn. He devoured Conrad. He was as at home with Slaughterhouse-Five and Catch-22 as he was with The Glass Key. If there was a common thread, it was still often to do with what it was to be a man - it was a lifelong, resonant theme to him - but his personal curriculum was always widening.

So in music, of course, it was Frank and Miles and Louis, Getz and Mulligan and Bill Evans, always Bill Evans, above all Bill Evans. Yet it was also Chuck Berry and The Beach Boys, Vanilla Fudge, Simon & Garfunkel, The Rocky Horror Show. You couldn't pin him down. Then, increasingly, Vivaldi and top-flight sopranos and the great man, Johann Sebastian Bach.

Dwell on that for a moment. Bach and Bill Evans - both champions of complexity and playfulness in the form. Both often regarded as a little too distant and detached, too matter-of-fact, clever rather than heartfelt. It's ironic that, having transcended the perception of the brainless jock, Dad was now thought of by some folks as too concerned with the life of the mind.

And yes, it's true, he was always teaching, and not only professionally. The depth and breadth of his regard was such that any conversation was likely to strike a vein of his knowledge, and then you had to buckle up, 'cos you were going to get the works. The Civil War. Church architecture. Metallurgy. The combustion engine. He proceeded under the assumption that you felt the same way he did - that there was always more to learn. He was perfectly willing to share as much of it as he could recall, and he could recall a lot, and there was no recess bell to save you. It was brilliant, and unspeakably valuable, and often thoroughly exhausting.

But if his regard was fearsome, it paled in comparison to his disregard, which was legendary. If Dad was not interested, you were left in no doubt. At times this went beyond indifference and entered the territory of - what's the phrase? - fucking rude, but there was no malice in it. It was simply how he felt, and he had little patience for the social niceties in which we usually veil such responses.

On the issues that mattered, however, he was always emotionally paying attention. For the grandchildren, "Grandpa" was immediately replaced with "Grumpy", but it was only ever a name; he adored them. He embraced Craig, Steve and Catherine as they joined our family. And there are many, many people here today who can testify to his compassion and unwavering support in their toughest times.

Adrian Bennetto is gone now. So it goes. To Mum, Lise, Kaz and myself, his love and affection have illuminated and warmed our world for so long that to complain now would be downright greedy. We loved him. He knew it. He loved us. We know it still. The lucky star may seem dim on a day like today, but, in the face of all that, it couldn't ever really stop shining - not while there is still so much more to learn.

And I can imagine his own appreciation of the irony that, in the end, he wasn't brought undone by that once-spectacular body (though of course it had betrayed him with illness in recent years) nor by that incredible mind, though it too had encountered unfamiliar darkness and despair. Of course not. In the end it was always going to be his heart - his huge, romantic, unquestionably foolish heart.

There are further eulogies from Adrian's wife, daughters and grandson here