Margaret Clark, Phil' s oldest daughter
Before the age of five Phil had rolled his parents car into the river – jumping out at the last minute - and burnt down a barn. I think his parents realized from this that their youngest of seven had a lot of energy for life. His family – across all generations have been major benefactors of this zest for life.
As we were growing up in the 50s and 60s our parents had quite clear roles – as did most families – but ours were different
· Mum was in charge of the “essential“ parts of life – she looked after the house, shopped, fed us, washed for us, clothed us, looked after us when were sick – and she was great at this.
· But all the extra bits, these were firmly Dad’s responsibility; bath time and story time each night – where we all snuggled up either on dad’s knee or next to him – in a big wiggling lump. This was highly anticipated – there was always time for several stories to be read before bed – and this was always Dad’s job. I am sure that between my siblings and I we could reconstruct several favourites – Pippi Longstocking, Milly Molly Mandy, Winnie the Poo, Madeline, Ping the Duck, Tim and Ginger….and Clever Bill Davis. These were read with great enthusiasm (despite the endless repetition), complete with appropriate voices and the singing of any included songs.
we knew from mum’s outraged comments that the tunes were all wrong but we did not care and neither did dad
Sunday nights were concert nights and sessions singing around the piano played by mum. I was always a bit put out because Phillip, being the eldest always got to be MC.
A variety of ball games were played in the very large garden. All of the girls learnt the proper way to kick and mark an Aussie rules ball, the proper way to bat and bowl in cricket – I even went to on to play in the Hobart Matric College’s inaugural Girls AFL team coached by a well known Clarence player thanks to this.
Lou the youngest also remembers the inside games - cards and board games – and says that long after her siblings refused to play with her, good old Dad would play – even Twister apparently – I wish I could remember this.
Family holidays were a big deal – usually at a beach or the bush somewhere in Tasmania – often a place no one had heard of. I doubt anyone here outside the family would have heard of Lisdillon or Stawberry Point.
This involved swimming from September on - in Tasmania – if you can imagine!!!, or lots of walking in snow, rain or sun, picnics usually at locations where a football could be kicked around, even walks with singing (I can still remember singing ‘I love to go a wondering along the mountain track’ ….) and playing five hundred in the evenings.
As a teenager and second oldest I thought all this was a little uncool – my friends returned to school with stories of hanging out in town, sleeping in (unheard of in our family), going to the movies, sun-baking at the beach and I longed to be part of this. Looking back I am grateful for such a rich family life but I was a somewhat begrudging participant for some of this time.
Now looking back I wonder how he managed this. He had senior jobs with lots of responsibility from when we were quite young. But I never remember him coming home and needing time to himself or being bad tempered over a work incident. When he came through that door all the problems and challenges of the day were put aside. They became unimportant and whatever we thought to be important was the focus of attention.
He also had the significant challenge of managing a half-acre back yard with many fruit tress and requiring constant maintenance. His energy for life must have been amazing – but something we never questioned.
I recently flew over the Painted Desert in the USA and it reminded me of our big road trip across the US for quite some weeks from San Francisco to Illinois via Texas. Usually when I think of our time in the USA I think of it from my child eyes, days in the car - Tim falling out in the middle of the desert; Dad rushing in with the car door in his hand yelling, ‘Who left the door open?’ being congratulated on learning to speak American and so on. But this time I reflected on just what a challenge my parents set for themselves. I mean how many people would take six kids, aged from 18 months to 10 years across the US in a ranch wagon for 8 weeks? They must have been mad and on occasion absolutely exhausted.
Although our attention was never drawn to his responsibilities and his high profile, we were aware that he was highly respected. But he was also always learning and growing.
· He went to Oxford with the intention of bring a nuclear physicist, but after attending CS Lewis lectures decided that being an educator was for him,
· He once had a fierce argument with me about the use of Ms - not Miss and Mrs - which would seem ridiculous to him today,
· His view on refuges who ‘jump queues’ was radically shifted on meeting people with this history, hearing their stories and becoming their friend,
· He had very European sensibilities about art until he went to the Australian red centre and reassessed Fred Williams in this light,
· Quite recently he declared that of course I should be allowed to marry my long term partner Anne Marie, and
· As a life long one eyed AFL fan he even watched a game of rugby with some enthusiasm in his last week of life, thanks to Kelli – this I never expected to see.
However he never changed his fundamental principles and values framed within the best of the judo-Christian traditions - his deep and abiding commitment to fairness, social justice, and communitarian values of the common good stayed with him all his life – they defined the core of who he was and guided his actions, judgments and priorities.
His ability to learn and grow all his life was also fed by his ready ability to empathise with people he met from all walks of life. Sometimes this was taken to comedy like extremes like the time we stopped for bread at a local store near our home where we have not gone to before. When the owner served him he asked, ‘Are you a local then?’. No said Dad – not wanting to hurt his feelings. Where are you from? “Melbourne.” Where in Melbourne? “Ah Toorack. Fancy that, I used to live in Toorack – what street? And did you know???”
My brother Tim also recounts a tale of eating at a café with Dad and not wanting the sizeable portion of meat. Just before the waiter came to collect the plates Dad scoops up all Tim’s leftovers into a napkin and stuffed them in his pocket because he didn’t want the waiter to be upset.
In my mother’s last few years after her stroke she could not be left alone. Now dad could have afforded to bring in carer support but he took this new responsibility in his stride. He took her to work, to sit on a chair in the garden while he worked, and even to meetings and conferences.
When she died he was devastated. I don’t know why I did not understand but I think I assumed that my father was the strong one and that meant he was going to be fine on his own. I underestimated his constancy and his devotion. His next few years after this were very lonely ones and seeing him in this state caused me genuine anguish. But then Kelli came along. She literally brought him back to life again and I am very grateful that he had 12 wonderful years with her.
I have talked about the three characteristics of his life that most defined him for me;
– Energy for and love of life,
– Ability to grow and learn, while maintaining core beliefs and values, and
– Constancy and commitment - the primacy of relationships – not just partnerships although these were of great importance, but relationships writ large.
Right up to the last weeks of life dad was interested in those around him and in ideas of importance. I told him of a book that had excited me – the Spirit Level - and as tired and fragile as he was he immediately read it from cover to cover on my i-pad. When family visited he wanted to know about Kieran’s visa application process, Al’s plans for returning to the US, Charlie’s nascent walking and the latest activities of Maddie and Noah with whom he had a very special relationship.
I will miss my Dad more then I even understand or can predict today. He will leave a gaping hole I know. But his life was a life well lived and his dying was something that retained dignity love and courage.
