Dad with me in 1967

Dad would have been 79 years old today. Instead, he died of pancreatic cancer on June 17, 2008, aged 72.

I’ve recently uploaded the video of the eulogy I gave at his funeral. It’s something his grandchildren and descendants might be interested in.

Here is the text:

Good morning everyone. Thank you all for coming, some of you from far away.

Peter Gorey, no middle name.

When Dad was born on the 25th of August 1935 he was the youngest of 12 children. Maybe Michael and Eleanor, his parents, had run out of ideas for names.

I did know that his mother Eleanor gave birth to Dad late in her child-rearing days, but in researching this on the weekend I discovered she was only 20 days shy of her 47th birthday when Dad was born.

For that reason, he was delivered under medical care at the Royal Women’s Hospital.

Dad was born during the Great Depression into a poor rural family. He lived through the 1939 bushfire and the Second World War. These were all events that shaped his character, his outlook and view of the world.

Not only did he live through the 1939 fire, his family home was burnt down and his older brother Michael was killed.

The poverty of Dad’s early years was never something he complained about, except to lament the lack of secondary schooling.

He touched on the issue of poverty when he wrote an article for a family history I compiled nine years ago. Some extracts of what he said:

“There was no electricity. Imagine reading by the light of dim oil lamps, having to light a fire to boil an egg for breakfast, or to boil the kettle. There was no refrigeration. There were no washing machines, the washing was done by hand.

“Everything was done by the heave-ho method. I ruined my spine trying to lift 150lb bags of spuds when I was a boy of 14,” Dad wrote.

It was a harsh environment to grow up in. But there was also lots of love. Dad loved and respected his father and siblings. He adored his mother and was close to his brother Archie.

He often talked to my sister Jenny and I with great fondness about his childhood and the characters he knew. He spoke less about his middle years, between leaving home and marrying Mum. But I guess he was like any other young bloke. Enjoying life, full of dreams and hope.

He was an accomplished footballer. He was captain of the Drouin reserves in the Latrobe Valley League and played alongside Garry Ablett’s father. He was also good at tennis and golf, taught me how to play squash and although he never played much cricket, bowled a very good wrongun.

The reference Dad made himself to his spine is relevant, because that injury plagued him for many years. He had an operation about the time I was born.

Shortly after I was born in 1967, Peter and Cathy moved to Traralgon, where Jenny was born in 1968. That was our home town for many years.

I won’t talk about the chronology of Dad’s life; I expect that will be covered elsewhere. I will say for the record he was a good father, remote sometimes, but always fair and supportive.

All children before teenage years would like more time with their parents, and it’s only when you become a parent you realise how difficult it can be to find the time.

However, I will always remember and value the private times I had with Dad: Going to the football and cricket, or going camping.

Dad and Mum both had some challenges in coping with conditions that afflicted my sister Jenny. It was feared she had polio at one stage, and she was ill for many weeks. And later she was in a serious car accident which placed her in a coma.

I remember the sense of helplessness we all experienced at that time, wondering if Jenny would recover. It must have been especially hard for Mum and Dad.

Dad wasn’t perfect. Nobody is. Sometimes he could be extremely stubborn. Once Dad formed a view he was immovable.

Being stubborn also translates into positive qualities, called loyalty, consistency and reliability. He loved his family very much and was always there for us.

He was an honest man, trustworthy and intelligent. Because he didn’t get the education he wanted, he always instilled in Jenny and I the importance of learning.

For someone who didn’t have higher education, Dad was extremely literate and clever. He rarely wrote, but when he did it was beautifully done, grammatically correct, concise and interesting. His writing was outstanding. He was also a talented musician.

Who knows how his life might have turned out if he had finished high school or obtained a university education?

It doesn’t matter. He lived a good, honest life, worked hard, raised a family and gave us all a lot of love.

His grandchildren will carry on his legacy: Kathleen, Michael, James and Margaret.

And to end with a short prayer:

“Eternal rest grant unto him, Oh Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.”