Wayne William John Turnbull 1944 - 2007 |
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Family and friends crowded the Boolarra Uniting Church on September 10th to bid farewell to Wayne Turnbull, who passed away after a two year illness, on September 3rd, two days short his 63rd birthday. Born in the Melbourne suburb of Caulfield on September 5, 1944 to Horace and Phyllis (nee Appleyard) Turnbull, Wayne was the only son and youngest of two children (excluding an older brother who predeceased his birth). It was often said that he came out with the wash, because he was born while his mother was hanging out the washing to dry. While still an infant, he was placed into the care of the Box Hill Boy’s Home. After leaving at age thirteen he continued his early schooling around Mount Evelyn before leaving at age fifteen to work in car repair. By the time he was twenty, he was working on French Island as a construction worker building the local prison. Later career paths included managing the Northcote Auctions, sawmilling, dairy farming and for the last twenty years, painting houses. It was while working at French Island that he began writing to his pen-pal, Margaret Miles. After a six week courtship the two were married at Inverloch on April 15, 1967. In March the following year their son, Sandy was born. In subsequent years three daughters were added: Kerrine (b. 1970), Kylie (b. 1972) and Kathleen (b. 1974). By the end of his life, Wayne was patriarch to four children, eleven grandchildren and one great-grandchild. A feat he managed to achieve by the age of 60. Although not an overly religious man, Wayne lived by the philosophy of doing what you can for who you can. It was a philosophy that earned him the respect and adoration of those around him. There was nothing that he wouldn’t do for people, whether it is feeding the cat next door, or driving two hours to pick up someone stranded. There were even occasions where he has opened his house to strangers to offer them a bed for the night. Never one to tolerate injustice of any sort, he would often use the phrase “never look down on someone unless you’re helping them up”. Words he carried with him to the very end. If there is one thing that can be said of Wayne, however, is that he was a man who preferred to live a simple life and enjoyed it to the fullest. He wasn’t one to moan in the face of adversity, preferring instead to find a solution than dwell in the problem. Nor was he one to dream of riches, often saying money brings more trouble than it’s worth. Instead, the only thing that he ever asked of for himself was a beer in the fridge and a packet of cigarettes. In as much as he was true to those around him, he was true to himself and refused to present himself as any other than who he was. Wayne was admitted in a grave state to the Latrobe Valley hospital on
September 2nd (Father’s Day in Australia) where he succumbed
24 hours later surrounded by family. The funeral was conducted by the
Reverend Russell Jones, of which the key points were the reading the
poem The Chosen by Ella Wheeler Wilcox followed by the Eulogy
given by his son, Sandy. The service concluded with the Committal at the
Gippsland Crematorium followed by a time of reflection on one whose
epitaph needs only three words: |
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