Eulogy for Raymond Donald Carr

Thursday 29th of March, 2012

My dad, Raymond Donald Carr, was born in North Perth on the 18th of December 1929, the second son to Amelia Josephine and Maurice Patrick Carr. He was delivered by the same midwife as mum who was born in the same hospital nine months later. Sadly, Maurice died when dad was 6 months old and in lieu of his father, dad was surrounded by a wonderful extended family, full of characters that were the font of stories that all of us know well. Nana ran a boarding house on Aberdeen Street and next door was his Grandma Ryan and other members of the clan. As he grew up, the city of Perth was his playground and this lead to an intimate knowledge of his home town.

At sixteen dad began an apprenticeship as a tailor with Keith Stronach in Barrack street. He was the only male amongst the apprentices and would tell us of how they would forget he was there and talk openly about things that male ears would not usually be privy to. He spoke of this time fondly and had an enduring eye for style, always commenting on the cut of a politician’s suit and taking care with his own dress.

Mum and dad met in 1956. Tony and Iris Leone went on a fishing excursion to Fremantle with their daughter Roma and Bill Broderick. Bill brought his mate Ray along and Roma brought her friend Ruth. Mum tells me that she thinks it may well have been a set up. Later that year mum went on a cruise to England and when she returned dad was on the dock waiting for her with the Leones and, one suspects, a plan to make Ruth Brockhurst his. He proposed five months later at Lake Leschenaultia and they were married in October 1957.

All of you that have known mum and dad will know what a great team they have been. Married for fifty-five years, Dad was never happier than when in mum's company. I have lived with them recently and have often lay there in bed listening to them chatting away, still excited to share things with each other, still talking and talking and sharing their thoughts. Dad was a great admirer of mums. He not only loved her deeply but he respected and held her in the highest esteem. When alone with me he would often extol her qualities of courage, loyalty and strength of character. He was so proud to have her by his side. He loved to be cheeky with her. She would encourage him to show her his boxing skills which he would always enthusiastically do, shadow boxing and making those sounds so familiar to mum, my sisters and me. He was playful with her to the end. She was truly the love of his life. We all would be fortunate to have an enduring and great love like this. Their love is an inspiration to us all.

In 1953 dad entered the police force or 'the force' as he simply referred to it. To my young ears this had the air of the Jedi about it and dad spoke of his time in the force vocationally. In '61 he was posted to Northam where mum and dad spent six years. They both loved their time in Northam and there made many friends. His adventures in the police force were legion. One of the many qualities that dad gave to his children is a love of animals and particularly dogs. This is a quality perhaps best expressed in my sister Nicole. I never knew the collie dog Danny but, so familiar are the tales of him to me that I feel as though I did. I remember dad telling me of an occasion when dad had just joined the force and was on parade at the station on the corner of Goderich street in East Perth. He was lined up in formation when out of the corner of his eye he saw Danny, the free ranging canine as he seemed to be, wandering into the parade area. As a new recruit dad was reluctant to draw the ire of his commanders and so he maintained his position and stared straight ahead, hoping Danny would just leave him be. Danny sauntered in and put his nose to work inspecting the line and when he came to dad let out a bark of acknowledgement and leapt up on him in greeting. Shame faced, dad was told to take the dog home.

He was a policeman for 14 years, leaving to run the news agency in 1967.

Mum and dad ran the newsagency in Fremantle for eight years. Theirs was the largest delivery round in the metropolitan area and although it was a successful business financially, dad once told me that this period was his own personal Vietnam, with such early morning starts and the never ending demands of running a small business taking a toll on his sleeping patterns that were to last throughout the rest of his life. He was famous, and occasionally infamous, for his delivery skills. Whereas other news agents would deliver one side of the street and then turn around and drive down the other way to deliver the other side, dad would do both sides whilst driving in the one direction, tossing the paper with some precision over the roof of the car, the little Volkswagen, with passenger seat removed to accommodate the papers, rocking dangerously from side to side with the power of his throw. On one occasion a complaint was put in to the police that dad was driving down the verge at 70 miles an hour with papers flying left and right. The policeman who came out to see dad about this was incredulous and began by saying that the allegation clearly couldn't be so as such a feat would be impossible, to which dad heartily agreed, dismissing such an idea as fanciful. That is where the matter was left.

As for dad's time as a funeral director, there is certainly many a tale to tell. It would seem that morale is maintained within that profession through humour and camaraderie in the face of the particular emotional challenges of the job. Dad took to this task with a sensitivity and dignity that came naturally to him. He very consciously saw it as the continuation of his service to the community. He would often begin to tell a story from that time at a social engagement and mum or one of the family would have to give him a little nudge to alert him that the subject matter and black nature of the humour would not be as readily appreciated by the company as he may have imagined. This little nudge would not always be successful. Some of dad's friends and colleagues from the profession are here looking after us today and in deference to them I will refrain from regaling you with such tales. Needless to say, this final stage of his work life was full of days that he valued and fuel to the fire of his appetite for storytelling.

We have had so many heartfelt condolences, fond memories and kind words come our way as a family since dad's passing. Within all of this there has been one word that has occurred again and again and that is the word 'gentleman'. This was obviously something that many people perceived in him and I've thought on this, for a gentleman he surely was, but what was it about him that has made this word feature so prominently in the minds of those who loved him? I think that dad had a certain perspective on life that afforded him a tenderness towards his fellows. He genuinely did not bear malice towards anyone. He was compassionate and a constant and instinctive supporter of the underdog, with a lifelong devotion to the Labor party that withstood the turmoil of compromise. When it came to the Labor Party, dad was a true believer. The light on the hill shone steadily for him throughout his life. Politics was a constant passion and in his last days one of his great laments was that he could not keep up with world affairs. What dad had was a great love and hope for the species. He saw things in these broad terms.

Dad was a complicated man. On the surface he was of mild temperament and seemed to all placid by nature. This is not to say that he could not rise to great passion as he would occasionally when the subject was politics or when perched on the edge of his chair watching his beloved Dockers lead us to occasional joy and all too frequent disappointment. He was contemplative and sensitive with a rich interior life. He had the most amazing and vivid dreams which he would relate to me. These tales from his unconscious contained profound narratives which reflected the depth of the man. I consider myself very fortunate to have had a father who would share these things with me.

As a father dad was patient and so giving of his energies. When a teenager and wanting to be picked up and dropped off here and there I had no doubt that if I was to call dad at three in the morning from Darwin and tell him I needed a lift home he would not hesitate and just say, "Ok, I will be there in 45 hours," and just head off. He loved to drive and in the last few years his driving kept us, his passengers, quite alert. In some ways it is a mercy that he died before having his licence taken off him as I am sure it would have been very reluctantly given. And rather than licence, I should more correctly say licences, for he had every vehicle licence available up until only about six months ago, having awarded them to himself when in the Force.

There were many long lasting friendships in dad's life. Bill Broderick, who passed away in 1997, was a great mate. These two shared a special bond with Roma, Bill's wife, and mum being best friends since childhood. Roma's parents, Iris and Tony Leone, whom I was named in honour of, he loved very much. Also of special note throughout the years are Gerry Donavan, John Magee, John McGrade, Gary Stewart, who dad met whilst working as a funeral director and Laurie McManus who passed on only a matter of days before dad.

Dad's older brother, my Uncle Maurie, was always a big part of all of our lives. From the legendary chess matches and boxing stoushes to the political discussions and the enjoyment they both gained by participating in and watching sport together, these two, sometimes referred to as bookends in later life, shared and celebrated their vibrant cultural background, passing on to my sisters and me and Maurie's children, Michael and Anna, a well developed wit and sense of social justice.

Counted in dad's heart as a brother is his cousin Noel Bourke. From the age of nine Noel, along with his sisters Valerie and Kathleen, lived on Aberdeen Street with dad. Maurie and dad mentored Noel as a young chess player and boxer, at one point strapping pillows to him and using him as a boxing bag, impressed by the realism of his grunts as they pummelled him. In his final days in hospital one of us would often sit by him and read passages from Noel's book, Leon, that chronicles the life and times on Aberdeen Street and their shared youth. At one point as I read this to him I thought he had fallen asleep and I stopped only to be encouraged by dad to keep reading. It gave him much joy and I thank Noel for it.

My sisters gave dad six grandchildren and one great grandchild, Lucy May. He had a special relationship with each of these. The eldest of them, Matt, was away with his band in dad's last days. These two shared a particular bond born of some similarities in character. Matt sent a text through for him a few days before dad died and, following a lament that they will never get to watch the final episode of MASH together, he said, "tell him I love him and have learnt so much about myself and who I want to be through him." This is a sentiment and aspiration that all of his children and grandchildren can share.

Dad gave much to his family and to his community. As a tailor, he made our clothes. As a policeman he protected our streets. As a taxi driver he ferried us home. As a newsagent he delivered our news. And, as a funeral director,  he helped prepare our final send off. As has been well observed, he was a true gentleman and a truly gentle man, a man that I am proud to call my father. Vale dad, we have all loved you so much. Thank you for loving all of us as generously as you did.