My Eulogy for Dad

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Harold (Steve) Bates, 23rd July 1919 - 26th June 2008

Dad was born on the 23rd July 1919 at New Bradwell in Buckinghamshire, England. Before the railway came on the scene it was the rural parish of Stantonbury, but with the huge railway workshops at nearby Wolverton, the town of New Bradwell was built in 1860 to house the railway workers. My grandfather, James Bates, was a foreman at the railway works, a craftsman painter, eventually with 500 men under him (unimaginable today). There were 3 sons, Jim, Dennis and Harold, who you know as Steve, my father.

His father wanted him to be a teacher, as brother Jim became, but Dad's interest was in sprinting and soccer, not studying, so at 14 he went to work in the railway workshops, learning his craft of "coach-trimmer".


His other great interest was singing in the church choir, and in fact he was still able to sing treble till about age 20 or 21. He loved Handel's "Messiah" and especially the solo aria "I know that my Redeemer liveth" which was playing at the beginning of the service. He was offered a place at Westminster Abbey, but his father, perhaps wisely, thought it too far away for a young lad. Times were hard too then, in the time of the Great Depression.


At about the age of 18 he was active in setting up a girls' soccer team in his club, Stantonbury-St.Peters. A match was arranged with the girls' team from nearby village of Bozeat, with a dance afterwards. It was there that a certain and beautiful young woman named Georgina Bayes caught his eye. Years later Dad still called her "my greatest trophy!". Mum's recollection was something like "that one's mine". She liked the man, but not the name Harold, so renamed him "Steve" which stuck ever since. After about 3 years, and WW2 having broken out, they were married simply in Bozeat church on 22nd February, 1941. Dad was in the army then, and had a week's leave to get married. Mum's brother Maurice gave her away, and the "reception" was a plate of sandwiches and a bottle of wine. They had just that week of honeymoon, at Mum's sister Ann's home, before Dad was posted overseas. Many couples shared that privation during that awful time. They had only about 4 weeks together up to the end of the war in 1945.


Dad loved his time in the army, with its comradeship and adventure, though he never talked about the horrors. He served with the Royal Army Service Corps and rose to the rank of Sergeant, then acting Regimental Sergeant Major. He was in North Africa with the British 8th Army under Field Marshall Montgomery, and thought very highly of that great soldier (as he did of Monty's worthy German opponent Rommel). Dad's role was getting the tanks to the front line, then going into no-mans land at night to haul out the damaged tanks. Before the war was over Dad also served in Sicily, Greece and Italy. Even in the army there was time for sprinting too - in Egypt dad won the 100 yards, 220 yards and 440 yards all in one day.

Reunited after the war with his love Georgina, they set up a home in New Bradwell. My sister Elizabeth, named after her grandmother, was on the scene first, then My brother Stuart, (named for Dad's friend Captain Stuart Skinner) then last of all myself, Stephen (named for Dad's new name). Things were not easy in post-war England, with rationing going on for many years. Australia was crying our for people to come, so in 1954 began the adventure of a new start. The young family of 5 embarked on the "SS New Australia" in 1954, ending up at a converted army camp, the "Heathcote Road Migrant Centre", not far from here. It was a bit of a disappointment at first, just 4 rooms that were half a corrugated iron Quonset hut, but it soon became a home. Dad restored the furniture so that we had the best setup in the camp, and Mum soon made it a real home.

Dad had to find work quickly, and helped build the early Holden cars at Pagewood. He soon found more congenial work as an upholsterer, first at Betta Chrome in Redfern, where he became foreman, then at Namco in Caringbah (yes, still the foreman) and last of all at C.R.Ogden at Warwick Farm, where he was foreman of upholstery till his retirement.

After 3 years in the corrugated iron hut they had enough for a deposit on an old house at Helensburgh. No.3 Old Farm Road was a rare sort of house - no bathroom but it did have a flushing outside toilet - No running water, but it did have a telephone (No. 89, no dialling at all, just lift the handset and ask the operator up at the post office to connect you) - There was enough native bush on the large block to supply all our firewood needs, and with Mum needing to work too, we kids soon became proficient at setting and lighting the fires in the old Metters kitchen range and in the living room fireplace. It must have been a worry for Dad and Mum, but we never burnt the place down!

There were many family outings during those Helensburgh years, whenever Dad has some spare cash. Our first holiday was at Garie Beach, conveyed there with borrowed camping gear by the local milkman in his truck. We got our first car in those years, a secondhand 1956 Hillman Minx sedan, followed after a while by Dad's joy, a green Humber Super Snipe automatic. It could (occasionally) do a 100 MPH on the road to Helensburgh (there were no speed limits on the highway then and it had good brakes to match.


1966 saw the move to a brand new house at Engadine. Lots of hard work yielded beautiful gardens, and that icon of the 60s, a large above ground pool. I have a vivid memory of the time the lining failed one night and dumped 10,000 gallons of water on the low-lying property behind us! It dug quite a channel through the back yard.

The late 70s saw the arrival of the grandchildren: Georgina, Peter and Lucy. They also brought Dad's retirement in 1979, followed by a "sea-change" (though no one used that word then) to the lovely seaside town of Kiama. Dad had already become a keen Saturday golfer, and now took to it with a vengeance, playing at least 2 rounds of 18-hole club competition each week.


Dad became active in the RSL at Kiama, becoming local President for a time. Kiama was in fact Dad and Mum's longest home, for 23 years, and they made many friends there. As the years came on, Dad had to give up his golf, it being too much for his 80 year old heart. He then switched to the less strenuous lawn bowls, but ever the competitor, he took his bowling very seriously and soon became a winner! It was at Kiama that Dad and Mum celebrated their Diamond Wedding.

Mum's failing health brought a move back to the Sutherland Shire, to be close to the family. "Armana Court", Vermont St Sutherland was home from 2002 to 2008. Dad was able to take up bowling at the Engadine club for a while, but with Mum's increasing care needs he decided to give it away.

Dad did all he could to care for Mum at home, but at last, after more hospitalisations than we can remember, she needed more care than even the strongest man could give at home. I do thank God that a place was found for her almost around the corner, at Chesalon Nursing Home in Jannali. Dad was able to, and did, visit her very often, but missed her terribly.


Dad's own health had suffered from the strain of 24/7 home care, and more-so when Mum died just on a year ago. His neighbours at Vermont St supported him (eg, his fierce Cribbage games with his next-door neighbour - I would often get the latest from one or other of them: "I beat him 3 to 2!") but even with family and daily home-care it became too much for him.

In February he was able to move to his last earthly home, Percy Miles Villa at Kirrawee. Like many independent people he didn't like the idea of a retirement hostel, but on visiting Percy Miles his attitude changed. By the second day of his trial period he was telling me "I'm staying!" He would often tell me how good the food was, and the care, and he gained in weight, overall health, cheerfulness and mobility. One day he told me there was something wrong with his walking frame - the front wheels were wobbling badly; I fixed it with a smile - I knew about it, but he had not been moving fast enough before for it to be a problem! He was delighted when his own furniture was finally in place, with all his treasures and his picture of Mum next to his bed-side.


He especially loved any opportunity to sing, and for Anzac Day organised a remembrance service. He always enjoyed visits, especially from his friends from Vermont St, Paul and John, and from Rev. Matt Murray.

The Saturday before he died was my last visit: he taught me how to play Dominoes (I'd forgotten) and I beat him about 7 to 5. "Beginner's Luck!" he said, and I thought about trying to let him win, but that would not do - always competitive, he would, I know, prefer to win or lose on his own merits. The competition was strong, but didn't stop Elizabeth from trouncing him on the Monday.

Wednesday had him laughing and joking with the staff at Percy Miles. On Thursday morning he rose as usual and dressed, neatly as always, ready to go down for breakfast, but it was not to be. It seems his heart called it a day, and he passed away suddenly. We are thankful that he did not suffer at the last, but we miss him.

And now what? Shall any of us see Dad again? I believe with all my heart there is hope. Of course, like all of us, he had plenty of faults, but all that we ever loved in Dad is found to perfection in just one man, Jesus, the man of history who made the most astonishing claims, including "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies". Here alone is my hope.

We will soon hear John Newton's "Amazing Grace", which Mum and Dad loved to hear, especially when the TV program "Songs of Praise" visited the town of Olney, very close to their birthplaces. John Newton, formerly an atheist and slave-trader, was curate at the parish church of Olney when he wrote it.

John Newton wrote these words too:-

"If ever I reach heaven I expect to find three wonders there:

He did not doubt the power of God to save him - but this was his way of expressing his life-long wonder that a man who had been as vile as he could yet be forgiven.

Jesus also said "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."

Click here for a slideshow of pictures from Dad's funeral

Here is a poem written by one of Dad's young neighbours from Kiama

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