I would firstly like to thank everyone here today for taking the time to share in this remembrance and celebration of the life of my father, Warren Martin Cary Quinlan, who was known to everyone as “Bill”. On behalf of Dad and all his family, thank you for coming. 

My Dad was one of Nature’s gentlemen – not given to swearing or outbursts of bad temper and always respectful to ladies. He was the kind of old-school man who usually wore a collared business shirt, often with a tie neatly in place. In fact, the first time I saw him in a T-shirt, I thought he was trying to impersonate somebody! 

Dad was a passionate fan of cricket; first as a player and then later as an umpire at local matches, and always as a spectator. He also loved rugby union, having played both games in his younger years while attending Knox College in Sydney. 

However, his great passion in life was aviation and the study of aircraft. He received his personal pilot’s licence in the early 1960s, after having trained at Point Cook Air Force base in Victoria, Australia, with the intention of joining the R.A.A.F. Unfortunately he did not pass his final exam, due in part to a much-interrupted study schedule, and with the R.A.A.F., one does not get a second chance. I know this was a great blow to him. Nonetheless, he maintained his love of aircraft for the rest of his life, even booking a joyride in a P-51D Mustang fighter from the World War Two era, at the age of eighty. 

My father did not live with my sister Louise and me from the time I was nine and she was five; yet even in his absence, he remained a much-loved figure and influence in both our lives. Over the years, on his many visits “back home” to Australia, we were able to get to know him more and were privileged to see his compassionate and caring heart on many occasions. Although he was of a generation for whom the full expression of feelings and emotions was difficult, Dad was quite a “softie” at heart. He loved music and even began taking guitar lessons in the last few years of his life, which gave him a great deal of pleasure. I recall him telling me not so long ago that he had almost mastered the D-major chord. As a professional musician myself, it was great to see the sense of accomplishment that gave him. 

Dad had a keen sense of humour. He was a lifelong fan of the Goon Show. He loved Spike Milligan’s absurdist ravings and would occasionally drop into brief impressions of one or more of the characters from that classic radio show. He caught me off-guard one time recently, when I was trying to take a photo of him with my mother and daughter, by poking out his tongue just before I snapped the shot. The resulting photo does not show that, but every time I look at it, that’s what I remember… a man who enjoyed having fun and being just a little silly. 

He once told me a story, over a couple of quiet beers, about the time he and my mother drove the long miles up to Gunnedah in country New South Wales, where my mother’s parents lived on a sheep station. My parents were not long married at the time, and Dad was helping his father-in-law, Syd, to get some rams from one pen to another. Syd explained how to take the rams by the horns and haul them around to where they should be. As Dad grabbed one old ram in this manner, one of its horns broke off in his hand. Such a thing was a fairly common occurrence, but Dad was a city boy and did not expect that to happen. Horrified, he turned to my grandfather and said, “Sorry Syd, I think I broke your sheep!” 

Dad laughed so much while telling me this story that he could barely get the punchline out, and I laughed just to see him laughing. It was a moment I’ll never forget. As we say in Australia, “he was a funny bugger”. 

Dad was a well-spoken, well-read and intelligent man. Although he had lived in the U.K. for almost forty years, he never once picked up the slightest trace of an English accent. Right to the end, his rich deep voice sounded just as Aussie as the day he left Australian shores. His intellect served him well in his chosen career as an electronics engineer, a job that took him around the world several times and saw him working in places as diverse as the Gulf of Mexico, the North Sea and the Persian Gulf. 

Even though my parents separated many years ago in 1972, in later times they managed to restore their friendship, which was a great blessing to my sister and me and, I’m sure, to both Dad and Mum as well. He visited Australia whenever he could, even staying with my Mum several times. I imagine that there are not too many divorced people who would even think of inviting their “ex” to stay in the guest room for a week or more, and it was a tribute to them both that they could find a way to put the past behind them and learn to respect each other once again. They remained good friends for the rest of Dad’s life. 

One time about three years ago, when Dad was out here and staying at Mum’s house, I dropped in to see them both. Dad was sitting at the dining table reading the newspaper, and Mum was nearby, standing at the ironing board, ironing one of Dad’s shirts. As I walked through the front door and took in the scene, I felt as if I’d walked into a time warp and was eight years old again. Strangely, neither of them had really noticed the bizarre nature of the situation until I mentioned it… then the three of us fell about laughing. 

“Bill” Quinlan leaves behind four adult offspring and four grandchildren – Sam, Cassandra, Evie and Jed – all of whom had the privilege of meeting and spending time with him. I know that we all loved him very much and that he, in return, loved us. 

My Dad will always have a place in my heart and I will miss him deeply. 

Farewell, Dad… rest in peace, and thank you for being my father, in the best way you knew how to be.