Eulogy for John Mansfield
16 November 1999

I'm standing here to offer some words about my father John Mansfield.

I can't hope to sum up what he meant to all the people here today or to
make sense of an entire life, all I can try to do is to offer you what I
knew of him and hope that helps you remember him a little.

Dad was born John Arthur Mansfield in 1928 in Ipswich. He attended Blair
School in Ipswich and moved from Ipswich to Kedron in Brisbane with his
father and mother and his sisters, Gwen and Yvonne where he finished
primary school at Windsor School and then high school at Industrial
High.

Dad's father Arthur owned a grocery shop in Lutwyche and later in Milton
and Dad worked in the shop throughout his teenage years.
During the period at Milton, Dad made many friends in the neighbourhood,
during his delivery rounds in the family's Chevy ute, who were to last for
decades, including Allen Hill and Jack Clarkson who went on to become his
brothers-in-law, Dave Stanfield, Frank Powell, Earl Smith and John Luby.

After leaving high school, Dad took a job at Martin Wilson's, a car spare
parts retailer, as an apprentice until the end of World War II.

Dad returned to work in his father's shop for a while until 
he took a job with Drug Houses Australia as a storeman. While at
DHA, he met Wally Leigh, who remained a friend for many years.

During his late teens and early twenties, Dad took a keen interest in
photography and photographed the weddings of many of his friends at the
time.  He had a love of all kinds of music, but particularly jazz and
classical music and often went to concerts at City Hall with his sister
Yvonne and their friends.  He also developed a lasting appreciation for
some of the great comedians of the 50s and 60s, like Stan Freburg, Victor
Borga, The Goons, Peter Sellers and Morecambe and Wise.

In 1952 he made what became a life-changing decision and moved to his
first desk job at Nestle Australia, then at Barry Parade. He made many
friends at Nestle, including David Elliot, Tom Darmody, Doug Stevenson,
Noel Barry and Bill Lenehan. He often found his job frustrating - a fact
vividly illustrated by a legendary incident where he dumped a pile of
invoices out of an office window onto the street. Despite that, Dad ended
up staying with the company for 35 years, finally retiring in 1987.

After ten years with the company, Dad made the acquaintance of a cheery
English tea lady called Flo Polman. Flo had recently emigrated from the
U.K. with two of her daughters and her husband Fred and upon meeting Dad
diligently decided that this nice young man with the sparkling eyes would
make a fine husband for her daughter Kathleen, then a shop assistant at
Coles in the Valley.

Kathleen and John apparently agreed because after courting for a year or
so, they were married in 1962.

After marrying, Dad and Mum took out a mortgage on the house they would
eventually own in a new housing development in Camp Hill and began building
a life together. As a young couple without a lot of money, they kept busy
finishing off their new home.

In touch with the spirit of their times, Mum and Dad took advantage of the
summer of love in 1967 to have their first child, me, followed four years
later by my sister Jenny.

Dad applied the modesty, gentleness, generousity and unassuming courage
that characterised the rest of his life to his children. He was rarely
angry with us, unless he felt we weren't accepting responsibilities that
were ours. He was never bullying or overbearing. My early childhood in
particular featured a mysterious creature called the "High Cockolorum Bird"
which routinely delivered little gifts that Dad picked up on his way home
from work.

Just yesterday, Jenny reminded me of Dad's apparent fearlessness. Although
he lived a modest, conventional life to all appearances he seemed to us
completely impervious to the opinions of others - to the excruciating
embarrassment of us. I clearly remember running for cover as Dad would
proclaim in a loud voice that "the service in this shop is terrible". Jenny
recalls emerging from a Hunters and Collectors concert when she was a
teenager to find Dad not waiting in a car like other parents, but standing
at the door to the concert, oblivious to the crowd of excited, drunken teenagers,
wearing his Wests beanie and listening to his radio, as he waited patiently 
to take her home.

The other thing that will remain with me for the rest of my life is my
father's perverse and eclectic sense of humour. He has afflicted me with
his annoying habit of quoting single lines from favourite comedy sketches
completely out-of-context. I went through my entire childhood believing
that 

"Book him on a 4-12"
"What's a 4-12?"
"Over-acting"

Was just an expression that Dads used. It wasn't until I discovered Stan
Freburg for myself years later that I realised that this excerpt from his
legendary sketch "Dragon-net"

"How are you going to catch the dragon?"
"In a dragon-net"

and the dozens of other bits of old comedy sketches which peppered Dad's
conversation were not only traces of his earlier life, but also tiny
riddles that I probably wouldn't decipher for years when I finally
discovered the source of that phrase.

There remains a selection of slightly lewd French phrases relating to the
hiring of... commercial ladies... whose source remains a mystery to this
day. I would appreciate some insight into if anyone here has any clues.

Dad's participation in this parish was a crucial part of his life prior to
his marriage and it became even more important as he became a parent. He
held several positions of service over the years, as a church warden with
Vic Steel, a parochial councillor, and later as church recorder, keeping
track of parish finances, and for many years as a sidesman. I remember many
Sunday mornings as a child sitting with Dad and John Boadle waiting as they
tallied up the collection offerings.

Although raised an Anglican, in later life Dad become an enthusiastic
participant in the ecumenical movement, participating in various
discussion groups, including the ARCIC groups of the early 80s. 

His desire to serve also began to broaden beyond parish activities
to include collecting for charities like Freedom From Hunger and the Cancer
Fund. He became involved in two community housing projects, Southside
Community Care and Southeast Suburban Housing, serving as a house manager
and for several years as Santa at Christmas parties. Both these
organisations provided decent, low rent houses to people with little or no
money. The organisation, by paying for bond on behalf of the tenant,
providing furniture and appliances and help with food, allowed young
families on hard times, women escaping from violent situations and people
who were down on their luck find hope.

Dad's involvement in these projects led him to participate in a street
march protesting against the demolition of low-rent housing in West End at
the time of Expo 88. A period that saw many long-term residents of the area
evicted and displaced. Later he also demonstrated in opposition to a
chlorine plant on the banks of the Brisbane river.

At the time I was about 20 and fairly politically radical and I remember
being so proud that my Dad was in a street march - other guys might have
had fathers who earned a lot of money or were famous or whatever, but my
Dad not only had a social conscience, was not only doing things to help the
poor, but he was a radical too!

After he retired, Dad failed to spend his newfound free time cultivating
hobbies. Instead he once again found ways to serve. Initially as a chapel
attendant in the Ecumenical chapel at the Expo 88 site, then at the Church
Missionary Society bookshop, in the bingo hall and card shop run by the
Spina Bifida Association and at the Amelia House Day Respite Centre driving
the bus, playing games with the residents and helping keep the books.

In these roles, my father touched the lives of hundreds of people. He would
probably deny that anything he did was particularly significant, just a way
of keeping busy. But his sustained compassionate action over a couple of
decades achieved so much more than the brief heroism of a few street
marches.

The last couple of years were not easy for him. His decreasing mobility
meant that his involvement in these various organisations had to gradually
cease. He found this very frustrating.

Although his body remained strong thanks to my mother's care and the
sustained work of his physiotherapist, his control over it gradually
declined and with it his hold on life. 

Dad always hated the idea of wasting away in some kind of nursing home, so
it gives us all some comfort that when he left us last Tuesday evening he
was in his own bed at home and he was in many ways, more robust and
healthy-looking than he had been in years.

The poet Kahlil Gibran wrote:

"Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands
before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.
Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the
mark of the king?
Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?

"For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing but to free the breath from its restless
tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

"Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance."


As a young man grows up he has a mixed relationship with his father, he
often tries to fight for his independence and what was love as a child can
turn to bitterness. I never needed to do that, because my Dad gave me space
to grow up. Ultimately, he showed me how to care, how to be responsible for
others and how to laugh.

I've spoken to lots of people about Dad, and every conversation has helped
me keep in mind the important things about Dad. His irreverent, joyous
sense of humor that endeared him to everyone, his gentle way of dealing
with even the most difficult people, his way of masking his stubborn
non-conformity under the most conventional of exteriors, his faithfulness
as a friend who was fun to hang around with and who would stand by you in
adversity and his selfless devotion to us, his family, who he provided for
and cared for.

I can't tell you how fortunate I feel to have had that man as my father.
I'm grateful to have had the opportunity to know John Mansfield. I'm
inspired by his service to others. I'm proud of his life. And I'll miss
him.