Helen Waddington - 4 May 2009 - Chris Leddy

IN MEMORY OF HELEN WADDINGTON – OUR HELLY

We are here today to celebrate Helen Margaret Waddington, also known as Helly, also known as H and also known, among her Easter crowd, the Green Bitch.

The Green Bitch is an entirely affectionate term, born in the days when Strathvea (the fabulous guest house just outside Healesville where many a happy Easter was spent), still had discernibly coloured bocce balls. Helen always commandeered the green balls and always managed to win the game by knocking all the other coloured balls out of the way. Having done so, she would look innocently at her victims and her mischievous trademark grin would light up her face.

In the same way H was able to knock most problems in life out of the way;  people in shops who annoyed her; small irritating children; exhibitions of bad parenting skills; and recalcitrant cellar door managers. The list goes on.

But for all that, whilst H didn't suffer fools, she was in fact incredibly tolerant. She gathered friends as other people gather tissues in pockets. She loved her friends very much and they in turn loved her. Every year she would say 'this year I am not going to bring any more gay boys into the fold. It's time to meet straight boys'. And every year she befriended more delightful gay boys. Long may her brand of acceptance live.

She had a fine mind and a great intellect fuelled by her love of books. She revelled in her life and took so much pleasure in everything around her. She was a girl who loved laughing. We know that all the men in Helen's life will no longer be half as organised, and we will all miss her views on every subject of conversation.

There are so many ways in which to sing H's praises. I can only select some of the more delicious and ‘uniquely Helly’ memories we have of her.

Sporting Events

There is no doubt about Helen's addiction to various sporting endeavours. Even after so many years of living in Australia it is a great disappointment that she still held firm in her belief of the supremacy of the generally hated All Blacks.  Yes we know Daniel Carter's a good sort and Richie McCaw a dreamy bit of rough trade but, really, apart from impeccable taste in men, her allegiance to those Kiwi chaps was insufferable.

Roger Federer. It was a long held disappointment to H that over the last few years Rog still preferred the woman who spent her time during his matches at the Australian Open and the Masters in Shanghai, paying more attention to her phone than whether Rog was pelting his opponents into the playing surface. If the marriage doesn't last we will no doubt hear a sigh of relief from above.

Richmond Tigers. What a team. It is testament to H's card-carrying, one eyed support for Richmond, that at this year's Easter dress-up night at which the theme was: Come As Your Favourite Villain, she came as Ben Cousins. Terry Wallace, take note. Helen is watching!

Racing. What didn't H enjoy about horse racing? The frocks. The hats. The list of horses who are still running around the track. She took great interest in the purchase of Hand Shandy. Even though he's now called King Dan and been gelded I'm sure that H will make sure that he gets through his trials. When he wins his first Group 1, H will definitely be in the winners circle champagne in hand.

H also looked forward every year to the gathering for the Warnambool races. She loved the company and the atmosphere and talked about it with great fondness.  She was also always fabulous at Flemington!

Movies

Helen's love of the movies was legendary among the patrons and staff at the Jam Factory. Clearly the marketing folk of Village Roadshow had H in mind when they developed the Gold Class concept. The idea of kicking back in a comfy chair with a good chardonnay (or Sav Blanc depending on vintage), at her side seemed to H, the epitome of a good way to spend a lazy couple of hours. And enjoy it she did.

Infinite class: Helen' had a great love of fine pieces – especially David Williamson pottery - and other equally beautiful things around her. She loved putting gorgeous pieces together and took great delight in creating a home filled with eye catching glory. It gave great pleasure to H that she was able to indulge her love of beauty in the things surrounding her.

Pickford St Prahran, and 292 Kent Street in Brisbane before it, held great satisfaction for Helen. She always loved her house because it gave her both sanctuary, and a place for others to gather. Who will forget standing outside 16 Pickford annoying the neighbours with a stirring karaoke rendition of Meatloaf while filled with good curry from the India House, and good wine from H's cellar. Similarly, who will forget the sausage being hidden at many, many memorable dinner parties (and subsequently posted to the offenders)?  Or taunting the old trans-sexual next door at Kent Street during the many Friday night soirées.

H. had unbounded generosity. The children of various people in this room will be nodding with recognition in recalling the absolute delight she took in finding the right presents for them. She was meticulous about remembering the children's birthdays and always sought to give them presents she knew they'd enjoy. It's hard to know who took the most pleasure in their birthdays and Christmasses!

Cats. It is hard to separate Helen's cats from Helen. O'Toole and Squirm will certainly be waiting for her with bated breath, and Daisy and Gatsby miss her immensely.

Work life. It is probably true to say that Helen loved working for JB Were. She revelled in her role working behind the Chinese wall. It is true that she was also a great foil for Phil while working for him at both Duesbury's and Austrim Nylex. If anyone ever thinks that being a PA is an easy job, then they haven't met Phil. It is enormously true to say however, that she had the greatest respect and admiration for him. They made a great team.

The best team, however, was Helen and Mark. They were indeed the king and queen of all they surveyed. We know that they are reunited and bickering cosily about everything under the sun (whilst of course enjoying a signature Waddington Bombay and tonic).

Boris Maximilian Waddington aka the BMW 120i

The night Helen brought Boris home from the showroom the car alarm went off at midnight. And continued to go off with annoying frequency throughout the night. It eventually stopped only to resurface at about 4am. Blearily eyed having endured a sleepless night Helen drove straight around to the car dealer and said 'disable that alarm'. To which the dealer replied 'Madam, there is no alarm'.

We can only assume that Mark was incredibly incensed that H had the temerity to buy a BMW in the face of his oft stated opposition to these fine vehicles. Helen took great pleasure in tooling around in Boris. We think it was mostly to spite Mark.

Having said everything about Helen, I know that she's looking at me and saying "oh Chrisl, you idiot".

CLOSE:

To our dear daughter and friend Helen; God bless Lovey; we will miss you.

Mark Waddington's eulogy, by Chris Leddy

A tribute to Mark John Waddington from his friends

Friday 28 January 2005

Those of you who knew and loved Mark would agree that he had the sharpest of intellects and the fastest wit.  It may come as somewhat of a surprise then to realise that one of his favourite jokes went like this:

Q:  What’s brown and sticky?

A:  A stick.

That was pretty much the essence of Mark.  He was a man with a superior understanding of the world and a keen appreciation of what made things tick.  He could talk intelligently about almost everything.  But it was the little things which made him laugh.  Like the stick joke, or the one about the grasshopper who walked into a pub.  The barman said ‘hey, we have a drink named after you!’ The grasshopper said ‘what? Kevin?’

A man of astonishing contrasts.

Actually, if Mark were here now he’d be saying ‘no, that’s not my favourite, it’s the one about the dog at the vet or the one whose punchline is “crushed nuts”’.  We could spend the next hour remembering Mark’s favourite jokes but we’d soon run out of clean ones.

Besides which, not only was he someone who could tell jokes, he could make them up just as effortlessly.  I’m sure most people in this room who’ve ever enjoyed a drink or six in Mark’s company would agree that a conversation with him was either something you entered into with gusto or withdrew from before you got in over your head.

Mark loved to chat and he loved mental gymnastics.  He loved to joust with words and phrases and always enjoyed a good laugh.  That great crack of laughter he gave which signaled that you’d told a good story always created a very warm atmosphere.  Mark always seemed to enjoy finding someone else with whom he could spar with words.  We will forever miss that about him.

Some of you might know that there was a closeknit, albeit fairly large, group of friends who have gathered for the last 12 Easters in the Yarra Valley at our favourite guest house, Strathvea.  Mark and Helen were the King and Queen of those delightful trips (although maybe we should say ‘lynchpins’ as the title of Queen would be contested by many).

Who will ever forget Mark in his element: replete after a glorious dinner and lots of wine, clutching a glass of the Valley’s finest botrytis and arguing fiercely over whether the word ‘loaned’ was valid in the game of scrabble? Who could forget the sight of Mark another year arrayed very fetchingly in a shocking pink wig?

Another of Mark’s strengths was his ability not to let people bother him.  He did not particularly care what people thought of him.  In this regard he reminded me of a cat – he would jump on your lap if he wanted affection (well, ok, only metaphorically speaking), but if he didn’t want to play with you, he wouldn’t, and no amount of coaxing changed his mind.  In this way he was very focused – always knew what he wanted and how to go about achieving it.

Having said that, and as we have already noted, he was a man of contrasts.  Mark, was also warm, accepting, kind hearted, and extremely loyal.  To say his circle of friends was unique is somewhat of an understatement; however it shows the depth and caring the man possessed.

Mind you, if something stood between him and a gin it was a close run thing as to where his loyalties lay.

In thinking about Mark and about the untimeliness of his passing, I was reminded of some lines of that poem For the Fallen normally read on Anzac Day; “truly he shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old”.  Mark touched everyone who came into contact with him.  We are all richer for that experience.

Many of us here have known him for many years.  A character in every sense of the word.  A few words in memory of the character:

• growing up in Camp Hill, Brisbane
• his dear Grandparents
• QIT
• IBM Brisbane
• the MG
• the three piece suits
• Friday night drinks
• dinner parties at Kent Street
• the crumbed sausage at Noosa
• falling asleep during his farewell speech
• Pickford street, Melbourne
• the grand prix, tennis and Spring Carnival
• doing 120 up Myers Creek Road
• Domain Chandon
• his pc
• “magic”
• Strathvea
• the cats
• Helen
• caring
• great fun
• our mate

 

Helen was particularly keen to hear the poem “Funeral Blues”, by W H Auden as it goes some way to summing up her feelings for Mark.  We will play a short montage of Mark’s photos during that reading.