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.