In 1985 Mum and Dad made a trip around the World (and met us halfway in Paris). This is Dad's journal of the trip.
Written and spoken by Raymond with input from Barbara, and my brothers and sisters
The last time I was asked to perform this duty was over twenty years ago, at the service for our dear mother, Maude. Some of the things I said then can be said again today, for an important part of Dad’s story is his marriage with Mum, a period which covered half of his lifetime and during which he raised six children. The loss of our mother was a sad time for all of us, and particularly for Dad, but, rather than giving up on life and sliding gracefully into old age, he had the courage to build a new life with Barbara, who was inspired by his ‘joie de vivre’, his ability to live life to the fullest.
Recently Dad commented to Barbara that his circle of close friends was quite small, but then proudly added that this was counterbalanced by having such a large family. Dad did however have two close life-long friends, Ilma Street and Harry Edhouse, and he would talk happily of his youth and the times spent in their company.
Malcolm George Crooke was born on October 21, 1924, the youngest of five children. He often told stories of his happy childhood in the country. However, his parents separated when he was very young, his mother having never quite recovered from the shock of moving from the sophisticated life of Paris to the isolation of the Australian bush. As a consequence he was bought up by his English stepmother, Ruby, who must have had a great influence on him as he grew up to be a real gentleman, always well-mannered and polite.
He was a very young and inexperienced teacher when he was sent to Worth to be in charge of 12 students at 8 different year levels. He has talked, with amusement, of the absurdly well-stocked bomb shelter in this remote community, typical of the mentality of that time. He told Annette, with a straight face and a dramatic pause ‘…of course we all knew that when the Japanese invaded it would all take place in Worth’.
Photos of young Malcolm at this time show a handsome teenager, undoubtedly popular with the ladies. However, it didn’t take him long to find the one he wanted to share his life with. He met our mother, during the War at the Dominions Servicemen’s Club in Sydney, where she was doing voluntary work with servicemen and women on leave, and proposed to her a couple of weeks later in the romantic setting of the dustbins outside her parents’ flat. He was only 18 at the time, but Dad was never one to procrastinate. He had already worked for a few years as headmaster of a small school so he knew he was capable of making a living, though apparently he did warn her that he never expected to make much money. Knowing that the war could play havoc with people’s plans, they decided to wait until it was over before they married, as he wanted her to be free if he failed to return. Although they were apart they still had a very active and committed courtship, which took place mainly through letters.
During the war, Dad found himself working as an aviation engineer in Borneo. It was very hot in the confined spaces he had to work in so, understandably, he carried out his duties in the nude. According to the story he told Dianne, one time there were young women sent to deliver Coca Cola to the field, and, without knowing they were there, he exited the mechanism of the plane feet first falling on his bottom in front of them. There was nothing left to do, but reach out to accept a drink and say, ‘I’ll take ONE please.’ Apparently some of the grandchildren know a more detailed version of this story, but this one is more fit for public airing.
The time when he left the forces also caused him a bit of stress. One day two of his colleagues came to tell him that his sergeant wanted to see him straight away. They told him he was in serious trouble for being a malingerer, as he had taken some time off the previous week. In fact he was to be placed under arrest.
“But the doctor saw me,” he protested. “I had serious stomach complaints and needed to take time off. I have a letter from the doctor!” The two men insisted on escorting him to the sergeant’s office to be severely dealt with. Resigned to his fate, he went in to see the sergeant, who produced an official-looking letter. It turned out to be a notice that all teachers were to be discharged immediately and returned to Australia to resume the important role of educating the young in the post-war world. He was relieved to find his mates had been playing a joke on him and he was going home.
He was 21 years old when he married Mum, at a wedding lit by ships' lanterns because there was an electricity strike at the time. Before long they had bought the house in Ashburton, where they lived for over thirty years. It was financed through a war service loan for some ridiculous amount like a shilling a week.
We all have many memories of Dad, some shared, some different. Val’s memories include his skiing attempts at Bonnie Doon, when he claimed to be the best under-water skier ever. She remembers his enthusiasm for games, whether it be card games, the notorious “Take Two” or “May I”. Annette adds to this list backgammon, black jack, two up, scrabble and a very colour-deficient version of mastermind which invariably ended up messy because Dad couldn’t tell the difference between brown and green. But the one constant, as other games came and went, was chess. He taught many of us to play it, at a variety of levels. Alan and Dad battled well over the board, and he took great pride in teaching the game to the wider family in later years. Dad had an electronic chessboard and Barbara would often come home to find him deep in concentration against his computerized opponent. It had 17 levels of difficulty, but Melissa reports that he managed to reach level 18.
Speaking of colour deficiency, Annette will never forget the times he went out with one black and one brown shoe on, including her school’s speech night. And we all have memories of Dad taking us to the swimming pool - and occasionally leaving at least one of us behind. Working as a swimming instructor was a large part of Dad’s life. Annette remembers the times he asked her to demonstrate a stroke. She was very proud of his faith in her ability until the day she lifted her head out of the water earlier than usual to hear him saying to the gathered class…”and that’s how NOT to do it”. He taught many people, not only in the classroom but also in the pool. Dawn Fraser may not remember that he was one of her earlier instructors, but we all do.
Many of our memories of Dad are different because we were all different, and one of Dad’s strong points as a father was that he always encouraged us to do our best at whatever interests we pursued, as he did with all who came in contact with him.
Personally, I feel Dad has influenced me in at least three major aspects of my life - my work, my music and my family!
I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want to follow in Dad’s footsteps as a teacher. Dad often took me to his classes at Auburn Central and later at Ashburton State School, where I had first-hand experience of what teaching was all about. He was a brilliant educator, always on top of whatever situation arose, always entertaining to the students, who were in awe of him, always able to cater for their individual needs. He well deserved the award of Outstanding Teacher that he was given. The memory of his classroom skills have stayed with me throughout my teaching career. Annette recalls how, as principal of Ashburton State School, he knew all the children by name and could talk to them and encourage them in their interests. As Barbara says, he was a genuine ‘child-centred’ educator.
Dad had a strong belief that all children should have the opportunity to learn a musical instrument. So we all learned the piano, initially with Miss Young (who was really not young at all). When I took an interest in singing Dad gave me tremendous encouragement. In fact, I’m sure it was his influence that first got me started. Last August, when he booked me as the guest performer at the Glenmount Social Club at Glen Waverley RSL, I told the group that one of my earliest memories was of Dad rowing me around Lake Wendouree in Ballarat and singing: Toorali Oorali Addity, We’re Bound for Botany Bay. I remember also the collection of records, mainly the old 78s that he put at our disposal, and how Val and Alan and I loved to listen to them and sing and act out the songs. When I eventually got myself a guitar and started singing folk music, Dad would drive me in to the radio stations to perform at odd hours of the morning. Dad would never think of himself as a singer, but, being an expert on just about everything, he really did give me valuable advice. I remember very vividly the time when I was preparing to sing “The Stockman’s Last Bed” on the Country and Western Hour, and he went over it with me in detail, pointing out which words needed more stress or better articulation. I still have the recording of the song that resulted from that discussion, and he was right. I sang it a lot better because of his advice. But this was typical of Dad. No matter what the subject area was, he always had something to say about it that he was willing to share. Despite his humble assertions later in life that he and felt sandwiched between superior†intellect on both sides of his own generation, he was very knowledgeable in areas most of us would prefer to leave to the specialists.
I have mentioned Dad’s expertise as a professional swimming coach. For many members of the family, being part of the swimming club was very significant. As they moved beyond the local club, and took part in competitions across the state, Ron, Dianne and Annette had a clear view of Dad’s ‘determination’ to bring out the best in them.
Dad made every effort to provide each of us with the most appropriate type of education to suit our individual needs. We’ve seen recently how not only Melissa but also Barbara and her sister Marliene have been fully encouraged to pursue their interest in dance. And Dad was always ready to extend his own learning. For example, perhaps in an effort to get back to his French roots, he joined Yoong and myself in attending Saturday morning adult French classes. The last restaurant meal we enjoyed with Dad and Barbara was with one of his former classmates from that time, Charles, and his wife, Lillian, who are both here tonight.
The third important influence Dad had on me, and I know I’m not alone in this, lies in his relationship with Mum. Of course he was a product of his times and believed it was the husband’s role to be the breadwinner and the wife’s to care for the children, but within that framework he really was a wonderfully supportive husband. I remember many little moments of affection between them, and often, before I slept, I was comforted to hear their distant voices as they talked into the night, presumably filling each other in on the events of the day. If there was ever any friction between them it was always well hidden from the children. I was left with the impression of a loving caring relationship which I try to live up to in my own marriage.
As a family man, Dad has said in recent times that he regretted not having spent enough time with the children as he was so busy earning a living. But we remember the quality time that he spent with us, the camping holidays we went on, visits to Maldon to see our grandparents, the games he taught us, the little tricks with his fingers that we’ve passed on to our own children. He provided us with a lot more than just our material needs. Dianne puts it in these words: “I am shaped and formed by his influence and I consider it a great privilege and a rich heritage!”
Annette told me how much she valued the time spent with Dad travelling to the Olympic pool for early morning training, during which Dad would impart his view of the world. For example, once, as they drove past the Yarra, Annette commented on how ugly and dirty it was. Dad disagreed. He said it depended on how you looked at it. He told her to look up and see the lights shining on the surface. Then to look up even further and see the predawn mist around the lamp posts, and the trees. He told her how lucky we were to be Australian. Many years later, when Annette and Richard were living in difficult conditions on their block before building their house, she wrote to tell Mum and Dad how hard life was in a caravan in the mud. Our parents were in Rome at the time, and Dad sent her a card with a picture of the squalid and tightly packed living conditions experienced by the poorer Italian communities. He told her to take her two little girls outside, turn her face to the sun and be thankful for all that she has.
Dad’s influence can be seen in the diversity of his family. We are all so different because Dad encouraged us to be different, to be who we are, and to be that to the best of our ability. Whatever direction we’ve taken in life, Dad has always been behind us. For Yoong and myself, having chosen to lead a semi-nomadic life-style, I was never sure what he felt about our global wanderings, until he made it quite clear in a little poem he wrote for us some time ago. Though he was not normally demonstrative in showing his feelings, this poem clearly expressed his love for us and his appreciation of our adventurous spirit. Whatever uncertainties or feelings of remorse I may have had in leaving home were overcome by these words of support and encouragement.
Although he adored our mother, Dad did not give up on life after she passed away, but started a new life with Barbara Watson, one of his former teaching staff members at Glendal Primary School where he was principal. Barbara initially felt quite intimidated by Dad, who she saw as a strong, determined educational leader.
Dad and Barbara married in 1988. It was a brave, but appropriate, decision for a man of his optimistic outlook. It ensured that the last chapter of his life would not only bring him a further share of happiness, but that, in marrying Barbara, he was able to bring joy into another life as well. There was a considerable age difference between them and it took Barbara’s father two years before he could accept the fact that age is no barrier to true love. Other people would occasionally pluck up the courage to ask about the age difference. In true Mal Crooke style he would reply, “Yes, there is a considerable age gap between my wife and myself. I am actually a lot younger than my wife - but I have aged a lot since marrying her.” This was always greeted with laughter.
Dad sometimes referred to Barbara as his “5 star accommodation lady” as she was used to staying in luxury hotels when she travelled. This soon changed. After one 5-star night of wedded bliss, he talked her into a six week ‘honeymoon’ trip to Queensland travelling by car and staying in a small two-person tent. This ‘initiation’ into married life for Barbara must have been something like the shock our grandmother had when she was first brought to the Australian bush. But she soon realised that being together was all that really mattered and she looks back on those days as very precious.
On 13th December 1990, Dad once again became a proud father - for the seventh time - at the young age of 66. His versatility knew no bounds as he left behind the traditional role of male breadwinner. When Barbara returned to full-time teaching, Dad became a full-time house-husband, active Kinder parent and parent volunteer for school activities and excursions. He also took a lead role in organising Melissa’s birthday parties, with all the precision of a well-run school sports event.
Living at Vermont South in the family home built by Jeff, Dad and Barbara established a strong friendship with neighbours, Anne, Ron and Michelle Farquhar. Then, in 2001, they moved to Mount Waverley, which enabled Melissa to attend Mount Waverley Secondary College, and Barbara to be closer to Marliene, who found Dad to be a wonderful brother-in-law - especially in his willingness to baby-sit her dog.
In 2003 Dad began his hard battle against cancer. He held the oncologist, Jeremy Shapiro, in the highest possible regard and had built up a much-trusted relationship with his local GP, Dr Stephen Stowe. When he entered Cabrini Prahran for palliative care, Dad was humbled by the ‘friendly’ visits made by both doctors. Though it was a sad time, he was not only touched by the hospital visits made by family and friends, but very grateful for the loving care that he received from the staff.
Dad never gave up hope, never stopped living life to the full. In 2004 we had the pleasure of staying with him and Barbara and Melissa and I remember being very sad when we left for Hong Kong, as I was aware that it could well be our last goodbye. But he had a lot of life in him yet and, when we came back two years later and stayed with him again, we found he had recovered much of his strength. We have many happy memories of this trip, one that stands out being the day he drove us to Wandin. We were guided around the historical homestead by a local volunteer, about the same age as Dad, and they had a great time reminiscing about life in the old days. We learned a lot about the kind of environment Dad grew up in. Though we have beeen far away in Hong Kong since that time, we have still felt very close to Dad, with constant reports recently from our children and other family members. When we spoke to Dad on the phone, he had all his mental faculties and his positive attitude never faltered.
Mal Crooke was a caring, loving person who reached out to people and loved life. When talking of the battle lost to cancer, Dad said; “It’s no use saying it’s not fair. It’s life”. His organisational skills extended to providing Barbara with a healthy list of items to be satisfied upon his death. His mind and spirit remained intact to the end. It was his body that could no longer cope. He passed away in the loving presence of family members on Tuesday, 6th February.
Dad spent his last days productively, keen to pass on his stories while there was still time, stories that focused on irony and absurdity, especially those about his teen years and his first teaching experiences. He would entertain the other patients with his anecdotes and also enjoy listening to their stories. A few years ago, when he had his first course of treatment, he wrote about his experiences in hospital. These notes, which are on the family website, end with this comment: “So there we were, men of comparable ages sharing our life stories, our beliefs and philosophies and on balance I reckon I haven’t done too badly.”
I think we all agree with you, Dad. In your 82 years in this world you haven’t done too badly at all. You have given your love and support to two partners and seven children, have enriched the lives of several grandchildren and contributed something of value to the countless children you have taught and the many people who have been privileged to know you, even for a short time. Like our mother, you will always live in our hearts.
