Laurie Crerar. He was a greatly loved father, husband, brother, son & friend. Passed away at home in the company of family on 30th January 2009 after a short & incredibly brave fight with an insurmountable illness.
Mother: Elizabeth (Lila) Crerar
Father: Jack Crerar
Brothers: Bruce & Brian
Sister: Heather
Wife: Rosanne (nee Symons)
Sons: Jason & Scott (Damien Blackwell son-in-law)
Daughter(s): Jodi-Anne (Kylie Crerar daughter-in-law)
Grandsons: Jack Colgrave & Oliver Brill, Elliott Blackwell
Grand-daughter: Isabelle Crerar
Father-in-law: Robert Symons
Mother-in-law: Dorothy Symons
Some extracts about Laurie from his Funeral:
By his brother, Bruce:
Life was good for us as a growing family Mum, Dad, Laurie, Brian, Heather & myself at 10 Marjorie Street, East Preston (Melbourne Victoria). This was after the second World War & things were pretty basic. Laurie even back then was the leader of the pack, street gangs, fights, Punch & Judy shows, boxing competitions, any sort of racing, dogs, kids, other animals, bikes, billy carts, any activity, a great organiser. Laurie was an animal & bird nut, & collector. He brought home all sorts of dogs, horses, a donkey, chooks, bantams, pigeons, you name it! (usually hidden up the side of the house. It drove Dad crazy.
Annual holidays were camping at Port Arlington beach with the other multitudes. Dad had a huge tent & the temperature was usually hovering in the 30’s when the erection took place & the erection fights are still vivid after all these years. Swimming, fun & stirring were the order of the day & the fairer sex were becoming of interest.
After Sylvester Grove Primary School it was off the rough & tough of Preston Tech. Rock & Roll was taking off & Laurie ran with it. He was a Bodjee & again, leader of the pack at the Tech.
Life changed forever when Dad became ill & died. Laurie was 16 & Mum was left with four kids & little else, of course two of the kids were larrikins she had to contend with as well.
Laurie assumed the mantle as head of the house (he made us all work) & carried that responsibility the rest of his life. He did a wonderful job albeit off on tangents on occasions.
The rock dance at Preston Tech Hall with (singer) Johnny Chester was the stage for Laurie & his mates having fun & creating havoc. He was all style including hand-made shoes by an Italian cobbler at Collingwood!
He met, courted & won the heart of Miss Rosanne Symons from Abbotsford. The FX Holden bomb was replaced with a spiffy EH Holden station wagon.
Laurie Successfully completed an electrical apprenticeship & was definitely a hard worker which stayed with him all his life, usually to our detriment!
Rose & Laurie were married & with Rose's Tasmanian family connections moved to Tasmania & had a house built at Riverside. He had a position at Royal Insurance which he loved & children Jason, Jodi & Scott came along, life was rosy.
He dabbled in everything, real estate, cars, animals, birds, machinery, basically anything he could get his hands on including people. His network of connections was incredible.
He was loyal & overly generous with family & friends & organizations of all kinds (usually disregarding his own well-being).
Over a period the rest of the Crerar Clan followed Laurie & Rose to the inspiring Tamar Valley & we are all still here. It's a million miles from East Preston & we thank him for that.
He loved family BBQs & activities, we had many with Laurie in control of the burnt offerings. I will just mention his great ongoing passion (besides his family), the Tamar Estuary. If you were brought up on the Yarra River the Tamar takes the cake.
Blackwall jetty, Friends Of The Tamar, Wetlands, On The Tide series, anti-Pulp Mill campaigning. Laurie was passionate about things he could explode. He loved bonding, he never complained, it was always "what's next?"ť
I know that the leader of the pack would laugh & love it by declaring, "NO PULP MILL!"ť
We will miss him.
By his son, Jason:
A very good friend of my Dad related a story to me that I would like to share because I also feel that it describes him well.
Some years ago Dad gave to him a verse Dad called the "Battler's Omen". I suspect that this is not its original title as it sounds like a title Dad would have applied.
It was written by Theodore Roosevelt, it goes:
The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena,
Whose face is marred by dust & sweat & blood.
Who strives valiantly.
Who errs & comes short again & again.
Who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions & spends himself in a worthy cause.
Who at the best knows the triumph of high achievement,
And who at the worst, if he fails at least fails while daring greatly so that his place shall never be with those cold & timid souls who know neither victory or defeat.
This friend was so motivated by what Dad had given him that he had the passage framed & to date consults with the verse to motivate himself in his own life battles.
This friend described Dad as a participant in life. He was NEVER an observer or witness. He was always in the arena.
& most importantly to myself, my brother & sister he was always in the Arena as a Dad. He sure put us to the test plenty of times but we just loved him more.
I won't cry because it's over. I will smile because it happened.
Goodbyes are not forever.
Goodbyes are not the end.
They simply mean I'll miss you
Until we meet again!
By his daughter, Jodi:
Our Dad was the mad pheasant plucker. Birds featured throughout his life. Roosters and chickens, fan tailed pigeons and dove tailed quail, bantams and guinea fowl, peacocks, pheasants and ALWAYS a lame duck. He promised the oncologist, the chemo salesman Dad called him, two plucked pheasants if he could be fixed. I think the tour of the property was obligatory. I remember Dad as the mad pheasant plucker because he would mimic our friend John Doran tell the joke, with his English accent after a few red wines and a bit of a lisp. My Dad would be laughing so hard his shoulders would touch his ears - and the tears would stream down his face.
A man of passion and vision, our Dad went through a phase of buying and selling real estate: Dennis Drive, Glen Ard Mohr Rd, Glen Chatten Park, Ecclestone House, Turners Marsh Farm, Conniston Place, Reatta Road, Devon Hills, Adelaide St, 321 West Tamar Highway and finally 637 West Tamar, opposite Tamar Island and the wetlands. Dad loved his last house - he said you were as high as the birds on the hill and he would wake to sea eagles pulling glass eels from the wetland ponds.
He collected cars like he collected property. Fords and holdens, alfa romeos and passats, rovers and lancias, fiats and alfettas. Gtvs, x19s, 4WDs and the XJS. Countless motorbikes for Jason and a skateboard for Scotty. He bought tractors as well: John Deere and the Mcormack Farmall, the International and a Massey Ferguson; a plough, 3 harrows, 4 horse boxes, a harvester, a seeder and a couple of jinkers for the horses.
Towards the end he collected daffodils and caravans.
But he never collected women. He loved our beautiful Mum to the very end. He loved his Mum, Lila, me his daughter, Kylie his new daughter and Isabelle the grand one. His women provided strong foundation to his life.
He could sell snow to eskimos, pheasants to the Japanese and fire engines to Kuwait for the oil fires. He wanted the PLA and the City Council to pump the Tamar back in the 80s. He lived and died on the river and was always inspired by it.
He was a man with fire in the belly and a heart as big as Phar-Lap. A gladiator of the underdog and the great working class. It was a major grief to us, his children, that he was never a politician and actually made some money. He talked the right amount of bullshit and was marvelous at spin doctoring before we even knew what the word meant. But he wasn't to be a politician, as one thing is for sure -- Laurie Crackers Crerar would NEVER have towed the party line. Dismissive of management, bugger the Gestapo, up the constabulary and thank bloody god for the brave aussie battler. He sometimes worked outside the rules. Actually -- he MOSTLY worked outside the rules.
During a few of the dark days Dad would pump his old stereo full of feel good music, he'd have a slab of good cheese, a glass of lunchtime red, and the Age newspaper -- he really was the richest man.
I see our Dad in the faces of my brothers and in their depth of character and true substance. I see him in the gestures of my sons: Jack the Apprentice and Elliot the Farmer. He taught us to escape the mundane and risk being different. To stand up for what we believe and to see the beauty in every single moment. "Hey Scobe, check out that tractor"! He would point - as we were ready to chunder after taking the long way round for the 20th time. Look at the apricot in that sky Poss! Can you believe how red that soil is! Look at the way he grabs that steering wheel! feel the strength in those chubby little hands!ť Never too busy to stop and look and listen and hear and feel. There will always be room for daffodils.
Well Somewhere NOT in the darkness, but just after sunrise -- our dad finally broke even, and in these final words is something he'd want us all to keep:
You;ve got to know when to hold em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away and know when to run; you never count your money when you're sitting at the table, there'll be time enough for counting when the dealings done.
We love you so much our dad and poppy and we are VERY proud of you. You live on in every single one of us through blood, and bold and perfect memory.
Your loving daughter,
Jodi.
By His son, Scott:
A Circle in Life
Pursuant to a cycle
the boy chances life.
An uprising of a man,
a relentless search for his wife.
-x-
In the shade of a moment
a child’s life is sculpted.
In the shadow of a second,
a mans heart is altered
-x-
In our nurtured first years,
winding paths shine bright.
For our fathers guidance,
invokes a warm, guiding light.
-x-
Awake we dream,
an infant pondering,
The tight grasp from Dad,
that infants now wandering.
-x-
Too much can be said
for a father and a son.
Sharing smiles together
great obstacles…overcome.
-x-
With compassion and laughter,
a brave man stands tall.
A hero, a warrior
who is not afraid to fall.
-x-
In the golden sunrise,
he takes his last breath.
A slow trek through his valley,
to the view from the crest.
Scott Crerar
Here is a You Tube link to a speech he made against the proposed Tamar Valley Pulp Mill, only a few months before he became ill:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8mtojlqQ8xQ