Peter Michel Long's memory board

Peter Long Eulogy 10 May, 2011 This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man. Farewell, my blessing season this in thee! A most warm welcome and our sincere gratitude for attending Peter’s funeral today. Many of you would no doubt recognise the quote from Hamlet Act 1 Scene 3. Polonius is farewelling his son and giving him advice before he sets off to Paris. And Dad, with his profound love of English literature, copied this quote down on a piece of paper, folded it, placed it in an envelope and gave it to me, just before I set off to the UK on my gap year. The significance of that simple act did not dawn onto me until many years later. Dad wasn’t just saying “see you later”, “have a good time.” He knew that I was taking my first true tentative steps into manhood; he knew that the journey I was about to embark on was not just an exploration of our world in terms of countries and continents, but also one of character, conscience and spirit. Recalling this, I then asked myself the question, “What does a son say about his father at his eulogy?” I’m sure we all have our own recollections of dad from his time as a Cranbrook schoolboy, journalist, economist, company director, or just as a good mate. And so I thought I’d share just a few recollections from a perspective that would be unique in this congregation – that of a son to his father. (And it also gives me one last opportunity to embarrass the old man!) One of my earliest memories of dad is when we lived in Castle Cove – and we kept ducks. I suppose they were my first pets. Now these ducks would poop, everywhere. All over the back patio and garden and I can remember dad getting quite cross, while he was there hosing the poop away. I’m sure he was probably using some colourful lingo at the time as he was known to do – but I don’t recall. Anyway, one day these ducks had mysteriously disappeared and my next best recollection is of dad sitting down at the table that night eating a delicious, (having assured myself years later), “chicken” dinner. It’s funny when you’re growing up that you only really know, well, what you know. And I had assumed that every family had a dad like mine. The first time I realised this was not the case was during a father/son cricket match at the Prep School. Dad was there, but many other fathers were not. I can remember dad fielding at deep mid-off. The batsman flicked the ball off his pads and dad ambled, easy-as-you-like, about 10 metres square and took the catch. It was so effortless he may well have been sitting on the front porch sipping lemonade. And I recall thinking of the other dads who were there, that they probably would have enjoyed much greater success if they had chosen not to lubricate their fingers with butter before the match. And so this brings us to my teenage years. I think it should be mandatory for all children to sign a stat dec before puberty kicks in and apologise to their parents - in advance - for what they’re about to put them through. And so like many teenagers before me, I gave mum and dad a run for their money. But through that turbulent time, never once did I feel that it was just too hard. Never once did I feel that I was being abandoned; never once did I feel, I wasn’t loved by either of my parents. And of course, dad had his accident in the winter of 1993. For many years, I wondered why this happened to such a good man. I’m sure there is any number of philosophers and theologians who could provide me with an articulate answer. But to paraphrase Thoreau [Thor-OH], I prefer to think dad was simply there to “suck out all the marrow of life.” To not sit back and wait for life to happen. So whether it was playing tennis every Sunday, sailing on a tall ship – or skiing in Perisher Valley. But this was a time where dad’s true strength of character shone through. Friends have described dad as a man of, “rare and exceptional courage” and “formidable determination.” I would certainly not disagree. Yet what I find most remarkable is that despite his devastating injury, he never ceased to think of ways how he could help me and the family. And so a most heartfelt “thank you” from my family, to all those that gave dad such great dedicated care, over so many years, but most especially to Nita. But what of mum too? Where does one even begin to quantify the degree of kindness, compassion and self-sacrifice she has shown for dad over the years? Perhaps it’s simpler to just describe - a wife loving her husband, and a husband loving his wife. And so this brings us back to my original question: “What does a son say about his father at his eulogy?” I found the answer when I read this quote. It was in fact written by my father, in a letter to a colleague of his father, my grandfather, when he died in January of 1960. It is also most eminently, proper, for dad... “He died in a manner befitting the way he had lived – as a gentleman.” I love you Pups and I hope I made you proud. Sleep well.