Ode to Herb

Herb at 19 Years Old

My father, Kevin Ross Gill, was born on 26 February 1930 and died on the 30 July 2004 aged 76. He married Jill Margaret Chappell on 13 June 1960 and between them they produced four daughters – Kylie Ann, Meredith Christine, Stephanie Louise (that’s me) and Alison Sara. He was a funny fella. He numbered the daughters 1, 2, 3 and 4, used numbers, rather than names when referring to them. It may sound peculiar to the outsider, but it was practical and was endearing.

He had a habit of reciting poetry, such as William Wordsworth’s “Daffodils” spasmodically, for no apparent reason. He also enjoyed making his own little rhymes. A bedtime classic was “Number 1, she is fun, number 2, how are you, number 3, how is she? Number 4, there is no more” referring each of his daughters.

The daughters gained their revenge when they nicknamed him “Herb” after Dorrie’s Evans husband from the 1970s Australian TV saucy soap opera, Number 96. It stuck.

Strangely he lost all his hearing in one ear and 50% in the other ear when he was 27 years old, driving over the Story Bridge. He said it was strange – it was like a “pop” sound. As a result, our house was not a quiet one. We would all virtually have to yell in order for him to hear us and, of course, he couldn’t hear how loud he actually was, so it made for some pretty lively and loud discussion.

He exercised every day of his life, bar one, that I can remember. He had blood poisoning from laying some concrete and was very ill for a day or so, but all other days he could be seem running around the neighbourhood in the early hours of the morning. Actually, it was more reminiscent of the style of the famous potato farmer turned marathon runner, Cliff Young.

He always loved golf which he played since he was 16 and was a member of Gailes Golf Club until her died. After retiring from full time work, he played up to three times a week, walking the course, never using a buggy, even when he was in excruciating pain in the years when he was told he had no cartilage left in his knee. He was told to stop walking. He refused to and the pain went away. He continued walking the course even when he the pain of the pancreatic cancer made it unbearable, playing a few weeks up to his death.

He was a man of principle and lived by the creed that “honesty is the best policy”. He laughed easily, was an optimist and had a great enthusiasm for life. He was often amazed about the great achievements of others and was so grateful to be able to live a healthy life, despite being partial to drinking copious amounts of beer.

Today, if he was still alive, he would have been 83.
Some of his poetry writing rubbed off on me. Below is one of the poems I wrote for him on his 70th birthday. Happy birthday Herb! I love you and miss you. xxxx

Making 70 (by Stephanie Gill – 1999)

Well, you did it. I don’t believe it!
It’s hard to conceive that you made it through;
‘Cause you like a beer and you can hardly hear,
There’s not that much good left of you.

But, good one – congratulations!
Sit back and enjoy the ride
It must’ve been your wonderful daughters
Who got you through to the other side.

No doubt you shall continue
Keeping yourself so very fit,
Daily with the Cliff Young shuffle,
Swinging a club at a ball you occasionally hit.

So, you’re 70 – that’s pretty special,
And from your daughters 4, 3, 2 and 1,
We’d like to take this opportunity
To thank you for pointing out that life’s fun.

It’s interesting retirement has hit you,
We didn’t think it was in your file.
All the more time for your golf game
And increasing your social profile.

So, well done one last time Herb,
Your daughters are quite an array.
And in a chorus of appreciation,
To you we say “Hip Hop Hooray!”

Me and Dad at Downey Park, Brisbane after a National Fastpitch Game 1993