“BIOLOGY is all about the three Fs - feeding, fighting and reproduction,” was something Michael Bishop often told his biology students, according to a recent Sydney Morning Herald obituary written in praise of a school teacher who, it was said, “inspired a generation of scientists”.
The piece then went on to record some of the highlights in the life of this dedicated school teacher, but I reckon it is those little personal snippets that make obituaries interesting.
I didn’t know Michael Bishop but, like so many obituaries, this one provided a terrific snapshot of an ordinary life, lived by a decent Australian who, like so many people, has left nothing more than a small but very honest footprint on the sands of time.
We read daily about the antics of publicity seekers like Brittney Speers, Paris Hilton and a bunch of other forgettable so-called celebrities, but what about these solid citizens like Michael Bishop, who make a real contribution to society each day. Ordinary folk who work hard, raise a family, do volunteer work, and lead an honest, ethical life. They don’t ever seem to get on the front pages of the glossy magazines, however, they do deserve an obituary.
PEOPLE say nice things, witty things and sometimes remarkably sad things at funeral services, but those fine words are rarely recorded. Eulogies are a mere transient memory for the people at the service on that day, then gone, like a puff of smoke in the crematorium oven, or quickly forgotten not long after the coffin is lowered into the ground.
But obituaries are different. They record a piece of history forever.
You don’t have to be famous or have done something remarkable because almost everybody has contributed something in their life that deserves to be acknowledged, and what better way than a well-written obituary.
A COUPLE of years ago local historians Carol Nolan and Carolyn Dougherty compiled an excellent historical reference book titled Digging up the Past, which was a collection of obituaries compiled from newspapers in the Highlands before 1900.
As you read through their newspaper clippings you get a real feel for life in the Southern Highlands during that pioneering era - the language, the lifestyle, the way people died and more.
“Terrible accident… rider and horse killed by falling tree,” is how the Bowral Free Press of July 15, 1891, reported the death of Michael William Morris.
Nobody gets killed these days by a falling tree while riding their horse home from church.
You might die in a car accident, or get hit by a bus, but never while riding a horse home from church.
THE same story gives you a great glimpse into the language of the day - “A more melancholy occurrence than that which befell a youth named Michael William Morris on Sunday morning it would be impossible to conceive.
In the pride of health and strength, buoyant with youth and hope, this poor lad was struck down with terrible suddenness while returning from the House of God.”
I’ll bet that minister had an attentive audience the next Sunday.
“Pay attention to me or you will be struck down by a tree on your way home,” he would have warned the congregation.
This pen picture of a day in a bygone era provides a reminder of the harsh realities of life as experienced by our forebears at a time when medical assistance was primitive by today’s standards and, of course, not easily accessible - no ambulances flying along at 100km an hour, sirens blaring, to the other end of the Highlands to save a bleeding farmer - just a plodding old horse and someone with basic first aid knowledge riding out to help.
And the causes of death were much different then - drownings, people burned to death, arsenic poisoning and horrific epidemics like influenza wiping out whole families.
ENOUGH of the serious stuff, let’s finish with some humour.
While sightseeing in Florence, Dudley paused outside a cafe to watch a huge funeral go by.
It was an Italian funeral with big black cars and big men with dark glasses everywhere.
“Whose funeral is that?” asked Dudley, chatting with a local who spoke reasonable English.
“One of Big Luigi’s girlfriends.”
“What did she die from?”
“Herpes.”
“You can’t die from herpes, can you?
“Yep,” said the bystander. “You can if you give it to Big Luigi.”
*Geoff Goodfellow has lived his life in the Southern Highlands and is well known in local sporting and social circles.
Email a friend