It started in the shires of the English midlands and finished in the arid saltbush of Whyalla, South Australia. It was the year my life changed. In September 1966 I turned 13. Two days after my birthday my family—my father, mother, sister and brother—got on a train in Kettering, Northamptonshire. It took us to London, very much still the Swinging City, where we changed trains for Southampton. There, berthed at
Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth. Draw the lace and black curtains and shut out the whole truth. Spin me down the long ages: let them sing the song. — ‘Thick As A Brick’, Jethro Tull There was food, there was wine, there was music from the
A selection of images from the slide show put together by my sister Carol and her daughter Zoe Tooby and played at my father’s funeral in Whyalla, South Australia on 20 January 2015. Thanks for everything dad and as they say in the Highlands: Gus am bris an là agus an teich na sgàilean (until day breaks and the shadows retreat).
The eulogy delivered at my father’s funeral on 20th January 2015, in Whyalla, South Australia. Family and friends—thank you all for coming today, especially those who have travelled from outside Whyalla. We are here to pay our respects and honour and remember the life of my father, Ian Robertson, born 20 August 1926, Kinlochleven, Scotland, died 11 January 2015, Whyalla. To paraphrase the words of the poet, Dylan Thomas, my
My father had been living at home since my mother died last year. I had arranged to spend a week with him in August, but two weeks before I was due to fly over to Whyalla he fell and broke his hip. He had a successful hip replacement operation, but the general anaesthetic really played havoc with his (previously mild) dementia. He was in hospital for three weeks and then transferred