Stanley ‘Stan’ William Watson
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October 9, 1941 – September 10, 2014
These are the words of the eulogy given by Stan’s daughter-in-law Jane Watson.
“I have to say that both Jim and I feel extremely honoured, and deeply humbled, to be asked to deliver this eulogy today. It goes without saying that we feel completely unequal to the task.
I used to think that words were beautiful things, capable of giving expression to all sorts of feelings, emotions and things in general in a beautiful, elegant and eloquent way.
But they are not. They just don’t work. They can’t possibly describe the way that Stan brightened the lives of all of those who had the good fortune to know him.
They can’t describe the love and affection, respect and admiration that all of those people felt for him.
Nor can they describe the horror of what has happened and the way that our lives without him will be so utterly deflated and depleted.
Who will ever forget that infectious smile, the dry wit and sense of humour, and his yarns. Who will ever forget his legendary love of country music, of animals, of birds, of ducks, of dogs, of horses, of cattle, of sheep, his love for life, his friends and his love of people in general?
And who will ever forget that wonderful curiosity and inquisitive nature of his, that led him to be so interested in the lives of all of those he knew, and all of those he encountered, even briefly. And the impact that he had on those people.
The ladies from the bottle shop in Scone, where he bought his beer and wine, are here today. Earlier in the week, Marj received a letter from a young lady, unknown to the family, who worked in McDonalds in Muswellbrook.
If she will please forgive me, this is what she wrote:
“I just wanted to extend my deepest sympathy to all of Stan’s family. Stan used to often call into McDonalds and each time he did we would have a chat. What a lovely, happy man. He always made me feel great each time he was in. He had this wonderful welcoming friendly smile. My life was so much fuller for meeting such a wonderful man”.
Stan’s overseas travels gave him broader scope to find out more about more people. Only recently Jim recounted the story of Stan at an airport in Salt Lake City.
Everyone was rushing to the other end of the airport to catch a connecting flight to Montana. The passengers were boarding the flight, and they were calling for Stan and co over the loud speaker.
Stan was just poking along.
Jim was supposed to be in charge of Stan that day. Stan went to the bathroom. Jim waited, and waited and waited. He eventually ventured in to see what was up and he found Stan, talking to a man.
He was a big, burly American negro, dressed in full army fatigues.
He was the sort of man one might otherwise have chosen to avoid. But not Stan.
“Stan, we have to go. It’s right, Jim. They’ll wait for us. I want you to meet Leroy. Leroy, this is Jim. Leroy’s just back from a tour of duty in Iraq. But now he’s going to be discharged. Isn’t that good, Jim.”
That was just so Stan. And that is only one of a multitude of similar stories.
Stan was born in 1941, in the Brancaster Hospital in Scone.
His father, Edwin Stephen James Watson, known as Curly was said to be a quietly spoken and gentle man, a mark he clearly left on Stan.
His mother Margaret also had many fine qualities.
Curly was a farm worker and during Stan’s early years, the young family moved around the district with Curly’s work, and Stan started his schooling life at Duncan’s Creek near Tamworth.
He also attended Willow Tree school, where his brother Bill has fond memories of Stan riding to school on an oversized bike, before then commencing school at Blandford following the family’s move to Pondi, at Timor.
He was educated by the nuns in the Murrurundi Convent School, and later at the Central School which is now Murrurundi Public School.
Stan was the eldest of five children, Brian (known as Bill), Leon, Greg and Delores (Del), all of whom are here today.
At the age of 14 Stan left school and commenced his working life.
Stan was a bushman and his worked involved the usual things for a bushman – he worked on properties, he was a horse-breaker, he caught rabbits, he even held miners rights in respect of the silver deposit at Timor. And he was a rodeo pick-up man. But after his early years in the workforce, shearing became his main line of work.
He must have loved his work and his varied occupations, because he kept the details of them. Stan had a wonderful collection of old records.
He had payslips that recorded his pay for shearing at sheds such as Glenalvon, Temi, Poitrel, Ballarang, Yarrabin, Bobbadil and Bloomfield, working for Mark Hunt, Shearing Contractor. He often shore at sheds much further afield.
He had slips recording his sale of rabbits to TA Samson & Sons, Rabbit Buyer and he had a great collection of old tally books that recorded numbers shorn at various sheds and all manner of other things.
During his life Stan has been described as many things, nature’s true gentleman, salt of the earth, the quintessential Australian and even recently, and quite accurately, as saintly. Saint Stanley of Timor.
Stan, you’ve come a long way since those early days when you started courting Marj. Marj’s mother used to refer to you as “that long streak of misery from Timor”. One day in the early 1960s Stan was cruising the streets of Murrurundi with a mate in his Austin A40, which he bought from Mick Tag the local barber.
Marj was walking along the street with a friend, and Stan pulled over.
He always had the right words. He said: “Do you girls want a ride?” And they did. And then he said to Marj: “Do you want to go to the pictures?” And she did. And then he pestered her for the next three years until they finally married on November 30, 1963, here in this church. They celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary last year, again here in this church and then at the Whitehart.
Marj and Stan’s first home was in Haydon Street, Murrurundi which they bought and moved into following their marriage.
Four of their five children were born while they lived there - Stephen in 1964, Tony in 1966, Susan in 1968 and Christine in 1971.
In 1973 they moved to Balarang at Timor, where Stan worked, and Lynda their youngest was born in 1980 while they lived there.
The following year they moved to Marstan, Timor where they firmly put down their roots. Stan loved the Timor district and he loved its people. Stan was actively involved in the life of the Timor community.
Together Marj and Stan threw themselves into local events and organisations – the Murrurundi Pony Club, the Timor Tennis Club, the Timor Sports Club which conducted the dog trialling events that Stan so loved, and the Timor Rodeo.
In recognition of his dedicated service he was awarded a life membership of all of those organisations.
A moving tribute to Stan was given by the Timor community last weekend at the Timor Rodeo.
To quote a very capable and well-known poet, when asked as a youngster by the nuns what the big day in December was, Stan’s reply was “the Timor Rodeo”. Of course.
Stan and Marj moved from Marstan to Scone in 2003. But that move to Scone did not represent retirement for Stan.
Stan commenced his second career as a livestock market reporter with the MLA a number of years earlier, and his work as a reporter became a large and very happy part of his life lasting over 16 years.
It all started with a workshop teaching computer skills in a high rise building in North Sydney.
Stan came home after that workshop and said, “I think they’ve got the wrong man for the job”. But they did not – they had struck gold with Stan.
Stan reported on the weekly stock sales at Scone and at Singleton, also at Coonamble and sometimes even further afield, at Ballarat and Bendigo in Victoria, and Roma in Queensland. For a long period he even reported on the pig sales at Gunnedah.
Stan developed a wonderful rapport with his colleagues and came to love them. He developed a wonderful rapport with the buyers and all of the people who formed the saleyards community in general.
He became a much loved part of that scene, and that scene became a much loved part of Stan. The saleyards community also gave a moving tribute to Stan prior to the commencement of the sale last Tuesday.
The last decade of Stan’s life has seen Stan and Marj continue to experience wonderful things together.
They criss-crossed this country, visiting all of the places that Stan so loved, and so many of those places immortalised in song by Slim.
They travelled the world, first to the United States and Canada, then to Europe cruising the rivers, and just recently to England, Scotland and Ireland via the Middle East and home via Greece and the Greek Isles.
Stan really loved those trips and particularly the last one. They were a great opportunity for him to check out even more people, and see what their sheep were like, and their cattle and their farms, and where might be a good place for a shearing shed.
A little bit of Stan now lives on in his children. Stephen, in his love of family. He has embraced Stan’s family values and loves and looks out for his own family and extended family just as Stan did. And he acquired Stan’s great love of the bush and the skills of a bushman, boiling billies and cooking in camp ovens.
Tony, in his fine looks. Tony inherited all of his father’s looks and many of his mannerisms, and Stan will never be far from mind while ever Tony is around. Tony shared Stan’s passion for country life and country people. He also inherited Stan’s abiding, enduring and undying faith … in sheep.
Susan, in so many ways but in particular, in her warm and wonderful sense of humour and easy laughter, her love of horses and her skills as a horsewoman.
Christine, in her big, quick and easy smile, complete with the dimples and the mischievous sparkle in the eyes. And her ability to be a great friend to many.
And Lynda, in her uncanny ability to talk to anybody and everybody, anytime, about anything. That came from Stan. He loved them all so much.
Everybody knows that it is easy to love your own children. But with the inlaws, that motley crew of women and men that your sons and daughters choose to marry, it’s a different story. Most people choose to politely tolerate their inlaws. But Stan was not most people. He welcomed us all into the family with his big loving happy embrace, and loved us and cared for us and took interest in our lives as though we were his children too.
It felt to us as though Stan had 10 children, not five, and that has got to a true measure of him. I know that there will be many people here today who also thought of Stan as a second father to them. How very lucky we were.
But the very best that Stan had to offer the world was reserved for his grandchildren. Pop had 12 grandchildren, and he made himself such a big part of their lives. He adored his grandchildren and they adored him.
He took such delight in sharing in their lives, watching them campdraft, rodeo, play football, play soccer, play netball, play cricket, dance, perform in school concerts, fox whistle, pony club.
He didn’t want to miss a single thing. He picked them up from school and dropped them off. He visited their work places. He especially loved to take them back to Timor and back to the shearing shed there to show them the sheep, the wool, the yards, all of it.
And as for those things that the grandkids did when he was not there to see, well, the doing of those things was only half of the fun.
The other half of the fun came in telling pop all about it. And tell him they did, not just one day, or some days, but every day.
Pop didn’t have favourites among his grandchildren, but he had that incredible ability to make each of them think that they were his favourite.
I want to finish with some words from my favourite book, a book in which the story teller is that invisible person who calls to earth to pick up the souls of our loved ones when they die and carry them home.
This is how it would have been when he called last Wednesday morning for Stan.
His soul sat up. It met me. Those kinds of souls always do - the best ones. The ones who rise up and say “I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go, of course, but I will come”. Those souls are always light because more of them have been put out. More of them have already found their way to other places. Stan’s soul would have been so very light and easy to carry, for so much of it had already found its way into the hearts and minds and lives of so many people.
Stan, Poppy, you have fought the good fight to the end. You have run the race to the finish. And you have kept the faith. May you now rest in peace.”
For Stan - By Jim MacCallum
Now I know as Stan entered heaven, through those pearly gates; He’d be gladly reunited with his many departed mates.
They’d look around, enjoy the view out across the stars; Then Stan would say, “hey fella’s, which way to the bar?”
There he’d sit with Paddy and Purce, recall a life well lived; How he took nothing for granted, treated life as if it were a gift.
The eyes would dance and sparkle, his face alive and round; And the five to one voice would amplify its’ all familiar sound.
Stan Watson here from the NLRS, reporting from up in heaven; The lambs are dear, pork is strong, and young cattle indicator up by seven.
He’d tell that as he left, the market had been really jumping; Veal was strong, re-stockers dear and cows and bullocks really pumping.
The cattle up here look fat he’d say, mainly condition score three’s and four’s; And from the way the feed is here, I don’t think there’s any stores.
Now life never passed Stan by, he lived it every single day; For his wife, his kids, his family in a very special way.
He never said “I’m sorry mate, I just don’t have the time”; Or I’m busy or too tired, or got other things on my mind.
He supported everyone, but most of all Marj his beautiful wife; Made sure she was happy and healthy, and loved her all his life.
At family events, Stan was always in his prime; Yarning, chatting, enjoying. Having the best of times.
All the kids would gather round and hang off his every word; “Come on Poppy Stan is that really true? It can’t be, that’s absurd!”
His character was infectious, a disease you wanted to catch; His presence lit the fire, without a single match.
The world was a better place for him being here, that I know is true; It took him way too early, there was still plenty for him to do.
Like rodeos, campdrafts, footy games, sports events as well; Pony Clubs and cattle shows, where he’d turn up, who could tell.
He loved being where the action was, watching his grandchildren go; Always proud, enthusiastic, he loved to watch their show.
And people would move close to him, it’s little wonder why; To hear his humorous observations, that were always extra dry.
His character made him so popular, his manner so reserved; A reputation built on honesty and integrity, and wasn’t it well deserved!
Will we miss him? Well and truly! But his honour fills this room; Fills our hearts and minds forever from Montana to Taroom.
Whilst Stan is now departed, we will never let him go; It’s impossible for him to leave us, and I just want to let you know.
If you want to see his legacy, see his character endure; Look at his 11 fantastic grandkids, and your faith will be restored.
As your mates we won’t forget you Stan, how could we anyway? Rest in peace my dear old fella, God Bless! We will live for you each day!