Everyday Obituaries: “Oo-roo, Dad”

 

Eddy Dawson (4/7/1947 – 9/2/2025)

 

 

It is impossible in a few paragraphs to summarise a life well-lived, but I will do my best. For although he was short in stature, he was a larger than life character – a rascal, adventurer, joke-teller, footy coach, no-nonsense tell-it-like-it-is truth teller, husband, father, grandfather, and recently, great-grandfather.

 

Eddy was born in post-war Birmingham in 1947 but migrated to Australia with his Irish parents Neddy and Francis and older brother Roger in 1954. Younger brother Sean would be born a few years later. The family settled in Alma Terrace, Newport, and Eddy attended St Mary’s primary school and then Williamstown Tech. But school wasn’t for Eddy, and he left at the end of Year 9.

 

As a youngster he was a bit of a ratbag. At the age of 14, Eddy and a couple of mates were in Warburton and broke into a gas meter in the caravan park showers. Later that afternoon, Eddy and his mates pumped the stolen sixpences into the jukebox at the local milk-bar, but the problem was the milk-bar owner was also the proprietor of the caravan park and soon realised where the coins had come from. The police were called, and Eddy was eventually detained at the boys’ home in South Melbourne. My grandfather was called to retrieve his son, but decided that some “tough love” was required and left Eddy there for a few days to teach him a lesson.

 

Not long after, he was at the Royal Melbourne Show with his friend Jerome and, on a whim, decided to take on one of the fighters in Jimmy Sharman’s boxing tent. When he was telling me this tale years later, I asked him how well he acquitted himself. “Those guys could really handle themselves in the ring,” he answered. “Were you scared?” I asked. “No, just stupid,” he replied matter-of-factly.

 

After leaving school, Eddy’s first job was as an apprentice radio technician. But his dad was a roofing contractor and paid better, so he soon joined Neddy and his gang putting roofs on the buildings and warehouses being constructed in Melbourne’s post-war building boom.

 

It was only a few short years later that his life would change forever. Because, of course, no story of Eddy’s life would be complete without talking about the love of his life, my mother Pam. Eddy and Pam met on a platform at Flinders St Station. Eddy approached her and asked, “Do you believe in love at first sight?” to which Pam replied “No!” Eddy turned away briefly and then asked, “What about love at second sight?” Pam again replied “No”. Showing persistence, Eddy then asked, “What about love at third sight?” Pam replied “Maybe”. And…the rest is history. They were married when Eddy was 18 and Pam 17, and had just enough money to honeymoon in Bendigo, and then purchase for themselves a new mattress.

 

Only twelve months earlier had been one of Eddy’s greatest claims to fame, when he made the front page of The Sun. When The Beatles arrived in Melbourne, Eddy bounded over the fence at Essendon airport, jumped onto Ringo Starr’s car and secured his autograph. Pam and Eddy remained avid Beatles fans, with their music providing the soundtrack to Dawson family Christmases. Another thing that may surprise you to learn is that in his late teens, Eddy was a champion ballroom dancer – for years, his many trophies adorned the mantlepiece at home. He was also a hot-air balloonist: he and some mates came up with the idea to construct a gas balloon, transport it to Perth, and fly it back across the continent. Unfortunately, the project did not quite reach its intended conclusion. He was also once an avid shooter, and took a number of trips hunting wild pigs in western NSW.

 

In his early 20s, Eddy acquired his taxi licence and began driving cabs for West Suburban taxis, often working long into the night. The hours were long, and the job had its dangerous side – I recall him showing me bruised and bloody knuckles which were the result of a confrontation with a fare-evader.

 

It still amazes me that in their mid-20s – I was aged 8, Margret 6 and Julie only 2, mum and dad embarked on the adventure of buying a taxi business in Eden in New South Wales, and moved the family north for a year. On his return, Eddy became a roller-door salesman and installer, as well as driving taxis. Although it was tough at times, mum and dad always ensured that there was food on the table and a roof over our heads – and we never wanted for anything. I am proud that I can say with all honesty that the memories of every house in which we lived – be it Crawford St Newport, Bass St Eden, Blackshaws Rd Spotswood, Hosking St Williamstown, The Circle in Altona East, River St Little River – are all of happy, loving family times.

 

One night in his cab, Ed got talking to the boss of an Altona petrochemical plant and he suggested that Eddy should come into the office on Monday and he would give him a job. And so began the next 26 years of his working life as a plant operator working shift work at Compol/Qenos. He made many friends there and stamped himself as a gregarious and popular member of E Shift. His love of a cup of tea was legendary – nothing would come between him and a cuppa.

 

Eddy followed his uncle Rodgie into supporting the North Melbourne Kangaroos, and I recall he and mum celebrating the 1977 premiership long and hard at Arden St. Over the years, we all went to numerous North matches and Eddy would yell at umpires and opposition players with the best of them.

 

It was in the mid 80s that Eddy discovered philosophy and meditation, and this was an anchor for him over the past four decades. It certainly bestowed on him a calmness that was not previously apparent. When presented with a problem, he would often merely shrug and say, “It’s all just stuff”. Eddy retired at 57, and this allowed him and Pam to purchase a caravan and indulge in the grey nomad travelling life. A particularly favourite spot was Cobram, where they made many friends and Eddy would endlessly assist those in need of a hand to set up their caravan or repair something that was broken. This love of helping people continued when they moved in here at Avington – nothing was too much trouble for Eddy. I will add that Eddy loved being a part of in this community.

 

Possibly his most favourite saying was the straightforward “What a load of bullshit” – he would use it regularly, and he didn’t care who might be listening. He took offence when I suggested that this saying could well have been applied to his beloved moonshine spirits, three vats of which are still sitting in his garage, never to be drunk.

 

Eddy survived a number of serious car crashes and an industrial accident in which he was severely burnt and required skin grafts on his arms and legs. Of course, he had conquered cancer previously, bravely undergoing bouts of chemotherapy and radiation, and remarkably being the only survivor of a 15-person drug trial for myeloma. This time, however, the diagnosis of lung cancer was brutal, and the end came shockingly quick. But his mindset remained incredibly positive. Despite the fact he must have been in pain, you simply would never have known it. “Terrific!” was his usual reply when he was asked how he was – right until the end.

 

Last week, in these very rooms, our family – the family which had its founding moments on the platform of Flinders St Station all those years ago – gathered to pause and take stock on what had been a frenetic few weeks since Christmas. The Beatles played in the background as we reflected on a life well lived. But it was impossible to ignore the chasm created by Eddy’s leaving us. It is possible that time will make his passing easier to accept, but I suspect that the chasm will always remain.

 

A favourite tall story that he told too often was of the time that he and mum went to the drive-in, and he kept urging her to get into the back seat and she continually answered “No”. When he finally asked her “Why not?” she replied, “Because I want to stay in the front with you”. It’s only when you know that you won’t again hear those corny ‘dad’ jokes, and silly sayings – like “It’s nice out, I think I’ll leave it out” – that you realise how much comfort you took in their familiarity. I spoke to him at least every second day, and am already missing those phone calls – some of which would only last for as long as him asking me if I had any racehorse tips for the weekend.

 

Eddy first became a grandfather at aged 42. He was a doting grandfather to Erin, Eamon, John, Brendan, Luke, Callum, Paige, Owen and Aidan. He was active in their lives, attending music, drama and ballet concerts, football, basketball and cricket matches. When Eddy and Pam lived in Little River, the kids’ sleepover often entailed a walk across to the railway line to lay 50 cent pieces on the railway track before a train appeared to flatten the coins. This was followed by time in the hot tub. There were also grandchildren camping trips with Pam and Eddy.

 

Just before Christmas, Eddy told us how excited he was to meet his great-grandson Tighe in the new year. How fabulous it was that this wish came true.

 

In July this year, Eddy and Pam would have been married for 60 years. Their marriage was a true partnership, and for many of us, when it came to their names there was no separation – it was either Pam and Eddy or Eddy and Pam. They would hold hands wherever they went. Eddy passed on Sunday February 9, and it was only fitting that he was holding Pam’s hand. My sister Julie summed it for my sister Margret and myself when she wrote that having Eddy as our dad “was a privilege”.

 

I would just like to point out that Eddy would not have approved of all this. Whilst he was no shrinking violet and didn’t shy away from the limelight, he did not seek it out, and certainly never wanted a fuss to be made over him. So, I will conclude simply, by using the farewell phrase with which he was synonymous. To dad, “Oo-Roo!!”

 

 

You can read more from Smokie HERE

 

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