Frank Turney

I'm not a beer drinker, so I don't know how your taste for alcohol changes across your life. Frank, as we all know, was a big (in every sense of the word) beer drinker. My entire childhood – that I remember, anyway – he drank Reschs Pilsener. If we went out for dinner on the weekend, which we did almost every week for long stretches at various favoured Chinese restaurants around the Sutherland Shire from Caringbah to Miranda and Menai and back again, he drank Crown Lager. Back in the day it was the creme de la creme, and it gave your beer drinking a slightly celebratory air. I think I remember him going through a VB phase, and the only reason that stands out to me now is because Uncle Les used to call VB 'green death', which I presumed meant it was considered some sup-bar product from the south that wasn't a patch on the far better stuff that came from Queensland. Funnily enough I think Les drank VB himself years later. I can't remember the other brands Dad pref...

When I was a kid, Frank had a water bottle in the door of the fridge of our Gymea house. That seems a very innocuous thing to remember, but it's an example of how the most seemingly forgettable details about the world around us can make an outsized impact on the infant or adolescent brain (and it's a lesson to all of us with kids and grandkids to be mindful of the influence we're likewise having on them as we go about our lives – often without realising). It had some sort of branding on it, maybe from some supplier he used to work at during his career in spare parts, and I wish I could remember it. All I can remember is white lettering with blue somewhere, maybe as a drop shadow behind the white letters. Jan might remember it, but she's got 28 years on me and she's had C.R.A.F.T. for years so I'm not hopeful. It was shortish and stubby, maybe half a lite, and I think I remember it having a wider, thicker nozzle than an average glass bottle, like it was quite wel...

'How long have you been driving roughly?' How many times I heard that in my life, I've long since lost count. Certain biological and cultural qualities establish the concept of a father. You need to have fathered or raised a child. You need to repeat your stock standard jokes at every conceivable opportunity. Finally, long suffering family members express annoyance every time you do it (which only encourages you further). My childhood Labrador, Amigo, loved chasing tennis balls (I'll bet most of us remember him with up to five or six inside his enormous mouth), which made playing cricket in the backyard almost impossible unless he was asleep in the garage. If Frank was outside too and we wanted him to control the dog so we could play we'd call out; 'Can you call the dog, dad?', and his immediate response was 'dad! dad!'. At every mention of the insult 'p*ss off', his immediate response was 'I'll have a whiskey, then'. And if...

Now I look back I don't know why we didn't do it more often, but one year we had Dad over at our place in Cronulla for Christmas. Wendy and Emily loved him and he loved them, and even though we found an easier life in Perth than we would have had in Sydney at the time it was a shame they didn't get to see him more than a few more times. But if we'd stayed in Sydney longer we probably would have done it regularly. He got to drink as much a he wanted (a lot) and not worry about driving, he got to have Christmas morning with a little kid again, and apart from Jim's grandkids when he lived over in Randwick I don't think he'd had one of those since David and I grew up. I don't remember many of the specifics apart from how happy he was to be there, but I remember two. We were playing music while we did something with decorations or the Christmas Tree or something and The Macarena came on, so we were all dancing around the lounge room doing it, Frank included....

It was easy to forget in the later years how much Frank loved having a lot of people around. He rattled around in that flat in Kirrawee and was too lazy to get out of his own way, complaining that he never saw anybody and nobody ever came to see him. I used to have the same argument with him every time – he used to have a standing invitation to David and Tracey's place every Sunday night for dinner, and his freezer was so full of meat tray wins from the Tradies he could have provided the dinner half the time. He was also still able to drive and could have got in the car and gone to see whoever he wanted. Like a lot of people when they reach a certain age, he never appreciated how important it was to still have mobility and independence. But some of my fondest memories of him are when he was surrounded by extended family. One that struck me through the week was a New Year's Eve at Miranda RSL in what must have been about 1994 or 1995. It was a big crowd and I don't remember ...

Anyone who knew Frank knows what a generally agreeable bloke he was. He always went with the flow, gave everyone the benefit of the doubt and his first instinct was to accept people who meant something to you. During my childhood and teens I never remember him taking against any of the friends I bought home or had for sleepovers, even if they acted entitled or ungrateful (and some did – you never really know some people's standards until they're guests in your house). Till the end of his days he loved Joanna, he loved Wendy and he loved Emily – I call her first born daughter princess sometimes partly I think because that's what he called Emily. Because when I look back on him there's something I remember about him (and I might have a slightly skewed perspective others might correct me on) but I remember him always being really good with kids. Whether it was one of the barbecues or new year's eve parties in the backyard in Gabo Place or school friends we sometimes ha...

This short story about Frank isn't to mark an anniversary or anything – you all know his birthday was in November and he died in very early January. Something's just had me thinking about it a bit lately. Maybe because my own birthday's coming up I'm thinking about how time passes and how our relationships to those around us and those we've said goodbye to change as we age. But while it might seem like the story of how he died, it's actually the story of his last trip. He'd been in Canterbury hospital for most of the preceding November and celebrated his 79th birthday there. David had told me he was pretty sick and I should go over the Sydney in case the worst happened. I came for a week and a half or so but couldn't stay much longer, I had work and my own family to look after at home, and against all the odds the chest infection he'd been put in with had started to clear up. He hadn't come completely good though and never would again. Somehow am...

With his birthday coming up (and thus nearly time for one of my two cans of XXXX every year), I'm thinking about Frank a bit lately. And although I hadn't thought about it in decades, I suddenly remembered how he used to play squash. I don't know if he ever enjoyed it as much as rugby league, I think he played that as a young man and it made him a devotee and watcher of the game, whereas squash was more to do with having fun and getting a bit of exercise, probably about getting out of the house and hanging around with other men. He played at a couple of different courts that I remember. One used to be at the top of a rise where President Avenue goes up and down over the bush-covered hills at the southern end of Caringbah, where it backs onto Lilli Pilli. Another was in Beverly Hills near the corner of King Georges Road and Stoney Creek Road, not far from where the M5 crosses King Georges Road nowadays. I only ever remember him playing with two people – Uncle Bob and a famil...

A few weeks ago Wendy said that when I turned to look at her, her breath caught in her throat a bit because of how much I looked like Frank. For most of my life I've been bemused to think I resembled my father. One of the things you never consider very fully until you're deep into adulthood is how physically attractive your parents are (or were when they were younger). I've been telling my mother my entire life she looks 10 or 15 years younger than her age, and I've genuinely thought so – she's still full of more pep, colour and vitality than most women almost 30 years younger. But the idea that any man would look sideways at her and think 'phwoar' is a completely alien notion to me as one of her offspring. I've always joked with her that her and Dad must have had sex at least twice, beyond that I don't want to think about it. But my Dad was different again. We all remember what shape he was for most of his life (at least, for my whole life). His bee...

When Lucas was much younger (he just turned 10) and he'd sleep at our place, he'd sometimes ask me to sing him a lullaby when I put him to bed. He didn't ask often and I think it was just a bit of a delaying tactic, but whenever he asked I'd tell myself I'd have to spend a bit of time the next day thinking of some more, because I could only ever remember one song at the time. I'd usually sing four lines from it and he'd be gone, which was good because I only knew two lines (and made one of them up) and repeated them twice. I don't know if I even had the tune right. But I'd sing it and he'd drift off in that way that makes you marvel at how quickly a human being can go to sleep and wonder why we lose that ability. For as long as I can remember, it's been very rare for me to get to sleep within 30 or 40 minutes of turning the light off and laying down unless I'm devastatingly tired. At some point I told Wendy I'd occasionally sing him t...

I think I've mentioned once or twice before how placid a man Frank was. In fact I only ever remember him exercising his right as a parent to smack me exactly once. I'd somehow got it in my mind to drop a handful of dirt from the backyard into our old above ground pool and pretend I was on The Curiosity Show by sticking the garden hose down to the bottom and whooshing the dirt around everywhere. I don't even remember if he yelled (he never did) when he found me doing it, I just remember how shocked I was that he'd smack me. I don't remember him even being in the picture when I jumped up and down on the roof of the Capella, threw pegs in the toilet, tore newspapers up all over the lounge room of my aunty and uncle's house or wrote 'Drew i am' on my class photo from about third class – it was Mum's wrath I faced in all those transgressions. But it's also entirely possible he couldn't have cared less. In sullying the pool – and this would have a...

I can't remember when my Dad started wearing glasses full time. He doesn't have them in photos from when I was a kid or in my teens, so I'm guessing it was some time around his 50s. But he had a very particular way of wearing them that was uniquely Frank. Whether it was because he never got ones that fit him properly or he didn't like the way they felt either on his ears or too tightly across the bridge of his nose, he always had the tips of the arms perched on top of his ears instead of curled over them. It's a detail I and everyone else around us might never have noticed, except that my mother's repeated refrain when she snapped 'put your glasses on your face' was as familiar to me as his face was – including the glasses. It's possible now I look back he did it because he knew how to (and enjoyed) pushing her buttons. I sometimes have no idea how they stayed married as long as they did, but I wouldn't be here otherwise I suppose, and as with ev...

Now it's Christmas again that means one thing - swimming in a pool. Of everything I missed when I first moved out of home at 19 (there was probably a lot I didn't realised I missed until years later, like my mother's cooking), the biggest one was the pool. Our pool at Gabo Place was fairly legendary among my family and friends. When I look back now I'm in complete awe that Jan and Frank landscaped that rock wall around the outside all by themselves (did they do all the brick paving too? I can't remember). It would have been quite a job for any thirtysomething suburban couple back in the early 80s when they did it, but if you remember anything about my parents you'll know they didn't do anything harmoniously. I'm surprised someone didn't end up with their foot crushed by one of those huge river stones. As Brad said at Dad's funeral, the Turneys wanted to come to the Gabo Place pool even though they lived a stone's throw from Coogee beach. When...

As most of you who knew/know both my parents know, my mother has always been the fiery one. There were three brothers who were notorious bullies that lived up the hill from us on Manchester Rd (now I look back they were probably a bit feral, their parents probably unemployed alcoholic bogans). Once, when Mum got it out of me that the middle brother had told me one day he could push me into the traffic but he wasn't going to because I was his friend, she marched up to the crossing of The Boulevarde in front of Gymea North primary school, accosted him with her finger in his face and threatened some kind of violence. These days you'd go to jail for it, but by God it worked. I stood off to the side, mortified but secretly in awe of her bravery... and he never even so much as spoke to me again. The point is, Dad didn't get involved in confrontations on our behalf very much. It wasn't because he was confrontation-averse (although he was such a placid personality I suspect tha...

Anyone who knew me when I was in single digits knows what a wuss I was with so many things. I had so many crippling phobias (storms, cockroaches, roller coasters, snakes, etc) I wonder now I look back how I could even function. But among the most terrible was my fear of fireworks. I still remember one of the few times a family member came to collect me early from school – always an adventure for a little kid – when my brother was sent in to get me in fourth class while Mum and Dad waited outside in the car so we could all go to the Sydney Easter show. It must have been a battle getting Dad to take the afternoon off work but he did it, and off we went to the grand back entrance (probably Lang Rd, Moore Park), where Dad had some dodgy mate he knew from the automotive trade who opened some cruddy back gate so we could get in for free. For most of my young life I thought the entrance to the Easter Show was a swinging metal gate about eight feet high. I remember discord in my paren...

It was a weekend night. Bob and Bev were there at Gabo Place as they often were after a night at the Fountain Inn, but I remember a lot more people being around than usual. Maybe Elaine, Lynda and Janelle were down from Queensland, but there was a slightly more party-like atmosphere in the house. Everyone was gathered in the kitchen and had already been attacked by a cockroach. It sprang out of one of the cupboards and the f%$ker actually flew ! I never knew they could until that night. Aunty Bev screamed like Mum always used to at moths and lanced out of the way. I think I hightailed it. Whether it was the same cockroach or not we'll never know, but the flyspray was out on the kitchen table later in case it showed up again and it did, scurrying across the table. Dad was sitting closest, so when Mum yelled 'get it with the Mortein, Frank!' he picked up the can and, in his own inimitable style, slammed it down to crush the unsuspecting bug flat.

As it's the silly season, I thought I'd share some stories about Frank and his efforts to play Santa Claus. Ironically I wasn't there to witness either of them, although they've become Turney family lore to the extent I wish I had. The first one was the time Mum and Dad somehow set up a ping pong table (from Santa) in the garage. I can't imagine how my parents so much as even got it out of the box without a near-fatal knifing, let alone set up and ready to use. That one I actually do remember happening. We used to keep boxes of soft drink cans in the garage and bring them up to the kitchen fridge in handfuls to use. I can't remember if I was asleep or not, but I was disturbed by whatever almighty clatter rang out. I remember staggering through the kitchen and opening the back door to see what was going on. It must have alerted them because Mum (probably after some hurried and choice invective about the noise Dad was making) had a ready excuse – she came...

Now I look back on my father's life during the time I've been in the world (from ages 33 to 79), I realise I've never known a man with so little vanity. He was a bit of a classic iconoclastic Aussie bloke who probably would have gone everywhere in thongs and shorts if he could. There's a photo of he and Mum in the lounge room of Gabo Place when we were all on our way out to the Fountain Inn. If I remember it correctly he's wearing these slacks with slightly flared legs and a tiny brown check pattern and a shirt that used to be his going out uniform, a snugly fitting, long sleeve cotton shirt made of soft cotton that was a delectable dark brown colour with muted orange buttons. David used to call it his 'body shirt'. When we were teenagers and used to wear the same thing over and over and he'd say 'when's the operation?' every time the opportunity called for it – like all his jokes. It meant we were wearing something so often it was lik...

There were plenty of constants in Frank's life. One was that nothing made him angry, and the other was that he had a stock set of responses. When he and Mum were having an argument and she said 'p$#s off' he responded (every time) with 'I'll have a whiskey then'. When she told him to get nicked he said (every single time) with 'I have been'. When we were trying to play cricket in the backyard and Amigo kept hanging around wanting to chase and steal the tennis balls (he could fit about five in is mouth, it was like trying to open a vice getting them out and if you did they felt like they'd spent twoyears on the floor of an ocean) and Dad happened to be down near the clothesline or the house we'd say 'can you call the dog Dad?', he'd yell (every single time) 'Dad! Dad!'. He loved the kind of gags that were funny the first three or four times but he stuck with them for way too long. It drove you insane to be on the recei...

Most of you know I have two grandchildren in my life. Amelia just turned six months old so she's like a very cute small animal who smiles at me occasionally and needs lot of care and food but we're not relating to each other as humans so much yet. But since I came back from America last time Lucas and I have become pretty inseparable. He loves coming to our house to the extent that sometimes when I drop him off or say goodbye he cries, which is heartbreaking. He stays over once a week. I pick him up from school and walk home with him, make his lunch the next morning, read to him in bed, tuck him in, and take him to his tae kwon do lesson once a week. We play lots of video games together, watch movies, sometimes we have 'boys nights', when we stay up as late as we want, make microwave popcorn, have whatever he wants for dinner and do whatever we (ie, he) wants to do. I don't know how close he is with any of the kids in his class and he's grown up an only...