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TO FRED
(1912-1994)
A warm "Good day, How are you?".
Was what he always said,
And one always felt the day was good
When greeted thus by Fred.
New-comers quickly gained a friend,
Old friends learnt something new,
For Fred had much to tell or show,
Since the last time he saw you.
All drove away well-served, well pleased,
And on their journey back,
With interest Fred would always ask,
"How was it, up the track?"
"UP the track",throughout Fred's early years
Was a much used trucker's phrase,
And heard long after tracks were roads
And roads became highways.
When Ding was king of the big truck fleet,
Which first served the far out-back,
He employed such men as Tom and Fred
Who could drive on any track.
Fred knew well, too, the Birdsville Track
When it was little more
Than a pad on sand and gibber plain
That ran from bore to bore.
At his shop or home, with wife Eileen,
Where so many enjoyed a stay,
People from every walk of life
You could meet on any day.
Endlessly they welcomed friends,
Often two, three, four or more;
A deep love of the Flinders
Was a passport to their door.
Fred and wife Eileen raised a family
Four daughters and son John
And the Hawker-Teague tradition
Is now his to carry on.
The kindliest of fathers, Fred
Would never shout or rave,
But showed all in his way of life,
The way they should behave.
And those who know his family well,
See much of Fred survives
For his decent, kindly way of life,
Is reflected in their lives.
Fred was a most observant man
And wherever he might be,
Would always spot things interesting
That no-one else would see.
From this grew his museum,
A show-piece at his store,
Rich in relics from the Ranges
To which he added more and more.
Throughout his life, both truck and car,
Fred always drove with care, But always drove himself top-gear Disregarding wear and tear. The sad news I phoned mutual friends Among them Dr. Penny, Who, now ninety-two, soon as he knew Voiced the feelings of so many. "Oh No, Oh No," he said, then paused, As if stricken by a knife, "I count Fred among the finest men I've met throughout my life. And now I say with deepest pain Something that must be said, The Flinders will never see again Another man like Fred. And the Ranges will never be again, However purple, blue or red, Quite the same to all his countless friends Who see them without Fred.
HANS MINCHAM, March, 1994.
