"In the beginning"


The views expressed in this blog are not necessarily the views of the blog management, (on the other hand, they are not necessarily not the views of the blog management).

No effort has been made to stay within the bounds of the truth in this blog as it has always been the view of the management that the truth should never be allowed to stand in the way of a good story.

Thursday, September 29, 2005



We are sadly nearing the end of this story now as Dad resisted retirement until he was 85, he still fed horses and tended to their needs until the farm was finally sold.

Because of Dads love of poetry, I took him to a “poets muster” once, at 85 he entered the competition, and gave a creditable performance too.

He barracked for the eventual winner just as he must have done in his youth by clapping, whistling and stamping his feet loudly on the floor, talk about enthusiasm.

Dad must have been impressed by the poem I wrote to commemorate our trip to the family reunion, because when he read it years later he proudly said to Ada, “I wrote that,” I’m not sure he was ever convinced that I’d written it.

The last few years were spent in a lovely unit on the banks of the Tweed river at Tweed Heads.

He loved to sit and watch the people walking their dogs, joggers getting their exercise, the boats on the river, or as it’s only a couple of hundred meters from the river heads, the ever changing river itself, as the tides came and went.

He enjoyed nothing more than to be visited by his friends and family, and would spend hours reminiscing over old times.

He was 90 years old when he finally gave up, I can think of many, many friends, but I can’t think of a single enemy, that seems a fitting epitaph for Dad.

He used to tell me often how quickly I was catching up to him, “I used to be 25 times your age when you were born, now I’m not even twice your age.”

Dad passed away quietly at the John Flynn Memorial Hospital on the Queensland Gold Coast on January 20th 2002, Ada, Marcus and I were with him at the end.

His funeral service was conducted by my son Marcus, Dad would have been very pleased with the service and the roll up of good friends and his family.

He was right when he said “I’m not going then” he will live on forever.

A tribute to my Dad, Mervyn Holt by a loving son, Peter Holt

Well that's my "book" I hope you liked reading about my Father, to those of you who have chosen to comment, thank you, I wrote this very soon after his death, knowing that if I didn't do it then I probably never would, it was hard work at times then, and it still managed to touch a few raw nerves even now as I read and posted it.


Merle said...

A great story - have you ever thought of having it published?
I would buy a copy!!! You could have elaborated on Dad's funeral
with Marcus bringing the Piece of wood, and wanting to have a jelly-bean scramble but looked at Ada & me & thought better of it. We had it later at home though with Ada scrambling with the best of them.

OldHorsetailSnake said...

I mighty pleased that you did.

(But, of course, you know that HE wrote this. That's how good it is.)

Marcus said...

I always thought the jellybean scramble was unique to us, and a much loved family tradition, but perhaps it was more widespread than that. Tony Martin, of Martin and molloy fame, has just written a new book called "Lolly Scramble" which suggests something along the same lines as Big Pa's jellybean scrambles. I was always after the black ones, and we always had to hand over the green ones to you!:)

Peter said...

Maybe other wise families have a "Jellybean Tradition" too.
Yeah, I've heard you gripe about green jellybeans before, get a life.