John’s Eulogy (provided by his family)
Daughter Roisin: Hello everyone, thank you for coming today. For those of you who we haven’t yet met, this is Seaneen and I’m Roisin, and we are John’s daughters.
We would like to thank everyone for coming today. It means the world to us that you thought so much of him that you wanted to be here
For those who may not know this – It’s often Irish tradition that your parents are known as “mummy” and “daddy” – whether you are 4, 40 or 104. When I was younger, I resisted this profusely and called a family meeting to consider changing these terms (as growing up in Australia, this wasn’t the norm) – but let’s just say it was not well received and I’m 40 and I still call him Daddy and always will.
Daughter Seáneen: Our daddy, John Peter Sullivan was born in Belfast on 15 September 1951 to Lily and Bernard. He was one of seven, six boys and one girl. Lyla, Joe and Gerry are here today with their families and online, and Jim, Bernard & Martin have gone ahead of him to put the heavenly kettle on or pour the pints, depending on who you ask.
Daddy went to school with the Christian Brothers where his aptitude for knowing the answer to everything led to the brothers encouraging him to listen for the call of God and become a priest. Fortunately, God either didn’t call or daddy let it go to voicemail, because he instead apprenticed as a bricklayer. His life changed irrevocably and forever for the better when at 18 he met Goretti Ward. Thus was the start of their great love story. They married in St Peter’s Pro Cathedral on the Falls Road and like so many young people at the time moved to London for work shortly thereafter where they quickly established a strong network of friends. But the cold was never Daddy’s friend, and late in 73 he suggested to mummy that they take a three month ‘holiday’ to Australia. Considering they came on a one way ticket we have wondered in recent days whether he ever really intended for it to be just a holiday. Their great adventure, well before their time, took them via Singapore to land here in Fremantle: metres from where we stand today, so it is fitting that we are gathered here to send him off on the next part of his adventure.
From Fremantle they travelled to Adelaide where Mummy’s sister Eileen lived and bought the caravan that would become their home on and off for the next ten years. In Adelaide, they met Sonny and Sue who have remained lifelong friends and who Daddy and Mummy spent his last Christmas with. They all drove in convoy up the east coast of Australia. Listening to their stories about this period of their life is like watching the greatest road trip movie of all time. They worked and travelled and they enjoyed discovering this country together.
John and Goretti’s story was a genuine love story. They were each other’s best friend, partner in crime and soul mates. [The capers and high jinks they got up to together could fill a book]. I would get off the phone gobsmacked at their latest, and my partner Niamh would reassure me ‘at least they will never be bored’]. Their story had many chapters and like any good story its twists and turns but was always characterised by the sense that they could do anything together. They were a team. Daddy doted on my mum, she was the sun around which he orbited.
Roisin: In time, the adventures of John and Goretti grew and they started their family as Seaneen and I were added to their story. He built the family home, sunk his roots and there he stayed. His home and his family became the centre of his universe. His universe then grew over the years to welcome Jamie, with whom he grew a beautiful relationship and friendship. Forever then named Blondie and Marilyn to each other, they genuinely enjoyed each other’s company, shared many laughs and cherished many days together.
Then his family grew again when Niamh joined, who he adored and it felt like she had always been a part of the family. He seemed to think Niamh was imbued with some magical power when she set up Radio Ulster for him, which he listened to every day.
His wee family was then rounded out when his grandson Eoin came along. Suddenly, his “mister Eoin” was the first person he wanted to know about. He was just the best granda and it was beautiful to sit back and watch their bond. Daddy was really a big kid at heart and he got to be just that with Eoin, delighting in making him laugh, teaching him to do something new, or having their little rituals together, just the two of them. So much of him has been passed down to all of us, but he and Eoin share their kindness, their compassion, their sense of justice, their intelligence and their curiosity about the world. The last weekend they spent together, he taught Eoin about literature, Irish history, folklore and magic.
Throughout his life, Daddy worked hard for our family laying bricks in the Australian sun and building homes. He was proud of every home he built, pointing them out as we drove past them, and even more chuffed when he was called to come and fix up someone else’s poorly done brickwork. Mummy always said, “he can make the bricks talk” and he could. Each brick was like a piece of gold because of what he knew he could turn them into. That’s why he was so fond of collecting them, so if anyone is in the market for bricks, there are about 6000 odd at mummy and daddy’s house up for grabs on the marketplace.
But don’t let the mundaneness of “one on top of two” bricks fool you – he was a fiercely intelligent man. He could recite historical facts and current world events with impressive accuracy. He collected antiquely old literature, knew mathematics and physics back to front – literally, he sometimes made Seaneen do her homework back to front – and he would put anyone to shame at a quiz night. He loved to learn new things and delighted in sharing his knowledge with us all, never boastfully, always humbly.
He was a man who took joy in the simple things in life, like perfectly made cups of tea in the right-sized cup. He drove a 20-year-old ute that only he could control, didn’t like fancy clothes, let his hair grow to a level of scruffiness resisting mummy’s suggestions that he needed a haircut, and wore a range of decades-old, well-loved sun visors. But he was so much more than first impressions could reveal. Once he smiled at you and spoke, you quickly realised he was a diamond in the rough. He was a kind man and he was a good man.
He didn’t need the trappings of the world and had a tendency to store any Christmas and birthday gifts we bought him in the cupboard – which we are now finding unused in the original packaging. He would often say, “There’s no trailer on a hearse”. Because he didn’t value the material things of this world, he valued his family, his legacy in us and his connections with others.
He couldn’t master a computer despite taking multiple lessons at the local library. He purchased the only hard copy of the UBD street directory sold in Perth each year – and used it. He never mastered the smartphone, the internet or a text message and preferred a good old-fashioned phone call. Shortly, you will see his only selfie, which needed instructions from all of us to make happen.
I guess you could say he was old-fashioned, but it was in the best of ways. Old fashioned in that he helped everyone, expecting nothing in return, he genuinely took time for people, and he was kind. He trusted someone on their word, even to his own detriment sometimes. But he never stressed, and never really rushed. He followed his own timeline and was never rushed by the world around him.
Seaneen: Most of you gathered here have first-hand experience that Daddy loved a good chat. Several times, he used one of our Uber accounts and our rating would go up such was his affable and jovial nature. Tradesmen at the house would have to schedule extra days for the endless cups of tea and the chats. He wasn’t on broadcast though. Daddy was deeply interested in people and learning their stories. And yet he knew when to talk and when to not. When something was wrong with any of us he would say a few words with great impact. He was very profound, most of the time without realising it or intending it! We will all miss his powerful support, and it is hard to imagine the world without him there for strength. Having someone who loves and believes in you unconditionally and who thinks you can achieve anything, is a powerful thing. He was the biggest cheerleader for us all. Daddy valued making sure Roisin and I were given an education but above all wanted us to be happy. That said, the only time he wasn’t humble other than when talking about the clean bill of health he had recently been given was when he was bragging about one of us. Many a time, we would meet someone who would know everything about us because he was so proud of us all: me, Roisin, Jamie, Niamh and Eoin. He never overtly expressed his pride directly to us, but you would know because he made sure you felt it. He was so proud of mummy; he was proud to be her husband and the life and love and family they had built together.
Daddy also took great pride in Irish culture and heritage. He didn’t view Ireland in a hokey sentimental way. He wasn’t a fireside republican or twee about the land of his birth. He was proud of the progressive nation Ireland is today. He supported the campaigns for constitutional amendments to make Ireland a fairer place for all and while he dreamt of a united Ireland, he was resolute in his belief that it should be for a nation for everyone and that no one should be left behind. He would always remind us that green, white and orange were on the Irish flag. In recent weeks he followed with great interest the Boyne Bridge demolition and applauded the community response on the Sandy Row. He was passionate about the promotion and continuation of Irish culture and heritage.
Daddy was the co-founder of the Tara Club alongside Pat Madden, Francis Conlan and Tom Kearns which sprang from the idea of holding a St Patrick’s Day festival here in Fremantle. It grew into a massive celebration including a mass here in the basilica, a parade that stopped the streets of Fremantle for the day, and an open-air concert on the esplanade oval. Today on our way here, we took him along the traditional parade route, one last opportunity to marshall through the port city and stop the traffic. Through the Tara Club he fostered the sense of community and connection that he adored.
Daddy was involved in so many organisations, and it is lovely to see so many of them represented here today: from the GAA and his beloved Morley Gaels, the Irish Club, Irish Language classes, the Australian Irish Heritage Association and Claddagh. He was supportive of Irish dancing, hurling, music, helping to fundraise, anything that needed doing. If there was a folding chair to put out, a St Patrick’s Day float to direct onto the oval or water to run to GAA players, Daddy was there with a massive smile on his face. These were among his happiest times, he came to life, and his vibrancy, his joy and his sense of connection with others shone through.
He had a love of the world around him. He took time to listen to the call of the birds, the way the light fell in the afternoon on his beloved bricks, and the movement of the stars. He used to put a camping mattress on the roof and sleep out there during the summer, watching the galaxy pass overhead. He called thunder and lightning a ‘sky show’. He had respect for the planet and was a greenie before there was even a word for it. He recycled religiously, he was the proud recipient of a certificate from the Water Corp for his gold standard in water conservation, was a big fan of turning off lights when you were still in the room to save energy and we grew up without air conditioning. When we would exclaim that it was ‘so hot’ he would reply ‘of course it is it is Australia’.
In recent years his favourite spot was on the patio of the house he built for his family with his own hands listening to ABC Radio in the morning and BBC Radio Ulster in the afternoons. It was via the radio that the world came to him, there was nothing the radio couldn’t tell him. He bet Roisin a lotto ticket that her Weatherzone app wasn’t a patch on ABC radio news: even when he lost the bet and had to buy Roisin the lotto ticket, he still called it a fluke and remained loyal to his ABC broadcasters. It could be lashing rain and if ABC radio said it wasn’t he would argue that it was a freak shower. Via his home signal station he frequently knew about local news in Ireland before I did in Dublin. One day a chef friend of mine from the Antrim Coast was doing her weekly cooking segment, this time dialling in from Rome. She mentioned that she was meeting some friends from Dublin later, and without knowing I was there, he told mummy ‘our Seáneen is in Rome’. My mummy said that she had been speaking to me a couple of days before and I was nowhere near Rome. As it turned out, I had been given a last minute spot on the conference, and daddy was right. Hercule Poirot had nothing on John!
While we don’t know the specifics of what took our daddy from us, and we won’t know for some time, we are comforted by the presence of his friends, family and community and it would mean the world to him to see how many people are gathered here in this place that was so special to him and joining online to celebrate his life. He wouldn’t have known what to make of the fuss.
Roisin: Over the last couple of weeks people have shared with us memories they have of daddy. Each time, they share an aspect of his character and how he made them feel, For us, it has been like they are giving piece of him back. It has been so comforting for mummy and the rest of us for you to share these memories and for us to know that you saw the same man we knew and loved. So, we would ask, in lieu of an attendance card, that you take a moment to share a memory or story you have on the cards provided or in the comments on the live stream. We plan to compile these into a memory book that we can reflect on after the intensity of these difficult weeks passes.
As a gesture to remember him, we would like to offer you a bookmark as you leave today. These are printed on paper seeded with swan river daisies, as a tribute to a blending of two of his favourite things – reading a good old book and his ongoing efforts to grow natives in the back garden. It’s yours to use as a bookmark or if you’d prefer to grow swan river daisies in Daddy’s memory, you can soak it in water and plant it somewhere special.
When they grow, or even if they don’t, we hope that you remember a man who was above all, kind, who did things quietly and without fuss or expectation of return. That is how he showed he loved us and how we will remember him.
Seaneen: Slan Abhaile Daidí.