Tributes to dad
Edward’s Memorial Speech
Thank you all for coming here to celebrate and honour the memory of my father, Hereward Lawford. Herry to most but to my brother, sisters and I: Dad.
Seeing so many people here to say goodbye to Dad, shows just how loved he was and how much he will be missed.
Dad played many roles. A businessman and colleague, a friend, a brother, a husband, a father. Today, in honour of him, my brother Charlie and I wanted to share some of our perspective of who Dad was to us.
From our early years, I grew up physically apart from him, after moving to Sydney with my Mum, brother and sister when I was about six years old. My childhood memories of Dad are mostly of his visits to Sydney or occasionally us travelling back to the UK to stay with him, family and friends over our summer holidays.
When Dad came to visit, it was always a fun time. Oftentimes we took trips together up to Noosa and the Gold Coast, or spent Summer’y Christmases at home in Sydney.
Dad absolutely adored Australia, and loved spending time with us there.
He often took us all out to restaurants around Sydney harbour but his favourite time of year to visit was Christmas. Dad was a big fan of Aussie seafood, and it was customary during his visits to hit up one of his favourite places: the Sydney fish markets. Aside from the usual multiple kilos of fresh king prawns, he would almost always take his time, scoping the place out for the biggest, freshest looking piece of snapper he could find, which would end up on the BBQ that night for supper.
One Christmas in 2003, Dad decided to rent an apartment looking over Sydney harbour to watch the New Years Eve fireworks. At that time, my brother and I were in our mid 20s and Dad was happy for us to invite our friends to join us. “Sure! The More the Merrier!” he exclaimed, with his usual gusto, which was the typical Dad outlook on guest lists at any social event. So my brother and I, taking the green light cue and running with it, proceeded to fill the place with as much beer and booze as would fit in the fridge, and pack out the guest list with as many people as we could squeeze into that little apartment.
The night was a riot, with music, amazing midnight fireworks and, much to our surprise, the Australian Cricket team. They just happened to have the apartment and balcony next door. I can still see Shane Warne leaning on the balcony railing throughout the night, puffing away on a pack of cigarettes.
From an early age, we shared a love of tech. From the age of 8, Dad gave my brother and I our first computer - a Commodore 64 that he’d bought over from the UK with him on the plane. I was instantly hooked and the rest is history, but it laid a foundation for our common interest in all things tech. He always loved to talk about the latest and greatest, and where it was all headed. I was fascinated by his perspective and insight, which was always informed and up-to-date.
That led to our shared love of photography. Once photography moved to digital, I was naturally drawn to the tech side of it; the latest cameras, pushing more megapixels through better lenses, which Dad loved too, but he also had a deep love for capturing and cataloguing memories.
For as far back as I can remember, Dad could always be found with a camera; either around his neck, in his pocket, or as was more recently, on the latest and greatest iPhone.
He was never shy about snapping a moment - any moment - much to our slightly bemused embarrassment, particularly as kids. But he had a certain knack and an indelible enthusiasm, coupled with his calm, quietly charming demeanour. This allowed him to slip into any situation and capture the moment, without interrupting it.
Dad was no doubt a talented photographer, but also an incredibly prodigious one, meticulously cataloguing and tagging every photo he took. That ever-presentness of a camera has resulted in a Flickr account which contains over 112,000 photos.
It’s been a source of much joy combing through his collection since his passing; a few of which will be on display at the Grosvenor after this. Some of my favourites include Dad and many of my brother’s and I Sydney friends, standing on that balcony on New Years Eve, or one of Dad in Sydney peering over a massive seafood tower, glass of white wine at the ready, or a video of him dancing to the Bee Gees at our holiday in Marbella to celebrate Mum’s 70th Birthday.
Few things capture Dad’s sheer love of life, family, people, and gatherings more than his photos. The many different sides of him really shine through as you look through his collection.
To me, it reflects who he was and who and what he loved, and it’s something we will all cherish very much as a memory of him.
- By Edward Lawford
Barley’s memorial speech
In thinking about what I wanted to say, everyone here has their own story of who Dad was and so I too wanted to share my story of what it was like to have Dad living on the other side of the world. While it is not immediately apparent growing up, over time you do become aware of how unusual it is. However for us, it was normal and despite how different it may have been, I am so thankful that he remained such a present and influential part of our lives in no small part because of the strong relationship Mum and Dad shared.
We were lucky enough to see him usually twice a year, and it was always some of the happiest times for me. He would stay in lovely hotels and would take us out to dinner to some of the finest restaurants. One of his favourite places to visit was Bathers Pavillion at the glorious Balmoral Beach where he would typically meet with a friend and enjoy a latte and breakfast.
When he wasn’t travelling to see us in Australia, we would come here. I remember the first time I came to see him by myself was in 1988. It seems mildly preposterous by today’s standards but I was just 9 years old and I travelled unaccompanied from Sydney, through Bangkok to London. I still remember much about this trip. It was the first time I ever drove a car. And in typical Dad style, it was in his V12 Jag. I sat on his lap and drove down Stocks Lane, thankfully, without so much as a scratch.
During these trips Dad was not one to stick to the beaten path and so he took me to some typically exotic places. We visited Tunisia, Cyprus and Corsica. While in Corsica we stayed in a charming little beachside town called Propiano. We had a memorable time kayaking around the harbour as we paddled right next to some of the large container ships that were moored there. Everything was going well until I decided to go windsurfing for the first time. We hired one on the beach and I set off, clearly with more enthusiasm than skill. Not long after, unable to turn in any direction other than the way the wind was taking me, I found myself hundreds of metres down wind and beached on some rocks. Seeing that I was in trouble, Dad rented a windsurfer of his own. By this time I had decided to walk my windsurfer back across the rocks to the beach. I was completely oblivious to the fact that Dad had set out to rescue me. When I got back to the beach I couldn’t find him anywhere but it wasn’t too long before he returned… in the rescue boat. It turned out he was even less competent on a windsurfer than I was. He didn’t realise that he needed to put his centreboard down and so he got carried by the wind completely out of the bay and around to the next beach!
As well travelled as he was Dad was a country boy at heart and held onto that charm his entire life. His upbringing on a farm with limited conveniences set an entirely different standard for him than what we might expect today. When I visited a couple of months ago I went to use some of his famous marmalade but was stopped in my tracks when I noticed a large amount of mould growing on it. When I told him, he was puzzled that I would even mention such a thing and so he asked, ‘what colour is the mould?’. Apparently green mould is perfectly acceptable but I politely declined.
While losing Dad has been incredibly difficult for everyone, I am forever thankful for the time that our family was able to spend with him before he passed. This is my third trip to the UK this year. I was first here in April when I was able to introduce him to my daughter Clementine who was born in January of 2020, just before COVID and lockdowns started. We had two weeks with my wife Siobhan and Clemetine, two weeks that will always be cherished. I talk to her about Dad as often as I can. She calls him crocodile grandpa.
The last trip we had together was in July with the whole family and was a time we will forever treasure. As we all had to return home at different times, I was lucky enough to have an extra day with Dad. On our last day we drove a couple of hours together to Nice. It was a drive I will never forget. I had the opportunity to ask him about his fate, whether he was fearful and whether he was at peace. He was typically stoic as ever. Although a very spiritual person, he had no expectations about what lay ahead for him, he was absolutely at peace. He told me he had experienced everything he had wanted and was happy to spend his final weeks and months at home, pottering in his garden surrounded by his loving family. The hardest part for him was the thought of leaving all of us behind… and that for me is a perfect reflection of who he was. We love you Dad. You will be forever missed.
