DEATH, WILLS AND SOME EXTRAORDINARY HUMPTY STORIES
December 15, 2024
By Ray Martin AM
“The rumours of my death have been grossly exaggerated.”
That was Mark Twain’s witty reply in 1897, when a New York newspaper misreported that he had died.
I kept thinking of the great American humourist’s famous quote recently. It was suddenly relevant to me.
I had just hosted a TV program for SBS called 'The Last Goodbye.'
Against my wildest expectations, this 3-part series was one of the network’s most watched shows of 2024.
Australians, it seems, want to talk about death. Who would’ve guessed?
And, for many weeks after the series went to air, complete strangers kept stopping me - in my local coffee shop, IGA and on the street.
Telling me how relieved they were to see that I was … ALIVE.
It was comforting. And a huge relief to me personally.
They suspected that because I was on television planning my own funeral, then I must be about to kick the bucket.
Well, not that I know of.
The fact is, I celebrate my 80th birthday in late December, which means as a Baby Boomer, I’m entering what’s now called ‘Peak Death’ (More Australians will die over the next couple of years than ever before).
What’s fascinating is that these strangers kept telling me that 'The Last Goodbye' series had prompted their families to start talking about death. For the first time ever.
Especially those with elderly parents like me.
People also told me that as well as discussing burials and cremation, eulogies and music, families also ruminated about bequests.
Because they knew of my long association with Humpty some asked if people left money in their wills to the Humpty Dumpty Foundation.
I was able to tell them that it was a recent phenomenon but it was already a game changer in the treatment of sick babies and children across Australia.
I explained that donors often wished to remain anonymous.
But, I was able to tell them about Lorna Blackwood, a remarkable and kind Sydney woman who, without contacting us privately, researched the fantastic work of the Humpty team.
Lorna subsequently bequeathed the proceeds from the sale of her family home to the Humpty Dumpty Foundation. It was almost four million dollars.
Lorna’s extraordinary gift provides vital medical equipment to paediatric wards across Australia year after year - lifesaving equipment that otherwise would simply not be available.
Because the truth is, government budgets can only stretch so far.
Likewise, there’s the story of a wonderful couple - old friends and supporters of Humpty - named Brian and Patsy Allan.
Brian, who was terminally ill with mesothelioma, wanted the family’s last donation – one million dollars – to be spent in children’s hospitals along the East Coast of Australia, where he’d worked a lifetime in the construction business. And that’s precisely what happened. Before he passed away Brian was sent deeply personal video messages from grateful hospital staff in NSW, QLD and VIC, telling him precisely how his family’s extraordinary generosity had changed the lives of so many terribly sick children and their families. Today. And for years to come.
Finally, I love to tell the incredible tale of Bob Holt from Katherine in the NT.
Bob’s a knockabout truckie who had already given two substantial donations of $10,000.
Then – out of the blue – he rang Paul Francis, our Chairman, announcing that he wished to give ‘a bit more to help the kids in Katherine District Hospital’.
“Thank you kindly, Bob. How much are you thinking of this time?” asked Paul.
“Well mate, how about a million dollars? Would that make a difference?”
Well, of course it would. It HAS already.
Bob’s generosity keeps on making life better, improving the quality of hospital care in this sometimes forgotten outback cattle town.
With a smile in his 83-year-old voice, Bob confessed, “I don’t want to die the richest man in the Katherine Cemetery.”
Well, Bob Holt will forever be known as the kindest bloke in Katherine - not that he cares about that kind of stuff.
He’s simply a remarkable human being.
The last word on the subject of death: I often tell the story of an encounter I had on the Gold Coast about five years ago.
I was standing outside the Southport Police Station with a camera crew, filming a documentary on domestic violence.
A local walked by – about forty years old, shorts and thongs, beer gut and a ‘melanoma suntan’ (get the picture?).
He spied the tv camera, stopped’n’propped and pointed at me.
“Jeez,” he spluttered. ”Jeez. I thought you was DEAD! Mike.”
I laughed and replied, “That’s a bit rude, mate. And my name’s not Mike!”
“Aww, sorry sorry sorry,” He spluttered again. “I know who you are. But, I was shocked. You look pretty good for a dead bloke. GEORGE.”
And off he shuffled, cackling to himself.
RIP George Negus.
