FROM HUMBLE BEGINNINGS TO LIFESAVING IMPACTS 

By Ray Martin AM

It was a humble charity target. 

Paul Francis and I had no idea what we were doing when we said “Yes”. They needed $35,000, to paint the Children’s Ward at the Royal North Shore Hospital (RNSH). 

Now, I had a loose connection, because our two children had been born at the RNSH. On the other hand, Paul was a party-loving bachelor and wine-aficionado, who enjoyed teaching Northern Suburbs women – and any other suburb - how to play tennis. 

It was clearly time, for the kids’ sake, to get rid of the Hospital’s khaki walls – a colour that was even out of date in army uniforms. “Something colourful”, the paediatric nurses had pleaded. So, we held a “frocks ’n’ black tie” fundraising dinner on the Saturday night of the Wimbledon Women’s Final. (For some strange reason Paul decided to call it “The Wimbledon Ball”). 

The legendary John Newcombe and Fred Stolle were the highlight of the night, satellited in from London, laughing and gossiping about what really goes on at the world’s biggest tennis tournament. Geoff Harvey and his Midday musicians were the fabulous dance band. When the exquisite French bubbly and best Aussie wines had been savoured - along with the Michelin Hat food - and women took off their dancing feet and put their high-heeled shoes back on to go home, we discovered that we had raised about… $65,000! 

So, we painted the hospital walls in rainbow colours. To make sick children and their parents smile just a little bit. As you should.  

Fast forward thirty plus years since that auspicious night, the Humpty Dumpty Foundation – as it became known – has raised over ONE HUNDRED MILLION dollars. 

The wonderfully generous family of Humpty donors – they really are ‘family’ - have jogged up a ridiculous Mosman hill, bought ambulances and Special Care nurses, Clown Doctors and even a Wellness Garden for sick babies and children. But mostly, what they have done is purchase thousands of pieces of lifesaving equipment. For around 500 hospitals, clinics and isolated communities across Australia.

I know the phrase “lifesaving” rolls easily off the tongue. But that’s exactly what buying this equipment does. 

I’ve seen the results first-hand, from Melbourne to Mareeba. From Brisbane to Broome. Babies and children who would sadly not be alive - without Humpty. 

So, I’m honoured to have played a small role in helping the unstoppable Humpty team write their extraordinary, hundred-million-dollar charity success story. Hosting balls, dinners, lunches and other fundraisers – and beating the public drum for Humpty as ‘the best charity in Australia' – is the fun part. (And I’m heavily into fun – as my old mate, Paul, will attest). 

Over the past three decades, journeying Australia for Humpty, I’ve heard enough breathtaking baby stories to fill a book. Paediatricians and nurses – along with sad eyed but ever-grateful mums and dads – who talk about desperately ill children, who somehow, miraculously survived. Because of a piece of medical equipment, donated by a caring Humpty supporter, who will probably never meet that baby - or the family - but have certainly given that tiny boy or girl… a life. Simple as that.

I’ve watched Mums especially - time and time again – choking back their tears and shaking their head in disbelief, that a total stranger would be so kind.

Over the years some donors have given more than a million dollars. Others just a twenty-dollar raffle ticket. All they can afford. They’re all part of the Humpty family we love so much. 

A hundred, simply wonderful baby stories – of life and death - have etched themselves into my Humpty memory. Probably more. But there’s one I think of often. 

It concerns a Yolgnu Aboriginal baby named Davey, from Nhulunbuy - on the coastal edge of Arnhem Land. Davey was rushed to the Royal Darwin Hospital, born with a heart defect that was almost certainly going to kill him. (As it had countless babies before him).

But - as luck would have it - months before Davey’s troubled birth, one of the hospital’s brilliant paediatricians, Dr Louise Woodward, convinced Paul Francis that Humpty should buy a special, high-tech cot, to fly the sickest Territory babies to interstate. Dr Louise had spent over twelve years – without success - desperately campaigning with NT and Federal governments. The cot ended up costing over three hundred thousand dollars - which is why Darwin, at the end of the public health chain, didn’t have one. 

There is no doubt that newborn Davey’s life was saved by the Humpty cot. (Along with the brilliance of the Melbourne medical team). Dr Woodward now tells us that, in the years since, more than 60 babies – mostly Aboriginal – are alive, because of that same astonishing piece of medical equipment. 

I’ve kept in touch with Davey and his family. With curly hair and the biggest smile, today he’s an absolute poster child. Full of life and simply beautiful. As it happens, he’s about the same age as my beloved grandson, Arlo. I can’t imagine a world without Arlo, as I’m sure Davey’s family feel about him.

If - in the thirty-odd years of my involvement - the Humpty Dumpty Foundation had done nothing more than save little Davey’s life, it would have all been worthwhile.

But, of course - thankfully - variations of Davey’s story have been repeated more times than anyone can count. So, I finish up this month as the Humpty Dumpty Foundation Patron. Still smiling. I still think that Humpty is ‘the best charity in Australia’. Certainly, the best that I’ve been privileged to be part of. I thank you for your generosity.