Christian's Speech

It’s not unusual for people to say to me, especially when I have been a little too direct or terse, “that was just like Mick” or “you’re just like your father”, and even though I make a show of contrition, in fact, just between you and me, I am a little proud of the accusation. And today, I am happy to admit it.

I had a think about other ways I’m like my Dad. Here are some:

I‘m about 6 foot, and I’m reasonably slim. I like cheese and I like chocolate. I have bushy eyebrows, though mine don’t show like his (you need to see Uncle Alick for the real deal). I used to play tennis: pretty well in fact. I like music. I am more introvert than extrovert. I get preoccupied with things. I married a woman whose name begins with “J” (he did it twice).

There are other ways in which I am not like my Dad.

My hair is naturally blonde, his was jet black. I like novel. He liked familiar. I know the names of The Rolling Stones and The Beatles. He didn’t (and was proud of the fact). I am right footed, right handed and right brained. He was left footed, left handed and very, very, very …….very left brained.

And there are also some ways in which I am still trying to be like my Dad.

He ploughed his own furrow. He was skeptical of vested interests, “secret” organisations, and the ‘system’ in general. He was scathing of pomposity and pretension. He went out of his way to do things his way. I admired that and I still do.

He drew a good straight line. It was very clear where you stood with him; I probably crossed it a little too often. He was firm and overwhelmingly fair. He tried to do the right thing. He was loyal,
trustworthy and reliable. He was good at his job: I know. I worked at Shell Centre in the summer holidays as a messenger, and when people realized I was Mick Barnett’s son I was given
instant respect. What he did, he did very well. He would rather not participate than perform at a level that was below his standards.

And he was quietly brave. His wartime and postwar experiences in Paris and London were formative. Dealing with the death of his first wife, Jose, my mum, when he was in his early 40s with two young children whilst holding down a serious job was one of his achievements I am most grateful for. Coping with the death of his second wife, Joan, after having been diagnosed a few years earlier with Parkinson’s, was harder for him, though he bore this too with
considerable dignity and a determined resolve.

And when he realized that he couldn’t sustain a level of performance to his standards any longer he quietly and bravely decided to bow out, his way.

So the next time someone reminds me I am just like my Dad, I shall sit back and with a wide grin on my face, say “yep, you might just be right”