A giant of a man - Teresa Pirola

‘Our dad was a giant of a man’, says Kevin Bailey, reflecting on the life of his father who died at 84. ‘Not in the way you might think. He was only 5 foot 4 in height. He wasn’t highly educated. He didn’t have a wing in an institution named after him. He didn’t climb mountains. He didn’t accumulate great material wealth. Here is his story.’

Ray Bailey was a giant of a man because he loved and he taught us how to love. I can’t begin to imagine the financial struggles Dad must have had raising a family of eight in a tiny two-bedroom house on the minimum wage, working three jobs to make ends meet and to give his kids a Catholic education. But for him family and faith and selflessness and duty were hallmarks of his life. He was devoted to Mum with whom he shared 52 years of marriage.

An enduring childhood memory of mine is going to the markets with Dad in the pre-dawn darkness to load up on produce for his egg and fruit delivery run. Later, as he drove me to school, we stopped at a milk bar. He swore me to secrecy as he bought me my first chocolate malted milkshake. I felt enormously special, enjoying something so wonderfully exotic and expensive, one-on-one with my dad. It was only many years later that I discovered, after relating this story to my sister, that she had a milkshake every Saturday with him after netball! I still felt special.

Dad was able to do that. Despite his busy schedule, he somehow managed to spend time with each child, one-on-one. Like the time he woke me, in the middle of the night, and took me down to the bay to fish in his dingy for a couple of hours in the dark. I still treasure that quiet time alone: a ten-year-old with his Dad.

We had no money but we had adventures. Dad took us on bushwalks and fishing expeditions. I remember camping holidays where we set off in the van with nothing more than a piece of canvas for a tent. We knew we had really hit the big time when we graduated to a second-hand tent and stayed at a ‘real’ camping area. I don’t know how Mum managed it with babies and nappies and nothing more than a bucket for washing by the side of a creek.

Seven years ago the symptoms of Alzheimer’s disease slowly but surely began to steal Dad away from us. It was a great blessing that he was able to celebrate his 8th birthday and hear how much we loved him. Then he and Mum were honoured for their Golden Jubilee of 50 years of marriage. These were great celebrations, but throughout this time the disease continued.

I have a lasting memory of saying goodbye to my dad at Central railway station in July 2008, and watching as he gently helped Mum down the steps. They were on their way home from attending the Papal Mass at World Youth Day. Dad looked dapper in his suit. He was fading fast but he retained an aura of dignity, and his care and respect for Mum brought a tear to my eye. Through my tears I saw my father in a role of protector and husband; a man of dignity and gentleness. That image will remain with me forever.