David Mol Eulogy

I would like to extend a warm welcome, on behalf of Ruth and our family, to everyone, for being here today and sharing in this celebration of my father’s life. I particularly wish to thank all relatives and friends who travelled to be here, including my brother Ian and his wife Sharon from Atlanta, Georgia, and my sister Marge and her daughter, Katie, from Niagara Falls, Canada. Mum’s sisters, Margery and Kathleen, and Kathleen’s daughters Prue and Helen, are also with us today, as are Jo and Tim, my sister and brother-in-law, at who's fathers’ funeral Dad officiated. Representing our extensive Dutch family, I want to welcome Dad’s youngest brother Jaap, his wife Mieke, and Dad’s niece, Jacqueline. You will have noticed the beautiful floral arrangement in the entry foyer, which has been presented by Dad’s Dutch family for this service.

I would also like to express my gratitude to my sister, Gillian, who for years has been such a capable support and loving carer to both of my parents. Ever present, with endless patience, and boundless good humour, she made Dad’s life, especially in his later years, a richer and joy-filled experience. The thanks of the entire family go out to her for her selfless devotion.

My father was a man who lived life on his own terms. Having survived the horrors and hardships of Nazi Germany, he determined to make the very most of the opportunities that life would offer, and to ensure that his life and achievements would in no way be diminished through any lack of effort, determination and curiosity on his part. If ever the words, ‘grasp life with both hands’ applied to anyone, they were the Northstar to this adventurous Dutchman. And yet amidst the drive and determination was a compassionate and caring nature that reached out to family, friends and strangers alike.

For those who would like to know more, Tinpot Preacher, Dad’s autobiography, first published in 2003, is an excellent account of Dad’s life and heritage.

Born into a farming family, and growing up during the Depression, his mother saw a future beyond the farm for him, and pushed him to pursue it. Dad used to say “My mother was the making of me.”

However, the deprivation of the German prison camp was the catalyst for a philosophical evolution and a religious awakening that were to guide him throughout his long life.

Yet, despite his experiences, he came to forgive his captors and to make peace with the past.

And in the process, he recognised that there is good in everyone, and that life is so much richer for seeking it out.

My father had an unquenchable curiosity about life, people and opportunity

This was a man for whom others, and their experiences, were supremely interesting.

Arriving as an immigrant in 1949, his early days in Australia were shaped as much by helping other Dutch migrants as pursuing theological studies at St Andrews College in the University of Sydney.

There, he made a new beginning and met and married his lifelong love, Ruth, before embarking on a pastoral calling in Bathurst, NSW, and later Bonegilla, VIC.

In 1954, Dad undertook a graduate scholarship to Columbia University in New York, completing his PhD which would lead to a long and distinguished career in academia. Simultaneously, he accepted a call to parish at Bethel Presbyterian Church in Maryland, a post he held for 6 years.

After returning to Australia in 1963, while remaining actively involved in the church, his research at the ANU explored the role of religion in society and the development of contemporary Christian theology. This ultimately led to a full professorship and an 18 year sojourn in Canada, before returning home in 1988.

Dad’s Dutch heritage, life experience and personality made for a pretty interesting character.

He had well and truly conquered any fear of death, and saw only opportunity and potential in everyone and everything. I suspect his adopted country made allowances for this plain speaking immigrant, because he was so genuinely engaging, hard working, and practically minded. In fact his work with migrants and the church was nothing less than foundational, and brought support and opportunity to literally thousands of new Dutch arrivals.

In the course of his many pastoral duties, I remember Dad conducting funerals - He often used a poem in which the first line of each verse began with the words ’fold up the tent’. This seemed in character for this adventurous outdoors-loving pragmatist who spoke his mind, the metaphor a simple, uncompromising reflection of the end of life. Perhaps he received some feedback from parishioners. Later funerals featured Tennyson’s ‘Crossing the bar’, a softer, more hopeful expression of an onward journey.

Dad believed in a life of simplicity, discipline and doing the difficult things

He was all about fitting in, making-do, self-help where possible, and above all frugality.

Self-discipline and the ability to apply oneself were pre-requisites for completing the Gymnasium, a very rigorous high school leading to university entrance. No doubt, the habits ingrained then were to last a lifetime.

Simplicity became a way of life. Affording anything else was often out of the question, but the wonder of it all is the utility he derived from such meagre means. Being a child of the Depression firmly rooted the values of frugality and making-do in his psyche, and reinforced the primacy of relationship over materialism. The only possessions in prison that he valued were a comb and a bible. All else was superfluous.

Over the years, travel became more frequent. Yet Dad was a jet-setter who didn’t own a suitcase. One carry-on briefcase contained all he needed, regardless of the trip duration: clothing, toiletries, academic papers etc., and no doubt, a comb and bible.

Talpa, our property, was his haven. He never tired of walking the land, marvelling at what for most was a pretty barren landscape, but for him was a place of beauty in all its rugged terrain and stark simplicity. He simply loved the natural environment of his adopted country.

Of course, being a ‘farmer’, his gumboots had pride of place under the sink - M&D were probably the last people in Canberra to get a dishwasher lest the gumbo's be displaced.

The family car - depending on timeframe, the station wagon, ute, even Mum’s Magna - whatever was at hand became an all-terrain vehicle that crossed creeks and climbed hillsides, with equal alacrity and some spectacularly frightening moments. Kids and adults were piled in the back for a tour of the property on roads or rough tracks, no seatbelt and scant regard for the dangers.

Dad was no shrinking violet when it came to self-help. After all, he was the essence of a self-made man. Swimming became a fitness habit in middle age - he learned breaststroke as a child, and over time he developed his own backstroke style, similar to butterfly but done on your back, swamping those nearby. Then, being a keen observer of human behaviour, concluded that freestyle seemed to be the preferred stroke of most swimmers, and would enable him to blend right in. Having taught himself, this Australian Crawl style delivered a highly strenuous workout yet remarkably limited progress through the water.

Sometimes the family’s expressed needs were met with rather functional solutions.

Mum’s suggestion that the cold Canberra winters might be alleviated if the floorboards were carpeted resulted in a knotted rope carpet that felt like gravel on our knees.

A railroad spike might be driven into the wall to hang a picture.

Getting the kids to school on the way to the ANU consisted of loading 3 children onto the bike (one on the handlebars, one on the cross bar and the last on the rear rack), where we held on tightly while keeping a wary eye out for swooping magpies.

If academia was his destiny, and Talpa his passion, his family was the bedrock of his life.

Despite leaving Holland after the war, he returned often, and took every opportunity to connect with his family in Holland and that of his wife in Australia.

He saw his kitchen like the farm kitchen of his youth, where all were welcome, and encouraged visitors to sit with the family, take coffee or even share a meal.

He was a loving father whose actions spoke volumes. He took the time to read to us, encouraged us to walk and picnic in the bush, and pushed us to study and get a good education. He wrote weekly to his mother, and, as she had done before him, held court at the dinner table, asking after our academic progress, or lack thereof.

He was a besotted husband who was never backward in vocalising his good fortune in choice of a wife. “She is the most beautiful girl in the choir”, he’d say - “I’d marry you all over again, Rutho”. In later years, he would express how lucky he was to have a beautiful, young wife to any who would listen, and then some. In fact, in his last few days, when asked if had any regrets in life, he responded: “I don’t have any regrets  - I’m happy when my wife is with me.”

And he was a warm friend to all who knew him.

Like so many, I only came to understand my father when I matured (in my 20’s). Then, I came to recognise the validity of his views and the strength of his character, and to understand the tremendous influence he has had on my life. I think my siblings would say something similar.

But I am most grateful for the many years spent with him, and marvelling at his indomitable spirit. In fact, I’m guessing Dad is standing at St Peter’s gate, introducing himself, enquiring after the cost of the gate’s construction, and wondering if there is a pool where he can get in a quick kilometre before being shown into His holy presence.

Even in his last days, when his body was weak, yet his spirit was as bright as ever. He would beam when you entered the room, welcome you to sit down and offer you refreshment (despite the fact he was immobile).

His love for his wife, Ruth, was a constant, unshakeable force. And she was with him daily, supporting and encouraging him.

His legacy is widespread and enduring; as an academic, a Christian, a role model, friend, husband, brother and father.

We will miss his presence in our daily lives, his warm smile of welcome that lit up his whole face, his intellect, his ready laugh and his curiosity.

But his legacy will live on. He encouraged all he met to live up to the highest standards, and to look for the best in everyone. With his spirit as our guide, and his love in our hearts, down the byways of our lives, as we seek our own Northstar, he will walk with all of us.