Chris Wood

John Fullagar writes:

Chris died in April 2004 from cancer that was not detected in sufficient time for medical intervention to be successful.

At Fort Street, independent of his personal qualities, Chris had a unique string to his bow. His parents, Harley and Una, lived next door — in that imposing sandstone place on the Hill with the strange roofline and conspicuous roof-top ornamentation. Harley was NSW Government Astronomer and we used to eat our lunches under the fig trees that still surround the Observatory, while collecting wind-scattered toll tickets of different face values: 1d for bikes, 2d for cars and 3d for large vehicles. (Money was £.s.d in those days!) We used to skip (or watch others who skipped) while we waited for that big metal ball to drop down the pole and declare “It’s 1 pm Eastern Standard Time” every day of the year (Daylight Saving hadn’t yet been invented!) Some of us occasionally had the special privilege of being invited into the Observatory after school, where we gorged ourselves on both Harley’s introduction to matters astronomical and Una’s top tucker — and cheery little sister Ros (actually Rosamond) from a younger Fort Street class was always there.

I remember several times after school furtively trekking with Chris down the weed- and rat-infested “cut” that surrounded the school and is now the ramp for the two northbound lanes of the Cahill Expressway. It was indicative of Chris’ intrepid spirit that he was not intimidated by the series of wire gates, the “Keep Out” signs that promised dire extermination or the increasingly high stone walls as the pint-sized Aussie explorers threaded their way through the tall weed jungle, down the spiral decline and were finally enveloped by the darkness that increased threateningly as we ventured into successive chasms of the supposedly-sealed tunnel under the tollgates.

After the rigours of Miss Acason’s two year ministrations and inspirations, Chris bestowed his considerable frame on North Sydney Tech for his 5 years of high school, and went on to The University of Sydney to do Mechanical Engineering. In the early years after graduation, Chris contributed to the profitability of Pressed Metal Corporation, which had a long record in making buses on various manufacturers’ chasses (presumably that’s the plural of ‘chassis’). All of this sits comfortably with his life-long passion for cars and engines. For most of his professional life, Chris had an active role in CAMS (the Confederation of Australian Motor Sport), especially as a steward.

Whilst at PMC, Chris accepted the challenge of tackling a two-year Grad Dip in Industrial Engineering at UNSW and this coincided with another regular challenge involving Chris and three of his Grad Dip classmates, of whom two (let’s just call them Graham and Alan) have also been friends of mine since 1960. One of them tells me that they used to stage a weekly after-class derby along Anzac Parade from the South Dowling Street lights to Kinsella’s. It remains a miracle that none of them finished up in the funeral parlour at the end of the challenge “strip”, and that none of them ever lost his license, despite some remarkably close encounters.

No one will be surprised when I recall that Chris was intensely practical. For many years, he taught Mechanical Engineering at Sydney Technical College (later The Sydney Institute of Technology within NSW TAFE) and at Hunter Institute of Technology (in Newcastle), later achieving the special distinction of becoming Assistant Principal of Mechanical Engineering within The Sydney Institute.

Chris married Kerry Kilroy and they produced three daughters (Amanda, Fiona and Samantha — all now establishing families of their own). In 1995, Chris, Kerry and the girls settled into a house just across the street from where my wife and I have lived since 1975) so I had opportunity for many years to get to know Chris’ lovely family a little. He loved his family.

Despite the strictness required of his role for CAMS in the sport he adored, Chris always seemed thoroughly relaxed about life — happy-go-lucky — and relating to him was always easy. An insight to his character has been volunteered by one of his Anzac Parade derby mates who was transferred interstate close to the end of their final Grad Dip year. With unfailing regularity, Chris would send his lecture notes up north to Graham, who was thereby enabled to complete the course (after first learning to read Chris’ writing). This generosity remained a prominent feature of Chris’ relationships with others, right to the early end of his life.

Chris quietly accepted his condition, finding it tough, but pressing on nevertheless. Soon after his diagnosis, Chris established “the old farts lunch”, which brought together a handful of his mates who then lunched with Chris every two weeks for what turned out to be around three years. The mates still keep the lunches going, which no doubt gives Chris a satisfied chuckle as he monitors their gatherings from another distant shore. I miss the occasional interactions that Chris and I enjoyed (on his side of the street or mine) during the last decade or so. Our class’ proposed reunion will have a noticeable gap where Chris might have been.

I am grateful to Kerry, and to Graham and David, for vetting, expanding and correcting this little recollection.

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