George Wilding – 27 July 1930 – 14 May 2018

Rest in peace, dearest man. May your beautiful heart be shared many millions of times over.

In 1996 I answered an ad for a room in a boarding house. Newly arrived in Sydney after a six month offshore crewing experience and fast running out of money,  George the manager invited me to have a look. The boarding house was stopped in time; red brick with balconies on the two best rooms overlooking Careening Cove and Neutral Bay. It was neat as a pin, perched on a hillock at the bottom of Willoughby Street. It faced a longish street lined on both sides with Jacaranda trees. In summer they bloomed into a magnificent purple froth and perfume. Asian tourist buses often brought their customers to see. Careening Cove was stuffed full of clanking masts, rocking boats, and sharp blue skies. It was a gift to the eyes.

George was then 66. It turned out the Germans had arrived at his Jewish parents door at 3am one dark Polish night and taken them away. He never saw them again. He and his ten year old brother were taken to German work camps, first on farms, and then into factories to build the many thousands of coffins the war required. At some point the brothers were separated and George never saw his brother again. After the war, and having searched everywhere for him, he eventually came out to Australia where he worked as a house painter.

He was retired when I met him, except for running this wonderful old boarding house with a gentle and generous hand. His girlfriend, Carmel, also a boarder in the little cottage at the back, was a reasonably serious drinker. She had suffered a stroke which rendered her permanently insensible. Every day George went to the hospital to be with her…every day for six years. When she died eventually, he was lost for a while, but then went every week on Sundays and Wednesdays to her grave. Over time arrangements were made for George to retire permanently and with Alf, the owners’ aid, George moved out to Ettalong in 2002. He brought one of his Kirribilli boarders, Noel, with him. A severe emphysemiac, Noel would have died if he’d been left in the boarding house, and George wouldn’t see that happen, so he cared for Noel in the small unit for a few years until Noel died one day on the bathroom floor.

There are not many hearts alive like George’s was. He never married. He always offered generous service. I borrowed $400 from him once, and when I’d paid back $300 of them, he told me to keep the rest. While George was alive, I would never be without a roof or food. He tucked me under his wing until I could stand by myself again. For a man who’d been robbed of all the heart a kid could have as a youngster, George’s response was to offer the world nothing but heart.

Goodbye dear friend, may your new life be a gentle one.