Graham Nerlich was my father. He died on March 31, 2022, aged ninety-two.
He lived a full and productive life.
Firstly, as a professional philosopher, with professorships at both Sydney University and the University of Adelaide, where he spent two decades in the Hughes Chair of philosophy until retirement in 1994. He remained active within the University community, and started a discussion group which met weekly for the bulk of his retirement. He attended his last meeting of that group via Zoom in the week before his death.
He wrote a number of books on various philosophical subjects, starting with “The Shape of Space” and ending with “Einstein’s Genie”. One of his deep professional interests was the philosophy of space and time, and his efforts in this field earned the respect of many “hard” physicists. He was also deeply interested in and contributed significantly to the field of ethics, both as an author and as a member of committees advising on human and animal experimentation, committees both within and outside the University of Adelaide.
He was also a keen actor, mainly in amateur theatre, with some professional roles on television and in theatre, and with voiceovers on documentaries. He was particularly drawn to Shakespearian roles.
He had three wives:
- Kathleen Morrow, with whom he had his three children, Stephen, David, and Andrew (myself)
- Susan Vickerman, to whose two daughters, Alice and Bridget, he was stepfather. Unfortunately, she died too young
- Margaret Rawlinson, with whom he lived very happily for the last thirty-plus years of his life
He tackled life with enthusiasm. Margaret introduced him to dog ownership, and he had several he doted on, including Skipper, who is still with Margaret. He went on many camping expeditions with Margaret to some of the wildest and most remote parts of Australia, including the Kimberley and Cape York.
He remained healthy and happy right up until the end, cared for and loved by Margaret. He largely avoided the potential horrors of dementia, and long, slow, painful degenerative diseases. His last full day included a picnic in a favorite park with Margaret. He would have suffered little at the end. For this, I am grateful.
I live in Sydney, 1600 kilometres from Adelaide, but was fortunate enough to visit him two weeks before he died. For that too, I remain grateful.
Vale Graham Charles Nerlich. A good man whose spirit touched and elevated many.
Eulogy
In early 1962, when I was seven, Dad, my mother Kate, my brother David who was now two, and I returned to Australia from England.
It was the right time, Dad having built on his academic and career successes at Oxford, and at Leicester, where he lectured at the University.
As the early photos attest, my childhood there was gloriously happy.
The four of us sailed from Tilbury to Adelaide on the SS Arcadia. Later, I did the math and realized Stephen had also accompanied us, in utero. Soon, there were five Nerlichs.
I remember the stark contrast of the freezing British winter, and our balmy first summer evening in Adelaide. We went to Glenelg with my grandparents Alec and Mona. I was supplied budgie smugglers, face mask, snorkel, and flippers, and was having the time of my life, head underwater, propelled by the flippers, inspecting the sandy bottom and beds of seaweed in the clear warm water.
While I was preoccupied, the lifesavers sounded the shark alarm, and ordered all bathers out of the water. My head submerged, I heard none of this, though I did notice some splashing nearby.
Eventually I heard Dad’s penetrating thespian’s voice yelling, “Andrew! Shark!”
I left the ocean with all the grace a seven-year-old boy trying to run as fast as he could through knee deep water wearing a face mask, snorkel, and flippers could muster. When I reached the sand, I removed the mask and saw that my escape maneuvers had entertained my family enormously, along with several others nearby
Dad led me up the beach, chuckling.
Soon we moved interstate, Dad starting as Senior Lecturer at Sydney University.
At eighteen, I too went to Sydney Uni. I did a B.Sc., but took Philosophy I. Dad was my lecturer for one subject.
The Philosophy department was at that time descending into the tumult documented on the web as “The Sydney Philosophy Disturbances”.
One of my Philosophy tutors found out I was Graham Nerlich’s son and railed on me in the middle of a tutorial about how Dad, an Establishment stooge, had cruelly rejected his plan to make a status-quo-busting film in place of the written thesis the University expected.
I suffered this tirade, wondering if his Dad was any cooler than I thought mine was at the time. The answer of course, was NO.
I won’t mention the tutor’s name … he might be here tonight!
My last visit to see Dad and Margaret was a few weeks ago.
We went to the beach at Moana, south of Adelaide. I told Dad and Margaret that his parents had taken me there fifty years back.
You can drive right onto the beach, as Margaret did. My wife Pat, Dad, Skipper, and I were the passengers.
It was a perfect sunny day, the water like a mirror. We unfurled an awning from the car, and got folding chairs, and Skipper’s water bowl and ball.
Dad and I took a walk along the beach. He was slow and a little unsteady, but he managed.
We passed a couple relaxing under an awning of their own. Noticing our slow progress, the gentleman quipped, “You blokes out for a bit of a jog, are ya?”
I snickered and told him, “Something like that.” And then I said, “My Dad’s ninety-two.”
“That’s impressive,” the guy said.
“It is,” I agreed.
We went for a swim. Margaret and I had already taken a brief dip with Skipper, but now it was Dad and me. The water was warm, perfect. He was concerned about his footing, but we slowly made our way out to waist deep water. I thought he was wearing some pretty snazzy togs for an old bloke. Then again, I too was an old bloke. In Quicksilver board shorts.
Dad took a breath and immersed himself completely. He seemed to really enjoy the feeling of the ocean covering and supporting him, as did I.
I watched him resurface and stand again. We were in the sea, the source of all life. Channeling my philosopher genes, I reflected on our shared ancestry, all the way back to the Cambrian explosion half a billion years ago. He and I shared DNA, we were virtually identical genetically, together in the ocean, our feet in the primordial ooze.
I confess I see much of Dad’s face in my own when I stand before a mirror, as he once told me he saw his father’s face in his own. So I guess he’ll be with me for a while yet.
He said he really enjoyed that day with us. I am fortunate that my last memory of my Dad is of him and me, in the ocean, both so happy.
Love you, Dad. Happy trails.