His interest in the New Zealand national sports of rugby union and cricket lead to his involvement as a rugby referee for lower grade games. He was also a selector-coach for Otago state primary school sports teams, and many future international players first had their talent recognised and nutured in these teams.

His belief in social justice took him into the New Zealand Labour Party as a local organiser. When he had a disagreement with the Labour Party over policy direction he formed his own short-lived political party, the Phoenix Party, rising from the ashes of the old Labour Party. He was the only candidate, and scored 365 votes, enough in NZ politics to take him out of the range of the "silly" candidates and into the protest vote category. When the Values Party, a green party was started he joined that.

His interest in chess led him to start children's chess classes at the Otago Chess Club where he would teach up to 70 children to play chess on a Friday night.

In his retirement years his need to serve had him help found the Dunedin Pakeke Lions Club, and he was their Charter President.

But we must not forget his life-time as a primary school teacher. Many hundred's of children passed through the hands of a teacher they called "Gerry Bomber". There is a suggestion that this name owes something to classroom flatulence. Corporal punishment in the form of a leather strap on the hand was in vogue, and many of those children probably remember "Dr Brown, the flying doctor", as he called the strap with some regret.

My father believed that his children should be brought up to choose their own paths, and although he stayed home and cooked a sunday roast dinner while we went to church, he decreed that the family should be brought up in the Anglican church (episcopalian ) because they espoused the greatest range of beliefs. It is a tribute to his upbringing that his children include a back-slider, an anglican, a baptist and a pentecostal.

Despite his love of rugby, he never held it against my brother that he was far more interested in motor-cycle racing than rugby, and even went along to assist.

With his teaching background it is natural that Gerald should instill a love of knowledge and learning in his own children. He diligently took us to the library, the museum and all sorts of other stimulating activities.

My father had a quirky sense of humor and sometimes expressed unconventional points of view. Once he shocked his fellow teachers by suggesting that he hoped his daughters would elope to save him the cost of a wedding. Another time he suggested that the Values Pary grow marajuana to raise funds. He knew that they would not follow through.

To sum up my father's life, it is above all a life of service. His true memorial is the influence, subtle, or not so subtle, he was had on the lives of the young people who passed through his hands.

On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,
And men of religion are scanty,
On a road never cross'd 'cept by folk that are lost,
One Michael Magee had a shanty.

Now this Mike was the dad of a ten year old lad,
Plump, healthy, and stoutly conditioned;
He was strong as the best, but poor Mike had no rest
For the youngster had never been christened.

And his wife used to cry, `If the darlin' should die
Saint Peter would not recognise him.
But by luck he survived till a preacher arrived,
Who agreed straightaway to baptise him.

Now the artful young rogue, while they held their collogue,
With his ear to the keyhole was listenin',
And he muttered in fright, while his features turned white,
`What the divil and all is this christenin'?'

He was none of your dolts, he had seen them brand colts,
And it seemed to his small understanding,
If the man in the frock made him one of the flock,
It must mean something very like branding.

So away with a rush he set off for the bush,
While the tears in his eyelids they glistened --
`'Tis outrageous,' says he, `to brand youngsters like me,
I'll be dashed if I'll stop to be christened!'

Like a young native dog he ran into a log,
And his father with language uncivil,
Never heeding the `praste' cried aloud in his haste,
`Come out and be christened, you divil!'

But he lay there as snug as a bug in a rug,
And his parents in vain might reprove him,
Till his reverence spoke (he was fond of a joke)
`I've a notion,' says he, `that'll move him.'

`Poke a stick up the log, give the spalpeen a prog;
Poke him aisy -- don't hurt him or maim him,
'Tis not long that he'll stand, I've the water at hand,
As he rushes out this end I'll name him.

`Here he comes, and for shame! ye've forgotten the name --
Is it Patsy or Michael or Dinnis?'
Here the youngster ran out, and the priest gave a shout --
`Take your chance, anyhow, wid `Maginnis'!';

As the howling young cub ran away to the scrub
Where he knew that pursuit would be risky,
The priest, as he fled, flung a flask at his head
That was labelled `MAGINNIS'S WHISKY'!

And Maginnis Magee has been made a J.P.,
And the one thing he hates more than sin is
To be asked by the folk, who have heard of the joke,
How he came to be christened `Maginnis'!

A. B. (Banjo) Paterson
Australian Poet

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For though from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson