Victor Lawrence Maberley
1931-2018
13/11/1931 – 4/04/2018
Aged 86 years
Late of Cattai
Beloved husband of Wilma.
Loving father, grandfather and
great grandfather.
Sadly missed
Funeral service details
Date: Wednesday, 11th April, 2018
Commencing: 11:00am
Location:
Garden Chapel of Castlebrook Crematorium, Windsor Road, Rouse Hill.
From the family of the late Bob Thompson, a fellow bike enthusiast, we are sorry to read of Vic's passing and send our condolences to his family (albeit a little late). Vic was a. lovely gentleman and good friend to Bob. With fond regards, Goma, Robert and Rhonda Thompson
Rhonda ThompsonI have fond memories of Vic who late at night would be working on restoring his old Indian Motor Cycles and his dog would get in the way somehow and he would throw a spanner at him cursing at the same time.
Maurice CocoVic and Wilma were wonderful neighbors to us as new arrivals in Concord in 1972. They were always there to lend a hand and dad and Vic worked together many times in building our house and theirs as well. It was sad when they decided to move to Cattai, but we understood that Vic needed more room for his ever expanding Indian Motor Cycle collection. I always had a passion for motor cycles as well and was in aw of Vic's amazing restorations. With Vic's inspiration, I too ride today, not an Indian but a Harley instead
I often think of Vic when out on the open road with the engine sound and the horizon coming closer as I eat up the miles.
R.I.P Vic and sincere condolences to his family
We would like to express our deepest sympathy to Wilma and family on the sad passing of Vic, a very loyal friend, over many years. Vic will be sadly missed. RIP.
Barry TalbotDaphne and Barry Talbot
I had the pleasure recently of meeting Vic and some of his family on a recent visit with my uncle Kevin Hodges in no time at all we were all gathered at the family table enjoying a meal and having a laugh i felt as if i had known Vic a long time but it was our first and sadly only meeting.He proudly showed me his Indian motorcycle collection and imparted a small amount of his vast knowledge on his collection Like so many you looked well Vic although kevin had told me of your illness Im not an easy person to impress but you certainly did that with ease To your family my sincere condolences his memory will live on with me regards Wayne Hodges
wayne hodgesFOND MEMORIES
Barry TalbotI first met Vic Maberley when I arrived in Tooraweenah with my family during the year 1936. I was only 3 years of age, Vic, some 18 months older. We attended the same little school, where many pranks followed. I remember an old push bike being hauled up the flag pole whilst the teacher was otherwise occupied. Can't remember those responsible but I am sure Vic looks back on it with amusement. We have since spoken of the incident. The teacher didn't share out amusement.
I was so fortunate to share the company of Vic during our school years and have many fond memories of those times. I too, gained pocket money by trapping rabbits and selling them to the local freezing works. Times were pretty tough in those years, and we were glad to receive a little money.
Towards the end of the 1940's Vic, Brian Balderstone (now deceased) and myself, decided to go to the big smoke (Sydney) to seek greener pastures. We all obtained employment of different types, but still remained in close contact. Weekends provided us with the opportunity of various leisure activities (movies, swimming, speedway, ice skating, etc) All good clean fun, at the same time keeping our eye open for attractive girls. No doubt, Vic had his heart set on catching Wilma, which didn't take too long. I fondly recall making a trip back to Tooraweenah with Vic as a pillion passenger on my motor bike (freezing conditions through the Blue Mountains with very little protective clothing).
After marriage, I moved to distant country areas with my employment. However, we continued to keep in touch over the many years, and with a visit when possible. Fortunately, I paid Vic and Wilma a visit during February this year when old times were discussed, and many fond memories relived.
Vic will be sadly missed, together with his friendly smile. He was a wonderful mate and a terrific person. May Vic rest in peace.
Barry Talbot
If only I could send Vic a message, if I could make one last phonecall to him I would say “Thank you, Vic Maberley, for being my friend. Thank you for all the stories, the jokes, the thousands of happy miles we travelled and all the places we saw. Thank you for sharing the technical interests and the hours of quiet companionship but thank you especially for always having been there, waiting inside your huge, heavenly shed at the end of your long driveway, to greet me with a cool drink, your small smile and your big warm heart.”
Robert Alexander 'Bob' Winley.The Phonecall.
Robert Alexander 'Bob' Winley.Well, it’s happened again. A hesitant phonecall from my good mate Mick to tell me the news. He didn’t tell me straight away. We talked about other things. Then he told me with a careful voice that our good friend Vic is gone. The cancer. And then pneumonia. In his sleep. But sooner than we expected and way, way sooner than he deserved, though he was about ten years our senior.
He still should have had more time. Because he hadn’t finished…so many things. He’d still been doing most of them up until a month ago. But he had more motorbikes to restore. More country trips to take. More stories to tell. More times with his family. More lawns to mow with his wife, in that wonderful pastoral pas de deux they did, driving their twin lawnmowers. More visits to make to his old home town, where he and his wife were born and schooled.
Like a dropped-out phonecall, they always go too bloody soon.
Every few months now I lose somebody. It’s inevitable, I know, because time and birthdays keep on ticking away and we are all, after all, mortal. It’s just a matter of statistics. It’s a simple, cruel, heartless logic.
I suppose Mick and I will soon be making a country journey to Vic’s little home town, Tooraweenah, to sit down with the couple of people remaining there who knew our friend. We’ll talk about the houses in the town that Vic’s dad built with increasing help from his growing son, the wells they dug, some still in use, and how good was the town hall they helped build, how it’s still doing vital service for the small populace. And the CWA building. Solid as ever.
We’ll talk about Vic’s rabbit trapping success, the cars he fixed, his many skills, his years of driving his father’s truck underage and unlicensed until the sergeant from Gilgandra finally told him to report to the police station there and surprised him by giving him a driving license. And in return, asking him to do some dodgy freight delivery. We’ll talk about how Vic bogged the tractor way over past the airfield, trying, for the farmer, to harvest a full crop though the ground was just too soft. We’ll share some old photographs, try to remember names of girls at the town ball and boys Vic knew who didn’t come back from the war. There’s no danger we’ll run out of memories.
We’ll drive slowly around the tiny town and look at things of importance to Vic. The school, the big house with the three chimneys, the general store, the showground, the space where a house was burnt down. The footpath where Vic first set eyes on his four-year-old future wife, Wilma, as she pedalled along on her dinky and we’ll both stay silent, each hearing Vic’s voice in our heads telling and retelling those familiar stories that we shall miss so sorely.
I shall miss his optimism, his easy, close companionship, our complete understanding of each other’s ideas about things mechanical, aeronautical, nostalgic and humorous. His love of motorcycles, his expertise and love of working on them and his proud stewardship of the rich history his big collection represents. I’ll miss his amazing collection of blokey bric-a-brac and the old military stuff and the aeroplanes and… everything.
I’ll miss going on long road trips with him, the long hours of never being bored, sitting beside him, discovering all sorts of things about Australia, absorbing them silently or discussing them in depth. Taking fascinating impromptu detours and staying overnight in all kinds of motels from Coonabarabran to Warracknabeal. A fellow never forgets stuff like that.
But, most importantly, a fellow never forgets a man like Vic. Sure, he had many interests similar to mine. Yes, he worked with my uncle once upon a time. But a few, just a few of all the people we meet over the years, seem to click for some reason and make the firmest, truest friends. You never know where the next one could bob up and you don’t know exactly when one will check out, and you’re never prepared for the hollow, echoing space he leaves.
If only I could send Vic a message, if I could make one last phonecall to him I would say “Thank you, Vic Maberley, for being my friend. Thank you for all the stories, the jokes, the thousands of happy miles we travelled and all the places we saw. Thank you for sharing the technical interests and the hours of quiet companionship but thank you especially for always having been there, waiting inside your huge, heavenly shed at the end of your long driveway, to greet me with a cool drink, your small smile and your big warm heart.”
Bob Winley. 2018.
Always a gentlemen and welcoming to his home
Sandra McDermott