Alan Cockson 31 December 1938 – 14 June 2025

Alison Leitch (With Deb and Jo - Daughters' Tribute Excerpt)

Our dear Dad – we can’t believe you are gone and we won’t see you again, in this life. The world will never be the same. We always knew how much you loved us and that family was the most important thing to you. We are so proud of the person you were and what you achieved. I have fond memories of going on family bushwalks where Dad would point out features of interest and explain about the plants, landscape and rocks. He was so knowledgeable, and I was always so proud and happy to be walking by him and learning from him. We had lots of great family holidays with Dad always planning outings and adventures. He regularly took us to museums or other places of interest that gave us an opportunity for learning about the world. Dad always made us feel loved and safe and that any problems could be overcome. He was fond of saying he was “Yorkshire with a dash of Viking” on account of his striking blue eyes and would remind us that we had inherited that toughness. He made no distinction for us being girls and taught us how to look after our cars and to play cricket. Growing up we had lots of fun cricket games with neighbours in the park across from our house. As a child, Jo had some bad asthma attacks and remembers how safe she felt with Dad wrapping her in a blanket, bundling her in the car and racing off to Princess Margaret Hospital in the middle of the night. He also sat by her bedside all night when she was really sick. She remembers opening her eyes in the middle of the night to see Dad there - looking very uncomfortable dozing in a chair - and how reassured and comforted she felt that he was there. On one very memorable occasion, Dad actually saved Jo’s life when she collapsed suddenly one morning at the age of 5…..his RAF medic training was a godsend on this occasion and others where we always felt reassured when Dad looked after our various childhood injuries and ailments. Dad would go to many lengths to help us with our goals or troubles. From getting up early to drop Jo at 5am starts for work experience as a strapper, to fixing Deb’s dodgy car by torchlight at night after a hard day’s work so she could get to Uni the next day…. nothing was too much for Dad to help his girls. Dad was protective and taught us how to defend ourselves and not to tolerate bullies. Our adult relationships with Dad have been a joy. Dad had a great sense of humour, and we had many laughs over the years. One of the greatest joys of Dad’s life was seeing his girls start their own families. He was thrilled to become a grandfather to Elisabeth, Matthew and Simon, Rachel and David and James and Sam. Dad loved seeing them grow and took great pride in what wonderful young people they all are, in their characters and accomplishments. Family picnics, Christmas, Easter and birthday get togethers where many laughs would be had were enjoyed over the years. Dad loved playing with his grandkids in the pool or at cricket, and in later years offering them a beer, whiskey or coffee while having a good old chat…often about politics or the state of the world. He loved to regale them with stories of his life but also to hear about theirs. Being surrounded by women Dad sometimes didn't get much of a word in, so making some quality time was important. He enjoyed being asked for a one-on-one chat and coffee and cake at a local café. These 'dates' were a lovely way of connecting with him and will be greatly missed. We were devastated when we learnt of Dad’s cancer diagnosis, but he fought valiantly for many years and was always incredibly stoic. He rarely complained and indeed you had to really interrogate him to get an idea of how he really was. He wanted to protect us. To the last, he said he didn’t mind dying but he didn’t want to leave Sheila and his girls, and of course he wanted to see more of his grandkids’ lives. In the last weeks he would shed tears as he said this then chide himself for being a wuss. We never thought he was a wuss – to us this was a gift ….to see him open up and express his feelings in a way men of his generation had been taught not to do. From the beginning of his diagnosis, he would regularly end conversations with “love ya heaps”. We loved getting his text messages with photos of his breakfasts and his ‘may the goddess be with you’ endings. Dad, we are so sad you didn’t get to live long enough to dance at Elisabeth’s wedding as you wished. But it was a delight to see you at her engagement party. Frail though you were by then, you charged off into the crowd with your walking stick and started chatting with the young folk, telling them stories of your own youthful days. Dad, we love you and we will miss you so much – your humour, your wisdom, your presence and just being able to give you a hug. I am sure you have a place in heaven and an all-access pass to Valhalla – where we will meet again one day. Rest in peace now – may the Goddess be with you.