It is with the heaviest of hearts we advise the tragic and sudden passing of our dear Dad John.   Father to Mark, Sian and Simon, Father-in-law to Christina and George, cherished grandfather to Tomas, Alysha and Alex, devoted husband to our late mum Eira and brother to Dorothy (Dot) his adored 96-year-old sister. 

Our rock throughout our lives, he was a caring wonderful man with solid values and a generous heart, always ready to offer guidance and counsel in troubled times.

In many ways a self-made man his knowledge and expertise in the field of livestock husbandry gained during grim post war years in the UK spread afar and resulted in a life-changing job offer from Australia.  As ten-pound Poms our young family's migration from the UK to Queensland in 1963 was willingly embraced by our mother who shared in his sense of adventure. 

Settling in Moggill, an outer bush suburb of Brisbane, Dad's early years in the 60's and 70's cemented his reputation as an unconventional innovator. He wasted little time in recruiting and mentoring a loyal team of young professionals and while Dad revelled in hard work it was an enthusiasm matched in equal measure by hard living – at least in those early years. In Dad’s case a hard-earned thirst certainly did need a big cold beer, typically enjoyed in the spirited company of his equally inclined farming mates along with his ever-present pack of Benson & Hedges which later in life he simply quit announcing “that’s my last”.

He instilled in us, his three children a can-do attitude of self-reliance, emphasising the value of determination and hard work through physical effort, whether through chores as a 5-year-old mowing lawns in Queensland, or press ganged into his latest venture whatever it may be. One visceral memory of a hot summers’ day involved hammering nails into the corrugated iron of a newly established shed roof, with Dads' encouraging words 'just hit the bloody nail in!'

As youthful 'apprentice' labourers, team Dodd strung acres worth of fence lines, wielded crow bars, sunk fence posts, erected sheds, horse stables, studios and pergolas of various levels of architectural ambition and sometimes dubious structural engineering. We mowed vast areas of lawn, raked mountains of cut grass, dug giant holes for future fishponds, cut, collected and stacked firewood, established vegetable gardens, planted trees, cleaned bricks, paved patios and planted flower beds......Forever pursuing his 'next big project', a drive he never lost until the last.

Occupational health and safety was often given little thought as Dad’s zeal to reclaim a bounty of building timber in an abandoned US Navy facility on the banks of the Brisbane River would attest when handkerchief face masks substituted for PPE during the ensuing asbestos demolition in order to retrieve the valuable hardwood bounty.

From Moggill in Queensland, Warrandyte and Kangaroo Ground in Victoria, Exeter in Tassie and finally Eltham and Mt Eliza back in Melbourne, no property or family home remained untransformed by his and our mothers' creative vision and handiwork, and every home ascribed a name. 'Sweet Meadow', 'Wirreanda', 'Native Ridge' and 'Nunnook'. For Dad...his home was always his Castle, and any extended outing was always acknowledged with an “It's good to be home” affirmation on return and a, 'Put the kettle on Kiddo'.

A vivid flood of childhood memories includes Dad's epic driving feats including the annual Moggill to Turramurra Christmas pilgrimage. A 'cannonball run' to Sydney in our old XP Falcon wagon with us kids jockeying for the window seats in the back, as we sweltered in soaring summer heat blasting along the New England highway....barely worthy of the name in the late 1960's.  Kicks of the football on a wet Warrandyte oval or sitting on his lap being taught to 'drive' up the long, straight mango - tree edged driveway to our old Queenslander, optimistically named “Sweet Meadow”. 

His expertise with livestock sadly did not extend to horses but Dad thought it a sound idea we should learn to ride at a young age.  Three horses quickly found a new home at Sweet Meadow where riding mishaps assured our front paddock became the worthy rival of any rodeo. The ponies eventually settled down somewhat and we fondly recall riding our weary mounts home in the twilight hours after bush gymkhanas at the Brookfield showgrounds, with Dad patiently driving behind us lighting our way.

Our late Mum Eira – and Dad’s school sweetheart – was a fabulously talented painter whose award-winning impressionist style paintings were made all the more attractive by Dad’s self-acquired expertise as picture framer.  His pride and encouragement of her innate creativity continued throughout their long and enduring marriage and while there were times when Dad would struggle to identify with Mum's art world, he always recognised her free spirit and need to paint. The untamed Australian bush, the inspiration for her sublime paintings meant 'Wirreanda', the home they built amidst the bush in Kangaroo Ground was a much-loved family home for us all.

His devotion to Mum throughout her long illness was an inspiration to all who were close and we will always remember with deep love and admiration his unfailing tenderness and advocacy for our beloved mother during her declining years. As the Head of Nursing at our mum's Nursing home said “John, you did her proud”.

Dad was a man perhaps typified by his era – stoic, stiff upper lip and steely resolve. A man whose unique world view included bearing witness to the end of empire, who served on active wartime duty with the RAF in Iraq and British mandated Palestine, experiences which without doubt moulded the Dad we knew and which had a lifelong legacy. His wartime experiences – like many veterans - held closely and seldom revealed in detail. He suffered adversity with stoic determination and was a man of principle, fiercely loyal to his family and good friends. He maintained great pride and interest in the careers, talents and achievements of his 'Tribe' near and afar, but even more so of his grandchildren, Tomas, Alysha and Alex.

There was also a softer side although it was not always evident. Dad had a natural ability to nurture.  When any of us were unwell he showed great care and tenderness. He found much pleasure and delight in hand raising calves during the years our parents spent in Tasmania in their early retirement, a pleasure enhanced by the setting of their small hobby farm in the majestic Tamar Valley. It was a return to his farming, livestock, and animal husbandry roots, and we recall Mum describing how he would unfailingly rise throughout the night to feed 'his babies'.  Likewise, he was always 'nurturing' and tending to his garden which has been his 'Happy Place' throughout his life - memories of our dad standing hose in hand, and more than likely quietly singing is seared into our collective consciousness.

The experience of caring for our mother through profound sadness and loss had shaped dad into the gentler, empathetic and reflective man who we are all very grateful to have had in our lives.  Forever picking himself up he had an inspirational capacity to rebound and find meaning in simple pleasures. He was a man blessed with great reserves of energy, quick to laugh and an amazing capacity for happiness. Proud of his Welsh heritage he was easily moved to booming song and family gatherings were ceremoniously toasted with a spirited “Iechyd da” ... or Good Health!

The past 11 years living on the Mornington Peninsula in Mt Eliza gave Dad a new lease of life where he again found his place, genuine happiness, contentment in his daily interactions and sense of community.  He seemed to have discovered a new 'lightness of being'.  He would frequently affirm to us “I'm happy” and was fortunate to have found companionship and love,  sharing his life with partners anew.  Initially with 'Trish from Mornington' with whom he regained a new zest for life and to whom we all owe an eternal sense of gratitude for being there when he suffered a major stroke in 2012,  and who’s swift action allowed for Dad’s full recovery.  In more recent years 'Tricia from Mt Martha' - Patricia Reilly - in who's company he found much happiness, sense of purpose, fun and joyeux de vivre. 

Dad, independent to the end, you are forever missed and will always be in our hearts.
We'll make sure those bulbs are planted and a rose garden remains a fixture in all future homes.

XO always.

Mark, Sian and Simon and loving family