My grandfather, Bill (1931–2026)
I want to take a brief moment to honour the life of my grandfather, who passed away this week.
He was born in 1931 and grew up in a poor family in Liverpool.
When he was twelve years old, during World War 2, he was admitted to hospital and missed an entire year of school due to a rare illness.
While in hospital, he was one of three children (in a ward of twelve) who survived a Liverpool air raid that destroyed the entire building he was in.
At 23, he graduated in dentistry from Liverpool University. In the same year, he asked for a 25 pounds pay advance in his first job, which he used to buy an engagement ring for my grandmother.
When he was 25, he had my father.
When he was 27, he moved his family to Australia, initially landing in Darwin, a small remote town at the top of Australia.
He had a difficult time being accepted in Australia at the time due to his accent, but earned his stripes over a night out where he was able to outdrink his colleagues. From that moment he was socially accepted—Australia in a nutshell.
While in Darwin, he was assigned to the Royal Flying Doctor Service, which took him travelling around remote Australia helping with oral surgeries.
At age 30, he was offered a job at Perth Dental Hospital and moved the family down.
He couldn’t find a house he wanted in Perth that was suitable for his young family, so he said “to hell with it” and designed and built his own, sourcing stone from a local quarry.
At age 35, he built Australia’s first Cleft Lip & Palate Unit at Princess Margaret Hospital in Perth. This was a specialised surgery he learned in Liverpool that helped hundreds of children per year repair life-threatening facial issues. It was the 1990s before the remainder of Australia was able to build a practice to the same standard.
At 42, in want of a new adventure, he travelled on a camping trip to the far north west of Western Australia, and opportunistically, in a moment he later said was a “mental aberration”, decided to buy a glass bottom boat and charter boat that were being liquidated by their previous owners.
Over the ensuing years, with the help of the family, some good fortune, and a lot of courage, he built a thriving tourism business in one of the most beautiful locations in the world. Today that location is a second home to my entire family, and will be for generations to come.
My grandfather was a walking paradox; complex and brilliant in mind, yet simple in life philosophy and desires.
He completed over 3,000 international scuba dives, pursuing a passion of underwater photography. He donated money to marine research and even had a rare sea animal called a nudibranch named after him: Pseudobiceros brogani!
He was a history buff who could recite just about every minor detail of World War 2, including where all the major battleships were sunk.
He was married to my grandmother for 72 years!
He outlived three of his four children. And ended up with ten grandchildren.
He was not the most sociable person (to say the least), but he had a fierce loyalty to his family. And he demonstrated this loyalty through service and provision.
He exercised daily until his body would no longer let him.
He was a lifelong tennis player.
He was the only person I knew who could drink wine and black coffee at the same time.
Thank you, Bill—from all of us. For having the courage to step into the unknown. For teaching me what it meant to live a full life. For implanting your values of loyalty, service, and family above all else. And for teaching me that you need to play the cards you’re dealt.
Amor fati.
First posted on X, 6 June 2026.