Beloved and devoted husband for 61 years of Rosemary (May Rowe), adored father of Lynden (Lyn), Merran, Kirsten (Kirsty) and Graham, much loved father in law to Luke, Noel and Meg, cherished grandfather of Tim, Hannah, Lauren, Ronan and Ashley. Dearest brother to Merle(dec), Shirl and Ruth and Uncle Rusty to their children. He is forever in our hearts and we are forever grateful for the the wonderful life we shared.

Russ’s story was share at his memorial and is provided here as well.

Eulogy (Kirsten Coster)
As we all know Russ didn’t like to be the centre of attention and certainly didn’t like a fuss.
Right about now if he was with us all, dad would be looking around and rubbing his nose like this, raising his eyebrows and saying “oh by gee!” He was such a humble man. He was also a wordsmith using words deliberately, carefully choosing the right word to express a thought; I certainly feel an obligation to try and emulate that here today.

Dad was incredibly special to us all and so here we all are. A much-loved husband, dad, father-in law, grandfather, brother, uncle Rusty, cousin and friend. It means the world to our family that you’ve been able to join us today to celebrate his life. Russ had a rich and rewarding life wearing all of these hats, a life which he cherished and lived to the full.

Dad was born in Morwell 16 August 19 hundred and 32 – I deliberately describe it in this way rather than the usual as 1932 as he used to describe it in this way himself reflective of a time way back, and today I feel in some ways that it’s an appropriate homage to his years. First born to Arthur and Myrtle Coster, he was also the first grandchild for the Coster clan which was sizeable clan given his extensive number of Aunts and Uncles.
Russ was soon joined by sisters Merl in 1934, Shirl in 1935 and a little later by Ruthie in 1943. Dad always referred to his sisters as “my beautiful sisters”. You always knew when they had rung as dad would greet them with a cheery “hello pet”. As the eldest and having a father that worked shift work during the week and built houses with his mates on weekends, I’ve no doubt that he took his role very seriously as a big brother. That’s not to say he didn’t have a lot of fun. Indeed, it was spending time with dad and his sisters and seeing how much fun they did have that our mum, who is an only child, decided that she wanted to have four children as well.

The fondest memories that dad shared with us of his childhood were the family holidays and picnics of which there were many. From bell tents in the early days to caravans in later years, and travelling by cars fuelled by home converters to the latest model holden, the determination to get away as a family and spend time together was instilled in dad from an early age and we were blessed as his children to have enjoyed the same.
The Coster clan have a proud farming background – incredibly resilient people who worked the land and formed important working relationships with indigenous people in early settlement times. But after an injury to his knee as child, Russ’ dad Arthur, was the first child to pursue a different career becoming an electrical engineer. Russ had envisaged following in his footsteps, starting an engineering cadetship with the SEC at Yallourn Tech but was left high and dry when they abruptly ceased the program before he was able to complete his course. But it was this then devastating turn of events that sent dad on a journey he would never have otherwise taken, and which lead to him to discovering the love of his life. In recent weeks dad described such moments as turning points in his life and I feel this was the most precious of all to him.

Packing nothing but a small suitcase and with a newspaper in hand to find a job, he came to Melbourne. After finding lodgings and getting a job with VicRoads assessing registration applications, he described walking past a small plaque advertising the Hans and Alice Meyer School of Movement and Languages in Lisson Grove Hawthorn. Recalling how much he liked to dance back at home, he thought that it might also be a good way to meet new people in Melbourne. It wasn’t long after he came across a 14-year-old Rosemary Rowe and he would start a 7 year courtship – a process dad described much like fly fishing, gently throwing out a line and gradually bringing her closer and letting her go, so at the right time she would have experienced the world and she would be ready to settle down, all at the same time trying not to frighten her away or lose her. I can still see dads’ gentle big hands mimicking the motion. He was ever mindful of Harry Rowe’s (mums dad) comment to him about her age not long after he realised how young she was as well – but he need not have worried, as they loved him like a son from the moment they met him anyway.

Dad was also a keen middle distance runner and joined the Box Hill Athletics Club. Training under a former Olympian no less, at a gym in Hawthorn, he applied himself just as seriously to this as well, but it was his love of mum and their ballroom dancing that we heard more of as kids growing up. Much to the chagrin of Alice Meyer who had dad pegged for her older dancing students, he persisted with the “Rowe girl” as she referred to mum, designing dances for competitions which they entered together and won.

After seeing an ad in the newspaper for a civil engineering position at the City of Camberwell, dad decided to enquire about how he might pursue this new path. His telephone call explaining where he had gotten to with his studies was greeted with a “when can you start” and the rest is history as they say for his 45 years in local government. Working by day and studying at night school at RMIT, dad completed his studies and became a certified civil engineer.

Forever the quiet achiever, while at Camberwell he designed and built the first roundabout in Melbourne, at Doncaster he brought in subdivision controls that would forever protect farming land, and much later at Croydon, wrote and implemented one of the first local planning schemes – but I’m jumping ahead.
As we all know, so no spoiler alert needed, dad got the girl. Rosie and Russ married 4th March 1961 after secretly being engaged for two years. They bought their property at 2 Morinda Street soon after, and set about building their family home, working on weekends and dad painstakingly managing every component of the build. Designed and built by dad the home is a testament to Russ’ design skills. When sold in May 2022 the house caused quite a buzz on mid-century architect face book groups,with one person describing it “Built with love for his family, this architecturally designed home showcases enduring quality with a heart-warming mid-century vibe”. A person commented in the chat that “it was a favourite house of theirs, but it was intriguing that it was actually designed by an engineer not an architect.” Someone else went on to point out that prominent architect Frank Lloyd Wright was more qualified as an engineer than architect as well, the comparison of Russ to an esteemed architect was cemented. On the family what’s app group chat (or “we chat” as dad used to call it) he described the accolade as “a moment of grandeur and a moment of fun”. Always a man of perfectly selected words it was so special to see dad’s talent appreciated so enthusiastically by those in the know. In uprooting themselves from their home of 56 years it was a real comfort to know that the new owners loved the house as much as them.

Russ and Rosie started their family in Melbourne with the arrival of Lyn in 1962 and Merran in 1965. Although dad had always said to mum that if she married him, she’d have to be prepared to travel to Rhodesia with just a toothbrush, a journey of a different kind was soon on the horizon.

Dad was working at the City of Knox, having spent several years at Doncaster and building a wide range of skills as a civil engineer (there’s still one of dad’s bridges as you travel along Warrandyte Road just after you to turn off Blackburn Road if you want to experience some of his work). To advance in his career at that time he was going to have to go to a rural shire. So not quite Rhodesia, but when mum noticed a position for City Engineer at the newly established City of Bairnsdale (the rural part of the Shire having been recently separated) she thought this was a perfect opportunity for Russ and time for some travel. Starting from scratch and under the governance arrangements of the day, dad had to establish a new council service with the Town Clerk; the rural council having taken all the good equipment and people to start their organisation. He used to recall his first day sitting on a desk in an otherwise empty room swinging his legs and planning his first tasks – it was literally ground zero.

It wasn’t long after settling in Bairnsdale that the family expanded with the arrival of myself in 1968 and Graham in 1970. It was about this time that dad took on his studies as a Building Surveyor as it was the only way he was going to provide the service and because every Council is obligated to have a Municipal Building Surveyor. This time he was travelling back and forth to Melbourne for more night school. As kids we remember Bairnsdale and living in Paynesville during this time very fondly, indeed idyllically, but these must have been some of the most tiring in dad’s life.

It was his long-held dream to become a town planner that saw him add the final string to his formal education bow. As a young man he had contemplated going to the UK to study as the only place you could in the day, but finally RMIT was offering a course. Dad was one of the first students to commence the course and I would later follow in his footsteps only a decade later, even sharing some of the same lecturers. Dad won the Frederick C Cook Memorial Awards for “high scholastic achievement over the final four years of the course and he had an amazing book collection from that time – I benefited from having my own personal library of town planning literature at home which saved me many times when pulling late nights to finish essays.

Returning to Melbourne in 1973 to enable our secondary education and for our mum to be closer to her mum Ethel after her dad Harry’s passing, dad was enticed to the City of Croydon. Knowing dad had always wanted to be a town planner they said they would support him undertaking the studies.

Ultimately dad would complete his career at the City of Monash, retiring in 1995. Personally, I think this was his most rewarding role, designing and implementing the Glen Activity Centre, applying all his skills as both a civil engineer and a town planner. Managing everything form land acquisitions to engaging major shopping centre developers, I can still see him with plans and papers everywhere in the study and his drawing board covered in road designs. We spoke about the project a lot and what made it the success it was. It inspired me to take on a similar role at Moreland in recent years.

Anyone who worked with dad always wanted to do so again. He was regularly head hunted for new and challenging roles. Many of these roles involved long hours (like council meetings to 1 and 2 in the morning) and as any town planner will tell you, regularly put him firmly and squarely in thick of highly political and emotionally charged situations. Despite this everyone I’ve ever come across that worked with dad simply described him as a consummate gentleman. Well after retirement people would ask after him and to be remembered to him – and he did always remember them.

Dad was a selfless man and always ready to help dedicating a lot of his free time to things like Rotary Club and numerous church Committees. But he was also there for us. If we were ever running late for school or it was pouring rain, he’d bounce out of bed bright as a button on just a few hours’ sleep, thrown on his parker over his pj’s and drive us to the train station – he’d even chase the train from East Ringwood station to Ringwood station if we’d still just missed it. No grumbling or complaining.

Lyn and I recall when we needed help with a maths question, he’d patiently work with us, taking us back to first principles because that’s how he had learned best. I distinctly remember him falling asleep beside me holding his head and telling me I wasn’t stupid – but we would never make engineers would we Lyn. Dad and I shared a love of geography, economics and English but never maths. As we kids grew up and had our own places, he would be the first to offer help building, installing or repairing anything we needed a hand with. Even from his hospital bed recently he was still nutting out calculations to help with one of our projects.

Family time was Dad’s happy place. During school holidays, time away in our caravan was his greatest escape from the pressures of work; even if it meant he only had time to drive us somewhere nice on the weekend before leaving us with the van and drive back to work for the week in the city.

For 19 years in a row, we would escape to Pambula beach for a summer holiday. Dad could relax after driving courteously but defensively all day and in the days of all six of us going, navigating the gear stick between the knees of either Graham or myself as we sat in the middle of the bench seat of his pride and joy Paddy, the Landcruiser. Setting up camp, Lyn loved sitting on his strong shoulders to reach up to attach our annex. The rest of us would run to the beach and get sand to put around the base of the annex to prevent rain leaks – no doubt tricks learned as a young man camping. There was no television in the caravan – mum and dad preserved this time as one for reading and playing games together and getting out in the great outdoors. There were walks along the beach after dinner where, as kids, dad would point out different star constellations and teach us how to read true north from the Southern cross. When spending time at camp dad would mostly sleep in the annex on his banana lounge and then join Rosie for some body surfing once she’d had a chance to get warm enough in the sun. Afflicted by being delicious to sand mites, lying on the sand was not an option for dad.

In addition to people and names, dad had an amazing memory for places, roads, rivers, and mountains. He loved visiting new places, never took the direct route to a holiday, picnic or winery destination, instead always choosing the most scenic, and delighted in exploring remote state forest tracks, studying detailed forestry maps before we headed off. We had some pretty tricky situations but unphased, he always got us out unscathed. And with the help of some minties and neck rubs from one of us sitting behind him, we’d keep him awake at the wheel while on the wide-open roads. In retrospect I think dad also used to ask us to sing in the car on our trips to help keep him awake – a favourite was ging gang goolie in rounds. We were so lucky to see so many magical national parks and state forests, dad teaching us about geology and, with mum, instilling in us all a love for nature and all its treasures.

Mum and dad have always enjoyed good wine. As kids it felt like they dragged us around winery cellar doors all the time, grumbling as we waited in the car park. Indeed, once they left myself and Graham with total strangers at a historic homestead while they dashed off before a special cellar door closed, such was the lure of a good drop. But as we grew up and were able to participate, we shared in the pleasure with a number of us creating our own cellars. Dad particularly loved to share his cellar spoils at family gatherings, and it wouldn’t be uncommon to be opening an exceptional vintage of 15 years or more in age. We’d often open a bottle from any of our cellars and recount fond memories of the cellar door visits of the purchase together – Margaret River being a particularly favourite trip.

Thorough, tidy, and meticulously clean is another way we’d describe dad. He would always view the way he did things as just as how it should be done but the particularness of it was often to a whole new level – right about now if dad were here, he’d be starting to hold his jaw out like this, like he always did if you disagreed or implied he didn’t have to do things a certain way. Dishes were carefully washed till sparking even if going in the dishwasher and precious items stored in boxes in boxes; some barely having seen the light of day until the great Morinda Street clear out. Even the airpot thermos for picnics was packed in its original bubble wrap and box for years. And Paddy the 4WD had to be washed just before a camping trip. Once retired he drove mum to distraction reorganising all the kitchen cabinets. He stored everything immaculately and made sure things were kept as new.

His workshop was organised with its own reference system right down to the lengths and widths of every piece of timber – he could always pull out something to fix anything, and everything could be fixed. It could be as simple as applying his scouting skills that meant he had a knot to solve a problem, or more complex applying his engineering mind that would design workbenches or indeed whole caravan chassis that could be easily moved sideways. Even temporary repairs were completed with such thoroughness that you’d be loath to undo them – you might not possibly be able to either! The temporary fixes to install new kitchen appliances never did advance to that new kitchen did they mum.

For his seriously tidy ways though, dad also had a wicked sense of humour which was accompanied by the best grin and twinkle in his eyes. I distinctly recall an occasion when dad said something particularly cheeky to his mother in-law at the dinner table. I missed the specifics but it had something to do with a finger and her nose which were entirely improbable for such a lady. All grandma could do was reply “Oh Russell, I ought to throw my cup of tea at you!” On another occasion, dad and mum both being afflicted by perfectionism, mum had placed a beautiful birthday cake on the table but as usual highlighted all the imperfections she could see. Dad laughed and said “But it’s a beautiful mess”. Only dad could get away with saying such cheeky things.

Our family home at Morinda Street was dad’s pride and joy. Pottering in the garden while dreaming up new plans for future developments. Growing up it seemed that dad was forever single handedly cutting down dangerous gum trees on the property using carefully placed ropes, ladders and winches. He was such an expert that by the time I had a large tree on my property that needed removing, although into his early eighties at this point, he got straight onto it. He was always a fit and strong man, often more physically able than men half his age.

It was this astounding strength that saw him physically pick himself up after a nearly 3 metre fall backwards at Morinda one fateful morning, while mum was patiently waiting to be picked up from her hydrotherapy. It was one of the moments – “I’ll just” quickly do this before I go, something mum and dad always do. On this occasion he was just taking a measurement with his trusty plumb bob to inform some details for house plans he was working on. The next thing he knew he was face first on the ground narrowly missing a concrete footpath but clipping his ribs on an old concrete trough. Rather than ring an ambulance he wrapped his lacerated head with a towel from the garage, got in his car and took himself to emergency. There being no car spaces nearby he had to park some way before he walked in and stood in the emergency queue where someone thankfully noticed the blood loss. Later he would discover he had broken ribs and had three significantly compressed vertebrae. Dad’s pain threshold was like no other; oh, maybe mum actually. Even though it was too painful to walk, let alone go up and down stairs, he was busily accepting discharge arrangement to go home to his split-level house. Graham and Meg thankfully stepped in, and he was able to recuperate with mum at their single level home for several months.

Dad’s family was everything to him. From the moment he was born he was surrounded by a large family, and I think it gave him great pleasure in seeing his own family grow and surround him as well. He adopted his sons and daughter in laws Luke, Noel, and Meg with open arms. Joining the family as young people, as they grew up, he took a keen interest in their studies, hobbies, and careers but perhaps most of all, loving them as the people that made his kids so happy. He also loved the families they created with his children and to watch these “gorgeous people” as he always described his grandkids, growing up. Tim was the first to arrive in 1993, followed by Lauren in 1995, quickly followed by Hannah in 1996 and then a little later, Ronan in 2005 and Finn in 2007.

Dad recently shared that his greatest fear when we were growing up was that he wouldn’t have prepared his kids for the challenges in life, and that his greatest hope was that we would make the most of every day. In terms of the latter, he demonstrated this fear by thrusting open our bedroom doors on weekends and school holidays if we were sleeping in, pulling back the curtains, smacking his hands together in that characteristic cupping way, and say, “Righto kids, it’s a beautiful day outside, what’s on for today”. Of course, we’d moan and groan, but dad loved life and without saying it directly, recognised the privilege that it is. Thankfully he shared that he was proud of how we’ve handled life’s challenges and the full lives we have, so his fear we mightn’t be prepared was never founded. We four kids are thankful to dad and mum for being such wonderful role models, supporting and encouraging us through life.

Dad enjoyed nothing better than to have his whole “mob” as he affectionately called the family, together chatting happily around him. Sunday lunches growing up were always a time for deep conversation. Even though dad would look to be asleep, his elbows slowly splaying on the table as the weight of his head disturbed their balance, if one of us commented or mum gently rubbed his ear lobe, he’d say “I’m listening”. In adult life Easters away became a tradition and milestone birthdays like Russ’ recent 90th at Yanakie last year, were also a good excuse to get the whole family away together. Even on the day he died Rosie and we four kids we were able to be at his side. Such a blessing to be there wishing him well for his journey.

We will miss your big strong but gentle hands dad, your infectious smile and your warm generous heart. Thank you for everything, blessings to you dear love.
 
Daughter (Merran Clark)
Russell Coster aka Father, Dad, Russ, Da
Today is a wonderful opportunity for everyone here to reflect and share their experiences of having Russ in their lives and as his daughter I feel so very grateful to have spent 57 years in his company.

As I was considering what I should say today I kept thinking that so much of how I would describe Russ would also be expressed by so many of you here today. So I’m sorry if the following is repetitive but I think what’s lovely about that is that it confirms just how genuine and consistent Russ was as a person.

Russ was a true gentleman. He was highly intelligent, creative, a philosopher, an adventurer, thoughtful, warm, loving, generous, smiley and a great conversationalist who chose his words carefully. He also was such a humble and self-effacing person and I know, bless him, that he would be having a hard time accepting so much praise and attention from today.

What an amazing list of attributes for one person to have. I find myself thinking of so many memories that I’d love to share that would demonstrate all that he was but as this would take far too long I have made a short list of things that came to mind when thinking about my life with Da (as I so often called him).

• 4WD driving expeditions that would end up with us driving down smaller and more rugged tracks that would test the Land Cruiser’s ability.
• Being in awe of his amazing ability to recall names of places and people he’d met throughout his life, even if it was only once
• A dedicated and hardworking professional whose office was always covered in piles of project documents (that also included the study at home and his bedroom)!
• Capable of doing anything he put his mind too for example the solo removal of massive gum trees in our backyard at Morinda Street.
• A man who had every tool that was ever required to undertake any task
• Snoozing at the kitchen table after Sunday lunch
• Amazing strength and stamina
• Big strong hands that I loved to hold, and to watch as he worked around the house, in the garden, reading and while he was expressing himself
• How ready he was to help anyone who asked for his advice and a willingness to help out on other people’s projects
• Putting us kids first. Being woken at 7am by desperate daughters needing an urgent lift to the station. He would be instantly awake, would throw on his Khaki Parka over his PJ’s and have the car ready to go in a flash. All this he would do with no resentment or complaint.
• A wine connoisseur who loved to share the spoils of his wine travels

Finally, I wanted to highlight that as a child I always felt safe and loved. I have always felt that no matter what happens in my life I have had the love and support from my parents. There must have been times when I frustrated the heck out of both of them. For instance, a consistent theme in my end of year reports were “Merran could do better if only she contributed more to class discussions!” But my shyness wasn’t made into an issue and instead the positives in my achievements were celebrated.

So, from my reflections of Russ as a father I feel his greatest attribute was that he personified unconditional love and for that I am eternally grateful.

Grandchildren (read by Daniel)
Tim and Hannah, Lynden’s children, and Lauren, Merran’s daughter have prepared some special memories on behalf of Russell’s grandchildren, and have asked that I read these to you:
Russ had the great privilege and hassle of having five grandchildren. Tim, Lauren, Hannah, Ronan and Finn. While they didn’t get the opportunity to know Russ for as long as most of the friends and family who’ve spoken today, they were incredibly lucky to have him as their grandfather. Grandparents fill a unique role in a young person’s life; the good ones provide unconditional love and warmth, gentle guidance, and plenty of wisdom. And it’s fair to say that Russ was the best of the best. To celebrate the love and special bond they had with him, they’re sharing some of their favourite memories of Russ.
Tim was Russ’ first ever grandchild, born to his eldest daughter Lyn and her husband Luke. Sharing his passion for planning and his inquisitive mind, Tim was the one that made Russ a grandfather. In sharing his favourite memories of Russ, Tim said:

To honour an honourable man such as my grandpa is a high bar. He has been the inspiration to how we want to be loving and endearing to all that we come across in our long lives. Such love is hard to find in this world, and so I find myself to be incredibly fortunate to have such a person so close in my life and to experience.
His inspiring soul has also led to there being a generational tradition of urban planners now. I was blissfully unaware when I chose this career, so I believe this is no such coincidence. Perhaps that is part of his soul still being passed down to try and provide a better environment for all in the future. Something we must all cherish and keep continuing to strive for.
I have taken his nature to heart deeply in how I want to show love in my growing family. To be still pushing to have family close together right until those last seconds. To be surrounded by loved ones pouring love back to you after a life spent spreading such love. So when I look at my family and the years to come, I feel it is important to ensure he is remembered for the nature he was. Whilst he may not have had a chance to become a Great Grandparent for my son, he should still be recognised as a great grandparent.
Next along was Lauren, Russ’ loudest grandchild. Russ always liked to say she was born smiling, and he would know – he was there. Born to his daughter Merran and her husband Noel, Lauren said of Russ:
Russ was the most wonderful grandfather any of us could have asked for. Invariably good-humoured, he was always ready to indulge us. Whether it was with his time, his attention, or just by caring deeply how we felt.
Once, when I was a little kid, I was at Rosie and Russ’ house; we’d just finished eating a delicious meal Rosie had cooked. In classic Russ style, he began to save on the washing up by licking his plate. Totally scandalised, I gasped at him “Russell! Don’t lick your plate, that’s so rude!”. Now most people would take offence at having your manners corrected by a 4 year old, but Russ just laughed and took it on-board – and vowed not to let me see him do it next time.
He was always ready and keen to answer our questions. I remember once being on the scenic train in Kuranda with family, and wondering out loud how bridges were made. Like a fool, I had asked everyone BUT the civil engineer this question. Once Russ stopped laughing at the situation he took great care to fully explain their construction to me, and his answer took us all the way up the side of the mountain.

Russ would hate me telling this next story – I can just picture him clapping a hand to the back of his head with a rueful grin, saying “oh jingoes”. One day when Hannah and I were very small, he surprised us by jumping out from the dark doorway that led to his cellar, and going “boo!”. Like little drama queens, we shrieked with terror and fled upstairs (to gales of laughter from our folks). But Russ didn’t laugh; in fact, he was totally devastated that he’d scared us, even for a prank. That’s just how he was – empathetic and thoughtful to his core. We’ll miss his gentleness and his love.

Hannah was born third, also to Lyn and Luke. Kind, caring, and thoughtful, she is like her grandfather in many ways. Sharing what she loved about Russ, Hannah said:
Russ had a remarkable way of making you feel truly heard and understood. When we grandkids talked to him about what was new in our lives, he never failed to ask follow-up questions. In his 90 years, the world had obviously gone through many changes, but he allowed his mind to grow with it. He certainly wasn’t that stereotypical grandfather that you’d see in movies saying “Things sure have gone downhill since I was your age”. In contrast to that stereotype, Russ marvelled at how everything had evolved and what opportunities we were able to wrap our hands around. Russ was always eager to learn from his grandkids and, in turn, he taught us how to maintain a curious mind. No matter the conversation topic, he always showed keen interest and desire to learn more. Entering a discussion doubting what it could possibly offer you? That thought never appeared to cross his mind.
As cliché as it might sound, Russ’s superpower was his kindness. Anyone who had the pleasure of entering his orbit admired his gratitude, appreciation, and love. He certainly did not take anything for granted and would always thank people for even the simplest of acts.
I think many people would have described him as a ‘proper’ gentleman, but for those of us lucky to have been close to him, I am sure we can agree that he had a delightful cheekiness. Whether it was intentional or not, he would surprise us with phrases that even won him a round of Cards Against Humanity at family games nights. In all seriousness though, he really was a gentleman. Never failing to hold the car door open for Rosie and always greeting people with open arms and a genuine smile… these are the habits we hope to carry forward in his legacy.

Noel Clark
Noel is the second son-in-law to Russell and Rosemary, married to Merran. He will now share some memories of Russell as his father-in-law.
(Read by Noel)
Russell Coster was a wonderful man! No-one would argue with that, because he was kind to everyone he met. Sincerely kind. It was not a façade that wore thin under pressure. He was always cheerful, optimistic and courteous, no matter what the circumstances, so that even in his last days at Cabrini the nurses liked and admired him. One had to dig deeper to realize that underneath the affable exterior, Russell was also supremely intelligent, exacting and careful. It was most annoying, because in the estimation of the Coster ladies, no other male could ever come close.

Russell was 20 years older than me and yet we lived strangely parallel lives. His father, Arthur, worked with my father, Bryan, at the State Electricity Commission. Indeed, at one time the Coster family lived near our house in Yallourn, so we almost certainly passed each other on the street. Russell went to RMIT as my father did, although to study different branches of engineering. Russell sailed yachts too – keel boats and Corsair dinghies on Port Phillip Bay. So it is even possible that we could have sailed against each other.

I experienced Russell’s generosity first hand when we began the process of renovating our house in Blackburn, about thirty years ago. He lent us a concrete mixer for the render we used for the brickwork, and then he designed and helped build the rear deck – which still stands today, untouched by time as a testament to his skills in engineering and carpentry. It was only recently, when we emptied the workshop at Morinda Street, that I saw that concrete mixer again, still looking like new after being carefully washed and stored by Russell after every use. I also remember Russell standing up for us at a VCAT hearing when a neighbor decided to add another storey, and giving a presentation that was flawlessly professional (although ultimately fruitless, unfortunately).
Russell and I also shared a love of wine, and it was his example that prompted my building of a cellar under our house. How special it was to share a Christmas glass of ancient Sally’s Paddock with the assembled Coster clan, knowing that the bottle had become priceless with the passage of time in Russell’s cellar!

I will so miss his warmth and unfailing optimism. It is hard to believe that he is gone, because he will continue to live in my memory.

Brother (read by Daniel)
Shirl is Russell’s second eldest sister and with input from youngest sister Ruthie, has also prepared some special memories which I will now read on her behalf.
Memories of my dearly loved brother, Rustie
In trying to recall my earliest memory of Russ, they would have to involve playing in our big back garden. Russ made an extensive road system (using empty cigarette tins), including bridges and tunnels in the dirt, throughout Dad’s extensive vegie garden. He was a Civil Engineer even at that early age. Our neighbour and Russ’s playmate (Herman Kohler) at the age of about eleven had created a very sophisticated caravan on wheels, consisting of a hessian covering over a curved wooden frame. It had windows, opening door and seating for one. We spent many hours
playing with that, and many other games. Marbles (alleys) was a competitive sport (playing for keeps) or not. Cricket on the gravel road at the front of our house. Cartwheels and gymnastics on the front lawn in the summer, sometimes under the sprinkler (no thought then of wasting water). Climbing trees and making cubby houses from scrounged neighbourhood materials.

I recollect one instance of when we all were climbing a particular gum tree that had a long branch extending into a neighbours paddock. In that paddock was an unfortunate, cantankerous cow (having been tormented by other thoughtless kids). As we were swinging up and down along the branch, the cow approached. There was a mad scramble along the branch, including four-year old Ruthie (who while being tossed over the fence, tore a hole in her new jodhpurs). Merle and Russ scrambled to safety, but because I was the last ‘man’ still sitting at the outer edge of the branch, I couldn’t budge and was left riding up and down as the cow ate the gum leaves next to me. Maybe she didn’t enjoy my terrified screaming because she soon wandered away.

Another popular activity during the winter was gathering material for our communal bonfire and saving up for penny-bangers, cartwheels and sky-rockets for bonfire night. There was a certain amount of material illicitly borrowed (each way) from the stash of the enemy gang that often resulted in a stone-throwing battle across the intervening rail-line. If you put your ear on the rail, you can hear an approaching train.

Another great source of entertainment for us was a nearby collection of Country Roads Board implements, heaps of blue-stone metal, sand, various sized road making graders, drainage pipes and water tanks. So much material for a budding Engineer and ideal for hiding in.

Mum and Dad made a supreme effort to ensure that we had a holiday at least once a year, by securing various tents, caravans, and rented houses. We travelled far and wide to a different location each year. One year while camping at Rosebud, Russ suffered terribly with an abscess in his ear. Our little dog “Digger” usually holidayed with us, until that holiday at Rosebud when the family took a leisurely, evening stroll along the crowded beach. “Dig” was a much-loved part of the family but a fighter of pretty well anything on four legs regardless of size. Suddenly, there was a ruckus ahead with people shouting and dogs barking and screeching. “Dig” was testing the local opposition.
Oh no! Not again! Dad vowed that was “Digs” last holiday with us. In fact, it wasn’t. He seemed to sense when a holiday was in the offing, so was on his best behaviour.

When Russ became a licenced driver he drove us in the new FJ Holden to one of our nearest beaches (Inverloch or Wilson’s Prom). Such a long way on dusty, gravel roads. The swimming hole in the Morwell River was a boys only venue. We nearly always had a Sunday drive to gather wood, mushrooms or blackberries or just for a picnic.

One of Rustie’s chores was to share (with Dad) the twice daily milking of our pet cow, a wonderful source of fresh milk, butter and clotted cream. Another was to feed the large pen of chooks and ducks. I loved the smell in the morning of warm pollard mixed with a small heap of freshly cut lawn clippings. The adjoining garden was the site for our occasional cook-ups. Over an open fire, we produced some of the most disgusting-half-cooked-greasy potato chips that were devoured with glee. The success of any dish is in the preparation.

During the plague of rabbits, Russ had two fractious ferrets. Having been driven to a nearby paddock infested with rabbit warrens, and in spite of our best efforts at netting off a selected site, introducing the ferrets and waiting expectantly, they (the ferrets) always came out empty handed. However, they seemed to enjoy the exercise because it took a supreme effort to retrieve them from the burrows. Russ cared for them so tenderly, in spite of being bitten occasionally. I thought they were smelly but cute – from a distance.

Russ was a very keen Boy-Scout in the 1st Morwell Scout Troup. He enthusiastically earned various badges and was very excited as one of 11,000 boys to attend in December, 1948, The Pan Pacific Scout Jamboree situated at Wonga Park. That canvas city was equivalent to the size of Shepparton and was the site where (during WWII) R.A.F. rookies were trained for the rigours of jungle warfare.

During the school holidays for some extra pocket money, Russ secured a job in the Menswear Department of Sharpe’s Emporium in Morwell. During that time the cash transactions were conducted via a flying-fox system, where the customer’s payment (along with sales docket) was put into a tube and sent whizzing away overhead to the cashier who would send back any change required. The cashier’s office with glass window, was elevated above the sales floor, providing good view of the sales area. I remember feeling so proud to walk into the shop to see my big brother behind the counter.

Morwell, being a small town with a population of 6,000 had a limited source of entertainment for teenagers, so we were grateful that our local minister hosted a youth group for us (about 10) where we met each Friday night for chat, games and music. There was the occasional ‘Social’ hosted by groups from local towns that provided some great dance bands and memorable suppers.

Russ escorted me several times to the local Saturday night dance, that was held in a converted ex R.A.A.F. Nissan Hut. They were very lively, well attended events, where one learned to dance by following the person dancing ahead of you. Mid-evening the music ceased to allow the partaking of a sumptuous supper. I feel sorry that our current teenagers don’t have the same opportunity.

Russ enjoyed his involvement in cross-country bike racing.

Because of the limited opportunities for employment in Morwell, Russ, Merle and I needed to move to Melbourne. Russ to complete His Civil Engineering Diploma, Merle to study nursing and I for education.

Russ and Merle boarded at a home in Power Street, Hawthorn for a time, from where we met when possible for a walk, or to see a movie. The regular journeys back to Morwell were always enjoyable because of the anticipation of being home again and enjoying Mum’s cooking. She always loaded us up with cakes and biscuits, etc. for the return journey. Part of the fun was being together, the rattle of the steam train (don’t put your head out the window) and stopping at Warrigal Railway Station long enough to join the bun-fight for a pie and mug of coffee. During holiday periods, our suit-cases were the only available seats, but that was fun as we were usually in the company of friends.
Travelling in the winter months was often uncomfortable as the only available warmth was from the occasional portable foot warmers. However, the small, dog-box compartments were less draughty.

Enough of my rambling, but I have such happy memories of sharing my childhood with my adored big brother and two sisters.

Grahame Pogue
Grahame met Russell through the Uniting Church and became a firm friend. He will now share some memories of Russell for us.
My name is Grahame. I am a retired Uniting Church Minister. For the past seventeen years or
so, a small group of us have been meeting every month for a shared lunch, a glass or two of
wine for those of us who enjoy wine, followed by an interesting and sometimes passionate
discussion about what I might loosely call the important things in life. The group is called the
Mandorla Group. The group is mainly comprised of those two rows of dodgy looking folk
sitting in the back rows over there. For those of you who are not familiar, a Mandorla is an
almond shaped symbol that represents the intersection between two paradoxical qualities. For
example, the intersection between justice and mercy. If you are all justice there is no mercy
and if you are all merciful there is no justice. It is the tension between paradoxical qualities
that creates such an interesting and creative atmosphere for our gatherings.

I first met Rosemary and Russell as part of my congregation at Ringwood East, although
Rosemary recently reminded me that she had previously met me while I was on a visit to the
Doveton Hallam Community Centre some thirty years ago. Nice couple. Very polite and
courteous, perhaps somewhat guarded and very private, and they and their children were well
known among the other members of the congregation. But meeting as we did in the Mandorla
Group adds a whole new dimension to knowing someone. For in the sometimes passionate
discussions you tend to learn much more about the inner depths of folk that would otherwise
be the case in weekly casual meetings at church.

You would not be surprised to know that within this group was a very wide range of beliefs,
totally different political perspectives, and a most interesting range of personalities, some
quiet, some outspoken, some quite quirky to the point of being eccentric. The meeting of
paradoxical qualities in this range of personalities, and the tension thus produced made for a
very interesting group indeed.

Russell distinguished himself by being quiet, extremely courteous, most gracious and
unobtrusive. He enjoyed very nice wine, and I think enjoyed our company very much. He
also enjoyed the opportunity to meet in a trusting environment and engage mostly in gentle
debate around a whole host of things that most people would never get the chance to discuss
in a normal social environment. As quiet and as unobtrusive as Russell may have seemed, he
always turned up extremely well prepared, and in spite of appearances would be more than
capable and willing to engage in robust debate about the topic in hand. There were copious
notes he had made in preparation for the discussion. Not only many notes, but arranged in
detailed sequential order, under appropriate headings, and it was obvious that he had given
great thought to the topic in hand and was well equipped to engage with anyone who might
have the temerity to propose an alternate or different point of view. I can’t tell you how much
I looked forward to hearing what Russel had to say for it was always thoughtful, engaging
and challenging. Russel and Rosemary made a very good team. It was obvious to me that
they had discussed the topic in hand in some depth and were both well prepared for our group
discussion.

On occasion I used to tease Russel and make oblique reference, for example, to his vain and
ultimately disastrous attempts to leap over tall water tanks in a single bound, or to fall off
concrete retaining walls and expect to emerge unscathed. But this teasing in many ways
masked the utmost admiration I had for this man. Now don’t get me wrong. I am sure Russell
was not perfect and those of you in his family will have a far greater awareness of his all too
human shortcomings than I.

But Russell was more than just another parishioner and much more than a special friend.
There have been far too few if any real role models for me during my adult life. But here in
this thoughtful, intelligent and utterly gracious man I found qualities that I not only wanted,
but needed. Over the years I have quietly watched this man, and deep inside would say to
myself, “I want some of what he has”. I am realistic enough to say that I don’t think I have
ever remotely attained that goal, and probably never will. But it was his honest, decent and
gracious approach to life and relationships that appealed so much to me. He was one of those
rare individuals that some people call “nature’s gentlemen”.

Having met most of the family very recently I can’t help but think how lucky they are to have
had such a man as their father and life’s companion. I am sure that they, and indeed all of us
have been blessed and enriched by the presence of Russell in our lives, and although he will
be sorely missed, the gift that he has given all of us is not lost. His qualities are now
embedded in who we are, and his light will continue to shine long after he has left us.

Service Close (read by Daniel)
In sending a message of comfort to Rosemary and the family at this time, Russell’s cousins Beth and Mary share the words: “Death leaves a heartache that no one can heal, Love leaves a memory no one can steal”

There were some beautiful memories shared here today and I have no doubt that you will all continue to share them now as the family invite you all to share a light lunch in the function centre. Please join them in The Nolan Room while we continue to celebrate the bloomin marvellous life of Russell Coster.