Joanna Gash (Gilmore, Liberal Party, Shadow Parliamentary Secretary for Tourism) Share this | Link to this | Hansard source

It is with considerable sadness that I rise to inform the House of the passing of Col McPhedran. Many of you would know him as the father of Ian McPhedran, a well-known journalist, three daughters and another son. Colin is also the author of a book, White Butterflies, which recounts the story of his escape from the Japanese occupation of Burma—where he walked as a young boy to India losing his entire family on the way. Colin died in the loving arms of his family in Perth on Thursday, 3 June. Last Friday I spoke at the memorial service in his honour, which was conducted in the Anglican Church in Bowral and as a gesture of respect was attended by a mix of all religions, including Buddhist monks. Later his ashes were scattered at Summataram Forest Buddhist Monastery just outside Bundanoon in the Southern Highlands of New South Wales, which he helped found and I opened some 20 years ago.

Colin was born in Burma of a Burmese mother and a Scottish father. He adopted the religious belief of his mother and practised those philosophies throughout his life. The Colin McPhedran I knew was part of my being and in his passing I have lost part of me that I can never get back. He, more than any other person, shaped my life as an adult and certainly as a politician. His serenity masked a canny mind but a mind always tempered with compassion and tolerance. I am indebted to him for so much; all of it spiritual, all of it timeless and all of it precious. Colin came into my life about 35 years ago—at the right time. But to me, his leaving will always be at the wrong time. His compassion and beliefs made him an ideal mentor for me, a role he took on fully despite having an entirely different political disposition to mine. Yet he was on first name terms with John Howard and Kim Beazley, who launched his book. He saw me through my first forays into politics and was the invisible voice at my shoulder guiding me through the tangle of politics as I entered the field of federal politics. He assumed the mantle of my mentor—guiding, advising, listening and just being there when I was at my most vulnerable. His stabilising presence and quietly spoken counsel soothed my anxieties, allowed me to clear my mind and focus on the challenge at hand—and no amount of money can buy that.

Col would often divide his time between Perth and the Southern Highlands, where we ran a guest house with Kay Jones and her family. Col was the face of Ranelagh House; it was there that he wrote his book White Butterflies. I am pleased to inform the House that it is presently being made into a film. He was generous because he knew that ultimately he did not actually possess anything; rather he saw himself as having been given the privilege of having a lend of things during his current life. As a Buddhist he believed in reincarnation and he viewed his life amongst us as part of the endless cycle of life and rebirth. It is a liberating thought—the knowledge that whatever bedevils us today is just a moment in time. He was truly a peaceful man and a man whose virtues far outshone his human vulnerabilities and failings. To those of us who are left behind, how fortunate we are to have known and shared his life, and I thank his family for allowing me to share their father. He was a good teacher to me. I deeply regret his passing yet I rejoice in the knowledge of having known him, loved him and shared this very special man who taught me that to live life you need love, peace, truth and righteousness. I wish had listened to him just that little bit more when he was here.