Scott Buchholz (Wright, Liberal Party, Shadow Minister for Skills and Training) Share this | Link to this | Hansard source

A couple of nights ago, my daughter, Gracie, called me, and she was upset. She called to advise me that Des Johnson had passed away. Des Johnson was a gentleman whom I am proud to have known. Des was born on the seventh of the eighth 1938 and he passed away at the age of 86. He spent the last years of his life under the care of the staff at the Churches of Christ retirement village in Boonah. Des was a remarkable man—so remarkable that I thought I would get to my feet and share with the Australian public and the House his contributions.

I was first introduced to Des by a gentleman by the name of Terrance O'Hanlin, who to this day still claims that Des Johnson was possibly one of Queensland's largest independent cattle buyers and traders. He operated out of South-East Queensland and had a set of cattle dip yards, where you would dip cattle as they moved from state border to state border. But he also had some beautiful country around Lake Moogerah, and he would let his personal friends camp there. This was what Gracie's fondest memories were growing up. We would take our gooseneck to Lake Moogerah and Des's place. We would take three to four horses. We'd take quad bikes. All of our dogs would come. Even the cat would stow away in the gooseneck, and we would find when camping that the cat had come with us as well.

Des was notably visual just as the sun was going down. You can imagine the dull light from a campfire, the stars just starting to come out, the smell permeating from a stew that had been going in a camp oven all day, and Des—we would play with him. 'Des, can you stay for a drink? Would you like an afternoon drink? And he'd say, 'No, no, no—oh, just one!' and Des would sit and tell the most remarkable stories. Des was an avid hunter in Africa, and he'd tell stories of African safari. No-one in the camp would blink an eye. We would lean in intently, waiting for the end of these stories, and he'd say, 'I'll have to tell you the rest of that story tomorrow night.'

Des Johnson did so many wonderful things in the community, but most of all there was his gift that he's left behind: his family. Freddie Johnson was our local butcher. His other boy—I think his name was Brian, but we all called him George—still looks after the blocks. His grandson, Billy—we'd always say to Des, 'Billy's a good kid,' and Des would say, 'No he's not; he steals my tools!'