ORDER OF SERVICE

2pm, Wednesday 1 July 2026 – graveside, Wagga Lawn Cemetery

Opening Prayer – Ven Kim Hoey

Ministry of the Word – Ven Kim Hoey

 

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Psalm 23 – A Psalm of David

1 The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.

2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:

He leadeth me beside the still waters.

3 He restoreth my soul:

He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil:

for thou art with me; Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:

Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:

And I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.

 

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John 11:25-26

25           Jesus said, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:

26           and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.

 

John 14:1,2,6

1           Jesus said, Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me.

2           In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. 

6           I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.

 

1 Corinthians 15:51,52,54,55

51           Behold, I show you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed,

52           in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.

53           Death is swallowed up in victory.

54           O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?

 

Revelation 21:4

4           And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.

 

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HOMILY – Rev Kim Hoey

 

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Eulogy – Malcolm Clark

 

Here lies Horace Vivian Clark

 

Horace was a martial man, not in terms of armed conflict, although his eyes would light up if anything was mentioned about war, even in his 99th year, but his attitude and disposition were of fighting spirit. He told me that in 1939, when 14 years old, he wanted to enlist for the Second World War – but in response when asked by the Army what he did, was told to go home to the farm and produce food.

 

Most well known for a competitive attitude – sport mainly, football, a bit of golf, hunting and fishing. He had an extensive and ever-present travelling regime. It was almost a disease, a persistent itch that could never be scratched. I called him a sojourner after Abraham.

 

He was competitive against anything that had a rationale, some kind of logic, anything carefully thought through. Despite being quite inarticulate with ideas, his knowledgebase was all overcome by a good intuition and a healthy dose of gut instinct. He seemed to know what was going to happen in many cases, without any facts, or through any means of verbal explanation. He would often accurately pick, and lay a bet on, the AFL Premiership contenders in March or April.

 

He was good with a shot-gun, and a rifle. In one season, a winter in the late 1970s, he claimed over 970 fox skins, and said after being invited to try to make it to 1000 by the skin dealer in Holbrook, George Ziller, that he would vomit if he had to skin one more fox. When Horace had had enough, he’d had enough and knew when to stop. He didn’t care about records and reputation, despite being effective in many activities. He used to trade wild ducks for cartridges from those who couldn’t shoot – who knows if it was for the love of the hunt, or to help out the bad shooters.

 

In the days before wide combs in shearing he managed 199 sheep in a day. Of course in today’s sheds, that’s not impressive, but in those days it was pretty good. Despite having a bit of a bad temper, flock owners maintained that he was careful with the sheep, and avoided too many cuts.

 

He never wanted to be a farmer; he claimed more than once, that farmers were peasants, and would become peasants if they weren’t already. Of course, many are good farmers, but that wasn’t Horace’s forte; he was a hunter and a sportsman.

 

In 1958 he won the AFL Footballer of the Year award and trophy in the Farrar League, and shortly after married Betty Byrne, another trophy. I was born in 1961 and Duncan in 1964.

 

His political views were anti-Bolshevik (whatever that means), anti-collectivist, anti-communist, anti-socialist – “he had many anti-social views”. Individual choice and personal achievement seemed to out-trump everything else. He liked political leaders who would cause a ruckus, upset things, stir things up – he liked Donald Trump in the United States for that reason. Too much trouble, was never enough. And that transferred to those who offered to help him, in any endeavour.

 

I asked him once what he would do if he had his life over again? “Farming”.

And what kind of farming?

“Anything other people want”.

Most replies were one or two words or a short sentence. It was hard to get into a conversation. Intuitive insights were mostly offered, a sort of poetic intelligence, and if you couldn’t work out the logic on your own, you were considered “unintelligent”; by him. Nevertheless in some mystical way he was often correct.

 

Horace had a strong tenacity and a will to overcome. I can’t remember what time this was but probably in my early teens, he claimed that he wanted to live for 100 years. Well, he made it, plus a little more. When reminded of this after his 100th birthday he said “oh no no no I didn’t say that”. He had a bad memory, and more than once was caught out in his later years, if not before, ‘misrepresenting the truth’.

 

In these last years his body melted around him; to the point where he in the end despite willing to walk, his legs would give up and he would fall down. He fought physical body disease as a lifetime battle and took virtually no medication, only a few painkillers, until 99 years. Living at home alone beyond 100 years, fighting malnutrition, it was decided to put him into the home. He didn’t want to go, and ended up walking out of the facility and down the road in the direction of Ganmain, the direction that he believed was home. It took a few days and then he realised and accepted that his final home would be with others, loving people, looking after him.

 

His psychology of “never give up”, never be defeated, persisted to the end. Who could look after him? No one – despite so much kindness all around. He demanded loyalty and anybody who showed less than, would be condemned.

 

Horace had a healthy self-image of ‘omniscience’, he knew everything, even when proven wrong. The will to overcome was Horace’s philosophy, never be imposed upon. He even believed he could overcome death itself, and maybe he has, but in life there was no “after-life” – a one and only life was Horace’s philosophy. Never mind about God, “I’m here to outlive even The Creator”.

 

Family and relationships were not his strong suit; little in and not much out. Betty prevailed and salvaged a small retirement, and Horace continued wandering, travelling, gambling, investing, to his own interest and amusement. His one and only love was “freedom from imposition”, if that’s love?

 

As to religion and belief, he never thought about it. Anything without personal experience or evidence had no consideration. He never read, and despised those who do, unless it was the “track form guide”.

 

To my awareness, he departed with no final message, but if there was one, unarticulated, it was “I played the game, win or lose, I played”.

 

Apart from trophies and renown, many funny stories were collected…

One summer after a Cookardinia harvest in the late 1960s, a hot January day, we towed granddad’s caravan to the south coast of New South Wales. I haven’t driven that road since, but I believe Brown Mountain still exists. In a 1959 Holden station wagon towing the caravan, the car would get 90% up the mountain and suddenly would die. Horace would reverse the caravan back down the mountain road, far enough to get another run, and again the car would stall just short of the summit. He had an idea that it was a lack of fuel in the tank, and rather than drive back to a service station and fill up, he unhooked the caravan, hitched it to the front of the car, and reversed up the mountain to the top, and on we went. Don’t think you would get away with that in law these days.

Doing things in reverse was more than occasional.

 

Well Horace, here lies the body and the spirit moves on to new challenges, new over-comings, new victories. We will all meet again, no doubt.

 

God speed old boy,

 

Fare Thee Well.

 

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Sonnet for Horace Vivian Clark (1925–2026)

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From Glenore’s fields where first he drew his breath, 

At The Rock in Riverina’s gentle shade, 

A lad arose whose boots on Mangoplah’s earth

Kicked glory through six-and-twenty seasons played. 

At Berangee’s modest acres, Tarcutta’s wish, 

His shotgun rang for fox and wild duck’s flight; 

With rod and fly he claimed the river’s fish, 

And drew forth cod and trout from dawn till night. 

 

Then Avon’s six hundred forty acres wide 

Bore wheat and barley, oats and triticale’s gold, 

Where cattle grazed and sheep in pastures bide, 

While grass-seed oceans swelled in seasons old. 

To Ginnibri’s vast seven thousand acres he strode, 

In Thallon’s sun he reaped the wheat harvest’s load. 

 

In Coolamon at last his journey ceased, 

A century complete, now laid to rest in peace; 

Wagga Wagga’s earth receives his mortal lease –   

Horace, thy travels end, thy spirit finds release.

 

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Thanksgiving Prayers -Ven. Kim Hoey

The Lords Prayer

Farewell

Committal

Blessing and Dismissal

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