Alison Lockhart May 1942 - January 2025 Beloved wife of Alister, loved mother and mother-in-law of Andrew and Sharon, Colin and Kate, Lynn and David Babich. Alison's funeral was at Forbes Uniting Church on Tuesday 21 January, 2025, and the following eulogy shared by her son Colin. Alison Lockhart was born to Jack and Jeannie Kirkpatrick in May of 1942 in Moffat, Scotland. Because the name Alison Kirkpatrick was a bit of a mouthful, at the age of three she would introduce herself as ‘Ali Packet’ . My grandmother told me many times that little Ali Packet was already wilful and independent. If you ever found her struggling about some task and offered to help, without looking up she would say: ‘I’s manage’. As she grew up, this practical philosophy would never change. Her family lived in a grand-looking house in Beattock, called ‘Loch House’, where at the age of five, she met the King. A train bearing George VI and his family; the Queen Mother, the newly-engaged Princess Elizabeth and Prince Philip, and also Princess Margaret, had stopped nearby overnight. The King had asked to inspect the cows, and while he spoke to her father, five-year-old Alison proudly told the Queen Mother all about her little twin sisters and her new baby brother Jack; just seven days old. After attending Moffat Primary and Dumfries Academy, where she was Head Girl of her hostel and prefect of the school, she studied at Glasgow University, where she earned a Bachelor of Science in Maths and Physics. After teacher training, she served for four years as House Mistress for the 22 girls of Robertson house, Jordan College; with whom she travelled to Morocco, where they were kept on a very short leash indeed. She and my father Alister had known each other in high school, but only in passing. Alison was a good little girl, and she felt that Alister Lockhart was ’a bit wild’. Some years later, they met again at the Moffat Show Dance in her first year of uni. Now it seemed that ’a bit wild’ was more of a virtue than a flaw. Dad would continue to visit throughout her days at uni and at Jordan college. They were married in December of 1967. My father bought a small farm called Branetrigg; where he worked tirelessly to build the property into a viable dairy business. Alison worked no less hard; working full-time teaching maths at Lockerbie Academy, while keeping tabs on an oldest child who had a talent for carefully dismantling his cot, a middle child who drew colourful pictures on her brand-new furniture, and a little girl every bit as wilful as herself climbing the garden wall and falling headfirst into a giant thatch of stinging nettles. In 1981, we moved to Australia. Having fallen in love with Forbes, Alister worked with renewed vigour on his new farm of Werai, while mum made a home for her family. She also continued to teach maths as a private tutor. She loved to have friends over, and relished the opportunity to entertain. Across the years, she saw to it that no visitor to our house could be welcome enough. Travellers from Scotland, friends of friends and exchange students from across the world were routinely billeted at Werai. Almost every Christmas table she set had at least one place for a stray whom she would make every effort to spoil like family. In 1989 my father had the kind of accident that pretty much every farmer has very nearly had. As he lay in his hospital bed cobbled together with titanium pins and hope, a social worker soberly told my mother that under the circumstances the likelihood of the marriage ending within the year was around 90 percent. In a recent brief memoir she wrote: "I must have cried a river of tears in that eight months. Then one day I shook myself and promised that crying was doing no good- I was the only one it made feel bad- so I vowed I would not cry again." On the 16th of December 2024, Alister and Alison celebrated their 57th wedding anniversary. This is who she was. I never in my life met anyone so selfless. Everything she worked hard at was for the sake of others; her family, her friends, her community. She relished her time at the View club, and the many very dear friendships forged there and elsewhere here in Forbes. And all she would expect in return was a cup of tea and some quiet to do her crossword. If ever help was offered unasked, she would simply say ‘I’ll manage’. As a Mum, she approached every situation with practicality, always allowing us to make our own choices and mistakes. She let us run free, within reason, but we always knew the boundaries. There was no doubting how deeply we were loved. As a Grandma, she was warm, gentle, and devoted, building loving connections with all her grandchildren. Looking back, she loved to spoil us, giving us everything we needed, or sometimes what we wanted. By blood, to her eldest, Andrew, she gave his analytical intellect and even temper. To Lynn she gave her honesty and strength of character. I was gifted with creativity and ... well, freckles. At the end, she left us peacefully; surrounded by her family. A blessing. Also be assured that as weak as she became, her mind was as strong and present as ever. This too, was a blessing. Even after she could no longer speak, Lynn jokingly asked her to tell us, at long last, which one of us three was her favourite. I said that of course that was me. My mother said, and I quote: ‘Ha!’ She was a kind, intelligent, and generous soul, facing every obstacle with strength, resilience, and grace. We cannot replace her, we can only remember her. The loss is painful, and for many of us the pain will be hard to bear. Certainly no-one more than Dad. But it is pain that we owe her. It is the price we pay for loving her so much. When someone we don’t know passes, we owe them nothing. For Alison, it’s pain that she is due; and I for one intend to cherish it. Every moment of it. Until it’s paid in full. Then all that will be left is love. If she could speak to us now, she would say: ‘Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be fine.’ We’re not there yet. But we’ll manage.
