Jeff Walch by Justin Walch
Eulogy – Your Father
My dad was a matter-of-fact kind of man. He called things as he saw them, didn’t sugar-coat much, and you always knew where you stood with him. That honesty — that directness — was part of what made him who he was.
I like to think that’s a Walch trait that my siblings and I all share. Our partners might call it insensitivity, but I prefer to think of it as calling a spade a spade.
And that, really, is what parenting is all about — passing on your traits, your values, and your ways of seeing the world. In a sense, that’s your legacy – the values and traits that you leave behind to your children.
Some of my best memories with Dad are from the simplest times — playing tennis together, battling it out over a chessboard, or sitting in the lounge room listening to his record collection. Dad loved Iggy Pop, the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin — the greats. He’d put on a record and give me what he called a “proper musical education.” I’d sit there, nodding along, while he explained why a song mattered, what made it brilliant, and how I was clearly missing the finer points of rock and roll.
Those moments weren’t just about music; they were his way of connecting, of sharing a piece of himself with me.
Dad also loved to compete. In fact all Walch’s seem to love competing — whether it’s on the tennis court or the backgammon board — all Walchs must win at all times.
Anna already mentioned this in her speech, and if you don’t think that at the wake myself, Sean, and Anna will be arguing over who gave the better eulogy, then we’ve done Dad’s legacy a disservice — because that’s exactly what will be happening.
I remember the first time I finally beat Dad at tennis. We were at Bardon on a Sunday, and I could see the moment he realised he was going to lose for the first time to his son. He smiled and laughed in those last few games realising the torch was being passed — though, of course, he would still blame it on the wind. He loved to play, and that was his way of connecting. Those games, the music, the shared laughter — that to me was my Dad.
In his own pragmatic way, he encouraged us to work hard, to think for ourselves, and to aim higher — not through big speeches or soft words, but through quiet expectations.
Looking back, I see that was his way of showing care — by teaching us, guiding us, and reminding us that things worth having – take time and effort.
Dad wasn’t perfect — none of us are — but he was real, he was loyal and he was ours. He gave us lessons that stick with me every day: to find humour even when things are hard and to keep showing up for the people you love, even if you don’t always have the right words.
So today, while we say goodbye, I’ll remember him not with sadness alone, but with gratitude — for the games, the music, the laughs, and the lessons.
Thanks, Dad, for everything you gave us — in your own way, and most importantly on your own terms.
Before I close off the speech’s – I did want to say thanks to many other people involved in today and in Dad’s last few years
A big thank you to the matriarch herself Marilyn Strauss for being so much help in providing support and love to Dad and for all her help in the last few years. You are constant source of love and the centre of our family.
To my mother – for being there Dad in his last few days and for the face book group messenger chats and regular nightly updates and organizing us all to help Dad through his last few weeks and organizing today. For being such a beautiful soul and putting other first.
A big Thanks to Mark Guthrie for being Dad’s Brisbane Lions viewing buddy, frequent visits and general all round good vibes in providing mateship and support to Dad.
And finally a thank you Steve Fitzmaurice for putting so much time and effort into a beautiful video montage that truly captured Dad’s spirt and soul
And in true Jeff Walch fashion – if I had missed anyone to say Thank too – I am sure he would just said she’d be right.
Thank you all so much.
