Farewell to Peter Connolly, Tailem Bend’s gentle giant
Glenn Power pays tribute to “a gentle man with a grin, a community man with a twinkle in his eye, and a friend with a heart bigger than Tailem Bend itself”.
The following is the author’s personal opinion. This story is now free to read. Help Murray Bridge News tell more stories like this by subscribing today.
Some people come into your life and leave it so much better.
For me, Peter Connolly was one of those people.
He wasn’t just a mate; he was a mentor, a storyteller, a bit of a rascal, and a true Irish gentleman.
Much older than me, yet our friendship had the kind of depth and ease that made the years between us vanish.
Losing him has left a hole that words can’t quite fill but remembering him is something I’ll always do with a full heart.
I met Peter through his wife, Doris, in our local photography club in Tailem Bend.
Doris had the creative eye, Peter had the passion for history, and I suppose I helped Doris by bringing her camera lens to tie it all together.
The three of us spent countless hours working with historic photographs, capturing the changing face of Tailem Bend.
Those sessions were more than just projects – they were moments of real connection, storytelling, and laughter.
In total, Peter contributed 152 chapters of “The Changing Face of Tailem Bend” to the local monthly magazine, Tailem Topics, his last having been published this month.
Peter had a unique way of turning every task into something special.
Whether we were documenting local history or preparing displays like the audio-visual door installation at the Tailem Bend Info Station, Peter’s energy and cheeky humour always made it fun.
He had a brilliant blend of being deeply committed to the railway town and its people, while never taking himself too seriously.
He brought joy and mischief to every encounter, and you couldn’t help but be swept along with it.
One of the most unforgettable things we did together was planting around the back of the Tailem Bend Info Station, where the soil was as hard as stone.
I volunteered to dig it over - foolish me.
It was almost crowbar material, but in true Peter fashion, he didn’t blink an eye.
“We’ll fix it,” he said, and off we went – with that rickety old trailer of his – out to Naturi to get some chook poo.
We loaded it up, brought it back, dug it in, and the agapanthus have never looked back – and the soil is incredible, who would have thought?
There was no project too big or too small for Peter.
We worked with Don Green painting the old Wurtun railway siding and celebrated it with a story in the local media.
He was always involved in the things that made this town tick: bowls, railways, the Info Station and, of course, his much revered Catholic Church.
He wasn’t just active, he was generous.
If something needed doing, Peter was there; and if someone needed support, he was even more present.
When others doubted me, he didn’t, he stood by me without hesitation, taking some flack himself, offering quiet strength and genuine belief.
It meant the world to me.
He didn’t tolerate fools or unkindness, and he had this uncanny ability to see what really made people tick; his insights were sharp, his loyalty unwavering.
I was lucky enough to be invited to photograph Peter’s 80th birthday, a huge family celebration, full of music, mischief, and big-hearted joy – that was Peter and his family, always up for a laugh, always making sure others had a good time too.
He hosted his own St Patrick’s Irish parties, which were a delight to photograph and even more fun to attend.
Peter made this world brighter, and brought us all along for the ride.
(My wife) Barbie and I would visit Peter and Doris in their home and take them for morning tea at our local Railway Café in the main street.
Simple moments, but they’ve become some of our most treasured memories.
I’m so glad we made that time.
Now, our thoughts go to Doris and the entire Connolly clan, a family as warm and wonderful as the man they’ve lost.
Peter Connolly was one of a kind, a gentle man with a grin, a community man with a twinkle in his eye, and a friend with a heart bigger than Tailem Bend itself.
The town is quieter without him, but his spirit lives on in the stories we tell, the gardens we dug, the structures we painted and the photographs I took along the way, capturing a very small part of his living legacy.
He may be gone from our sight, but he’s not gone from our hearts.
Rest easy, mate – the craic will be strong wherever you are now.
