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Location: New South Wales, Australia

Born in Yorkshire, raised in Australia. I love Poetry, Guitar (especially Spanish classical & Delta Blues), Tudor, Jacobean and Stuart England, Archaeology & good Ale. I edit The Flea & The Chimaera (with Peter Bloxsom), and Shit Creek Review

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Terry Stanton has hitch-hiked north for winter

Stanton, Terrence Mawson

A unique and wonderful character.
Died peacefully Sunday May 23, 2010 aged 63 years.
Much loved son of Arthur and Marjory (both deceased)
Father of Putu. Brother of Ann.
Friends are invited to attend a celebration of Terrence’s life on Friday May 28
at 11.00 am at St. David’s Anglican Church, Palm Beach.

(from Krisee Oliver)


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Having harboured him from the world, from the law, from the wrath of the wronged, having sworn never to speak to him again, having welcomed him back with open arms, having given him permanent custody of the couch and or spare room, having shared girlfriends and a huge wealth of other friends, having punched him in the chops, having been whacked over the head, I am just so sad I can’t be there to raise a glass to salute him, to shed tears for him, to curse him for going so soon, but then think of what an impossible old man he would have made. I shall make a booking in the geodesic dome which is now under construction in heaven. Every one of us who threatened to banish him from our lives forever would have him back in a flash. Hooroo cock.
Richard Tapper

30 May 2010 at 11:57 am  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

He's at peace, which means we are at peace! He's gonna be busy, renovating heaven, but I'm sure the Boss will give him a free hand
We wont forget him in a hurry, or want to. There wasn't even a mould to break with Terrence, he was constructed from elements that as yet haven't been discovered. I was glad to have had his company, been a beneficiary of his genius and been aggravated by his sometimes laissez fare attitude to his friends. But I loved his impishness and the devil in him was often bafflingly acceptable. I will miss him!
Tony Barry

30 May 2010 at 11:59 am  
Blogger Caratacus said...

I had a serious punch-up with him outside the Royal George when we were both 18. At some point we both said "Ah stuff it!", and arm-in-arm went back inside to have a few more schooners.

30 May 2010 at 12:50 pm  
Blogger Caratacus said...

In 1972 he saw me walking through the city hand-in-hand with a rather cute & spunky girl. She and I were on our way towards some kind of immoral encounter. So Terry immediately rang up my Old Lady and did the big dob on me. When I got home I got into a quite bit of bother over that, and I can't work out WHY he did it. I saw him in '04 or '05 and asked him about it -- but he claimed he couldn't remember the incident. Which was probably true.

I have quite a few more stories like that -- I bet we all do. I can see that when I get time I'm going to have to write up a "Tales of Terry" article for this Blog and do the Big Dob back on him :)

30 May 2010 at 1:09 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I never had a more difficult time with anyone in my LIFE!!!
But, I never had a more JOYOUS, EXUBERANT, INTERESTING time with anyone either!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The man was a DEPUTY GENIUS.
The Yarramalong house he did - for me - was the most creative, mad and wonderful house in Australia. Possibly the world.
He cannibalised the Bank of NSW in George St. rented a huge truck, drove the bloody thing full of enormous stones and stain-glass windows through the middle of Sydney to Yarramalong and taught himself how to build on the spot. Nothing was too much problem for Mr Larger than Life Terry.
His tallents were endless. He could draw with that left hand what he was describing with motor mouth always filled with a cretteck and neckoil ANYTHING that came into his head...
We lived in Louisa Rd together for 7 years. He was staying a night or two. That changed my way of looking at life TOTALLY.
I would come home and walls would be knocked out, dust everywhere with the words "God Two" painted meticulously above the the holes.

He could clean a sink like nobody else. "Mate, when your table's in order - your life's in order", he would say. "It goes like this mate, were gonna commit high cozy now".
Cook up some snaggs, peel some potatoes and put some XL sauce on. And get the guitar, a beer bottle for a slide ... and play his heart out. Sebikus meets Kingston Trio stuff. Bloody wonderful energy!
To me he was a source of inspiration and continuos AMAZEMENT. He had more passion, spirit, gut and love than any 10 others put together.
The girls ("Mate they're only women") adored his energy and could see his soul clearly. Those piercing blue eyes! You couldn't face those warm brave intelligent soulful eyes.
There was a lot of substance behind those eyes that looked right in strangers eyes. He had no fear at all of anything or any one to a fault.
I can see those crystal blues intensely kind and intelligent strong but soft eyes right now.
I know I see them in the cosmic soup one time again. I feel completely fortunate to have known this full on man - Mensch and have a huge respect for the art and love of life he shared so bloody generously so strongly with so much humour with "Lucky Dutch"
What a giver he was.
Wait a bit STANNERS we will be brothers again somewhere in the soup-story. This time you can be a little sweetheart GIRL drinking fruit-juices and LISTENING!!!
Your essence, soul, spirit and joy.
I feel very strongly right now Matey of Mates with a capital M
You were the best friend I ever had!!!!!!
The best I could ever have wanted.
I adored your fabulous everything for a million reasons.

"Look mate ... Van mate .... how many trillion times have I told you, don't exaggerate mate. By bli see you in the next dimension.

30 May 2010 at 2:41 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I returned to NZ to live in 1993, but before that was a close friend of Terry's when I lived on the Northern Beaches for more than 20 years. He was a wild one, that's for sure, and there are probably many facets of his multi-talented persona that people don't necessarily know about; I'm referring to the positive aspects, as you can probably appreciate.

I wrote a song called Dead Easy. It has special significance. Terry was working as a set-builder etc at the Goldsborough Mort building downtown and other locations where they were shooting Bert Deling's movie Dead Easy (which Tony Barry starred in) in the late '80s. Terry said they needed a theme song and I came up with this one. Terry loved it and felt sure it was the right song for the movie, so I recorded it with Mark and Phil Punch. So Terry took the tape in to the set one day when they were playing back the rushes. He didn't say anything, apparently, just put the song on then gradually wound up the volume as the film was rolling. he said they were tapping their feet to its heartbeat before they even knew what it was. The song was used on the soundtrack over the credits. Thanks, Tezza. He was always supportive of me and my music.

He loved his music and Dylan. He always used to sing, ``when you got nothing, you got nothing to lose'' out of Like a Rolling Stone to me. That was TM Stanton. The other music he was passionate about was flamenco. He'd started studying flamenco guitar when he was young, but his lack of application put paid to his talent for it developing. He carried round a nylon-string guitar for a few years but that inevitably went the way of most of his material possessions -- missing, lost, left behind or given away. He used to pick up my guitar from time to time and play parts of tunes, and it was easy to see he was adept at the rasguedo and other bravura finger techniques. He loved Paco Pena's playing.

That he was good at design and art goes without saying. It's a major shame that his crazy wilfulness -- or whatever you want to brand it as -- got in the way of him achieving what he was artistically capable of.

You possibly know all of this, but there you go. There are many, many stories I could tell you about Terry -- like the time he picked up my elderly persian cat by the tail and swung her madly around his head several times like a bull-roarer so that he could see the concept of ``swinging a cat'' in action -- but I'll leave it at that.

I'm very sad that I can't come over for the funeral and wake. I'm stuck in wintry old Christchurch for the forseeable future. Have a drink on the old boy for me and wish him a long fond farewell.

Rosa (Shiels)

30 May 2010 at 2:56 pm  
Blogger Caratacus said...

See also here:

30 May 2010 at 3:25 pm  
Blogger zacara said...

When I first met him 42 years ago it was exhilarating to be in his presence. Life flowed through him and from him, everything seemed more exciting through his eyes. He could build a piece of furniture in a few hours in a joyful burst, always huge pieces and unlike any other. He appreciated good craftsmanship in all its forms. He made me aware of the pleasure of looking at the details of everyday workmanship. He loved sailor's knots. He could tie all of these sailors knots, deftly like a magician's slight of hand. I was thinking of him when I bought this display a week ago and installed it beside the bed inspired by the one Stanton built for me in Glenmore Road before Alice was born. I was telling Alice what a young Appolo he was..Understandable that he expected life to reward him better. My life was certainly richer for his friendship.
Jan Sharp
Los Angeles

30 May 2010 at 3:43 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

In more heroic times would have lived and died on the battlefield. Shall we speak ill of the dead? But we can speak truth.
In 70s in the Victoria Street squat I recall him sitting with his arms widespread on a huge couch, in one of these tall mansion rooms;
"I'm better than ALL of you!" he said, with frank appreciation of himself.
But it was his lack of appreciation of others that reduced his glittering genius to impulsive surges; and led to a life incomplete. Alas. As he had the form of a God with out the moral structure.
It was a weakness that he was one of those men who saw women as couches; a form of furniture; have one handy and that allow you to get on with your work.
For Terry women occupied a half human status.
But was he not often rendered half-human himself by alcohol?
And his own sense of self importance and rights.
He had charm but lacked the gene for humility and responsibility, and left a trail of damage. I think now days we call that kind of behavour sociopathic.
Narricsistic charm with cruelty, and detachment. Useful for Attila the Hun but not much value in modern Sydney.

11 January 2012 at 9:19 am  

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