This speech was delivered at Adrian's memorial celebration on July 29, 2013, by daughter Lisa.

On travel and journeys

Dad's travels started on foot in Swan Hill. He walked everywhere from a house with one light, a mother, a grandmother, a little brother and not much else.

His early memories of Swan Hill were fond ones. I have heard the stories so many times, they almost feel like my memories: How he held his mum's hand as she felt her way home along the fence palings through the blackouts of Mallee dust storms in the early 40s; how he and his friends would race down to the river whenever anyone had drowned to 'help find the body' by doing back flips and somersaults off the pier; presenting his mother and grandmother with a bag full of rabbits he'd whacked on the head with a piece of fencing wire, during the rabbit plagues of the 1940s - recalling their appreciation as the rabbits fell from the bag, and then their horror as the snakes he'd planted in the bottom slid out over the rabbits on to the kitchen floor - ah, good times.

He told me about summer afternoons at the swimming pool with friends jumping from the 10m platform to the 3m board and into the pool (or onto an adjacent lamppost, as a less skilled friend once did). He remembered roaming the streets of Swan Hill with his mates, throwing stones at the streetlights and being collected from the pool by Sgt O'Reilly (to a chorus of "oooo" from his mates); returning later to be asked "Did he hit you with the phone book?" - he did - "Whack - right across the head".

The move from Swan Hill to a Catholic boarding school in Ballarat was not a happy one. He's spoken of it at length to me over recent years, but I was unaware, until last week that he had recorded some of his thoughts in a book he received for his 50th birthday. I'd like to share a passage with you that I think reveals a lot about his understanding of himself, and of his fierce dedication to public school education.

When he left St Pats, he was the first person in his family to have completed secondary school. He didn't know anyone who had been to university and didn't know Melbourne, when he got himself on the train to Carlton to start the next chapter of his life.

Finding himself in extremely unfamiliar territory, he gravitated to an environment that he could relate to - the Beaurepaire sports centre. Having lost connection to his childhood mates in Swan Hill and wanting no ongoing connection to St Pats, this was his first opportunity to make some lasting friendships. And that he did. Some of his favourite stories are of those times and those friends, many of whom are here today.

During university his main mode of transport was still his feet. He hitchhiked across the country to compete in various sporting competitions, and in pursuit of my Mum. The stories he tells us about that invariably include a rave about "what a stunner" she was - to which mum would always roll her eyes. But he never changed his mind about that assessment and always marveled at her intelligence, diligence and achievements. He especially delighted in proclaiming her achievements as a credit to him!

Mum was with him when he bought his first car for 20 pounds. He took to driving like a duck to water - blowing one car up by pushing it too hard down Ruckus Hill and eventually deciding it might be a good idea to get a license after hitting a pedestrian in Melbourne.

It was into a "dud-of-a-Jaguar" that he and Mum packed all their possessions and headed to Mildura, just after they got married. At the service station on the way into town someone asked him if he played football - and thus began another chapter of sporting achievement and another set of lifelong friendships.

Mildura was also where Karen, Casey and I came into the picture. My childhood memories of travel with my family are made up of long drives and frequent camping trips. In those 'olden days' there were no iPods, CDs or even cassettes - so to entertain ourselves on long trips we'd sing. We sang a lot and in multiple part harmonies. This came as a surprise and I think a delight to anyone who got a ride with us. In later years the practice spilled over into restaurants; to a similar reaction.

From Mildura, and later from Greensborough, the five of us travelled to Perth several times, up to Cairns, and all over Victoria, NSW and SA - singing all the way.

Greensborough was where Dad built his first serious shed. He needed it in order to fix and extend the "renovator's dream" he and mum bought in 1974. The building skills he picked up in Greensborough were later employed to help build the holiday house at Skenes Creek; to restore a fishing boat "L'il Toot"; and evolved in recent years into a passion for woodwork and making furniture.

Dad's love for fishing grew during our time at Greensborough. He had enjoyed river fishing in Swan Hill and Mildura, but ocean fishing opened up a whole new world. First there was the tinny, then the Quinny and L'il Toot. His recollections of fishing adventures with Rodger were always peppered with anecdotes he found so funny, he couldn't retell them without laughing - even when he'd told the story many, many times before.

His teaching career was also maturing at around this time. He enjoyed various senior teaching and administration roles, where he observed some "good operators", but also plenty of examples of 'what not to do' as a principal. His career had many highlights, but it was the work he did in establishing Victoria's largest multi-campus secondary college in Mill Park of which he was most proud. He established a great report with his teachers, which he told me he achieved by respecting their expertise, giving them room to move and acknowledging their efforts and achievements. Some of the wonderful messages my mum has received over the past week or so confirm just how important this was to the people he worked with and thus to the kids they taught. In the words of his colleagues from Mill Park, "He led a truly remarkable life and influenced the lives and educational outcomes of thousands of students in Melbourne's north".

Dad was 50 when he first travelled overseas, but rapidly developed quite a taste for it. With Mum he's been to the USA, Noumea, Penang, the UK and Europe many times, developing a particular love for Germany, France and Alsace (which his really Germany, according to his German friends). He has enjoyed overseas adventures with good friends and every member of his family, sharing his impressive knowledge on themes as diverse as gothic architecture, battle strategies, the World Wars, rivers and barges, wine, food, music and the Roman Empire along the way.

Last year, after an enforced break due to three years of debilitating and pretty depressing illness, he was delighted to be able to resume his travels and venture to Penang with Mum, and then back to the Fatherland to visit the Germans, with Casey.

Ten days ago he was finalizing plans to travel with Mum to Europe, after which they planned to join me and my family in New York for a whistle-stop tour of the US, to be followed by a week in Hawaii with Mum. As far as he knew, that trip was never off the cards. I'm grateful for that, and, like Mum, I think it right that he went with a bang and not a whimper.

I know that lots of people think of their dad as Superman, but it's pretty clear to me that I had a stronger case than most. So for me now, apart from the feeling of unfathomable and immeasurable loss, my overwhelming thoughts are ones of gratitude. I feel so lucky to have shared so much of my life with such an amazing man. I feel lucky to be part of the unusually close family that he and my equally amazing mother created. I feel lucky that he made sure we all knew how much he loved us and how proud he was of us. I feel lucky that when he was sick a few years ago he said, "if someone told me when I was 20 that I could have the life I've had and die at 69, I'd sign up in a flash". I feel lucky to know that his extraordinary strength of character will continue to guide not only the rest of my life, but also that of my children.

And, possibly most of all, I feel lucky that he taught me how to be lucky too.

- Lisa Bennetto

("Lazy River", Louis Armstrong)