Uny Falk

3rd December 2023

The first time I met my future father-in-law, my face was painted blue.

Living the impoverished backpacker life, I was prepared to endure any manner of humiliation (technically known as promotional work) to earn a few dollars. This particular assignment involved publicising a new recruitment website to the good people of Sydney, through the medium of my shiny blue face.

Lois and I had only been together for a few weeks, and had I understood the significance of this parental first contact, I would no doubt have planned it differently. A little less ink-stained, for sure. But her parents, Uny and Sheila, owned a catering business in the city, and all that standing around debasing myself had given me a righteous hunger, so Lois brought me over to Bakehouse Gourmet. The Home of the Gourmet Sandwich.

As Uny stared at me for the first time from behind the deli counter, he must have wondered what on earth his daughter was doing with this ludicrous transient. But he gave me a generously packed schnitzel sandwich and sent me on my way, thanking the stars that this was surely the last he’d see of me.

I think of that moment as I think of Lois, back in Sydney for Uny’s stone setting. He passed away a year ago – we all miss him, and I’m very sorry that I can’t be with Lois to pay tribute in person.

Uny was born in Windhoek, Namibia in 1944. The Falk family regale extraordinary tales of his childhood in south west Africa, exotic stories littered with baboons and donkeys, a life which could not have been more remote from my own upbringing in Glasgow. Moving to Cape Town, where he met Sheila, and where Shannon and Lois were born, he built a number of successful businesses in toys and restaurants in South Africa before the Falks moved en masse to Sydney, a decision which changed all of their lives. And mine.

By the time I left Australia six months after I first met Uny, we’d got to know each other pretty well and we had come to an understanding - that we were made of different stuff. Uny was the ultimate practical man, with an intuitive ability to fix and make things, whether around the house or in the kitchen. Me, not so much. Once Uny realised that I wasn’t going to instantly disappear in a puff of blue smoke, he figured he’d better help Lois to help me, so agreed that I could join their team as a kitchen hand. After one morning of watching me mangle his corporate sandwiches into a raggedy mush, Uny issued a decree - that henceforth I should stick to eating his food.

I ate his food with relish, and a variety of other condiments, because Uny was the consumate host. Nobody does hospitality like the Falks, and Uny led by example, working every room, talking to anyone and everyone. His flow was on the floor of his café or restaurant, making it his business to chat to his customers, bringing out their own stories and smiles, with Lois watching and learning.

I was not the only one to leave Sydney for London that summer. Lois followed on, joining me on the other side of the planet from her family, a mighty difficult thing for any parent to process and adjust to. There followed 20 years of regular visits each way. Uny and Sheila came across for all our children’s births, and many of our other big celebrations along the way. Those visits were interspersed with Uny’s generous attempts to share his practical skills, in a doomed effort to get me to be a bit more South African. He gave me my first gas barbecue, then looked on in horror as I seared his boerewors into an inedible mass of scorched carbon. He presented me with a power drill, and watched me do to our walls what I had once done to his sandwiches.

But we found plenty of common ground in other territory like finance and technology. He loved tracking his shares, and gave me excellent investment advice which I would definitely have followed, had I only had something to invest. Computers were the area where he leaned into my expertise, frequently asking my advice, which made me feel useful, almost like a real man and maybe… just a little more South African. As I write this, it occurs to me that he was probably humouring me all those years.

The final few years were tough for Uny, and tough for Sheila, Shannon and Lois. I saw it all through Lois’ eyes, as she travelled frequently to Sydney on news of her dad’s deterioration, certain each time that she was on her way to say a difficult goodbye. And she returned from each trip with the happy news that upon her arrival Uny had bounced back. “He’ll outlive us all,” became her catchphrase.

He didn’t outlive us, of course, and he wouldn’t have wanted to. Word came during the Xmas period last year that Uny was close to the end, the holiday timing allowing all five of us to travel to Sydney. As fate had it, we got word that Uny had passed just a few minutes before our plane took off into a surreal but strangely calming 24 hours, cut off from the world and huddled as a family, alone with our thoughts and memories of Uny.

I remember him now, poised behind that deli counter, mischievous smile on his face. And I thank him. For recognising our differences, and welcoming the know-all Scot into the family anyway. For the many lessons, all absorbed – 20 years on, I can barbecue a damn fine sausage, and I have completely mastered the art of drilling, by paying someone else to do it for me. But mostly, I thank him for Lois. She would not be who she is or where she is, were it not for her father, the amazing Uny Falk.

Ernest “Uny” Falk 13.07.44 - 29.12.22