This was a particularly difficult story to do. The town had closed ranks and was refusing to speak to the media. No one would come near us at the Bowling Club. Luckily, we ordered lunch, and the cook was talkative.
Lament for romantic corner’s loving couple: [1 All-round Country Edition]
Stapleton, John. Weekend Australian; Canberra, A.C.T. [Canberra, A.C.T] 16 June 2007: 10.
Show highlighting
Abstract
[Bob Jones] hadn’t shown up for his regular game of euchre, and [Linda] wasn’t there for a “flutter on the pokies” with her friends.
Rebecca Webel, chef at the bowling club, often served them dinner. “They were inseparable and God took them both. He didn’t believe one could survive without the other,” she said. “They were part of this club, they were a fixture, we really miss them.
“He was a good mate,” Mr [William “Blue” Lister] said. “If you look around here, there wouldn’t be anybody he hadn’t done a favour for; and if you tried to pay him he would say no. He helped people all the time. Everyone called him Jonesy or Bob. If you called him Robert, you’d get a baleful glare.”
Full Text
THERE is a part of the restaurant at the Clarence Town Bowling Club in the Hunter Valley that locals call “the romantic corner”.
It was here, surrounded by historic prints of the area, that Bob Jones, 59, and his wife, Linda, 50, used to go every Saturday night for a candlelit dinner, to hold hands, laugh and, despite having been married for 14 years, stare lovingly into each other’s eyes.
“Inseparable” is how most people described them.
The Bowling Club, inauspicious but central to the small town’s social life, was the couple’s second home.
It was here last Friday night, where emergency workers and drenched locals drank tea and dried off as they sought shelter during theworst storms the region had seen in more than 30 years, that people realised something was amiss.
Bob hadn’t shown up for his regular game of euchre, and Linda wasn’t there for a “flutter on the pokies” with her friends.
News spread rapidly that the couple’s new maroon LandCruiser had disappeared in a flash flood at nearby Wallaroo Creek, normally little more than a dribble. The couple had gone to Newcastle on a shopping trip, unaware that a torrent of water that would reach the100-year flood mark on surrounding properties was about to hit.
Ignoring advice from onlookers, they attempted the crossing. It was then their vehicle was picked up “like a piece of paper”, turned on its side and disappeared from view. There was nothing anyone could do.
There were few dry eyes when more than 200 people attended the couple’s funeral in Wallsend, near Newcastle yesterday; and many a sad face at the wake held in the club afterwards.
The couple met 15 years ago at Stockton Hospital, where they both worked.
Rebecca Webel, chef at the bowling club, often served them dinner. “They were inseparable and God took them both. He didn’t believe one could survive without the other,” she said. “They were part of this club, they were a fixture, we really miss them.
“They were just ordinary country folk. They liked a big plate of bangers and mash, rissoles, meatloaf, plain food. They liked simple things. If they wanted to go flash they ordered the fisherman’s basket.
“Linda was a happy-go-lucky, lovely lady. After dinner she would always come up and say `Bec, that was beautiful’.”
Bob’s best friend, retired mechanic William “Blue” Lister, 55, shared a beer with him every day; and was clearly very sad.
“He was a good mate,” Mr Lister said. “If you look around here, there wouldn’t be anybody he hadn’t done a favour for; and if you tried to pay him he would say no. He helped people all the time. Everyone called him Jonesy or Bob. If you called him Robert, you’d get a baleful glare.”