Born in 1938

Gary Dunkley arrived in March as the eldest of four children to Arthur and Margaret. He would carry that role throughout his life with characteristic loyalty and strength.
Gary Dunkley was born in March 1938, the eldest of four children to Arthur and Margaret Dunkley. After finishing school, he trained as a carpenter and spent the next five decades building homes across Victoria. He believed in precision and treating materials with respect, an approach that defined both his work and his character.
In 1962, Gary married Beverly, whom he'd met at a dance in Geelong. He asked her to dance three times before she agreed. They shared fifty-eight years together until her passing in 2020. They raised three children (Susan, Michael, and Karen) and welcomed seven grandchildren and two great-grandchildren into the family. At eighty-seven, Gary got down on the floor to play trains with his great-grandchildren, and he always kept peppermints in his pocket for the younger ones.
Gary was generous, funny, occasionally infuriating, and impossibly kind. He was fiercely loyal and stubborn in a productive way, the sort of man who would give the shirt off his back. He had strong opinions about politics, weak opinions about modern music, and a love of bad jokes and a good pub. Born asking questions, he once talked the council out of cutting down the old oak tree on Railway Street, which still stands today. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of shortcuts between Altona and Ballarat.
A lifelong Collingwood supporter, Gary also loved fishing, coached junior cricket in the 1980s, and was a member of the bowls club. He maintained a vegetable garden famous for its exceptional tomatoes, which he defended vigilantly from possums. Even in declining health, he kept his sense of gratitude and humour. His last words were asking if Collingwood had won.
little stories, strung together

Gary Dunkley arrived in March as the eldest of four children to Arthur and Margaret. He would carry that role throughout his life with characteristic loyalty and strength.

After finishing school, Gary trained as a carpenter and devoted five decades to building homes across Victoria. He believed in precision and treating materials with respect, an approach that defined his character as much as his craft.

Gary met Beverly at a dance in Geelong in 1962. He asked her to dance three times before she agreed. That persistence became the foundation of fifty-eight years together.

Gary and Beverly raised Susan, Michael, and Karen with the same careful attention he gave to his carpentry. The family grew to include seven grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.

Born asking questions, Gary once talked the council out of cutting down the old oak tree on Railway Street. That tree still stands today as a testament to his conviction.

Gary coached junior cricket through the 1980s and was a member of the bowls club. He gave his time generously to the community, the sort of man who would give the shirt off his back.

Gary maintained a vegetable garden famous for its exceptional tomatoes, which he defended vigilantly from possums. His garden was a point of pride and plenty of good-natured competition.

At eighty-seven, Gary got down on the floor to play trains with his great-grandchildren. He always kept peppermints in his pocket for the younger ones and never missed a family gathering.

Gary loved bad jokes and a good pub. He had strong opinions about politics, weak opinions about modern music, and an encyclopedic knowledge of shortcuts between Altona and Ballarat.

A lifelong Collingwood supporter, Gary maintained his sense of gratitude and humour even in declining health. His last words were asking if Collingwood had won.
In Memory
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