Pat and I met at Melbourne University in 1971 and became a couple, eventually moving in together in a student house in Carlton in 1972.

Pat qualified as a primary teacher and also studied English literature at Latrobe Uni beginning her career at West Breen Primary, where she herself had been a student. One day she told me a story about what happened when the students were asked to bring in cuttings from newspapers of ‘what teachers needed’. One little girl brought in an ad for tampons and Pat tentatively asked her what that was. ‘A teacher needs chalk’ she proudly said. Another brought an ad for razor blades with a man shaving, declaring that ‘a teacher needs a ‘husmand’’.

Which reminds me, Pat like her father, a highly refined and intelligent man, loved language and words, and over time we developed our own private vocabulary, mainly from children. ‘Husmand’ was an early entry. Others were, we ‘wugged’ up and be ‘fufful’ (careful). We even referred to each other by adopted words and phrases, no doubt all couples do. I would sometimes be ‘Mr Bon’ after the shifty real estate agent who sold us our house called me that. When later in the Netherlands her Auntie Meipsie told me of the returned Dutch colonialists who, to conceal their new-found poverty, carried their potatoes bought from the market in violin cases, I thought, ‘that fits’, and I started calling Pat ‘my little boug’, short for bourgeois. I was also ‘the road runner’ because my philosophy was you can never hit a moving target.

There was also her Glaswegian vernacular, learnt from her beloved mum and aunties, with words like tattie, peely-wally, shoogle, manky, driech and canny.

So, a teacher needs a husmand. One day Pat decided that this cohabitation was enough and said we should get married. While reluctant at first, I eventually agreed and ‘my little boug’ decided it would be at the Windsor, Melbourne’s finest hotel at the time. Our wedding in 1978 led to some interesting stories. Firstly, she was probably the only bride ever who arrived early. After going around the block a few times with her dad she was still early, meaning that quite a few of our friends, who were always fashionably late, missed the start of our wedding. After the wedding we retired upstairs to our hotel room, and always one for fresh air, I opened the window. At around 3 am we woke up to the sound of jackhammers working on the tram tracks. Being a grand old dame of a hotel, the window was stuck open and I couldn’t get it closed. To make matters worse, we had forgotten the key to our overnight case, and the next morning checked out to begin our honeymoon in Noosa both sleep-deprived and in our crumpled wedding clothes, much to the amusement of the hotel staff.

Just a few years later I decided that I wanted to study herbal medicine in the UK. Here we were, the professional couple, I was working as a research chemist and Pat as a teacher, with a beautiful and fashionable 1880 terrace house in Carlton. Without hesitation Pat said if that’s what you want to do you have my support 100%. So, we sold up everything and moved.

We headed off to England with just a few suitcases; other possessions left behind in storage, packed in tea chests. We moved to the southeast of England, Tunbridge Wells to be exact where, as students and Australians, we were regarded as the lowest of the low. Pat worked in basic jobs for a pittance, for a while in a health food shop. Eventually she did a course in office skills and landed a job in the college where I was studying. It was run by an eccentric Dutchman called Hein Zeylstra, who was always calling us ‘Pam and Terry’. Pat loved the snow and when it was freshly fallen she pleaded with me to come out and walk in the park with her. I steadfastly refused, saying this was no weather for Australians.

Back in Australia in 1985 we moved to Toowoomba. I established my herbal practice and Pat became a manageress at a hot bread shop. Here her talent for small business became evident, with her people skills, attention to detail and overriding common sense. My practice was going slowly, and I had plenty of spare time, so I started making my own herbal products for it.

In 1986, encouraged and supported by mentors and investors, we established the herbal business MediHerb. We began MediHerb in a converted goat shed near Warwick, and eventually moved to Warwick when MediHerb moved on to the industrial estate. In the early days, Pat’s small business skills were invaluable. For nearly 3 years she worked every day, without any holidays and for no pay to help get the business established and we were as poor as church mice. Pat eventually assumed the role of Customer Service manager, something well-suited to her love of relating to people. Later on, Pat also became a director of MediHerb and she truly was the ‘heart’ of MediHerb.

Those of you who come to Warwick might want to take a drive out to McEvoy Street to see to magnificent and large state-of-the-art Integria pharmaceutical factory that has grown there from the original MediHerb. Not only does it provide significant and much needed local employment, the product made there, the bulk of it still the wonderful MediHerb brand, has helped the health of countless people throughout the world. I can categorically state that without Pat’s direct and indirect input, that factory would not be there today.

After she left MediHerb, Pat worked with me to establish the Australian College of Phytotherapy, which set up the first and only Australian-based masters degree in clinical Herbal Medicine at the University of New England. Later Pat became my practice manager and she was still doing this when she fell ill.

Pat deeply loved both her parents, and this was well illustrated by her care and devotion towards her mum. She was travelling to Melbourne for two weeks every month as part of her contribution to her care, staying in an apartment we rented. Back in Queensland, she would call her mum every day, up to 8 times a day.

Pat was a generous spirit, in fact she taught me generosity. Sometimes I had to hide the cheque book. Around a third of our mail is from charities she has given to over the years. Her favourite charity was Doctors Without Borders.

Although Pat had a refined intellect, she definitely had the common touch and could have a meaningful conversation with anyone, anywhere, and did so often. It was an extraordinary skill; the tradies were eating out of her hand. I don’t know how I am ever going to get anything done around the house now.

Pat had a rock-solid moral compass. Never once in 50 years did I see her do something to knowingly hurt someone. A great believer in natural remedies, she took virtually no medical drugs for her whole life, despite 15 years of chronic back pain, disrupted sleep and fibromyalgia, choosing instead herbs, chiropractic and Bowen therapy.

We had a lot of fun together. We had good times, we had GREAT times together, we achieved a lot together. Pat was my reference point, that constant guiding presence at the back of my mind. She was my muse.