Wendell Rosewarne’s as durable as the old onespeed postie’s bike he pedalled on marathon charity rides around NSW, but now uses for rehab laps around Goulburn’s Dunc Gray Velodrome. LEIGH BOTTRELL caught up with one of Goulburn’s living legends.
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WORDS such as “unstoppable,” or “relentless” come to mind when you think of this wiry wonder’s multifarious sporting and community activities - and also if you’re on the receiving end of his memories, anecdotes, mementoes and opinions amassed over nearly 75 years of a hard-but-fair life.
Yet, Wendell the Wonder’s showing signs of admitting to a certain degree of mortality. Not that he’s on his last legs (or leg), mind. A screwed and plated right thigh - legacy of a Grafton Street traffic accident when he was on a simple town ride three years ago - might still be causing him grief.
And the insurance case still mightn’t be settled. (“Now, that’s a real long and disgraceful story we won’t go into,” he mercifully apologises).
But aside from this inconvenience, necessitating countless leg-strengthening circuits of the velodrome with three-year old Australian terrier mate Max coming along for the ride, Wendell’s still in remarkably good shape.
Certainly, not quite as crazyfit as when he played regional championship squash and tennis, toured the world as a demon wrong-footed bowler with the Australian Old Collegians cricket team, tore through local rugby league and union rucks, or continued to play Aussie rules around Southern NSW for so long that lesser men half his age feared he reflected on their masculinity.
Put it this way: If he lost his bike pump, you’d still back him to blow up a flat tyre with his well-exercised mouth and lungs. Or, put to the challenge, he’d hop on his good leg from his Montague Street abode to the top of Rocky Hill if someone would sponsor the feat for charity at a buck a hop.
And yet . . . there’s a tinge of concern, a hint of uncertainty, in his voice and demeanour as he reveals the treasure trove of photos, scrapbooks, newspaper stories, videos, uniforms, sports equipment, trophies, award plaques and medals behind the nondescript front of his old terrace house.
This is the flimsy stuff of a humble man’s extraordinary life. It’s also lovingly preserved evidence that a humble man may still justly be proud of his country, his town, his family, his team-mates and his own ability to have a go and win against the odds - and say “boo” to selfproclaimed “betters” who might look down their noses at him.
For the full story, please see the print edition of Friday's Goulburn Post.
