CONDOLENCES

Dr RYAN (Kooyong) (11:00): I rise to support this motion. Professor Richard Scolyer, who died on 7 June aged 59, three years after being diagnosed with a glioblastoma, was by any measure one of the most consequential clinician scientists this country has produced. He was a friend and he was the very best of us.

I'd like to read some words that his brother spoke at the funeral. Richard's brother, Mark, has been a dear friend of mine throughout my adult life, and it's a huge privilege to read what he said about his brother. Mark said: I've been thinking about the essence of Rich, and what he is to me.

Richard, my brother, my blonde haired brother, cheeky, annoying, funny, fun, showing off for the camera, spitting the dummy, being naughty, stuffing up, stubborn, determined, exploring, finding his own way to do things—like using the toilet facing backwards instead of facing to the front—challenging, succeeding, sometimes not succeeding, but always trying. Having a crack.

Our parents were always caring and supportive. Rich and I grew up learning to look after each other. We were shaped by challenges when we were young.

We had to learn to look after mum when she needed it. We were always surrounded by family and friends, too many to mention. We were lucky to grow up in Tasmania in the sixties and seventies, and we loved it.

We had a great public education. We were fortunate to have people in our lives who gave us a sense of what was possible—doctors, engineers, teachers and scientists. We learnt the importance and the wonder of learning and science.

There was always plenty of sport. We participated in everything, but particularly footy. Rich and I grew up loving being part of teams and learning the value of teamwork.

We had great family trips, holidays and celebrations with cousins, uncles and aunts, even a summer holiday visiting family in South Africa. We learnt a love of bushwalking and spent eight summers camping at Ulverstone. In 2022 I walked with Rich into the walls of Jerusalem again, this time with our kids.

It felt good escaping again as brothers and dads with our kids in the Tassie bush. Cousins are so important growing up. They're special relationships, the glue that holds us together.

For Emily, Matt and Lucy, Noah and Maia, Millie and Rory—I know you share those special relationships and I know that they'll continue. I know that Rich knew that too. Parkrun is something we all do together.

It's really symbolic of Rich. We ran parkrun the last two Saturdays. It'll always give me the feeling of Rich.

But Rich was competitive, too. He was always happy talking training, improving PBs, commenting on what you'd been doing, talking about races and his training with his great mates. The Tour de Cure was such a special thing to do with Rich.

Less than two weeks after I got my first bike, I spent a week cycling with him. The last two rides started at 5.30 in the morning at the Harbour Bridge for his favourite ride out to West Head. Selfless as ever, he had a banana and a squashed peanut butter sandwich to share with me.

It was a special week. We also pushed each other, running two full pace parkruns. He told me it was the best week we'd ever had together.

I said, 'What about when we were kids?' He said, 'I've got brain cancer, so this is the best week.' It was a privilege just being his brother. Being able to drive Rich to treatment was special time together, chatting and reminiscing, having fun, even with both Rich and Anna backseat-driving. I've met many of his long-time colleagues and collaborators, particularly his friend and mentor, John Thompson.

I learnt from so many how respected and valued he was. People shared stories about how he went out of his way to help them, to create opportunities for them and how much they appreciated it, how much they valued Rich as a colleague and a friend. He was in every way a great public servant and scientist, an example of why we should value science and public servants.

He was a wonderful brother and a fantastic dad. Mark finishes, '"So what is the essence of Rich to me? I find it all around me—at parkrun, in the bush, riding solo, in family, in friendship.

I'll keep asking myself: "What would Rich do?" His answer would be simple: 'Think of others. Contribute. Make a difference.'" The country is poorer for losing Rich Scolyer.

He was the very best and brightest of us all. I commend this motion to the House.