Robert (Rob) Eymard Southwell – November 20, 1957-May 9, 2025
Robert (Rob) Eymard Southwell, husband of Helen, father of John, Stuart, Felicity (dec) and Emily, passed away on Friday, May 9, 2025, aged 67 years.
Rob was born in Canberra, ACT on November 20, 1957, to Mack and Ursula Southwell (both dec), a brother for Jane and John, and to Simon, born two years later.
He grew up with the family on their farm ‘Ginnagulla’, Yass, NSW, and attended St Michael’s Primary School, Lyneham, ACT, and Daramalan College, Canberra before completing his schooling at St. Patrick’s College, Goulburn.
Rob furthered his education attending Orange Agricultural College before moving into the realm of rural industries.
Firstly dealing in the sale of agricultural machinery in Queensland and NSW, Rob was later held in great respect as a leader across the North West region of NSW over many years for success in commercial and residential real estate sales, agricultural irrigation and dryland rural property and water sales.
Yet Rob was first and foremost a proud family man.
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A Eulogy for Dad – by Stuart Southwell
Dad was my hero. As a kid you physically and mentally looked up to this towering, faultless presence.
If Dad said it, it must be true. If he couldn’t lift it, no one could. And if he got bowled out for a duck at Baan Baa Cricket Club, something must have been wrong because you were sure he was good for a century.
I acknowledge that no-one, not even your father, is perfect – we all have our flaws, but as I’ve matured I can clearly see the qualities and the depth of character of the man I am lucky to call my father.
He was a gentleman. A hard worker. An entrepreneur. A thinker.
Forever looking for the positive through a glass half-full lens. But first he was a boy on a farm.
As kids we heard tales of farm adventures of Dad and Simon chasing rabbits, shooting foxes and getting up to mischief.
Then there is the famous yarn of the cracker that somehow ended up in his father’s cigarette, or the bunger that was tossed on the tin roof just as the new cow was getting used to the milking stall.
Unsettled cows do not like fireworks and any father could be forgiven for losing his temper that day.
A proud alumnus of St Pat’s at Goulburn, he had a great respect for the Christian Brothers and was very disappointed to miss his 50th school reunion recently.
These wholesome, formative years hit a snag when after a very brief illness, Dad’s father Mack died suddenly at aged 56, when Dad was just 17.
His hero was gone, the future of the farm thrown up in the air and a young man moved on as best he could.
Completing school and commencing at Orange Agricultural College, he increased his circle of lifelong friends.
This led to time as stock overseer at Jemalong Station, Forbes, where he met Alec Macintosh and formed a lifelong friendship.
But working for corporate overlords was not Dad’s style and he soon joined his younger brother, Simon, in Texas, USA where he was introduced to 4WD Steiger tractors in a broadacre cropping setting.
Fascinated with these and other machines, as country was being opened up throughout Queensland for farming, Dad commenced his career in sales at Farmers Centre, Dalby.
I’m sure he would have had his doubts as to whether he could succeed – was he good enough, would seasoned farmers buy equipment from him?
He naturally possessed the traits required for success in sales (people skills, the ability to pitch an idea, empathy etc). He maybe just needed someone to believe in him.
Max Grant, head of Steiger Queensland/NSW, believed in him, and that was enough – a gentle nudge out into the current.
He was now a salesman. But unlike today’s HR environment of a gentle onboarding welcome morning tea, and an employee assistance program for untangling your mental baggage, he told me many times: “I was given an XC Falcon with a boot-load of pamphlets and told to go and sell tractors.”
It was sink or swim, and we know which it was for Rob.
I recall one story where at the end of the day another rep was overheard bragging in the hotel over a schooner that he had sold an International tractor to a farmer.
Dad left his beer on the bar and went outside to the payphone, dropped some coins in and rang the customer.
Confirming that nothing was signed yet on that deal he pitched the Steiger tractor again, closed the deal and made the sale the next day.
Maybe this is why he always said: “It’s all talk until the money is in the bank.”
His success in this role saw him introduced to Rob Logan (recently deceased) who wanted Dad to relocate.
On a five-year plan Mum and Dad arrived in Narrabri with $600 in the bank, their first son John and an HX Kingswood.
They rented a house on a farm a short distance from town. Humble beginnings for their time in Narrabri.
Here, a long-term business partnership was born, first in sales at NVI Narrabri and next opening Australian Machinery Exchange, which became known as AMX, this was a new platform for farmers to sell their equipment direct rather than take the trade-in price from the dealer.
The business was very successful but rode the peaks and troughs of agriculture, currency fluctuations, and seasons.
For many of these years Dave Hudson was there by his side, a great mate. Also, by his bedside just last week.
A heart-breaking farewell to witness for two life-long mates.
With Dad, where there was a will there was a way.
If things were tough locally he could import second hand from the US.
When factors allowed he would import brand new.
Whatever it took, and always with hundreds of thousands of kilometres of driving, he did it, and the business grew.
His character shone through in his work, no doubt from a strong upbringing and many lessons that had been passed on.
“You’re only as good as your word,” he would say, proud that a farmer would buy used equipment from him, sight unseen, based on his description only.
I heard so many times … “No deal is worth your reputation.”
“Yeah Dad, I got it.
“No, I am serious. Do the work right and it will come back to you in spades.”
“Speak the truth at all times and you will not have to remember what you said.”
While ethics were at the centre of his work, he was also not one to be had.
At one point after selling a tractor, financed by a local banker, Dad required bridging finance of his own on a separate deal – the rate was set for a 12-month term.
The finance in the end was only required for a week or two, and he asked the banker for leniency on the 12-month fixed rate.
The banker squirmed and said … “Oh, I’ll ask the people upstairs and see how we go, I don’t like your chances…” No joy.
At this point AMX was a two-man operation.
The tractor that the banker had financed had gone up to Queensland, done 2000 hours and did not have a single payment made on it.
In a jam, the banker contacted Dad and said he needed to repossess it and sell ASAP.
Dad found it, transported, and sold it in days for $60,000 at his normal fee of 10 per cent.
With the work done so quickly, the banker called the office.
“Look Rob, thanks for helping us out there so quickly – given this was barely any trouble for you can you do a bit better on your rate?”
Remembering at this point AMX was a two-man operation.
Dad replied … “I’ll have a chat to the people upstairs … but I don’t like your chances.”
A brilliant marketer and willing to think outside of the box, he was always coming up with new ideas to create opportunity.
At one time this included a helium filled blimp with AMX written on it, tethered to a disc plow, that eventually blew away in a storm.
Golf carts for the customers to drive around the machinery yard.
Or thousands of pieces of calico mailed out with the business details printed on it and the words, “Free dip-stick wiper.”
During these years I was born, Felicity and then Emily. And with four kids under the roof of the three-bedroom house on Dangar Street, it was not going to do.
And so Mum and Dad took a drive around town and when 39 Selina Street took their eye, the owner agreed to a sale.
I think this is why Dad always said: “The answer to a question you don’t ask is always no.”
This piece of real estate, this home, and what it became for our family cannot be understated.
The meeting place, the party house, at times a place to mourn, sure, of course the arguments, but also so much love.
And then there were the parties. New and old friends, long nights, loud music, the joint 45th, the 50th, the 21sts, New Year’s, full moons – any excuse would do.
There was alcohol, some roast with amazing vegies finished off with Mum’s mud cake as the drinks became stronger and the night became longer.
We had an incredible neighbourhood, surrounded by the best people who looked out for each other.
The Dunnets, Forresters, Dugdales, and then there was the country crew, the Schwagers, McMasters, Campbells, Hudsons and Richards, to name a few.
Throughout our years here Mum and Dad worked tirelessly on the garden, and it became a stunning home.
His love for Mum was obvious, and when Mum would enter a room, I can hear him saying “Do you know your Mum is the most beautiful woman in the world.” He just adored her.
Professionally, the way machines were sold soon changed.
Droughts came and set in, and business conditions toughened.
It must have been daunting to have kids away at boarding school, bills coming in and being faced with an untimely career change.
At this time Rob followed his brother Simon’s lead and stepped into rural real estate sales, under the tutelage of Bruce Smith.
We heard comments around town … he’ll never make it.
There are already too many agents in town. Watch him go broke.
But quickly he proved them all wrong and rose to great heights in a very short space of time.
He used to say: “First they laugh at you … then they fight you … then you win.”
There was no way back for Dad.
“Burn the canoes,” he would say.
“Set things up so there is no way back, only forward – when success is the only option, you will find a way.”
He fiercely represented the seller’s interest and was fanatical about every single detail of the sale.
His reports to the seller would go for pages and pages, detailing the interest in the property and his best advice.
Never forcing the sale, always letting the client come around to it in their own time.
If Dad’s name was on a sign in front of your place, rest assured he thought about and worked towards your outcome every waking minute until it was sold. No stone was left unturned.
I saw deals come together when there was no hope, out of the ashes, the seller had given up, the buyer had issued his third ultimatum and yet Dad kept working and created success; sometimes it seemed out of thin air.
An agent from Moree left an auction room one day after the property had passed in and said to Dad, if you can close the gap between that buyer and seller, you can go to work on the gap between my front teeth!
It gave Dad great pleasure to call him back, after a few hours negotiating and say he was ready to start on the teeth …
This was straight out of Bruce Smith’s playbook: The seller can give up, the buyer can give up, but as long as the agent keeps going there is a chance.
Rob’s career in real estate was greatly supported by Robert White and Alec Macintosh.
During these years, the four of us were being educated in Sydney.
We all knew how busy Dad was but still he and Mum would find the time to travel down to see us.
There was nothing more special as a boarding school kid than having your parents come to visit.
Outside of work and kids, Dad loved fly fishing.
I think this was really led by Rob Dugdale moving to town in 1996 with whom he became great friends.
Dad was never able to impart his love of golf back the other way though.
Casting sessions on the dam at Narrabri were the training ground for Dad and Ian Dunnet, preparing for the opening of their first trout season at Ebor where Dad’s first catch was an Angus steer he hooked on a back cast.
On one trip to New Zealand, a monster trout was spotted straight down a steep bank, in a small gap between timber with no room for traditional casting.
Dad called Rob Dugdale over. A perfect bow and arrow cast landed the fly in the strike zone; the huge trout swallowed it and swam straight down.
The rod bent over, the fight was on with snags left and right.
Always there for valuable advice, Dugdale this time offered a question: “What are you going to do now?”
The pair burst out in laughter and the fish got away.
Mr Dugdale, thank you for moving to Narrabri and befriending my Dad.
I can only hope you know how much joy your friendship brought my dad.
Borrowing tools, troubleshooting mechanical problems, planning the next fishing trip – he said you made him a better person.
Aside from fishing, Dad’s great joys came from cooking, gardening, the weekly round of golf and general shed tinkering.
This filled in the time between work and family commitments.
I was with Dad in 2006 when the news came through that his daughter Felicity had died, with her partner Brad Hannaford, in a tragic car
accident.
As hard as it was for me to endure, I can only imagine how torturous it must have been for a father to lose a daughter with so much life ahead of her.
He bore this burden quietly.
Even years later, it only took a mention of it to see him stiffen, drop his head and pause.
When asked recently how he was going with Fliss’ loss he said, I wake up in the morning, put my feet on the floor and it’s like my left arm is missing.
As a father there was no favourite among the four of us.
A selfish younger version of myself wished that it was me, but it was clear he loved and was intensely proud of all of us individually.
In recent years he would often monologue about how well John was doing in India, or how he met someone who worked alongside Emily, and they heaped praise on him for how fantastic she is.
His love for his kids was obvious and he often said that we were his greatest achievement.
In reflecting on this, I think he is off-track. I think that the life he built was his greatest achievement.
The friends he gathered, the career he forged, the respect he earned, the home he created with Mum and the lessons he has passed on to us.
The next layer of family came with daughters and sons-in-law, Clint, Kat and Brooke. Consider yourselves sons and daughters.
And then life began there somewhere as a grandfather.
Not being comfortable with the title, he proclaimed himself ‘Oompah’, to his seven beloved grandchildren.
And here began a treasured period of life, watching his children’s children come into the world and grow.
This part stings a bit knowing that the hard work was behind him, with so much joy in front.
He was really settling into Tamworth life as something of a new beginning.
Thank you to the local golfing crew for welcoming Dad to the scene.
Alas, health issues would arise and alter the course.
During Rob’s treatment and time in hospital, he was forever amazed by the people from his life, who showed up either in person, on the phone, or by message, sometimes travelling internationally to sit by his bed, recount memories, but also pass on what he meant to them or how he had changed their life for the better at one stage or another.
“You won’t believe who dropped in and what they said. I never knew I meant so much to them.”
He would say this with sheer bewilderment.
Some said he helped them, others said he saved them.
He taught us lessons to the end. Patience. Gratitude. Selflessness. Forgiveness.
Dad was a humble caring man who collected allies through good deeds and words of support, but whose opinion of himself was never large enough to truly appreciate the impact he had on those he touched.
Shortly before his time in hospital started, Rob toured to the NSW Snowy Mountains and found time to hit the trout streams in the stunning countryside.
“I’m in heaven, Blue”, he said to Simon.
Even though he loved the North West and quickly fell in love with Tamworth life and its people, I don’t think his heart ever really left the home country.
And if you ask me, that’s where he is now, fly-rod in hand, in outdoor adventure mode plodding alongside a trout stream without a care in the world.
Back at his hut there is a crock-pot bubbling away with some spicy concoction just in case the fish weren’t biting that day.
Tight lines, Dad. We’ll see you up the road a bit.
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Rob was always there for his family. They will remember the way he drank his tea, the way he tapped the barometer on the way in the back door, the way he cursed the
dog, his love of good music, a Tarantino movie, or books about various world wars and conflicts.
Rob was held in great affection by many friends and business colleagues across the spectrum of the north western community.
He was closely involved in local community activities through his services to the St Francis Xavier’s Parish community and to the Blue Boars’ Rugby Union Club.
Rob is survived by his siblings Jane, John and Simon, his wife Helen, sons and daughters-in-law John and Kat, Stuart and Brooke, and daughter and son-in-law Emily and Clint. Adored grandfather to Georgia, Sophie, Jacqueline, Alexandra, Patrick, Michael and William, he will be greatly missed.
