THE BAROSSA MAG | 39 |
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and gaining qualifications in all fields of Mortuary Science.
Along the way, he met his wife, Debbie“ in a bus”; they moved to Tanunda following the acquisition of Colin Liebich Funerals and raised two children, Caitlin and Lachlan.
Meanwhile, Clayton served at the highest level as President of Australian Funeral Director’ s Association, during which time he helped facilitate national guidelines with Prime Minister John Howard to be used in the event of pandemic flu and terrorism attacks.
He shares his leadership expertise by filling many volunteer roles, from chairman of local radio station, Triple B FM to President of the Nuriootpa Football Club.
“ I’ ve been chairman of all sorts of things... I get asked, I help. It’ s what I do.”
Clayton continues to lend his voice to emcee events, drawing on skills learned during evenings treading the boards
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with the musical society,“ back in the day”.
Whilst outwardly, Clayton exudes an aura of complete control, he has an emotional side few will ever see.
“ I’ m mentally strong, but I’ m not a machine,” says the 56-year-old.
Clayton admits to shedding a tear at funerals and has seen more than his fair share of heartbreak, especially in his coronial work.
“ Murders, murder suicides, car crashes – everything,” he says.
There is one thing Clayton feels the public often don’ t grasp.
“ If someone dies and it is a coronial matter where the police are investigating a death or a doctor doesn’ t want to issue a death certificate... people don’ t understand we represent the coroner, not a funeral director.
“ The rules are‘ no dialogue’... it is a different aspect of death care. But, you hear people
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talking, saying this or that and they just have no idea.”
Remaining confidential is part of the job and strictly legislated, a ruling that can cause heavy burden.
“ What annoys me is we don’ t get any debriefing or counselling. Others say we’ ve been to a debrief yet we never get invited,” Clayton says.
He plans to fight for change and if his past is any indication, it will happen.
“ Psychologically, our work is stressful and traumatic sometimes. You can’ t show emotion because we’ ve got to lead the way.”
And lead the way he does, whether it is quietly advocating for a reduction in speed limit for notoriously dangerous intersections, or educating young drivers by introducing“ mock accidents” to high schools in an effort to curb the road toll. Clayton will step up.
“ I don’ t want to see kids in a car,
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I don’ t want to see anyone in a car. You can’ t stop it, but you can educate.”
Clayton is“ honoured and privileged” to serve families and is proud of the path he has chosen.
He and Debbie have struck a good work-life balance and it seems Clayton’ s dry sense of humour also helps as he tells of the day when Adelaide crematorium staff went on strike, leaving the gardeners running the show –“ awkward!”
This month, Clayton is preparing to emcee a brass band night in the Tanunda Show Hall and says entertainment is a coping mechanism. He’ ll likely be dressed in a loud jacket – the complete opposite to his sombre work suit.
“ I switch off from funerals, put myself in another world … otherwise you would lose your mind!,” he laughs.
“ And I hate fishing!”
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