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Petrie, John (Jack) (1857–1887)

Very great regret and surprise was expressed amongst the athletes of Brisbane, on Monday last, when it became known that Jack Petrie had breathed his last at his father's residence, Beerwah, Gregory Terrace. Poor old Jack ! who, amongst our athletes did not know him? As a cricketer, his name was a household word amongst the wielders and supporters of the willow in the metropolis, where he resided since his birth. Whilst yet a boy he figured conspicuously amongst the school elevens of "Townsend's" and the "Old Grammar School" and there are many of his old cricketing chums of those days who can narrate many incidents of his cricketing prowess and humorous circumstances that occurred on such time-honored spots known as the Green Hills, Pring's Paddock, Shafston, Menzies' Paddock, the Old Horse-Pond, Normal School Gully, Hobbs' Paddock, and other places which have since passed into obscurity with the progress of the city. Later on, as a member of such clubs as the Orwell, Butterfly, Waratah, and of late years the Albert C.C.; and also as a representative Bananalander — Jack was always found ready and willing to share honors and defeats with true manliness, tempered with that good humor which was so well-known to all those who came in contact with him. Jack Petrie recently was attacked with rheumatic fever, but the immediate cause of his death was heart disease. He died on Sunday afternoon last. The deceased had lately been manager of the Albion Brick and Tile Works, and was affectionately regarded by all his employees.

Let vigor pause in manhood's prime,
The brave oft fall in strife;
The death-knell tolls amid the chime
Of joyous, heedless lite.
The eagle, soaring in the sky,
By unexpected shaft may die;
All brightness hides some gloom;
Unreal is life, but death is truth;
The bright-eyed, brave and high-souled youth,
Drops in a sudden tomb.

A reed is bent, a sturdy staff
Is broken at a sweep;
We'll miss his honest, merry laugh;
His eyes are closed in sleep.
Our hearts feel lone now he is There
True Comrades are as angels rare
In earth's thorn-bristled tract;
Yet must we bend to will Divine,
And, in our hearts, his memory shrine
Our favorite comrade, Jack!


A modest, noble-hearted soul,
Life's border-stream, has crossed;
It is not till the funeral toll,
We gauge what we have lost.
Low zephyrs, that his brow erst fanned,
Soft sigh the news throughout this land
Of wattle, gum, and ti-tree,
And breathing, sweet as maiden's vow,
Proclaim, like incense rising, how
We loved our lost Jack Petrie.

Original publication

Citation details

'Petrie, John (Jack) (1857–1887)', Obituaries Australia, National Centre of Biography, Australian National University, http://oa.anu.edu.au/obituary/petrie-john-jack-16168/text28122, accessed 24 October 2017.

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