Mike Rooksby, initially my father's Oak Bay High School colleague and subsequently his long-term friend, wrote the following appreciation in reaction to his death on December 13, 2014, aged 99:
Justus, my ancient friend
It’s
the first Oak Bay staff meeting in 1969 and he, along with other
teachers new to the school, has been introduced. He is an
interesting-looking man, tall and thin with an unusual accent that I
can’t quite place; my accent is also commented upon regularly so I feel
free to ask him about it. Dutch, my goodness, and teaching English?? On
subsequent occasions, at staff meetings or elsewhere, there was always
something interesting going on behind those eyes and his opinions on
educational matters were often quite different from mine. And yet I did
not feel any animosity, rather returned interest, and soon I started to
listen more carefully to this man. I started to realise that the
teaching of Math and that of English were very different matters,
different skills for both students and teachers, and also that my
approach to things in general was not the only valid one. He was
patient, but resilient and even insistent; in spite of the 24-year
difference in our ages, we discovered other mutual interests in woodwork
and the natural world and, on going to visit him at his house, I made
the acquaintance of the remarkable woman who was his wife. Once, while I
was there, we used a canoe, I think, to tow a large log into the
channel from Portage inlet that was behind the house, for cutting into
firewood. He was also proud of the prodigious rhubarb that grew where
the septic field outlet emptied, and showed off the huge jade plant that
flowered and that had come with them from Terrace. Later, with my
family, we would go on walks in Thetis Lake Park or by Esquimalt lagoon,
and Hanneke would make her delicious mushrooms-in-sauce-on-toast to
warm us up, a concoction I have sometimes tried to make but never
replicated.
There
would always be a project on the go, or plans for one; over the years I
learned a myriad of skills, from the need for SHARP tools (that was a
tough lesson where his patience wore thin because of my incompetence) to
the tried and true ‘mend and make do’ philosophy which extended to all
aspects of his practical life ( later there was the ‘famous’ replacement
of a broken metal part of a Felco Pruner with an oak one; it did not
last long, but the very idea I found amazing) . He impressed upon me the
importance of using hand tools respectfully, of drawing out a plan
beforehand (though later in his woodworking life that particular aspect
appeared to take a back seat, or sometimes no seat at all). He taught me
about joints and glues, grain and texture and numerous techniques which
were of interest even when I couldn’t conceive of ever using them. His
practicality, however, did not extend to cars, of which there were a
number of highly doubtful choices that came to unseemly ends, but he was
not interested in them, instead getting annoyed if they did not work.
There was one occasion when he needed to borrow my TR4A sports car to go
home for something forgotten, I think, and he phoned me in a panic
because he could not get the handbrake off. It was a special kind called
a ‘racing’ handbrake, for which the end knob that is generally pushed
in to release it worked in reverse mode, so that to release it all you
had to do was pull on the handle; the knob was pushed in when you wanted
it ‘on’. He told me many times that it was a “stupid” design!
Over
the years he shared with me many stories from his early days as well as
later ones, always belittling his own contributions and extolling
Hanneke’s; the stories about coming to Terrace by train, of his early
jobs, of times without a job, of their transfer to Vancouver Island,
Hornby, UVic and then Kingham Place are all recounted in his memoirs,
but I remember being so impressed at how he and Hanneke could be so very
different in so many ways, and yet still be absolutely devoted to each
other. There was never the slightest doubt as to the solidity of their
marriage and the pride they took in each other and their family. It is
hard to imagine the courage it took to be married and start a family
under those so difficult times of war and post-war Holland, and then to
take their family to a far-off country with no prospect of returning for
a long time. He told me that the two of them had promised each other
that, once they were in Canada, they would speak only English to each
other so as to assimilate more quickly and learn the nuances of the
language, and indeed I never heard them speaking Dutch unless on the
phone to their relatives in Holland.
And
then there was the laughter. Always there was this effort on both our
parts to get each other’s goat, resulting in all kinds of jokes and
loudness that I think both our wives found somewhat raucous and uncouth.
His views on things were always well-articulated and rational so it was
sometimes hard to find an angle to argue, but we generally found
conversation a wonderful fresh-air experience and it all helped me find
my own ‘voice’ on important matters. And that is the crux of what the
real influence of Justus on me was: he forced me to think about what I
said before I said it, to question every assumption that I was making
and to examine all I said for flawed reason. It was, too, always a
joyful and exhilarating experience, often ending with trivial issues or
discussions about woodworking or boats or music. He so enjoyed
‘intellectual’ banter.
You,
to whom I am writing this, know him better than I, of course, so I am
unlikely to bring anything new to your knowledge. I thought, however,
that you might like to hear what an ‘outsider’ had to say; I can barely
scratch the surface of who he was, only express what he meant to me and
to Susie and my children. It was he who told me about the piece of
property along Piercy Road that we eventually bought, that proved such a
wonderful place for us and our kids for holidays. It was he who got me
going to the discussions about ‘left’ and ‘right’ schools in Victoria
and made me think about elementary schooling. It was he (and Hanneke, of
course) who showed many people what standing up for their beliefs meant
to him in all kinds of situations (not just Clayaquot and Strathcona).
But it was all melded into a mix of humour, genuine liking for each
other and for the battles of the mind, and a trust that was paramount to
all his dealings with everyone he knew. He probably knew neither how to
lie, nor even contemplate it.
He
had no time for sport of any kind, nor for other ‘games’. He loved
classical music and he played his flute with delight even if his skills
were not those of his beloved brother Charles. I can recall many times
picking him up from their Denman house in the morning for our walk with
the dog, having to pull him out of the cabin at the bottom of the garden
from his practice.
In
the last phase of his life he was, of course, gradually declining in
many ways, and yet in spite of Michelle’s more recent arrival in my life
he always - till the end - remembered her name and who she was and
never made a mistake; he always reminded me to give her his love if she
were not there. I am so glad I saw him not a month before he died; he
was still good to visit even if the conversation was at a different
level; probably mine is too.
My
friend Justus: a man of passion and integrity, devotion and
determination, whose love for his family always came first in every
way.
Michael Rooksby
