Geoffrey Norman Andrew Woolford

Uncle Geoff, you were the warmest welcome anyone could hope for. You & Aunty Janie on the top step at Pokapu Street, door flung open, coming down to greet us - that moment marked the beginning of every favourite memory. Pokapu Street was our home away from home, where Dad found his favourite cricket companion, Mum nattered over bottomless cups of teas, and we kids dashed down the back steps, impatient to play on the big lawn.

And then, of course, a special visit to your model train set. The tiny moss trees, the tunnel tucked away in the far corner - it was a world of magic to us. We’d head back to school, writing stories about our visit to the Wolfdogs. It took years to realise that “Wolfdog” wasn’t your surname, but a term of endearment from Dad.

Before Google, there was Uncle Geoff and Aunty Janet. Family dinner debates often ended with Dad reaching for the phone, posing a question to the “Wolfdog hotline,” and hanging up with the answer. You were our trusted source of wisdom, always delivered with humour and love.

And birthdays - well, they weren’t complete without a call from the Wolfdogs. Hearing you all joyfully singing down the phone became our favourite tradition. One year, you were late in calling Dad, so he decided to sing Happy Birthday to himself as soon as you answered - He barely got through the first line before you hung up, gathered the troops, and called back moments later with the proper rendition.

Uncle Geoff, the relationship you and all the Wolfdogs had with our family taught us the true meaning of connection: the value of shared traditions, laughter, and love. You gave us a lifetime of memories steeped in comedy and joy.

Thank you for everything, Uncle Geoff. We love you so much, and you will be deeply missed.

Love the McFadden’s.