‘Lovely Bert’ so much more than just our greatest TV star

Mourners have streamed through Melbourne rain to bid farewell to Australia’s entertainment king, but while TV shows are made and forgotten, Bert Newton’s legend will live on.

We all knew Bert. Of course we did. After he cut his 21st birthday cake on television in 1959, he never left the building.

As Eddie McGuire said at Newton’s state funeral on Friday, he was “our Bert”.

Outside St Patrick’s Cathedral, Opposition Leader Anthony Albanese spoke of meeting Newton backstage at Wicked. “It was as if I had known him my whole life,” he said, “because I did”.

Mourners streamed through the Melbourne drizzle to be greeted by TV cameras.

There was a Prime Minister, and premiers past, present and aspiring. At first glance, this was an election event without the campaign.

Patti Newton is consoled by Prime Minister Scott Morrison. Picture: Getty Images

An emotional John-Michael Howson touches the car carrying Bert’s casket. Picture: Alex Coppel

Daryl Somers was here, too, explaining how Newton did not use cue cards, while Molly Meldrum, armed with black mask and hat, declared that Newton had taught him how to be kind.

Showbiz veteran John-Michael Howson described the walk to the church as “a bit like climbing Everest”.

“He was what he was on screen and off,” he said. “There was no act. He was just lovely Bert.”

This observation nailed the mood of Newton’s farewell. Friday’s service was the full requiem mass for a humble person of faith. We heard private stories about the public man. Happily, they tallied with what we thought we already knew.

Pete Smith at Bert’s funeral. Picture: Getty Images

Daryl Somers says Bert never used cue cards. Picture: Getty Images

In a letter read by friend Pete Smith, daughter Lauren spoke about her two dads. The TV one was fun, but home Dad was better.

He was there for games, such as Donald Duck, which involved riding on his shoulders, lots of squealing, and ducking under doorways whenever he warned her – until the day he forgot his cue.

Newton put on his Logies voice to present concerts performed by his grandchildren, his new favourite thing in his 70s and 80s.

He sat with his daughter for hours when her car broke down on a freeway – after he brought the obligatory Diet Cokes.

Felicity and Jeff Kennett at Bert’s funeral service. Picture: Alex Coppel

Rhonda Burchmore arrives to farewell Bert. Picture: Daniel Pockett

“That was him, he was always there when you needed him, and he was always interested in everything I did,” she said.

Son Matthew, in America, explained in his letter how his father always helped in the tough times – especially his own.

Matthew didn’t watch children’s movies as a kid. He was drawn to the black and white glow from the doorway of his father’s home office.

By 10, Matthew revelled in Humphrey Bogart, the Marx Brothers, Abbott and Costello and Frank Sinatra.

Molly Meldrum embraces Bert’s wife, Patti. Picture: Getty Images

His bedroom contained the same kinds of Hollywood books as those in his father’s room, prompting his father to realise that his son had stolen half his library.

They “jammed”, as Matthew put it, by exchanging the same screen legend stories over and over. For 34 years, “it was our secret club”.

“That was how we expressed our love and affection for one another without actually thinking to say it all the time,” he said.

His father had a “super power” and he “always used it for good”.

“He wanted to see another human being light up and laugh,” Matthew said, “and I honestly think that that was the thing, apart from his family, that made Dad the happiest.”

Matthew Newton with sister Lauren, and parents Bert and Patti.

Days before Newton passed away, Matthew had a Zoom chat with his father – his way of “reconnecting” with family over years spent living in the US.

As Patti fussed about, then left the room, Newton leaned into the camera. He hadn’t lost his timing: “I think she’s poisoning my food, Matthew.”

The pair threw off the stories of Hollywood for their final chat, and “just said how much we loved each other”.

“There’s not a lioness in the world who loved, supported and cherished her lion as much as you did Dad,” Matthew said of his mother.

“The show goes on and you’ll be OK, mainly because you’ll have Lauren’s 97 children to take care of you.”

Patti and Lauren help wheel out Bert’s coffin. Picture: David Caird

Lauren underscored the moment of her father’s passing. “I know how he waited until she (Patti) left the room to take his last breath,” she said. “While she was with him, he couldn’t have gone.”

Newton’s off-camera kindnesses formed the prevailing pattern of the service. Superlatives grew for the superlative showman, but not because of what he achieved on stage.

Newton did good things even when – or perhaps because – the world was not watching.

Eddie McGuire said of Bert ‘you were there forever’. Picture: Getty Images

Premier Daniel Andrews tells of the Bert phenomenon. Picture: Getty Images

Newton won 36 Logies, but his family can find only 17. The conclusion is that Newton gave them away, as he did in the story he wanted told only after his death.

Responding to a request, Newton visited a man dying of Aids. He sat in the ward for hours – and gave the man one of his Gold Logies as a keepsake.

Newton was always encouraging of young performers. He sent them messages of support, not just in the good times, but the bad.

Bert Newton’s legend will live on. Picture: David Caird

He carried wobbly colleagues and brought out their best. “When you were part of Bert’s crew,” McGuire said, “you were there forever.”

The longer arc of the public Bert started when he went to a radio show at 3XY to gain a Scouting badge.

At 14, he was hooked. Eschewing hopes of the Catholic priesthood, Newton left school for radio soon afterwards. Months later, his big break was singing four verses of a song he barely knew on-air.

McGuire reached for Shakespeare to describe the self-driven, self-taught kid from Fitzroy, then a slum.

White doves are released by Bert’s family. Picture: David Caird

Newton learned elocution, diction, music and comic timing better than anyone else.

He learned to interview and to perform. Most importantly, Newton learned to adapt.

To watch Newton was to feel pride that this local kid matched the talents of Hollywood’s biggest performers.

“He was the least jaded old-fashioned performer you could meet,” McGuire said. “The young boy from Fitzroy became a star, then a legend, then an institution, and now our greatest memory of the golden years of television,” he said.

Bert Newton’s legacy remains unchallenged. Picture: Darrian Traynor

Premier Dan Andrews also spoke of the Bert phenomenon.

Foremost, Newton served the audience, which he treated with respect.

“He never forgot where he came from, and he lived his values,” Andrews said.

“Compassion and kindness, generosity and empathy, he was working to lift those around him to new heights. He was so giving and so generous, never for acclaim or fuss or fanfare.”

If the world had changed, Newton’s place in it – and his legacy – remained unchallenged. The king of television was dead, yet he would live long after the medium had dimmed.

“Stars come and go,” Andrews said, with an eloquence foreign to a Covid press conference. “TV shows are made and forgotten. And as time passes on, legends fade away. Not Bert.”

Matthew Newton had invited the audience to farewell his father “with a wink, not a tear”. This was always going to be a big ask – even media photographers admitted to welling up – and some of Newton’s grandchildren sobbed in the rain outside the church.

A bell tolled as Newton left the building. White doves were released. As one, they banked left around the cathedral and were last spotted flying towards Fitzroy.