This was published 2 years ago
How former TV presenter Richard Morecroft found love through a fountain pen
By Nicole Abadee
Richard Morecroft (66), former ABC news presenter, journalist and photographer, met Alison Mackay (56) in Far North Queensland 31 years ago when he was on holiday and she was working on a diving boat. He didn’t know then that she was a dab hand with a sledgehammer.
Alison Mackay and Richard Morecroft: “When Alison isn’t around, I do think about what her perspective would be and that’s helpful.” Credit: Dean Dampney
Richard: I met Alison in 1990 when I was on holiday at Cape Tribulation in Far North Queensland. I booked a scuba-diving expedition and Alison was working on the boat. We started chatting and I could see she had a fine, sparking mind and shared my passion for the natural environment. When I helped her carry the equipment up the beach, I realised how strong she was; it was very heavy. That was the beginning of a long pattern of me being in awe of her physicality. I asked her to join me for dinner and then we played pool: she was an elegant player, ruthlessly efficient. We didn’t think we’d see each other again since she was heading back to the UK; she gave me her parents’ address there, though.
“One Valentine’s Day, I gave her a sledgehammer, which she wielded with glee and huge impact.”
We exchanged letters and, in late 1990, I visited her in England. We had a wonderful few weeks together and, by then, I was very keen. When I returned to Australia, we kept writing; our rule was that it was only to be letters – they’re more considered than phone calls – and only written in fountain pen. We still have those letters more than 30 years later.
In 1992, Alison moved to Sydney so we could give our relationship a proper go. She moved in with me in my old terrace in Potts Point. One day, I came back from a few hours at work and she’d moved all the bedroom furniture – including the bed, which she’d taken apart and rebuilt – into the office and the office furniture into the bedroom, completely transforming both spaces. It was jaw-dropping.
Later, we renovated an old factory building in Enmore and Alison took to that with gusto. One Valentine’s Day, I gave her a sledgehammer, which she wielded with glee and huge impact. She used to be a competitive equestrian and motorbike rider until she broke her back in a horse-riding accident in 2002. It was very difficult for her to adjust to not being able to do things she used to do. In her typically resourceful way, she shifted her focus to other activities, such as painting.
When Alison was diagnosed with ovarian cancer in 2019, it was deeply worrying, but she faced it with extraordinary resilience. Even through chemotherapy, she was in the studio [at the couple’s home in St Georges Basin, on the NSW south coast] whenever she could be, painting, reading, doing stuff.
We share a passion for the arts, especially painting, and outdoor activities, such as scuba-diving and rock-climbing, and although we do so much together, we’re also both happily independent. From 2010 to 2012, when I was recording Letters and Numbers for SBS in Melbourne, we spent months apart.
When Alison isn’t around, I do think about what her perspective would be and that’s helpful. Neither of us wants to be married; this means every day we are choosing to be together, without any sense of obligation. There’s something positive and romantic about that. I love Alison’s intelligence, sense of adventure, creativity and determination. Life without her would be life without my soulmate.
Alison: When I met Richard, I thought he was an interesting person who didn’t fit the typical Australian mould – so passionate about the arts and the environment. I didn’t see a future in it, though, since he was going back to Sydney and me to England. But I did think it was lovely that you could go halfway around the world to somewhere remote and meet someone who was excited about the same things as you.
When I moved to Australia, I knew very quickly that this was a serious relationship. We began looking for something interesting to renovate and found an old factory in Enmore. We were owner-builders and worked on it for three years. That it was fun to renovate a derelict warehouse in the early stages of a relationship, despite the madness, was a good sign.
In 1993, we wrote a book together [with Ken Campbell] on playing pool. It set the groundwork for future projects, in terms of criticism. We agreed if you said something wasn’t working, you had to suggest something else; we’ve stuck with that.
After I broke my back, art – my painting and Richard’s photography – became the biggest thing jointly in our lives. He has a good eye, different from mine, which is useful. With art, you must trust that anything someone says is in the service of making it – the art – better. I trust Richard’s opinion more than anyone’s, knowing that’s where it comes from.
When I had ovarian cancer, I had six months of treatment – surgery, then chemotherapy. Richard stopped working and became my full-time carer. I was so fortunate that I had him to help me. We both wanted to maintain some enjoyment of life, so when I felt well, we often went away for weekends, just to hang out and walk a bit. That experience showed us another side of each other. Richard was very caring and organised, a great person to have onside. I was able to deal with what was in front of me, thanks to his incredible help and support.
“I think of Richard as the witness to my life. Life is very different when you don’t have a sounding board.”
The thing I admire most about Richard is his kindness: I think it’s one of the most important things in life. We approach life in a similar way. We’ve never been fully embedded in a community; we are each other’s community, on the outskirts looking in, and we’re quite happy with that. Neither of us is big on conflict. We’re never trying to score points. If we have a disagreement, or come at something from different points of view, almost inevitably we find after a bit of cooling off, that we’re saying much the same thing, just in a different language.
When you talk about the person you’re with, people often use words like “accomplice” and “partner in crime”. I think of Richard as the witness to my life. Life is very different when you don’t have a sounding board. The wonderful thing is being on a great big fat adventure with your accomplice. That’s what it’s all about.
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