Irish-Australian actor Stanley McGeagh in UFO, screened in 1970. Stanley died on August 5, leaving behind a Coronet Bay community that claimed him as one of its own. By Catherine Watson
YOU’VE almost certainly seen Stanley McGeagh on television. For decades he was a fixture of British drama and comedy: Doctor Who, The Bill, Minder, Dad’s Army and Softly Softly, among many others.
He was never the leading man but always a memorable supporting actor, lean of frame, with piercing blue eyes, a presence that stuck in your mind long after the credits rolled.
Stanley – never “Stan” – was born in wartime Belfast, one of five children in a shipwright’s family “poor as church mice”.
A German bomb hit the house opposite, blowing in the front of the McGeagh home. “My father was one of those who came to dig us out of the rubble,” he recalled.
The family found refuge in the tiny coastal hamlet of Ballintoy, a place steeped in fairies, ghosts and the salty tang of the sea. He reckoned it was the place where he became superstitious.
YOU’VE almost certainly seen Stanley McGeagh on television. For decades he was a fixture of British drama and comedy: Doctor Who, The Bill, Minder, Dad’s Army and Softly Softly, among many others.
He was never the leading man but always a memorable supporting actor, lean of frame, with piercing blue eyes, a presence that stuck in your mind long after the credits rolled.
Stanley – never “Stan” – was born in wartime Belfast, one of five children in a shipwright’s family “poor as church mice”.
A German bomb hit the house opposite, blowing in the front of the McGeagh home. “My father was one of those who came to dig us out of the rubble,” he recalled.
The family found refuge in the tiny coastal hamlet of Ballintoy, a place steeped in fairies, ghosts and the salty tang of the sea. He reckoned it was the place where he became superstitious.
As a young man, he dutifully studied accountancy by night until asking himself a life-altering question: “What work would I actually enjoy?” The answer was either rugby or theatre. Rugby was out. Theatre remained.
He joined the Northern Ireland Theatre Experiment, fell in love with the stage, and left for London with £5 in his pocket and a friend’s bedsit to sleep in. Within a week he was performing in children’s theatre. Then came a summer season on the Hastings pier, two plays a week, learning scripts in a fevered rhythm that never left him.
It was, he said, “magic” – the camaraderie, the common purpose, the instant bonds with strangers who became family. His career took him through repertory theatre, West End productions, and film, including Oh What a Lovely War, where he shared the cast list with John Gielgud, Dirk Bogarde, and Vanessa Redgrave. He had a cameo in Gandhi. But the moments he treasured most were when he felt a deep, almost electric connection with an audience. Like the night in Dresden when a scene from Oh What a Lovely War prompted a spontaneous standing ovation from an audience still shadowed by the memory of war.
He joined the Northern Ireland Theatre Experiment, fell in love with the stage, and left for London with £5 in his pocket and a friend’s bedsit to sleep in. Within a week he was performing in children’s theatre. Then came a summer season on the Hastings pier, two plays a week, learning scripts in a fevered rhythm that never left him.
It was, he said, “magic” – the camaraderie, the common purpose, the instant bonds with strangers who became family. His career took him through repertory theatre, West End productions, and film, including Oh What a Lovely War, where he shared the cast list with John Gielgud, Dirk Bogarde, and Vanessa Redgrave. He had a cameo in Gandhi. But the moments he treasured most were when he felt a deep, almost electric connection with an audience. Like the night in Dresden when a scene from Oh What a Lovely War prompted a spontaneous standing ovation from an audience still shadowed by the memory of war.
“The whole theatre stood up and applauded. A memory to hoard for one’s old age.” |
In 1986, between shows, he came to Australia to visit family. He returned to Belfast, but the pull of the sunburnt country lingered. In 1990, at the age of 50 – “too old to get a visa, I thought” – he emigrated, touring in Anything Goes, reconnecting with nieces and nephews, and later travelling through America, Canada and Ireland before settling back in Melbourne.
An advertisement for a housemate led him to meet artist and mandolin player Judy John. She assumed he was gay. “He was an actor, vegan, with expressive hand movements.” but appreciated his kindness and wit. He admired her vivacity. They laughed together, and before long, the dogs were evicted from her bed. That was that.
In the late 1990s they moved to Coronet Bay. Stanley threw himself into the life of the village. He was president of the Ratepayers Association, helped with the beach fair, raised funds for a games court, planted trees, turned up for working bees. He and Judy played guitar and mandolin at Coronet Bay Unplugged, smiling at each other when a song hit its stride.
An advertisement for a housemate led him to meet artist and mandolin player Judy John. She assumed he was gay. “He was an actor, vegan, with expressive hand movements.” but appreciated his kindness and wit. He admired her vivacity. They laughed together, and before long, the dogs were evicted from her bed. That was that.
In the late 1990s they moved to Coronet Bay. Stanley threw himself into the life of the village. He was president of the Ratepayers Association, helped with the beach fair, raised funds for a games court, planted trees, turned up for working bees. He and Judy played guitar and mandolin at Coronet Bay Unplugged, smiling at each other when a song hit its stride.
“When the song is going really well we look at each other and smile.” |
Stanley’s tall, stick-thin figure was unmistakable in Coronet Bay, his eyes crinkling into a smile when he spotted a friend.
“He can’t really be that nice, can he?” someone asked me once, suspecting a conman. But he was that nice. He had a way of making encounters feel like reunions.
Stanley spoke warmly of Gippsland, saying he didn't feel so much Australian as “a Gippslander”, drawn to the green hills and the way “people look after each other here … it’s like everyone is your cousin”.
He had left professional theatre behind but continued to perform. Locals saw him in Gill Heal’s wonderful community theatre productions; audiobook listeners heard him narrating works including the autobiography of Irish-born AFL footballer Jim Stynes. He was a regular at the celebrated readings that ran from 2010 to 2015, his lovely rich Irish brogue filling the Royal Mail Hotel at Archies Creek and old Dalyston church.
“He can’t really be that nice, can he?” someone asked me once, suspecting a conman. But he was that nice. He had a way of making encounters feel like reunions.
Stanley spoke warmly of Gippsland, saying he didn't feel so much Australian as “a Gippslander”, drawn to the green hills and the way “people look after each other here … it’s like everyone is your cousin”.
He had left professional theatre behind but continued to perform. Locals saw him in Gill Heal’s wonderful community theatre productions; audiobook listeners heard him narrating works including the autobiography of Irish-born AFL footballer Jim Stynes. He was a regular at the celebrated readings that ran from 2010 to 2015, his lovely rich Irish brogue filling the Royal Mail Hotel at Archies Creek and old Dalyston church.
The cast of Stormy Waters, 2015, a play about asylum seekers, from left, Peter Gilbert, Tanya Jackson, Stanley McGeagh and John Coldebella, with director Gill Heal. Photo: Catherine Watson
Gill’s 2012 profile of Stanley McGeah in the Bass Coast Post brought messages from former theatre colleagues and fans around the world. One wrote: “I saw you today in an episode of Dad's Army. I heard your accent and googled you. Glad I did. What a nice biography.”
People are still finding their way to that profile. Several messages arrived after Stanley’s death: “My daughter was so impressed that you were in Doctor Who! ... your impression on all who met you is lasting. Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam dílis.”
Stanley’s life had many chapters, yet the script was always threaded with the same themes: curiosity, kindness, and a delight in connection. Whether on stage in London, in a Wonthaggi supermarket, or chatting to a stranger at the local market, he filled his role.
A wake for Stanley will be held at the Coronet Bay Hall on Friday, August 22, at 2pm.