I take this opportunity to pay my respects to the Hon. Professor Dame Marie Bashir, AD, CVO. She was truly one of the most incredible people who has served the great State of New South Wales. I say "served" because that is absolutely how Dame Marie viewed her time in office as the thirty-seventh Governor of New South Wales—a true and genuine act of service. She will forever be remembered as someone who brought tremendous grace, integrity and compassion to the role of Governor. A pioneer in medicine, mental health advocacy and public leadership, her legacy will continue to shape our nation for years to come. Her life was defined by service, compassion and integrity. She gave so generously to our State as Governor over an incredible 13 years and also in various roles either side of her time in office.

On behalf of the people of Wakehurst and the Northern Beaches, I speak today to pay tribute to Dame Marie Bashir's service and acknowledge all that she did for our State. I also thank her family for the support they gave her and for sharing this amazing individual with all of us. I note that some of her family join us in the gallery today. I offer my very sincere condolences to Michael, Alex, Susan and their extended family. Yes, Dame Marie was an admired leader and a caring role model, but she was also a loving sister, mother and grandmother. We are terribly sorry for their loss. My enduring memory of Dame Marie was her ability to engage sincerely and thoughtfully with everyone she came across, whether it was at a State luncheon, a school assembly, a community gathering or in the bakery section of Woolies in Mosman. When you met her, you felt seen—more than seen; you felt valued and you felt empowered. I was privileged and honoured to meet Dame Marie on several occasions in different capacities. Each time I learned something new from her about public service and community leadership.

My first encounter with this amazing leader was during my first few months in office as the newly elected Mayor of Warringah, perhaps it was even in the first few weeks. I had never even served as a councillor, so needless to say I was feeling a little out of my depth, which some members might find hard to believe. It was a whole new world to me. The good people at St John's Anglican Church in Dee Why extended an invitation to this fresh‑faced, inexperienced mayor to come and stand at the head of the receiving line to greet the Governor of New South Wales. The vice-regal car pulled up right on 3.00 p.m. and out stepped Professor Bashir, as she was then. As soon as she turned her face to the crowd, she instantly radiated warmth, compassion, ease and a sense of connection. In a moment she made us all feel like old friends.

I distinctly remember Professor Bashir acknowledging me before acknowledging our local State member of Parliament, the irrefutable Brad Hazzard. This was, of course, proper protocol. Having been married to a lord mayor herself, the Governor knew exactly what she was doing. While I greatly enjoyed the evil eye I got from Brad, even if it was in faux outrage, it actually was not my highlight of the day. That came when we were being shown around the beautiful new community facilities inside the church. In one of the back corners was a young single mum and her son, who were very grateful recipients of the amazing community support services the church provided. The mum was smiling with pride at being in the room, but her son was nervous as all heck—more nervous than me. He was shy and quiet and hid behind his mum the whole time.

Then entered Professor Bashir. She did not just enter but also engaged—truly engaged. She knelt down to be at eye level, whispered some words to him and smiled that beautiful smile we all remember her for, and the boy just melted. He beamed, let go of his mum's hand and walked over to the cake table with the thirty‑seventh Governor of New South Wales to get a lamington. That day, I learnt the power that comes with true community leadership. It is not political power or the power to get the best seats at the basketball, but the power to leave a lasting, positive impact on people; the power to make someone small feel big; the power to bring a room together with just a few sincere words; and the power of connection. I am so grateful for that initial warm meeting and for the example she set for me so early on in my role.

I was honoured to host Professor Bashir on numerous occasions over the years at a number of different events. She was always so generous with her time and so genuine in her in engagement. Over the years I marvelled like so many others at her ability to represent our State with such dignity and grace. She comforted us during hardships, brought out our best when we were feeling our worst and celebrated us during our triumphs. She even knew how to jump onto a stage in her heels—those poor bodyguards! She loved New South Wales so dearly. She loved our history; she loved our present-day progress and achievements; and she loved our potential and what was just beyond the horizon. She absolutely lived and breathed one of my favourite quotes: Vision over visibility, or the belief in what could be over what is seen.

Beyond my role in the community, I also had the tremendous honour of getting to know Professor Bashir and Sir Nicholas in a slightly more personal way when my wife, Bronwen, worked for them in the Governor's office. It was my turn to be the "handbag". Bronwen and I often found ourselves in quiet gatherings with the vice‑regal couple, and whether it was because of my love of cricket or my experience in local government, Sir Nicholas was always calling me over for a chat. Maybe it was the fact that we were both there in support roles. As Sir Nick drank his schooners of beer in two or three sips, I would try to keep pace with my champagne or the sneaky glass of red wine that he would smuggle to me—because one is not allowed to drink red wine at Government House, for fear of staining the sandstone.

More often than not, possibly to save me and my liver, Professor Bashir would join us. She would delight with history lessons from 200 years ago about the race to colonise our continent. She would often say to me, "Did you know we were just days away from being a French colony?" Imagine this place with us all speaking fluent French! She would tell us tales of her childhood in her beloved Narrandera, tell us wartime stories from when she attended high school in Sydney or have us in disbelief as she enthusiastically recounted her early days in medicine. Personally, I will never forget the time when Sir Nicholas and I were sitting on a lounge, post‑function, and he called out to her, "Marie, Marie, get over here and tell His Worship about the time you got paid with chickens—or was it rabbits?" She would plonk herself down next to us and recount those great stories.

Of course, she would never mention what a trailblazer she was, studying medicine at the University of Sydney in the 1950s when women were not meant to be studying professions; later taking on the establishment in psychiatry by practising what were regarded back then as quite radical techniques, such as telling young gay men there was nothing wrong with them—it is hard to believe now that was so radical; being part of a major reform in the delivery of mental health services; and leading the way in improving the health outcomes of Indigenous Australians through her long and sustained partnership with the Aboriginal Medical Service in Redfern.

Professor Bashir was, without doubt, the smartest person in any room she was in, but she never showed that in any unkind way. She viewed her immense knowledge and wisdom as something to be shared. For all of us who received just an ounce of that wisdom, we will cherish it always. My last enduring memory of Dame Marie is of her immense respect for our service men and women. Leading the Anzac Day parade down George Street each year was one of her proudest duties. She not only spoke fondly of her own family members who had served our nation but also showed that same admiration and care for present‑day heroes. There was always a special connection to those who served and she had a special fondness for her military aides‑de‑camp.

As I mentioned earlier, my wife worked with Dame Marie and the team in the Governor's office. I honestly do not think she has ever loved a job as much as she loved her time there. It was a small team at that stage, working out of an office on Macquarie Street, before the return to Government House in 2014. When Bronwen was told the sad news that Dame Marie had passed, we shared a glass of wine and toasted our thirty‑seventh Governor. Later that night, the Premier broke the news none of us wanted to hear but all knew was inevitable. Bronwen wrote to her friends:

"Dame Marie was an incredible leader, a wonderful teacher ‑ I learnt something new from her every day. She was a woman of integrity, warmth, immense intellect and authenticity. She could speak at a primary school assembly in the morning, then attend an RSL luncheon, before an indigenous gathering in the afternoon and a Mardi Gras film festival at night ‑ and all those groups would love her fiercely and equally because she was so engaging, so true to herself and her values, so invested in the other person and just so authentic. A rare and special trait these days.

You could see people's physical response as they talked with Dame Marie .... They walked a little taller, their shoulders rose a little higher, their smile got a little brighter.

It was such a privilege to work for her and for her devoted "bodyguard" Sir Nick. They both made all of us feel like family ‑ from the admin team and drivers, to the special constables, military ADCs, visitor guides and gardening team, they had time for all of us and we all still think so fondly of them both.

Our state is all the better for Dame Marie's service but slightly dimmer for her passing ...

Vale Dame Marie ‑ thank you for your service. Rest in well deserved peace …"

I cannot say it better myself.

03 February 2026, 14:13.