The man who made everyone feel larger than life

Here I am with Mayor Tim and an Auckland Island Pig, Queens Park, Invercargill, February 2016.

On a grey Friday afternoon in Invercargill, hundreds of us gathered at the Civic Theatre to say goodbye to Sir Tim Shadbolt. Many made the trip during the summer break, umbrellas lined the streets outside, and thousands more watched via livestream. It was, in every way, a farewell befitting a man who spent his life bringing people together.

I had chronicled Sir Tim for twenty-five years, and in that time, he never once disappointed me with his generosity. When I told him I wanted to write a book about his role in the Auckland Island pigs story, he simply said, “Let me know when you arrive.” And when I did arrive, there he was at the airport that now bears his name, ready to give me a personal tour in what he called his “mayoral limousine.” It was not a limousine. But in Sir Tim’s hands, everything became grander than it appeared.

That was his gift. He made everyone around him feel that they were larger than life. Tame Iti captured it perfectly at the funeral when he said, “Tim didn’t just attend protests. He was the protest.” His lifelong friend Margaret Evans, former Hamilton mayor and fellow member of “Tim’s Team,” described him as an aggressive reformer whose aggression was “filled with love.” Pastor Graeme Pope reminded us that Sir Tim never said an unkind or slanderous word about anyone. He always chose to see the best in every situation and the best in every person.

Sir Tim’s legacy is written across Invercargill and indeed across New Zealand. He championed the Zero Fees scheme at the Southern Institute of Technology when the city was in decline, drawing young people back and breathing new life into the region. Stadium Southland was built during his tenure. The Civic Theatre was refurbished. He set world records, danced on television, and made cameo appearances in films. And then there were the Auckland Island pigs, a conservation project that became a potential medical miracle, now being used in research for diabetes, Parkinson’s disease, and kidney transplants. When the Rare Breeds Conservation Society first approached him about funding quarantine for some wild pigs, Sir Tim thought to himself: “What could possibly go wrong?” That took guts. And extraordinary instinct. He risked his Mayoral Contingency Fund on a story that sounded like a punchline, and lived to see it become a miracle.

You could be in a taxi in London, mention you were from Invercargill, and the driver would say, “Ah! Tim Shadbolt!” That’s not marketing. That’s magic. The kind you can’t buy, only earned through decades of genuine enthusiasm and, as noted at the funeral, a complete disregard for looking dignified.

But none of Sir Tim’s achievements would have been possible without his family. His partner Asha was his anchor, his counsel, and his home. Their partnership, alongside son Declan, gave Sir Tim the foundation to give so much of himself to the city and to all of us. At the funeral, Declan spoke movingly about his father, not as the protester, the concreter, or the mayor, but simply as Dad. He thanked him for being able to compose himself for hide and seek after long council meetings. Asha reminded us that everyone has a story of Tim, because he shared his time with everyone, showing humanity and kindness. Sir Tim’s sons Robert and Ben spoke of his relentless honesty, work ethic, and unwavering support. His brother Rodney quoted Shakespeare: “Now cracks a noble heart.”

Sir Tim will be immortalised through his family, who carry forward not just his name but his spirit of generosity, his capacity for joy, and his belief that every person matters. He will live on through his grandchildren, his nieces and nephews, and through the countless people whose lives he touched over nearly eighty years.

Since Sir Tim’s passing, there has been renewed interest in ensuring his story is properly told. Many have suggested a book or film should be made. Margaret Evans is assembling a collection of his newspaper columns. The last time I saw Sir Tim, I presented him with the first proof of my book about the Auckland Island pigs. I hope he knew how much he meant to so many of us. I look forward to completing that project, to ensuring that his role in what may yet prove to be one of New Zealand’s most significant scientific contributions is properly documented and celebrated.

The funeral procession passed through Invercargill’s main streets and out to the airport’s Sir Tim Shadbolt Terminal before proceeding to Eastern Cemetery. His concrete mixer, that famous symbol of his unconventional approach to politics, was towed behind a vintage Ford in the procession. It was classic Tim, right to the end.

Moe mai rā, Sir Tim. Invercargill will never forget you.