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Harold Holt had left Australia a strong new sense of purpose and identity. In his life Holt was the sort of man all Australians like to think they are, and they found it easy to identify with him. He was the all-round "ruddy good bloke" who preferred first names to last names or fancy titles and liked to call up his friends and suggest that they drop by for a pint. Like most Australians, he was also a rugged individualist who loved nature; he could hunker down on the beach and chat for hours with kids or professional fishermen on where the grunters were biting. Even Holt's death had a peculiarly Australian cast to it. "For an Australian, what a way to die!" said Australian Author Donald (The Lucky Country) Home. "If you sat upon the ground and talked about the death of heads of government—anywhere, any time—you would find no parallel to such a death."