Craig Osborne is a vital member of the Launceston South congregation and is also a legend in the Tasmanian rail industry.
By Marina Williams
At his Launceston home, Craig Osborne pauses as kookaburras call through the trees.
“There’s four of them hanging around lately,” he says. “It’s pretty cool.”
That same ease shapes how Craig approaches life and faith.
Each Sunday he plays piano at Launceston South Uniting Church, where he has worshipped for more than three decades.
“I get a bit adventurous with the melody lines,” he laughs.
“People tell me they like what I do with the tunes.
“One said, ‘sometimes I wonder where the melody’s gone and then there it is again’. It just comes from the heart. I’m just being me.”
That steady authenticity has guided his faith and work.
As congregation chairperson and pianist, and as TasRail’s longest-serving trainer after 45 years on the railway, he has earned quiet respect for the way he helps others learn and belong.
Craig grew up in the church and returned to regular worship in the early 1990s after remarrying.
It was his late wife, Bronwyn, who “dobbed him in” to play piano.
“They must have been short of musicians,” he says, smiling at the memory.
Music, though, was already part of him.
“My grandmother was gifted, Dad plays too, and a local teacher got me started,” Craig says.
“I stopped lessons in Year 10 but never stopped playing. It’s good for the soul.”
The church’s inclusive spirit, he says, has kept him connected.
Through the years, Launceston South has welcomed people from Nepal, Bosnia and other communities seeking a place of belonging.
“People have told us we’re a friendly church and I feel that vibe too. It matters,” Craig says.
Faith, for Craig, is as much about curiosity as conviction.
He reflects on how meaning in scripture can turn on a single word.
Craig is pictured during a recent trip to Morocco.
“Take ‘forgive us our sins as we forgive those’,” he says.
“The word ‘as’ can mean ‘because’ or ‘in the same way as’.
“If I forgive but haven’t really let go, can I expect the same forgiveness?
“I prefer to read it as ‘in the same way as’. It keeps me honest.”
When Bronwyn died in 2006, that habit of reflection took on new depth.
“When my wife died, she was well,” he says. “She was just appallingly sick.”
He pauses.
“There’s a difference between being healed and being well,” Craig says.
Faith helps him sit with that complexity.
Craig became sole parent to their then 11-year-old daughter, Hannah; his two older children, Michael and Emma, were already close to adulthood.
“It wasn’t part of our life plan,” he says plainly.
“Looking back, I’m happy to have raised Hannah.
“What makes her isn’t just me. It’s her mum, too.
“The kids are decent human beings and, for me, that’s what matters.”
Family is central to Craig’s life.
His parents and Michael live not far away, while his daughters are based in Melbourne. Grandchildren also keep him busy.
“It’s wonderful to enjoy time with them all and I am very grateful for my life,” he says.
Craig also enjoys travelling, including recently to Morocco which was, he says, a reminder “of how big and fascinating the world is”.
Morocco was a reminder of “how big and fascinating the world is”, says Craig.
At TasRail, Craig is described as a “living legend”.
Starting as a trainee driver in 1980, he later moved into training, working with everyone from track labourers to managers.
“I like seeing people learn and seeing that moment they realise they can do something they didn’t think they could – the ‘ahh’ moment”, he says.
In 2025 Craig received the Tasmanian Transport Association’s ‘Everyday Hero Award’.
“The feedback’s been overwhelming, with people saying well done, well deserved,” he says.
“Reading the testimonials was touching. I do my best and I don’t try to be anyone else.”
At church, the same steady approach guides his leadership.
In 2017 the congregation made the difficult decision to leave its Balfour Street building, where Craig had baptised Hannah, farewelled Bronwyn and saw Emma marry, and move to more sustainable premises.
“I had an emotional attachment there, as did others, who had been going there longer than me,” he says.
“Once I realised we’d eventually go broke if we stayed, it became about the future.
“It’s not about me, it’s about my grandchildren’s grandchildren and what’s the best path for the congregation to endure?”
He helped the congregation navigate that transition with care.
“Let’s make a decision,” he says simply.
“Let’s do what gives us the best chance of serving people far into the future.”
Now in his 60s, Craig is one of “the youngest” in his congregation.
He still arrives early to set up for worship and stays to help pack away.
He supports local missions, mentors younger members, and offers practical help when needed, but never sees it as exceptional.
“I don’t imagine I’m anybody special,” he says.
“I just do what I do the way I’m wired. I’m happy that I’m able to do it.”
His contribution to church, community and workplace is not defined by awards or titles, he says.
It rests in presence: a steady hand, a thoughtful word, a piece of music that lifts the room.
“I just try to be me.”
