FROM THE DESK OF Roland Rocchiccioli – July 18, 2019

Some years ago I wrote and appeared in a one-man show, Now You Can Eat Father Christmas. It was about my late mother, Beria, in which I was her voice and that of 30 other characters. The piece was reflective of the racially rampant 1950s.

IN recognition of NAIDOC (National Aboriginal and Islanders Day Observance Committee) Week, I am sharing several of the scenes from the piece. My mother was one of those remarkable people who didn’t notice the colour of people’s skin. She blatantly ignored the draconian laws regarding Aborigines and challenged the local policeman with, “Put me in gaol!”
“Rain, hail, or shine I washed on Saturday morning. This particular Saturday morning I was out early, pegging-out the first load, when three or four gins come to the back gate. They always said hello, and stopped for a bit of chat. Nina was a regular. She used to wear three or four dresses at a time. She was always smiling and happy. She spotted me straight away.”

“G’day Mrs.”

“G’day Nina. How are you today, love?”

“I’m pretty good Mrs; ‘ow’s ya self.”

“Oh, you know. Fair to middling.”

“Youse not fightin’ with ya old man again?”

“No, not today Nina, but I’m buggared if I know where all this washing comes from.”

“I reckon all that washin’ wears ya clothes out.”

“Do you think so, Nina?”

“Yeah, I do Mrs. And another thing…”

“What?”

“I reckon you should make ya rusband do the washin’.”

“Oh yeah, and I might win charities, Nina!”

They were chattering away amongst themselves. I couldn’t make out what they were saying; next thing Nina calls out to me:

“Hey, Mrs. Me and me friends, well, we was wondrin’.”

“Oh yes, what about?”

“We was wondrin’ if youse got any old dresses?”

“I don’t think I have, Nina”

“That dress youse wearin’s looks pretty bloody old.”

“I’ll give you old, Nina!” I could hear them laughing at me as they went running-off down the back lane. I liked Nina. She was a good soul.

“For a couple of years there was a real old Wongi that I used to feed. He was as black as the ace of spades. Three or four times a week he’d come and stand at the back gate. He never called out; he just waited patiently till I spotted him. Sometimes if I missed him Ronnie would say: “Mum, your boyfriend’s waiting.” He was a tall, skinny bloke, and he always looked so sick. He never had shoes, not even in the winter. I always gave him hot soup, bread and meat, and tea and sugar in a brown paper bag. All he ever said was: “Thank you Mrs.” I used to watch him as he’d wander-off down the back lane. When I told the daughter-in-law, Jean, what I’d done, oh, did she carry-on? “For God’s sake, don’t give ‘em anything. You know what they’re like. Next thing he’ll be back with the whole bloody tribe. You’ll never get rid of ‘em.” Suddenly one day he stopped coming. Poor old buggar, I s’pose he must have died.

“I once spent three days making marmalade on an open fire in the middle of the bush. And then after all that Ginger and the two kids, Lewie and Nita, didn’t like it. A couple of gins came wandering-by and I give to them. The next day they come back with bunch of pink and white everlastings for me. They didn’t speak any English, they just smiled. I kept those everlastings for years. I took them with me as I moved from house to house: “Do you know – that was the first time anyone ever gave me a bunch of flowers.”

Roland can be heard every Monday morning – 10.30 – on radio 3BA and contacted on [email protected].