They're a Weird Mob Read online

  One day my boss said to me, ‘Nino, you are a pain in the head.’ I agreed with him, because I could understand that he had troubles too. Then he said, ‘We are going to send you to Australia.’ Naturally I asked why, and he said, ‘There are many Italians in Australia, and our readers would like to know how they are getting on. Also there are many Italians who want to go to Australia, and they would like to know more about it, but particularly more about Australians. I understand,’ he said, ‘that Australians speak English. You speak English, so you will go and ask questions, and write about what kind of people these Australians are.’ I said, ‘Yes, sir. Thank you very much.’ And he said, ‘Don’t thank me, because I think it very likely that you will get knocked on the head and perhaps that will be a good thing.’

  I went home to our village, and told my father that I was going to Australia, and he was very pleased. He said he always knew that one named Giovanni would show himself to be brave in the end. My mother said she would like to come too, and she and my father had an argument about it, which my father won. I didn’t feel brave. I felt curious. Because I had never met any Australians, although I heard that there were two in Firenze. That is Florence in English. My father said it would not be a good idea to go over there to meet them because (a) they might not be there now, and (b) I might get into more trouble and so miss the ship to Australia, and that would make my boss very irritable. So I said goodbye to all my relatives, and everyone else I knew. Some cried, and some looked pleased. There are many kinds of people in the world.

  But at that time I thought the worst kind were what we called Meridionali. These are Italians from the south of Italy. They are small dark people with black hair and what we considered to be bad habits. We are big fair people with blue eyes and good habits. Perhaps it is a matter of opinion, and an Australian would lump us all together and call us ‘bloody dagoes’, but we didn’t like Meridionali, and they didn’t like us. Up in my country there were a few of them, and mostly they found themselves being officious in the police force. Perhaps subconsciously that is why we did not like them. Nobody likes police forces. Anyway, after I had said goodbye, I set off by train for Genova to catch my ship, but on the way I began to think that perhaps I would first have a look at the country where these Meridionali came from, as I had never been there. I had heard that Napoli was a good place to see them, and as the ship would be calling there and I could get there first by train, that is where I went.

  I should mention here that another reason why I call myself Culotta is because there are many Meridionali in Australia. But there are lots more in Napoli. I was most conspicuous then, and got much trouble, so that I nearly missed my ship. An Englishman told me that if I hadn’t drunk a lot of vino, and kept on yelling out ‘dirty Meridionali’ and other things, I would have been taken for an Englishman, and everything would have been all right. I blame most of it on the vino. Neapolitan vino is terrible to those who are accustomed to the vino of Piedmont. The English have said ‘See Naples and die’. I saw Naples, and if I had drunk another bottle of vino, most certainly I would have died. However, I threw that last bottle at a mob of them who followed me down to the ship and I was pleased to see that it broke and splattered them with the horrible stuff. An ignorant steward on board told many people that I was chased down to the ship, and only just got on board in time to save my skin. This is not true. I told him so, and hit him on the top of the head with my fist. He fell down, but a lot of his steward friends attacked me and there was quite a battle in the alleyway, and I had to go and see the captain. He was a Venetian, and quite a nice man. He explained to me that all the stewards were Neapolitans and that practically all the passengers were Meridionali of some sort, who were emigrating to Australia, and that perhaps it would be as well if I remained in my cabin for the voyage. I explained to him that whilst no one could call me brave, it would be impossible for anyone to be frightened by a couple of hundred Meridionali, and therefore I was not worried. He said neither was he, in that respect, but I would have to keep to my cabin, all the same. I would be allowed out for meals, and to go to the toilet, and from four until five p.m. for exercise with one of his officers. When I said that this was poor treatment for a paying passenger, he pointed out that he was aware that I had not paid my own fare, and that he knew my boss very well.

  So I spent the time on the voyage writing articles and stories about Meridionali, which were posted in Fremantle, and which I learned later proved very popular with our northern readers. They were not published in magazines which had a sale in the south. I was very tempted to leave the ship at Fremantle, and travel overland at my own expense, but I didn’t. My passage was paid to Sydney, and for some reason Sydney was where I wanted to conduct my investigations. I had been told, and had checked my informer’s information with a map, that Sydney was to Australia what a flea is to an elephant.

  Nevertheless, as Rome, to foreigners, is Italy, Sydney to me was Australia. And except for a few trips to nearby country centres, I have been in Sydney ever since. Five years ago I came ashore here, and I do not think I will ever leave it. My boss, after I had been here a few months, wanted me to visit other states, but I was so interested where I was, that I refused. Which is how I came to get the sack, in the long run, although I stalled him for two years.

  During that two years I wrote many articles about Australia and Australians, basing my human interest stories on people I met in Sydney, and my geographical and economic articles on what they told me. I know now that much of it was wrong, but nobody in Italy worried about that, so I don’t worry about it now. There was, however, much that I heard which could not be sent to my boss, because it would not make sense to him or to his readers. Suppose you were writing about one of your friends, and what you wrote had to be translated into a foreign language, you could describe his physical peculiarities, his dress, where he lived, where he worked, what he ate. But unless he spoke correct grammatical English, you could not translate what he said. Some colloquialisms perhaps you could manage, but in general, the conversations people have with each other cannot be reproduced in another language. I know our own Piedmont dialect, which is easier for the French to understand than for someone who has studied Italian, cannot adequately be rendered in English. And as for the Meridionali and the Sicilians, not even the Italian language can adequately reproduce their conversations. Although the Australian, and by that I mean the Sydney Australian, does not speak as badly as those who speak some of our Italian dialects, nor, as we say ‘come mitraglio’—like a machine gun—he has a language which I badly wanted to reproduce for my boss. I tried, but it was impossible. Now that I have got the hang of it, I want to write about it, and since it cannot be translated into any other language, including English, all I can do is to put it down as I have heard it. To do this, I must put down also something about the people who speak it, and the situations where I heard it spoken. The troubles I had with it, too, must be described, so that Australians who read this book may realise how difficult it is for the foreigner, who has learned good English from books, to understand what the blazes they are yapping about!

  Most Australians speak English like I speak Hindustani, which I don’t. In general, they use English words, but in a way that makes no sense to anyone else. And they don’t use our European vowel sounds, so that even if they do construct a normal sentence, it doesn’t sound like one. This made it necessary for me, until I became accustomed to it, to translate everything that was said to me twice, first into English and then into Italian. So my replies were always slow, and those long pauses prompted many belligerent remarks, such as ‘Well don’t stand there like a dill; d’yer wanta beer or dontcha?’ Now that I have had five years of practice, I find that I am able to think in English, and often in the Australian kind of English, so that when some character picks me for a dill, he is likely to be told quick smart to suck his scone in!

  Anyway, we dropped a lot of our Meridionali cargo in Fremantle, an
d more in Melbourne, and the captain allowed me to come out on deck between there and Sydney, after I had promised not to speak to anyone. So I saw Sydney for the first time the very best way—from the deck of a ship. And at the very best time—early in the morning, with the sun behind us. It was October, and the sun was beautiful. The Customs people were not, but the rest of our Meridionali had to be got ashore, and no doubt that accounted for them being irritable. My promise to the captain was no longer binding, so I said a few words. Which led to a nice little battle, which was ended by some Australian policemen. A big one, with silver stripes on his arm pointed to me. ‘You,’ he said, ‘come here.’

  I hit one more of the Meridionali, and walked over to him.

  ‘You called me, sir?’ I said.

  ‘Where are your bags?’

  ‘Over there, sir.’

  ‘Get ’em.’

  Two other policemen joined him, so I thought I’d better humour him. I got my bags and came back.

  ‘Come on,’ he said.

  I followed them out, and they went to a taxi, and the big policeman opened the boot and put my bags inside. One of the others opened the door of the taxi, and stood by.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ I said, ‘where do we go?’

  He said, ‘Get in.’

  I got in, and the one by the door shut it, and the big one said to the driver, ‘Get going.’ The driver started up and went up the street a little way, and then said, ‘Where to, mate?’

  I said, in a very dignified manner, ‘It appears to me, sir, that since you are acting under the orders of the constabulary, you are undoubtedly well aware of our destination.’

  He said, ‘Cut the bull. An’ don’ call me sir. Where yer wanner go?’

  Some of this I understood, and it was surprising. ‘Do you not know?’ I said.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh.’

  After a while, he said, ‘Well we can’t sit ’ere all bloody day; where we goin’?’

  I was silently translating what he said into what I thought he meant in an English I understood, and translating this into Italian, and working out my answer in Italian, to be translated into English, all of which was taking some time, when he suddenly seemed to become very irritable and said, ‘Gawd I’ve been drivin’ this bloody thing since one o’bloody clock this mornin’ an’ now it’s bloody near time for lunch an’ I ’ave ter get landed with a bloody ning nong who doesn’t know where he’s bloody goin’. Will the Cross do yer?’

  By the time I had worked out a few words of this speech, we had arrived somewhere, and he was getting my bags out of the boot. I got out also, and said, ‘Excuse me, sir, but do you mind telling me where I now am?’

  ‘Kings Cross. Three bob.’

  ‘Excuse me, sir, but do you mind telling me where I now am?’

  He shouted very loudly, ‘KINGS BLOODY CROSS!’

  I said this to myself two or three times, and decided that it must be the name of a suburb. So I said, ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why am I in Kings Bloody Cross?’

  ‘Because I bloody brought yer . . . three bob.’

  ‘I do not understand what you say, and I do not understand why I am where I am, but I thank you. Could you please inform me, please, where is some place where I may be able to obtain some food?’

  ‘Anywhere around here,’ he said. ‘Are yer gunna pay me the three bob or ain’t yer?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Look mate, I brought yer from the bloody dock, an’ you owe me three bob. Do I get ut or don’t I?’

  I caught the word ‘Owe’ and said, ‘I am reminded of something. You have transported me to this place, and I would like you to inform me how much is my fare, please?’

  He became very irate again, and said in a loud voice, ‘Strike me bloody ’andsome, I just told yer. Three bob.’

  ‘How much is the fare, please?’

  He said, ‘Oh-h-h!’ and something I didn’t understand, then pushed his cap back, and scratched his head. Then he said, very slowly and distinctly, ‘Look mate, have—you—any—money?’

  This was very good English, and I answered immediately, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have—you—three—shillings?’

  Again I was able to answer immediately, and I was wishing he would always speak as clearly as this. I said, ‘Of course, I have three shillings.’

  Then he seemed to acquire a great rage, and said, ‘Well bloody give ut to me before I call the bloody cops or do me block or some bloody thing. Give us me three bob.’

  He was holding out his hand, so I assumed he wanted three shillings. I gave him three shillings. He said, ‘Any man takes this game on’s not right in the nut.’ He got into his taxi and drove away without even saying thank you.

  I am able to understand now how troublesome I must have been for him. But at that time I understood only ‘Have you any money’ and ‘Have you three shillings.’ It was only after much experience with the language, and with taxi drivers, that I was able to work out what must have been the other things he said. At the time, I thought he was of a type qualified to live in Reggio Calabria, and was very sorry I had given him three shillings, instead of a bump on the head. But he was gone, and there was I, standing on the footpath of a place I thought was called Kings Bloody Cross, wondering where I was going to sleep, that night, but more urgent and important, where and what I was going to eat that day.

  CHAPTER TWO

  To myself I said, ‘This is what I will do, I will get myself a room in a hotel, then I will eat, and then I will buy a newspaper. In this newspaper I will see some work advertised, and I will do some work, and thereby meet some Australians. Working Australians. Because I am sure these are the kind of Australians my boss will want me to know about.’

  Opposite to where the taxi had left me, there was a hotel called the ‘Mayfair’. That is where I went. I obtained a room and a key, and deposited my two bags. When I discovered the prices charged, I knew I would not be able to stay there for very long, but the food was quite good, and I had a nice lunch. Then I went out. A boy was selling newspapers on a corner, and to him I said, ‘Have you a newspaper in which work is advertised?’

  He said, ‘’Erald’s the rag,’ folded a paper, and put it under my arm. I felt in my pocket, and took out a large coin, and gave it to him. He said, ‘Bit sunburned sport!’

  I said, ‘I beg your pardon?’

  He said, holding out the coin, ‘Right size, wrong colour.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I am very sorry.’ I found a two shilling piece and gave it to him. He gave me change and said, ‘Orright if ut comes orf, sport.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Skip ut.’

  He ignored me, and resumed calling out the names of his papers. What he said was quite unintelligible to me, but apparently not so to other people, who were stopping and buying. I returned to my room to study my paper. There appeared to be much work advertised, but nearly all of it demanded abilities which I did not possess. However, one appeared possible. It read, ‘Builder’s labourer. Must be strong. Experience not necessary. CY 3301 after five.’

  I went back to the newsboy, and showed it to him. I said, ‘What mean these letters and figures? Are they a telephone number?’

  He said, ‘Ain’t a cricket score, sport.’

  ‘Is it a telephone number?’

  ‘Yeah, wot else could ut be?’

  ‘And this “after five”. They mean what?’

  ‘Means ring ’em after five o’clock.’

  ‘To-night or to-morrow morning?’

  ‘How would I know? You a builder’s labourer?’

  ‘No. But I could try to be.’

&nbs
p; ‘Yer not right in the scone.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Look sport, get lost will yer? I can’t stand ’ere maggin’ ter you all day. Got me work ter do.’

  It was three o’clock, and I said to myself, ‘Talking to this boy is unprofitable, because I do not understand what he says. Until five o’clock, therefore, I will walk, and observe this Kings Bloody Cross, and perhaps find somebody who speaks English. There are many questions I wish to ask.’ So I walked around, and looked at the shops, and listened to people talking. Some were speaking Italian, but this did not interest me. Some were speaking German, and some French. Many were speaking Australian, most of which I could not understand. Outside a place called ‘The Arabian’ from which came a strong smell of coffee, two well dressed men were speaking English.

  I said, ‘Excuse me gentlemen. You are speaking English. It is nice. I also speak English.’

  One of them said, ‘Congratulations.’

  I said, ‘Have I your permission to converse with you in English?’

  The other one said, ‘No.’

  ‘May I then be permitted to buy you some coffee?’

  The first one said to his friend, ‘Come on. This place gets worse every day.’

  This friend said, ‘It’s the Cross, old boy. Types you know.’

  They walked away. This, I thought, was very rude, and I called after them, ‘You gentlemen are very rude types.’