Dad’s shed, Richmond, New South Wales. The summer of ’97
The smell of home brew permeates the air. Taking a sip on the proviso that I ‘don’t tell Mum’. It tastes horrid but I always lie. Trying to remember the lyrics to belt out at the appropriate time to raise a proud smile and an affectionate pat on the head.
I always looked for ways to help out Dad in that shed – he was my hero in blue stubbies and a white singlet that had a big royal blue cartoon thumbs up and the message ‘ok mate’. He handed me an old paint can full to the brim with water and set me to work, to paint the shed; I was intoxicated with the smells of varnish, wood and petrol and as always on the weekends, the leftover cut grass smell of the trimmed trails through which we had followed Dad on the mower with our bikes, like a bicycle conga line.
Paul Kelly was always played in summer, the sunny endless holidays, the excitement of Christmas Day growing ever closer, ticking those days off one by one.
With Kelly’s distinct voice carrying the sentiments of Christmas, How To Make Gravy was always my favourite, although at the time I didn’t pick up on the anguish in his voice and lyrics – I mistakenly thought it was a song for the scorching summer Christmas of every year.
It was only through my parents’ divorce and the breaking up of our family into smaller divided units that I realized the true nature of the story: it mimicked my longing for the characters of my own family and the individual roles we all played on that hot, fantastic day of Christmas where my parents never fought and the house walls rang with laughter.
Years later in Tamworth, I’m belting out all the lines in time with my three brothers, meandering along back streets, the smell of beer on our breath, all recalling the pride of remembered Paul Kelly lyrics in Dad’s shed. Holding our noses to achieve the nasal twang that so defines Paul Kelly’s stories – Hello Dan, it’s Joe here. We all fall to the ground laughing – only we would remember Dad doing this every time the song started. We all individually get lost to a simpler time of grass trails, secret sips and a complete family unit.
© Cassandra Atkinson. Cassandra has also written about Skin by Boy.
Thankyou Cassandra, thankyou very much. Your piece really took me back to my shed and mowing the lawn, while you guys followed the trail cut through the grass. Wonderful days.
Thanks Cassandra, I think despite the sad note, it’s also a song of hope, that soon we’ll all be back together at Christmas. I’m divorced myself and my 14 year old son Rocket Robbie has been cranking out this song on his guitar a fair bit already this holidays. We all love the great poet PK.
A tear just rolled down my cheek watching that clip,PK knows how to hold an audience
I live in California. I came into the Paul Kelly orbit early in the piece. 1978. I watched his voice and work mature across the years, and in turn influence my own work.In 2010 i stuffed up and pulled some hard time in Chino State prison. Over that lost year and a half i would sing this song in my head pretty much daily. It pretty much helped me get through my bid. While it’s sad, it is as you point out, very hopeful. Well done. Divorce, kids, incarceration, exile. Nails it.