What D’Ya Play, Sport….?

July this year can’t come around fast enough for most Australians, not because they are looking forward to another getting a bit of relief from the oppressive summer heat, but because that’s when the Ashes Series will be in full swing. The Ashes, for those of you reading this who might not live in a cricket playing nation is a series of cricket matches cricket played between England and Australia since 1882. The series is named after a tongue in cheek obituary which was published in a British newspaper, The Sporting Times, back in 1882 after a match at The Oval Cricket Ground in London in which Australia beat England on an English ground for the first time ever. The obituary stated that English cricket had died, and its body would be cremated and the ashes taken to Australia. The cricket loving English named their next tour to Australia as the quest to regain The Ashes.

During that tour a small terracotta urn was presented to the English team captain by a group of Melbourne women. The contents of this urn are reputed to be the ashes of an item of cricket equipment, a bail. So with the Poms having won the last series the Aussies are keen to get across to the old country and take them back.Digressing for a moment, the word Pom, derives from the fact that the first convicts to arrive in this vast sunburnt country were officially known as Prisoners of His Majesty (PHOM – thus Pom). Interestingly enough, in 1997, the Australian Human Rights and Equal Opportunities Commission were involved in a case where they deemed that the use of the word Pom or its derivatives could be serious enough to be classified as unlawful. Despite this, they have recently announced that the word would now been deemed as safe as long as it was not accompanied by offensive language, a statement which has been backed by Cricket Australia. So, the fact that the English are still commonly called Pommies today is not to be taken as an insult. Well, it is an insult, but an Aussie normally only insults a friend – so it’s not really an insult…! Regardless of the rivalry between the two countries when it comes to cricket, the First Test being played from the 10-14 July of July at the Trent Bridge Cricket Ground in Nottingham England, it will certainly be a great sporting spectacle. Although I’m someone who avidly watches most sports, I’ve never been a great fan of cricket, a game where the crowd usually consumes more calories than the players, but this July and August, I’ll be sitting in front of the telly with a few ‘tinnies’ keenly watching with the rest.

I’ve got to admit; Australians take their sport extremely seriously. This fact of course is reinforced by the degree of success experienced by Australian athletes in the international arena. I personally put it down to the climate and the healthy lifestyle generally enjoyed by the Australian population, which provides the perfect breeding ground any athlete or sportsperson. The most popular spectator sport across here is Australia Rules Football and for a nation that defines itself with hopping mammals and red soil, I suppose that it’s only natural that they have their own unique national sport. The only other sport in the world, which is similar to Aussie Rules, is Gaelic football, played in Ireland. I’d always thought that Australia’s national sport was a direct descendant of the Irish version of football, but apparently Aussie Rules is more a mixture of many different versions of football, brought to this country by those fine, founding settlers, even if they were in chains and was actually invented as way to keep cricketers fit during the winter months.

I could sit here and try to explain the rules to you, but despite closely following the game for five years the best I can do is tell you is, that there are eighteen players on each team and is played on a large, grassy oval with goals at either end. The goals are four vertical poles, two long poles in the middle with a stumpier one at either side. The attacking team can use any part of their bodies to get the ball between the two largest poles for six points or if they get the ball between a large post and a stumpy post it’s called a ‘behind,’ and they are given a consolatory one point. All this organised chaos is over seen by three field umpires, two boundary umpires and two goal umpires and despite them trying to keep order the game still resembles a bunch of disorganised men chasing a frozen chicken. Watching it live is even more interesting and I recall going to watch my first game, in Melbourne, where because the pitch was so large, I couldn’t actually see what was going on at the other side of the field. And when the match actually started with the bounce in the centre of the pitch, it was, from where I was sitting, like watching a 20-man wrestling match in the middle of a cricket pitch. Joking aside, the game is a very high speed; extremely physical sport and I actually find it pretty exciting to watch, avidly supporting my local team the Brisbane Lions, who incidentally play at the Brisbane Cricket Ground or the ‘Gabba’ as it locally know after its location in the suburb of Woolloongabba as their home ground when the cricketers are not in town trying to wallop the poms all the way back to Lords.

Aussie Rules is played mostly in the cooler Southern climates of Victoria, South Australia, Western Australia and Tasmania, where the locals are fanatical about it, but in NSW and here in Queensland, Rugby League is King. The National Rugby League or NRL consist in the main of teams from Sydney, however here in Queensland we have two teams, the North Queensland Cowboys, situated in Townsville, who joined the NRL in 1995 and incidentally sorely disappointed their local community who preferred the name ‘Crocodiles’ instead of Cowboys. Here in Brisbane we have the Brisbane Broncos, the current Champions, who entered the League in early 1987 after the NSW Rugby League reluctantly announced that a Brisbane club would join their league. The Bronco’s home ground is Suncorps Stadium, a fantastic three-year-old sports ground smack in the centre of Brisbane, with a 52,550 seating capacity. The stadium is a fantastic theatre in which to watch sport and before its recent major renovations, was know as Lang Park where it had been used as a public park since 1914. It is actually built on the site of what was, until 1875 Brisbane’s principle cemetery. The cemetery is long gone, the remains and headstone being moved to Toowong Cometary about 5 miles away, however the heritage listed church from that era still remains in its original location adjacent to the stadium.

Of course, as I’ve mentioned previously, due to the underlying rivalry between States there certainly is no love lost between NSW and Queensland when it comes to their beloved Rugby League. This rivalry boils to the surface each year in a series of three games played between the two States called ‘State of Origin’. For Queenslanders, State of Origin is the ultimate little brother story. Queensland was created to house the worst convicts from Sydney – the rejects’ rejects. Despite being richer in natural resources and larger in area, Queensland has always been belittled by NSW’s status as Australia’s commercial hub. In sporting terms, this led to Sydney Rugby League clubs being able to pay talented Queenslanders more money to play in Sydney than they could earn in Brisbane, which meant that in interstate games, Queensland-born talent used to play for NSW and beat the resident Queenslanders, which really got up the nose of the Banana Benders. In 1980, however, along came the ‘Origin’ game, where the Queenslanders who’d been playing in Sydney could now combine with the best of the Queensland residents and wallop their southern neighbours. Renowned NSW coach Phil “Gus” Gould was absolutely spot on when he said that State of Origin means more to Queenslanders than to NSW. In their arrogance, NSW just don’t get it (as the sociologists would say, “power is invisible from above”). Of course, it was this key understanding that made Gus the most successful Origin coach ever… So, winning the Origin is Queensland’s way of saying, “you can buy our talent, but you can never own our soul!” The ultimate ‘Up Yours’ I suppose…!

Then there’s soccer or football as I like to call it much to the annoyance of my Australian friends. Like every English-speaking nation bar Britain, Australians do not refer to soccer as football. In some ways, this is a triumph of pragmatism as in Australia there are now four sports that claim to be called football, Rugby Union, Rugby League

and Aussie Rules and so for the majority, referring to soccer, as football would just make things even more confusing. It is also a reflection of the historical origins of the word ‘football.’ When coined, football was used to describe ball games played on foot, as opposed to on horses. I have been reliably informed by my mates out here that it was not, as I had naively believed, coined to provide a descriptive name for games played with the feet. They believe if a descriptive name for soccer had been needed, it would have been something like ‘feetball’, or ‘kick ball’.
Soccer has had a hard time being recognised down under and even though the National Soccer League was established in 1977, the clubs were aligned along racial identities and they never made much impact in Australia’s multicultural society. In 2005, the A-league was established which as in the UK is aligned on geographically grounds. Brisbane has a team called the Brisbane Roar, who in the 2010-11 season won its first ever Premiership and Championship after a season which saw them go undefeated in 28 games. The Brisbane Roar holds the record for the longest unbeaten run at the top level of any Australian football code, which stands at 36 league matches without defeat. Since the Socceroos success in making the 2006 and 2010 FIFA World Cup Australians are beginning to avidly follow the game. This was proved when Paraguay played a friendly against the Socceroos in Brisbane in 2008. Three years before when Paraguay visited, 3,456 spectators turned up to watch the game. The second time nearly 50,000 fanatical supporters packed into Suncorps Stadium to cheer on their team. Not a bad turn around, but as I said, these Aussies are sure passionate about their sport.

Flat Out Like a Lizard Drinking

Robert Burns inspired many vernacular writers across the Isles with works such as Auld Lang Syne, A Red, Red Rose and Halloween. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The German author and poet Christian Morgenstern once said, “Home is not where you live but where they understand you.” Although I’m fairly certain that Morgenstern wasn’t referring to those in possession of a North East Scotland dialect when he uttered these words, it’s something I’m sure that many Montrose people who like myself are living or have lived abroad have often thought about when they have been asked to repeat something again or been met with a blank or puzzled expression from someone in response to a question they may have posed.

Phrases such as ‘fit like..?’, ‘farr ye been..?’ or ‘cae canny’ along with words such as ‘stoor’, ‘cloot’ or ‘sair’ must be exchanged for the more acceptable ‘how are you..?’, ‘where have you been..?’ ‘be careful’ and dust, cloth and painful’…..! In the thirty four years I’ve been away from Scotland, through necessity, I’ve taught myself to drop my local vernacular in order to make myself better understood to others. I do try keep stay in touch with my linguistic beginnings by reading Lewis Grassic Gibbons’s classic ‘Sunset Song’ but very occasionally, especially after a few glasses of what Robert Burns referred to in his poem ‘The Author’s Earnest Cry and Prayer’, as ‘aqua vitae’ or on Skype to my parents back home, it does unexpectedly still appear, much to the amusement of my rest of my family.

In addition to this, having lived for many years in countries where English was not the common language I have always made a point of learning a smattering of the local lingo to at least be able to hold a friendly conversation about the weather, order a couple of beers or ask directions to the nearest Doctor. For any communication beyond my knowledge base I usually revert to the typical British art of communicating with foreigners, that is, say it in English but say it louder and say it slower, remembering to throw in plenty of miming actions to be absolutely certain that the person understands.

Now, you would expect that emigrating to a country settled by the British, there would be no language issues but although all Aussies possess the metal dexterity to write in one language (basically English with a few Americanisms thrown in), it’s when it comes to the spoken word that you still realise you are amongst foreigners. This language is referred to as ‘strine’ and enhances English with a colour and vigour to suit the Australian character. The purpose of conversation is clearly to convey information; no Aussie is going to see it as anything more. It is neither an art form nor an inheritance from some classic literary past therefore words can be joined together, abbreviated and even missed out so learning it is out of the question. It is a matter of simply listening carefully. A ‘coupla’ samples are:

driza – it is as dry as a
arvo – afternoon
chook – chicken

When the rhyming slang gets mixed in there as well, you really are in trouble. On a famous surfing beach, not far from where I live, three new words were actually created to describe surfers not from these parts:

euros – Europeans
touros – Australians
seppos – Americans

You see Americans are yanks and yanks rhymes with tanks and the worst kind of tanks are septic tanks and seppos is short for septic tanks. It’s really all so logical …!

Australians will always say what they mean, but another problem is that the words they use don’t always mean what they say. For example:

bluey – someone who has red hair
you’re orright – you’re absolutely fantastic
itsa bit warm – it’s probably 120 degrees in the shade
that’d be right – I don’t believe it either

Another trick for getting colour into ‘strine’ is to use oblique phrases rather than saying what exactly is meant. Try these for size:

off like last weeks pie – moved away quickly
drier than a dead dingo’s donger – very thirsty
wouldn’t shout if a shark bit him – won’t buy a beer

The key to picking up the meaning of ‘strine’ is to watch the face of those who are speaking. If they are not scowling it is probable that what sounds like an insult might actually be a compliment, although this theory of mine is not always completely reliable.

Anyway, today I’m flat out like a lizard drinking, so before I finish up and go off like a prawn in the sun, I’d better put you straight on the meaning of Banana Bender. You would think that Australia, being so isolated from the rest of the world, would assume a feeling of unity. This is far from the truth when you look at the relationships between the states, which are more politically independent than are the countries of the United Kingdom. Part of this interstate rivalry produces typically Australian nicknames for other states. So, Sandgropers are those people from Western Australia, due to the fact they live in a state which is bordered on all sides by sand. People from Canberra are called Yogis, for no reason other than their car number plate’s start with the letter ‘Y’. South Australians are Crow Eaters, no doubt from early reflection on the poor farming quality of much of the northern part of that state. (Evidently the place is so dry and dusty that maybe the crows do have to fly backwards to keep the dust out of their eyes.) Tasmanians are Taswegians or Tasmaniacs. Those from the New Territories are know as Territorians or Top Enders, those from Victoria, Mexicans, because they live South of the border and those from New South Wales, Cockroaches, as popularised by Barry Muir, a great Queensland Rugby League player from the 1960s.

That leaves us Queenslanders or Banana Benders as we are known. As Queensland is the main state where Bananas are grown, it’s not surprising really. Besides who else did you think puts those bends into your bananas….?

Passports Please

In 1788, when Captain John Hunter, the first recorded Scotsman to step foot on Australian soil finally regained his shaky landlubbers legs after two hundred and fifty two uncomfortable days at sea, he undoubtedly gazed around in bewilderment at the harsh dry environment laid out before him and wondered at what sort of adventures lay ahead for him and his family.

English: John Hunter, Royal Navy officer and 2nd Governor of New South Wales. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Two hundred and thirteen years after John Hunter’s arrival, flying at some 26,000 feet over the New Territories or ‘The Top End’ as the Australians fondly call it; I too was staring down at a red dusty soil below, also speculating as to what form this new chapter in my new life was to take.

Eighteen years had passed since1983, when I had last visited Australia, on that occasion participating in an exchange arrangement between the British and the Australian Army. Although from that experience, I had a fair idea of what Australia and its people were about, I was still acutely aware that a country and its culture could change dramatically over that period of time, particularly a country which over the last two centuries had developed swiftly from its unique beginnings as a harsh convict settlement into an economically strong, modern, multicultural society, full of fiercely determined and independent people now well able to take their place among the other major league governments on the world’s stage. Unlike my fellow countryman, Captain Hunter, I knew that there would be no fierce indigenous natives, waiting on my arrival, endeavouring to force me, spears drawn, violently from their historic land… but there was still the Immigration Department to deal with…!

Let me explain. Australia has extremely strict immigration laws and gaining a residency visa is not unlike squeezing blood from a stone. There are the hundred and twenty-seven pages of various decipherable forms, posing all sorts of meaningless questions about your race, religion, income, parents, parent-parents, what food you eat, where you shop, what you watch on television and what colour socks you wear on a Tuesday. Then there are the medicals, chest X-rays, blood tests, flexibility tests, immunisation records, police background checks (evidently it is not a pre-requisite for entry to have a criminal record today), more questionnaires, interviews at the High Commission, affidavits, statements, more questions, more forms, more interviews and copious amounts of other red tape mumbo jumbo to complete, all this taking about nine months to accomplish. Being married to an Australian as I had been for the past seventeen years doesn’t, as you would think, make it any easier or speed up the process …! Rest assured the jubilation in finally being issued a visa is tantamount to receiving a personal invitation from the Australian Prime Minister to join him for lunch.

Despite all the form filling now being behind me, sitting on the Qantas 747 which by now was turning onto its final approach, for its scheduled 5.00 am arrival into Brisbane International Airport, I was sat gazing at the precious visa now firmly glued into page 7 of my passport, praying that there would be no problems passing through immigration and eagerly looking forward to again seeing my wife and kids who had left a month before on their Australian passports, whilst I had finished off much of the tiresome administration in the UK. I pictured that they would be by now, standing at the passenger arrival gate eagerly waiting my arrival. Again reassuring myself that I had checked and double-checked everything and that there just couldn’t be any problems, I fastened my seatbelt for landing.

English: newest version of an Australian biometric passport (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

After the plane touched down and taxied to the gate, I nervously took my place in the by now growing queue marked “Non-Australian Passport Holders” and anxiously awaited my turn. I had visions of the large, burly, stern faced immigration officer in the white shirt and gold braid epaulettes, now checking passports at the front of the line, checking my visa, sucking his teeth, shaking his head, and summoning a gang of immigration department heavies to drag me kicking and pleading my innocence, out of the queue, and throwing me into a dark and windowless holding cell to await the next flight back to UK, stamping my passport “Refused entry into Australia as the letter ‘t’ not correctly crossed on visa”……!

Eventually, I arrived at the front of the line and finally stood face to face with the official. “Passport please,” he requested in a tone frequently used in war films by Gestapo soldiers as they knowingly check the papers of escaping prisoners of war on the Switzerland bound train out of Berlin. “Of course,” I replied, hoping that he hadn’t noticed the tremor in my hands and the single bead of sweat now working itself slowly and agonisingly towards the tip of my nose. He grasped my passport, staring at my typically unfetching photograph, looked up at me for a moment and then turned to page 7….! After what seemed an eternity, of scrutiny, he looked up again, and uttered “This visa hasn’t been stamped,” “Oh no!” I thought to myself, as my knees visibly weakened, “I knew it…!” “So, is this your first entry as an immigrant…?” he inquired, “Y..Y..Yes…!”, I stammered. “Well mate,” he bellowed as only Australians can, stood up and walked from behind his desk, now wearing a huge friendly smile on his face, his hand thrust forward in my direction, “Let me be the first, to welcome you to this great country”, he beamed, his hand now firmly shaking mine, “It’s great to have you aboard, you’ll love it…..!”

Brisbane (Photo credit: heyjoewhereyougoinwiththatguninyourhand)

And do you know what…I do…..!

So what’s a loon from Montrose on the wild north east coast of Scotland, doing living in Queensland, I hear you ask. Well, it’s a long story, and a story, which over the next weeks and months I’d like to share with you, as well as describing the ups and downs, advantages and disadvantages, pros and cons and differences of daily living in a sub-tropical climate on the other side of the world. The story itself It starts in Montrose nearly thirty years ago and ends in Brisbane, but in between involves many interesting and fascinating parts of the world.

It all started one day in July 1977 standing outside the Army Recruiting Office in Dundee….!

A New Family Member

Nymphensittich-Hahn-Wildfarben (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

My darling wife, who to preserve her anonymity shall henceforth be known as Domestic Sunray, swore that Billy the Cockatiel, who was found last year lying on the bottom of his cage with his feet in the air, was going to be the last pet but… alas no … let me introduce you to the latest addition to the family… Being stuck for a name for the creature, I Googled ‘Top 10 Cockatiel Names’ and these turned out to be…

 

1. Sunny
2. Sunshine
3. Buddy
4. Charlie
5. Angel
6. Baby
7. Spike
8. Tweety
9. Coco
10. Lucky

 

I fancied, ‘Spike’ or ‘Buddy’ myself … but no … in our democratic family (voters currently being: yours truly, Domestic Sunray and No 1 Daughter) none of the above were selected … and he’s been officially christened ‘Jeremy’… Jeremy the Cockatiel … *shakes head*… I give up…!

 

In The Beginning

Woohoo..! I’ve finally started my blog..! I’ve been meaning to do this for a long time and despite New Year’s resolutions being so cheesy I’ve made it my goal this year to make some time and get this blog up and running. My objective is to post at least once a week, more often, if I have the time.

My topics will be pretty varied, so prepare yourself for a plethora of subjects to do with my life. Some I’m sure will be exciting, many will be mundane, but all that I share with you will be honest.

I’ve plenty to write about; I was born in a small village on the North East of Scotland 51 years ago, spent twenty-three years in the British Army, and I am now living and working in Brisbane Australia. However, I am just as likely to write about my family, friends, work, likes, dislikes and even the family pets.

And so ends my first post. I hope this has been a decent introduction. I look forward to getting to know you and hope to get some feedback from you soon..!

Oh I nearly forgot…Why…? Why start a blog, that is…? Well, why not…? I sit on a commuter train for two hours every day…but that’s a whole subject which I’ll leave for another day.